Chapter Text
The first time it happens, Hawks is at his breaking point. Maybe that’s why it happens, maybe not, but it’s enough of a catalyst.
He’s running on forty-three minutes of sleep. And that’s generous. Exhausted, down to the bone, run completely ragged. He’s sore as hell, even his teeth hurt.
His eyes glaze over in one of Shigaraki’s bullshit meetings and the two burner phones in his pockets blow up the entire time. The vibrations against his thighs are new orders, texts, voicemails, emails, memos, contracts, incident reports, intern applications, overdue bills, other miscellaneous agency paperwork, evil doctrines, or whatever. The Commission works him like a dog, while the League gives him all the gritty grunt crap because they still don’t totally trust him. So Hawks has been struggling to keep his head above water.
When the meeting finally ends he books it outside, into the inky black. Masses of Shigaraki’s followers spill into the courtyard and Hawks beelines it in the other direction to a secluded corner, rounds the wall and leans against chilly concrete by himself. He eyeballs the eight million notifications on each phone and then shoves them back in their respective pockets. He’ll go crosseyed trying to deal with all that right now.
It’s bitter cold tonight, little snowflakes float down from above. The air bites his hands even through the gloves. Hawks’ wings nestle close to his body and he shivers.
He sighs heavily, a steamy puff of dragon-breath into the air. Hawks shoves his goggles into his hair and rubs his face until bursts of color appear behind his eyelids.
“Goddamn.” He exhales.
He pats his jacket for a cigarette and is relieved to find one left in the crumpled box. Yeah, yeah, smoking’s a bad habit, but the Commission drug tests him all the time, so what else is he supposed to do?
Hawks wiggles out the cigarette and folds the box back where it came from. Clicks open his lighter and…
Fuck. It’s dead.
He thumbs it obsessively, over and over in the hopes of a spark. This has gotta be a joke, right? Sour cherry on top of a shit sundae.
Nothing. Not even a wisp.
Hawks’ phones continue to go off. He wants to crack them in half, fly as high as he can and let them plummet to the ground. He wants to hurl them into the ocean and shed this uniform and swoop away, just for a few days.
He kinda wants to cry?
That’s super out of character for him, he must really be tired.
With an aggressive grunt, Hawks lobs the lighter into the snow. It doesn’t bounce, just sinks, forms a wet indent. Not even satisfying, he wanted it to shatter.
“What a fucking day.” He mumbles, shoving the cig into his mouth just to feel something. Tobacco on his tongue.
“Need a light?”
Hawks does not screech like a bird, no he doesn’t. A perfectly human noise squeals from his throat.
“What the hell, man? You a ghost or something?!”
Dabi’s to his left, several feet away but leaning on the same wall. He crosses his arms over his chest and levels Hawks with a cool stare.
Huh. So maybe those tingles weren’t the phones, just now. Maybe his feathers were saying, “hey, idiot, look, somebody’s here.”
“Surprised you didn’t hear me. Losing your touch?”
Hawks really isn’t in the mood. He’d normally screw around, say something playful, but he can’t muster it.
“Think so.” He grumbles, still coming down from the scare. His poofy wings flutter, flatten to normal size, then snuggle back to his shoulder blades.
Hawks shouldn’t let an extremely dangerous villain like Dabi see him so vulnerable, but he’s a zombie at the moment.
“Such a shame.” Dabi replies, checking his nails. “We were starting to think you were useful.”
“Yeah, right.” Hawks settles his goggles back into place. Better to hide his eyes. Better to conceal how haggard he looks.
Several quiet beats pass between them. Far away, the ruckus of the rest of the League echoes into the night. Everyone always goes buck wild after these meetings, all riled up.
Dabi holds his hand out. In the shadows it’s hard to see his face, even with Hawks’ eyesight.
“Light?” He offers again, flicking his fingers together. A tiny blue flame pops into existence in his palm and dances against the dark. It’s…sort of beautiful. Like a miniature star.
“…Yeah.” Hawks nods minutely and bridges the gap, stepping closer. He dips the cigarette into the small fire and lifts his hand to shield it from the wind.
Dabi shakes his head. “It won’t go out on its own. Don’t insult me, Birdie.”
Hm. Hawks isn’t sure if it’s the funny nickname or the first breath of nicotine, but he gets a head rush.
“Thanks.” He says, blowing out a cloud of smoke. Warmer already.
Dabi shakes out his hand like it’s wet and the flame vanishes. They’re bathed in darkness again but for the glow of the cigarette butt. A pinprick of orange.
Quiet again. Weird. They definitely aren’t friends, they’re barely even colleagues. Hawks lets the silence droop over them like a blanket while Dabi stares into the woods.
Maybe now’s a good time to go for a walk. Hawks’ll do a lap, finish his cigarette, and then retire to his shitty coat closet of a room at the compound and Dabi can brood here by himself. Maybe this is his usual brooding spot? Perhaps Hawks stepped onto his unspoken territory.
“Well…I’ll see you later.” Hawks gives a two-finger salute and turns to go.
Only one boot crunches into the snow before Dabi speaks up.
“That’s it, huh? That’s all the thanks I get?”
Hawks scoffs and closes his eyes. He takes another deep drag. The smoke itches his esophagus, rumbles into his lungs. He doesn’t have enough energy for banter. It makes him a little mean.
“Yeah? I said ‘thanks,’ didn’t I?” Hawks doesn’t turn around. He’s so over everything, it’s not even funny. “You want me to suck your dick or something?”
Huh.
What a weird thing to say. Like Hawks is just a hooker on the street. Offering himself up.
Why did he say that?
He shouldn’t have said that.
Dabi laughs, bright with surprise. Smoke wafts into the air and Hawks’ brain goes up, up, and away with it.
“Wow. I just wanted to bum a cig, but, if you’re offering, I won’t turn you down, hero.”
Oh.
That’s…huh.
Unexpected.
Hawks can’t fight it, his wings twitch. He’s caught off guard.
Wayyyy off guard.
Dabi chuckles darkly, but it’s a little closer now. He’s taken a few steps forward.
“What now, cat got your tongue? Gonna backtrack on that? It’s okay if you do.” Hawks can hear the smugness in his voice. “I see right through you, Hawks. Always the cool, casual guy, but I know you’re all talk.”
Anger boils in Hawks’ gut. Anger and…something else he won’t name right now because it requires too much self-reflection.
He’s not all talk, he’s actually earned his number two ranking. He’s busting his ass right now infiltrating the League, and keeping up his regular work schedule, and mentoring, and doing paperwork until his eyes bleed, and going to so many meetings, and—and—damn it.
He puffs one more time, slow, deliberate, heavy.
Hawks gulps as much smoke as he can and tosses the cigarette into the snow. It dies with a quiet fizzle.
Fuck it.
“That was my last one, actually, so. Don’t have any to give you.”
“Ah.” Dabi hums. He’s two feet behind him now. Hawks’ back is bathed in body heat, just from proximity. “…So, that means…?”
Hawks’ wings betray him as usual. In the supercharged air, they tremble with anticipation.
It’s been a while.
“…Yeah.”
Before Hawks can turn around, a hand gruffly catches the back of his jacket, right at the neckline. He jolts and almost trips over his own feet as Dabi stumbles them forward, into the forest. Not far, but out of sight from anyone passing. Twigs snap against their stomping shoes and branches slap him in the face.
Hawks is whirled around to face Dabi and immediately shoved into the trunk of a tree. His back hits it hard, knocking the wind out of him. A hot hand tears the glasses from his face, the muffs from his ears, and both are dropped unceremoniously into the dead foliage and slush.
And then they’re kissing.
Hawks chokes on a high, avian sound, startled. Dabi kissing him before a blowjob had definitely not been on his bingo card tonight.
Neither had the blowjob, but like.
Shocking.
It’s more ferocious than kissing, really. Less lips, more teeth. Vicious tongues and too-hard bites. He’s going to bruise at this rate.
And it’s good.
Dabi clutches the back of his hair and angles Hawks to press deeper against his mouth. The sting at his scalp sends a prickle down Hawks’ spine.
“Mmm.” He moans quietly, unable to hold it back. The fingers knotted into his curls yank again, holding him still, and Dabi breaks free to suck his jaw. And that’s—that’s really good.
Hawks’ mouth falls open with a shaky breath.
“You like it rough, Birdie?”
His mind is full of white noise. He can’t answer, he’s laser-focused on the hickey Dabi’s giving him and the thigh shoving between his own to spread his legs. It pushes hard into his sudden boner.
Dabi’s free hand runs down his torso. His fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt and almost burn. He untucks it with one quick motion and skates over Hawks’ bare abdomen, earning another embarrassing, chirpy sound.
“Answer me.” Dabi hisses suddenly against his neck. “So I know how to treat you.”
That same hand is now cupping Hawks’ hard-on through his pants. Maybe if he comes hard enough he’ll forget his own name and stop having to deal with all the BS in his life.
“Hawks.” Dabi growls, demanding attention. He wrenches hard on his hair again and tilts Hawks’ face forward to look at him.
Flushed, Hawks exhales sharply through the nose. Dabi’s eyes are an electric blue, almost a light source. They pierce through him.
“I’m a villain but I’m not a savage.” Dabi explains, voice raspy. “I’m only gonna fuck your throat if you want me to.”
Oh, wow. Hawks’ own eyes flutter closed. Is this a fantasy? Is he dreaming? Weird dream.
With all his strut and pomp, everybody thinks he wants to dominate. Nobody ever wants to bat him around the way he really likes.
“We don’t have all night, hero.” Dabi spits at him. Hawks’ heart skips when flecks of it hit his cheek. Please, yeah, spit on him. “Somebody’s always fucking looking for one of us, so make up your mind before I leave you here to rub one out alone.”
“I—yeah.” Hawks answers finally, quickly, cracking his lids. His chest expands and contracts. “I want that. Yeah.”
Dabi smirks. His scarred chin dimples and his eyebrows raise.
Sort of sexy.
“Look at you.” He snickers. “You’re falling apart from a little heavy petting. Who knew big bad Hawks was such a bitch?”
Heat licks up Hawks’ back, curls around to pool in his stomach. Desire tears through him in a flash. Fuck, why does he like that so much?
“Get on your knees for me.” Dabi says, but doesn’t give Hawks the chance to move himself. His hair is jerked downward in an iron grip, forcing Hawks to kneel.
“Ah.” Hawks gasps, sliding into position. His knees mash into the cold ground, his wings bunch up uncomfortably against the bark of the tree.
And he’s so hard it hurts. Shit.
Dabi releases his hair but keeps him in place with a shin to the chest. He could crack his sternum, if he wanted to. Break him open. Hawks buzzes, watches with rapt attention as the man over him unbuttons his pants and pulls down his zipper. He’s hypnotized. Dabi could kill him right now and Hawks would probably just come.
In the next motion, Dabi shoves his pants and underwear to his pale thighs and frees his dick. Fuck. He’s gorgeous, and big. Hawks almost whimpers.
A hot left hand snares into Hawks’ hair again, tight at the roots near his hairline. The sear reminds him of the makeup team getting a curling iron too close to his scalp. It’s tantalizing. It’s crazy juxtaposition against the freezing cold of the air. With his right hand, Dabi holds his cock at the base and juts forward to rub the tip against Hawks’ chin.
It’s wet, it’s warm, it makes Hawks shiver. Precum dots his bottom lip and Hawks’ tongue pokes out to chase it. God. He touches himself through the tent of his pants. It feels fantastic. Behind him, Hawks’ squished wings flap uselessly.
“Finally got that sassy mouth to shut up, didn’t I?” Dabi grumbles. He presses forward, sloppily painting Hawks’ face like it’s a damn tube of lipstick. It’s like lightning on his skin. All sharp and zinging.
Hawks whines, squeezes his eyes closed. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue like a slut because it’s been way too long since he got laid and this is fulfilling some kind of fucked-up pipe dream. Everyone’s always ordering him around, might as well let it bleed into the bedroom. He might as well do a good job, like he’s always told to.
Dabi lets out a small grunt, like he likes that.
“Who knew you were such a pretty bird?” He hums, and Hawks preens. The praise sends molten lava to bubble in his pelvis. “You wanna swallow my dick, Hawks?”
Shit. He sure fucking does. Hawks’ toes curl in his leather boots. His knees are starting to ache from the ground but he tips his head back as an invitation, pants obscenely. His garbage night is really turning around.
Dabi lets go of his hair to slide down to his jaw. His scarred hand glues to it, fastens Hawks into a good position. His warm thumb presses into the corner of Hawks’ mouth and Hawks swears he sees a twinkle of blue. A stray flame, popping up haphazardly like Dabi can’t stop it. It’s quickly dashed.
“Lemme hear you say it.” He orders, stroking lazily over his dick. Expectantly.
Hawks grapples with his own fly and shoves one hand clumsily into his pants, breathing hard against the hold. His other hand aimlessly reaches forward, grips onto Dabi’s calf so he doesn’t drift away into space. His skin is a million degrees, grounding in the chill.
“Earth to Hawks?” Dabi urges, shoving a fiery thumb into his mouth. Hawks gasps around it.
“F-fuck, I do.” He groans, garbled, shuffling a palm into his own underwear. Hawks cringes at how fucking dry it is but he can’t even care. Feels amazing anyway. “Please.”
Dabi chuckles at him. He inches his cock forward again, slips out his thumb and replaces it with something way, way better. The wet sound is music to Hawks’ ears.
"Since you asked so politely, hero.” Dabi snarks. He manhandles Hawks by the shirt collar, eggs him on.
Hawks wastes no time. One first, tentative, lick and then he takes Dabi as far as he can go. He chokes at first impact, out of practice, and then bobs his head the best way he knows how. Rumbles at the feeling. It makes his eyes water.
“Ah—” Dabi breathes sharply in surprise. “Shit, you’re good, huh?”
Yes, he’s good. He can be better.
Dabi’s hips pick up, canting against Hawks’ face. He widens his jaw, lets Dabi slide in deeper. Hawks shifts his hands around to cup under Dabi’s ass cheeks, encourages him to go faster with minute pushes.
It’s so hot, holy shit. A funny trill purrs from Hawks’ chest but he doesn’t have the clarity to be embarrassed. Just means he’s really turned on.
“That’s cute, Birdie.” Dabi mumbles. His abs flutter, Hawks feels it against his nose. “Had no idea how much of a whore you are.”
“Mmm—,” Is all Hawks can exclaim. His fists his own cock again, overwhelmed. Dabi’s speed continually increases, and it’s a totally minor case of asphyxiation, but it’s enough for Hawks’ mind to cut off completely. All caution thrown to the fucking wind. He’ll do this all night.
“You like that?” Dabi mashes the heel of his hand into Hawks’ forehead suddenly. It doesn’t hurt, but Hawks gets knocked off his dick with a pop. He’s shoved further against the tree, back of his head colliding with the trunk. His wings scream at him, anxious at being so immobilized, but Hawks isn’t complaining.
“Like when I call you a whore?” Dabi teases. He breathes hard, like he was close. His scarred chest peeks through his jacket and Hawks lifts a hand to trace down it. Dabi’s muscles jump.
Hawks is close too, with spit dribbling down his cheek. He wipes it with the back of his hand and lathers it over himself to keep pumping. He nods without speaking, forgets how cold he was earlier. Everything’s cranked up, off the charts now. The snow near their feet steams. He tries not to arch his back.
“Good.” Dabi proclaims. “Finish me like one then.”
God damn.
Dabi surges forward again, leaning down to kiss him this time. Deft fingers play along Hawks’ throat, squeezing, releasing. His head spins. Dabi must taste himself in Hawks’ mouth and the thought of that makes Hawks squeak.
Both of Dabi’s hands clutch the front of his hair. Hawks coughs into the return of the blowjob but hollows his cheeks the second he recovers. Fuck, he’s gonna lose his voice tomorrow for this.
No regrets.
“That’s right.” Dabi murmurs. “Open up for me.”
It’s so hot, so hot, so hot. Literally, physically, mentally, sexually. Hawks actually squirms. His feathers crinkle the wrong direction. His jaw aches but it’s with satisfaction.
Dabi lets go of his bangs with one hand and without warning grasps the ridge of Hawks’ wing. Too tight, skims down the edge, furls his overheated fingers into the downy part of it. He fumbles lower to the base and tugs upward. Pins it back against the tree.
And Hawks comes. With a yell around the cock in his mouth.
“Ahhh—!” He shouts unintelligibly, blowing his load onto his khaki pants.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” spills from him, but it’s impossible to make out. Hawks goes slack, lets Dabi keep fucking him, tries to be as pliant as he can in the blur of the aftermath. Tremors roll through him, sky-high pleasure. Let the world hear him fucking chirping.
He wants to cry again, but, like, in such a good way.
“Shit, Birdie.” Dabi grunts. His eyebrows knit together as he takes in the sight below. His simmering fingers weave against Hawks’ feathers and another full-body shudder wracks through him. That’s usually a weird sex thing Hawks tries to hide, but, well, cards on the table now. Dabi figured it out all on his own.
“Fuck.” Dabi swears. He tips Hawks’ chin up, looks like he wants to lick the tears streaming down his face. Hawks has ascended, having an out of body experience, floating on a rainbow.
“Yeah. Choke on my cum, hero.” Dabi palms the back of his neck roughly. “Take it so good.”
His motions grow uneven, quick little jerks into the warmth of Hawks’ mouth. Three more snaps forward and Dabi comes down his throat with a strangled moan. Rocks against him until he’s finished, milking every last bit.
Hawks fights his gag reflex and swallows hard. If he knows how to do anything, it’s get the job fucking done.
Dabi stays still a few moments, soaking in the sensation, making Hawks feel so full. He pulls off slowly and urges Hawks to lick his work clean. Hawks appeases, doesn’t mind the salt. Adrenaline buzzes through him like the first time he tried flying. He’s still shaking.
Once he’s satisfied, Dabi zips himself back up. He wipes his hands on his shirt and smirks.
Hawks scrambles through the fog to find his decency again. Maybe it’s gone forever, though.
He puts his dick away and rubs a gloved hand over the mess on his pants. No fixing that. Still on the ground, he collects his glasses, his earmuffs, puts them both back in place. They’re both damp and cold from the snow.
Dabi watches the entire time with his arms crossed. Looks like he just won the lottery. Doesn’t offer to help when Hawks rises on unsteady legs.
“Huh.” Dabi finally says, tilting his head. Blue eyes glint in the dark. “Weird night.”
Hawks breathes deeply. Weird night for sure. Simultaneously one of the worst and best he’s had in months. He doesn’t really know what to say.
“Yeah.” Hawks sighs. He leans back against the christened tree, letting his wings flex wide. Feathers skewer every which way, but the stretch calms him. His heart rate’s still coming down from probably three-hundred beats-per-minute.
Dabi shrugs. “Anyway. See you around, hero.”
He turns on his heel, leaving Hawks to blink in confusion. Not that he expected—what, aftercare? But, maybe just more conversation, or something? Dabi’s not really the type though, he supposes. And Hawks is a big boy, he’ll be fine, even if his jaw falls off tomorrow. He lightly brushes over a sensitive spot near his ear. How many hickies can he hide?
Was this the worst idea he’s ever had? Maybe?
Probably not.
“Oh,” Dabi says, pausing. His jacket flaps in the sudden wind. It’s freezing again, now that Hawks’ main heat source has vanished. “Here you go. Since you couldn’t finish yours.”
Something small lobs over Dabi’s shoulder to land in the snow at Hawks’ feet. He squints down at it while the villain stalks away. Once he’s out of sight, Hawks reaches down.
It’s a little box, barely any weight to it. Hawks flicks open the cover curiously.
Ah.
A half-empty carton of cigarettes.
That’s…interesting.
Hawks’ feathers quiver in the breeze.
Notes:
Hehehe I’d love to hear what you think!!! <333
And again, if you're interested, here's a link to the bkdk fic that's tied into this one, hate to be lame
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Notes:
How many italics are too many? The limit does not exist.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The second time it happens, Hawks is pissed off, and freezing cold (again). Shigaraki sent him on some wild goose chase to a seedy warehouse for a USB drive full of “top secret intel,” and then he’d had to make a pit stop to see Spinner on the roof of a high rise building to get a second stupid USB drive, and then he was directed to fly into the middle of fucking nowhere to hand them both off to Dabi, who’s going to pass them to Toga, who is going to—who cares. Hawks is just glad he’s earned more trust, but it’s a double-edged sword.
So he bats his wings against icy rain and chunky sleet as he swoops above a mountain trail. This path is way out of town and dark as obsidian; if he didn’t have such great vision, it would be a nightmare. He wipes his goggles for the hundredth time, clearing away moisture.
He’s been flying for what feels like hours tonight, so the squat cabin is a welcome sight. It’s deep brown, nestled between a thick spray of bare trees. Slush batters hard against the roof. Hawks’ boots land on the frozen dirt beside it and he sags, relieved for once to be on solid ground.
He pats his pocket for the drives (wouldn’t it be a crap show if he had lost them?) and then stomps to the front door. There isn’t an overhang, so the weather continues to drench him after he knocks, and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Maybe Dabi isn’t even here yet. Hawks slaps the hardwood again, jiggles the doorknob. He’ll let himself in, he just wants out of the elements. He grits his teeth and shoves his weight into it, hard.
Definitely locked. So annoying.
He rears back and slams into it again, only for it to open, and for his shoulder to collide with Dabi’s sternum.
The other man coughs in surprise and stumbles backward at the unexpected impact. They topple through the doorframe and Hawks falls flat into him, so they’re nose-to-nose.
“Couldn’t give me five fucking seconds?” Dabi hisses with a glare. His eyes glower, iridescent and blue.
Hawks blinks and catches his breath. His train of thought screeches to a grinding halt at their position. Memories from a few weeks ago flit through his brain—but he cuts them off. This is the first time they’ve been alone since then. (And among company, they act like it never happened.) He’s determined to be normal.
Hawks’ wings beat against the air to help him stand, quickly. Disgruntled, he wipes off the front of his jacket.
“It’s cold. And I didn’t think you were here.” Hawks grumbles. He turns and shuts the door while Dabi stands up. He had been slow, Hawks isn’t going to apologize.
The cabin is plain and mostly empty. There’s a rickety dining table with two chairs, a small, bare mattress, and an open fireplace, devoid of kindling. An old, wood-burning stove and a mini-fridge are in the “kitchen.” A cubicle-sized bathroom is connected. Only three windows decorate the walls but they’re covered with dark curtains. One single, yellow lightbulb buzzes overhead, casting sepia shadows in every corner.
“Cry me a river.” Dabi rolls his eyes. He holds out a waiting hand. “Do you have what Shigaraki asked for?”
Hawks digs into his pocket and deposits the plastic baggie in Dabi’s palm. Both USB drives are inside, perfectly dry.
“Here you go, delivery complete.” Hawks pulls out his phone and jots a quick text to Shigaraki; his part is done. He hears Dabi tapping away, doing the same. Two updates are better than one.
But it’s still practically hailing. Hawks sure as hell doesn’t want to fly home in this.
He puts his phone away and casts his eyes around the room again. It’s not the Ritz-Carlton, but he’s certainly camped out in worse digs.
“I’m gonna wait out the weather for a bit, so tell me how to lock up, or whatever.” Hawks turns around as he speaks. He starts to peel off his coat, releasing a ton of feathers to easily fit his wings through the zippers in the back. Once his jacket is hanging on the chair to dry, he calls his feathers to return. They each flick off droplets of water before snuggling back into place. Better already.
“That was weird.” Dabi quips, after a beat of silence.
Hawks stiffens, feeling awkward. He doesn’t face him.
“My clothes and wings are waterlogged. Flying back in this will be a pain so I’m just gonna hang here for a little. So, like I said, gimme the key or something.”
To his surprise, he hears Dabi drag out a chair. When Hawks finally looks over his shoulder, the other is seated at the table, cheek resting on his hand. His eyes are glazed and bored.
“I’m not meeting Toga until two AM.” Dabi explains with a shrug. “She’s ‘busy.’”
What does that mean, is Hawks supposed to leave? He glances down, then back to Dabi, brows furrowed. Sensing his discomfort, Dabi smirks.
“Don’t get those feathers in a bunch, Birdie. You can keep me company while you warm up.”
If “warm up” is said with any innuendo, Hawks ignores it. He also ignores “Birdie.”
But he sighs and decides fuck it. The blowjob—that was a one-time thing. That was a crazy, stupid, delirium-driven thing. Hawks is thinking more clearly today. He’s tired, but he’s had way more sleep than that night. All he’s going to do is dry off, wait for the storm to clear up, and then go. He refuses to fall into any flirty trap. (Even if Dabi’s a dangerous kind of handsome. Even if Hawks notices it more and more every League meeting.)
Hawks shucks out of his boots and tosses them by the door. He folds his goggles and earmuffs and sets them down on the table, slips off his gloves, then settles into the other chair.
Dabi’s still staring at him. Hawks pointedly doesn’t make eye contact, instead tugs out his phone to catch up on emails. Service out here is shit though, they take forever to load. He can’t reply to any of them.
The silence stretches, except for the steady thrum of sleet outside. It plicks against the glass windowpanes. Dabi taps his fingers against the tabletop, slowly. Hawks wishes he could play some music, anything.
“I can’t remember the last time I was cold.” Dabi says, out of nowhere. Hawks finally looks up, locking eyes with him. The villain tilts his head, like he’s studying him. Like the very idea of being cold is perplexing.
“Remind me what it’s like?” Dabi says, and Hawks can’t tell if it’s genuine, or if he’s being tested.
What is this, an olive branch? Is this how it is, in the League? They can have regular ass conversations, they don’t just yammer on about the flaws of society all the time? Is Hawks supposed to snark something back at him or answer honestly? Which earns him another wrung up the ladder? Are they really supposed to just chat like regular, old coworkers?
“Uh.” Hawks sets his phone down, decides to give it a go. “I dunno. It’s, it’s being cold? I don’t know how to articulate that. The opposite of being hot. Instead of sweating you’re shivering. You’re usually, like, wet, too, like in rain or snow.”
Dabi raises an eyebrow. “Wet?”
Got it. Okay. He’s going there. Hawks immediately feels stupid, he’s being played with, lured in. Dabi’s a cat and Hawks is a mouse.
“Yeah.” Hawks rolls his eyes. He pinches his shirt, lifts it from laying flush against his skin, feeling self-conscious. Feeling pinned-down.
“For sure.” Dabi nods. His elbow slides further down the table, he’s looking up at Hawks. “You sure are wet right now, aren’t you, Hawks?”
Hawks sucks his teeth. Right.
What’s the best course of action, here? Sarcasm? Something petty? Telling Dabi to cut that shit out? Give up and leave?
No, the weather rages. Wind whips against the door, thudding loudly. Hawks startles, tries not to jump.
Leaving is a no-go.
“Hawks?”
Hawks’ sharp eyes cut back to Dabi. The man across from him pushes to sit back up, crossing his arms over his chest. The neckline of his shirt hangs low, revealing a pale stretch of chest under those purple scars.
“Got hypothermia over there?” His lip turns up at the corner, revealing a sharp canine. “Freezing up?”
Hawks scoffs through his nose. This is dumb. He’s not gonna fall for it.
And two can play at this game. If Dabi’s trying to scare him off or get in his pants again, Hawks isn’t going to let him win.
“Yeah. I’m an ice cube. And I’m soaked.” He lays on the emphasis, crosses his own arms. Mirrors the cocky body language like he’s been taught to do to keep a foot up on someone. Never let them think they’re better. His wings stretch wide, posturing on their own accord.
He catches Dabi eyeing them. His gaze roams from the lithe, smooth ends to—to the base, or what he can see of it, at least.
Hawks remembers that moment in a flash. Hot hands in his down, yanking, fisting…coming into oblivion.
Hawks flaps them and clears his throat, tucks them back close to his shoulder blades. Which, in this case is a sign of inferiority, but he tips his chin up to counter. Forces a casual air.
“Huh.” Dabi nods, like he’s considering that. “Well, no, doesn’t ring any bells. I’m always toasty. I’d offer to light a fire for you over there, but, no firewood. What a shame.”
Hawks tsks. “Yeah, what a shame.”
He looks over to the charred fireplace, full of powdery ash. God, it would be nice. He almost suggests using the chair he’s sitting in, but it would come off as extremely desperate.
And Hawks is not desperate.
Not for a fire, not for Dabi’s advances. (Even if giving Dabi head had scratched every itch he has.)
He hums and shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“It shouldn’t?”
“No, these winter storms always end quick.”
Dabi clasps his hands and places them on the table. “Right. Even if the forecast says it’s supposed to last until midmorning. But you never know.”
Hawks clenches his jaw. So he hadn’t checked the weather. Fine. Once he’s rested up, he’ll just chance it.
Dabi knocks his joined hands on the wood, steeples his fingers. Then he slides his palms together, quick, until they shine just a little bit blue.
The heat is immediate. It wafts outward like a sauna, fans over Hawks’ torso, and then it’s dashed. Dabi’s hands lose their luster and he drums over the wood again.
Fucking asshole.
“Sorry.” Dabi says, but he’s clearly not sorry. He’s actually grinning, sly like a fox. His stapled cheek dimples. “Force of habit. Like a tic. Sometimes I’m just boiling with my Quirk, I gotta let it out.”
“Mmhm.” Hawks leans back into the chair, kicks his feet up on the table to put distance between them. Like he definitely doesn’t need the goddamn fire. No sir.
Hawks picks up his phone again, determined to ignore Dabi’s teasing. He scrolls through his emails and starts to draft one, to send when he has service. Tries to put a wall between them.
A rock hard wall.
Hawks’ mind starts to slant and he erects the wall even higher.
Erects.
Motherfucker.
Meanwhile, Dabi keeps doing that damn thing, like it’s a “habit,” a bored routine, yeah, right. He’s “absentmindedly” sending out waves of warmth. Hawks shifts in his chair, tries not to sigh when they caress his face. His feathers tingle, turning towards the invisible clouds like flowers to the sun. Damn them.
Hawks makes seventeen typos and tries to fix his sentence three times. Gonna be a great email.
…Can Dabi feel it, whatever his heat touches? Is it like his feathers? Extra sensitive, an extension of himself?
Another bursts over him, curves along his neck. Hawks can’t help it, he closes his eyes, breathes deep.
“Hawks.”
Fuck.
“What.” Not a question. Not an invitation. He glares back at Dabi.
The warmth cuts off, vanishes suddenly, dousing Hawks like a plunge into a frigid pool. It sucks.
Dabi smiles back at him, licks his lips slowly, intentionally. Like he wants to eat him. “When are you going to stop?”
Hawks pretends not to know, even though his heart starts to beat harder. His wings curl closer to his back, reacting to the drop in temperature. Outside, the hail is incessant.
“Stop what?” He growls.
Dabi actually stands up and Hawks’ stomach plummets. He leans into Hawks’ space, splays his palms flat on each side of Hawks’ calves. His fucking feathers poof in surprise and Hawks feels a blush creep up his neck.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“When are you going to stop acting…like you don’t want me to touch you?”
Shit. Fucking shit.
Dabi’s eyes light up with amusement at Hawks’ unschooled expression. Every rational part of Hawks’ brain tells him no, don’t do this again.
“But you know the rules I have, Birdie.” Dabi lifts a hand and runs his finger over Hawks’ ankle. The reaction is fucking immediate, Hawks twitches.
(Shit’s tough, okay? He doesn’t get laid a lot. People think he does, but, his schedule is atrocious, and he can be kinda private about the weird bird stuff, and—)
Dabi squeezes right over his knee, into the meat of his thigh. Hawks grabs those rational-brain-parts and shoves them out a mental window.
Fuck this, he gives up. He gives in. Yeah, okay, Dabi wins. His heart catapults into his throat.
“‘Rules’?” Hawks parrots back. His thigh tenses when warmth spreads from Dabi’s hand.
Oh, God, this is gonna be a train wreck.
Dabi lets go, cutting him off. He raps on the tabletop again. “You’ve gotta tell me you want it, or I won’t give it to you.”
Hawks inhales.
“Don’t you want me to warm you up?” Another blast, a cozy, summer wind that drifts from Dabi’s being, over Hawks’ whole body. He hums.
Yeah. He really does. He wants Dabi to warm him up and dick him down, holy hell.
A voice in his head says, “No, Hawks, don’t worry, you’re nailing the ‘not being extremely desperate’ thing.”
Hawks swallows, throat thick. Pathetic, how quickly he caves.
“I do.”
Dabi makes a quiet, pleased sound. He backs off, but then steps around the table to loom over Hawks. With a strong hand he knocks Hawks’ feet back to the floor, tilts his chair so he’s sitting straight. Dabi steals his phone, throws it onto the mattress across the room, then immediately clutches the hair at the back of his head. And, oh—oh, yeah. Familiar lust swirls through Hawks’ groin.
“Good. Step one done, wasn’t that easy?” He tightens his grip and Hawks grunts. “Now tell me how you want it, hero.”
Literally any way, Hawks’ resolve is crumbling. He’s demolishing that wall he put up with a sledgehammer.
He remembers last time, Dabi’s impatience. Hawks jumbles together an answer.
“You could fuck me.”
Oh, shit, okay, logic’s definitely out the window. Hawks’ inner animal wants Dabi to jump straight from oral to fucking and that’s—
Dabi laughs, close to his cheek. He lowers his lips to Hawks’ jaw and licks near his ear, suckles. Heat emanates out from the spot. Dabi moves like molasses, dragging his lips until they meet Hawks’ own. He kisses him stupid, his tongue is hot, and Hawks chases it with a broken moan.
“God, Hawks,” Dabi whispers against his mouth, “You try so hard not to be, but, you’re such a fucking slut. Can’t even help it, can you? You wanted me the minute you walked in here.”
Dabi releases his hair and the sudden lack of tension makes the room spin. Before Hawks can put two and two together, the villain is yanking him by the wrist, pulling him to stand—and then shoving him into the dining table, bent in half.
Hawks huffs out a sharp breath of pain when his stomach is jammed into the table’s edge. His chest flattens to it and he has just enough instinct to flutter his wings, saving his face from slamming into the wood.
Dabi apparently likes that. He wastes no time in catching his wings, gripping the soft edges and forcing them to be still. He pulls them apart, stretches them wide, and Hawks’ dicks springs to attention.
“Fuck.” He groans, back arching involuntarily. “Ah—that’s—ah!”
That’s a surefire way to make him come in his pants.
“Too much, too soon?” Dabi teases from behind. His body is flush against Hawks’ ass. Hawks’ socked foot slips on the floor and Dabi pushes against him, keeps him in place. He feels the curve of his hard cock and it makes his mouth water.
“I thought that was the point, Birdie.” Dabi’s fingers slide down, magma in their wake, and delve into his downy feathers.
Holy fucking overload.
“Shit.”
Dabi massages, mussing them up, kneading down like Hawks is made of pizza dough. Then he’s gone, leaving Hawks panting. His abdomen jumps and his hands finally make purchase on the table, half-holding himself up. Mostly just keeping himself from drowning in his own puddle of drool.
“Take this off.” Dabi demands, untucking his shirt. He pulls it up, towards Hawks’ armpits. “Let me see them better.”
Hawks exhales and blearily sends his feathers flying. They swirl in a circle, listless, while Dabi wriggles him out of his shirt. It makes a wet thwap when it hits the floor. Dabi snatches one red petal from the air, runs a finger over it.
Hawks shivers, feels it in his core.
“You’re gonna be a fun fuck, aren’t you, Hawks?”
He groans into the tabletop. “Jesus Christ.”
His feathers surge and swirl then find their way back home. Hawks’ wings beat quickly, hopelessly, excitedly. Dabi lets go of the one piece he’s pinching, and it wiggles in to join the masses.
Dabi’s palms strike into his shoulder blades, sizzling, and skate down, down, down, roaming into the fuzz of his back once more. He plays with the base of his wings until Hawks can’t breathe, rutting uselessly into nothing. He chirps and bangs his head down, so turned on he might explode.
“You know,” Dabi says, conversationally, like he’s not killing him. “I thought I liked filling up your mouth, getting you to shut the hell up. But to be honest you sound really good like this. Can you come like this, from just this? Have you tried?”
Has he tried? Is Dabi joking? He’s been doing it since he was thirteen.
“Mmm—yeah.” Hawks gasps, stifling an insanely loud moan. His fingernails, sharp like talons, dig into the varnish. “Doesn’t—fuck—take much like this.”
Dabi stops cold and Hawks almost screeches like the raptor he is. He bites his knuckle and squirms.
“Huh. Maybe some other time.” Dabi peruses. Then his hot palms are running down Hawks’ sides, to the waistband of his pants. He tugs his hips forward, humps against him, and reaches around to undo the button and zipper. He yanks them down with Hawks’ underwear in one smooth motion, bunching them to his knees.
“Cute.” Dabi chuckles, running his fingers over the curve of Hawks’ ass, down to his upper thighs. His touch melts like candle wax.
Hawks whines and pushes up to his tiptoes. Maybe he is a whore. Whatever.
Then.
Crack.
A slap stings over Hawks’ asscheek, aided by Dabi’s Quirk, scalding like a brand. Hawks wails and presses his forehead into the table, squeezing his eyes shut.
That’s—
“So good.” He keens. Trills sing from inside his chest, he can’t keep them down. Again, whatever. Dabi clearly enjoys them.
Dabi laughs in surprise, smooths over the spot he just smacked.
And does it again.
“Nnngh!” Hawks feels it up his spine. His cock aches, untouched.
“Stay like that.” Dabi commands, though Hawks has no plans to move. His wings flit uselessly, struggling with overstimulation.
Hawks distantly hears Dabi walk across the floor to root around in the bathroom. Clatter rings as he apparently chucks shit out of a medicine cabinet.
“Maybe we need to start keeping this place more stocked.” Dabi complains, returning. Hawks swallows and breathes hard, looking over his shoulder. He can’t imagine how red his face is. The villain smirks at him and holds up a bottle of strawberry-scented lotion.
“This’ll have to do, Birdie.”
Honestly?
Hawks would’ve taken him dry, at that point.
“Sure, whatever.” Hawks breathes. He ogles Dabi while he undoes his pants. His wings flick up with anticipation. Dabi undoes his fly and pulls the waistband down just enough to take his cock out, like before. Goosebumps zip over Hawks’ skin at the heat that nudges suddenly between his ass. He whimpers and shifts his weight back, leaning into it, arcing his head down again.
“Tell me you want it.” Dabi’s voice is low, rough. A fruity, floral scent hits the air the minute the bottle is uncapped. Hawks will never be able to eat strawberries the same way again. Not after this.
Two slippery fingers teases him, brushing over his rim. Hawks fucking cheeps, god dammit.
“C’mon, Birdie.” Dabi’s warm, wet mouth sucks a hickey onto his hip. “Remember what I said before? I won’t assault someone, so I need to hear you say it.”
Hawks doesn’t remember how to speak human language. His eyes screw shut at the light petting.
“Hawks.” Dabi warns.
Then, holy fuck, he slaps his ass again.
“Nnnn—! Shit, yeah, fuck me, Dabi. Fuck.”
There’s not much foreplay. Dabi hums and pistons his fingers into Hawks a few times, earning a strangled, choked sound. Maybe he just picks up Hawks’ urgency, matches his energy as he thrusts his hips back to meet it.
Maybe there just isn’t a need for foreplay, in whatever the fuck this thing between them is.
Dabi’s cock is a lot bigger than his fingers are, Hawks remembers how it felt hitting his throat. It’s one million times better hitting his prostate.
“Da—Christ.” Hawks grips the edge of the table, feeling untethered. His dick leaks with precum and his wings bunch up tight.
Dabi squeezes the daylights out of his waist, hands scorching. He fucks into Hawks so hard that the table scrapes along the floor. The sound is ear-splitting, but Hawks’ moaning drowns it out. He can’t get his footing in socks, ends up smushed even more into the wood. His accessories rattle to the floor.
“You’re tight as shit,” Dabi hisses, unrelenting. “When’s the last time somebody pounded you, hero?”
Hawks’ arm finally slips and his cheek slams down. He doesn’t even care anymore. The ache is good, everywhere. His ass, his face, his legs—he wants Dabi to fuck him senseless.
And he can’t remember how it feels to be cold, either.
“I—I don’t know.” Hawks answers honestly. It had been a long while, somebody at a club, months ago? Last year? He’d shed most of his feathers to hide his identity under a hoodie and let a random guy bone him in a bathroom stall. Normally, it’s just him and his right hand.
“Fucking hot.” Dabi appreciates. One hand pulls the small of Hawks’ back, forcing him into an arch, and the other trails dangerously close to the base of his wings, steamrolling him into the table.
Hawks whimpers. He wants to touch himself but he can’t, held down like this.
And that’s thrilling.
Dabi fucks him harder and Hawks feels lotion squish out from the force. Long, angled strokes, all the way out, all the way in. Fast as shit. The noises are vulgar, wet, way more than Hawks was when he walked in tonight.
God, he could come already. If he could just jerk himself off.
But he also never wants this to end. It can sleet, and hail, and storm forever. And Toga can get her stupid USB drives in the morning.
“Haah. Ah, fuck.” Hawks groans at a particularly heavy roll of hips. Dabi pitches deeper, shortens his ministrations, grinds down into the cleft of Hawks’ ass.
“You feel amazing.” Dabi praises. He leans forward, burrows his fist in Hawks’ tiny, fluffy feathers again and makes a goddamn nest there.
“Oooooh!” Hawks cries out. He feels himself clench around Dabi’s cock. His wings flail at the sensation, almost knocking into the man behind him. A huge gust of air hits the wall.
“Nn, and that feels extra amazing.” Dabi does it again, rabbits into him as he winds tighter and tighter. “Yeah, Birdie, fuck.”
Hawks isn’t forming words anymore, just chittering out inhuman sounds and tweets. He can’t even try to be humiliated. Dabi fucks way too good. His chest unravels with the intensity of it. His animal brain begs to be bred like this.
“You close?” Dabi rasps. “‘Cause if not, you’re about to be.”
That’s—Good God. Longing flares through Hawks like a firework. Or maybe that’s the heat from Dabi’s body, he isn’t really sure. But he rubs over his feathers like they’re a goddamn clit and hits him from the back with so much intensity that Hawks’ entire frame tremors. Ripples of pleasure rush through him, erupting from where they connect.
“Ah—ahhhh, fuck!”
Hawks blows his load, painting the floor. He mashes his face into the hardwood and practically sobs. Dabi keeps fucking him, plowing through his orgasm, seeking his own.
Using him.
It’s so sexy, Hawks almost comes twice.
“Shit, yeah, come on my cock, Hawks. God, you’re pretty—you—fuck.” Words spill from Dabi, increasingly frantic. His pace jerks and stutters, but doesn’t cease. His fingers twist into Hawks’ feathers and his palm blazes over Hawks’ hip and then—
“Yeah, Hawks—nghh,” Dabi moans, pumping hot cum into him. Doesn’t quit until he’s totally done, gushing his spend out of Hawks’ ass and onto his skin. He rocks slowly for a long time, riding it out, then finally stops.
Hawks shakes in the aftermath, he’s never been fucked like this. Never been satisfied like this. His wings contract and his back still spasms under Dabi’s ironclad fingers. Everything droops in exhaustion when the other finally lets go.
Dabi pulls out and pinches Hawks’ asscheek again, like he’s admiring his work. He wonders how dark the handprints are.
“Think you might feel that tomorrow, hero.” He remarks, zipping back up.
Hawks has flatlined.
No, not really. He’s just empty-headed and complacent.
He swallows, throat raw from yelling and from his funky bird calls. Switching between the two always feels strange.
He hears Dabi tapping his foot behind him.
“…Are you…okay?” Sounds like it’s foreign, coming from him.
“…Mmhm.” Hawks eventually answers, weakly. He wipes back his sweaty hair from his forehead—hah, he’s not cold at all anymore. Somebody open a fucking window. Speaking of, thick rain still pours down outside.
“…All right, well. Here.”
There’s a metallic clink as a key is lobbed onto the table. Hawks registers it slowly.
“Huh?” He asks, still in a fog, even though it’s lifting.
“To lock up?” Dabi replies with irritation, like Hawks is a child asking why the sky is blue. “Bring that back to the compound next time you’re there.”
Hawks blinks at the golden thing, glinting in the amber light of the single bulb.
“…I thought you said…Toga was busy?”
Dabi chuckles, low and dark, and Hawks turns back to look at him. The douchebag actually grins. Then he skims his fingertips over Hawks’ ass again, flicks one cheek so it bounces. Hawks tenses, frazzled and confused.
“Yeah, well, I lied.”
Hawks goes red all over. Hook, line, and sinker, this motherfucker got him. Again.
“Bye, Hawks. See you next time.”
Hawks watches, mouth agape like a fucking fish, as Dabi walks to the door. He waves his fingers and leaves. The sleet sizzles and evaporates right as it hits him and the door slams shut with a squall of wind.
Hawks thumps his head into the tabletop.
Next time. Yeah. He’s done it now, cinched it with this one. One time is an accident, but twice isn’t always just coincidence.
Dabi just gave him the best lay of his life and they both know, with certainty, there will be a next time.
Notes:
I'm having a blast with this so far!!! Please let me know what you think! Thanks for all the love on chapter 1 :)
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Summary:
If you listen to "Joyride" by Kesha while reading this it really sets the mood LMAOOO
Also if you're curious about the canon timeline, stay curious, I'm not putting much thought into it pffft they're just like hooking up in random blips until actual canon events come into play. You'll see when you get there, don't worry!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The third time is…unexpected.
Very unexpected.
Hawks sips his drink while Rumi spins on the barstool next to him. She keeps pointing out fashion faux pas, slinging drops from her chardonnay. Her rabbit ears flick back and forth when she’s buzzed.
“…and I don’t even know who that guy is.” She gestures to somebody across the room, wearing the ugliest, flashiest tuxedo Hawks has ever seen.
They’re at the annual Pro Heroes Gala, sponsored by “insert whatever company paid the most money this year.” It’s in a giant, elegant ballroom downtown, an all-night charade of speeches, awards, and charity, that curdles down the drain into raunchy indecency right after dinner.
“Lot of new faces here.” Hawks comments, chewing ice. “Interns moving up in the world, I guess.”
Rumi finally stops rotating. She leans her elbows back against the bar to survey with him and her purple dress shimmers in the low light. It’s skin-tight, dips into a low V at her cleavage. If they both weren’t so gay, they’d make an attractive couple, Hawks figures.
(Half the hero community thinks they’re boning anyway. Nope, just besties.)
“Nobody worth my time.” She sighs, knocking back the rest of her drink. “You know what they say, don’t date your coworkers.”
Her red eyes roam the room and she nudges Hawks in the side.
“Mount Lady’s lookin’ fine as hell though, as usual.” She says dreamily. Rumi sets her empty glass on the bartop and gestures to the bartender for another.
Hawks has to agree, he’s realistically probably eighty-twenty with the whole being one hundred percent gay thing. Guess that makes him bi? Whatever.
Mount Lady’s standing at the adjacent wall, chatting with Edgeshot and Fat Gum. Groups of heroes mill around, linger at the bars, dance, talk in small bubbles. A few remain seated and enjoy decadent desserts.
Hawks also requests another rum and Coke, tapping the edge of his glass.
“Alas, I think I’ll be going home alone again this year.” Rumi complains. She dramatically flops onto Hawks’ shoulder.
“Oh, you’re not going home with me?” Hawks teases with a wink. His wing curls behind her like a hug. “Aren’t we, like, secretly married?”
“You wish, Hawksy.” She giggles, poking him hard in the ribs. “Gotta say though, we’d have cute babies. Badass babies. My legs and your wings? Unstoppable. Cheers to our imaginary babies.”
Rumi holds up her fresh, full wine glass and he tinks his new lowball into it.
The music suddenly cranks up louder and the two of them look over to see Present Mic taking the stage. He’s clambering onto it from the front instead of using the stairs on the side. Seems like the wild part of the night is about to be in full swing. The party lights spiral against the walls and ceiling in technicolor. The bass boosts substantially.
“Come sing with me, Shota!” Present Mic booms excitedly, beckoning a finger with enthusiasm.
Eraser deadpans and declines by completely ignoring him, in a discussion with All Might and Endeavor. Midnight hops up there instead, and now anyone outside looking in would compare this to a weird senior prom that includes karaoke.
Rumi turns to Hawks, eyebrows furrowed, expression deadly serious. She clutches his shoulder with freshly-manicured nails. “What are we going to sing for our turn? We have to upstage all these losers.”
Hawks nods, takes a taste of liquid courage. Sure, whatever. It’ll be fun if he’s drunk enough. Gotta keep up the carefree image, right?
“Give me, like, two more drinks and I’m down. You can pick the song.”
“One drink.”
“Fine.” He laughs. “I’ve gotta piss and then we can make our debut, I guess.”
“I’m holding you to that!” She jams a finger at his chest as he gulps the rest of his booze and sets it on the bar.
“No chickening out, chicken boy.”
Hawks slides off his stool and waves a hand at her. “I won’ttttt. I’ll be right back, I just gotta take a leak.”
“Okay. I’ll be preparing on Spotify.” She salutes him and digs her phone out of a tiny clutch purse.
Hawks gives her a thumbs up and makes his way towards the bathrooms, wings pulled in close to avoid hitting anyone. A few other heroes greet him. Endeavor acknowledges him with a stoic grunt and Ragdoll gives Hawks a kiss on the cheek in passing.
The restrooms are upstairs and down a hallway flocked with fake plants and tacky, gold interior design from the nineties. The carpet is literally red velvet. Clearly all the budget had been dumped into renovating the main dining area. Hawks can hear women shrieking with laughter in the space next door when he ducks into the men’s room.
It’s nice but dated, with abstract floors and chrome sinks. Hawks does his business, washes his hands, and checks his appearance in the tiny, old mirror. A little basket of breath mints is set out by the soap dispenser, so he pops one in his mouth while he fixes his hair.
He adjusts his shirt collar, loosens his scarlet tie significantly. The Commission had picked out the ensemble, and he doesn’t hate it, but fuck wearing a tie. The formal part of the night, the showboating, it’s over. He can relax a little.
Hawks is fixing the back of his earring when someone exits one of the stalls. He hears it, obviously, but his feathers vibrate too, letting him know. Their shoes are heavy on the tile—
And their hand is heavy on his wing.
Hawks squawks and whirls around, yanking his appendage back from the other man’s grasp. What drunk fucking asshole—
“Dabi?!” He whisper-shouts, eyes widening to saucers. The villain stands there, smirking, with one hand in his pocket and the other still outstretched. Like it’s casual.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Hawks’ tone goes higher. Dabi is the last person he expected to see here!
His mind whirls into overdrive; is there an attack planned tonight? Is this something Hawks totally spaced out on and missed? Is he going to have to—which side is he going to fight for? He isn’t prepared to throw away all the work he’s done with the League, but if his friends, if the other heroes end up in danger so publicly…shit. Fuck.
Shit fuck.
“Hi, Birdie.” Dabi greets quietly, tilting his head. He isn’t fazed by Hawks’ freak out.
Hawks blinks, dumbfounded. He folds his wings close to his back, feeling protective of them, feeling wary about this situation that’s clobbered him over the head.
“Am I missing something?!” He exclaims, voice low. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here? Is there an attack—tonight?”
Dabi pockets his other hand. He raises an eyebrow and drags his gaze over Hawks’ body, head to toes, then, at a snail’s pace, back up. It burns, like coals under a fire.
Oh.
—No.
Get it together, Hawks.
“No, no, relax. Nothing like that. Twice told me you heroes were having a special little event tonight, so I decided to crash it.”
Hawks pinches the bridge of his nose. Okay, crisis averted, but. He hurries over to the main door of the bathroom and flips the lock closed. That should buy some time, if anyone else tries to come in. There are hundreds of people here and the drinks are flowing, someone’s bound to show up in a few minutes. And Hawks is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He can’t let any heroes see him with Dabi, and he can’t have Dabi find out he’s a double agent.
“Are you psychotic?” Hawks grumbles, turning to face him. He leans against the door, feeling better with something at his back. He’s boxed in here.
“Literally or hypothetically?”
Hawks rubs a hand over his face. “Almost every pro hero in the region is here and you decided to just waltz in? Without even letting me know you were going to?”
Dabi’s eyes twinkle deviously. “This is me letting you know. You think I don’t know that? I don’t give a shit about them, I could burn this place to the ground. I’m not afraid. Could be fun, actually. Should I?”
His skin bleeds a soft shade of sapphire, like he wants to play.
Hawks takes a deep breath, blows it out in a frustrated puff of air. He checks his chunky watch; he’s been gone for a few minutes already. Any longer and it’ll be weird and Rumi will be looking for him, accusing him of “chickening out.”
“You need to go.” Hawks says, leveling Dabi with a glare. “—How did you even get in here undetected? Security’s insane.”
Dabi takes a few steps forward, visibly cooling off. He loses the blue tinge. There’s still plenty of distance between them but it makes Hawks’ feathers stand on end. This is a weird fucking mix of anxiety, panic, adrenaline, and horny curiosity.
Next time still bounces around in his brain, every single day.
Now is not the time for that, but. Doesn’t stop him from thinking about it.
“Kurogiri’s very helpful for things like this.” Dabi explains. He inches even closer until he stands a foot away from Hawks. Doesn’t say anything else.
Hawks swallows. He feels foolish now, for putting his back to the door. He’s cornered.
(He likes it.)
“But you really want me to go, so soon?” Dabi pulls a hand from his pocket and runs his finger down Hawks’ silky lapel. A light touch, but it still exudes warmth. “I came all this way to see you in your dressy outfit. Is this suit designer?”
Dabi traces over to his tie, pulls down on it like lightly Hawks is a dog on a leash. He can’t quite hide the quiet sound in his throat. Scrambles to maintain composure.
Shit.
No, no fucking way, not here. Maybe Hawks is okay with “next time,” he’s resigned himself to that, but not in the bathroom at the Pro Hero’s Gala. Not when the mission he’s been clawing away at for months could be compromised in a heartbeat.
“I…” How does Dabi always make him forget how to speak?
Hawks pulls himself up by his stupid metaphorical bootstraps, clears his throat, and juts his chin up decisively. He stands taller and bats Dabi’s hands off with determination.
“Yeah, it’s designer. So get your paws off it.” He gripes.
Dabi relents with a hum of surprise. And why does he almost look impressed? Like he’s proud of Hawks for not immediately crumbling like the little bitch in heat he is (and has been for the last two encounters).
“All right.” Dabi shrugs, falling back a few steps. “If you’re so sure, I’ll get out of your feathers.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoots a text to someone, presumably Kurogiri, to open a portal for him.
“Good.” Hawks nods. He crosses his arms over his chest, closes himself off. “Risky as hell for you to show up like this, man. What would you have done if I wasn’t the one who came in here?”
Dabi rolls his eyes and paces slowly across the floor. The soles of his black shoes clomp with purpose and weight. His eyes cut to Hawks with a glint.
“Worried about me? I can handle myself fine, you know.”
The back of Hawks’ neck heats. “What? No. That’s not—”
A thud hits the closed door as someone tries to push it open. Hawks jumps in surprise. After another attempt, the visitor makes a disgruntled sound and starts knocking.
“Hey, c’mon!” The man says loudly. “I gotta piss!”
Hawks doesn’t know who it is, but it still isn’t good.
Dabi pauses and raises both eyebrows.
“Uh oh, you’re caught red-handed, huh, hero? Fraternizing with me?” He places a hand to his scarred chest dramatically, scandalized. “What will they say?”
Goddamn, he’s annoying.
“Where’s Kurogiri?” Hawks hisses when the knocking persists. In a building full of heroes, it won’t be long before people freak out and suspect something nefarious. “Tell him to hurry up.—Just a second, I’m—puking!”
Dabi actually laughs at him, bastard.
“Not suspicious-sounding at all.” At least he has the decency to whisper.
The knocking is almost at door-barreling urgency when a purple rip in space tears through the room. Swirly and unnatural, it makes Hawks dizzy just to look at it. He’s seen them plenty of times, but has yet to teleport through one himself.
“Anyway,” Dabi turns to face it. He looks over his shoulder and eyeballs Hawks again, heavy and slow with implication. The heat at his neck blooms through to his cheeks, and Hawks wonders if Dabi is the one doing that, somehow.
Or if he’s just a needy whore.
Damn it.
“Open up or I’m kicking this shit down!” Yaps from the other side of the door. Hawks hears another voice in the peripheral, someone curious about the clamor. The vibrations from the guy’s fists hitting the hardwood buzz into his back. It tingles like fear.
Or arousal?
“Staying here then, Hawks?” Dabi cocks his head. So subtly, he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Or do you wanna blow this joint?”
Blow.
Yeah.
Fucking God, Hawks wants to blow. Be blown.
Next time.
This time?
The ball’s completely in Hawks’ court. Instead of being tricked into Dabi’s lap (not that Hawks is complaining about the previous sessions), he’s being invited, now? Asked. Up front.
Does he want to leave the Pro Hero Gala to go get his guts rearranged?
Hawks should be stronger than this, right? He’s been trained all his life, impeccable willpower has been literally whipped into him. Like, with whips. Focus on the task at hand, focus on being the best, focus on doing what the Commission wants, focus on smiling, and giving speeches, and accepting awards, and presenting checks, and signing autographs, and showing face, and—
Focus on the way Dabi licks his lips again. Like before.
Like he wants to eat him.
That determination from a few minutes ago? Suddenly gone. Hawks is nothing but an animal, at the end of the day.
He sighs sharply through his nose and pushes off from the door. It’s about to splinter he thinks, but he can’t unlock it, not without the perpetrator walking right in on them.
“Go!” Hawks rushes him, swatting forward with his hands. He urges Dabi to walk through the fissure. “Go, go, I’m coming!”
And it’s stupid, stupid, stupid.
Hawks watches Dabi get absorbed into the gash. The way he disappears is unsettling, but Hawks flits forward, following him into the dark. He doesn’t look back to see if the guy busts the door down.
He feels the portal whoosh him through a wind tunnel, like he’s flying, but the weather’s out of control. It zooms into his wings, pummels him forward until he’s stepping on Dabi’s heels. The crack shrinks against Hawks’ back, closes behind him with a strange echo. He’s frantic in the vacuum, about to panic, when they’re out the other side and back on solid ground. His oxfords hit concrete.
It’s over as quickly as it began. Hawks bends over immediately and fights the urge to vomit. He white-knuckles his knees.
“Holy shit.” He complains, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping the turmoil dies down. The fancy dinner and two rum and Cokes in his stomach churn unpleasantly.
“You get used to it.” Dabi says like it’s nothing.
When Hawks finally lifts his head after a few minutes, he realizes the surroundings are unfamiliar. They’re in a scummy part of town, miles and miles away from where they just were. Dilapidated buildings tower over them, full of shattered windows and painted with vulgar graffiti. The night is cool and dewy, like it just finished raining. Puddles fill potholes and water runs along the cracked sidewalk into a noisy storm drain.
Hawks stands upright and peers around. Loud music wafts from an abandoned high rise down the block. The pungent scent of pot hangs around them like a noxious cloud. Street lights dot the area but are mostly out. One lone one flickers a hundred yards away.
This is no man’s land.
“Where are we?” Hawks asks Dabi, mildly suspicious. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. He thought it would be the compound? Or that cabin, again?
The other man’s already inhaling a cigarette, must’ve lit it when Hawks was dying of nausea. Silvery wisps ribbon into the air.
“You heroes have your elegant, expensive parties,” Dabi sucks in a deep breath, puffs it out through his nose. Smoke sculpts across his cheekbone and he grins. His staples catch the moonlight. “We villains have our seedy underbelly.”
He gestures to the building they’re directly next to. Plywood barricades the windows. A nondescript door sits in the center, with nothing but a gold number four nailed above the threshold. There isn’t a handle, Hawks notes. It can only be opened from the inside.
“Buy me a drink, Birdie.”
It’s not a question, it’s a command. And it’s leaden with an unspoken promise.
Buy me a drink and you’ll get something in return.
Hawks fights a shiver, tells himself it’s the cold.
“I…Is this a bar?” Hawks tries to get a feel for the area, wants to send his feathers flying to investigate but wants them close, too. “I can’t go into a bar with you, Dabi. C’mon. I can’t be seen with you, in public.”
He smirks and presents Hawks the cigarette, like it’s a peace offering. The end of it smolders, hot and orange. An ember shakes off the end, fizzles in the leftover rainwater under their feet.
“Does this look very ‘public’ to you? It’s a bar, yeah, but it’s a villains’ bar. Nobody’s going to bat an eye at you. You run with us now, don’t you?”
Doesn’t he?
Hawks maintains his composure, remembers what he’s really here for. Yeah, he does.
Not only is he gonna get fucked within an inch of his life again, he’s gonna get another piece onto the game board.
He takes the cigarette, drags on it a few times before passing it back. For now, he ignores the way Dabi zeroes in on his lips.
“Fine.”
“If you’re so nervous, can’t you taper down your wings, or whatever? Hide them?” Dabi peers at them, follows the shape when they flap in response, like they’re aware they’re being talked about. Things have a mind of their own sometimes. “That would be a shame, though.”
Hawks could do that, yeah, but he doesn’t want to go into this place unarmed, so to speak.
“It’s all right.” Hawks declines. Then suddenly sucks in a breath when Dabi slides a finger over one of the long feathers trailing near the end. He hadn’t realized they were standing so close. He freezes up, slaps himself out of it, and squeezes them right snuggly to his shoulder blades. Hawks takes a pointed step away.
“Don’t do that.” Hawks objects. “Not here.”
“Aw. Sorry. Later?” Dabi teases, looking smug. He takes one more puff from the cigarette and tosses it to the damp ground, stomps it out with his boot.
Hawks is surprised he even bothers to put it out. Doesn’t Dabi want to see the world burn?
Anyway, he decides not to answer that question of “later.”
Dabi knocks some intricate code onto the door and a tiny latch clunks open, like from a movie. Dark eyes from the other side scrutinize him and then the latch shuts again. Locks audibly come undone and then entire door swings wide to let them in.
The vices from inside hit Hawks like a freight train. Tobacco, weed, the dirty reek of liquor, mixed with something sweet (incense?), mingling weirdly with fried food. Music rages, grating and stereotypically heavy metal. The bar is shadowy and humid, full of leather booths, rickety stools and uneven high tops, dart boards, and pool tables. Multicolored light bulbs hang bare from the ceiling. Old, shitty televisions line the walls, playing sports, the news, genuine porn.
Dabi struts inside like he’s been here a million times and Hawks follows, keeping his chin up. He has to bunch his wings even tighter to get through the doorway. His appearance earns a few surprised noises from the rest of the patrons, but Hawks tries his best to ignore them. The bouncer knocks a shoulder into him in passing, as if to say, “Don’t fuck around with us here.”
Message received.
Hawks would be easily outnumbered here, the place is packed. Not that that’s unfamiliar, with how cozy he and the League are, but the burly, bristly crowd of villains is a little intimidating when he’s very obviously stepping into their territory.
“Ah, Dabi brings a friend.” The man behind the bar smiles, all saccharine. His skin is red like roses and he flicks a forked tail. He shakes some kind of mixed drink and it makes his shoulders flex. Dabi stalks across the squeaky floor to him, and Hawks follows, knowing he looks like a lost dog.
All eyes are on them. His feathers buzz uncomfortably.
Dabi hops onto a free barstool, pats the one next to him for Hawks. And Hawks obeys, because he’s apparently turned into a pussy. He sidles in, leans his elbows onto the sticky bar top.
Dabi chit chats with the bartender, like they’re obviously familiar. Hawks assumes they’ve fucked, because the guy’s touch lingers on Dabi’s forearm multiple times and his eyes get all big and doe-like. Hawks pretends to watch soccer on the TV above his head.
Hawks wonders if people know they’ve fucked? Does Dabi bring hookups here all the time? Is Hawks his plain-to-see, latest arm candy? Is this bar where he parades his revolving door of flings? Or is this a one-time thing?
Who cares, anyway?
Eventually, the conversation turns to him. Or rather, Dabi does.
“…and Hawks here offered to buy me a drink, didn’t you?” His hand clasps onto Hawks’ shoulder. Hawks lets it rest there, doesn’t shrug him off. He’ll play nice here.
“Yeah.” He says eventually, taking out his wallet. Not like Dabi has any fucking money. Hawks fishes out a handful of bills, the only cash he has, and lays them on the counter. “Whatever that buys.”
Dabi makes an appreciative noise, glides his hand up to cup behind Hawks’ neck. It’s hot, way warmer than the atmosphere here. Hawks’ own temperature spikes.
“Isn’t he sweet?” Dabi purrs, jostling him around a little. He feels like a prize poodle at a dog show.
“Look at Dabi, he’s taunting around a hero,” he imagines the others snickering.
(Hawk is lying through his fucking teeth if it doesn’t do something for him, a little, tiny bit.)
Dabi orders a dirty martini (ew). Hawks sticks to rum and Coke, because it’s easy.
“And two shots of vodka, for starters.” Dabi taps the scuffed bar in front of him and Hawks.
“Gross,” Hawks pulls a face. “Not even flavored? Straight up?”
“Don’t be a wuss.”
“You just trying to get me drunk?”
The fingers at the nape of his neck press down, to the top knob of Hawks’ spine. Oh.
“You want me to?”
Hawks almost replies that that won’t be necessary, because he was stone-cold sober the first two times they hooked up. But he doesn’t. He just knocks back the shooter the second it’s placed in front of him.
Dabi smirks and follows suit, finally removing his blazing hand.
The bartender makes them their drinks and then attends to other customers. Hawks stirs the ice cubes with a swish of his wrist.
“…So.” He says eventually. He looks over to Dabi, who’s—quite frankly, checking him out. He holds onto a toothpick and chews the green olives from his martini, eyes roving over Hawks.
“'So,' what?” Dabi prompts. He flicks the toothpick behind the bar and takes a long sip from his glass.
What a night. Jesus Christ.
Hawks tries not to tent his pants from the fucking attention and glances to the television. Soccer’s still on.
“The Sidewinders are kinda good this year, huh?” Hawks quips, because what the shit else is he supposed to say? He tilts his glass to the screen.
Dabi pauses. He looks to the TV and back to Hawks.
“Wouldn’t have taken you for a fan.”
“No?”
“Aren’t you a little busy for sports?”
“I mean, I enjoy them casually.” Hawks explains.
“Hm.” Dabi nods. He takes another swig and Hawks tries not to watch his Adam’s apple when he swallows.
Dabi continues, “They’re all right. Did better last season.”
Hawks finds himself smirking. Who’d have guessed Dabi enjoys a little soccer?
“Aren’t you a little busy for sports? Taking over the world and all?”
“We all have our hobbies, Hawks.”
Dabi’s—wow, fucking done with his drink already. He sets the glass down and runs a finger over the wet edge. Hawks decides screw it, he’ll catch up. He drains the rest of his and tries not to wince at the carbonation. Almost worse than the vodka.
And then his phone vibrates, the hero one.
Hawks digs his cell out of his pocket while Dabi orders another round, sans shots this time. Of course it’s Rumi, she’s probably pissed at him for ditching. The messages are all several minutes apart.
where tf are you bitch??? Mt lady got on stage to sing karaoke w kamui woods n you didnt even SEE
Hawks wtf
u pissing ur brains out??
heellooooo
ok now im mad who am i supposed to sing w, OKRA?
okra
Okra
Orca. Jesus
Hawks can’t help it, he chuckles. She’s clearly continued to drink in his absence.
“So, who’s Rumi?”
Hawks twitches and half-hides his phone, tilting it away from Dabi. She’s his person, he has to keep her safe from this. He doesn’t want her tangled in the whole League mess. Obviously, she’s capable, and strong, and badass, but she’s the best friend he has and protecting her is a huge priority. Dabi probably knows her better as Mirko, so he’ll keep it that way.
“Nobody.” Hawks replies. He shoots her a quick message, making up a lie about throwing up and going home.
The reply is immediate: ur dead to me bye
Hawks pockets his phone again and accepts the next drink. He vaguely realizes this place could easily be drugging him and he’s just, like, going with it? Consuming what he hopes is Bacardi and Coke?
Oh well, his common sense left hours ago. (Weeks ago, in the woods of the compound.)
“You know, I don’t give a shit if you have a girlfriend.” Dabi taps his new toothpick, including olives, on the rim of Hawks’ glass. Hawks swats it away like a fly.
“Guy like you? Probably been straight-masking your whole life. Every civilian woman in the country wants to marry you. Settle down in a house with a white picket fence and a golden retriever. You’ll have her popping out a baby a year, won’t you?” Dabi sounds cynical, says the words with a sneer. Like he loathes the very idea.
To be honest, Hawks does, too.
He scoffs. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s looking for her own girlfriend, if you have to know. She’s gay.”
Dabi doesn’t respond. He sends the second toothpick soaring behind the bar. Being an asshole just because. He twists in his seat so he faces Hawks straight-on, one knee against his own and the other pressing into the small of his back. Hawks tenses.
“Huh. Well.” Dabi lowers his voice and his mouth to breathe right beside Hawks’ jaw. With one hand he reaches out, pushes Hawks’ tie out of the way. His fingers slip into the fabric of his half-open button-up shirt and tug it to the side even further. Dabi very obviously takes a peek, allows himself a full view of Hawks’ chest.
“Good thing she’s not your girlfriend, then. You’d crush her.” Dabi teases his fingertips onto Hawks’ pecs, right here in the crowded bar, and he can’t even move. He doesn’t want to move.
It’s loud, and smoky, and lively, no one’s paying attention to them, now that the novelty’s worn off. But they’re still in a room full of people and he’s very steadily getting a boner, he can feel it.
What the hell does this guy do to him? It’s crazy. Holy fuck, it’s crazy.
“Imagine her finding out you let me fuck you. She’d be devastated. Another man, and a villain, no less?”
Dabi brushes over his nipple and Hawks curses that he didn’t wear an undershirt. He notices out of the corner of his eye that the bartender is checking out the show now. Trying to be casual, but enjoying the spectacle.
And the explicit porn on TV is blaring.
“You wouldn’t even care, would you?” Dabi sidles back, removes his hand from Hawks’ shirt but thumbs his jaw with more force than necessary. Hawks is simultaneously hyperaware of every other person in the room and also ready to pretend they don’t exist in favor of bending himself over the bartop, ass in the air.
Feels like those drinks are starting to hit quick, huh?
(Or is it his absolute woeful desperation to keep getting laid?)
“You’d want me anyway, treating you the way you like.” Dabi whispers. His fingers ooze with heat.
Fuck.
Hawks exhales acutely and pulls back. He clinches his glass so hard that it threatens to break. Hawks chugs the entirety and sets down the empty vessel too loudly.
He glares at the bar, the nicks in the lacquer, the flecks of moisture and condensation rings. Beside them, two other people are laughing. Pool balls clack together and a new song screams through overhead speakers. Hawks tries to come back down to Earth.
“What am I doing here, Dabi?” He finally asks, setting his jaw. “Why did you come to the Gala tonight?”
(Stupid question.)
The villain runs his hand over Hawks’ bicep, the crook of his elbow. Grips him, probably feels his rabbiting pulse.
“Isn’t it obvious? Do I need to spell it out for you, Hawks? I thought we got past this part last time. You act all standoffish, but I know what you want, and you know what I want.”
Hawks tries not to preen at the words, and the sensation. God, Dabi’s hands are always so warm. Obviously from his Quirk, but, it’s addicting.
“So this is a booty call?” Hawks asks with a snort, leveling Dabi with a stare. The other’s blue eyes are luminous in the kaleidoscope of lights from overhead.
“Oh, Birdie. Don’t sound like that. So judgy.” Dabi leans in, makes his feathers stand on end. He plants a chaste kiss on him right there. His next words are spoken onto Hawks’ lips.
“You answered it, didn’t you?”
Low in his throat, out of his control, Hawks chirps.
That bartender douchebag can keep the fucking change, because they dip out of their too fast to get any. Dabi practically bowls over the bouncer as he drags Hawks outside by the wrist.
It’s misting again when they get outside. Dabi manhandles Hawks down a few blocks and around the corner. It’s quieter here, the music from the rest of the neighborhood far away and muffled. There’s a dumpster two feet away but Hawks couldn’t care less.
Dabi shoves him into the bricks, throwing all his body weight onto Hawks. He glues their lips together and tears open his shirt. Hawks hears two buttons pop and scatter onto the concrete.
His wings beat uselessly into the wall as Dabi infiltrates his mouth with a hot tongue. Hawks remembers his own hands, tugs Dabi impossibly closer by the jacket. It earns him a fierce bite to the lower lip, a wet suckle to follow.
“Mmm!” Hawks’ head reels. Alcohol and lust surge through him. Dabi palms him roughly through his dress pants and Hawks’ head bangs into the wall. Yeah, fuck his metaphorical fake wife, he wants shit like this.
“Blow me?” He asks—no, begs, his voice is all grovel-y because he’s a pathetic skank.
“Ah, yeah? That what you want?” Dabi’s already undoing his belt, the button of his pants. Hawks watches his own abs heave with unsteady panting. He watches burning hands pull down his zipper, slide down his clothes until he’s bare in this shady alleyway. He watches Dabi take him, palming over the head of his cock without hesitation. He watches fiery fingers wrap him into a tight hold. He watches himself quickly fall apart, it’s out-of-body.
Hawks shivers hard. Yeah, yeah, like Dabi said, past this part. Fuck the song and dance, he’s pitiful, he knows, they both know.
“Yeah.” Hawks gasps. He unlocks his fingers from the vice grip on Dabi’s shirt and uses them instead to balance against the wall while Dabi drops to his knees.
“Ahh, God.” Hawks groans into the air. His breath forms a steamy cloud. Dabi’s mouth is so warm. Molten and sultry, he deep throats Hawks in one go.
Dabi hums back at him, mouth full.
Hawks squirms and ruts into it. Maybe he should go easier, but he can’t help it. He peels his hands up to nest them in Dabi’s hair. The minute they brush him though, the villain pulls off with a wet slurp. Hawks cheeps weakly.
“Not so fast, hero. You think you have any semblance of control?” Dabi looks up at him, chin glistening from saliva and the moisture in the air. He really is handsome, in such a peculiar way. The way a leopard is beautiful, powerful, lithe, before it slaughters a gazelle.
Dabi snatches Hawks’ wrists and pins them to the wall, securing them at his sides. The grip scorches in warning, almost turns his watch into an orange branding tool.
“I’ll do the touching here.”
Hawks almost shouts when Dabi’s on him again. He works over Hawks’ dick until it’s sopping wet and twitching. He can read him like a book, very quickly learns his weak spots, repeats the same movements when they make Hawks trill.
“God—dammit, you always—” Hawks can’t finish the sentence. It cuts off with an avian whistle, as embarrassing as it is natural. His wings prickle at the base, untouched, but begging to be. Hawks leans back hard into the wall and curves his spine. Close enough.
“Nnnghh,” He grunts. Dabi tightens his hold in response, thumbs pressing crescent marks into his skin, into his veins.
“You make me sound so—fuck—so—”
Wild? Animalistic? Subhuman?
Dabi sucks hard then backs off, sticking his tongue out so he can appreciate Hawks ineffectually jerking towards it. He licks the head, grazes his teeth over it, then peers up at Hawks from his eyelashes.
“Good. Slutty.” Dabi decides aloud with a smirk.
—And then he’s standing up? Why’s he fucking standing?
He lets go of Hawks’ wrists and pulls his pants back up. Hawks stares in confusion, still floating on cloud nine. He blinks when Dabi pulls up his zipper but forgoes anything else. His belt hangs open, button popped free.
“I’m not done with you, don’t worry, pretty bird.”
Pretty bird. That one, fuck, that one.
Dabi kisses him again, crowds him to the wall, and roots into his hair, and shoves his own hard-on into Hawks’ thigh. And then he leans back and…makes a phone call?
Hawks is confused as hell. He tries to button his shirt back up, but his hands are shaking too much, and his brain is in his dick, and it’s raining a little harder now, and—
“Uh huh, right now.” Dabi says into his cell. “Hah. I don’t give a fuck. Bye.”
In seconds, a new portal opens. It lacerates the rain, watering splitting around it like the parting of the Red Sea.
Dabi snatches Hawks by the wing. Which would normally be so not cool, but.
“Oh, fuck!” Hawks gasps, wrenching his eyes shut. He keeps them closed as he’s dragged through the gateway, hoping it helps prevent dizziness. He’s teetering enough as it is.
He stumbles much more than the first time, off-balance from Dabi’s grasp. Dabi slings him sideways—into a mattress. Hawks lands on his back and the cushion bounces under his weight. Kurogiri’s Quirk vanishes.
The room is small and dim, with nothing but a bed, a dresser, and a bedside drawer. An old lamp with a tilted shade provides little light. Hawks tries to look around more, but Dabi’s on top of him in an instant. He yanks off Hawks’ shoes, then pants and underwear. Everything is tossed to the floor. This time when Dabi blows him, he tangles his fingers in the long, smooth feathers at the ends of his wings, and it melts Hawks into a puddle.
“Fuuuuck.” He whines. It’s not really an erogenous zone there, but, the heat from his mouth, the heat from his hands, this guy’s a walking radiator and it’s so good. Hawks almost rips open a pillow when his fingernails sharpen to talons.
Dabi takes him deep, gives him head until Hawks is cross eyed. When he’s within an inch of coming again, Dabi stops.
The sound of protest Hawks makes is downright humiliating.
“Oh, shut up.” Dabi slaps him on the stomach and it stings. “Do you want more of that, or do you wanna get fucked? Personally I’d rather you come on my cock than down my throat.”
Hawks squeaks. Is it literally pitiful if he opens his legs wider, just a little?
He has to clear his throat to get any words out. Damn fucking bird vocalizations.
“Fuck me.” He says, breathless, because he knows Dabi’s rules. They’re ingrained in him, already. Too memorable. He’s gotta ask.
“Good job, Birdie.” Dabi praises, skimming along his torso.
He unbuttons his own pants and gets what he considers naked enough to rail Hawks’ ass. He rattles in the drawer until he finds a bottle of lube and squirts a liberal amount on his cock. Then he grips underneath Hawks’ knees, hoists his legs up impossibly higher, and drills right into him.
“Ah, ah, shit—!” Hawks yelps. He clenches around the feeling and it only seems to set Dabi alight. He gets right to nailing him, hammering Hawks’ prostate like it’s his job.
“Dabi!” Hawks says it like a swear, arching his back. His wings skitter into the sheets.
Dabi pulls Hawks’ legs onto his shoulders and spreads his shirt and suit jacket open. His fingers find home on Hawks’ bare ribcage and swelter there. Hawks feels himself sweating, wet and sticky. His hair quickly matts to his forehead, his temples. The body heat is so sexy. Dabi doesn’t seem to sweat, but Hawks wishes he did. He wants to lick it off his salty skin. He wants them to mix and glide.
“That’s right.” Dabi slithers his hands up, plays with Hawks’ nipples while he fucks him silly. He pinches one, must make it red. He licks a stripe up Hawks’ neck, bruises a deep, mottled hickey on his collarbone.
“Yell my name, Hawks. Let the whole League know whose bitch you are.”
“Oh, God. Oh, God.” It sends flames down Hawks’ back, roars through the base of his wings, jets into his dick.
Hawks loves that, why does he love that?
Really learning a lot about himself here, huh?
“Dabi, shit, Dabi!” He babbles. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes and he wonders how ridiculous he looks, but he’s too far gone to care now. Hawks repeats Dabi’s name like a prayer and gets fucked into next century. All those tiny noises sputter from inside his chest and he knows he’s about to snap. The blowjob wound him up too much.
He grunts and spits into his palm, starts jerking himself off. It’s electrifying, somehow too much and not enough.
“Nn, more, more, more—Fuck!”
“Yeah?” Dabi hisses. His hands rove up to bracket the sides of Hawks’ neck. He squeezes, white-hot, and pounds him into oblivion. Hawks’ vision goes hazy at the asphyxiation. He wants to cough and to come but he can only manage one, so he finishes, hard, between their bodies.
Halfway into his orgasm, when he’s seeing stars anyway, the pressure lets up. Hawks chokes on air as Dabi releases his throat. The villain instead clutches his jaw, shoves a thumb messily into Hawks’ mouth. He heaves, catches his breath around it, garbles nonsense.
Dabi gets his rocks off pretty quickly after that. He ends up hiking Hawks’ legs into the air again, leaning all his weight onto him. His wings get mashed to the bed and he takes Dabi’s load with a strangled cry. Dabi, he’s learning, keeps on fucking as long as he can, until Hawks thrashes with overstimulation. His accelerated heart ricochets in his chest cavity even after Dabi pulls out.
Hawks closes his eyes, fights with his lungs to take big, meaningful breaths. He’s still shuddering. Goddamn.
Dabi climbs off the bed without fanfare and disappears to an adjoining door, presumably a bathroom. He tosses a wadded-up black towel at Hawks.
“Don’t get fucking cum on my sheets.” He snaps, then shuts the door.
His sheets? Makes sense. Hawks hears the sink run, the toilet flush, the spray of the shower turn on.
He rubs his hands over his face, settling and soothing himself in the aftershocks.
Hawks looks around the room while he calms down. He realizes now that they’re at the compound; this room is a bigger version of his own. In addition to the furniture, there’s a cracked, full-length mirror, a half-empty fifth of vodka, a stack of books, and a phone charger. A few articles of clothing litter the floor, some wadded-up pieces of paper.
There are a lot of charred burn marks.
Hawks does his best with the towel and then tosses it into a fairly empty hamper. There’s a carton of cigarettes on the bedside table, too, and Hawks snags one for later as he gets dressed. His shirt’s pretty fucked, but he manages to button his jacket closed and look half-decent enough to walk downstairs to his own little quarters.
Some actually insane part of him considers saying “bye” to Dabi? But that would involve knocking on his bathroom door or opening it, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to do either. So he toes into his shoes and sneaks into the hallway, praying nobody is up at this hour to see him.
The Gods must be on his side, because nobody does. Hawks unlocks his shoebox bedroom and cleans himself up in the even smaller bathroom, smokes the cigarette. He strips off his clothes and flops onto the bed, totally spent.
When he sluggishly checks his phone, there are two new messages from Rumi.
So orca’s actually not bad at karaoke bc echolocation
If u weren’t totally lying earlier about the barf I hope ur feeling better now
There’s unfortunately not an attached video. What a bummer.
Hawks rolls over and closes his eyes, laden with exhaustion. He doesn’t even have a pillow here, how stupid. His phone pings again.
It’s not Rumi this time. The number is unknown, but there is an attachment. The photo is a close-up of his glittering ruby earring, balanced in someone’s palm. Hawks’ hand flies up to his earlobe. He curses when he feels that it is, in fact, missing.
might keep this
rich boy like you’s probably got tons of em right?
He grumbles and shoots back a reply.
no, i want that back
He watches the bubble populate as Dabi types.
boo, fine. ill give it to you tomorrow if youre here
Then:
or next time
Hawks is making a habit of this, isn’t he?
He is so royally fucked.
Notes:
Hawks is such a simp bahahaha
Present Mic really likes karaoke okay??? That's why he starts it in two of my fics /trust. Also P.S. I totally just made up a soccer team name, it's not a real team lol.
I'd love to hear your comments :) <3
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Summary:
TW for some descriptions of a panic attack, but not tooooo in depth.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hawks can quit anytime he wants.
Which is what drug addicts say. Which should ring alarm bells in his head. Three hookups with Dabi and that’s—that’s enough. He got his fill (literally) and it will stave him for a long while. He’s used to the boring solitude of jerking off, he doesn’t need to keep this whole charade going. He can go back to that and be perfectly satisfied with porn at his fingertips and his own wild imagination.
…Except, he doesn’t do that.
Because he can quit anytime he wants, obviously.
The fourth time happens in a broom closet at the compound. Right after a meeting; they can still hear others talking on the opposite side of the paper-thin wall. Dabi claps a hand over Hawks’ mouth to keep him quiet and rails him into shelves of cleaning supplies. His wings knock shit down and they make a mess in more ways than one, but it’s easy to wipe up, at least.
The fifth time is in a vacant, run-down warehouse, where they meet up to exchange information “too delicate” to be sent over text or via phone call. Then Dabi quips something along the lines of, “But you’re not delicate, are you, Hawks?” And then he fucks him into actual oblivion, facing the rusted metal wall. They’re alone, the place is empty, and Hawks wails. Dabi’s enthusiasm is tangible, more than it’s ever been.
The sixth time is in an abandoned office building. They get really creative with the rolling chairs. It’s actually kind of hilarious, it’s fun, and it’s the very first time Hawks laughs during sex. Dabi even laughs with him, surprisingly. Their laughter, though, very quickly morphs into breathless, primitive moaning. At the end of that night, Hawks leaves feeling extra warm and bubbly.
The seventh time is over the windowsill of Dabi’s room. Hawks pants and whimpers into the night air. It’s a new moon, pitch black, but Hawks can still see with razor sharp eyes. He tells himself to keep watch, look out for voyeurs, but he ends up squeezing them closed the whole time, so it’s moot point. Oh, well.
And after that is kind of when Hawks stops keeping track of the instances. Too many to count, too close together in time frames. Every few days they fool around in some capacity. Dabi knows every single button to push to get him to cave.
(Not that Hawks is really trying to fight it anymore, he’s never been this sexually satiated and it kicks ass?)
He knows the whole fuckbuddy thing is a sinking ship. But, who cares, right?
That’s all it is, blowing off steam. They’re having a good time and it doesn’t matter.
And he can quit anytime he wants.
——
“Hawks, look out!”
Hawks’ breath catches and he bats his wings hard, diverting upwards at the last second to avoid crashing into the high-rise window. Would’ve been pretty eventful for the business meeting in that conference room, though. He flaps harder and lands gracefully on the roof of the building, still clutching his phone in hand.
“Thanks, kid.” Hawks laughs and scratches the back of his head as Tokoyami comes to land beside him, face twisted in concern. Dark Shadow wisps around too, feeling brave enough to come out as the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. Wind whips against them, sharp and fast this evening. The clouds stretch, long and skinny. It’s been a tiring day.
“I was distracted. Shouldn’t text and fly, y’know?” Hawks shakes his hand with a chuckle to indicate the phone.
Dabi had texted him a few minutes ago, several times in a row.
hey birdie (baby chick emoji) shigaraki needs you
asap
its fucking important so step on it
bring food and beer hes hungry and so am i
Hawks had been in the middle of sending a reply back before he almost smacked into the glass. He quickly taps it out now that there’s no risk of an accident.
all right I need a bit, im wrapping up a shift. With one of my interns rn. Also pls stop texting me here youre supposed to txt the OTHER phone. Still dont even know how you got this number
Dabi’s reply comes right away, like he’s impatiently waiting. Sounds like him.
Dont worry your pretty little head about it. Lmk when youre done and hurry tf up
Hawks rumbles in his throat, frustrated, and wipes his face with a gloved hand. How embarrassing that Tokoyami had seen him being such a space cadet.
“Are you all right, Hawks?” His student asks, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts down, like he feels uncomfortable asking. “You seem…distracted, as of late.”
Hawks pockets the phone and forces a bright smile. He lifts his wings to posture, appearing proud and unfazed. They flare in the deep colors of the sunset. He pats the feathers on the top of Tokoyami’s head and Dark Shadow makes a pleased buzzing noise in response, like a puppy.
“You’re kind to worry about me, Tokoyami. Thank you.” And it does give Hawks the warm fuzzies, honestly. To have someone other than Rumi really notice him for once. “I promise I’m okay. It’s…work stuff. I…can’t really talk about it. I’m sorry. I could maybe tell you if you were out of school, but, don’t rush that. Growing up is a scam. Adult responsibilities suck.”
“Hm.” Tokoyami replies, like he isn’t satisfied with the explanation. His eyes search Hawks’ face, but when he doesn’t budge, Tokoyami gives up.
“All right.” The teen nods. “Just be careful with everything.”
Aw. That’s…really sweet.
“Ha!” Hawks gently pokes him in the chest. “Who’s the teacher now, huh? You’re sounding so wise over there, kid, makes me proud. But, hey, let’s head back, ‘kay? We’ve already been out here for hours, wind’s picking up a lot, and I’m starving.”
“Would you like to get something on the way home? I could eat as well.”
Shit. It wasn’t at all unusual for them to grab a bite after their shift. Hawks could say "no," but he’d literally just said he was starving. He has genuinely no other reason to ever decline, not like he has anybody to go home to. And if he says he has to work some more, Tokoyami will insist that he eats something real quick before he does.
“Sorry, kiddo, I’m meeting someone for dinner.” Hawks chances. That’s not too weird. People do that. It might be villains that he’s meeting, but, he doesn’t need to get into the specifics.
Tokoyami pauses and looks over at him quizzically. The last rays of sunshine make his eyes glint with suspicion. “…Isn’t Mirko out of town on a mission?”
Hawks blinks. Blinks again. Cocks his head to the side. She is, but, what does that have to do with anything?
“Huh?” He asks.
Tokoyami actually looks flustered, like if he could visibly blush, he would. Dark Shadow hides behind him. “Isn’t she…aren’t you…” Tokoyami clears his throat. “That’s to say, aren’t you two, partners, or, together, or…?”
Hawks can’t help it, a laugh explodes out of him. Tokoyami jumps in surprise. Jesus, the secret marriage rumor has even trickled down to the students.
“Sorry, sorry,” Hawks wipes his eye when he catches his breath. “Man, I love her, she’s my best friend in the world, but I assure you, we’re not together in any romantic capacity. Good Lord. Wait ’til she hears this.—What, you think I was gonna step out with somebody else while my lady’s out of town?”
Hawks splutters into more laughter when Tokoyami flushes.
“N-no, I knew you were a better person than that! Which is why I was confused!” His intern defends.
Hawks pats him jovially on the shoulder. “No, no, don’t worry. Thanks for caring about my wellbeing and keeping my honor in check. I promise, it’s just a regular dinner.”
(It definitely isn’t because, again, villains. But, anyway.)
“All right.” Tokoyami stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I apologize for assuming.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Hawks grins, preparing to take flight again. He crouches to launch. “Let’s just get outta here.”
“Hawks, wait.” Tokoyami says quickly. “Uh, please don’t tell Mirko I said that? She’ll never let me live it down.”
Hawks winks at him and grins. He shoots into the air and shouts over his shoulder, “No promises!”
——
It takes about half an hour for Hawks to finally text Dabi, once he’s done getting dinner. He ducks into an alley carrying three containers of pork dumplings and a six-pack of beer.
ok i got the food where am i goin? Hawks texts, from his League phone this time.
Dabi requests his location back without a word and Hawks obliges in sharing it. Within three minutes, one of Kurogiri’s purple whirlpools rips through the air. Feels fucked up how often they utilize this guy. Hawks wonders if he ever gets any peace or if he’s just always opening portals.
It’s weird to step through it again, but Hawks is more prepared this time. He steels his nerves and is able to keep a hold on the nausea. Helps that he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast and is completely alcohol-free at the moment.
The gateway opens onto another rooftop, but much different from the one he and Tokoyami had spoken on earlier. This is back in the shifty part of town, sort of close to that bar he and Dabi had gone to weeks ago. It’s one of the tallest buildings in the area, providing a fantastic view of the city that sparkles down below and in the distance.
Night has completely fallen now, bathing Hawks’ surroundings in inky blue. A few stars twinkle at him thanks to the dead streetlights over here. The wind continues to buffet in bursts like it has all day, and Hawks catches the smell of tobacco on it.
He turns, raptor eyes searching. Even with the night vision, Hawks can’t see anyone, but he sure can smell them. A plume of cigarette smoke wafts up from behind the alcove of the stairwell that leads down into the building. He heads over to it, quiet and light on his feet even in heavy boots.
“I’m here.” Hawks announces as he steps around the corner, where Dabi and Shigaraki are definitely hiding. However, only Dabi’s leaning against the wall, puffing clouds into the air. The orange butt of the cigarette smolders when he smirks. They’re protected from the wind here, so it burns easily, lazily.
“Hi, pretty bird.” Dabi tilts his chin up. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Certainly took your time.”
Hawks glances around, ignoring the flutter in his chest at the nickname. He always likes that one. Dabi knows that.
“Is Shigaraki on the way? Fill me in on the important thing.” Hawks scans the perimeter, but doesn’t see anyone else.
Dabi takes another drag and then flicks the cigarette across the roof. It soars out of existence.
Then he pushes off the wall enough to grab the fur trim of Hawks’ jacket with his left hand. His right skates up Hawks’ chest and then catches his cheeks between thumb and forefinger.
It’s white-hot, and Hawks’ stomach swoops suddenly.
Oh, shit, okay. Hopefully no one else is about to pop up via purple portal. He grunts in surprise.
Dabi tugs Hawks forward, draws him in until they’re an inch apart. His blue eyes blare into Hawks’ tawny ones but they promptly slide shut on instinct when Dabi kisses him. It’s a deep one, albeit fast, a slick mesh of tongues. Dabi pulls back before it gets too intense, and lets go of his face. He keeps his tight hold on Hawks’ coat.
“It’s funny, y’know?” Dabi purrs. He squeezes Hawks a fraction closer, lightly bites his jaw.
Oh. That’s nice.
Hawks exhales through his nose, instantly swept into arousal. He almost drops the beer, clutches onto the handle like a lifeline.
“Funny that you haven’t picked up on it, I mean.” Dabi’s tongue traces a warm line down his jugular vein.
Hawks swallows. He knows Dabi can feel it when he sucks his Adam’s apple, too.
Fuck.
Dabi grins into his neck, relishing in this. “I lie to you when I want things, Hawks. But you always come crawling to me without question because you’re so needy.”
Heat flies through Hawks; a deep, scarlet embarrassment. He feels it climb up his nape, bloom across his face. He wants to bite back a retort, but.
Dabi’s fucking right.
He coughs and jostles Dabi off with a grumble. Hawks shoves the food forward. He doesn’t know how else to defend himself, when Dabi’s hit the nail on the head.
“I’m just trying to prove my loyalty.” Hawks attempts, trying to strengthen his voice, “If Shigaraki actually needed something, I wanted to help.”
Weak as hell and they both know it.
“Sure.” Dabi nods, grabbing the takeout bag. His expression reminds Hawks of the Cheshire Cat. “That’s why you sucked my dick in the train station bathroom four days ago. To support Shigaraki’s cause.”
Got him.
Hawks huffs and sits on the concrete, popping open a beer. He gulps a few times before Dabi sits next to him, criss-cross. They dig into the food without another word and Dabi doesn’t say “thank you,” but that’s not at all surprising.
They eat their fill for several quiet minutes. Within a few more, Hawks eventually relaxes, realizing the passion of lust has quickly been taken over by regular, literal hunger. The charged air settles soon and it begins to feel like a weird, fucked-up date? The absurdity almost makes Hawks laugh. They’re huddled side-by-side on a rooftop at night like it’s some high school romancing spot. Hawks never had the high school romancing experience, so, it’s hard to say.
Hawks shakes his head with a resigned sigh. Killing him, that’s what Dabi’s doing on the daily. Hawks is off-kilter from the whiplash, from the moods that change in an instant, with Dabi.
“You’re really something, aren’t you, Hot Stuff?” Hawks laments.
He chews his meal and watches for Dabi’s reaction.
And Dabi does pause at the phrase, getting a taste of his own medicine for once. He raises an eyebrow and scoffs but doesn’t look up from shoveling two dumplings into his mouth at once. They’re splitting the third container, which is even funnier. Another weird sort of intimacy.
Hawks continues his idea, tapping his chopsticks to the plastic. He might as well keep going, since they’re not immediately humping like bunnies, like they usually do. “Like, you could’ve just said, ‘hey, let’s get some food,’ like a normal person?”
Like a real date, at that point, which is definitely crossing a line, but if Hawks doesn’t actually call it a "date," it’s not one.
“Or like, maybe you could even say sometimes, ‘Hey, Hawks, I’m feeling horny, how about you?’ You—you always tease me for the way I act, but you’re just as bad, just, the opposite. I get…flustered, and you get…domineering, or something. You can just ask me to hook up, y’know? Instead of being all…” Hawks waves a generic hand, figuring that encompasses what he means.
Dabi sneers and his lips curve into a venomous smile.
“You like it, though.” Dabi reminds him quickly, finally looking up. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you love our little arrangement just the way it is, which is why it keeps happening, and in this way in particular. Number Two Hero Hawks likes being put in his place.”
Hawks ignores the sticky sugar in Dabi’s voice, and the way it whooshes up his back. He does like being put in his place, that’s for sure…
He takes a drink and then sets down the bottle. Gets his words out quick so he can’t shy away from them. “…Okay, yeah. But I’m just saying. You don’t have to…keep…lying to me. We’ve clearly established that I like getting fucked by you. You don’t have to keep making shit up to do it.”
Dabi’s eyes flash at that, his expression sharpens. His voice scratches out like sandpaper, all rough and edgy. “Oh, because we’re both so honest with each other?”
Hawks freezes. His wings flit against the pavement, a tic of concern. What’s that supposed to mean? Is Dabi on to him? Does he know that he’s a mole?
The atmosphere chills with ice. Here it is, another roller coaster. They were just eating dinner, Hawks was just finally feeling…calm…but now it’s a new peak, a sudden drop, and he didn’t secure his stupid lap bar. He’s about to fly out of the seat and eat concrete.
Hawks squints and levels the villain with a stare, maintaining a poker face. “What are you talking about?”
Dabi actually rolls his eyes. He crams the trash from his meal against the closed door and crosses his arms over his chest, which has become all too familiar.
“Hawks,” Dabi deadpans. “You really expect me to believe your little charade? Someone of your rank and pedigree actually wants to get down and dirty with us bad guys? I don’t fully buy it, even if the others do. I’m perfectly happy to get my dick wet for now, but there are no strings attached here, Birdie. The minute you pull something, I’ll be the first one to turn my back on you.”
Dabi’s jaw is set, and his eyes are cold, even though they burn.
Shit.
He knows.
But Hawks holds his own. Fucking turn of events. He buries down the moment of panic and his wings perk up higher in defiance.
“Well, I think if we’re fucking we should trust each other to some degree, right?” Hawks spits back. He’s got to fight back. “I trust you. Like you said a minute ago, I come to you without question. Doesn’t that prove something?”
Doesn’t it? Hawks asks himself suddenly, internally reeling.
Does he trust Dabi, really?
Huh.
He does, somewhat, he realizes.
(The damn roller coaster is screeching off the tracks now, the cart is catapulting away.)
Hawks trusts him enough to let Dabi see him at his most vulnerable, dozens of times now. Dabi knows all his weak spots. He could kill Hawks every time they go to bed; he bares his fucking neck and practically invites him to. But it hasn’t happened yet. Hawks actually begs for the small pains Dabi inflicts, and it’s—yeah, that’s trust. In the most intimate sense.
Weird.
Dabi seems to mull this over, but not too seriously. He rises from his spot, maybe just to one-up Hawks, to loom over him.
“You’re welcome to feel however you want.” He jabs, after a long pause. “It doesn’t affect me, and I don’t owe you anything in return. I just don’t think the Commission’s golden boy would turn on them so easily. I think you have ulterior motives here. And for now I’m ignoring them, because you’re a good lay. But this won’t last forever, will it? So might as well enjoy it while we can. Get over yourself, Hawks.”
Hawks feels his face morph into a growl. This fucking guy. Thinks he knows him so well. Hawks may be here for a mission, yeah, but it’s because he knows the safety of so many people is in jeopardy.
The Commission might’ve given him these orders, but—but—
Fuck them. He’s only their “golden boy” because they own him. Not because he wants to be.
Hawks’ wings beat hard to lift him to his feet. Toe-to-toe with Dabi, eye-to-eye, he backs him to a wall, for once. He shoves a finger to Dabi’s scarred chest, knows if he wasn’t wearing his gloves that his growing talon would prick the skin.
“You don’t know shit about me, or my motives, okay, Dabi? You—You—” Hawks feels his feathers stand on end. The wind whips hard, tousles his hair. So much for a fucking “date night.”
Wait.
Why did he think that?
What was he thinking?
What is he thinking?
What’s he doing?
(A pitiful, quiet voice, reminds him he’s lonely.)
Their trash is in a crumpled pile at their feet, half-empty bottles of cheap beer threaten to spill in the draft. The rooftop smells like sulfur water, and it’s so dark, and in the distance, Hawks hears sirens.
A gaping hole opens in his stomach.
Because Dabi is right. Again.
Damn it.
Fuck the Commission, but they do have him chained like a skin-and-bones dog in their fucking backyard. Hawks is at their every command. He will betray Dabi, and Shigaraki, and Toga, and Twice, and Spinner, and Compress, and all of them. Because it’s the moral thing to do, number one, but also because the Commission is telling him to.
And he can’t say “no,” he can never say “no.” They’ve had him by the throat almost as long as he can remember and he kills for them, he does their dirty work, he wipes blood off his hands over, and over, and over, and over—
And over.
And over.
And—
“Hawks, what the fuck?”
Dabi shoves him in the sternum, snaps him back to reality, out of the deep, spiraling chasm. Hawks realizes he’s gasping, borderline having a panic attack, and fuck, this isn’t the time for one of those. He tries to chase it off with anger instead, regains his balance with a stomp. His feathers sharpen to lethal spines.
His breath heaves out, and wayward flecks of spit flare from his lips. Hawks feels his wings peak high and then clamp to his back defensively.
“You think you’re the only one with scars, Dabi?” Hawks hisses. The wind snares his face, he feels like he’s caught in a bear trap, but he bulldozes on. “You think you’re the only one who’s been wronged by—by this—by everything?”
Dabi looks confused, eyebrows furrowed. But angry, too. His hands ball into blueish fists.
“I don’t, actually, the opposite,” Dabi shoots back. Stray flames catch on the breeze. “But I’m not working for the assholes who uphold that sick system, am I, Hawks?”
God, he wants to fight him. Hawks wants to throw himself into Dabi’s attacks and rip him apart. Rip himself apart, let himself be torn to shreds.
He wants to get out of here.
He wants to slice, and kick, and punch, and scream.
He wants to be pummeled so hard that he forgets who he is.
He wants to leave.
Fly as high as he can, over the ocean, somewhere no one knows his name.
Hawks sucks in a ragged breath.
How humiliating, falling apart on some dilapidated rooftop in front of a villain.
Golden boy turning brass, losing his luster and arguing against a point that he can’t argue against, because…it’s true.
What does it matter if Dabi lies? What does it matter if Hawks succumbs to those lies? He’s just a pawn, always being repositioned on the chess board. He “comes crawling” because it’s all he knows, and it’s stupid and hopeless to think there could be anything more than that.
Why would Dabi provide honesty, when he’s right, that Hawks has one foot on each side of the threshold?
Anxiety continues to rise like bile in Hawks’ esophagus. His heart pounds in triple time and those awful, prickling shivers wriggle through his ribcage. He turns away in alarm to face the opposite direction, knowing Dabi’s about to see him have a full-on mental breakdown.
Fucking cool.
Hawks hugs himself and wills his breathing to slow. Forces it to slow down.
What the hell is he on right now? Jesus Christ.
He squeezes the sleeves of his jacket and reminds himself (again) that Dabi could easily assassinate him with his back turned. It’s almost strange that he doesn’t, with the way this conversation is going. Hawks’ damn reaction here is almost an obvious confirmation to Dab’s suspicions. That they’ve both been lying.
He hears footsteps come up behind him. Dabi’s heat blooms out to him naturally, like it usually does.
And Hawks is startled, in that moment, to think, again, of how lonely he’s been. For so long.
Deep down, he doesn’t want Dabi to lie to him, because it means he can be lonely again. Even if it’s just fucking, the warmth of another human body is unmatched.
“Upset that I figured you out, hm, hero?” Dabi tests the waters. He shoulder-checks him, hard, like maybe he wants to start an altercation himself. “Having a little meltdown because your plan is foiled? Should we fuck before or after we beat each other to a pulp? One more for the road, Hawks?”
Hawks holds himself tighter. He’s—he’s breaking open. He thinks of Tokoyami, asking if he was all right.
No, he hasn’t been in a long while.
Hawks sniffs, inhales shakily. He’s not crying, he rarely cries. He’s almost too high-strung to, the desire has been beaten from his body. But speaking out loud stings like he is.
“…My name is Keigo.”
He isn’t sure why the hell he says it. It’s dangerous, Dabi is dangerous. He doesn’t need and shouldn’t have that intel. But it’s true and it’s…it’s a piece of Hawks the Commission can’t touch, no matter how much they try to destroy it.
Dabi mumbles in confusion. His heat flares like a firework, like it caught him by genuine surprise. “Excuse me? What?”
“My name.” Hawks repeats. The wind blows through his hair, skews his feathers with its strength. “It’s Keigo Takami.”
He feels like he’s going to throw up, speaks more into the air than to Dabi. No one knows all this shit, not even Rumi. He isn’t sure why he starts blabbering. He’s clawing at the truth, or something. Trying to dig himself out of the mudslide. Pursuing a person he isn’t anymore but longs to be, sometimes. Often times.
“The Commission made me into Hawks.” He says, and when Dabi is silent, he continues. “After my dad got arrested, my mom couldn’t take care of me, so…The Commission did. They picked me up when I was just a kid, and they trained me to be a solider. Their picture-perfect star. It’s all I’ve ever known. I don’t…”
He feels like he’s been carved open. Word-vomit dribbles out, truth, truth, truth.
“I don’t always want to be, all right? But I’m under their thumb. I…” Hawks struggles for words. He chances a look at Dabi, who sparks with blue embers and frowns in fury but doesn’t say a word. Maybe the quiet emboldens Hawks, lets him say things he’s never articulated.
He spills his guts.
“I want to tear it all down.” Hawks almost whispers, voice strained. “The Commission. What they took from me. What they’ve done to me, it’s…it’s wrong.”
Dabi says nothing, for several long beats.
Then, finally: “And yet you don’t.”
Dabi knocks into him, sapphire fists spinning Hawks to face him head-on. His palms singe fabric where they grip Hawks’ shoulders. He yelps and stumbles, wings flapping away from the flames, but Dabi is relentless in his grasp.
“Don’t try to evoke pity from me, hero.” Even Dabi’s pupils flicker. “You can give everybody this sob story, but you’re still just as guilty. You’re not even trying to bring down the most flawed aspect of hero society—your presence here is a farce—”
“But I’m here, aren’t I?!” Hawks counters. He snatches Dabi’s wrists to try and break them off. “I’m here because I want to fix it!”
Which wasn’t an opinion he’d ever voiced out loud. Maybe he hadn’t even fully understood it, until now. The revelation is like a pinball bouncing around his ribcage.
Dabi shakes him, and a few stray flames lick into his top feathers. Hawks cheeps in pain and finally shoves Dabi off, jumping several feet backwards. He fans away the traces of them and pants.
Dabi shoots a jet propulsion into the concrete, charring it.
“There’s nothing you can fix, don’t you understand?! It needs to be obliterated. There’s nothing redeemable about a society that sacrifices its children to be glorified weapons! Whether it’s you, or your adorable little interns, or any of those other brats at U.A.! They’re all sheep to the slaughter, so we might as well slaughter them!”
Dabi’s forearms glow now too. He stomps, sends up a spray of embers.
Hawks gloves threaten to burst, he’s squeezing so hard. His talons rupture the fingertips, dig into his palm. He lets his primaries free, poises them like swords, midair.
“Wh—Dabi, they’re just kids! That’s what I’m saying, there’s—it’s not right! They’re just kids, I was just a kid—”
“And so was I!”
What?
Dabi hustles towards him, suddenly jerks right into Hawks’ face again. He’s burning, it makes Hawks’ skin twitch. His face tingles against the cloud of steam. Hawks’ feathers flank him, carefully hovering at Dabi’s neck.
“I was just a kid too, when Glorious Mister Number One swept me under the rug. Bet you didn’t you know that, huh? Did you know about his greatest secret?!” Dabi hisses, and gears turn on overdrive in Hawks’ brain.
He grits his teeth. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Endeavor!” Dabi spits the name a slur. “Everyone’s favorite, so honorable, so strong, our Saving Fucking Grace when All Might was taken down! Did you know he had a fourth child? Did you know he let me burn, and burn, and burn because I wasn’t what he wanted?!”
Dabi’s getting hysterical now, the way Hawks was minutes ago. Cobalt fire begins to envelop his ankles. “Did you know he didn’t even look for me?! He just kept forcing himself onto my mother until perfect little Shoto popped out and then he let me die, because he finally got his precious protege! How fucking heroic, right?!”
Hawks’ world resets. His jaw drops, his breath catches, his feathers silently fall to the rooftop when his concentration cuts off.
“…What?”
“You heard me, Keigo.” Dabi snarls. He seems to finally catch himself, dashing the flames in a poof of black smoke. “Your precious little idol is my piece of shit father. If we’re swapping our dirty little secrets, my name was Touya. Todoroki.”
The last word is hurled out like it pains him, it catches like a barb in his throat.
Hawks takes a step back, shakes his head.
“You’re—you’re lying again.” Hawks gasps. “You’re manipulating me again.”
Dabi rolls his eyes, fed up. “What would be the goddamn point?”
He turns and marches back to the alcove, jacket flapping in the wind. He snatches up a beer from the container and rips the top off, forcefully tosses it onto the roof. Dabi lifts the bottle, like a cynical toast.
“The way I see it, Hawks, you’re either going to get your head out of your tight little asshole and actually join our side, or one of us is going to kill you. Most likely me. So what is the fucking point of me making that up?! Believe it or don’t. I’m not going to hold your hand while you sort your morals and shit out.”
Dabi takes a heavy drink and wipes his chin with the back of his hand.
Hawks glares down at the gravely rooftop, breath still unsteady. He picks up his primaries with shaky hands. He’s coming down from the panic attack but this—Dabi’s declaration…it’s slowly rewiring his brain.
Endeavor?
…Really?
The hero he’d looked up to for so long?
He thinks of the doll he had as a child, that he clung to on so many scary nights. He thinks of the torment the Commission put him through, and the way he withstood it for on the sole promise that it would make him like Endeavor.
How many battles has he fought beside him?
Hawks suddenly needs to know more.
“…He hurt you? And your mom? Your siblings?”
Dabi pauses, mouth on the lip of the bottle. He smiles, but it’s sour like curdled milk. His staples glint in the busted street light.
“When I said ‘piece of shit father,’ I meant it in every sense, Birdie.”
God. Hawks’ idol. Abusive. What exactly had he done?
“You have to tell me what happened. Everything.” Hawks insists, approaching. He needs to know the entire story.
Dabi looks insulted, pulling a face. “Like fuck I do. I think you got enough for tonight.—I don’t wanna fuck you anymore, either, so go the hell home, Hawks. I’m not in the mood for any more of this bullshit.”
Dabi turns towards the wall, waving his free hand. He fishes a cigarette from his pocket afterwards and lights it with his fingertip.
Hawks knows he’s pleading, basically begging, but. “Please. This is—Dabi, this is important. Do you realize what you could do with this information? If this got out to the public, you could completely change everything—”
Dabi suddenly snaps, throwing the beer bottle. Hawks dodges and it sails past his head, shattering loudly into a million pieces on the concrete.
“Go the hell home or I’ll kill you right fucking now! Don’t push me, Hawks!”
He wants to say more, but holds his tongue. They’re both…fragile, right now.
Hawks adjusts his goggles, secures them over his eyes. He doesn’t wanna go through another portal any time soon. After this scene, who knows where it would drop him out. He’ll leave on his own.
“…Fine.” He replies curtly.
Dabi doesn’t say anything else, just shoots daggers with his eyes while he procures a fresh beer bottle. He slumps against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting. Looks curled in on himself, protective and poisonous.
Hawks takes off, shoving off the rooftop with all the force he has, knowing it’ll create a huge, blustery gust in his wake. He swirls through the air and speeds back to his apartment, train of thought chugging one thousand miles per hour.
When he gets home he’s not hungry, or not even particularly tired. But he showers and flops into bed, mind still reeling. He tries to do some digging online into Endeavor’s history, then into Dabi’s history, but finds that everything is extremely buttoned up, and “Touya Todoroki” doesn’t exist.
Or, doesn’t exist anymore.
Hawks gives up after an hour and tosses his phone onto the bedside table. He clicks off the lamp with the heaviest sigh of his life and burrows deeper into his nest of quilts and comforters. His feathers floof out and spread wide, doing their best to blanket him for the night.
Because Hawks is cold.
Notes:
Whoooo, this chapter took a lot out of me. I'm not sure why, I think it's because I had SO many different directions I wanted to take it, but this just kinda poured out of me onto the page. That angst with a happy ending tag is there for a reason lmaoooo. We will be back to our regularly scheduled flirting and smut soon enough :)
I hope you liked it, please let me know what you think!!! Your comments bring me SUCH JOY FR!!!
Chapter Text
Hawks nearly slips in the growing puddle of his own blood. It’s thick and dark, slowly dribbling down his side, along his leg, and onto the cobblestone. He uses one arm to brace himself against the building wall and folds, eventually leans his back to it. Hawks huffs and finally sits down in a splash of old rainwater.
The villain’s in way worse shape. ‘Cause he’s dead.
The Commission had sent him out to knock out what they called a “serious threat.” They didn’t have much information about his Quirk, just about his crimes, so Hawks had gone in blind. He’s a huge guy, and Hawks had been doing well against his swords-for-arms, for a while. He just hadn’t expected the man to sprout two more sword-arms from his midsection and stab him in the ribs.
It had been a weak point, he’d lost his focus. This guy definitely could’ve defeated Hawks if he hadn’t taken him down first; one sharp primary feather to the throat.
Hawks hadn’t planned on killing him, just detaining him, but, well, self defense.
He glares at the steaming body on the ground, frowns at the sick twist of his limbs from how his enemy had haphazardly fallen.
All in a day’s work, he reminds himself cynically.
Hawks wrenches his gloves off and tears fabric from his jacket cuff with his teeth. He does his best to pack the wound, even when it hurts like a bitch. He smashes pressure to it, as hard as he can. Deep, red-wine splotches stain his shirt, visible even against black.
He feels his critical thinking fading fast. He’s fucking tired. He’s cold as shit (which happens a lot lately—he’s itching for Spring). He knows he could call the Commission with the push of a button, but, something about doing that makes his skin crawl.
He doesn’t want to be picked up in a helicopter, patched up on a surgical table, under blinding white lights, with way too many hands touching him. He doesn’t want to be forced to sit in a hospital bed for a few days while he heals, under their ever-watchful eyes. They’ll give him a haircut or something, while they’re at it. File his talons.
Fuck that.
He could call Rumi, but she’s way too far, undoubtedly. She wouldn’t make it in time on foot. He’ll bleed out way before then.
Endeavor would be fast enough, but, well…that leaves a sour taste in Hawks’ mouth, too. He’s been avoiding Endeavor for a week and a half, ever since Dabi’s shocking confession.
He hasn’t seen or communicated with Dabi since then, either.
Hawks mentally curses the fact that he doesn’t have Kurogiri’s number, because that could get him out of this…though, Dabi does, and would maybe save his life?
Maybe.
Hawks mulls it over, but even that process drags him down. He doesn’t really have time to consider better options, if he wants to live. His head’s going fuzzy like a cotton ball.
He grits his teeth and manages to snake his phone from his pocket. Can’t even tell which one it is, but he’s got Dabi’s contact info in both, now. Blood smears from his fingertips onto the touch screen.
Hawks starts a text message but doesn’t know what the hell to say. It’s too much to explain and his hand is too shaky. He simply drops a pin of his GPS coordinates and types sos.
Dabi will either save his allegorical ship, or let him drown.
Maybe he won’t even read the message. And if he does, it’s entirely possible he’ll think it’s a trap and ignore it.
Hoping for the best, Hawks shuts his eyes. If he doesn’t make it, at least it’ll just be like falling asleep. His torso aches, so it’s not exactly peaceful, but it’s not like he’s suffocating, or on fire, or being decapitated, or some other horrible way, like he’d always expected.
It’s actually kind of lame, if he’s being honest with himself. A quiet, delirious laugh bubbles out of him. He imagines the headline: “Number Two Pro Hero, Hawks, Shanked to Death in Alleyway.” Fucking stupid.
Hawks drifts, exhausted. He falls into that space between consciousness and dreaming, only peripherally aware of his surroundings. Loneliness starts to collect inside of him like cobwebs. Sucks to be by himself, on death’s door.
Rumi will be sad if he kicks the bucket. Tokoyami too. As for who else, it’s hard to say. His fans will probably mourn a little, but they’ll bounce right back when the Commission fills his spot with somebody new and beautiful. He says a prayer for whoever that poor asshole is. Maybe if he turns into a ghost he can haunt the advisory board and all his handlers.
Hawks gasps when two warm fingers touch his neck.
His eyes snap open and he bends forward in surprise. It makes his wound sting, tears a hiss from his throat.
Dabi’s hand retracts. He stands over Hawks, looking down at him both literally and probably metaphorically, too. One of Kurogiri’s portals steadily whirls behind him.
“Thought you were dead.” Dabi states flatly. “I was checking for your pulse.”
Hawks sucks in an uncomfortable breath. Fresh, hot blood oozes against his palm from the sudden movement.
“Close, but no cigar.” He mumbles back weakly.
Dabi checks out the alleyway. His bright blue eyes scan the person lying in a heap a few yards away. Dabi jams a thumb to him and asks, “Who the hell is that?”
Hawks manages a lazy smirk. “The other guy.”
Dabi rolls his eyes. “Charming.”
He crosses his arms, his classic pose. Cocks his head and analyzes Hawks like he’s a caged animal on display.
“Why’d you text me?” Dabi asks. “Expecting me to save you? None of your other little friends were available?”
Hawks lets his head thunk into the concrete behind him. God, breathing is starting to feel like a lot of work.
“I don’t know.” He answers honestly, because he doesn’t. He could say “last resort,” but, well, there’s always the Commission.
They just felt like the shittier choice.
Dabi turns around with a quiet noise of consideration and paces around the deceased villain. He puts the toe of his boot to the guy’s head, angles it to see his pallid face.
“Hm.” Dabi remarks. “I don’t know him, but, surely he was a villain, right? Another clear example of whose side you’re really on.”
Good, great, he’s going to monologue.
Hawks’ wings bunch against his back. He tries to use them to sit up straighter, to no avail.
“Are you gonna leave me here to die, or no? I’m not…” He blows out an agonized breath. “I’m not in the mood for games right now.”
Dabi steps back to the cobblestone, lets the guy’s head thud into it carelessly. The soles of his shoes clomp loudly as he walks back to Hawks, unhurried.
“I don’t think you’re really in a position to say anything like that, are you, Birdie?” His eyes narrow. Dabi crouches, so they’re eye to eye. The tails of his jacket seep into water and blood but he doesn’t seem to be bothered. He tilts forward, two inches from Hawks’ face, and an absolutely wild, idiot part of him yearns to feel his lips, one last time, if he’s going to bite the bullet.
“Why should I help you, hero? Hm?”
Hawks tries his best to keep a set jaw and a strong, composed expression. He tries to look like he’s not actively losing his entire blood supply and his mind, thinking about Dabi’s mouth at a time like this.
God, he’s stupid.
Another one of those ridiculous, hysterical laughs gushes out of him instead. It’s giddier than before, closer to the edge.
“I dunno.” Hawks says again. Manages a shrug, which twinges the wound. He squeaks like a songbird and curls in on himself.
Dabi regards him cooly, then takes a giant, exasperated breath.
“You’re fucking pathetic. Can you stand?”
Hawks takes a mental assessment. He realizes he can’t really feel where the ground ends and his body begins. All of his senses are zeroed in on the grotesque throbbing in his side.
“I don’t think so.” He admits.
Dabi tsks. “Can you just, like, fly up? What do you have those wings for if you can’t even get to standing?”
Hawks nods and makes an attempt. He tries to shuffle his legs under himself and shove off the wall with his free arm and both wings, but his feathers just scratch around uselessly. He’s lightheaded, almost drunk.
“I’m really fucked up.” He mutters eventually, after Dabi watches him struggle.
The villain groans and stomps forward. He wrenches both hands under Hawks’ armpits and hoists him to his feet. Hawks yelps and almost drops backwards like a sack of bricks, but Dabi holds tight. He’s certainly manhandled him enough times by now, he can take Hawks’ weight. He lets go with one hand and twists to support Hawks, so they can walk shoulder to shoulder. One of Hawks’ wings accidentally flaps into Dabi’s face.
“Cut that shit out or I’ll rip it off.” Dabi gripes, squeezing his waist hard, like a threat. He doesn’t look over at Hawks as he makes his way towards the portal, towing him along. Hawks clings to his warm side with one hand and still tries to maintain pressure on his slice with the other.
He isn’t sure where Dabi’s taking him. This is another moment where he’s trusting him completely.
Teleporting feels like garbage in this state. Hawks coughs heavily on bile when they get to the other side but swallows it down. His thighs tremble with the effort of staying upright.
They’re in Dabi’s bedroom, lit only by the open bathroom door. It smells like soap and heat lingers in the air, like Dabi just took a shower. In fact, Hawks realizes his hair is wet, where it touches his wing.
Dabi dumps him unceremoniously onto the bed, but it’s a welcome relief for his body. He lets himself fall flat, doesn’t even care about the vulnerability anymore. If Dabi has a master plan to murder him, at least he’ll be cozy here. Better than in an alleyway.
He hears Dabi kick out of his shoes. A socked foot jabs Hawks in the shin.
“Don’t sleep yet, I don’t want to deal with your corpse.”
Dabi yanks off Hawks’ boots too, tosses them to the floor. Then he tries to wrangle him out of his jacket.
“A little help here?” Dabi snarks, tugging uselessly. “Get your dumb wings out of the way.”
Hawks sleepily shoos away most of his feathers. They wriggle out from under his body and gather in a pile in the corner. Without the obstacle, Dabi can shove his coat from his shoulders. It’s sticky with blood and torn from the attack, he’ll need a new one.
Dabi disappears to the bathroom and comes back with a toiletry bag. He fishes out a small pair of scissors and goes to work cutting Hawks’ shirt off and peeling it away from the gash. Hawks warms at how familiar his fingers feel on bare skin. Not a fun situation this time, but…
“This is gnarly.” Dabi observes. He keeps tossing bloodied pieces of fabric into a plastic trash bag. When he begins to pull back the packed gloves and fur, Hawks yelps.
“I’ll dig this out and cauterize it to stop the bleeding.” Dabi tells him. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch but better than dying.”
Hawks recognizes the blue glow of his flames as they lick the edges of Dabi’s hand. They’re small, careful, controlled, but still fire.
“Wait.” Hawks blurts in a moment of clarity. He covers the wound, blocking it from Dabi’s advance. “Wait, wait. The—no burns. It’ll scar too bad. The Commission won’t…like that.”
Dabi blinks at him like he grew a second head. (Or a second pair of sword-arms.)
“You’re fucking joking, right?” He scoffs bitterly. When Hawks doesn’t respond, he continues. “…Wow, no, you’re not. I can’t believe you. All right, fine. Staples it is, you’re lucky I have hundreds.”
Hawks waves his hand blearily. “Can we—stitches? Regular stitches?”
The villain tosses his head back in irritation. He grumbles into the air and then sorts through the bag again. He soon pulls out a curved needle and a pack of surgical sutures.
“Staples are so much faster, you prissy fuck.” Dabi sighs. He stands again to grab the fifth of vodka off his dresser and digs in the top drawer for a prescription bottle of pills, with the label ripped off. He lobs it at the bed.
“Take two of those.”
Hawks squeezes his eyes shut, knows he’s going to get more shit about this. “…They drug test me.”
Dabi laughs, but it’s mean and bitter. “Boring. Here, then.”
Dabi shuffles back onto the mattress and uncaps the vodka. He tilts up Hawks’ head and sets the mouth of it to his lips, coerces him to swig three large mouthfuls. Tastes like fucking nail polish remover but Hawks manages not to gag.
Dabi picks a few more pieces of clothing away from the wound and then begins the brutal process of pulling out everything Hawks shoved into it.
Hawks bites down so hard that he swears he’ll crack a fucking molar. Sleep is far away now, chased off by serious discomfort. Once Dabi’s finished, he douses the area in vodka, and it burns. Possibly worse than his Quirk would’ve.
“Shit.” Hawks wheezes.
“Sucks, but an infection sucks worse.”
Hawks catches his breath once Dabi puts down the liquor. He watches the villain pinch the needle and heat it quickly in a flare of power, effectively sanitizing it. Hawks steels himself, but still chirps when it slides through his skin like it’s butter.
Dabi’s quick and efficient in sewing up the wound. He’s probably well practiced, based on the state of his skin and excessive scarring. Hawks wonders how many times he stitched himself up before swapping to the staples.
Hawks has certainly done his fair share of suturing, but never to this extent. He tries to hold in all the disgruntled noises that threaten to spill.
“You—getting off on this?” He manages to joke between huffs of breath. “Inflicting pain on me?”
Dabi glances up to meet his eyes and then immediately looks back down to his work. “Not presently. I prefer when you’re also enjoying the pain. Spanking and choking are a little sexier than an urgent medical procedure, wouldn’t you say, Birdie?”
Hawks actually laughs, but it morphs into a moan and a twitch. Yeah, no, not the good kind of moan, he’s hating this.
“Yeah.” He coughs, “I’d have to agree.”
“I’m almost done. Try not to move so much.” Dabi chastises.
It takes a few more minutes, but when he’s finally finished, Dabi dresses the wound with a few thick pieces of gauze and tapes them down. Hawks exhales unevenly and lets his head loll into the sheets. His entire body is sore like he’s been hit by a truck.
“…Thank you.” He utters, relief soaking through to his bones. “I’m sort of surprised you did that for me.”
Dabi climbs off the bed to go wash his hands and put away the first aid kit.
“Don’t get used to it.” He says over his shoulder.
Hawks stares at the ceiling and almost wants to ask why Dabi did it, but decides not to push his luck. He feels heavier than a pile of rocks now, lets his eyes slip closed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dabi growls when he returns. He shakes Hawks aggressively by the ankle. “You can’t fucking sleep here, this isn’t a hotel.”
Hawks actually can’t open his eyes. The adrenaline steadily seeps away and pure exhaustion replaces it. His pared-down wings snuggle into his shoulder blades.
“Please.” He whispers, turning his cheek to the mattress. “Jus’ lemme.”
He hears Dabi arguing against that, but very soon Hawks can’t make out the specific words. He’s buzzed on vodka and fatigue.
Sleep takes him.
——
When Hawks wakes up, he’s so warm. The comfiest he’s ever been, like he slept under a pile of hot sand on the beach, bathed in the sun. It tingles pleasantly from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, like he’s in a cocoon or an oven. Smells like the embers that crackle at the bottom of a campfire, or like the first hint of smoke from a fresh cigarette. It’s so pleasant that he feels too sluggish to move.
He finally opens his eyes and is shocked to see Dabi in the dim light, only inches from his face. The other man is squished onto the mattress that really is too small for the both of them. His expression is completely unguarded in sleep, and it’s…cute. A big blanket is over both of them, which probably accounts for the cozy feeling; Dabi’s a constantly-baking heat source and they’re under here together.
Hawks debates what to do. Should he go back to sleep? Should he go home? He doesn’t know if he can go home, without waking Dabi in the process. Let sleeping dogs lie, and all that.
Unfortunately, his phone ringing does the trick. Hawks tries to pull it from his pocket as fast as possible to see if he can silence it, but Dabi blinks into consciousness.
He frowns and his voice is raspy when he speaks. “First you insist on falling asleep here, taking up half of my bed, and then you fucking wake me at the ass crack of dawn? I should punt you out the window, asshole.”
“Sorry.” Hawks apologizes, checking the screen.
It’s Endeavor.
Oh, fuck that. Hawks clicks Ignore. He’ll deal with it later.
“What?” Dabi sneers. He sits up on an elbow. “Don’t want to answer the phone while in bed with a villain?”
Hawks locks the phone and sets it on his chest. He rubs his face and takes in his physical condition. He feels okay, but definitely like he got stabbed last night.
“No, it’s not that.” He blows out a breath and levels Dabi with a stare.
Blue eyes narrow back at him. “Hm. Girlfriend again, then? Is she always this clingy?”
Hawks manages half of a laugh. “I told you, I don’t have a girlfriend, it’s—well…you…won’t like who it is, that’s all. Trust me.”
Dabi seems to put the pieces together well enough. He clenches his jaw and sits up, then throws off the blanket to stand. Cool air hits Hawks immediately, unpleasantly. He tries not to shudder at Dabi’s sudden absence.
He watches Dabi shuffle into sweatpants and a hoodie, and realizes with a start that he’s never seen him this bare, just in boxers. When they’ve hooked up, Hawks has always been the only one stripped down. The deep, dark scarring of his skin stretches everywhere, in random patches. It looks painful, it looks…sad. Sympathy surges through Hawks like a tidal wave. He remembers their argument, Dabi shouting, “And so was I!”
They’re not too different; Keigo and Touya.
“Hey, I’m—I’m sorry.” Hawks finds himself saying. He sits up slowly with a wince, follows the movements of Dabi’s back as he crosses the room. Hawks holds his wound for further support and scoots until his back is to the wall, in lieu of a headboard.
Dabi pauses but doesn’t turn around or say anything. He yanks his own phone from where it was charging on the dresser and heads to the bathroom.
“Dabi, seriously.” Hawks pipes up, stopping him again. “I’m sorry about that, what happened just now and…y’know. Everything. Our fight.”
The other man scoffs. He twists his neck to glare. “What, you expect an apology back? You think we’re all chummy again just because I didn’t let you bleed out? Maybe I saved your life so I can take it myself later, did you consider that, Hawks?”
Hawks exhales and shakes his head. “…I don’t expect an apology back. Just thought you deserved one.”
“So now you’re pitying me?”
“No.” Hawks sighs. “Can you be a normal person and have a regular conversation for five fucking seconds?”
Dabi trudges to the bathroom but instead of shutting the door he retrieves the first aid kit and returns to Hawks’ side. He kneels on the bed.
“Sure, let’s have a ‘regular fucking conversation,’ because that’s what two people in our situation do.” He snaps, opening the bag. “I have to change your dressing.”
The more time Hawks spends with Dabi, the more he perplexes him. He snarls at Hawks like a dog but doesn’t want his wound to get infected, in the same vein?
It’s confusing…like…there really is a good person in there, deep, deep down. Maybe.
A hurt little kid.
They’re quiet while Dabi unfurls the old tape and gauze and applies new material with some kind of cream. He’s obviously stewing. Hawks isn’t sure how long they’ve been asleep, but it can’t be too long, because the little spots of blood still look fresh. The stitches are still swollen and irritated. Plus, the sun’s barely risen.
Hawks finally speaks again while he’s getting taped up. “…Okay, well…here’s a conversation…If you want me to be honest…I don’t really know…which side I’m on…Anymore.”
Dabi freezes.
Hawks takes that as a cue to continue. “I’ve always had doubts. And frustrations. With hero society, and the Commission, obviously. I’m a…walking homage to its corruption and the damage it can do. And then after hearing your story, I just…”
Hawks trails off. Dabi finishes his work deliberately and then those bright blue eyes burn a hole into his face.
Hawks takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, anymore. I’ve been a wreck for more than a week, since we fought. Maybe that’s why this guy got a move in on me, I hesitated. I didn’t know his…story. I dunno. Everything’s fucked up, in my head.”
Hawks realizes he’s rambling and Dabi’s just watching him, but it keeps pouring out.
“The Commission just says, ‘go get that guy,’ and I do, without question. That’s…but then you guys, you hurt innocent people sometimes, and…I’m just…torn. The line between right and wrong is all blurry and I don’t know, okay?—And then, you save my life? But you say you’ll kill me at some point? I dunno, Dabi, I’m just…”
Hawks runs his palms over his face. He’s weighed down with responsibility, and missions, and operations that control him on both sides. His wound smarts from being touched.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this anyway. What do you care? Just wanted to say I’m sorry, ‘cause, I am.”
Dabi surprises him by grabbing his chin. He tilts Hawks to look at him, eye to eye. His gaze roves over Hawks’ face, makes him feel toasty. Dabi’s expression is unreadable, carefully blank.
“You confuse me, Birdie.” He says eventually. “And you piss me off.”
Hawks doesn’t know what to say back. The gunk is all clogged up in his throat; the guilt, the anxiety, the sadness, the uncertainty, and skepticism. Saying secret things out loud is new to him; he started it only a week and a half ago, and it still wiggles around his insides afterward, uneasily. His purpose has flipped upside down and tumbled down a hill.
Dabi slips his hand from Hawks’ chin to cup his jaw. Heat blazes through it, familiar, tantalizing.
“But I do have to say, a hint of the dark side looks good on you.”
Without warning, Dabi kisses him, wet and warm. There’s nothing urgent to it, just a slow drag of lips. He pulls away, just an inch, and then kisses Hawks again. His head spins in response and his weak half-wings flap in surprise.
Dabi leans back and glides his hand over Hawks’ cheek. He’s got that hungry look in his eye. Goosebumps sprinkle over Hawks’ skin at the unanticipated attention.
“I was hoping this would happen, y’know?” Dabi smirks, threading his fingers into Hawks’ hair at the temple. “What did I say before? You’d hopefully ‘get your head out of your tight little asshole’?…Give it some time, we’ll see how much more we can radicalize you, hero.”
Hawks can’t help it, he pants shakily. Lured back in immediately, all it took were a few measly kisses and he wants to be consumed by Dabi again.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.
And he doesn’t totally hate himself for it, for once.
“I…” Hawks begins. “I’m just saying…I’m…confused at myself, too.”
Dabi draws Hawks in again with another suckle to his bottom lip. A tiny bit of saliva strings them together when he retracts.
“I hear you, Hawks. But I’ll help you figure it out.”
His side hurts, and his heart pounds, and his brain is suddenly fried like an egg. But Hawks is…he’s been so lonely, for so long. He’s reminded himself of that over and over these past few months, excused his behavior because of that.
Maybe…Dabi is lonely too.
Hawks doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know anything anymore.
So he says, “All right.”
——
They finally fuck again five days later. Hawks probably isn’t in the best shape for it since he’s still healing, but he’s certainly fared worse.
After one of the larger bi-weekly meetings, Hawks follows Twice and Toga out of the conference room to get something to eat. He’s about to ask if they want him to dip off property to get some real food, when a hot hand catches him by the back of the collar and hauls him around a corner.
So much for dinner.
Dabi grins at him and pushes Hawks into the wall. They can hear the clamor of the large crowd nearby but Dabi and Hawks are just out of sight. Twice calls his name, but apparently doesn’t decide to look for him. That’s fine.
Hawks actually likes this better.
“Didn’t see you in there, Hot Stuff.” Hawks states, trying to keep his cool. Excitement zips through his nervous system.
Dabi shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it tonight. Where were you off to?”
“Getting food.”
“Hm.” Dabi crowds him, flattens their torsos together. His free hand brushes over Hawks’ cheekbone and it makes his heart pick up speed. Dabi’s familiar scent, like a melted candlewick, clouds his nostrils.
“Not anymore. C’mon, Birdie. My room.”
He lets go and hustles away, leaving Hawks to slump into the wall. He blinks for a moment before his brain catches up and he hurries after Dabi. His wings flit embarrassingly, a tell of his elation.
“What got into you?” Hawks asks when he makes it to Dabi’s side. “You usually aren’t so…forward.”
Dabi shoots him a wicked look and a curved smile. His hand slaps onto the nape of Hawks’ neck and clamps, urging him to speed up.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m horny and I want to fuck you. Didn’t you want me to just ‘ask you’ to hook up? Right?” His palm heats, practically sears the knob of Hawks’ spine. That warmth drops straight into his groin.
“Oh.” Hawks spits out. “Yeah.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”
When Dabi lets go, Hawks swallows. His stomach tightens pleasantly at the prospect of getting laid. He’d…missed being with Dabi that way, or something.
Missed orgasming into another universe, specifically.
A lot of other villains are roaming the halls right now. They’re in various stages of ramped up and intoxicated, as usual after a meeting. Passionate, angry, and noisy.
That’s good. Hawks can be loud.
(And he won’t lie, part of him is also a little riled up.)
He pretends to be casual and check his phone while Dabi unlocks the door to his room. Hawks doesn’t want to look like he’s literally drooling for it already, even though that’s what it feels like.
When the door shuts and locks again, they both take off their shoes.
Let the drooling commence in the privacy of the bedroom.
Hawks silences both his phones and sets them on the dresser. He yanks off his gloves, shrugs out of his new jacket, wiggles carefully out of his shirt, and then, belatedly, realizes Dabi is staring at him. His feathers poof out in a bout of embarrassment when they slide back home.
“What?” He prompts, feeling self conscious.
Dabi looks smug when he sits down on the bed. “What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m watching you get naked.”
Hawks frowns. He steps closer, until he’s two feet away. “And why am I the only one to ever get naked? It’s only fair we both do, right?”
“Don’t be bratty.” Dabi warns, lunging to catch Hawks’ face with one hand. He pulls him closer to breathe against his lips, and all of Hawks’ thoughts crash into each other like bowling balls.
“You’ve seen me, Birdie, I’m not exactly a perfect specimen like you. Don’t have any handlers polishing my body every day.”
That sentence makes Hawks’ eyebrows crinkle. He knocks back Dabi’s wrist, which earns him a wide-eyed look of anger, but Hawks continues anyway.
“I—I like the way you look. Do you think I’d really wanna keep doing this if I didn’t? Regardless of all the other stuff going on between us,” Hawk gestures in a circle, indicating their situationship, “I think you’re hot, bottom line.”
Dabi raises an eyebrow. He reaches forward again, pulls Hawks closer by the belt loops. His abdomen jumps at the sensation.
“Huh.” Dabi muses. He starts unbuckling Hawks’ belt. “You continue to confuse me, Hawks. Here I thought you just enjoyed being dominated. Didn’t think you cared what the person doing it looked like.”
Hawks licks his lips, watches Dabi unbutton his pants, pull down his zipper.
“I could…have anybody I want, right? Number Two Hero? Why would I…” Hawks’ voice goes quiet when Dabi shucks his pants down, then slips his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. Oh God, he had missed this. He’s already getting hard.
“Why would you what?” Dabi urges. He painstakingly yanks down his boxers too, and starts sucking Hawks’ dick the second it’s free.
“Oh, fuck.” Hawks yelps, almost falling off balance from the clothing wrapped around his ankles. Dabi clutches the back of his thighs and hauls him closer, helps him step out of them. Hawks wants to tangle into his hair, but Dabi hates that.
The villain pops off suddenly. He smacks Hawks on the asscheek, enough to make it sting. Hawks cheeps, here it fucking goes.
“Answer me. Why would you what?”
And then Dabi’s deep-throating his cock again and Hawks is struggling to stay on his feet.
“W-why would I—shit, Dabi—why would I—ngh. God.—Why would I hook up with somebody I don’t find attractive?” He spews the sentence out quickly so he can stop fucking stuttering.
Dabi hums, sending the vibration right to his core. He grips Hawks by the base and picks up speed, working him over until he’s shivering.
And then he stops.
Hawks groans. It doesn’t even sound like him, so raw.
“Good point, pretty bird.” Dabi says while Hawks tries to remember how to breathe. His balls ache, already tight as shit.
Dabi runs his nails down Hawks’ chest, over his pert nipples, and down his shaky torso. He’s careful to avoid the gauze from his recent wound. He squeezes the divots of Hawks’ hips and then leans back and gets out of his own jacket. Hawks watches through an aroused fog as Dabi tosses off his shirt. His frame is lean and muscled, decorated with staples. He works off his pants next, then his underwear, and a thrill ricochets through Hawks entire body.
“Fine. You want a good view?” Dabi tips Hawks’ chin up with a finger, pulling his gaze from the V of his abdomen to the open lust on his face. “Then look at me while you ride my cock.”
Hawks trills, and Dabi smirks at the sound. He pulls lube from his bedside drawer while Hawks eagerly climbs onto the mattress. Dabi settles, heats the small bottle in his hand, and then slathers a liberal amount onto himself.
Hawks clambers over him and positions his hips above Dabi’s lap, using his wings for balance. They tremble but spread out wide and beautifully. He catches Dabi looking at them and it makes Hawks feel even warmer. He preens, stretches them even more to show off. The shiny scarlet feathers swish with pride.
“Bet you’re tight as hell, aren’t you? It's been a little bit.” Dabi guesses, after brushing one of the longer ones within reach. It makes Hawks bite down hard. He hears the flip of the lube lid, another squelch as it dribbles onto Dabi’s fingers. Two poise against his rim and then press in without warning.
“Ah!” Hawks cries, bucking down onto them. He’s so full so quickly, but he missed the stretch, the heavy sensation of Dabi in him. It ruptures through a physical feeling and opens something primal in Hawks’ gut. He practically screeches and doubles down his efforts on Dabi’s wrist.
Dabi, who underneath him, looks crazed. Just from this.
Maybe he missed it, too.
“There’s my animal.” Dabi praises. He pistons his fingers, clutches the lowest rung of Hawks’ ribs with his other hand. “So needy. So instinctual for you to get fucked, isn’t it?”
Hawks tries to defend himself, but, well, he can’t. Something garbled and half human spews from his throat while he rides the hell out of Dabi’s fingers. He’s also stuck on the fact that Dabi called him his again. His ‘animal,’ his ‘bitch,’ whatever he likes. He can call Hawks whatever he likessss.
“Ngghh—shut up.” Is all Hawks can manage, not really meaning it. He wrenches open his eyes (didn’t realize they shut), and ignores the slow ache in his side from the harried movement. Hawks tosses his head back when Dabi curls his fingers forward.
“Oh, fuck. Yes. Yeah. You’re right, okay?” He shudders and grips Dabi’s scarred biceps, feels his talons sharpen to points, but they don’t break skin. “Can you—how about your dick now? Please?”
Dabi laughs, low and teasing. He slips his fingers out from Hawks and glides them to rest on the curve of his ass. Hawks feels the heat of his cock, right below his own. His chest heaves and he stares down at Dabi, waiting. God, he wants him so bad. So desperately.
“How ‘bout you do some of the work for once, baby.” Dabi proposes, steadily warming his hands until it’s almost unbearable.
Baby.
Flowers bloom inside Hawks. Birdie, pretty bird, and now baby. He feels like a teenager, knows a shade of pink is spilling over his skin. Hopefully Dabi can’t tell, in the shitty light of his room, always slanting in from the bathroom.
“I’m always bending you over backwards, fucking you up, down, and sideways.” Dabi muses. “How about you show me what you’ve got this time, Hawks.”
And oh, if that doesn’t make his blood boil over. His throat whistles like a tea kettle.
He can do that.
Hawks leans down to kiss him, decides that’s how he wants to begin. He wants to taste the leftover cigarette smoke, the strange burn of cinnamon ever-present on Dabi’s lips. He wants to drink in the sparks on his tongue that pop like firecrackers.
They lick into each other’s mouths, sloppy, unevenly, for several minutes. Their hips slant together over and over and Hawks’ wings quiver, urging him to get this show on the road.
He pushes off Dabi’s chest with one hand and keeps the other over his sternum to balance himself while he lines up. Dabi stares with rapt attention, blue eyes blazing.
When Hawks sinks onto him, there’s an earthquake.
Okay, not literally, but it definitely feels that way. He bottoms out in the first swoop, kinda inexperienced in this position and too enthusiastic to take it slow, anyway.
“Dabi.” He whimpers through gritted teeth. “Fuck.”
His wings buffet behind him, out of control while he’s overwhelmed, but Hawks hooks onto the movement and uses it to his advantage. He scolds his feathers to get it together and then uses them to build up speed, flapping and rocking up and down into a good rhythm before Dabi even has a chance to breathe.
“Ah, shit,” Dabi exclaims, looking uncharacteristically caught off guard. The back of his head slams once into the sheets and then his eyes are glued on Hawks, who’s humping over him. Overheated fingers dig into the crevices of his hips.
“Jesus Christ,” He laughs, then moans. “Ngh, somebody’s impatient.”
“Mmm—” Hawks responds, grinding hard, relishing the thick slide of Dabi’s cock inside him. At this angle, it bumps his prostate every time. At this angle, he watches Dabi’s chest fill and compress with ragged breaths. At this angle, he can appreciate the strong slope of his shoulders, the fine lines of his abs, the ripples of muscle in his arms and stomach.
At this angle, Hawks probably won’t last very long.
He pumps his legs, fucks himself senseless.
“Oh, you feel so good,” Hawks whines, working hard to keep momentum since Dabi seems to be dead-set on not helping. He’s just taking the pleasure, and that in itself makes Hawks even hotter. Lava pools in his lower belly; he likes when Dabi uses him. He—fuck, he likes making Dabi come almost as much as he likes coming himself.
“Yeah?” Dabi pants. He shifts, tilts his waist up just enough that Hawks sees stars. “You like being opened up on my dick? Tell me, Hawks. You missed this, didn’t you?”
Hawks palms slip on Dabi’s chest as he starts to lose traction. He catches himself but his thighs ache and his orgasm threatens to explode already.
“C’mon, use your words, Birdie.” Dabi teases. Finally, finally he grasps Hawks by the hips and ceases his erratic pattern. Dabi takes over and jerks up into the heat of Hawks with tight, quick snaps.
Hawks tweets, then wails, tries to articulate words but can’t manage. His vocal cords are shot, reverting to second nature. His eyes scrunch closed and his wings tighten against his back, neglected. The only con to this position is that Dabi can’t touch them.
“Ha—good enough. What, am I fucking you stupid?” Dabi snarks, but he’s gasping, probably close, too. Hawks knows that tomorrow those fingerprints will be red marks on his skin, like temporary brands. “Can’t remember how to speak?”
He pounds Hawks’ prostate, relentless.
No, Hawks definitely can’t remember how to speak.
Dabi suddenly reaches up, wraps his hands around Hawks’ biceps. He yanks him forward, so he falls on top, chest-to-chest, and then—oh, God, then, he delves his fingers into the downy part of Hawks’ mid-back. Fucks him in tandem. He massages the base of his wings, drills into his prostate, and Hawks sobs in pleasure, jumbled up with chirps he can’t contain.
“Yeah,” Dabi urges, chasing it home. “Sing for me, Birdie. Fuck.”
So he does. Hawks lets loose, belts out a chorus of stupid sounds and moans, shakes so hard that his teeth chatter. He comes between their stomachs, wet, hot, sticky, messy. He shoves his face into Dabi’s chest, arches his back away from the greedy hands, overstimulated, overrun, out of orbit. His wings clench and his body clenches onto Dabi’s cock and it’s too much, too much, too much.
“Aaaaaahh.” He groans, saliva gathering on his lips. “Ah, ah—!”
“There you go, baby.” Dabi encourages, still not finished. His hands bury themselves deeper in Hawks’ feathers, tick up a few degrees. Hawks slams his nose into Dabi’s collarbone, squealing. He feels himself fluttering, like the orgasm will never end. It’s staggering and immense, wracks through his body like a landslide. Dabi holds him in place, it’s too much, too much, too much, and then he comes, groaning into Hawks’ hair. Dabi’s hips pump harder, once, twice, three times, as he finishes the job, and Hawks writhes, choking on spit.
Goddamn.
Hawks thrusts his face into Dabi’s neck like he needs a place to hide. His entire being vibrates. They’re still connected, but his body is completely limp and his lungs are trying their best to suck in air. He feels goopy, and loose, and ticklish.
“Fuck.” Dabi sighs as he pulls out with a wet, squishy sound. Hawks feels the heat of his cum trickle onto his asscheek, but all he can do is melt. He’s fucking spent.
He must drift in the aftermath, because Dabi eventually jostles him.
“…You good? It’s like you have a seizure every time we bone. You’re still fucking shaking.”
“Mmhm.” Is Hawks’ riveting reply. He doesn’t move. He wants to make a nest here, in Dabi’s bed. The rational part of his brain tells him not to think that way, about nesting, and home, and lifelong bonds, tending to wounds, and taking care, and mates, but he shushes it—he’s trying to sleep. And he’s comfy.
“Get up, fatass.” Dabi quips, bumping his shoulder. “You’re heavy.”
When Hawks doesn’t respond, Dabi rolls him off to bounce on the mattress. The sheets are puddled with wet spots. Hawks catches himself with a peep, almost hits the floor, and then scurries to the bathroom to clean up before he makes the mess even worse.
Once he emerges, the sheets are in a ball on the floor and Dabi’s back in his underwear, scrolling on his phone. He looks up, then shuffles past Hawks without a word and ducks into the bathroom.
Hawks pulls on his own boxers, then his pants. He’s getting dressed to go. Because he should go.
He really should go.
That’s their routine.
But.
Hawks touches the gauze at his side. It’s still securely taped down, but, after all the activity he’s worried he popped a stitch. He should have Dabi take a look at it, just in case. He’s so much better at doing stitches.
(That’s what he tells himself anyway.)
So he sits on the bare bed and waits. He finally cools down after a few minutes of listening to the shower run, and instead of shaking, now he just feels a bone-deep weakness. Like he’s made of Jello.
Physically. Emotionally.
(He doesn’t want to go.)
God, everything’s messy. Literally, figuratively. Hawks is in this way too deep.
What’s he doing?
He doesn’t get a chance to answer himself, because the bathroom door opens again, pouring steam into the room. Dabi looks surprised to see him.
“Can I help you?” He grouses, a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Uh,” Hawks blinks stupidly. They literally just had sex, Dabi in a towel shouldn’t distract him so easily.
“Actually, yeah,” Hawks explains. He points to the patch of gauze. “Can you check this? We were kinda…rough.”
Dabi deadpans. “Don’t you have, like, a personal nurse, or something?”
Hawks smirks, trying to win him over. “She’s not as good-looking as you, Hot Stuff.”
Dabi rolls his eyes but humors him. He gets the first aid kit and carries it over before changing quickly into a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt. He sits on the bed beside Hawks, close enough for their knees to touch, and gently peels off the medical tape.
“Looks all right.” He says after a moment of observation. “Still in tact. I know what I’m doing, after all.”
At least one of them does.
“Good.” Hawks nods. “Thanks.”
Dabi wipes on more of the healing cream and applies fresh gauze. He pads back to the bathroom after that, washes his hands, towel-dries his hair. When he’s starting to brush his teeth, he raises an eyebrow at Hawks.
“I’m going to bed soon? It’s kinda late.” Definitely a way of saying, “get the hell out of here.”
“Right.” Hawks nods. But he doesn’t move.
He feels…no, he fears the loneliness he knows will swallow him up when he goes back to his room. He holds his elbows, half a hug given to himself. Those damn instincts swirl through him, yell at him to stay.
What’s he doing? What is he doing?
“Uh…” He starts, and then clears his throat. Dabi spits into the sink and tosses his toothbrush back in the medicine cabinet. He turns and holds out a hand, as if to say, “Go on?”
Hawks scratches the back of his neck. A startling, vivid flash of Dabi’s neck, right under his nose, flares through his brain. Hawks wants to sleep there, curled up and cozy.
What is he doinggggg?
“Do you think I could stay here? Tonight?”
Dabi looks…flabbergasted, is probably the best term.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Can I sleep here?” Hawks asks, wings flicking self-consciously. He says it fast, gets it out of the way before he mentally punches himself in the face. “My room’s really cold and you’re…y’know. Not.”
Dabi shakes his head, holds out both hands. “How about no. You took up way too much room last time and you, like, twitter, in your sleep. Have a good night, Hawks.”
Ah. Worth a try.
Hawks gnaws his lower lip and rises without a word. He crosses the room to find his shirt again and his wings droop of their own accords. The long feathers near the ends drag the floor, and it’s embarrassingly noisy.
“Tch, are you…are you pouting?” Dabi laughs. “Seriously?”
Hawks blushes dark red. “I—I’m not. No—”
Dabi sighs and grabs Hawks by the wrist. He manhandles him back to the bed and tosses him down, then propels him to his back with a jab to the shoulder. Hawks wings flatten underneath him.
“Just lay down and go to sleep, Hawks.”
“Wait—”
“Did you want this or no?”
Hawks swallows. The mattress is scratchy, but, it’s warm. Dabi’s body heat radiates, even from a foot away.
“Yeah.”
“All right, so shut the hell up and go to bed.” Dabi settles down next to him, turned the opposite way, but still next to him. “And don’t make this a habit.”
Hawks takes a deep breath, tries to make himself compact. He buries his head in one of the two pillows and inhales. It soothes him, it’s silly that it soothes him. Dabi yanks up a clean blanket from the foot of the bed and fans it over both of them. It’s like a radiator under here, immediately.
“Don’t worry,” Hawks says quietly, a minute later. “I won’t.”
Except, hah, he totally does.
Notes:
Uh ohhhhh, is somebody catching feelings? Ooooh! (Are TWO somebodies catching feelings but we only have access TO ONE POV????) Hard to say I guess (hehehe)
As always, I'd love to hear your comments, they make me SO happy!!! :) <3
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Notes:
Sorry for the delay! I got sick and had nooo energy to write for a few days there. Happy reading :)
Trigger warning for mention of suicide but it's not very extensive.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The months fall away like dominoes. Time passes and Hawks kind of…well, he loses the plot, a little bit. His mindset and morals grow slurry and gray like the sleet that slushes through winter, and by the time spring blossoms, he’s even farther gone.
And it’s…well, it’s a big problem because…he sees Dabi as his mate, now.
It isn’t a conscious decision. It isn’t something that he sits down one day and pointedly chooses. It more so just…happens.
Hawks is taken by surprise, at first. Even though it’s not an overnight thing, more like a bunch of little instances that stack on top of each other. Until Hawks is looking in the mirror one day, thinking, shit. Fucking shit.
He finds he doesn’t like when other people touch Dabi. Even if it’s in passing; Compress’ hand on his shoulder, it makes Hawks’ feathers stand on end. He comes to Dabi’s defense in arguments around the conference table. He brings him dinner (and breakfast, and lunch, when he can). He likes falling asleep in Dabi’s bed, and Dabi stops arguing against it after the first week and a half, because he knows he can’t win. He likes sharing a shitty six-pack of beer on the same rooftop where they almost clawed each other’s throats out, months ago. Hawks hasn’t watched this many sunsets in years, he forgot how gorgeous they are.
And Hawks is soothed by his scent, immediately, can pick it up practically across the compound. He brightens at his voice, his mere presence, the spark of his body heat. Hawks wants to fix his hair, and smooth his shirt collar, and tend to his fresh burns, and massage his temples when he gets stress headaches. He wants to make him feel cared for.
He finds himself stealing bits of clothing, a shirt here, a hoodie there, until he’s made a half-decent nest of them in his own room. He doesn’t know if Dabi hasn’t noticed, or doesn’t care.
(Or is letting him?)
And Hawks wants to give him things, shiny things, beautiful things, watches, and earrings, and necklaces, and whatever else sparkles. (He doesn’t do this one, but it’s a constantly-nagging thought in his head. Decorate him, his bird-brain screams.)
It’s…a lot. A constant thrum under his skin. A weakness. A dangerous dagger’s edge.
But Hawks can’t stop it.
He doesn’t know why it happens. It’s not like Dabi is necessarily…kind, or particularly charming. He’s crude, and sour, and biting, and occasionally cruel, even to Hawks. Maybe especially to Hawks.
But every once in a while…he’s soft. In his own, quiet way. In a way that makes Hawks feel suddenly woozy. He’ll read a book in the light of the window, or ruffle Hawks’ hair in passing, or sing under his breath in the kitchen. Things that are are so normal but…strikingly endearing.
And he’s always funny. He has a dark, sarcastic sense of humor that tickles Hawks’ insides on days when he doesn’t feel like smiling.
And maybe it’s the sex?
Actually, the sex is probably what spurred the whole thing, in the first place.
Hawks has never hooked up with the same person twice, let alone…hundreds of times, by now. His body is fine-tuned to Dabi, like he’s a silly little instrument and Dabi is the practiced, master musician, plucking every single one of his strings. Pressing his keys ’til he belts out sounds like a piano.
And the spring only makes it worse.
Better?
More intense.
Hawks isn’t a fucking dog, it’s not like he goes into heat, but something about the warmth of the sun, about all the flowers exploding, and the gentle breeze, and the way the days stretch long and slow in the new season—it does something to him, okay? Spring makes him want to fly, to drink in the puffy, white clouds at the top of the skyline. He wants to roll in green grass, and flex his feathers, and be born again, evolve anew, make something of himself, make…something…make love? Make…fuck, okay, fine, he wants to fuck.
Dabi’s touch is like a drug shooting into his veins, supercharged like lightning, lately. A brush of his lips, a mashing of mouths, and Hawks quickly flips over onto his back in submission because it’s all he wants.
And Dabi always gives it to him, right back, just the way he likes it.
They’re kind of in a relationship, after all.
Well.
Okay, they’re not.
They’re doing everything people in a relationship do, which is where Hawks thinks the whole “mate” thing came from, at the end of the day. His avian instincts are like, yeah, this is his guy, or whatever. His partner.
They’re in a relationship, really, but without the label. They’re in a relationship but they don’t call it that.
They don’t call it anything.
And Hawks isn’t really able to pin down how Dabi feels about everything. Does he know Hawks is thinking this way? Can he tell? Is it obvious or is he oblivious? Is he ignoring it, or is he feeding into it consciously, every time he calls Hawks some cute pet name?
It drives him crazy.
He can’t focus anymore, on either mission. Hawks just knows that, for the first time in his life…he doesn’t feel quite so alone.
——
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Hawks whines, voice muffled by the seedy hotel sheets. His own breath crowds back over his cheeks, harried and damp. The condensation makes him dizzy but he can’t get enough. And he can feel how red he is, can feel the shade painted on every inch of his skin.
“Dabi, Jesus Christ.”
The scalding hands on the backs of his thighs press harder, smushing Hawks’ face further into the mattress. His spine arches with exertion, and Dabi’s tongue pets even faster over his rim. A sweet sound grumbles into him.
“Ah, more, more—yeah!” Hawks twitches, feels himself clench at a particularly lascivious suckle. His asshole is soaked from the attention. Spit puddles delectably around it and God, he’s fucking quaking.
Dabi leans over him even more and Hawks’ neck cranes uncomfortably, bent at a bad angle, but let it snap, for all he cares. That tongue, warm and silky, laps lower, catches his taint, glides over his balls. Hawks’ toes curl in response.
“Ohmygod.” He groans, wings flapping against the air. One of them bats the ceiling fan and it spins loudly, threatening to fly off-kilter. Oh, well. Dabi chuckles against him, clearly amused by his desperation. Hawks tries to rut his cock into the bedding, but it earns him a sharp spike in temperature.
Dabi’s palms sting, his grip feels bright orange like blown glass, and he pulls back enough to say, “Not yet, Birdie.”
Ugh. Hawks sobs—no, warbles. He crams his face up to his forearms and lengthening talons scratch against his own biceps.
“C’mon,” He begs, voice strained. “You’ve been—fucking—eating me out forever—c’mon.”
Dabi drags his tongue between Hawks’ cheeks. All the way up, all the way in, all the way back down. Steady, determined, restrained. Making him cry out and squirm on purpose.
“Patience is a virtue, hero.” Dabi teases, dipping forward again without warning. His hands skate upward to cup Hawks’ ass and spread him wide. A beat of cool air has Hawks shivering before it’s quickly masked, quickly chased away with a relentless rhythm and more sticky saliva.
“Ahhhh—” Hawks keens. His cock is so hard it hurts, he’s been dripping beads of precum onto the blankets this entire time.
“Please,” He gasps. Hawks wants to burst from his own skeleton, it’s so overwhelming. He needs to be railed this instant, or he’ll die. “Dabi—please.”
Dabi doesn’t immediately respond to that. In fact, he takes his time drawing more sounds from Hawks, working him over until his whole body wracks with need. He just hums every time Hawks begs. The vibrations are—they’re kinda beyond words.
“Fucking—please,” Hawks’ voice breaks off in a chirp. He untangles his arms, clutches the hair at his temples. He buries his nose in the fabric below him. “I’ll do anything just—”
“Anything?” Dabi asks, voice wet when he slurps off. Hawks slumps away, melting in the pause, catching his breath. His body is full of firecrackers and Pop Rocks. His wings tremble and hover midair, idle and languid. His thoughts spin like pinwheels.
“Yeah.” Hawks exhales, thrown off his axis.
Dabi’s hands slide off his ass. Hawks feels his weight shift as he leans back onto his knees, farther away. He traces steaming fingertips along his lower back, over his hips, down his thighs and calves, all over, where ever he wants. Hawks feels goosebumps prickle, following the delicate paths. He pants into the sheets, doesn’t even wince at his own drool marks this time. Whatever.
“Anything.” Hawks repeats, voice high and squeaky.
Dabi stays silent. His fingers walk along Hawks’ skin, aimless, just feeling. They’re hot like coals everywhere they touch. The weight behind him repositions again, and those fingers creep towards delicious, downy feathers.
They aren’t even there yet and Hawks cheeps in delight. The anticipation roars through him like a raging fire, like Dabi’s fire, consuming everything, billowing smoke, churning in his lungs, and when those fingers find their way home—exerting just the right amount of pressure, circling in his favorite, go-to pattern, Hawks explodes.
He comes untouched, spasming and moaning like a virgin. His wings tighten and lock up, his brain shuts off like someone pulled the plug, and magma gushes through him, breaking through earth, breaking through his skin, out of every individual nerve ending. Hawks lights up like a Christmas tree and sobs, making a mess underneath himself. He snivels Dabi’s name like it’s the only word he knows, between pathetic, weak whistles. It is the only word he knows, in that moment.
His mate’s name.
God, he’s done for.
Dabi plays with him while he comes down. It doesn’t allow Hawks to really feel any relief, because those expert fingertips continue to swish through his down, to explore the entire area at the base of his wings. Dabi’s done this millions of times by now, but he always touches Hawks like he’s learning something new. Like if he keeps searching, he’ll find another magic spot.
“So much for ‘anything,’” Dabi scoffs, slipping up to stroke over his primaries. They quiver, Hawks sags.
“You’re a wet noodle after you blow your load. Didn’t I tell you to wait, baby?”
Hawks swallows hard, lets his back finally loosen after arcing into a tight shape for so long. All his muscles tingle like they’re full of ants.
“Couldn’t.” Is all he can spit out. He threads a weak hand through his bangs, swipes heavy sweat away from his forehead.
Then—fuck. Dabi spanks him. A quick, searing slap on his right asscheek. Hawks makes a noise between a cry and some other desperate, punched-out word. His spent cock weeps just a little bit more.
“Nnngh.” Hawks grits his teeth. Fights the urge to roll his eyes to the back of his head. They make it half way, truth be told.
“Probably for the better.” Dabi soothes over the area, tender, and then squeezes roughly. “You saying ‘anything’ like that…tsk, tsk, Hawks, almost making a deal with the devil.”
He already has, he wants to remind Dabi. Months ago, with a rushed blowjob in the forest, and then every single time after. He already has, with the way his chest keeps singing for his mate. They’re already linked, contract signed, probably in blood, or something. He already has, it all feels way to fucking good to be anything other than sin.
“I—shit!” Another slap, the other cheek.
“You what?”
One more. Hawks’ head swirls like a clogged sink, overflowing. He’s spilling over the basin, bubbling out of his mind. Flooding. His senses are flooding. Flooded.
“I wanna come again.” He pleads, like a relapsed addict. “Dabi. Make me come again.”
Any other time of year, that would be a little difficult, back to back.
But it’s spring, after all.
The grunt behind him is the only warning Hawks gets. Dabi clutches his hips and shifts him backwards, tugs him up onto his lap and right over his cock. One minuscule adjustment later and Dabi pulls Hawks onto him, all the way onto him, to the hilt.
Hawks yelps. He’ll never get used to his heavy cock, the warm, borderline-painful stretch, the full, dense weight of it.
He whimpers and tosses his head back, almost collides with Dabi’s cheekbone. The villain grapples at his waist, maneuvers Hawks into a fast, vigorous rhythm within three seconds of manhandling. He sucks Hawks’ throat, presses teeth under his jaw. Hawks’ wings try to make themselves small, half-nestled, half-smashed against Dabi’s chest. Hawks swears he can feel Dabi’s rapid heartbeat through his feathers, with how hyper-sensitive they are.
“Yeah, Birdie,” Dabi growls. “Ride my cock. Take it.”
“Oh—”
Hawks reels. His prostate gets pounded. Arousal pulses through his gut again, wraps tightly in his body like a coil. He tries rocking his hips to keep up but Dabi’s certainly taking the lead. Hawks almost loses his balance but catches it on Dabi’s upper thighs, nicks him with sharpened nails. He catalogues the feeling of fine, fuzzy hair under his palms.
“Ah—Da—”
“Take it, baby.” Dabi repeats, huffs, a hint of smoke snaking from his lips. It swells against Hawks’ face, aromatic and intoxicating like the heady smell of weed. He gulps it in with shaky lungs.
“Mmmnnh!”
Hawks mouth falls open. He loves to inhale him.
“My fucking whore.” Dabi rattles off. One hand jerks from Hawks’ hip bone to his neck, squeezes delicately. He thumbs the side of it, locks Hawks’ head into a spot where he can suck more hickies onto pale, sloping skin. Hawks feels himself trilling, knows Dabi, in turn, can feel the vibrations under his lips.
“Only mine.” Is whispered into his neck. “My pretty little bird.”
Oh, God. Oh, yeah. Fuck.
He’s supposed to not think of this guy as his mate? When he says shit like that?
Hawks quickly begins tipping back into the abyss. He likes to be possessed like this, used like this. He chokes. Hawks wrenches his right hand from Dabi’s muscular thigh and wraps it over his own dick, tugging without consistency. He’s way too shaky for consistency.
“Gonna come again? Like you wanted?” Dabi hisses. His voice is tense, pulled taunt like string. His pelvis collides with Hawks’ ass over and over and his breath gets darker. Black smog snakes through the room and Hawks is so glad they left a window open, or the smoke detector would be setting off the sprinklers for sure.
“Yeah, yeah—,” Hawks babbles. The last two words slant into avian language and that’s always how Dabi knows it’s a home run.
“Fuck, yeah, come on my dick, baby. Lemme—feel you—fuck.”
Hawks is literally speechless for his second orgasm. No sound escapes when he screws his eyes shut and falls apart.
How is he falling apart, but his chest is caving in, too?
It’s too much, always. He finishes dry, but it’s stronger than the first one, hitting him in full-body waves. The hand still on Dabi’s thigh has it in a death-grip.
“Ngh, Hawks—you hot fucking—bitch—yeah,” Dabi follows right behind, urged into it from Hawks’ fluttering. He feels cum shoot deep inside of him, and it’s—it’s right. Hawks is weak and exhausted but he knows it’s right. He preens.
He cuddles back against Dabi immediately with a crazed, high whine, blissed out and satiated. Hawks sits down fully in his lap when his legs give out. The hand on his throat droops off and Hawks nuzzles backwards, into Dabi’s cheek. He’s met with no resistance. The opposite, in fact. Dabi sets his hands on Hawks’ waist, leans his forehead into Hawks’ hair. His chest tremors against Hawks’ back with heaving breaths.
They don’t speak for a moment. The hotel AC kicks on and the long-forgotten television buzzes with background chatter.
Hawks’ heart still pounds, and he clings to the temporary, silly sense of being held and being whole.
Dabi eventually clears his throat and lifts Hawks off of him. His wings tilt to keep balance while Dabi climbs off the bed and Hawks tries his very best not to look so disappointed.
Dabi calls over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom, “Let’s shower, you’re gonna get fucking cum everywhere.”
Hawks blinks. He’s still struggling to swim to the surface after such a deep dive of pleasure.
Huh?
“Together?”
“Did I stutter?” Dabi’s already in the doorway. “Place is huge, the shower’s big enough for ten people.—We should commit credit card fraud way more often, I don’t know why we live in such a shithole when we could be doing this all the time.”
Oh.
Showering together is new.
Hawks follows after with an excited bat of feathers.
The bathroom really is huge. The entire hotel room is; it’s a presidential suite. Hawks chose to ignore the blatant credit card theft in favor of getting fucked in a gigantic, king-sized bed with a nice view of the city and a bottle of complimentary chilled champagne in the mini-fridge.
(Dabi had said things were getting “annoying” at the compound. He “needed a fucking break.”)
Steam already clouds the rounded mirror when Hawks pads into the bathroom. It’s exquisitely rich-looking, with black marble floors and pristine white amenities and countertops. Flecks of gold sparkle on every surface, matching the hardware. The toilet paper is, like, a-million-ply, and the towels are fluffy. They even have robes hanging on hooks by the door.
Dabi stands under a searing rainfall of water behind the glass half-wall that separates the shower stall from the rest of the bathroom. The scent of his smoke has drifted outside already and now an earthy, crisp one lingers. Hawks scatters a chunk of his feathers because he doesn’t feel like getting them wet, and joins him.
Dabi cracks an eyelid, observes him while washing his hair.
“You’ve been different lately, Birdie.” He says offhandedly. “Awfully frisky.”
Hawks stamps down a blush and maneuvers into the spray so he can lather up, too. He bumps Dabi out of the way with his hip.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You invited me here. If anyone’s horned up it’s you.” He grumbles, pumping handfuls of soap from the fancy container attached to the wall. Lavender. Nice. Hawks starts cleaning himself up in bubbly circles, determined to ignore the insinuation.
Dabi shoulder-checks him back to rinse out his shampoo.
“I dunno. We’ve hooked up probably every day this week, and then, just now, pretty sure you orgasmed your brains out. If I didn’t know any better…”
Dabi dunks his entire head under the water, pushes wet hair away from his forehead. Rivulets stream down his neck, and shoulders, and chest and Hawks’ stomach does a backflip. The scars are nothing, they don’t matter. If anything, they’re a testament to Dabi’s strength. The burns are just part of who he is, and what he is, is painfully handsome. An ache flares through Hawks’s sternum and he suddenly leans in to steal a kiss.
Dabi scoffs against his lips and the kiss turns into three, four, five kisses, before they’re making out with soap in their eyes. Hawks’ arousal quickly makes itself known against Dabi’s thigh and the other man straight up laughs at him.
Steepled fingers push Hawks gently away, against the chilly shower wall. He grunts and stares back at Dabi, magnetized, but frustrated at the derailment.
Dabi flashes a canine. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were in season, or something.”
There’s the blush, Hawks can’t hide it this time. It seeps up from his chest, up through his neck, to sprout scarlet on his cheeks.
As always, fucking got him.
“I am not, what the shit, man?”
“I dunno,” Dabi teases. He flicks Hawks in the nipple (ow) and resumes washing his hair, this time with conditioner. “I need at least twenty minutes and you’re over there popping boner number three of the evening. Should I be concerned? Like, should I have been wrapping it this whole time? Are you gonna lay an egg?”
Huh?!
Hawks’ fucking eyes boggle from his head. He’s never been this red in his entire life. But Dabi smirks at him like the Cheshire Cat, wide and teasing.
Hawks splutters to form a sentence. His eyebrows snare down. “No, I’m not gonna lay an egg. What kinda—”
…But…should he have been using protection?—No, not for an egg, for fuck’s sake, but…for, like, STDs? It’s way too late for Hawks to be concerned about that, he lost count of their encounters forever ago, but…is Dabi sleeping around?
In a flash, he thinks of the villains’ bar. The bartender with the forked tail, the crowd of people who recognized Dabi there. Hell, Hawks thinks of the rest of the League, the entire PLF, dozens of people who would probably be a potential hookup to him.
Jealously catches on his ribs, sudden, sharp, and ugly. Hawks buries it down, but it’s got barbs. It stabs Hawks in the lungs. He asks before he can stop himself.
“Should you have been wrapping it, though?”
Dabi freezes. His hands pause almost comically while rinsing out conditioner. A snarl forms on his lips.
“I was joking, but if you’re about to tell me you can actually conceive, Hawks—”
“No, are you fucking other people?”
Growing anger washes away, twisting into confusion. Dabi’s expression relaxes but he raises an eyebrow. His hands fall and he takes in the state of Hawks, focuses on how he clenches his jaw. Dabi tilts his head, searches Hawks up and down with clinical blue eyes.
“Why do you care?”
Oof, that one hurts. And Hawks can’t even be honest about it. He finally steps away from the cold tile and sloughs soap from his skin, looking down to watch it eddy into the drain.
“Just wanna know if I’m gonna get chlamydia or something.”
Dabi’s laugh is kind of mean, as usual. “Don’t you think you would’ve by now, Birdie?”
Well, probably, but…
Dabi continues when Hawks is silent, “No, I’m not fucking other people. Are you? Wouldn’t be surprised, with the way you’ve been chasing my dick—”
“I’m not.” Hawks admits quickly. He won’t lie, Dabi’s disclosure unwinds something tight and painful he hadn’t previously been aware of. “I’ve never even—slept with the same person twice. ’Til now I mean.”
He isn’t looking at Dabi, gaze still glued to the obsidian pattern at their feet.
“Hm. Makes two of us, then.”
Oh.
Hawks’ eyes cut upwards to meet Dabi’s, but his are closed, head under the downpour once again. Impossible to read.
That’s…good news, at least.
Right?
If it even matters?
Hawks doesn’t know what he’s trying to gain from this. He’s…gone and mated himself to a villain, what’s he even expecting? A happy ending in any way, shape, or form feels…so impossible that he can’t even imagine it. He can’t even guess what it would look like. Not with the mess he’s in.
And just because he’s Dabi’s first repeat-hookup too, that—that means nothing. They have good sexual chemistry, and it’s convenient. It’s not like Dabi has some fucking uncontrollable birdbrain imprinting Hawks into his soul.
This can probably only end in disaster.
Right?
Right?
Right?
It loops over and over through Hawks’ head while he finishes showering. Dabi’s done before him and he yanks one of the cotton robes off the hanger after toweling off.
Hawks takes his time, enjoying the nice shower but also calming himself down. He’s gotta get a handle on this or it’s going to consume him alive.
Unfortunately, when he walks back into the bedroom, swathed in his own robe, Dabi looks…actually really cute.
Yeah, a villain, cute, leaning against the headboard of the giant bed, propped up on pillows and watching late night television. He has the lukewarm champagne bottle in one hand and the remote lazily in the other, flipping through channels. The lights are off but the curtains are drawn open still, revealing the twinkling city outside.
It smells like soap, and smoke, and cinnamon, and Hawks tries to memorize it.
Hawks sidles into the empty side of the bed, sans most of his feathers, still. He burrows into a pile of pillows, wants to cuddle up to Dabi, but doesn’t, never does, and lets his eyes wander over to whatever game show he settled on. It isn’t even late yet, he doesn’t imagine either of them will fall asleep for a while.
“You watch much TV lately?” Hawks mumbles. “Guess not, huh?”
Dabi chuckles, like it’s a silly question. “There are only like, three televisions in the whole complex, and if you haven’t noticed, they’re always taken. A lot of fucking dorks playing video games. Or Toga and her reality trash.”
Hawks grunts in affirmation. “I haven’t much either. Sports, sometimes, I guess. Soccer, y'know. Baseball.”
Dabi swigs from the bottle of bubbly and offers it to Hawks. He sips some, too. It’s nearly empty from earlier.
“This is the life, though, huh?” Dabi sighs, kicking his feet up to cross at the ankles, on top of a pile of unnecessary decorative pillows. “Nice digs. Free booze. Pay-per-view. Easy to get used to, I guess. Bet you have it pretty good in that penthouse suite apartment of yours, hm, Birdie?”
Hawks finishes off the champagne, sets the empty bottle on the bedside table.
“Gonna pretend you’re just guessing I live in a penthouse suite and not that you actually know where my real apartment is.” He remarks. On TV, the audience applauds. The contestant won a new car.
“Tch, think whatever you want. But you know where I live, don’t you? Fair’s fair.”
Fair’s fair.
Why’s Dabi never knocked on his window, then? Or invited himself in? He can’t be afraid of repercussions, he warped right into the Pro Heroes Gala.
Maybe he’s just not interested?
“It’s fine, I guess.” Hawks eventually replies. “Doesn’t look too different from this, but more gray. Empty.”
“No family photos?”
Hawks rolls his eyes and shoves Dabi in the shoulder. “I don’t see any up on your walls either, asshole.”
“Only for dart practice.”
Hawks actually laughs. There’s one of those sly jokes, one that stabs him between the ribs like a guy with sword-arms.
Yeah, no, this is definitely gonna consume him alive.
“…You know,” Hawks starts, slanting back into the pillows. He’s not touching Dabi but he’s leaning towards him. Warmth seeps off his body like a hearth.
Dabi lets the remote fall to the blankets. He crosses his lithe arms behind his head. When Hawks doesn’t immediately continue, he raises an eyebrow.
“I know what?”
Always so bristly.
Hawks doesn’t look at him. He gazes at the TV, where new contestants are trying to guess the cost of a skiing vacation to win it. He hopes they succeed, in the back of his mind. If it matters. Maybe it’s a rerun, and they already have. Maybe they’re in the Swiss Alps right now.
“We could…keep living like this, y’know?” Hawks feigns a stretch. Trying to be casual, like he’s not bobbing overboard, begging for someone to toss him a life ring. “Bounce around, place to place. Always somewhere nice.”
Silence stretches until it’s thin enough to snap. The contestants, damn them, a few thousand dollars off. Not this time. They win a refrigerator, and that’s, like, fine.
Dabi reaches over, catches Hawks by the chin. He jumps, but lets his face be twisted to the side. Startling cobalt eyes meet nervous golden ones.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dabi sneers.
Dabi’s fingertips are so warm. Hawks doesn’t even think he means to be, most of the time. He holds onto his chin and Hawks wants to melt into the touch. He wants to dip his face into it. He wants to kiss him.
Totally consumed. Alive.
“I just, I mean,” Hawks blows out a breath and backs his face away. “We could just keep doing this, y’know? Leave Japan. Just, fucking, steal credit cards and live like this. Get away from this place.”
Dabi’s mouth falls open. He pulls an expression like Hawks just offered him rotting garbage for dinner. Then, he suddenly smirks.
“You, Pro Hero Hawks, would like to shirk your responsibilities and travel around the world to commit continuous credit card fraud and identity theft? Stealing from the masses and island-hopping, hm?”
Well, when he puts it that way…yeah, no, the answer is still “yes.”
“I dunno, does it sound so bad? I’m…tired, Dabi.” Tired to the core. Tired in a way words can’t describe. “Aren’t you?”
Hawks holds his breath. If he lets himself dream, for just a millisecond…the Commission is gone, he’s been released from their shackles. The battles are fought, the soft light turns over onto his feathers each morning, peacefully. They drink beer in the sunshine and watch it set later that evening.
But Dabi snorts at him.
It’s dashed.
“While it’s adorable that you’ve become so detached from your hero duties, I don’t have the same mindset. I have a mission, Hawks.” Dabi taps him in the cheek, too hard. It makes Hawks flinch.
“My only goal is to squash Endeavor’s head under the sole of my boot. Break his neck, burn him to a crisp. Whatever it takes. Make him and his family see me and suffer. Nothing can stand in the way of that, as much as I’d love to tromp around with you, masquerading as two rich pricks.”
Hawks, he—he feels a surge of sick guilt. Anxiety he’s been trying to mask swells and grumbles low in his stomach.
Endeavor. No longer his idol, for obvious reasons, but, still the number one hero. Still the one who took up the mantle after All Might fell.
And his family. Shoto’s just a teenager, and his other siblings, their mom…
God, everything’s fucked up. Hawks is fucked up.
“What about after that?” Hawks asks, because he doesn’t know what else to ask. “When it’s all over?”
Dabi pauses at that. He raises an eyebrow and grumbles, brings his arms up to cross over his stapled chest. It’s almost silly, in the robe, but the air is suddenly too serious. And then he shrugs, almost theatrically.
“Fuck if I know. You can dig my grave, Birdie.”
“…What?”
Dabi exhales a bitter laugh. His smile turns cynical. The applause on TV is phony and gross.
“I don’t anticipate surviving after that. You really think Endeavor and I won’t destroy each other? I’m strong, my flames burn hotter, but, I’ll give it to the old man, he’s got a lot of power. We’ll probably level a few city blocks, and then, I dunno, you can toss what’s left of me in the landfill.”
Hawks goes cold, veins chilling to ice. The warmth Dabi exudes can’t help him, after hearing that. He blinks, shakes his head to clear the idea.
“Are you crazy?” Hawks balks.
“You ask me that a lot, I thought it was pretty established by now—”
“You’re just—this is a suicide mission? Full fucking kamikaze? Why? That’s insane, Dabi.” Hawks blabbers to hide the way his heart picks up speed. To try and drown it out. From the bathroom, he can feel his loose feathers buzzing.
Dabi lets his head knock back into the headboard with an annoyed groan.
“Because that’s the only way. I’ve thought this through in every scenario—”
“No.” Hawks blurts, without meaning to sound so urgent. He sits up in bed and fully turns to face Dabi. “You can’t just…throw your life away like that.”
The villain glares. “You don’t dictate what I can and can’t do, hero.”
Hawks almost growls, frowns sharply. His freed feathers zoom in from the bathroom and crowd against his back, eager to latch back on in the surge of emotion, but blocked by the robe. “Stop calling me that—in that way. Haven’t I proven—”
“Proven what?” Dabi spits back. “That you’re over it? That you don’t care anymore? Apathy and anger are two different things, Hawks. And I’m still angry. I won’t rest—I can’t rest until Endeavor is dead. I hate to break it to you, but if you’re going to split town, you’re doing it alone.”
His words hang heavy in the air. Dust settles into silence, except for the stupid television. A bright commercial with tacky music blares across the TV.
Hawks takes a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate. His talons extended during the argument so he wills them to shrink down. He shucks the robe from his shoulders and lets his feathers reattach, but they immediately puff up, a telltale sign of his frazzled feelings.
He looks up from his own hands to Dabi’s profile. It’s silhouetted by city lights, here in this hotel room, in this bubble, this facade of what they could have.
“…Will you just…will you just come with me?” Hawks asks carefully, baring his feelings but not admitting them. Not even to himself, in certain, specific words.
Because they’re in a relationship that’s not a relationship.
His wings curl in, timid. His heart threatens to pop like a balloon. He traces the shape of Dabi’s face with his eyes, counts the staples. Steely blue ones slide back to him, like they’re analyzing him rather than simply observing.
Dabi suddenly shuts off the television with the click of a button, then drops the remote loudly onto the bedside table. In the shadows he turns over, settling into the pillows with his back to Hawks. He yanks the blanket up over his torso.
“No.”
Only one word but it’s dropped like a bomb. Hawks stares, still able to see the shape of him in the dark.
And it hurts.
He knew that would probably be the answer, that he’s grasping straws, but…it still hurts.
He doesn’t reply, just attempts to measure his breathing and not spiral into a panic attack again. There’s…gotta be a way to change things. Somehow.
It’s a lot to go up against, by himself. To sort out. Nausea tilts Hawks upside down even when he lays on his side. He doesn’t touch Dabi, but, he scoots his hand across the sheets, until his fingertips are only a few inches away from his back. Like, maybe, in the middle of the night, if he changes his mind, if he comes seeking…
It’s probably hopeless. It’s a dream, like a beach sunset and two bottles of beer.
But Hawks will figure it out. He just needs more time. If he can infiltrate the League of Villains and play them like a double agent, he can certainly worm his way into Dabi’s head and convince him not to go through with this batshit plan.
People can change.
(Just like Hawks is changing, plummeting into a canyon of bad decisions and moral ambiguity.)
He takes a deep, shaky breath and tries to sleep.
——
Hawks wakes up alone. Yellow sunshine glows through the drawn curtains, and he comes to in a king-sized bed by himself. There’s an empty bottle of champagne beside him, a robe on the floor, and a stolen credit card on top of the dresser.
In the moment, it feels typical. Shitty, but typical. He picks up the pieces of his cracked heart and vows to keep trying. Hawks will figure it out. A way to save him. Them.
But he doesn’t realize the finality of it all. That he’s already out of time.
His next encounter with Dabi will end in flames, and he’ll barely make it out alive.
Notes:
Hey so um yeah don't forget that happy ending tag :') lmao. We're wading into sad canon territory but there's a light at the end of the tunnel!
I hope this transition to Hawks having more feelings came off as natural, it's kinda hard in a time skippy fic but I think I did okay leading into it enough to feel believable? I hope lol!
P.S. sorry mpregers, no egg laying in this fic, Hawks is just horny in the spring. Can you blame him? He sees flowers blooming and wants romance ok???
As always, your comments make my DAY, MY WEEK, MY YEAR, MY LIFE <3 Please send me them :)
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Chapter Text
Hawks chooses a side.
But it tears him apart.
It rips him into pieces, decays him all at once like Shigaraki’s Quirk. His insides crumble, and his heart collapses, and his brain shuts down, and then reverts to auto-pilot. He defaults to the straight-faced soldier that the Commission pummeled him into.
The days blur and he panics, vomits intel to the heroes even when half of him is screeching not to. Even when the bird inside him pecks at his ribs like they’re a bony cage.
Even when he thinks of Dabi.
He doesn’t see Dabi again, after their night in the fancy hotel room. After Hawks’ stupid proposition. He can’t track him down, can’t find him anywhere. At the villa, at their usual hookup spots, in the forest nearby, in the cabin. His smoky scent fades from the compound. And it worries Hawks, turns him to ice. He fucked up and scared him off. Too close for comfort.—Or maybe Hawks just made him angry, suggesting Dabi give up his so-called dream. Hawks searches for him, endlessly, but—
It’s too late. The war is on their doorstep.
And Hawks chooses a side because he has to. He questions it every day.
He slinks back to Endeavor and the other pros with all the information he has, because he’s still a Commission-driven piece of shit, and there’s no changing that, apparently. Those twisted roots run too deep, apparently. Emotions and mates still mean nothing, apparently.
(Hawks knows that isn’t true, deep down, because the animal inside him cracks his sternum with its beak.)
He wonders if it would be different, if he’d been able to see Dabi again.
Would he have convinced him otherwise? (Hawks or Dabi, either one of them. Convinced them of what, exactly, Hawks isn’t sure. But would it be different?)
If Hawks had been able to puke out his feelings, would it change things?
If he begged?
If he cried? (He never, ever does, but Hawks really wants to, lately.)
If he admitted things are…complicated, sure, but…mean something, to him? If he’d vocalized the things he’s hiding, instead?
There’s no telling.
Would he still kill Twice?
God, would he still kill Twice?
Hawks doesn’t want to kill Twice. It’s not premeditated. Twice had…become Hawks’ friend. He was a good person, just misled. He had good intentions, he cared for his friends. In a different circle, he could’ve been saved.
But it’s fight or flight, and though Hawks is capable of both, he chooses to fight. There’s too much at stake.
——
Dabi’s eyes are an inferno. That’s the first thing Hawks registers, after Twice’s blood has been shed. Blue flames crackle with fury that Hawks has never seen.
And with sorrow, too.
Dabi snarls, made of pure, feral anger, and sends a typhoon of fire in Hawks’ direction.
Hawks yelps and leaps out of the way, but he’s singed. Heat bursts on his shoulders, catches his feathers. He rolls, collides with the guard rail.
It knocks the breath out of him. Hawks chokes out Dabi’s name, holds his hands up in a feeble form of defense.
He tries again, “Dabi—”
“Don’t say a fucking word.” Dabi snaps. He stomps closer, has Hawks cornered. His body burns sapphire and he prowls forward with dangerous intention. The battle rages below them in the villa, loud and desperate. Hawks knows this is only the beginning of the end.
“You killed Twice like it was nothing.” Dabi growls. He’s right on him. Footsteps away. “Like he was nothing.”
Hawks arcs backwards, cowering into the metal behind him. He’s stuck. And he—he doesn’t want to hurt two people he cares about. The scorched leftovers of his feathers flit uselessly, anyway. He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to.
He sucks in a shuddering breath. Tries to explain. “Dabi. I didn’t mean—”
Dabi bares his teeth again, a sardonic smile. It’s devoid of joy. He crouches and clutches Hawks by the ankles, yanks him away from the edge of the balcony. Hawks’ shirt lifts with the motion and concrete scrapes horrifically along his skin. A heavy boot crushes his side, forces him onto his stomach with a thud.
Jesus. Hawks coughs up blood.
It’s hard to find his voice, there’s so much smoke. Something he used to drink in pleasure suffocates him now. “I-I swear, I—”
Dabi’s heel jams into his lower back. And then he kicks him with fucking force.
“Shit—” Hawks hisses. His brain slants sideways, recalls being vulnerable with Dabi in a million different ways. But not like this.
Fucking God, this is awful. Dabi’s about to beat the shit out of him and Hawks is gonna let him, isn’t he? He’s going to let him because he’s—he’s his mate, still, even now. That animal inside him is wailing about it. That he missed him, of all fucking things. It wonders where Dabi’s been. The relief, the ache, at finally seeing him again is almost worse than the physical pain he’s inflicting.
Dabi leans over him, grasps the back of Hawks’ hair with a searing hand. His warmth, so often a source of comfort, is kind of terrifying now. Even if it’s so excruciatingly familiar. Even if a psychotic part of Hawks wants to nuzzle into it.
“I can’t believe you, Birdie.” Dabi mutters, tone flat. His grip tightens and Hawks’ scalp hurts. “He was your friend. I thought we were all your friends, hm? Were you going to jam your sharp little feathers into my back, too? Just waiting for the perfect opportunity?”
“No—”
Dabi slams his cheek into the pavement. Hawks’ molar cracks. He sees stars.
Fuck.
He might actually die this time.
“I thought we had something special, didn’t you? I thought we shared all our secrets, Keigo.”
We did, he wants to say, but his words are swirly. We do.
It’s on the tip of his tongue. Touya.
Dabi releases his hair without warning and Hawks ear connects with the ground again. Dark spots bloom behind his eyes. The throbbing in his skull is like a drumbeat.
“Maybe you chickened out.” Dabi rears back. His shoe presses impossibly harder into Hawks’ spine. “My guess is you had too much fun getting fucked to get the job done. I always said you were a whore.—Or maybe that’s why you wanted to skip town with me? Get my guard down, murder me in another fancy hotel and leave me for the housekeepers to clean up? I’m surprised a ritzy bitch like you even got his hands dirty with Twice. It’s so messy, killing someone.—But I guess it’s not new to you.”
Hawks opens his mouth to speak but in that moment a blaze lights up his back.
“Ahh!—Fuck, fuck!” He cries. Hawks tries to squirm away from it but there’s nowhere to go. His feathers crisp up like kindling and his shirt quickly deteriorates. Hawks grits his teeth when the flames lick his skin, grunts again when it starts to broil. He’s being incinerated.
Consumed alive.
“No—Dabi—” He manages to croak. “Never you. You’re—we’re different. Stop, please—”
The smell of burning flesh is almost worse than the feeling. Almost. There’s one tiny, hopeful moment where the flames lessen, but then they roar back full-force.
“‘We’re different’?” Dabi parrots with a scoff, lashing into him. “Yeah, we sure are. You have the audacity to call yourself a hero, but I’d say you’re even more of a villain than I am!”
With a pop the fire grows. It’s almost blinding, so bright that it engulfs Hawks. Each feather buzzes so hard they scream in his head and Fierce Wings melts away, one by one. Hawks’ talons finally lengthen, because despite the instinctual refusal to hurt his mate, he’s scared. He digs them into the concrete, pointlessly tries to drag himself away. Doesn’t manage an inch.
“You made up all this bullshit about change.” Dabi yells over the thunder of fire. “These lies about switching sides. You—you tell me you’re frustrated with hero society. Ha! You goddamn hypocrite. I can’t believe you murdered him!”
“P-please, stop.” Hawks pleads, voice small. This hurts so bad. His one Achilles heel, of course he’d get tangled up with the guy who dishes it out. Hawks’ body turns to ash in tandem with his heart.
“Dabi—please.”
The jet of flames ceases. Hawks wheezes in the moment of reprieve. He can barely get any air, it’s too thick with black smog.
Silence.
Then.
“I…can’t believe you murdered him.” Dabi repeats. He sounds hollow this time. Empty.
Hawks hacks and spits. He struggles to twist but is finally able to. God, it feels like he’s been splayed open. He imagines the grotesque state of his back.
Golden eyes sting in the heat but they still find blue ones, up above.
Furious, anguished blue ones.
“Dabi.” Hawks repeats. It’s the only word he can manage. His throat is raw, his lungs are clogged. “I—I—”
Hawks loses the sentence to a coughing fit. He weakly lifts his hand and wraps it over Dabi’s knee. His fingers curl behind his calf. Hawks is shaking, he knows Dabi can feel it. Maybe it’ll matter.
“I’m…sorry.” Hawks finally whispers. He stares upwards, and Dabi stares back. The scarred face glaring down at him is an unreadable mask.
Hawks clears his throat, sounds like he’s dying. Maybe he is. His chest heaves. He’s in agony but he pushes on. Dabi has to hear it.
“I…meant. We’re different. Us. You—and me. Together…I—”
Dabi finally cracks. He stumbles backward, out of his grip, expression contorted into rage. His palms glow again and his body chars with plumes of smoke.
Hawks remembers dozens of shared cigarettes.
The box tossed at him in the snow, the first time. It feels so long ago. Back then, he’d had no idea…the implication, the importance…
“We,” Dabi declares suddenly, well past his boiling point, “we are nothing, Hawks!”
Dabi raises his arms in a cloud of fire. Sparkly blue embers cast into the wind, and if Hawks is about to be destroyed, he hopes it’ll be quick. The tiny, little birdie in him, crooning in its cage, is even glad it’s by Dabi’s hand. It’ll be lethal, but still a lover’s touch.
Consumed alive.
Yeah. Hawks knew this was going to happen. And he did it all anyway.
Idiot.
Dabi sounds crazed. He laughs, bitter, mean, and cold, even amidst the maelstrom of flames.
“At the end of the day,” Dabi howls, “Your death means nothing!”
Fuck it. Hawks shuts his eyes. He’s tired. He’s been so tired. He doesn’t really want to die, but he’ll finally be free from it all.
But then: “Hawks!”
The familiar voice tears Hawks away from his surrender.
He cracks open his eyes to see a flurry of darkness swarm from the sky and—Jesus Christ, it’s Tokoyami. The student delivers a swift kick to Dabi’s chest, sending him backwards. Oh, God, Hawks should—he needs to get up. He needs to protect his intern. His own life is one thing, but Tokoyami’s? No. No fucking way can Dabi hurt him. Hawks won’t allow it.
“Dabi.” Hawks says into the air, praying he can hear. Praying he listens. Speaking still feels like gargling glass.
“Not the kid—,” Hawks chokes out, “Not the kid.”
The smoke’s getting to him. Hawks is fading fast.
Dabi starts monologuing, buying time to build up his Quirk again. He’s going to obliterate Tokoyami, isn’t he? He tells Tokoyami about Twice, about what Hawks did. It’s all so much. Hawks hopes the kid understands, and will forgive him, someday. That he won’t see him as a monster. Hawks tries to push himself up, but Dark Shadow crowds him and covers him in a cloak.
“Tokoyami…” Hawks says, voice so frail, desperate to get his attention. Hawks has to tell him to save himself.
His student spares a look backwards, appearing more ferocious than any other pro hero. He’s afraid but he’s here. He’s standing up to a villain by himself, just a teenager, just a child, for Hawks.
Dark Shadow tells Tokoyami it’s bad. Says Hawks’ wings are gone. Yeah, he can feel that. They sure are. If Hawks is going to help and get them out of here, it’ll be with nothing but tooth and nail.
Dabi snickers. He’s a predator stalking prey, eyeing Tokoyami like he’s a dappled fawn in the forest.
Hawks has to get up. His body won’t let him, but he has to get up.
“Pathetic.” Dabi tsks. “You U.A. brats don’t know when to quit, do you?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Hawks can’t get up!
There’s a boom, an ear-splitting noise and an unbearable explosion of heat. It threatens to swallow them whole. Hawks winces at the sudden blast of blue—and Tokoyami has him. His intern sails below to the next floor and catapults them into the balcony one story down, out of range of Dabi’s attack.
It’s not a smooth landing. Hawks knocks out on impact.
——
Hawks wakes up gasping. He’s launched into consciousness from a dead, black sleep and the result is immediate hysteria. He peripherally recognizes that he’s in a hospital, but the fluorescent lights are harsh, and it smells like antiseptic and bleach, and something is beeping, and there are tubes in his arms, and his back feels like it’s been sautéed, and his wings—his wings—fuck—his wings—where are his wings—
“Hawks, hey, Hawks!”
The voice is familiar. The touch to his forearm startles him, but it’s familiar, too. Heavy and strong, but gentle. It sweeps up, over his bicep, to cup his face. One hand squeezes his cheek and directs him to look into another pair of eyes.
“Calm down, you’re okay! It’s me, it’s Rumi. You’re okay, Hawks.”
Rumi.
Oh, it’s Rumi. Those are her eyes. Ruby red, brows drawn together in concern. Her rabbit ears flick downwards.
“Rumi.” Hawks says with the realization. Shit, he sounds awful. His voice has been through a cheese grater. He clears his throat, comes down from the freakout. Her thumb glides over his cheeks until he’s breathing at a normal pace.
“Hi.” She says eventually. She swoops a touch over his hair and lets him go.
Hawks leans back into the pillows, hyperaware of the pain in his body and the blatant absence of Fierce Wings. They’re not…gone completely, just…nubs. Tiny fucking nubs jutting into the bed under layers and layers of gauze.
“You okay? Tokoyami, did they say he’d do this?”
Hawks blinks. He surveys the room. It’s typical for a hospital suite, albeit more spacious than most. His best friend and his intern both crowd his bedside.
“Yes.” The student answers her. “The doctor informed me that waking up may be overwhelming for him after so long.”
Hawks takes them both in. How long has he been out? What happened in the battle—where the fuck are Rumi’s limbs?!
“Rumi, Jesus—your—”
He wants to say more, but he chokes on a cough.
She gives him a fierce smile, despite the fact that she’s got both a prosthetic arm and leg now.
“Don’t talk too much, Hawksy. You’ve been Darth Vader for a couple days with a crazy breathing mask from all the smoke inhalation.—But they’re pretty cool, huh? I think they suit me, actually. Badass.”
Hawks accepts the plastic cup of water Tokoyami offers and downs it. At least the kid seems unscathed.
From Dabi.
Oh, God. Nausea hits Hawks like a train, sudden and horrifying. He frowns at his best friend and his mentee, who are both watching him with trained eyes, like they’re waiting for him to blow up again. The cup almost crumples in his hand.
He might blow up again.
Distantly, he realizes the heart monitor is picking up speed.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Rumi repeats. She offers a thumbs up with her not-prosthetic hand and then pats Hawks on the shoulder, squeezes him in a grounding way. “Look, we’re here, all right? All of us are okay. I-I mean there was a lot of damage from the battle and…we…lost a few good people, but. We haven’t been defeated if we’re still breathing.”
Barely, Hawks wants to say. His chest constricts like there’s a python around his lungs.
“What happened?” He manages. He sets the empty cup on the tiny bedside table.
Rumi and Tokoyami exchange a loaded look. He doesn’t like it one bit.
“The villains…got away.” Rumi admits, after a long moment of silence. Well, not silence, it’s punctuated by the fucking heart monitor.
All of them? Hawks wonders. Dabi, too?
Hawks clenches his jaw. (His teeth hurt, he realizes there’s a freshly-repaired crack near the back.)
He shouldn’t ask. Asking opens up to being asked things in return. But it’s…hm. Sickness rolls through him over and over, like churning waves. Hawks clutches his torso with shaky hands.
What if Dabi died? Did Dabi die? Did he get away?
It’s fucked up, to think that. Hawks should be asking how the other heroes are, the U.A. kids, the “few good people they lost” that Rumi mentioned. God, he should be asking how Rumi lost her limbs. How did the hospital raid go, how are the employees, and the civilians all over the area? Hawks should…be a good fucking person and care about the ones he fought alongside, to save society. To save Japan.
Except, a puddle of Twice’s blood seeps into his mind. Red like his feathers.
A stomp to his back, a puff of smoke, a tower of cerulean flames.
“You have the audacity to call yourself a hero, but I’d say you’re even more of a villain than I am!”
Hawks is going to throw up.—Wait, no—not throw up. He’s going to—combust? The bird in his ribcage is going to finally fucking smash through him like it’s an Alien movie—he’s going to—
A sob wracks through him.
Oh.
And then another. A third. This is what he’s going to do?
Hawks is…crying. Oh, God, he’s crying, in front of two of the people whose opinions he actually cares about. He can’t remember the last time he cried, probably to some fucking Commission agent who beat him like a misbehaving dog when he was nine, or something. Somebody who didn’t give a shit and probably relished in a little kid’s tears, honestly.
“Oh, Hawks.” Rumi soothes, rubbing his shoulder again. “It’s okay. Let it out.”
“Should…what should we do?” He hears Tokoyami ask faintly, like he’s shocked. Hawks can imagine. If he’d seen Endeavor cry when he was sixteen, it would’ve surprised him, too.
Endeavor, God, fuck, what happened to him? Did Dabi get to him? Did he finally achieve his goal?
Hawks recalls his fear. The way he’d yelped, “Full fucking kamikaze?” at Dabi, in the hotel room.
Is Dabi dead in a ditch somewhere? Would anyone be there to mourn him?
“He’s okay.” Rumi assures the kid. She keeps rubbing circles over Hawks’ arm.
The motion reminds Hawks of his mom—well, what he wanted her to do, but she never did. He’s spiraling. He sniffles and tries to regain composure, but fails. Hot tears stream nonstop and his throat, his chest, his nose, it all just sucks.
He’s gotta ask.
“What—what happened to Dabi?” He whines between sniveling.
Their fight replays in his head. The betrayal, clear as day, on the other man’s face. The anguish over what Hawks did. Stabbed Twice. Killed him. Dabi was already at his breaking point, did Hawks hammer the final nail into his self-imposed coffin?
Tokoyami makes an uncomfortable noise. He white-knuckles the railing of the shoddy hospital bed. “I was…not up to par with him. His fire was too much for Dark Shadow. I was able to get you out, to safety, but…he got away…he’s still at large.”
“And get this, Hawks,” Rumi nudges him, like she’s trying to cheer him up with wild news, since Hawks always enjoys gossip. “Kinda the reveal of the century, Dabi’s a Todoroki. He’s Endeavor’s kid! He broadcast it all over TV how Endeavor was a shitty dad and basically made him into a villain.—I mean, we knew the guy was tough, but…it’s just crazy. Sucks for his PR right now, but I’m sure he’ll bounce back. He’s still number one, and you’re still number two, dude! We’re all gonna get through this and kick sorry villain ass!”
Hawks tries to stop, but he can’t quit crying. He appreciates her attempt.
Dabi’s alive. He—he took Hawks’ insane advice, spilled the family secrets to the world to turn the tides against Endeavor, so he’s probably…fucked up, but he’s alive.
Is he alone?
Agh—God, this is deranged, Hawks has to let it go—he chose his side, he has to let it go, him go. He has to stand alongside the heroes and forget Dabi and Touya Todoroki, and he has the pull himself up by the bootstraps like Rumi’s doing. He’s gotta charge headfirst into this war until they win and fucking—forget—
Forget the warmth shared under a pile of blankets. Forget kisses that slowly melted from something fierce and angry into…something soft. He’s gotta forget perverted jokes, and splitting dumplings, and stitching up his wounds, and soccer on TV, and pet names, and passion, and dirty martinis, and a whiff of cinnamon, and—and not being alone, anymore. Hawks has gotta forget their…relationship that wasn’t a relationship. His stupid fucking…mate.
Oh, fuck. Oh, that hurts. He wants to scream.
Hawks bawls into his hands, practically clawing his own eyes out with talons that sprouted from the intensity of his emotions. Non-existent feathers vibrate on his spine, ghosts in his head. Hawks curls in on himself like a terrified kid. This is too much. This is out of control.
“Hey, oh, gosh, I’m sorry, it’s okay! I promise, you’re okay!” Rumi traces over his lower back now, but her voice sounds high and on edge, like even she’s caught off guard at the severity of his breakdown. It’s not like he lost any limbs. Hawks’ wings will grow back. She’s probably confused. He catches a grumbly, nervous noise from Dark Shadow.
“You’re safe here, okay?” Rumi continues. “Dabi can’t get you here, okay?”
That…oof, that doesn’t make it better. It actually makes it way worse.
Hawks tries to get ahold of himself. These…these two are his friends, the only family he has. And even amidst a meltdown, they’re by his side.
“It’s…fuck, it’s not that.” Hawks finally sniffles. He yanks up the shitty hospital sheet and wipes his cheeks. It falls back to his lap, wet with tears and snot. “I’m…agh, goddammit.”
Hawks sits up straighter, pulls out every trick in the book to level his breathing. If the Commission taught him anything, it’s how to get his shit back together. Save face. It takes a few long, quiet minutes, but he finally mellows out to something manageable.
Rumi sits back too, observing him. She’s in comfy civvies, like she’s been here doing physical rehab, or something. Tokoyami looks more stoic than usual, Dark Shadow cowering behind him.
“Sorry, I—Jesus.” Hawks runs his hands over his face, embarrassed. The heart monitor drones on and on. “I didn’t mean to, um…do that. Can’t remember the last time I cried, to be honest. Fuck.”
He sighs, feeling the weight of a thousand years and two simultaneous undercover missions down to his bones. The truth threatens to spill from him like an overfilled cup of coffee. And his hands are already shaking.
Hawks looks between these two, the other lights of his life. He knows, logically, that because of them, he’s not really alone, but…Dabi is different, like Hawks had told him. Dabi understands him intrinsically, somehow. They’re two sides of the same coin.
But, yeah, Rumi and Tokoyami are still his family.
The door behind them is closed. It’s the three of them in this polished hospital room, drowned out by machines and hallway chatter. Hawks takes another deep breath, sniffs hard, and lets his head droop to the thin pillows. The ceiling is white and sterile.
“I’m…not…scared of Dabi.”
“It’s okay if you are, Hawks.” Tokoyami says suddenly. “He took advantage of your largest weakness. And it is okay to cry. Things are incredibly scary right now. It’s normal.”
Aw, this kid. Kindest soul in the world. Hawks even manages a tiny smile.
“Thank you, Fumikage. I appreciate that. But, I…no, I’m not scared of him. Really.”
His intern frowns and so does Rumi. Where does he even begin? How does he explain? Hawks looks at Rumi, hopes that, maybe with a raise of eyebrows, he can convey…?
No, she doesn’t bite.
“Remember the Pro Heroes Gala?” Hawks prompts to her. She does look badass, with the prosthetics. Rumi probably didn’t even bat an eye at them, because that’s how she is. One of the strongest, she should be number one.
“Yeah?” She doesn’t see where this is going, clearly.
“And how I ditched you?”
“…Yeah?—Wait, you said you were sick?”
“I wasn’t.” Hawks exhales. “I ditched you. To be with Dabi.”
Rumi’s ears twitch. “…Look, it’s…okay, Hawks. I know now that you were doing all this dangerous double agent stuff. I’m upset you didn’t tell me, but, I get it. You had to do what you had to do, you were under the Commission’s orders. Nobody…blames you for whatever happened, okay?”
Hawks looks down. “This wasn’t for that.”
Tokoyami tilts his head, out of the corner of his eye. Rumi crosses her arms over her chest.
“Okay.” She draws the word out, long and slow. “What was it for then? Where is this going?”
When Hawks looks up, her scarlet eyes are boring a hole into him. She’s catching on now, asking without asking.
Hawks feels his eyes brim with tears again, but he blinks them away. He wipes his eyelashes with the heel of his hand.
“…I’m telling you, Rumes, I…wasn’t scared of Dabi, okay?...Far…far from it.”
Her mouth falls open, just a tad.
“…Oh,” She inhales. “Oh, God.”
There it is.
“Yeah.”
“Hawks.”
“Mhm.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a fucking heart attack.”
“Hawks.”
“I know, okay? I know. You think I—”
Tokoyami clears his throat, breaking into the conversation. Dark Shadow hovers curiously, a visual representation of his partner’s confusion. “Could anyone…clue me in? I don’t follow.”
Rumi snorts. Her previous aura has been replaced by the one that sees Hawks as a huge dumbass. Warranted, honestly.
“Um.” Hawks scratches the back of his head. “This is awkward, sorry, kid. Uh, Dabi and I were…involved.”
Tokoyami looks like he understands, but doesn’t want to. Won’t.
“Yes, you had to work with him while infiltrating the League and PLF.”
“Right, yeah. But…more than that. Um.” How to phrase it?
Rumi rolls her eyes. “Pardon my French, but Hawks here was fucking the enemy.”
Tokoyami splutters. Dark Shadow zips from existence, hiding in his cloak.
“Really?” Hawks deadpans. “In front of the kid?”
“How else am I supposed to put it?”
“Well, it—it was more than that!”
Saying it out loud comes as a surprise to Hawks. He feels the tension in the air, something palpable, and then he feels it soften, after those words. He sniffs again, jams his fingertips into the corners of his eyes to fight the next onslaught of stupid tears.
“…It was…more than that to me, anyway. And then, I…fucking killed Twice, and so, Dabi wanted to kill me. I don’t…Shit. I deserved it. I killed his friend. I’d have done the same thing if he hurt either of you.”
Rumi looks like she wants to yell at him some more, but she chooses not to. She squeezes his ankle instead. There’s a lot unspoken there.
“You’re an idiot.”
“…I know.”
Tokoyami looks between the two of them, appalled. The admission has clearly floored him.
“So, you…” His intern begins. He finally sits on the hard plastic chair beside Hawks’ bed, instead of standing like he has been. He seems to be lost in thought for a moment. “You’ve been in a complicated situation. You and Dabi had…relations, while you were a double agent. And then you still chose to side with the heroes…What will happen, now that you’ve betrayed him?”
Hawks laughs dryly. Ouch. Yeah, what the fuck will happen?
“I don’t know.” Hawks answers honestly. Now that you’ve betrayed him feels like salt in the wound. He knows Tokoyami doesn’t mean anything by it, but, fuck, it’s the truth, isn’t it? Hawks stabbed him in the back, just like Twice. Except, one was literal, and the other was metaphorical.
Hawks takes another few breaths. He swears he can taste smoke, in the gullet of his throat, like it’ll never leave him. (Part of him is okay with that, part of him aches for that.) Hawks is going to heal from this, but he’s going to have a hell of a lot of scars.
“I guess we just…try to win the war. Right?”
Right?
Rumi looks solemn, but Tokoyami has more to say. He folds his hand in his lap and the maturity of this kid slaps Hawks in the face. Hawks just admitted to sleeping with the guy who tried to kill them both, and Tokoyami isn’t furious about it. He seems sympathetic, actually?
“I feel I know you well, at this point, Hawks.” Tokoyami says. He nods. “I believe I can say that. I am confident that you’re a good judge of character. Do you think…do you think Dabi…Touya, as Shoto would know him…do you think he can be saved? Is there a possible path to redemption, for him?”
Oh.
Wow.
The nausea’s back, the sickening swirl that Hawks can now identify as he’s-about-to-cry. He swallows hard and holds back tears.
“Wise beyond your years, kid.” He breathes, voice wet. Rumi’s grip on his ankle tightens. She was angry for a second, sure, but she’s looking at him now like he’s a dumb, lost puppy. Eyeing him with pity, and care.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I had hoped so, but, I don’t think Dabi wants that, is the thing. He’s got his own mission. One we…have to stop.”
Hawks rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth out the bedhead matted from days in the hospital.
“I…appreciate both of you. More than I have words for. And I’m sorry if this sullies your opinion of me. I just…had to get it off my chest? I dunno. I just…” God dammit, his voice cracks when he says, “…I miss him? Already? Even if it’s fucked up? I know it’s fucked up…I…yeah.”
Rumi shakes her head. She rises from her spot and suddenly slides fully into the bed, flush to Hawks’ side. She’s warm, even her prosthetics are. Not as warm as Dabi, nobody is, but she fills the void, a little. Hawks is still drowning, but she’s holding out her hand to save him, to pull him to shore.
“You really are an idiot.” Rumi forcefully kisses Hawks’ forehead.
“I agree.” Hawks chirps. Another tear plips onto his cheek. Annoying.
“I also agree.” Tokoyami says, and it makes Hawks laugh. “Though I mean no disrespect.”
“I deserve the disrespect. You can dish it.” Hawks grumbles. And then he lets himself cry with them, just a little bit longer. Mourns what could have been.
——
The rest of the war is a shit show. The destruction, the loss, the grave injury, it’s unfathomable. Every time they think they have an upper hand on All for One, that asshole has a contingency plan. They pull out all the stops, pedal to the metal, and he throws fucking tire spikes onto the road. They squeal into a thirty-car pile up.
On the front lines, Hawks almost loses his Quirk for good. He looks evil in the eye and almost succumbs to it. He faces a horrible, gut-wrenching vacuum, a festering disease in his core. A void opens in his soul and Fierce Wings almost goes with it.
But the kids save him again.
High schoolers who are better heroes—better people—than Hawks.
There are a lot of moving parts, but they win, in the end. Deku and a huge handful of other heroes save the day, bloody and bruised. Lots of them almost die. A few of them do die. (And some come back from the dead.) It’s a nightmare, and the clean up and recovery are just as bad.
Hawks is listless for a while, in the aftermath. Without the Commission to order him around anymore, he gets a little bit lost. He holes himself up, licks his wounds in isolation. It takes days for him to call anybody back, weeks for him to leave his apartment. Jeanist and Rumi almost break down his door on a Thursday afternoon to get him to eat something. Tokoyami constantly texts him, but Hawks rarely replies.
Hawks just…feels like a fraud, that’s all. He doesn’t feel like a hero anymore.
He doesn’t even know if he wants to be. He’s toed this line before, in conversations with Dabi, and now the apathy buries him.
His agency building is destroyed, and without the Commission’s dirty dollars to back him up, he struggles to keep it afloat. Endeavor ends up just kind of…scooping his employees into his own building, and Hawks lets it happen. He asks his sidekicks to keep the ship running while he wallows. They do their duties, they’re good people too.
Dabi’s in a maximum-security prison, he hears through the grapevine. After a brutal, all-out brawl with Shoto and the entire Todoroki family. He’s alive, apparently. Hanging by a thread, burnt beyond recognition, but he’s alive. Hawks notices that Rumi and Tokoyami are very careful to not bring this up around him. It’s an unspoken rule, apparently.
Hawks wants to visit him.
It’s stupid, but he’s been stupid since day one. The minute they started flirting, even. He knows that visiting him will be meaningless, that Dabi will probably spit in his face and curse him, but it itches Hawks worse than anything. It prickles under his skin like molting feathers. He just wants to see him.
Hawks lets almost six stagnant, aimless months slough by before he actually tries to.
He shows up to the prison three different times. Hawks paces in the parking lot for forty-seven minutes the first time, and then goes home. The second time, he makes it past the concrete doors, but chickens out before security even scans him for weapons.
The third time, he hands the prison guard an envelope.
“Can you deliver this to Da—Touya Todoroki for me, please? I don’t know his cell block number, but, he’s…he’s here.”
The beefy guy’s desk is behind bulletproof glass, with a little slot at the bottom for paper and identification. He holds a clipboard and gnaws on sunflower seeds. Tactical gear balloons his frame and there are four different guns strapped to his sides. Security cameras surround him at every angle. He sets down his snack and levels Hawks with a glare.
“Do I look like a fucking mailman?”
He definitely doesn’t recognize Hawks in his tapered wings and street clothes. Not that he likes to toot his own horn, but he’s normally warranted more chivalry and admiration.
Or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about Hawks’ rank. Hero society is a hell of a lot different now.
Hawks exhales. “No. Not at all. But I would really appreciate it.”
The guard narrows his eyes. “Mhm. You keep showing up here. I’ve seen you twice already. You’ve obviously got the clearance to be in a place like this, but not the balls, huh? Won’t just give this to him yourself?”
For the first time in nearly half a year, Hawks feels a flicker of his old self. And he’s mad.
“Glad you’re so interested in my balls, I can assure you they’re more than sufficient. Can you just do it?”
The guard takes a heaving breath, like the conversation is exhausting him. He’s already got eye bags that rival Aizawa’s. Could use some fucking sunlight, too. (Not that Hawks is one to talk, lately.)
“What was the name?” He mumbles boredly, turning to a large computer monitor.
“Touya Todoroki.” Hawks supplies. It still feels weird. Like he shouldn’t be allowed to say it.
The guard doesn’t make small talk as he types, scrolls, and clicks. He must be looking up Dabi’s specific location in the prison.
“Found him. You can’t see him today, anyway.”
Hawks’ heart jumps. He hadn’t planned on it, but.
“Why?”
The guard raises a petty eyebrow. “So now you want to?”
“No, I-I just—”
“He’s got a visitor already.”
Oh. That’s. That almost takes Hawks’ breath away. He glances around the unwelcoming gray lobby, like it’ll explain. It doesn’t.
“Who?” Hawks asks before he can stop himself.
The guard crosses his arms over his massive chest and sucks his teeth. “What makes you think you can come in here with all these demands and questions?”
Hawks grumbles in irritation and shoves a hand into his pocket. He fishes out his wallet and produces his hero license, then slides it across the countertop.
“I think you’ll find my credentials to be adequate.” Like my fucking balls, he wants to add.
The guard takes his ID with a sigh and swipes it into his system. As expected, Hawks’ authorizations populate the screen, and they go all the way to the tippy-top. Good riddance to the Commission, but they set him up pretty well.
Accepting defeat, the guard passes back his card.
“His visitor’s a kid. Been here a bunch of times already. More than you. The prisoner’s younger sibling, he was big in the war. Got two quirks.” The guard glances at his screen, checking the name. “Shoto Todoroki.”
Shoto.
Shoto’s been visiting Dabi.
It hits Hawks like a ton of bricks, surprise and…comfort. Because Dabi hasn’t been alone, rotting away in jail this whole time. It’s impossible to say if the visits are…productive, or…happy in any way, but at least they’re happening. The Todoroki family—or, Shoto, at least—hasn’t turned his back on his eldest brother.
There’s hope. A tiny sliver of it. Hawks’ reduced wings flutter.
Tokoyami’s words, from many, many moons ago, circle his brain: “Do you think he can be saved?”
“Thank you.” Hawks nods. “Has anyone else been here to see him?”
The guard checks the records, compliant but slow. “Yeah. Couple times. Other Todorokis. Fuyumi. Natsuo. Rei, once.”
Poignantly, not Enji. That’s for the better. But, Hawks is relieved. They’re…trying.
Hawks has to try, too.
“Got it.” Hawks presents the envelope again, but adds, “I’ll be back another day. To see him. If you could get this to him in the meantime.”
The guard relents and grabs the letter. He scribbles Dabi’s given name and cell block number in the corner and tosses it into a pile of mail on his desk to be distributed.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” Hawks taps the countertop with his knuckle and dashes out of there without another word. He prays it gets to him soon.
The letter, it’s—it’s not remarkable. It’s a simple message, a few shitty lines strewn together in a plea.
Dabi,
I don’t know what to say. But I have a lot to say to you, anyway.
You might not even read this. Maybe you’ll burn it to pieces.
On the off chance you don’t do that, I’d like to see you.
Let me know if that would be okay.
Hawks
Another month goes by. Plus one more week. Hawks is a zombie, finally back to patrolling and doing his duties, but barely scraping by. The lack of response gnaws his insides. He’s batshit enough to consider asking the Todorokis how things are going. That would confuse the hell out of them, but he’s desperate.
The day before he pulls the trigger and calls Shoto, he gets a letter.
It’s small, square, and unassuming. No return address. Stuck between a bunch of junk mail and Hawks’ internet bill. He stares at it, then tears it open with sharpened talons.
The animal in his chest unfurls like a phoenix rising from ash. Only three words, but they drop Hawks to his knees on the kitchen tile.
All right, Birdie.
Notes:
This one was a doozy for me, I hope everyone likes it! Pacing can be kinda hard for me with the time skippy aspect, so I hope it comes across well! The chapter count may or may not go up also lol. And I know I kinda glazed over the final war arc but tbh it wasn't super important to the plot of this lmao. We're finally moving past most of the angst and into the rekindling ooooh yay!!! <3
Please comment your thoughts, I absolutely love all your comments and read them all the time for a serotonin boost <3 :)
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Notes:
My outline notes for this literally just said: Give the people what they want, Dabi POV. So here it is haha, for one chapter and one chapter only!!! Good luck, it's kind of a wild ride lmao
TW/Disclaimer: Dabi expresses a lot of frustration/some self-hatred at being "disfigured" and also missing his arm after the war. I think people are perfect and beautiful in all shapes/sizes/and appearances, but I assumed that would be a difficult transition for him! It's not a very heavy theme of the chapter but it's mentioned a decent amount, so figured I'd flag that.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dabi never expects Hawks to actually take the bait. Offering him a light for his cigarette is like Dabi tossing a stuffed mouse to a cat. Just a tease, a suggestion of play. It’s innocent enough, but he knows Hawks has ulterior motives here and doesn’t expect him to get all chummy.
He definitely doesn’t expect to shove his cock down the hero’s throat about five minutes later, either. Or to find out that he likes it rough.
What a pleasant surprise.
For being the impressive Number Two hero, Hawks is…kind of a little bitch in the bedroom. He proves it even more so in the cabin, the second time they hook up. Shows up shivering and soaked, like Dabi’s not going to lure him in again? Right. Imbecile. It’s almost easier than the first. Hawks practically asks to get bent over. And then he literally does.
He feels fucking fantastic, too. Not that Dabi has too much for comparison, he’s by no means a Casanova with his scarred face and mutilated body. But he’s slept around with other weirdos in the dark enough to know a good lay when he has one.
Hawks is…responsive. Sensitive. Almost delicate. One little stroke sets him off. One finger has him gasping. A twitchy body, perfect physique, goldenrod hair and sparkly eyes to match. No wonder he’s ranked so high. The goddamn cameras like their pretty boys, Dabi knows personally from how his father used to harp on their family image.
Ha. Imagine if the paparazzi and the public could see Hawks like this.
Groveling like an amateur whore, saying things like, “Shit, yeah, fuck me, Dabi. Fuck.”
He asks a villain to split him open, it’s pathetic.
And it turns Dabi on.
So, he’s got a power trip thing. Who cares? Dabi spent his entire life at the bottom of the barrel and fucking Hawks is just as thrilling as holding a knife to his throat. Better than the heat of battle, because Dabi gets his rocks off, too. Hawks is vulnerable and it’s addicting.
It’s like he wants to be. The HPSC’s favorite agent just wants to take a beating in one way or another, hm? He wants to be ordered around. It makes sense, really. The same way Dabi probably has the power trip thing because he felt so powerless for so long.
Not anymore, obviously. He could annihilate Hawks at any given moment. But he chooses not to, for now.
And then there’s Fierce Wings. They’re quite the Quirk. Dabi assumes Hawks’ll be defensive of them, like he’ll lose an eye to those talons if he touches them, but when he tries anyway, it’s the polar opposite. The base of them is apparently the World’s Most Erogenous Zone, and isn’t that fun? Admittedly half the excitement is figuring out how Dabi can use them to make Hawks tick.
So, Dabi keeps toying with his hero. His so-called comrade, now.
(Yeah, right. Hawks can pull the wool over everyone else’s eyes, but not his.)
So, Dabi crashes the Pro Heroes Gala. He takes Hawks to a sleazy bar just to strut him around and get free booze. Bringing Hawks to his bedroom afterward isn’t exactly planned, but, it’s not like he doesn’t know where it is in the compound.
And then it continues. Dabi shushes him in a broom closet after a boring meeting. He slams him against the wall in the warehouse district, until Hawks sings like a bird.
His Birdie. Fitting name.
The time after that is where the shift happens.
It’s the first time Hawks initiates, in the old office building. They comb through the abandoned place for hours, digging in rusty filing cabinets for some dirt Shigaraki needs. They’re covered in dust and paper cuts but Hawks just kinda…pops Dabi into a rolling chair and unbuckles his belt. What’s he gonna do, say “no”?
Hawks gives him head like his life depends on it (maybe he thinks it does) and then he shucks off his own pants, straddles Dabi’s lap—
And the chair spins haphazardly backwards, bangs into a desk, and collapses into pieces under their combined weight. The backrest hits the floor and Dabi groans when Hawks’ chin slams into his sternum. He starts cursing but…Hawks laughs. Something between a chirp and a laugh more specifically, something so Hawks. The hero giggles up a storm and, fuck, it makes Dabi mad, but he laughs, too. Calls him an “uncoordinated idiot” and then fucks him on the ugly carpet until he has rug burn all over his chest and stomach.
They don’t even find the paperwork they need and Dabi feels weird when he leaves. Off-balance like the damn chair. Hawks, on the other hand, is stupidly giddy.
Maybe that’s why their argument on the roof pisses him off so much. Hawks always throws on a smile, acts carefree, acts like there’s nothing at stake. He claims to be turning the tide but he still runs home to the Commission every night with his tail between his legs. Accusing Dabi of lying too much? That’s fucking rich, he should look in a mirror.
Dabi doesn’t really mean to reveal his identity to Hawks, either, but it happens anyway. Hawks pushes one too many buttons, and the confession comes out, hot and angry. It just isn’t fair, the way he thinks he’s so fucking special. Keigo is so special. Keigo is so capable and he’s apparently going to fix it all. All of society’s grand problems.
No. There’s only one way to do that.
And the look on Hawks’ face is priceless, too. His childhood idol, Endeavor, slandered. His dazzling image smashed to smithereens like the glass beer bottle Dabi chucks in fury.
Dabi loves to ruin him. To drag Endeavor’s name through the mud. Dear old Dad can fucking drown in it.
(Dabi almost drowns in beer that night, after Hawks flies off. Then vodka. Spite keeps him afloat.)
He and Hawks don’t communicate for a week and a half, and Dabi doesn’t give a shit. He keeps telling himself he doesn’t give a shit.
…But of course that asshole comes back into play when he needs something. The sos text message could be a set up, but Dabi decides to bite, more so out of curiosity than anything.
And lo and behold, the guy who can fix it all is bleeding out on the concrete, probably a few inches from death. And it’s up to Dabi to be so heroic and save his ass. The irony isn’t lost on him there.
So, Dabi decides to help him out. If anything it means Hawks owes him a serious fucking favor. He could easily leave his ass in the alleyway to keel over.
There’s…another shift, after that. More monumental than the last.
Hawks is sorry, in the morning. Hawks is…changing his mind, and he…sounds earnest. He falls asleep in Dabi’s fucking bed the night before, and then he’s sorry?
It’s infuriating beyond words but it also…makes Dabi’s stomach flip.
Hawks is choosing their side.
Hawks is choosing their side.
He’s on unsteady legs, but he’s making a step in the preferred direction and.
And it’s in Dabi’s direction, and.
Hawks is choosing his side.
That’s…intriguing.
And then things are good, for a while. Lots of sex. Groundbreaking sex. The best sex Dabi’s ever had, every single time. So many times. More free food and liquor. And pleasant conversation, which is a giant surprise. Dabi actually…enjoys hanging out with Hawks, outside of fucking him? Somehow? They even like the same music, the same movies, the same sports teams. It’s weird, but Hawks fits into his life like a missing puzzle piece. Even in his bed, his room, his space. Dabi’s never needed the warmth of another person on his mattress, but…it’s not half bad. (Despite the fact that his fucking wings are gigantic, and he sheds feathers everywhere.) Hawks folds into the PLF easily, too. Everyone likes him, he’s charming, no shit.
Except, of course it’s all short-lived.
Dabi gets too complacent, he thinks. He gets far too comfortable (happy, even? Fuck.) with Hawks in his life. What the fuck is he thinking?
Hawks asks him to run away together. Which is batshit. He’s having a good time, but, Jesus Christ, what is he thinking?
If Dabi’s actions are leading Hawks to think they can just skip off into the sunset, hand-in-hand, he’s got to cut ties. This isn’t some romance flick—it’s not even a romance, what they have.
They fuck. That’s it.
That’s it.
Dabi turns him down. He’s cold about it. That makes things easier, for both of them. He shuts off the lights, gives him a one-word answer, and turns his back.
And he—he doesn’t care that he feels Hawks’ hand inching towards him, on the blankets. He doesn’t care that this is the last time they’ll share a bed. He doesn’t care that they’re never going to sleep together again, or hang out again, or—shit, even see each other again, if that’s how it has to be.
Dabi has a plan, a single, palpable goal, and nothing’s going to stand in the way of that.
Is what he tells himself, anyway. Over and over.
——
And then Hawks kills Twice.
And Dabi almost kills Hawks.
Things are blurry, afterwards.
Hot and angry. Like before, on the roof, his confession. Dabi always is hot and angry, at his core. It’s why he’s in this situation to begin with.
Dabi recognizes that he slips into some kind of mania, during that battle. But he lets it take him, lets it absorb him. It’s empowering, makes him unstoppable. It raises him above all the panic, and loneliness, anxiety, and fear.
He harnesses his rage, and rides the coattails of it all the way to the big Todoroki Family showdown.
——
In those early days after the war, Dabi is barely even a husk of a person.
His body is brutally, horribly burned. He’s even more disfigured than before; the little skin that’s left turned black, mottled, and brittle like charcoal in the fight. He’s down an arm. His lungs barely work. They’ve got him in a life-support pod that reminds Dabi of a science fiction coffin. It forces him to breathe, to sleep, to heal. He has no idea what day it is, or how long it’s been, just that time passes intermittently. Hours are punctuated by a faceless attendant in scrubs and a mask, who frequently stops by to change out big tanks of liquid for his pod.
But even that. Sometimes it feels like a dream. A carousel of repetition. Sometimes he wakes up in a panic, convinced he’s drowning, he can’t breathe—but then it’s just. This. The mechanism goes through its motions and he has oxygen again.
There’s nothing to do but mull over his thoughts. His memories. They didn’t even give him a clock to look at. Mostly he just floats until the panic starts to swell, he’ll wonder how long he’ll be here, he’ll wish for death, even, and then—boom. Gone. The medical assistant is back with a whole new slew of drugs and he’s doped up, eyes glazed like the glass he looks through every minute.
At least it’s not painful. So much of his life has been painful. He used to have a hundred staples to prove it.
Shoto is the first one to visit him. That feels like a dream, too.
Dabi can’t speak to him. His throat, his vocal cords, they’re shot. He doesn’t even eat, all his food gets dumped directly into his stomach with a tube. Shoto seems to understand that he can’t communicate.
His little brother looks old, weathered far beyond his years. He’s covered in his own bandages but he’s all in one piece. He paces for a while, keeps glancing at the window that separates them. Dabi watches his form, notes the slope of his shoulders. He walks kind of like Natsu, but with more confidence. More purpose and decisiveness in each footfall. But the similarity is there.
Shoto eventually sits in front of the window, there must be a bench there, but it’s out of view.
“…I…wasn’t sure if I should come, or not,” Shoto says. His voice is steady, like his gaze. Albeit reserved. “If you would want to see me. Or anyone from our family. But I…”
Shoto takes a deep breath. Dabi wishes he could do the same. His are measured with the automatic pump, out of his control.
“I want to know you, Touya.”
Oh.
“We already lost so much of our lives to tragedy and trauma…I want to turn over a new leaf, where we can.”
That’s…
Even if Dabi could speak, he isn’t sure what he’d say. He traces the wretched scar on Shoto’s face with his eyes. The room is stark and white, the red of his hair is vibrant. Shoto is vibrant. He’s different. He’s clawed himself out from under Endeavor’s thumb. Dabi realizes they haven’t been this close to each other in years without an attack of some kind, but it feels eons apart.
“I know you can’t speak to me yet. And maybe you won’t want to, when you can. And that you’re forced to hear me right now, even, but…I hope that…maybe one day your feelings will mirror mine.”
His brother stands, takes another step towards the window, leans on the ledge.
“I can’t say that I fully understand what you’ve been through. But, I can imagine…We have the same father, after all.” Shoto smiles, but it’s small and sad.
“I think if I hadn’t found my friends, I could’ve very easily gone down the same path you did. I could’ve grown bitter. I had already started to, before them. I’d begun to close myself off…”
He shakes his head lightly. “I can’t forgive you for some of the things you’ve done, the same way I can’t forgive Endeavor. But…the only option we have from here is move forward, so.”
Shoto inhales again, closes his eyes for a long beat. He opens them, two-toned and solemn, finds Dabi’s behind the layers of separation.
“So I want to know you. You’re my brother…Touya. And that’s important to me.”
It stirs something sad in Dabi. If his tear ducts weren’t fried to all fuck, it may have moved him to well up. His…teenage, baby brother. Putting on a brave face. Making an effort, where the rest of his family so often failed to.
Shoto nods. He pokes the window with his pointer finger. “Again, I know you can’t really agree or disagree so, I’m going to go, for now, but…I’ll be back soon. They said you’re going to heal slowly, but, surely, with the medical advancements at this facility. That…someday you’ll be all better. I hope that we can talk together soon. If you’d like.”
He raps on the glass with his knuckle, and then he leaves.
——
Fuyumi and Natsuo come next, one after the other. His sister is a ray of sunshine, she always has been. Even when she cries, light bleeds out from her, blooms brightly like a flower. Her love is tangible. Her presence makes him ache, he wants to pat her on the head, comfort her like when they were small. She missed him, she’s sorry, she wishes they could be kids again. She wishes she could turn back time, she says.
But they certainly can’t be kids again.
They can’t even be who they were a month ago. Everything has changed irreparably.
And Dabi doesn’t know how to feel.
Natsuo tried to look for him after the fire, he explains. Regrets that he didn’t try harder. He cries too, and, fuck, Dabi wishes he could say something. He wonders if they can tell that he’d like to. If his ghastly eyes come across that way.
They were just kids too, and now Dabi feels ancient. Touya feels ancient. He’s painfully nostalgic for another lifetime. He’s still angry. He bubbles with sorrow that has no outlet.
And it only gets worse when his mother comes.
If Fuyumi is the sun, Rei is a supernova. She’s beautiful and everlasting, the way mothers intrinsically are. She’s elegant, strong, soft, safe. She is his happiest memory, personified.
But also tied so tightly to his worst.
Dabi wants to scream when he sees her. He wants to yell, and throw things, and beg for her to atone, because she was complicit in his undoing, too. She let Dabi burn, she burned Shoto, she burned bridges when she didn’t search for him. For a woman of ice, she’s covered in ash. She was just as much a menace in the family for her inability to stand up to their father.
And yet.
Dabi knows that isn’t true. Rei is a victim.
He knows she’s a victim.
It was an arranged marriage, a Quirk marriage. Endeavor had trapped her. She was young, she still is young, even as a mother of four. She still has a chance at a happy life, Dabi knows. Whether he’s in it or not. (Endeavor, or Dabi, he isn’t sure which one of them he even means.)
She lays her palm flat on the glass the entire time she speaks to him, like she’s reaching from somewhere so far away. It’s a fairly silent exchange, with Dabi unable to speak, and his mother quiet and contemplative.
“…My sweet boy.” She says eventually.
It splits his chest open. He remembers the splinter of her ice, awakening in him in the height of battle. Slumbering inside of him the entire time, a soothing chill over the burn, burn, burn of his heat. It had always been there, dormant.
His mother. His mom.
Where Dabi is hot and angry, Rei is a cool hand, pressed to his feverish forehead. He’s bitter, but he still longs for her. Wants to bury his head against her thigh like when he was tiny and shy. The childish desire slams into him unexpectedly, painfully.
Rei bows her head, leans her forehead into the window. She closes her eyes.
“I’m so very sorry, Touya. For everything. You…wouldn’t be here if I’d…”
His mother trails off, looks back up with a slow blink. Her fingers curl into a loose fist. He notices that her nails are nicely manicured. She’d never painted them when he was a kid.
“I wish I had known. I would’ve…” Her eyes don’t fill with tears, but with visible regret. She gathers herself. “There’s no changing the past though, is there?”
Rei leans back, shakily wipes her hands off on the front of her long skirt.
“…If you want to see me again…Touya. Please let me know. Even if it is a long time from now. I was absent for many years from your life, but…I will never be again, if that is what you want.”
His mother clasps her hands and gives him a small nod. “Please know…I love all of my children very much.”
And then she leaves.
Devoid of all sunlight, the room is dark.
——
“Hey.”
Dabi grumbles, curls deeper into the paper-thin pillow and sheet on his cot.
“I said, ‘hey,’ it’s time for your medication.”
The ugly fluorescent lights of his room flash on, nearly blinding him. Dabi groans.
“We really don’t gotta do this song and dance all the time, Todoroki.” The guard barks. “You do this every day. Get up.”
Dabi frowns (especially at the name) and sits up in bed. Six months in the slammer and he’s still not happy about the five-thirty AM wakeup call every fucking morning. It was almost better in the pod. (He’d been in there almost two months, and was rarely interrupted when sleeping. It was…hell, actually, but quiet.)
The guard is one of the same ten or so people who cycle through seeing him. He’s the ginormous one, usually at the front desk at the main entrance. Dabi passes him when being wheeled to the more intensive medical bay for physical therapy, emotional therapy (that he barely tolerates), skin grafts, prosthetic fittings, body exams, blood tests, or whatever.
They must be short-staffed today, if he’s here. The guy stomps over from the heavily-locked door to Dabi’s room and sets the tray of bleak pureed food on the table beside him. Dabi’s still (embarrassingly) incredibly weak, so he doesn’t leave the bed most days.
There’s a cup of pills in a wide array of colors, too, next to a glass of water. None of them are the fun kind, though. Vitamins, psychotropics, some other stuff that was explained to him when they brought him here from the pod. All supposedly to get him “back up and running.”
Dabi’ll never be back up and running by his standards, though. The Quirk suppressant implant in his back guarantees that. He’s a fucking normie now. Still half-burnt to fuck, growing back white hair in uneven patches, but a normie.
Dabi takes his pills, because fighting it early-on proved futile. He eats maybe half of the oatmeal shit clumsily with his left hand, still sucks at it, and then shakes his head.
“I don’t want the rest.” He quickly tags on, “Had a big meal with my brother yesterday.”
Shoto had come to visit and brought some pretty bland soba to share because Dabi’s stomach can’t handle anything too extravagant yet. He finds he’s…really enjoying their time together, actually. Even if he doesn’t display it in the best way. Even after several months, it’s still strained and awkward, but Shoto laughs occasionally, and they chat about his school and friends. (Friends that Dabi tried to kill at one point, which explains the awkwardness.) Fuyumi and Natsuo had come earlier this week, too.
Dabi hasn’t asked for Rei, yet. Maybe soon. One step at a time, if he’s being forced to walk.
“Fine. I’ll note it. Don’t be surprised if the doctor brings it up.” The guard gathers his dirty dishes and then turns to go. He stops a few feet short of the door.
“Oh. I almost forgot.” He transfers the tray to one hand and digs into his shirt pocket with the other. He pulls out an envelope and presents it to Dabi.
“Guy brought this by yesterday. Told him I’d get it to you.”
Dabi stares.
“…A guy?” He parrots. “What guy?”
(Most of the former League members are dead, or in jail, too, Shoto told him. With a sinking feeling, he wonders…)
“Pro Hero. Hawks, I checked his ID. He came by here a few times. Said he’d be back, but wanted you to have this.”
Dabi plummets. If he started sinking a second ago, he’s nosediving now.
Hawks.
Fuck.
Hawks.
Dabi very pointedly, very intentionally does not think about Hawks. Any time some idea of Hawks, some wisp of Hawks, some hint of Keigo infiltrates his mind, he dashes it with literally anything else. Chokes it down like pills and oatmeal. Dabi put Hawks in a locked box and threw away the key.
The guard shakes the envelope at him, snapping him from his rapid mental descent.
“You want it or not? I’m on a schedule here.”
Hesitantly, Dabi takes the envelope. He waits for the guard to leave to tear it open, which is kind of a challenge one-handed. Has to use his teeth, too, and something about that feels metaphorical, visceral, animal. He doesn’t realize his heart is pounding until he sees his own name in ink, in Hawks’ small, neat handwriting. Dabi holds his breath.
Dabi,
I don’t know what to say. But I have a lot to say to you, anyway.
You might not even read this. Maybe you’ll burn it to pieces.
On the off chance you don’t do that, I’d like to see you.
Let me know if that would be okay.
Hawks
Dabi’s so furious that he can’t see straight. Maybe it’s the irrational tears in his eyes, but—no, it’s the fury. He can’t think, he’s drowning again, he’s in the pod. He sobs at the crushing weight of smoke in his lungs, on death’s door, in a field with his family. The knowledge his allies are dead, the sharp sting of his father’s knuckle on his cheek. Cruel laughter, the darkness of the streets, knife fights for scraps of food, for cigarettes, for survival.
It churns inside him, boiling anger, pinched and prickling at the column of his spine. Dabi wants to—he wants to set fire, he wants to wreak havoc—
He remembers Hawks’ spine, under the sole of his boot. Beautiful red feathers charring to ash. The way it…hurt him to do that, but it would’ve hurt to let him get away with Twice’s death, too…
Fuck. But now…burn this goddamn letter to pieces with what?
Dabi grits his teeth in a snarl and balls up the letter. He chucks it as hard as he can, which is stupid because it doesn’t even go far. Incompetent fucking left hand.
Fuck this.
Fuck Hawks.
(He remembers fucking Hawks.)
And damn it, the floodgates are open, now. He popped the box open with a crowbar and…and it all pours out. Hawks, Keigo, he pours out.
His cocky smile, his smooth skin, the lilt in his voice like birdsong. His actual birdsong, in the throes of sex. His fucking wings, strong, and mighty, and drop-dead gorgeous. Hawks is gorgeous, in the most typical, douchebag way. His idiotic jokes, his insistence on invading Dabi’s personal space, his—his music recommendations, his quiet presence at the windowsill while Dabi read a book. His…strength, and prowess. His goddamn cunning. His resolution. The glint in his golden eyes, the way he’d melt, the way he’d beg, the way he’d…watch fucking gameshows in a hotel bed and ask Dabi to run away, to—
“Fuck!” Dabi yelps. He snatches the pillow and chucks it too. It barely soars a few feet. He wants to blast it all away, shoot fireballs into the floorboards like in his room at the compound.
The compound was demolished, Shoto told him.
That bedroom is gone.
That life is gone.
Hawks is gone.
Whatever fucked up fuckbuddy pseudo-relationship they had is gone.
Hawks wants to see him? Yeah, fuck that. Hawks wants to point in his fucking face and laugh about the fact that Dabi will rot in jail for the rest of his life. His double-crossing, two-timing snake-like scheme worked and he and the other heroes get to go on fucking frolicking, Endeavor included.
Fuck Hawks. Fuck his letter. Fuck his—his friendship, or whatever it was.
Fuck him for thinking he can just waltz back into Dabi’s life with a little note like they’re in middle school. He has “a lot to say”? Yeah, so does Dabi, and none of it is nice. Dabi could’ve—should’ve killed him when he had the chance! He should’ve—stabbed him in the back when he was fucking him instead of falling—falling into—
Into fucking delirium.
He scrubs his eyes with his one good goddamn hand.
“Asshole.” He mumbles, glaring at the note like Hawks can hear him. “You’re an asshole.”
Three hours later, after staring at the ceiling, Dabi picks up his pillow, and the crumpled piece of paper.
——
Almost five weeks later, he sends a note back.
——
Dabi taps his foot, waiting for Hawks to show up. It’s near-silent with the slippers he’s given, but the motion eases something in his frayed nerves.
He couldn’t eat breakfast and the pills make him nauseous on an empty stomach. Or maybe it’s the anxiety. Which the pills are supposed to help with, but. They’re doing jack shit right now.
He taps his fingers on the glossy plastic tabletop. The back of his hand is devoid of staples now. His skin is more purplish-gray than straight-up charred, but it’s still not a pretty picture. He’s still missing a fucking arm. His hair is awkward and short.
What does it fucking matter, though?
This room has a clock, at least. It’s…grossly similar to the same four walls he stares at every single day, but there’s some deviation. The paint is a light blue instead of the shit-brown-beige in his cell. More welcoming for the visitors, probably.
There are only two chairs, the one Dabi’s in, and an empty one, waiting. An intense metal door is at his back, with a guard on the other side, and there’s another right across from him. The one Hawks will walk through.
And then they’ll be alone in this room.
Fuck.
Maybe this is stupid.
Maybe Dabi should get up, say he changed his mind. Shoto, or Natsuo, or Fuyumi, or his mother, they’re—they’re more than enough, if they’re all he can have. Dabi doesn’t need—
A high-pitched beep chimes as someone unlocks the adjacent door with their security badge. Dabi watches with a mix of horror and anticipation as it thunks and whirs mechanically, then slides open.
Too late now. There he is.
Hawks stands in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights. Like he wasn’t expecting to actually see Dabi right away.
He wears casual clothing instead of his hero garb, which is a rare sight for Dabi. His hair is shorter than he remembers. And his wings are…gone? His wings might be gone. Or they’re tapered down under his bomber jacket, it’s hard to say. A pronounced scar crawls up his neck, onto his cheek.
Did Dabi do that?
“Room’s kinda soundproof for privacy, so, knock on the door if you need us.” The guard quips. “And you signed consenting for this already, but, just a reminder you’re under video surveillance for your safety. Have a good visit.”
Hawks spins to acknowledge the guard, but the door slides shut in his face.
Fuck, now they’re actually alone in this room.
Hawks turns back, slow, like molasses. He blinks those big, dumb, golden eyes at Dabi. He…looks like he might puke, his chest heaves, he inhales hard.
Yeah, Dabi gets it, he looks fucking hideous.
Dabi swallows, tries to find himself in this shell. Tries to remember how they were.
He sucks his teeth. Stills his fingers in their uneven rhythm.
“Just gonna stare at me all day?” He jabs. “Thought you had a lot to say. Or was that a ploy, too?”
Hawks manages a weak half-snort. He closes his eyes for a long moment, and Dabi watches him. He’s stiff, uneasy, uncomfortable…fluttery. His wings would be trembling, probably.
Hawks finally comes closer, with careful steps. He lifts the chair to sit down so it doesn’t drag and screech loudly.
And then they’re…three feet apart.
Last time they were this close, Dabi was trying to melt him.
“…I…also told you I didn’t know what to say.” Hawks replies. And it’s a weird, twisted gut punch to hear his voice.
“Hm.” Dabi remarks, because…he doesn’t really know what to say, either.
Hawks analyzes him, in the quiet. His gaze roves over Dabi’s face, lingers on his obviously-missing right arm.
“I’ll eventually have a prosthetic.” Dabi supplies, to fill the void. To brush off some of the self-consciousness. “They’re working on it.”
Hawks nods minutely. “Mirko has two. They’re pretty advanced now.”
“…Are…your wings…?”
Did he really burn them up?
Hawks shakes his head, pushes his bangs out of his face. It’s so familiar.
“Took a while, but they’re back to normal. All For One almost took them, but he didn’t. I just, left them outside. Didn’t want to…I dunno.”
“Didn’t want me to crisp them up again?” Dabi asks, meaner than he intends to be. Or maybe he does intend to be. “Don’t worry about that. They’ve handicapped me.”
He tilts his chin to indicate his back, the implant stitched up there. Surely Hawks is aware of it. Surely they told him to reassure him, for his safety.
“No, it’s not that.” Hawks crosses his arms over his chest. If Dabi didn’t know him so well, he wouldn’t have noticed the length of his talons. They’re dark and pointed, glinting in the light. He digs through shoddy memories, recalls they grow sharp when Hawks’ emotions are high.
Hawks shrugs, looks away. “I didn’t want to upset you with them.”
Dabi pulls a face, caught off guard. “What?”
Hawks eyes jerk back quickly to him. “I—I just, last time we saw each other you were—we fought. And now, after everything, mine are back and you’re—”
Dabi scoffs, cuts him off. “I’m what, Hawks? Monstrously impaired, stuck behind bars, and you’re still the same free, perfect—”
“I don’t want to argue with you. Please. That’s not what I mean.” Hawks’ eyebrows knit together. He wipes his face, drags a palm down it. “That’s not what I mean at all, I just…I don’t want to rehash it all, Dabi.—And, Jesus Christ, you’re not ‘monstrously impaired,’ don’t talk about yourself like that. You look fine. You’re…you look like you’re healing…I’m glad you’re healing.”
Dabi bites his tongue. Spring-loaded words threaten to burst, hot and angry. Arguing with him is fucking second nature right now. He exhales shakily, tries to hold back. Dabi glares down at a scratch in the tabletop, searches his brain, his cloudy thoughts, for what to say next.
“…Your eyes are the same.” Hawks mutters.
Oh. That’s.
Dabi looks up. Blue meets brown.
So are his.
“All right.” Dabi swallows. Because that was…odd. That was strangely hard to hear. “…If we aren’t rehashing things…what do you want to say then? Because—saying ‘sorry’ will just—it’s the same shit, isn’t it?”
“…I am sorry, Dabi.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t have to be.”
Dabi bares his teeth. Fucking whiplash. “No? Is that so? I’m just forgiven?—Everyone keeps apologizing to me, like I always wanted, right? Y’know, it—it feels like pity instead, at this point. My family, now you. Does anyone even mean it, or do they just feel pity for little Touya, the sad sack of shit sitting in jail? All that work for me to fucking wallow here, and everyone else is so sorry. It’s fucking exhausting and fake.”
Hawks actually…that bastard actually has the audacity to smirk.
“Glad you haven’t lost your spark, Hot Stuff. Even without your Quirk.”
It’s like hitting a brick fucking wall. Hot Stuff. God, he’s pissed. And he can’t even do anything about it.
He opens his mouth to speak, but Hawks charges through.
“No, I don’t pity you, Dabi. You always assumed that, before. And I’ve told you that before. I just…know what I did hurt you, and I deserved your reaction, and I’m sorry. To you and…to Twice, too.”
Another bag of bricks, tossed to the chest. Dabi would flick him with embers, if he could.
“…Feels an awful lot like rehashing, Birdie. Like we’re getting into it.”
Hawks softens further at the nickname. He gnaws on his lower lip and then suddenly stares at the ceiling. The scar on his neck shines silvery. Dabi—he almost wants to touch it. Just to test it.
“I…yeah.” Hawks mumbles. “Guess it had to be said.”
The silence stretches. That was the elephant in the room, so what now?
“…Fine. It’s said. It’s out of the way. You—” Dabi puts up a steep wall, shielding himself. “You said your piece, you can go. You got your closure.”
Hawks rolls his neck and then his eyes, settling back at level with Dabi. “Tch. Not sure why I was so nervous for this, you really are exactly the same.”
He was nervous for this?
They were both nervous for this, then.
“Yeah, well—”
“There’s more I want to…say to you.” Hawks licks his lips, Dabi doesn’t watch the action. “I am…far from having closure, Dabi.”
Dabi takes a deep breath. What the fuck does that mean? He lets his hand fall to his lap, squeezes the coarse fabric of his prison-regulated pants for something to do. Something to cling to. Hawks bores a hole into his cheek with tawny eyes.
“…Okay. Say it, then.”
Because Dabi’s having trouble finding any other words.
Hawks makes a contemplative noise, like a cooing dove. It’s almost as if he didn’t mean to, because he’s scraping over his face again and looking…frazzled? Hawks crosses his arms once more; protective, defensive, unsure.
“It’s…very loaded. To be honest.”
Dabi leaves the floor to him.
Hawks rubs the back of his neck. He pointedly avoids eye contact. “Do you remember…in the hotel?”
A small smile curls onto Dabi’s face. Feels alien, after so long. He can’t help it, though.
“Huh. Credit card fraud and island hopping sound pretty good right now, actually, but I’ll have to take a fucking raincheck.”
“Yeah.” Hawks half-laughs. “That and, the…”
Hawks seems to consider phrasing in his head. His shoulders flex, and Dabi can picture his wings, sweeping with them. This guy is fucking infuriating. Playing tennis with his emotions.
“The thing you said about me being ‘in season’.” It’s not a question.
Hm.
The egg thing. Is this the fucking egg thing?
Hawks suddenly shakes his head. “Before you say some smartass comment, it’s—no, I didn’t lay an egg after all, you’re not a deadbeat fucking father—it’s—it’s about my Quirk. My…bird traits.”
Dabi, again, leaves the floor to him, mainly because he’s confused. First they’re at each other’s throats, now this? Hawks has avoided him for half a year to then come and talk about how much they boned?
“…Okay, I’ll continue.” Hawks swallows. “I was…I was like that with you because. Jesus. Um.” Hawks wrings his hands together and his talons gleam. He finally notices them, shakes his hands like they’re wet, and the little claws retract.
Hawks visibly steels himself, spits the rest out quickly. “I was like that with you because I saw you as my mate. See you as my mate. Still. I fucking—mated myself to you—and—some birds mate for life, and, I’m kind of one of those, I guess? And—fuck. Shit’s been hard, Dabi. I don’t—I wanted to be angry at you, but I couldn’t. Can’t. I woke up in the hospital after our fight and just—missed you? I’ve been a goddamn zombie for the last—I don’t know how long. Since then? Since before then? Since the hotel? E-even when you were—after Twice, I wasn’t angry. I’ve been—fucking tearing my hair out thinking about you. I lost it when you finally wrote me back. That’s—goddamn that’s pathetic, but I just, I just still.”
He shuts himself up, gauges Dabi’s reaction.
Dabi is shellshocked.
Dabi’s lost his metaphorical footing, the rug’s been yanked out from underneath him. He stares, mouth slightly agape.
What?
So Hawks proceeds. “I asked you to leave with me in the hotel because I genuinely wanted that. Seriously. For us. You and me. When I said we were ‘different,’ I meant it. I—it’s so fucking complicated, some days I swore I hated you. Or that you hated me. I mean, I definitely think we did for a while. But I just…one day a switch flipped. And I can’t—I can’t flip it back. I don’t—want to flip it back. It’s kinda—it feels kinda intense, in me, so I just.”
He rubs a clenched fist over his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “I just had to tell you. To see you. Um.”
Hawks takes a shuddering breath and then the silence blankets them. Even from a few feet away, Dabi can tell his hands are shaking.
“But I—woo, okay. Fuck. You aren’t saying anything. So. Fuck, I’ll just go. I know that was a jarring info dump so.” Hawks stands quickly, and the chair does screech this time. He beelines for the door, stumbles on the way like he tripped over his own feet.
“Hawks.” Dabi finally manages. “Don’t drop a bomb like that and run away when you know I can’t follow you. That’s not fair and you know it.”
It stops him in his tracks. Halfway to the door, Hawks stalls. He looks smaller than before, hugging himself. He keeps his back to Dabi. It’s strange, without his wings or feathers.
It’s strange, to think of how intimately Dabi knows them, knows him. How many times his palms have touched there, between his shoulder blades, reduced him to breathless nothing. How many times they’ve kissed like they were starved of each other.
It’s…surprising Dabi didn’t notice it sooner.
This mate thing.
Though, some memories surface. The clinginess, especially. He’d just chalked it up to them being two lonely losers who enjoyed hooking up.
“…Either come back or actually fucking leave, don’t just stand there in the middle of the room. I’m—I’m not so good at walking, still. Don’t make me.”
Hawks runs his hands over his arms, self-soothing. After a beat he returns sluggishly, but won’t make eye contact.
“…I know it’s a lot, and it’s insane. But not telling you was…eating me alive.” He admits, downcast. The blue wall behind him looks sad now instead of hospitable, like before.
“You don’t have to feel the same, all right? Or feel anything. I just.” Hawks clears his throat, it sounds like a hidden chirp. A noise he masks. “It’s not going to go away. I-I fucking tried to make it go away. And even without the…instinct of it, I…I care about you, too. I…liked whatever weird, fucked up thing we had. Which is awkward to say out loud, but, since I’m laying it all out anyway.”
Dabi goes warm. If he still had his Quirk, he’d be glowing. He knows the sensation, the turnover in his gut. He swears he can taste his own smoke.
He eyes Hawks. Magnetizes on his nose, his lips, his jaw, his wrinkled brow. They honey color of his irises. The sheen of the scar Dabi inflicted, but Hawks ignores, because he…
Maybe this isn’t the warmth of his Quirk, actually. Maybe this is something else.
“…It was fucked up, wasn’t it?” Dabi offers quietly.
Hawks hums in agreement.
“…I liked it, too…Being with you.”
Hawks’ eyes flash and he twitches, taken aback. Astonished.
“…Really?”
Dabi shrugs. “…Really. Why would I tolerate you for so long if I didn’t?”
Hawks leans onto the table, even closer than before. Like he’s drawn in by the words.
“You kicked me to the curb, though, after the hotel. Completely avoided me. If you…liked it, too, why didn’t you come with me when I asked?”
He’s being earnest, clearly, it’s not a hypothetical question. Hawks wants to know why. Maybe it’s something about this…mate thing. He needs to know why he wasn’t good enough, Dabi guesses.
Dabi takes a second, pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s so quiet and stuffy in here, even just with the two of them. The room somehow feels full from this messy conversation, and from the crap he’s about to spew.
“Hawks, I…I had a very direct motivation, about seven months ago. Only one thing was on my mind, and it was the only thing I cared about for, I don’t know, ten years? I…”
Dabi blows out a breath. Laying it all out there. Okay. “I’ve been on all these…medications, and have been seeing fucking therapists, and—it’s a load of bullshit, but I also…see more clearly sometimes now. Okay? If we’re being completely honest with each other—ha, for once—I was diagnosed with a laundry list of psychiatric issues and post-traumatic stress because of my childhood, and because of Endeavor. I’m…being treated for them now, and…I wasn’t, last year, when I was with you, obviously. Or any time, before…So, that’s why. I was…absorbed in it. In my goal. Manically so.”
Hawks raises his fuzzy eyebrows, looking painfully hopeful. Like a puppy that Dabi dangles a treat for.
“…And you’re not absorbed in it now?” He tilts his chin up.
“I mean, no. Not really. I still hate my father and always will, but the...rest of me. I’m…fuck, working on it, I guess? On my good days. On the days when I care to work on it. But, that’s—what’s—what’s the plan, Hawks? Hm? None of it matters, look where we’re sitting.”
An authentic smile brightens Hawks’ face. Not one for the cameras, one for Dabi.
Oh. It’s frustratingly beautiful.
“In the same room. Without killing each other.”
Dabi deadpans. “A visitation room at a maximum-security prison facility. You have to go through a metal detector to see me.—How about this? If you’d like to take me out for another drink I’ll meet you in, I don’t know, sixty years to life? How’s that?”
Hawks leans his cheek into his hand. He looks so much more relaxed, now that the truth is out. Happy he’s not hiding anything.
Dabi…kind of is too. He hadn’t been lying. He’s…God, he’s still mad, he’s always plagued with anger. But Shoto says he seems to be “making strides.” Whatever that fucking means. He’s working on it.
“Sounds like a date, Hot Stuff.” Hawks tweets. “You still like dirty martinis?”
“Mmhm.” Dabi rolls his eyes. “Sure do.”
“Look, I’m just,” Hawks reaches out a hand like he’s going to touch Dabi, but pauses, pulls back. It’s noticeable, makes something in Dabi twinge, but he ignores it.
“I’m just really glad to talk to you. And to get it off my chest. This is—it’s fine. It’s better than nothing. And better than one of us being dead or something.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!” Hawks glares, determined. “And—maybe things can change. Good behavior, all that shit, I dunno. Your family has great lawyers and they’re talking a lot more about reformation and stuff, after the war, all over Japan. Especially now that the Commission’s been dissolved. Maybe you can get out one day. We could…go see a movie in public. Catch a Sidewinders game.”
Dabi doesn’t let himself imagine it. It’ll just make him mad and depressed. This entire conversation is already giving him some kind of conniption.
“Sure, Birdie.” He sighs. “If I ever make it out of here, we can do that.”
“Holding you to it.” Hawks almost whispers, a few seconds later.
“So. ‘Mates,’ huh? Do I even get a say?”
Hawks goes bright red at that, skin a deeper shade of cherry than Dabi’s ever seen. A teasing laugh slips from his mouth.
“What, you thought I wasn’t going to bring that up again?”
“The conversation had moved on!”
“It’s kind of a big deal though, isn’t it? Warrants in-depth discussion, if you ask me.”
“I-I mean. Yeah. Yes. But it’s not like I knew it would happen!”
Dabi tilts his head. When Hawks’ cheeks are pink, his eyes glow brighter. He recalls that, in the sweaty aftermath of sex. Rarely so shy, it’s…sort of endearing to see him like this.
Like Dabi said, fucking whiplash.
“So how do you even know it’s happened then? How are you sure?” Dabi presses.
Hawks opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. “I just do, okay? I know that’s a shitty answer but it’s…strong. It’s—it’s not just the sex, or it would’ve faded away a long time ago.”
Hm. Interesting. Dabi runs his tongue over his teeth, observes Hawks at length. Watches him squirm just a little, like old times.
“Gonna have to raincheck that too, huh? The sex?” He says heavily. Musters the best bedroom eyes he can.
Hawks inhales through his nose. He emits tiny cheep, disguised with a cough. More like a choke.
“Anyway,” Hawks redirects. “I think—”
The digital jingle sounds at the door again and the guard comes into view behind Hawks’ back. Hawks twist to look over his shoulder.
“Gentlemen, you’ve got about five minutes left. Wrap it up.”
“Wha—” Hawks balks. “I wasn’t told there was a time limit? I feel like I just got here. I thought visitation hours were until four PM today.”
Dabi frowns. Panic jumps between his ribs. Unexpected desperation tears at his piece-of-shit lungs.
“I’ve never had a visit cut short.” He protests. “My other visitors are always able to stay for hours. What’s going on?”
The guard looks irritated and checks a tablet. He scrolls through the screen for a moment and then looks back up to answer them.
“Your prior visitors have all been family, Mr. Todoroki. Extended visits are only granted to immediate family members, per facility policy. I don’t make the rules, but I have to enforce them.”
In his line of sight, Hawks droops. His shoulders sag down and his hands white-knuckle over the back of the chair.
Dabi—Dabi doesn’t want him to go. Not yet. Not after…this. Not after a brokenhearted argument, an all-out brawl, a near-death experience, months without contact, and then this seesawing conversation.
They’ve just opened a deranged, new can of worms with this whole mate thing, finally had enough balls to admit the bare bones idea of enjoying each other’s company, so he can’t just go, now.
“He is family.” Dabi says, before he can stop himself. It word-vomits out. Hawks whips around, startled.
“We’re romantic partners. Not legally, but, that was a little difficult given our prior circumstances. Wouldn’t that be included in the exception?”
Is it…a lie, really? No? They’re apparently fucking mated. Close enough.
Unbeknownst to the guard, Hawk’s eyes are boggling out of his head. He juts his chin at Dabi as if to say, “Huh?!”
The guard lifts his tablet, eyebrows raised in surprise. Good thing he probably had to sign an NDA to work here, or it would be on every news station in Japan tonight. Pro Hero Hawks and Secret-Todoroki Super Villain Dabi, what a pair.
“All right.” The employee tsks. “If you’d like to declare that officially you can, and you can be included in the profile, Mr. Hawks.”
Hawks picks his jaw up off the floor and composes himself. He turns back to the guard, dazzling him with his pretty-boy, movie star smile.
“Yes, please. That would be great. I can sign whatever you need when I head out. Just want to spend more time with my darling here. We appreciate it.”
The door shuts again without another word and Hawks reels on him.
“What was that?” He whisper-shouts, face rosy again.
Dabi laughs at him. It’s actually ridiculous how quickly they fell back into their natural dynamic.
“Oh, what, we can be weird fucking bird-lovers but not romantic partners in the eyes of my prison?”
Hawks lets out a groan of massive proportions and leans back into the chair. It squeaks at his weight.
“Not sure what I thought today was going to look like, but, hah. Wow. Okay.”
“Regret coming?”
“No.” Hawks chuckles in exasperation. “Just…surprised. You…are the same Dabi, but, there’s definitely something else there, too. Something softer. Old Dabi would’ve never done that.”
Hawks smiles. “And I…like it a lot.”
Something like a firework explodes in Dabi’s chest. He’s never felt so goddamn sappy, and it’s mushy, and goopy, and unusual in such a short time span.
He eyes the hero across from him, decides to be a little bit bold.
“Why don’t you come show me, then?”
Hawks freezes, his breath catches. If his wings were attached, the feathers would be giant and poofy. He shifts in the plastic chair.
“I—ha, Jesus, Dabi, I can’t exactly let you bend me over the table here.”
He swallows. Dabi watches his Adam’s Apple bob. For a big, bad bird of prey, he always immediately submits at the first hint of pleasure.
Dabi smirks. “As much as I’m sure security would love a show, I didn’t mean anything so scandalous.”
“Oh.” Hawks says dumbly. “Of course. Yeah. All right.”
Instead of standing, Hawks scoots his chair around the table so they’re side-by-side. It’s noisy and obnoxious, and Dabi shakes his head at the absurdity of it all.
Of the entire fucking conversation. And situation.
This close, he smells the same. Toothpaste, lavish soap, waxy hair product, something oily and sweet he coats his feathers with. The scar on his cheek is pretty bad. Dabi’s not sorry for most things, but a little for that. Dabi decides not to touch it, cards his fingers through the fine hair at Hawks’ left temple instead. He settles onto his jaw, because it’s easier to hold him that way. Hawks closes his eyes, borderline nuzzles. Looks like he’s fighting the urge to.
A trill twinkles musically from his throat, and since his eyes are closed anyway, Dabi kisses him.
Hawks stiffens in surprise.
And then he totally comes undone.
Letting out something between a warble and a whine, Hawks sings against Dabi’s tongue when their lips slot together. His mouth is silky-smooth velvet and his face is still stubbly.
Unbridled longing tumbles between them, like a bursting dam. More than Dabi remembers. There’s a trembling ache he’d never noticed before, back when they were just biting each other and clacking teeth.
Hawks’ palm flies up too, catches the back of Dabi’s neck. His thumb presses into Dabi’s jaw and a talon pokes under his ear. He hums, and sighs, and squeaks, and they kiss faster, and faster, and faster. The chairs skid along the floor, Hawks grips his shirt collar—
Dabi pulls away before they get carried away. Even from that, Hawks’ pupils are blown wide. He licks saliva from his lips and tugs his hand back, finger-combs his hair. Dabi notices his pulse, rabbiting quickly in the column of his neck. He wants to suck a hickey there.
Does Dabi appear that way, too? So desperate?
He must, because Hawks doesn’t look away from him. Amber eyes circle his soul.
“You don’t taste like cigarettes anymore.” Hawks mumbles eventually. He sounds hesitant, like he’s waiting for Dabi to shove him out of his personal space.
“You still do.” Dabi replies. He doesn’t move away. “Should sneak me a pack.”
Hawks wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s still trying to collect himself. The talons won’t budge, but there’s relief in his frame, now. “Trying to break the habit. Tokoyami and Mirko insist. But it…reminded me of you.”
“Hm. That’s…so fucking cheesy, Hawks. Jesus Christ.”
Hawks’ eyes glitter with sudden mischief. “Oh, trust me, if—if we’re going to be romantic partners in the eyes of your prison, as you put it, I will be so much worse. Flowers, chocolate, stuffed animals, the whole nine yards. Anything for you, honey.”
“All right, fine.”
Dabi tosses up his hand again, squeezes the junction between Hawks’ shoulder and neck. He shudders, then visibly preens. His entire torso relaxes. Dabi likes that. This. Whatever this is. They’re…apparently going to work on it, like everything else in his stupid life.
“Better dazzle me then, Birdie.”
Notes:
AHHHHHH <3
I'm really excited to finally write these two being a little more *affectionate* (in their own special way lol) rather than at each other's throats and just sexually supercharged lol. I think they have such a fun dynamic post-war, I really love all the fanfic/art of them post-war :')
I'd loveeeee to hear any comments because this chapter was definitely a challenge for me! Dabi is a little trickier to write for me than Hawks, so I hope you all enjoyed it! And your comments MAKE ME SO HAPPY :') <3
Find me on Tumblr @redfoxfern ! I love chatting and sharing fanfic/art!
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Notes:
AHH I'm sorry this took so long, I've been so extremely busy and this is a longer chapter than normal too!
Also shout out my cool new friends on Tumblr, and especially Yarn, for yapping with me basically 24/7 about fics, and MHA, and writing, and ships, and literally everything under the sun <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“…even listening to me?”
Hawks cringes when Rumi thwaps him in the forehead, catching him off guard. He bats her fingers away and they fall back to the wooden table. When he finally focuses, she and Tokoyami are staring him down from the other side of the restaurant booth. He didn’t realize he’d just been stirring his ramen around for several minutes and totally zoning out from the conversation.
“Sorry, no, I really wasn’t.” Hawks admits, rubbing where she whacked between his eyebrows. “What?”
Rumi narrows her eyes. She shares a loaded look with the teen beside her. Conspiratorially, she elbows him in the side.
“What’s up with birdbrain over here, huh, kid?” Rumi quips.
“Shut upppp, nothing’s up with me.” Hawks rolls his eyes and takes an obnoxious slurp of his noodles. They’re starting to get cold.
“Well, I said I might steal your intern next year and you didn’t even bat an eye.”
“Wh—hell no, what?! He’s my pride and joy!” Hawks’ face crinkles. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Tokoyami lightly bows his head. His feathers are puffed up from the compliment. “Don’t worry, Hawks, she is only joking. I would like to patrol with Mirko a few times to branch out and learn new techniques, but I can assure you of my loyalty to your agency.”
Hawks takes another sip of broth and then gives up on the meal. He sets down his spoon and sighs.
“Sorry, I know we were talking about your classes and plans for next semester. Didn’t mean to space out. Just got a lot on my mind.” Hawks twirls his pointer finger in a circle, an indication to go again. “From the top, let’s pick it back up. I think training a few times with Rumi is actually a great idea.”
Tokoyami opens his mouth to speak, but Rumi lightly lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him. In the golden light of the restaurant, her eyes glint. The corner of her mouth lifts.
“What all do you have on your mind, huh, Hawksy?”
She tilts her head curiously and her rabbit ears flick. She’s sussing him out.
“We aren’t talking about me right now, Rumi.” He combats.
Rumi shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Just wondering. I normally have to break your door down to get you to leave your apartment and today you replied ‘sure!!’ with two exclamation points, for the record. And—looks like he brushed his hair today, doesn’t it, Tokoyami?”
Hawks frowns.
Tokoyami nods. Dark Shadow peeks up from behind his shoulder, as if to investigate for himself. He nods, too.
“You do look well.” The intern agrees. “Like you slept, even.”
Hawks wonders if they can tell when his cheeks turn pink. He definitely feels it. He’s…
He’s been fucking fantastic, actually.
After visiting Dabi two days ago, Hawks feels like he can breathe for the first time in almost a year. Just…seeing him, talking with him, fucking—smelling him, kissing him, admitting the weird thing going on between them, speaking it into existence, into…something…it—it shook Hawks by the shoulders, slapped him back to life. His wings feel loose, his heart feels light, his head is still a scrambled mess, but, now it’s full of the memory of Dabi’s lips, instead of the flaring ache of his burns.
(Jesus, that’s pathetic. But Hawks so would’ve bent over that table. Fuck the cameras. If Dabi had pushed a little harder, Hawks would’ve tossed all shame out the window. Nothing he hasn’t done before, anyway.)
Leaving him after that conversation was God-awful, a punch below-the-belt, but only because Hawks never wants to leave his side again.
The raptor in his ribcage isn’t wailing anymore, or withering away to dust, but it’s bristling, and jumping, and fluffing up all around his chest, giddy with joy and acceptance. With…the excitement of reciprocation.
God, he wants Dabi more than he ever has. Wants his mate, who…wants him back? Apparently? The sensation is almost fucking ticklish.
“You’re doing it again!” Rumi accuses, this time with a laugh. She slaps a hand loudly on the tabletop, snapping him from his thoughts. A few other patrons look their way in the crowded noodle shop, drawn in by the noisy clatter. It’s a boxy, local joint, pretty cramped. Hawks is hyperaware they bring attention to themselves already as two pro heroes and one in-training. It’s a weekend, it’s roaring loud in here, but he doesn’t want an audience.
Hawks pinches the bridge of his nose and lowers his voice. “No, I’m not, c’mon. I just—I was listening!”
“Okay, then what did I say?”
“We’re discussing Tokoyami’s incredibly bright future.”
“Nope.—I mean, he does have one, but not what I said at all. What’s gotten into you? You agreed to meet us without a second thought, you’ve clearly bathed, you’re being a total space cadet—did you meet someone?!”
Hawks rubs his hands over his face. She’s so fucking insistent. “Oh my God. Can we not?”
Too late, Rumi’s hooked on the idea. “You did, didn’t you? That’s why you’re all happy and brainless. You’re out of your wallowing.”
“I’m not allowed to be happy without rousing suspicion?” Hawks deadpans. “Thought you’d be glad about it, after all my moping?”
Rumi leans back in the booth and crosses her arms. She’d recently painted the prosthetic bright purple.
“Don’t be spicy. Of course I’m glad! Just surprised. And curious. Give us the details.”
Hawks blows out a deep breath and it morphs into a half-chuckle. The details, huh? They’ll love the details. They’ll be thrilled he crawled back to the villain that broke his heart in the first place.—Though, Dabi’s not a villain anymore, and, Hawks’ own actions were half the reason everything crumbled apart.
“I don’t think we need to get into this, okay, Rumes? Not right now, anyway.” He slides a subtle glance at Tokoyami.
His student raises his chin pointedly. Not too aggressively, but in a way where he wants to be heard. “I am almost eighteen, you know. You can’t consider me a child forever, Hawks. Besides, I was already subjected to the details of your private life once.”
He’s got him there.
Hawks slides around his ramen bowl in a circle for something to do. It’s white and glossy, decorated with blue flowers. The shade is kinda close to Dabi’s eyes, actually—he stops. Focuses. He could lie to them, make something up, a generic story about a meet-cute, leave it vague. Some fake girl or guy that he can create and let fade from existence in a week or two. It would certainly cause less drama and save him from a lot of hard questions and messy answers.
But also…hm. They’ll figure it out soon enough, won’t they?
Hawks takes a deep breath. “Fine. If you really want to know, I didn’t meet someone. But, uh, yeah. It is…because of someone.”
Rumi raises an eyebrow. “What’s that even mean? Who?”
Dark Shadow buzzes, catching Hawks’ eye. Tokoyami hums and, ah, he’s caught on.
“I paid Dabi a visit.” Hawks explains, keeping his voice down. The name could probably still freak out some other guests, if spoken too loudly. He glues his gaze to the bowl, nervous for the response.
The sound of Rumi’s sudden facepalm echoes.
“Hawkssss.” She grumbles. “I know things were…intense with him, but do you really think that was such a good idea? What do you have to gain from that? It’s clearly fucked with you, you’re all in your head about it.”
The silence stretches between them when he doesn’t answer. Nothing but the din of the restaurant, and suddenly it’s grating. Hawks taps his fingers, careful not to look at his friends. His damn talons sharpen in the process so he curls his hand into a closed fist.
“I know you guys think I’m crazy.—Yeah, even you, Fumikage, I can feel your vibes, despite the fact that you haven’t said a word.”
Hawks’ wings twitch self-consciously. To anyone he’d seem crazy.
“…But, didn’t you just say I seem happier? Before you knew? He…”
Hawks grinds his teeth and finally looks up. Rumi’s blatantly confused, maybe disappointed, definitely concerned. Tokoyami just seems…unsure. His body language is all cagey.
“He makes me happy. Okay? Despite…all the shit. Talking to him was something I really, really needed to do. And it…” Hawks shrugs. “It went really well, actually.”
“Did you get the closure you needed, then?” Tokoyami finally asks. Dark Shadow lilts back and forth behind him. Both of them surely remember their battle with Dabi all too well. The way he’d charred Hawks to a crisp.
“Um.” Hawks wrings his hands together. He wonders if they notice his fucking claws but they won’t go away.
This conversation feels like the first time he told them, back in the hospital bed, crying. Except he isn’t crying this time, because Dabi reciprocates his feelings. Things are good, this time. Unfortunately, it’s just as awkward. Probably even more so.
“Yeah, you could call it closure. Or like, I dunno, an…ongoing…thing. Open-ended.”
Rumi’s ears flatten to her head when she crosses her arms for probably the fiftieth time this afternoon. “Stop being dodgy. Out with it.”
Hawks holds up a defensive finger. “Before I do, we’re, like, basically family, so you aren’t allowed to judge me.”
“I think I can make that decision for myself, babe.” She retorts.
Tokoyami and Dark Shadow awkwardly watch them banter back and forth like it’s a ping pong tournament. Caught between two siblings fighting, essentially.
“Fine. But if you’re going to judge me, keep it to yourself, because—” Hawks’ feathers bristle. “Because nothing you say is gonna change my mind, okay? Things are really complicated and we’re kind of…tied together in a way I can’t control, so.”
“Do I need to Luna Arc you under the table? Because it might blast out the wall behind you and I don’t think the employees would like that.”
“Dabi and I are together now.” Hawks finally admits, spitting it out quickly, looking her dead in the eye. “Like…romantically.”
Rumi’s eyebrows climb her forehead in a way that’s almost comical.
Tokoyami clears his throat to jump in. “…Weren’t you…before?”
Awkward. Hawks scratches the back of his neck, careful of his own talons. “Um, no. Things were…let’s just say no strings attached, for your innocent ears, okay? So, we—we talked. At the prison. For a while. Things went well, and he’s healing physically and mentally, and we’re…on the same page, okay? About how we feel about each other. And, I, uh, sort of have thissss…bird mating connection thing to him so, we’re kind of bonded for life, and he told the prison we’re like, together, so, yeah—”
“Excuse me?” Rumi interrupts. “Are we just glossing over all of this, like, what the—”
It’s Hawks’ turn to cross his arms. “That’s all of it. In a way that’s kind of less embarrassing for me than going into the nitty-gritty details. I—”
Hawks almost says, “I love him.”
It barrels into him like a truck. Actually, literally, knocks the wind out of him. He inhales hard, like he’s catching his breath. Behind him, his wings flap, scuffing the restaurant wall. He’s glad they aren’t butted up to another booth or he’d have knocked out a patron. The people adjacent to them look up though, and the waiter a few tables down jerks his head in surprise.
Hawks blinks.
His friends stare at him, startled at the sudden cut off.
He…well, he sort of knew that, he mated himself to Dabi. But he’d never really articulated those exact words, and now they’re making him dizzy.
“Hawks?” Tokoyami asks, reaching out a hand. He gently lays his palm over Hawks’ forearm, like he’ll spook. “Are you all right?”
Hawks reels it in, calms himself. His talons won’t budge, he’s too high-strung from the situation, but, he snuggles Fierce Wings back to his shoulders. The atmosphere in the ramen shop returns to normal.
“I promise.” He finally tells them, voice steady with resolve. “I promise I’m all right, and I’m…I know my head’s all over the place, but, in a good way. This is the best I’ve felt in months. It just…makes sense to me. Even if it doesn’t to anyone else. He’s…Dabi’s been through a lot. He just never got the support he needed or deserved. And he’s working on it…And I want to be there for him while he is.”
Hawks feels Rumi’s foot tapping the floor beside his, like she’s very clearly holding back on something. The pent up energy bounces against his boot. After Tokoyami gives him a final squeeze and pulls his hand back, Hawks nods to her.
“Your turn, out with it.” He quotes to his best friend.
Rumi…sort of deflates. Like she doesn’t enjoy saying her next bit.
“Hawks, honey. Look, I’ve had my fair share of disastrous relationships. You put me back together after a lot of them. But, like, usually they involved a girl who was ‘just experimenting,’ or like, moving to another country, or she cheated on me with some bitch from her college because she ‘couldn’t handle the pressure of dating a pro hero.’”
Hawks almost laughs, but she looks too serious. It makes his spine itch.
“But…none of them were at this level. And I thought I was so into those women. I thought they were my soulmates at the time. Do you think…maybe this is…one of those situations?—I’m asking this with love, because I care about you, and your feelings. Do you think you’re settling for someone who…I mean the first person you’ve kind of experienced this with? Like, your first foray into a real relationship is with a supervillain during a national war, while you were playing double agent.”
Shame and shyness twist in Hawks’ gut.
She’s…half right. Sure…Dabi is the first person he’s let himself get this close to. But…maybe there’s a reason for that? He sees where she’s coming from, but the suggestion is more embarrassing than enlightening. Makes him feel like a child.
They’re not in Hawks’ head. Or in his stupid heart. Or in his stupid chest, with the stupid bird.
They don’t know Dabi like he does.
Hawks looks at Tokoyami, who’s still borderline a child, himself. Wonders what the hell his intern thinks of him now. Wouldn’t be surprised if he flips agencies next semester, after this.
Hawks sighs. Rumi might not believe him, no matter what he says, and Tokoyami may never respect him again, but.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I know I probably can’t convince you, but, please just trust me, at least.”
Rumi goes even softer, somehow. Her ears droop. She offers a gentle smile.
“You know I always trust you, Hawks.”
“So do I.” Tokoyami agrees without hesitation. “Even if your decisions puzzle me. I guess someday I’ll understand, right? That’s what you’re always telling me?”
“I dunno, kid.” Rumi cuts in, stealing Hawks’ reply to that. She half-laughs and takes a sip of water, then resumes. “This is less of a being-an-adult thing, and more of a being-Hawks thing.”
Hawks opens his mouth to defend himself again, but she points right at his nose.
“And before you say some shit, that doesn’t imply ‘being Hawks’ is a bad thing. I just—we just want you to be happy. So if you’re happy with him, then—,” Rumi rolls her eyes. “I’ll suck it up and accept it, and stop trying to talk you down.”
A few of Hawks’ feathers unfurl. He hadn’t realize how tightly-wound this conversation had him.
“Thank you.”
“I won’t say I’m sorry though,” Rumi’s ears flick to attention again. “I do want you to consider everything I said. And if you are going to keep this up with him even after that, just really think about what it entails. You—you can’t ever go on dates, you can’t ever live together, you have no privacy, you can’t…”
She mulls over her words with a quick look at Tokoyami. “You can’t…do a lot of things people in relationships do. Get married, have a family if you wanted to. Forever, Hawks. He’s in jail for life. For really high-level crimes. His record aside, you’re still going to go home alone each night. Is…is that really enough for you?—I mean, if it is, good for you, but it would never work, for me.—You’re a bird, I’m a rabbit, I get the whole instincts thing, honestly. But will this be enough for you?”
Rumi’s eyes bore a hole into his skull and Tokoyami and Dark Shadow continue to look between the two of them.
Everything Rumi just said…he’s thought about it. Of course he has. The reality of their…whatever it is. Their “romantic partnership.”
Ever since the visit, Hawks has been fixated on measuring time until he can see Dabi again. He visualizes an hour glass full of sand. He watches the flow, counts each speck, knows that when it gets to zero he’ll be at ease.
And then it’ll flip over again.
This cycle will repeat, forever.
…But Hawks will take what he can get.
“I’m really thankful for you guys, a lot, you know that. Especially for caring about me so much. Like I said, I know it’s crazy, and I get it if you don’t get it. But it’s…yeah. It’s enough.” Hawks nods. He’s ready to go now, to leave this restaurant and awkward conversation and to get back on patrol, get back in the clouds. The booth feels even more cramped than before and his wings are practically bursting at the seams.
He fishes out his wallet and throws down enough bills to cover all three of them.
“Ready to go?”
Rumi looks like she wants to say something else, but holds her tongue. It must be obvious he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. Hawks completely understands they have good intentions, but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. If Rumi or Tokoyami were in his shoes, he’d be flipping out.
They climb out of the booth and Hawks beelines for the door. Rumi mentions hitting the bathroom, but Hawks doesn’t look back until his boots touch the sidewalk outside. The street’s just as noisy at midday lunch rush, but being back under the open sky is soothing.
Dark Shadow vanishes in the sunlight when Tokoyami comes to stand beside him. He shifts his weight back and forth for a minute and then finally nudges his shoulder into Hawks’ own. Hawks looks over, and a little bit downwards. Tokoyami’s still shorter than him, but he’s growing fast.
“Remember when I asked if Dabi could be saved? If you could see a path to redemption for him?”
Hawks is caught off guard at the question. He simply nods.
“I know Shoto has been visiting with him. We haven’t talked about it in depth, but, it sounds like things are going well. And, now, if you will be, too…I think that’s the first step in the right direction, don’t you, Hawks?”
Oh. That’s…really wise, as always.
Hawks exhales deeply through his nose and shakes his head. He clasps a hand over Tokoyami’s shoulder and gives him a genuine smile; it breaks through the gunk and discomfort he felt mere seconds ago.
“I needed to hear that, Fumikage. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You know that Mirko and I just want what is best for you, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Hawks sighs. He lifts his hand to ruffle Tokoyami’s feathers, and his intern bats playfully at the assault. “I know. And I really think this is.”
——
The next day, Hawks works with Bakugou, Deku, and Tokoyami. It feels silly sometimes, that after winning a war, they still need so many hours of patrol time in order to graduate. To rack them up, they’ve been at it since the crack of dawn. And it’s been an eventful day, with two busted robberies and an attempted kidnapping at the park.
They’re taking a break, high up on one of the rooftops downtown to still keep an eye on things. Hawks leans against a giant AC unit and sips canned coffee from the convenience store below.
“That shit’s bad for you, y’know.” Bakugou quips from beside him. He chomps on beef jerky and drinks some kind of thick protein smoothie. Midoriya sits at their feet, legs crisscross, tearing through his third granola bar. Tokoyami had a banana. Not really a suitable “lunch” for any of them, but they’ve been busy.
Hawks quirks an eyebrow. “Coffee? I’ve seen you drink coffee, man.”
Bakugou wipes his mouth with a gloved hand. He points at the can. “No, that’s barely considered coffee. There’s enough caffeine in that to buzz a fucking elephant.”
Hawks smirks. “I must be an elephant then. Better change my hero name.”
Tokoyami chuckles at that. At least somebody thinks Hawks is funny.
“Give him a break, Kacchan.” Deku tugs Bakugou’s pant leg. “Not everyone is a health freak like you are.”
“Clearly.” Bakugou replies, crinkling his nose at the wrappers in Deku’s hand.
“Allow me my heart attack, Bakugou. I’ve got a lot going on.” In fact, Hawks would love a cigarette, too, but Rumi took them all.
He shakes the empty can and then shoves it into the plastic bag they’re using for trash.
“Anyway, you guys good to go in a minute? We could swing to the south district, if you all want. Might run into Fat Gum and Red Riot down there.”
“That sounds great!” Deku cheers, clambering to his feet. “I haven’t been there in a week or so, it’ll be nice to have a change of pace.”
Bakugou inhales the rest of his snack and tosses his trash, too. He pulls his mask from his hairline and settles it back over his eyes.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Tokoyami?” Hawks tilts his head. “What say you?”
“I’m up for anything.” His protege nods.
“Awesome.”
Hawks arcs his arms over his head, rolls his neck out for good measure. He lets his wings grow as long as they can, stretches them to full length in the sun. They woke up early, he’s tired and stiff. Hopefully the elephant crack kicks in.
“All right, let’s go ahead and—”
Hawks’ phone vibrates from inside his jacket pocket. (Been nice to only have one phone again.) He fishes it out and takes a look at the screen.
Hawks’ heart stops. Though it’s not from the coffee, it’s because Dabi’s prison is calling him.
“Fuck.” He says aloud, before he can stop himself. The three kids glare suddenly in concern.
“What’s the matter?” Tokoyami asks immediately. Dark Shadow’s yellow eyes glow with worry underneath his cloak.
“I, um.” Hawks blinks at the screen.
Why would Dabi’s prison be calling him?
It can’t be good news. It’s not like they’d—they wouldn’t call up and say, “hey, your partner is doing great today,” or, “guess what, your partner took all his meds today,” or, “hello, great news, he finally called his mother again.” They wouldn’t call him for anything.
Other than an emergency. Maybe? Would they even do that?
A catastrophe. A crash out.
A mental breakdown, a medical dilemma.
If Hawks is “on his profile” now, and no one else answers—
Could he—is he—
Hawks’ stomach plummets at the same time that his lungs give out. He feels the kids’ burning eyes, the subtle shift from play to panic. They’re all too familiar with that.
Hawks swallows. Talons rip through his torso, trying to claw their way out from the inside. He feels the ones on his fingertips sharpen in tandem.
What’s wrong with Dabi?
What happened to Dabi?
“Hawks?” Tokoyami prompts again. He takes a step closer. He’s trying to eyeball the phone, it doesn’t really matter if he sees it anyway, but Hawks doesn’t want the other two to know. Not yet. Not when the war is so fresh in their minds. Seven months and change is nothing after an end-all battle.
Hawks clutches it to his chest. “I have to take this.—Just—stay here. Take a break.”
“Wha—we’re already on a break!” Bakugou combats.
Hawks doesn’t really listen to whatever Midoriya snaps at him after that. He takes off in a heartbeat and slams his wings against the air at lighting-speed. He lands a few rooftops away, close enough to still see the kids, but far enough to ensure they can’t hear his conversation.
It’s all been a matter of seconds, even though it feels like an eternity. He quickly answers the phone before the ringing stops.
“Hello?” Hawks breathes. His chest restricts. His mind races. He’s about to throw up all twelve ounces of chocolate espresso.
The voice on the other line blankets him, though.
“You know, they offer me phone calls pretty regularly but this is the first time I’ve actually bothered to make one.”
Hawks’ wings slam the air in surprise. He actually chirps, relief spilling over him like heavy rain.
“Dabi?” He yelps. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck?”
“Yikes, bad time, Birdie?” Dabi teases. “Thought you’d enjoy a little chat.”
Hawks scrubs his forehead, drags a shaky hand over his eyes.
“You’re going to be the death of me, holy shit. I thought something was wrong. You should’ve told me you could call.”
“How could I tell you I can call without calling you to tell you, dumbass?”
Hawks actually laughs at the absurdity. Okay, he’s right. Fuck.
Fierce Wings flutter and then settle back to his shoulder blades. Hawks comes down from the freak out and glances over at the kids. They’re all laser-focused on him. Hawks offers a wave and a thumbs up, signifying things are okay. Bakugou throws his arms up in the air in obvious exasperation, so Hawks turns his back on them.
“And it’s not an all-the-time thing. Just sometimes. Seriously though, are you busy?” Dabi asks, voice strained with sudden, self-conscious hesitation. That’s foreign to Hawks. This is so weird.
“No—well, yeah. I’m working. But I’m taking a break. So, not right now.”
His heart still pounds, but it’s slowing. If he closes his eyes, it’s like they’re in the same room. Hawks just pretends to smell him, the scent is ingrained in him, anyway. Cinnamon, smoke, salt, leather, something heavy and alcoholic.
“Hm. Uh…anything…good? I dunno.” Dabi clears his throat. “What the hell do people talk about on the phone? I just—wanted to call you, I don’t fucking know.”
Hawks lips turn up at the corner. “How sweet of you. We used to talk on the phone all the time, Hot Stuff.”
“Pfft, yeah, we’d pretend to coordinate shit for Shigaraki and then hook up in a warehouse.”
That brings up an actual laugh. “Yeah, trust me, I remember. So, which skeevy warehouse are we meeting at today, then?”
There’s a rustling noise, like Dabi is moving the receiver on the other line.
“Hah. Don’t tempt me with a good time, Birdie, I’ll ask what you’re wearing and everything.”
It’s barely even flirting, but it makes Hawks’ blood feel warm.
“The usual.” He banters, because he missed it. “Flight suit. Fulllll wings. What about you?”
Dabi chuckles, slipping into a more comfortable mood with the familiar.
“Orange.”
Hawks snorts. “Sexy. It’ll bring out your gorgeous blue eyes.”
There’s another shuffling sound.
“So, how fast can you get somewhere private? I have—” There’s a beat of quiet, like Dabi’s checking a clock. “Six minutes.”
“What?” Hawks splutters, then cracks another smile, breaks into more laughter. “Hold on, are you seriously wanting to make this phone sex? I thought this was a chat.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers and some of us are in fucking prison.”
Hawks shakes his head, even though Dabi can’t see him. “First of all, I can’t do that, I’m with interns, and second of all, aren’t they like, watching you, all the time?”
He can practically hear Dabi roll his aforementioned “gorgeous blue eyes.”
“This wasn’t going to be a booty call, for the record. But you initiated, y’know. Anyway, these people watch me take a shit, you think I care if they watch me jerk off, too? You think I haven’t jerked off in the entire time I’ve been here? That would be fucking crazy.”
Hawks keeps laughing, but his face feels red. The thought of Dabi jerking off at all makes him shiver. It’s been way too long.
And it’s gotta be to Hawks, right? Like, Dabi admitted that he enjoyed—
Hawks suddenly remembers the day before, the world-shattering realization that he’s in love with this guy. This fucking guy. Now his neck feels red too, and his shoulders. His whole spine tickles, his stomach swarms with butterflies. Each of his feathers puffs larger.
“I,” Hawks struggles to regain composure, keeps laughing. Talking on the phone with Dabi while he’s in jail feels like an alternate reality.
“I’m glad you’ve kept yourself busy, more or less.”
“Nothing else to do here.” Dabi grumbles, sounding pouty that Hawks can’t indulge him at the moment. “I’m absolutely going to jack it when we hang up, so enjoy that thought.”
“Shit.” Hawks hisses through his teeth, starts pacing in circles. He feels delirious. This is insane. A casual call talking about intimacy with his sort-of-boyfriend? “Boyfriend” feels wrong, for what they are. Doesn’t encompass it enough.
And Hawks would love to enjoy that thought, but it’s not the time or place with three teenagers on his watch.
“Read a book or something, you animal.”
“Oh, I’m the animal? Funny for my bird mate to accuse me of, isn’t is?”
Ah, right, not boyfriends, bird mates, or something. Jesus.
“Ohmygod.” Hawks sidesteps that conversation again. “Pick up a hobby, then. Knitting?”
“I like how you dodged the topic,” Dabi snickers. “But, sure, bring the criminal giant needles.”
Oh, man, he always makes him laugh. Hawks missed Dabi making him laugh, too. Even when he’s embarrassing him.
“Painting?”
“Yeah, with my left hand that I can barely eat with, mmhm. Knocking it out the park here with your ideas, Birdie. You’ve always been so good at these.”
“Shut up.” Hawks bites back without malice.
There’s a pause, like Dabi’s thinking. Then, “Bring me some more books, then, next time you visit. If you’d like to continue to save me from delinquency. I’ve read all the ones here, there aren’t many.”
Next time you visit.
Hawks goes fuzzy, remembers way back when, wondering over and over about “next time,” ripping himself in two for letting them happen more than once. And now they’re…complicated. But their relationship now is significantly more than no-strings-attached hate-sex.
Hawks wonders if he’ll ever actually tell Dabi he loves him? Will they get there?
Maybe. For now, this is so much better than he could’ve imagined, even with the many obstacles in the way. Rumi had been completely right about everything she said, but, Hawks is on cloud nine just from this short conversation.
Because he missed Dabi. So much about him. Misses him still.
“…When can I come visit you again?” Hawks asks before he chickens out. Why does it feel so scary?
Dabi makes a quiet, contemplative sound, so Hawks holds his breath.
“…Whenever you want, I guess. Not like I’m going anywhere.”
There’s a brief moment of hysteria, where Hawks debates the consequences of breaking a super villain out of jail and absconding to another country.
“Wish you could. With me.” He says suddenly, flayed open with vulnerability. It’s easier to sound corny when Dabi isn’t shooting daggers at him. Or looking especially hot in his vicinity.
“Tch. Here we go. Is this your pretty boy attempt at dazzling me? Saying something cliché?”
“Is it working?”
“…I would say it—oh, fuck. I’ve gotta go. Just. Yeah, come whenever you can. My siblings come often so they may beat you, but. Just. Whenever.”
“I will.” Hawks says quickly. “And—hey, next time you call, I promise I’ll make myself available, y’know what I mean? Somewhere more private?”
Dabi laughs, low and dark. It feels like velvet.
“Mm. I sure do, pretty bird. I’ll hold you to it.” Hawks pictures him narrowing his eyes, looking sly. “Bye.”
The line clicks when Dabi hangs up.
Hawks fights the tide of loneliness that swells suddenly over him. He gives himself only ten seconds to succumb to the overwhelming ache.
And then he exhales, and puts his phone away.
Hawks swoops back to the trio of interns who all look nervous, even though he’d signaled to them that everything was fine.
“Sorry about that. Family stuff.” Hawks shrugs when he lands. “All good.”
Because, sort of? Ish? What else is he supposed to say? Nobody has a clue about his personal life, it’s vague enough.
“Don’t freak us out like that again.” Bakugou grumbles, which is about as close as he gets to admitting he cares.
“Glad it’s all right, is what Kacchan means to say.” Midoriya nudges the blonde with a sharp elbow. Bakugou shoves him back.
Tokoyami gives Hawks a knowing look, but nods. “Well, tell us if anything changes.”
Hawks salutes them. “Will do. Anyway, let’s get a move on.”
——
Another three days pass, and Hawks is on edge because he hasn’t been able to go see Dabi again. First he had to cover one of his sidekick’s shifts because they caught the flu, and now today is the inaugural all-hands-on-deck heroes conference.
With the Commission forced to disband, the pros decided to take matters into their own hands. Every quarter, they’re going to gather and discuss…everything. Education, public health issues, the hungry, crime rates, charity, national security, local politics, structural integrity, technological advancements, civilian safety, hero safety, all of it. Essentially an entire day to spitball ideas, find weak points, talk about progress, and suggest ways to move forward.
Hawks is on deck soon to make a presentation about expanding free sports programs to more low-income schools, with the help of interns. A bunch of the U.A. hero course students are in attendance, too, shadowing the conference, and they’re excited about the project.
Beside him, Rumi highlights her paperwork about new community vegetable gardens. Aizawa is at Hawks’ other side, leaned far back in his chair but trying to listen attentively. Whenever he starts to nod off, Yamada tugs his hair. He’s not presenting anything today, and he’s still teaching full-time, so Hawks gets it. Let the poor guy nap.
The room is packed; rows upon rows of chairs crammed in like sardines to fit as many heroes as possible into the event hall. Way in the back, near the sets of double doors, it’s standing room only. Hawks sort of wishes he’d left his feathers outside. His wings curl into his spine against the plastic backrest.
All Might is up now, talking at the podium about lowered crime rates and congratulating everyone’s hard work post-war, despite the constant cloud of exhaustion. He starts explaining an idea—mandated “hero partners,” to ensure everyone has enough support in the field. A lot of pros prefer working alone, so it creates a murmur, but there’s some appreciation, too. And then he speaks in-depth about Quirk acceptance, cultivation, and development, starting at a young age, and “fostering the bright minds of the future.” Uravity takes the stage with him and animatedly gets into her ideas. It’s a great concept, Hawks admires.
He wonders, with something like that, how different his life would’ve been.
His ears perk even more when Uravity mentions extensions of their thoughts, when she says, “reformation.” It’s been a buzz word, after so many criminals broke out during the war. A lot of them created havoc, but a lot of them just…disappeared, too. And a lot of them, she says, could “consider reintegration.”
Hm.
Hawks picks at a paperclip on his file folder. He notices Rumi looking at him, out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t look back.
He…loves the idea, of course. For one criminal in particular.
But it’s a toss up on how likely others will be on board. Dabi’s kind of…high profile.
All Might and Uravity wrap up to applause, and Endeavor stomps up next to tackle the topic of new support gear developed by U.A. students. A lot of impressive stuff there, too, each slide of the PowerPoint draws “oohs” and “ahhs” from the collective crowd. It’ll all be rolled out soon, apparently.
Hawks…tries not to glare at Endeavor when he talks. After everything he learned, even way before shit really hit the fan…it just leaves him feeling like he snorted lemon juice. Someone who was once his primary role model…actually kind of sucks.
Sure, Endeavor’s “working on himself,” and trying to atone. But it’s hard to deny the itch—the borderline growl that builds in his throat sometimes, when he sees him. When he thinks about it too much, about Dabi’s pain too much. Hawks is always cordial, obviously. They share a building, and Endeavor’s helped him out a lot, honestly.
But he’s allowed to be pissed off, too.
Hawks is surprised when his phone screen brightens then, flashing up at him from his lap. It’s on silent, but the notification is clear—it’s Dabi again.
Speak of the Devil.
Fucking fuck. Of course it is, right here, right now, when Hawks promised he’d answer for some flirty phone sex and now he can’t.
“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, through grit teeth. He twitches in frustration and rolls his eyes to the grandiose ceiling. His shoulder blades scrunch.
Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him for all the fidgeting but Hawks ignores it.
How much crap would he get for leaving in the middle of Endeavor’s presentation? Like, literally, while he’s currently speaking?
Probably a lot.
Hawks is still Number Two, he’s still in the front fucking row, and his giant ass wings would be blatantly obvious even if he somehow managed to sneak to the edge of the room.
He can’t.
He locks his phone so that it stops mocking him and pockets it with a quiet grunt. Rumi lightly kicks his shoe as if to say, “shut up already.” She doesn’t know what’s going on exactly, but she can sense his irritation, and it’s definitely irritating her.
And so ends any possibility of a good mood. He hopes Dabi won’t be too angry. Or too lonely. He’s already probably lonely as hell.
Hawks pangs with anger and disappointment. The gnawing feeling he’s letting his mate down.
Despite the internal turmoil, the Commission trained him well. Sometimes it actually scares him how unshakeable that is. How easy it is to flip a switch and pretend, pretend, pretend. Hawks slaps on a smile when it’s his turn next and takes the stage with a swish of red feathers.
It goes great, too. Most people enjoy sports, and if they don’t, they enjoy helping kids. It’s just kind of second nature for heroes. The initiative seems to garner a lot of favor, and he figures it’ll be voted into action later that afternoon.
After he walks off stage and takes his seat again, All Might steps up to announce they’ll reconvene after lunch. It’ll be served down the hall, in another giant banquet room, where Hawks will have to feign friendly conversation while he’s in a really shit mood.
“Thank God,” Rumi sighs, sliding her paperwork into a sling bag. “My stomach is eating itself. You wanna…Hawks?”
She trails off, noticing his grumpy eyebrows.
“You good?”
“I’ll catch you later, okay? Got a headache from the lights.” He waves a dismissive hand and slumps out of the conference room, the opposite direction of the flood of people. He doesn’t mean to be a dick to Rumi, but. Fuck. She was right. This imitation-sorta-long-distance-adjacent shit is hard and frustrating. He knew it would be, but. Fuck. And it’s barely even begun.
It’s barely even anything to begin with.
Hawks shoves his hands in his pockets and walks farther into the convention center. He wanders until he finds a small, empty conference room, with a long table and a dozen chairs. Hawks shuts the door behind him and flops into one.
He unfortunately can’t call Dabi back. It doesn’t really work like that and he knows it without having to ask. So he scrolls social media until his eyes threaten to bleed.
Around fifteen minutes into his self-wallowing, his feathers buzz. Someone’s coming, someone familiar. Two someones, specifically. Give him one more second and he’ll identify exactly who based on footfalls and breathing speed, but, the door opens before he can.
It’s Endeavor, face stoic as usual. Shoto is behind him.
“Why aren’t you eating with everyone else?” Endeavor asks him, without any other form of greeting. Right to the point as usual. It used to be funny, sort of charming even, something to tease him about. Now it’s annoying.
Hawks sits up straighter, sets down his phone. He keeps his voice casual, lazy.
“Why aren’t you?”
Number One fully enters the room and Shoto follows, shutting the door behind him. Okay. Interesting. Maybe he has points to make about Hawks’ presentation. Or maybe he saw him spacing the fuck out during his own and wants to chew him out about “respect,” and Shoto’s just there to “learn a thing or two.”
“I’ve been looking for you because we need to talk.” Endeavor explains, which is actually only more ominous.
Hawks grumbles. “Listen. If my sidekick broke the printer on the fourth floor again, I’ll pay for it this time. I’ll even upgrade it, does that work?”
Endeavor closes his eyes. Opens them again. “No. This isn’t about the office.”
Fierce Wings twitch at Hawks’ back. Even more interesting.
Endeavor approaches the table Hawks sits at. He sets down his briefcase with a quiet thunk. Shoto hangs back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Like he feels awkward.
Hawks feels fucking awkward, too. What’s going on here? He almost asks that, in the strained silence, but Endeavor carries on.
“As I’m sure you’re well aware, Hawks, my son, Touya, is being held at one of the sister facilities of Tartarus. One that is more focused on healing and hospitalization, due to his…poor health, after the war.”
Oh.
Fuck.
Hawks tenses, but keeps his expression aloof, unchanged. God only knows where this is going.
Endeavor watches for Hawks’ reaction. When he doesn’t receive a large one, he keeps speaking.
“While Touya is an adult, and no longer our dependent, his mother and I are overseeing his medical treatment and affairs, organizationally and financially. Not to intrude on his life, but to ensure the highest quality care for him. We are…still responsible for our son, even given the circumstances.”
Hawks almost says, “Oh, now you are?” But he holds back. Lets Endeavor do the talking.
“So,” Endeavor clears his throat, “I was surprised when this arrived to our house this morning.”
He opens the clasps on his briefcase and flicks it open to pull out a large envelope. Manilla color, letter sized, urgent mail with an official seal. He slides it across the table to Hawks.
It’s addressed to the Todorokis, Enji and Rei specifically, and the return address is Dabi’s prison.
“I’m not following.” Hawks raises his eyebrows.
“Why don’t you read it?” Endeavor asks, not even masking his frustration. Maybe Hawks is being a little difficult on purpose. He gets a kick out of it, and it gives him time to think, too.
Hawks sucks his teeth and then digs in, pulling out the thick paperwork, stapled exactly at the corner. He makes a show of situating it in front of him, trying to slow his heart rate. He reads quickly in a panic, scanning the page and cherry-picking words that stick out to him.
NOTICE: Effective Immediately RE: Todoroki Touya FKA Villain Alias “Dabi”
Legally binding partnership agreement
Takami Keigo DBA Pro Hero Alias “Hawks”
Romantic intent implied and accepted
Both parties agreed upon
granted access to medical records and discussion of all current and future care
granted familial visitation during regularly scheduled visitation hours
granted conjugal visitation for term of every six to eight weeks, as can be accommodated, in forty-eight hour intervals, on-site in neighboring
issued status as primary emergency contact, replacing Todoroki Enji and/or Todoroki Rei
in perpetuity
Oh, even more fuck.
Hawks, uh…doesn’t know how to respond. He pretends to continue reading, scrambling for what the hell to say as any kind of explanation. Why on God’s green Earth did the prison have to squeal on them? This is all personal. He assumes the letter was mailed because Hawks took over the role of emergency contact, which—
Wow. Dabi made that choice. And chose to include him in all his treatments, too. The intimacy in that alone is enough to derail Hawks even more.
Endeavor isn’t feeling patient, though. He raps his knuckles on the tabletop.
“You’re taking your time, there, Hawks.” He says, voice flat.
Hawks inhales deeply. Fuck. He lays the mail down and continues to stare at it.
“I…really think you should be talking to Dabi about this.” Because getting involved in family drama doesn’t feel like Hawks’ place.
(Though, kinda, now it…is?)
“Touya and I are not on speaking terms. How about you give me your explanation, since you apparently know my son well enough to—to—what the hell is this, Hawks?” Endeavor snarls. “What are you at here? I knew you and Touya interacted while you were undercover but what kind of strategy, or game plan—”
Hawks splutters, finally whipping his head up.
“‘Game plan’?” He bites. “Are you accusing me of something? Do you think I’m back to doing some shady double agent shit? Trying to start the PLF back up?”
Hawks stands up, palms to the table. His wings flare, just a little.
Endeavor’s silence is answer enough.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Hawks snaps. “Remember when I almost lost my Quirk? When I basically looked into the barrel of a gun to help us to win the war, too? You really think I’m—”
Hawks shakes his head, cutting himself off. He glances at Shoto, who hasn’t spoken the entire time.
“I don’t know what’s worse, Endeavor.” Hawks scoffs, glaring hard. “That you think I’m a traitor, trying to orchestrate some new villain scheme, after everything we all went through together. Or thinking your son is such a scumbag that he can’t have someone who genuinely cares about him.”
Hawks tosses the mail back across the table, papers flitting.
“He told me everything, y’know. Way before the war. About who he was. He’s just…hurt, I think. Touya became Dabi because he was hurt. You can accuse me all you want, man. But I think everyone in this room is well aware of the reason for his issues. God, I’m not double crossing the entire country and trying to—to lure him back to some dark side. What a load of bullshit.”
“So this is genuine?” Endeavor stabs a pointer finger into the envelope. “You and Touya are truly together, like this? You’re in a relationship? I just don’t see—I’m appalled. I don’t understand. I had no other explanation.”
Oof, Hawks feels his talons grow. He balls his hands into fists.
“What, is it the gay thing that bothers you? I dare you to say something about that, Endeavor. ‘Cause I’ve been gay wayyyy longer than I’ve been with Dabi, so please, I invite you to say something.”
“No.” Endeavor shuts his eyes again, a regular habit when he’s irritated. “I’m just shocked that you’re even ‘with Dabi.’ And apparently close enough for this. Visitations, profile access, emergency contacts. I’m blindsided. Do you recognize the implications of this, Hawks? Touya is my son, but he was one of the main perpetrators of the war—”
Hawks sees red. He’s well fucking aware.
“I think we could find some pretty choice words to say about you, too, Endeavor. Right, Shoto?”
The teen finally lets his arms fall to his sides. He steps closer, to be shoulder-to-shoulder with his dad.
“Absolutely.” Is all Shoto says.
Endeavor opens his mouth to presumably defend himself, but Shoto puts up a hand. Shockingly, it quiets his father.
“Hawks,” Shoto inhales, exhales. “As usual, I’m not quite on the same page with Endeavor. I didn’t think you were…scheming. But I was confused as well. I’ve been visiting my brother for months and he’s never mentioned you. It came as a surprise to all of us. I just…want what’s best for Touya. The whole family does.”
Awesome, great, the whole family knows about this, then. Hawks can’t even imagine that fucked-up group text. It’s probably named something like, “Todoroki Train Wreck.”
Hawks sighs, tries to calm himself. Cool and collected Shoto, bridging the gap.
“So do I. All right?” Hawks loosens his fists, lets his shoulders roll down. His wings droop, unarmed now.
“That’s all that matters to me, too, at the end of the day. We…we’ve only just reconnected. But…I’m not doing some crazy shit for any warmonger, villain, or hidden Commission, or anything. We’re exactly what it says in that paperwork. We both agreed on it, both signed a thousand forms for it. I think that’s all the detail you really need, right? The rest is up to Dabi to share with you, if he wants to.”
Endeavor doesn’t necessarily look satisfied. He looks like he has a lot more to say but doesn’t know where to start.
“I think that’s great, then.” Shoto nods definitively. “The shock will wear off. I think…the more people in Touya’s corner, the better. Right?”
He nudges his father with an elbow. Probably a little harder than necessary.
“Right.” Endeavor eventually says, resigned. Steam visibly, literally rolls out of his ears and nostrils. He gathers the pages strewn on the table, sorts everything back into his briefcase. His next words seem difficult to get out.
“…I apologize, Hawks. I just never at all would’ve expected…” Endeavor looks down, clicks his bag closed. “I obviously…don’t know Touya well anymore, but I felt like I knew you, to a certain degree. This is…going to take some adjustment.”
He picks up his briefcase and squares his shoulders. “Rei and I will continue to cover everything financially. And help with whatever is needed. Though I realize Touya has his own agency and…if he prefers his…partner for some things, that’s…all right.”
“Glad you feel that way,” Hawks frowns. “‘Cause controlling him before wasn’t the best move, huh?”
It feels good, to be snippy. But Hawks holds his tongue after that last jab. He could go on a raging rant right now, fueled by protective anger for his mate who isn’t here to speak for himself, but he decides to let the conversation end amicably.
“Why don’t we all get something to eat now? I think they’re serving lunch until two.” Shoto suggests, still trying to diffuse tension. Hawks has to chalk it up to him, the teenager’s being the most mature one in the room. Reminds him of Tokoyami. (The next generation’s in good hands, at least.)
“All right.” Hawks agrees. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and tucks the chair back under the desk.
Endeavor leaves the room first, like he’s eager to get out of there after everything. In fact, he hurries fast ahead of them, visibly frazzled. Hawks falls into step beside Shoto, and they watch him speedwalk away.
“I’d say 'sorry' about him,” Shoto begins, as they trek through the long hallway. It’s much louder out here, full of chatter from all the Pros farther down. “But, I kind of wanna stop doing that. My father is his own person, who can make his own decisions. As is Touya. Whatever they do is not up to me.”
Hawks looks at him sideways. He can see hints of Dabi, around his eyes. In the shape of his face. Dabi, but younger.
“Shoto…I promise, I’m.” Hawks scratches the back of his neck. The carpet under their feet is so ugly, what the fuck is up with this city and ugly carpet?
“I haven’t told anybody else, but I think it’s important for you to know. That I…love him? It’s weird, I get that. But I just want you to know. Whatever insane thing Endeavor’s thought up to make sense of this…relationship for himself, it’s not true. It’s just, regular, old love.”
Shoto actually smirks, a little uptick of his mouth. “No, I get it. I’m a little surprised by it, too, but I’m happy that’s all it is. I’m happy he has someone, after everything. Other than us, I mean. It’s good for him to have a lot of support. Things like this don’t have to ‘make sense.’”
So, they walk to the dining area, eventually letting the conversation shift to the morning’s presentations. Shoto offers to help with Hawks’ own, he apparently likes soccer, just like his brother.
He bids Hawks goodbye with a small wave and goes to join his friends at a table. Midoriya had saved a seat for him and everything. Kid looks smitten, beaming with a big smile.
Hawks joins the buffet line even though he isn’t that hungry. (He can always eat.) He’ll have to track down Rumi and give her the update.
While he waits, he runs that notice Endeavor received through his mind. Loops it over and over, tries to recall the exact wording. He wishes he’d received a copy of paperwork like that, but he can pick one up next time he visits, he supposes. He’d signed so many things that day that he, frankly, didn’t read it all. He’d just been excited about the base-level premise of spending more time with Dabi.
However, one phrase sparkles in his mind’s eye now, that he didn’t recall reading that day: “conjugal visitation.”
With that, even if it’s only every two months…Hawks can survive.
——
Hawks makes sure go to the prison the next day. He has to jumble around a few employee schedules, but he shows up right at eleven AM, when visiting hours begin. He wears a casual outfit, jeans and a hoodie, but lets Fierce Wings come along this time. They’ve been trembling and excited all morning.
He’s just as jittery as before. Concerned that, somehow, things have changed, even though it’s only been a few days and they’ve basically signed a legal commitment to each other.
As the guards lead him through the halls to the meeting room, he worries Dabi may not even be able to eat the dumplings he bought. Stupid of him. At least he brought a few books that he assumes Dabi might like.
Hawks gets there first and sits down at the small table with their food and the stack of paperbacks. He taps his boot on the tile floor, checks Instagram for something to do. Rumi sent him a few stupid memes, they distract him enough to not have total heart palpitations while he waits.
(Maybe he really should stop drinking those canned coffees.)
Hawks looks up when the door across from him opens with a beep.
Dabi sidles through, slow but steady. His snowy hair still sticks up at funny angles in the regrowth and—oh, his prosthetic is in place. His right arm from the elbow down is gunmetal gray, polished and shiny. Looks brand new.
Dabi’s near-turquoise eyes flick up to Hawks.
“Oh, so now you’re on your phone?” He asks, voice a little sour. He shuffles to the chair and sits, makes a quiet noise of discomfort when he readjusts his position. He leans forward onto the table, close.
Hawks is hyper-aware of the way Dabi’s gaze traces over his wings. Like he’s remembering them in every detail.
“Hey.” Hawks greets dumbly. The smell of him, God, every time, it washes over Hawks’ senses like a drug. The minute he stepped into the room, everything went fuzzy. It’s immediately soothing, like eucalyptus leaves in shower steam, or good pot, frankly.
“Hi, Birdie.” Dabi says with a little nod. He finds his face, and the eye contact bulldozes over Hawks. The desire to kiss him sparks like faulty electrical wiring.
“I’m really sorry I missed your call.” He says quickly, knowing it probably stung. “We were in a conference, I couldn’t—”
“It’s fine. You’re here now. I, uh,” Dabi shrugs to show off the prosthetic. “New arm.”
Hawks feels himself soften even more.
“Is that what you called me about?” He tilts his head and observes it. Just like Rumi’s, sleek and smooth. They’re sitting close enough, so Hawks lifts his hand to touch it. When Dabi doesn’t pull away, he trails his fingers over the back of his knuckles. It’s even warm.
Dabi’s eyes follow the movement.
“Can you feel that?”
“Mmhm. It’s fully attuned to me, that’s why it took so long.”
Hawks stills. He just kind of…sits there. Fingertips on pseudo-skin. Dabi lets him, and it makes some of the anxiety fall away.
They’re okay.
In their own way.
“And, yes and no. I called because I wanted to tell you, yeah. But other shit too.”
Hawks raises a questioning eyebrow. He really wants to actually hold hands, but, maybe too fast. (Which is funny considering all the ways they’ve fucked already.)
“Other shit?”
Dabi smirks, reminding Hawks of a snake. He gets a devious gleam in his eye.
“Found some stuff out, about our partnership.” Dabi purrs the word. His left hand slides up to flick Hawks lightly under the chin. “They gave me a whole stack of paperwork, I ended up giving you all kinds of permissions and shit, by the way. Figured, why not? But anyway in addition to these little dates, Birdie, we’re also allowed overnight visitation, every six to eight weeks.”
Oh, shit. Right. Hawks groans suddenly, remembering yesterday’s fun fiasco with Endeavor. He scrubs his face with both hands.
“Yeah. So, I heard.” He grumbles, slumping.
Dabi makes a vexed noise, surprised. “What the fuck? I thought you’d be thrilled, horny ass bird. Last time I saw you, you—”
“No, shit, I’m sorry. I’m really excited about that, obviously.”
Hawks throws caution to the wind. He drops his hands to grab both of Dabi’s. Blue eyes barely widen at him, but Dabi doesn’t slap him away. He just stares with a cool regard while Hawks clings.
“Like,” Hawks nods enthusiastically. “Really excited.”
“Okay? So why the bitching?”
“Well, I didn’t hear that from you first. Got to have a fun little chat with your dad yesterday.”
Dabi deadpans. His entire frame stiffens.
“Excuse me?”
Hawks rubs a little circle with his thumb while he explains. Is that too intimate, too? He’s totally overanalyzing, probably, but they’re at such a weird point here. Whatever.
“He got some mail from here about, uh, us? So he asked about it. Well, more like confronted me about it?”
“...And you told him to fuck off, right?”
“More or less. It was…civil. I work with the guy, Hot Stuff. Couldn’t smack the shit out of him like I really want to.—On the bright side, Shoto was very happy for you.”
Dabi takes a measured breath and closes his eyes. It…strikingly reminds Hawks of Endeavor. He shakes it off, watches his partner trying hard to keep it together. He must be counting, or something, in his head. Some practice they taught him that he’s trying to implement. Hawks basks in a glow of pride at his progress. He holds back a coo that threatens to burst.
“Of course Shoto would be happy for me. He’s a good kid.” Dabi says eventually. He opens his eyes, finds Hawks’ again.
God, they’re so blue. With his hair white now, they look as bright as the sky. Hawks has flown through it countless times, but it’s always beautiful, just like Dabi’s irises.
“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about my family right now. I would—”
“Hey.” Hawks cuts him off. He squeezes Dabi’s hands. They’ve been around Hawks’ neck, around his fucking cock, inside him, bunched in his feathers, slammed into his back, they’ve sliced flames along his skin. But they’ve never just been…held like this.
That cozy, dopey love bubbles under Hawks’ skin.
“Me neither. Will you kiss me again?”
Dabi’s breath catches, so quiet that regular ears wouldn’t hear. Those blue, blue eyes drag from his face, down his neck, over his shoulders, and wings, down his hoodie, down to his lap. And then Dabi smiles. It’s a rough edge, a shadow of something that once was much sharper, but it still twists Hawks’ gut pleasantly.
“What?” Dabi teases. “We’re in the middle of a fucking conversation.”
“Maybe I want you to know how thrilled I really am. About the overnights.”
It’s cheesy, it really fucking is, but Hawks said he would be cheesy. Next time he’ll bring the flowers, the teddy bear, whatever.
“Hm. Maybe I should make you wait. You have this long, haven’t you, Birdie?” Dabi muses. His hands twitch, a tell that he doesn’t really want to make Hawks wait.
And it—it’s a simple sentence, thrown in to be flirty. Something Dabi says off hand, playfully, to get Hawks to beg, but it wraps around him instead, heavy like fog.
Hawks’ wings flap once, quick. The bright want in him flares. It zips through Hawks’ body and he has to stop himself from climbing into Dabi’s lap, right there.
“I will as long as I need to.” Hawks says, voice steady and earnest. He means it in more ways than one. He signed the papers, he’s in this for the long haul. Family issues (and, like, a lot of them), mental health, physical rehabilitation, a complicated one-of-them-is-in-jail thing, all of it. He’s here. He’ll wait.
They’ve been complicated from the get-go, anyway.
Dabi hums. Hawks swears his cheeks go pink, but it’s hard to tell while he’s still healing and his skin is a little grey.
(It’s kind of funny that domineering Dabi actually blushes from a few sweet words.)
“Wow. My hero.” Dabi wrinkles his nose. Ha ha, very funny.
But then he slips out from Hawks grasp and catches him by the jaw with both hands. And he kisses him.
His wings flutter immediately, practically lifting Hawks from his seat. It makes Dabi grin against his mouth. Hawks squeezes his wrists, holds him in place, prays he won’t ever let go. They slant, knock noses and foreheads, and Hawks forgets all the fucked-up circumstances. He loses himself in his mate, in the scent of spices, in the taste of fire. Dabi doesn’t have his Quirk anymore, sure, but it’s in there somewhere. It licks between them, white-hot, the second they touch. Hawks’ feet fight for traction on the floor and he leans forward, pushing Dabi back against his chair. The fingers at the back of his neck dig into Hawks’ hairline.
Dabi pulls away and Hawks literally can’t fight the whistle-y wine in his throat.
“Ah, as much as I love your enthusiasm, pretty bird, I can’t say I’m into blatant voyeurism.—Which is surprising, right?” Dabi laughs, but it’s a little breathless. He lightly maneuvers Hawks back to his own seat and gestures half-heartedly at the camera in the corner of the ceiling.
Hawks clears his throat. “Sorry. Just...”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, Birdie instincts.” Dabi rolls his eyes, but without malice. “Calm down…What’s that you brought?”
Hawks wills his heart rate to return to normal and unwraps the take-out containers.
“Uh, dumplings. For old time’s sake. But can you have those?”
Dabi snorts, leans his head into his hand. He looks…content. Hawks would stretch to say “happy.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Ah, crap. Well, um, there are books, too?…I’m really kicking ass at the whole romantic partners thing, right? Missing your phone calls, bringing you shit you can’t even eat. Hey, thought that counts?” Hawks offers with an awkward chuckle. His feathers are still all poofy. His back tingles, right between the shoulder blades.
Dabi’s eyes narrow and he looks at Hawks like he could eat him, instead. Hawks remembers about a million different nights where that look ended in multiple orgasms.
“Don’t worry, Hawks.” Dabi tilts his head, and there’s a familiar lilt to his voice, too. Shit, it’s good.
“I know you’ll make it up to me soon.”
Oh, man. It’s going to be a very long “six to eight weeks.”
Notes:
There wasn't as much dabihawks interaction in this chapter I know, but I assure you next chapter the boys are back in town!!!! hehehe <3
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Notes:
Hiiiii!!! This took way longer to update than I wanted it to! Also, you should see my google search history while writing this, "synonym for smut-related word" like every two minutes LMAOOO.
Shout out to Yarn for letting me scream about this for weeks and also for a few fun dialogue choices here hahahaI hope you enjoy it! :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hawks is no stranger to anticipation.
In all forms; the good, the bad, and the ugly.
He remembers the intuitive cringe right before his father would hit him, or the sink in his stomach before the Commission would reprimand him. He still gets a funny swoop in his gut every time he plummets off a building, no matter how practiced. There’s a tickle before taking the stage, accepting awards, posing for photos, press conferences, signing autographs. He’s done it all, really.
But this is…different.
Getting ready to spend a weekend with Dabi after…God, how long has it been, anyway? The snazzy hotel room they argued in feels eons ago. Where he turned Hawks down, cut him off clean. It’s…probably been a year since that night, give or take. Before the war blew up everything in their faces.
They’ve seen each other, sure, Hawks tries to visit him as much as possible but it’s…monitored, sterile, formal by nature. And harried, sub-ten minute phone calls where Hawks jacks off into his own fist have barely been cutting it. (And they’re few and far between, anyway. Timing is tricky.)
He feels unhinged, to be frank.
Hawks has been…shaky, most of the day. There’s an undercurrent beneath his skin. His feathers buzz like bees, and they’ve been driving him crazy. He even skipped his morning coffee, because it would probably have sent him into cardiac arrest.
It’s not…entirely about sex, either. (Though, yeah, no shit, he’s thinking about the sex, a lot.) Last time they were one hundred percent alone, they were still so closed off to each other. On top of the physical reunion, there’s a whole other layer of vulnerability and distinctive unfamiliarity that has him running circles in his own head.
The biggest concern being, what if Hawks fucks this up? He’s never done this before, been in a…relationship? (Whatever it is. Close enough.)
Sure, okay, Dabi admitted to enjoying his presence. Dabi joined him in some drop-of-the-hat romantic partnership so they could see each other more. Dabi didn’t go berserk over the “mates” thing. Dabi calls him, and spends hours with him when they can visit, and Dabi kisses him.
But Dabi’s also in jail. He’s lonely, he’s bored out of his mind, for sure. He gets Hawks in these small doses, but what if something longer is too much?
What if it’s not like it used to be?
Now that everything’s out in the open, what if Hawks is overbearing? What if he’s too clingy, when they’re by themselves, where he can be? Where do they draw the line between…mates in Hawks’ head and…whatever Dabi really wants to be? They have a label, but it’s primarily for the fucking prison.
Would they still have the same label, if the situation didn’t call for it?
Hawks can’t help but wonder. He spends so much time self-criticizing and second-guessing. Would Dabi still…want him, just as much? He likes to think so, but he’s also wrapped up in some crazed, birdbrained obsession that he really has no control over. It’s an entire entity, the anxiety. It takes up half his psyche.
So he’s on edge when he gets to the complex at three-forty-five PM sharp on Friday, duffel bag in hand. He has to check in, sign more fucking paperwork, go through security, have his person and property searched. When he gets the all-clear, there’s a ten-minute drive to another building on the prison’s campus, and a laundry list of rules.
Hawks climbs out of the car with the guard who’d passed along Dabi’s letter a few months ago. The building is really small, reminds Hawks of a public bathroom at a park. It’s concrete, squat, there for necessity and not decorum. It’s boxed in by a tall black gate and a well-groomed row of bushes that he assumes is there for some presentation value.
“All right, so,” the guard begins, pulling his key card from his belt, “as a reminder, you’re going to be locked in here as well. You aren’t being directly monitored inside, but be advised there are around-the-clock guards stationed in case of trouble in paradise. In the event of an emergency, there’s a red phone by the front door with a direct line to our security team, and a panic button in the kitchenette, as well as the bathroom. There’s some food stocked, but nothin’ fancy. Uh, that’s it, I guess. Any questions, Mr. Hawks?”
Hawks shakes his head. He can barely think, let alone ask anything.
“No, I got it. Thanks.”
The guard swipes his key card at the gate, pulling it open with an ear-grating scrape. He shuts it behind them and stomps towards the building door, down a very short sidewalk. Hawks trails him like a lost dog. After punching in a complicated code and activating his card again, the threshold slides open with a green light and a beep.
“See you Sunday.” The guard gestures for Hawks to enter.
Hawks grits his teeth and white-knuckles the handle of his bag. His talons sprout immediately, brought on by nerves. Then his feathers swish, torn between wanting to sharpen in unease or puff up in excitement.
With a shuffle of wings and a measured breath, he steps through. Hawks saw Dabi literally two days ago. Seeing him now shouldn’t be any different, but the moment clobbers him over the head anyway like a brick chucked at high-speed. Hawks doesn’t even notice the door thunk shut behind him. He barely hears the electronic lock activate.
Dabi isn’t even doing anything extravagant. He sits on a boring, gray couch by a barred window, a paperback novel in one hand. He’s wearing plain, dark clothes that remind Hawks of scrubs, and his hair is wet at the ends like he showered recently. He blinks, looking up when Hawks enters.
“Hawks.” Dabi says in quiet surprise, voice low. Not some insult or mockery, not even “Birdie.” Just his name, and it nests right in Hawks’ chest.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” Hawks greets back, but it’s all he can manage. He’s frozen where he stands, paralyzed, because he doesn’t know how to proceed.
He doesn’t want to fuck this up. He’s so scared to fuck this up. One wrong move and it could be snatched from him again. It’ll be like waking up in a hotel room with a robe on the floor and a stolen credit card on the dresser, sour with regret.
Dabi watches him for a painfully long few seconds, and then raises an eyebrow, slowly.
“…You just gonna stand there a while?”
It snaps Hawks out of it enough.
“Uh, no.” He toes out of his shoes and leaves them by the door, sets his bag on a square kitchen table.
The room is tiny, like a studio apartment. A couch, a bed, and a dining table all coexist in the same area as the refrigerator and microwave. An even smaller bathroom with a pocket door is the only other space. Everything is gray or brown, but the walls are that same shade of blue as the visitation room, like they mass-ordered all the same paint.
Hawks swallows, quickly looks around.
It already smells like Dabi in here. He doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting, but he clouds the room like a fragrant drug. Every inhale is a noxious hit. Not too long and Hawks’ll be high.
“So. How are you doing?” Hawks asks. He grabs the back of one of two dining chairs, taps his fingers on it. He might have a stroke.
Dabi pulls a face at him.
“Why are you being weird?” He combats immediately. He dog-ears his book and sets it on the arm of the couch. “Just come here, idiot.”
Fuck, oh, fuck.
Relief floods him. One silly little invitation makes all the difference. Joy, and arousal, and happiness, and anguish, and pining, and want, they all swell inside him like a tsunami. Hawks tries not to trip over his feet crossing the room.
And the rest…happens fast.
“Hi.” Hawks says stupidly again, when he meets Dabi at the couch in record timing. Their knees touch. His lungs scream with the scent of his mate, up close and personal.
Dabi looks…snarky. A hint of his old self. Even with the snowy white hair.
“You already said that.” He smirks.
Blue eyes glint against gold ones, electric.
It’s less than a heartbeat before they’re drawn together. Hawks had a plan to talk with him, catch up, take it slow, but, it goes off the rails the second they lean towards each other.
Something inhuman rips from Hawks’ throat, caught between birdsong and a snarl. He’s overwhelmed with heat, it flares through his body and fries his brain. He’s gone, then. Just then. That’s all it takes.
His hands hit Dabi’s shoulders and he’s climbing into his lap like it’s a fucking throne. No more hesitation. His bony knees sink into couch cushions, bracket Dabi’s hips snugly. The contact is heavenly. Higher than the top of the world. (Hawks would know, he's basically been there.)
Dabi grins against his mouth, hums appreciatively. His palms find a place on Hawks’ waist right away, suddenly under his shirt, against his skin, squeezing him just right. Just how they used to. The new, metal fingertips of his right hand send goosebumps flying over Hawks’ torso. He arches his back, can’t help it. His wings flail.
“But, yeah. Hi.” Dabi breathes into his lips, more like laughs. And it’s—oh—it’s the best kiss he’s ever had. So’s the one after it. And the third. And then it’s, well, Hawks can’t really count anymore.
Hawks presses forward, so they’re chest to chest. His wings beat the air behind them, over and over, unstoppable, and Dabi’s delicious laughter vibrates against his mouth again. He skims upwards, ghosts along Hawks’ ribcage, traces over every dip and valley. He suckles Hawks’ lower lip.
“Mmmm.” Hawks preens. Every sense prickles pleasantly. Even ones he didn’t know existed.
Their tongues slide together, their teeth click, their noses bump hard. It’s unrestrained, more than anything they’ve had since before. Hawks snares into Dabi’s hair, scratches over his scalp, swallows the moan that tumbles out of him, too. It quells some of his worry, that Dabi’s just as reactive.
Like he really wants him back.
They rock into each other, layers of clothing in the way, but they’re too absorbed to stop kissing. Hawks mashes Dabi impossibly closer, latching onto the back of his neck with a firm hold. He can’t get enough of him, can’t taste enough of him. Even Quirkless now, he’s reminiscent of spice, of flame. Hawks burns it into his mind, brands over older, painful memories.
Dabi’s hands skate around to his back, with some difficulty. He wriggles and then—
“Oh, fuck,” Hawks whines and flinches, breaking away with a gasp. Dabi barely made contact, but it was enough. Just a tease, at the base of his wings.
Oh, it is so over.
“I sure missed that, Birdie.” Dabi says, breathless. They pant against each other and Hawks tries not to combust. Eye contact with Dabi right now is searing.
“W-wait,” He gulps. “I—”
Dabi doesn’t wait. Lithe fingers bury into his down.
“Shiiiiit.”
When Hawks trills, all high and broken, Dabi does it again.
“What were you saying?” He purrs, knows Hawks is putty in his hands, literally. “Want me to wait? To stop?”
Oh, God, no, never, ever.
Hawks grinds into his mate when they collide into another kiss. He rumbles out some kind of slurred language, “Don’t stop.”
It’s even filthier then. Hawks doesn’t know how, but there’s more spit, and shaking, and twitching, and if Dabi keeps this up, he’ll unravel.
And he kind of wants to unravel.
Hawks is so fucking hard. He’d gotten off this morning to avoid immediately blowing his load, but an orgasm is already racing at him like a jet.
That’s—okay—wait, no.
Not yet.
He pulls back, tearing their lips apart with a choked noise. Dabi’s hands are amazing, they’re magical, but Hawks’ll last all of four more seconds if he keeps it up.
“Just—actually, yeah, wait.” Hawks gripes, though it’s against every instinct. “I wanna—”
“Why?” Dabi challenges, poised to sink his fingers further. He licks the corner of Hawks’ mouth, languid, delectably slow. “What for, baby?”
Holy fucking shit, Hawks had forgotten. How good Dabi sounds. How good this feels. He short circuits. He struggles with words, lets out a stupid chirp.
Hawks shifts, squirms in Dabi’s lap. Feels the heavy weight of his cock, right against his own, and—oh, right. That’s why he wants to wait. He’d much rather get fucked.
Hawks’ own hands fly to Dabi’s waistband as an answer. He’ll yank his shirt off later, there’s no time right now.
“Ohh,” Dabi grunts at the motion, right against his temple, right into his hair. The sound boils Hawks alive.
“Fuck yeah, Birdie.”
Hawks is borderline delirious, already. He mentally loops, “Fuck yeah, Birdie” ten thousand times. He wants it marked onto his skin, embossed behind his eyelids, drumming in his ears forever.
Dabi picks up his hips to help get his pants and underwear down. It smushes them towards each other even more, makes Hawks feel like a lit sparkler. He stretches his wings to balance, scrambles to shove Dabi’s pants to his thighs. He almost nicks him in the process, talons like needles.
After, Hawks leans backwards, settling his weight fully into Dabi’s perfect hands. Full trust, full contact, full and beautifully brutal against his favorite erogenous zone. It’s almost unbearable.
His wings sing. And it’s a metaphor, sure, but—maybe that’s actually something coming from his throat, too?—Is Hawks doing that? Jesus, he can’t even tell.
“Hawks,” Dabi hisses, watching him in awe, in reverence. Blue eyes go wide.
“Fuck, you’re hot. Do that again.”
Oh, all right, so Hawks is doing that.
Hawks fumbles with his own belt buckle, struggles with the button of his pants, the zipper of his jeans. His hands tremble when Dabi massages him encouragingly.
So of course he does it again. An animal noise howls from his chest and Dabi’s eyes practically roll back in his head. Hawks’ vocal cords are already sore and they’ve barely begun.
“Shit.” Dabi curses in response, clearly turned on even more from the reaction.
God, fuck, finally Hawks wrangles his pants and boxers off. He crumples them down to his knees, somehow slides them off to the floor, and neither of them are even close to fully undressed, but neither of them care. He maneuvers forward, starts to line himself up with wild desperation—
Dabi seems to come to his senses, smacks Hawks’ shoulder blade to stop him.
“Hey, hey, lube. Got any?”
Hawks grumbles in frustration.
Lube takes too much time right now, but, fine.
“Yeah.” Hawks sighs, doing his best to concentrate. Mission level: fucking impossible.
“Hold on.”
Instead of getting up, he sends a handful of feathers to unzip his duffel bag and dig around inside it. They rush back in a flash, plopping the bottle into Hawks’ waiting hand.
“Efficient.” Dabi teases. He tilts his chin back to look up at Hawks and tongues the inside of his cheek. Licks his lips.
Oh, shit, that’s hot.
“Get going then, pretty bird.”
Christ, man. Hawks sure fucking will.
“Yeah, okay.” He says back dumbly.
With unsteady hands, he dribbles lube onto Dabi’s cock and slathers it over the length of him. It’s quick and dirty, purely for effectiveness. A handjob won’t be sufficient enough right now, they need to fuck. Hawks doesn’t need to get fancy with it.
Dabi’s breath catches anyway. He audibly snaps his jaw shut at the sensation, tossing his head back.
“Hawks,” He breathes, he swallows. “Fuck, hurry up and ride me.”
Hawks doesn’t need to be told twice.
He throws the bottle out of sight somewhere and rearranges, skull full of hot air. One hand braces on Dabi’s shoulder, holding on for dear life. The other presses the head of Dabi’s dick right into himself.
And oh, yeah.
At the first catch and drop, they both moan. Feral, guttural, shameless.
“Ohhhh.”
Hawks’ soul fucking resets. This is right, this is right.
“Holy—” Dabi burrows his face into Hawks’ collarbone. His heaving breath fans Hawks’ jugular. Lips and teeth graze pulsing skin. The sound he makes vibrates through Hawks’ veins, he could live inside it.
Hawks’ thoughts tumble sideways. He quickly remembers being consumed alive.
It aches. The onslaught of memories nearly drowns him.
It—it unlocks a door Hawks pulled closed forever ago. Sorrow spills from him, overflowing until there isn’t any left, until there’s no more room for it. Love takes its place, fills up the hollow spot in his ribcage. He gasps and drags his hips, quickly creates a rhythm, bubbles over with the overwhelming sense of home. Attachment, family, mate, his, they all tornado into warmth, and soon Hawks is sweating.
“Fuck, fuck,” Hawks babbles, coming undone like a loosened knot. Adrenaline surges, fatigue flies out the window, he won’t quit until they’re done.
Past done. Far past done.
Dabi curses into his neck. Hawks can feel his eyelashes brush the sensitive skin there. It’s an unknown intimacy that makes Hawks shiver, makes him feel wide open, like a flower facing the sun. He welcomes it.
“Shit.” Hawks hisses, bouncing fast. He tries to memorize every detail, tries not to come in three seconds. It’s a losing battle. This is right, but it’s too much, but it’s not enough. It’s going to be his end.
Dabi’s palms, fine-tuned to Hawks’ body, delve into the fine feathers under his shirt again. He spreads his fingers, brushing over as much surface area as possible. The metal ones are seductively smooth like velvet.
And Hawks wails. It’s Dabi’s name and something centuries-old, deep and unrecognizable, from his lungs.
“There you go.” Dabi encourages, tilting his hips to meet each thrust. His jagged breath steams over Hawks’ ear. “Ah—take it just like you used to, Hawks. My fucking whore, aren’t you? Still?”
Oh, God, Hawks wants to sob.
“Yeah,” he yelps, working over Dabi’s cock, relishing in the stretch, the pressure. It hits him just right every single fucking time. Their sex life had already been perfect before and now it’s—it’s even bigger, embellished with feelings.
(And, is Dabi sweating, now, too? He didn’t used to, but he’s slick, and wet, and they glide. Jesus, do they glide.)
Hawks’ talons dip into Dabi’s shoulders, snag the starchy fabric. He doesn’t care. He wants to tear off all his clothes anyway. Rip the seams apart.
“Fuck, yeah.” Hawks keens, after a particularly hard plunge. “Yours.”
“All mine.” Dabi adds. He digs in, and—
“Oh, oh, ngghh,” Hawks practically arcs into a rainbow. He uses all his willpower not to shoot off right then and there. He loses the rhythm for a few seconds, writhing, seeing stars.
“Bet you missed this cock, huh?” Dabi grins wickedly. He pistons his hips, gets them back to tempo. Their sudden eye contact between slapping skin could melt the polar ice caps. Hawks feels his mouth drop open, welcomes Dabi’s when they meet in the middle for a sort-of-kiss, sort-of-nasty-lick. Something atrociously messy. Something gross he wants to do every day for the rest of his life.
Dabi’s hands start to test him again, and fuck—okay—Hawks can’t do this anymore.
He flips his own hands back to grab Dabi by the elbows, to wrench him out from under his shirt. His mate makes an adorable (and surprising) pouting noise, but then—oh.
A delicious, surprised one when Hawks death-grips his wrists.
He squeezes Dabi like a vice, forces his hands to stay still on Hawks’ hips and it’s—why’s it making the room spin?
“Jesus, Birdie.” Dabi half-laughs, half-gasps. It caught him off guard and he seems to like it. He chokes out something unintelligible when Hawks speeds up. Without the distraction of his fucking wings, he can focus on riding the shit out of the man underneath him. Hawks pumps up and down desperately, legs on fire but living for the burn.
Hawks trills, clutching Dabi even tighter in more ways than one. He chases pleasure because he knows it’s within reach. Keeps Dabi in place because he’s right where he wants him, fuck. Nailing his prostate every single time. Using him, for once. The tables have turned.
“Ah, Hawks, goddamn,” Dabi doesn’t fight the hold. He follows where he’s guided, smashes fingertips into the meat of Hawks’ thighs because it’s all he can reach under restraint.
“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases, looking up at him like he hung the moon. His cheeks stretch into a scarred smile and white hair sticks to his forehead.—Oh, yeah, he is sweating. Why’s it so hot that he’s sweating? Sure, he literally couldn’t before, but. Wow.
Hawks is getting to him, now, huh?
There’s that raptor inside him, screeching with want.
“Keigo.” Hawks spits suddenly. Hawks is getting to Dabi but…so is Keigo. And he wants to fucking hear it. The desire roars through him.
Unexpected, insistent, primitive, primal.
“Call me—call me Keigo, please, call me—oh, fuck. Call me Keigo.”
Dabi inhales sharply, either from the request or the way Hawks rocks onto his dick. He shudders under Hawks’ claws and rolls his head into the back of the couch.
“Jesus,” Dabi exclaims, puffing. He locks eyes with Hawks again and his swelter like gorgeous sapphire flames.
“Yeah? You want that, baby? God, I missed how tight you are, Keigo.”
Oooooh, Hawks wants to come.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
He can’t even process his own thoughts, let alone form words. Keigo is—no one’s ever—nobody’s—Jesus. Keigo is his best-kept secret; fragile, breakable, near to his heart. And Hawks offered him to Dabi months and months ago, unafraid.
His abdomen coils and jumps. Hawks descends into whimpers and cheeps, humping down harder than before. Dabi grins, recognizing his frantic physical tells. He’s close, and Dabi knows it.
“I, mmm, missed you in my lap, Keigo.”
“Nnnngh!”
“Missed mussing up your—fuck—your wings. Touching you. You’re still my pretty little bitch, huh, Keigo?”
“Dabi—” He hisses, screwing his eyes shut. Hawks sounds crazed. “I’m gonna come. I’m—”
“Touya.”
Oh.
Oh, oh, oh.
Fuck.
That, that’s going to cause an explosion, that’s going to kill Hawks. He’s going to astral project into another plane of existence.
Hawks’ eyes snap open again. They’re fucking watering, it’s too much. And Dabi’s quivering now, too. His chest rises and falls quickly with exertion.
“Touya?” Hawks tests, brows snaring together.
Holy fucking shit.
White-hot arousal ricochets through his belly, bright like lightning up his back. It zips to the tip of each feather. He’s about to break Dabi’s organic-wrist if he isn’t careful.
“Fuck—yeah, Keigo, I said—”
“Touya,” Hawks cries over him, tasting the name in his mouth, loving it, “Touya, Touya, Touya, Touya, fucckkkk!”
They come at the same time. Like a cliche movie, Hawks yells and bounces one-two-three more times before he finishes between the two of them. Cum drips onto his shirt, onto Dabi’s crinkled pants, slips down Hawks’ untouched dick.
Dabi hisses when he does, stammering something like, “Shit, Keigo,” and filling him with familiar warmth. It’s like a fever dream. Hawks melts into a puddle like molten lava immediately, as soon as he’s done near-convulsing.
They don’t speak in the aftermath. Hawks doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. Tremors wrack through him and his wings sag until the tips touch the floor. He tries to weld his temple into Dabi’s, tries to be as close as possible, even with no space left between them.
Time slumps into itself, sedated and sluggish.
“Hey,” Dabi breathes eventually, “Gimme my hands back.”
Hawks grunts in acknowledgment and unlocks his grip. Fucking oops. He’d been squeezing him so hard. There might be a bruise on Dabi’s left wrist tomorrow.
Dabi doesn’t complain though. He takes a hold of Hawks’ waist and lifts him, pulls out, but settles him back down on his lap again. Hawks’ arms curl over Dabi’s shoulders, snuggling even more.
“Gonna make a fucking mess if you don’t get up soon.” Dabi quips quietly, but doesn’t make another move. Like maybe he doesn’t want to admit he’d rather stay here, too.
“Mm.” Hawks replies, inhaling his damp hair.
“All right.” Dabi sighs, resigned. He rests his thumbs at the creases of Hawks’ hips. Lets him do his weird scenting shit. Lets him shake.
It takes some time for Hawks’ brain to fall back into his body. He eventually mumbles, “So you sweat now?”
“Obviously. Hate it.”
“Hm. Like it.”
“You’re a freak.” But it’s said sort of gently. Then: “…You all right? Still doing that quasi-seizure shit.”
“‘M good.” Hawks hums. He kisses Dabi’s neck. Maybe he’s tiptoeing into dangerous territory, bringing it up outside of the throes of passion, but he says, “…I liked calling you ‘Touya’.”
It had felt like…biting into the forbidden fruit. Tasting salt and something taboo. Sucking juice from the apple of sin.
Touya.
Dabi stiffens. It takes several long seconds for him to relax again. At least he does at all.
“…I didn’t hate it…” Dabi tells him. “…Keigo.”
Hawks laughs lightly into Dabi’s cheek. He’s warm and tacky. He’s perfect. He’s golden. “We doing that now?”
“I dunno. Maybe…You wanna get up any time soon? My legs are going numb.”
Hawks sighs heavily and finally pushes off. He scurries to the bathroom to clean up and when he returns, Dabi’s in a fresh pair of boxers with the same gray top.
“So, I was going to suggest we shower, but, we definitely both can’t fit in there.” Hawks grumbles. He snatches his own up underwear from the floor and tugs them on. He peels off his dirtied shirt and searches through his duffel for a tee.
Dabi watches him, Hawks can feel his heavy gaze. “No point anyway, Birdie, I’m gonna fuck you again in like half an hour…Maybe every half hour, actually.”
“Oh.” Hawks’ cheeks heat up, despite the fact that they’d literally just been disgustingly intimate. “Hey, okay, no complaints there.”
None at all.
Dabi steps over to zip Hawks’ bag closed.
“And stay like that.” He directs, “You don’t need a shirt.”
Hawks almost flushes again. It takes everything in him not to beg for now instead of “in half an hour.” Be realistic, he tells himself.
“Whatever you say, Hot Stuff.” Hawks feigns a salute, feeling giddy.
He gets a glass of water next, trying not to evaporate. He pours one for Dabi, too, and sets it on the table. Aluminum cartons are stacked in the refrigerator, labeled very basically.
“Do you, uh, want some food or anything? They left some stuff in here.” Hawks gestures. He could eat. Might as well recharge. He’s apparently going to need a lot of energy this weekend.
“Doting on me?” Dabi smirks. He slides into one of the seats at the dining table, takes the glass. “Sure, I guess. I’m able to eat cooked carrots now, isn’t that fucking something?”
“Yeah, I’ll cook you all the carrots you want, babe.” Hawks says into the fridge, pulling out two boxes. Dabi doesn’t say anything about the casual pet name, so it must be fine?
Opening them reveals, yeah, noodles in mysterious brown sauce, and soggy, orange carrots. Hawks follows the instructions to pop each one in the microwave. When they’re finished heating up, he sets Dabi’s in front of him with the flair of a well-decorated waiter.
“See?” Hawks smirks, sitting down. “Who said we can’t go on dates? Take that, Rumi.”
Dabi rolls his eyes half-heartedly but picks up his chopsticks anyway.
“How goddamn romantic.”
They chew for a minute before Dabi speaks up again.
“…Remind me who Rumi is?” He asks, almost hesitantly.
“Oh.” Hawks blinks. Yeah, he’d…well, he’d hidden her, before. Kept her safe, uninvolved. There’s really no point in that anymore.
“Mirko. The Pro Hero. She’s got the—”
“Rabbit Quirk. Right.” Dabi nods, remembering. He pushes his food around, takes a bite. Visibly sorts through his memories. “You’re, uh, pretty close with her? And that, like, emo kid? The one I fought.”
Hawks chuckles. That is definitely his appearance, yeah. “Mhm. Tokoyami. He’s my intern. He’s a really good kid.”
“So, they know about us, then? If she said we ‘can’t go on dates.’”
Hawks tastes a carrot. It’s mushy, makes him grimace.
“Yeah. Is that…okay? They’re my family, basically. All I got. I told them after…when I woke up in the hospital.”
Dabi shrugs, but he makes eye contact so at least it doesn’t seem like forced indifference.
He’s being genuine when he says, “Tell the world for all I care, Birdie. You’re the one out in it. The media won’t affect me. No TV in the slammer, remember?”
Hawks has a few more noodles and then gives up on the meal. Dabi honestly doesn’t seem too interested in it, either. It’s not exactly gourmet. Maybe later. Hawks leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, that sucks, huh? Maybe I can petition for you.”
Dabi lifts his shoulders. “I’ve gotten used to it. So, back to your friends, do they hate me?”
Hawks tilts his head at the blatant question. Has Dabi really been self conscious about that? Or maybe it’s just morbid curiosity?
“Uh. Hm. You’re not their favorite person, but they don’t hate you. Haven’t said so to me, anyway. They just want me to be happy, and they know you make me happy.”
It makes Hawks blush again, admitting something so fluffy and embarrassing to Dabi’s face. It’s well known, but it’s not like he says it out loud so much. Hawks’ feathers poof, just a little.
Dabi raises an eyebrow, pins him down from across the table. He leans his chin into his hand, acting coy.
“Aw, baby. How sweet.” His voice drips sugar. “Do I?”
Hawks sucks his teeth and laughs.
“Yeah, yeah, keep letting it go to your head.”
“I think I will.”
“Okay then. Does your family ever ask about us?” Hawks asks, before he can stop himself.
Does Dabi tell them Hawks makes him happy?
Dabi taps his fingers on his cheek, considering.
“Shoto does often. As if he doesn’t see you enough.” Dabi finally leans back too, so they’re eye to eye. He stretches his arms high over his head and Hawks follows the movement until they settle back down.
“He likes you and respects you a lot, from what I can tell. Natsuo and Fuyumi think you’re crazy for all of this…which tracks. You are fucking crazy, Hawks. Don’t know who in their right mind would be doing this.”
Dabi makes a vague gesture between the two of them. Signifying “this” as “this relationship, us.”
And that feels good. Them, together, as a unit, a pair, a bond. His inner-animal does fucking cartwheels.
It feels so good that Hawks blurts out word vomit again.
“You really should call me Keigo, you know. Instead of Hawks.”
His feathers had just calmed down, too. Each one opens like a rose at the request, betraying any sense of nonchalance.
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
Dabi catches onto him like an apex predator. He zeroes in on Hawks like he’s under a crystal magnifying glass.
“Yeah?” Dabi licks his lips. “You mean it, huh? You really want that, it’s not just the Birdie hormones talking?”
Hawks flushes even more but refuses to back down. Is that his heartbeat in his ears?
“Yeah, I mean it.—Well, maybe some of it is the—” He shakes his head. “But I do mean it.”
“Hm.” Dabi nods, like he’s considering it. And then he very obviously undresses Hawks with his eyes, which isn’t difficult, seeing as he’s wearing a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.
“Keigo?”
Jesus Christ, it’s like heroin, ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, ecstasy, solid, shining, glittering, gold, and it’s twinkling, and sparkling, and overwhelming all of Hawks’ senses. His own name, so rare, so precious, such a novelty for so long…it makes his pulse spike.
“Yeah, Touya?” He tries, figuring it’s worth the risk. Fierce Wings flutter behind him. What a rush.
Dabi—Touya laughs through his nose, just an exhale of something between humor and surprise. The chair scrapes when he stands up, bracing both hands on the table. The metal one clinks.
“I know earlier I said half an hour, but, why don’t you get on the bed now?”
Keigo wants to reply with, “say less,” but he kind of forgets how to speak and hustles out of the dining chair. His foot tangles in the legs and it almost sends him face-first into the tile. His Quirk saves him in one inelegant swoop, then he stumbles to the mattress. It’s not far, in the small room.
Keigo clambers onto the bed on all fours while Touya laughs at him. It reminds him of a rolling chair and an abandoned office building, a lifetime ago. It reminds him of rug burn. He shoves out of his boxers without being asked, craving this drug, this addiction, his mate.
He makes a move to flip over but a cool hand slaps over the small of his back. Keigo inhales, bites down hard. He’s white-knuckling the sheets and nothing is even happening yet.
“Already got to come to your handsome face once today, pretty bird. Lemme see your ass this time.”
Shit, it’s hot as hell when Touya smacks him there, loud and stinging. A million more memories flood Keigo’s mind, a million other times where Touya ravaged him, left red-hot handprints over sensitive skin.
“Yeah,” He growls. “Yes.”
The second time is even more frenzied than the first. Touya barely fingers him, but that’s not new for them. It’s not necessary, just feels like Touya wants to do it. Getting finger fucked is never enough anyway, Keigo wants more of him, all of him.
It’s clumsy, with Touya’s left hand, but he slams into Keigo’s prostate with every stroke, just like he used to. Keigo almost begs for the right hand, to know what it feels like, but he figures he’ll find out soon enough. He briefly misses the literal burn of Touya’s touch, but it’s still there, in its own way. Every point of contact swelters, like coals at the bottom of a fire pit.
Touya sinks his cock into him quickly afterwards—easily. He already made him so goddamn loose. They both groan at the first heavy dip and then he rails Keigo right away at a breakneck pace.
Oh, yeah. That’s—that’s amazing.
Shaky hands curl over Keigo’s waist and snap his hips back to meet each frantic thrust. It’s so deep this way, so perfect. Keigo practically feels it in his throat. The incessant roll of Touya’s dick is certainly drawing some savage fucking sounds from there.
“Mmmm!”
“Arch your shit, baby.” Touya demands, voice gruff. He curves Keigo’s back with thumb and pointer finger, guides him into the slutty pose. “Show me that fucking ass.”
“Ah, fuck,” Keigo swears, flexing his spine into a bow. Because that’s sexy as hell. He’ll show him anything. Everything. Whatever Touya wants.
Touya outright moans at that. He slides one hand up to his middle and pushes down firmly. With the added pressure, Keigo’s arms give out and his chest falls forward, cheek bashing against the blankets. He pants and fucking—warbles—or something, voice muffled by the fabric. Keigo’s talons burst through to full length again and Touya has his way with him.
“There you go, Birdie.” He praises, tone high like he’s straining not to finish already.
Already. That’s insane. Like they didn’t just orgasm their souls out twenty minutes ago.
“God, fuck, I wanna come again, Keigo.” Touya snarls. “On you.”
He fucks him impossibly harder. Skin slaps skin, deafening in the quiet room. Keigo’s afraid he’ll crack, spindle apart, fracture and spiderweb into a million pieces that Touya will have to pick up and put back together.
But that’s okay. He trusts Touya to do that.
And when it feels this fucking amazing, he wants it to happen.
“Come all over your—ngh—pretty little feathers.”
“Oh,” Keigo wails, because—because, yeah. That’s an erotic bombshell.
Touya should do that. Holy shit, he should’ve done it a billion years ago. No one has ever done that.
The idea sends Keigo into near-mania. His feathers are his trademark, his calling card, his weapons, his signature, his place to hide, his home. Every single one can be felt miles away, every single one is him, part of him, an extension of himself. They’re flaunted to the public but they’re private, and personal, and the implied intimacy of doing that is—wow. Fuck.
Fuck.
“Please,” He finds himself slurring, trying not to drool, “please, please, do it.”
“Shit,” Touya pushes harder, flattening him to the mattress. Keigo’s chest heaves. Goosebumps fly over him, quick like smoke. He remembers drinking in smoke, made directly from the man above him.
“Yeah? Keep begging me and I will.” Touya dares, audibly gritting his teeth.
Keigo’s untouched dick jumps against the bed. His thighs tense in anticipation and his stomach drops out from under him like he’s diving off a roof. Just like his excitement this morning, only a thousand times better. He wants it so bad.
“Please,” Keigo repeats feverishly. “I’m yours, Touya. Make me yours—fuck—make me yours. Please.”
Touya picks up the pace. It hurts so good; the knife’s edge of too much and not enough that they always carefully balance. He makes a strangled sound, maybe it’s Keigo’s name again. Two beads of sweat drip from his brow onto Keigo’s bare back, and it seems to be that that does him in.
Keigo cries into the sheets, whining and whimpering until he’s hoarse. It startles him, how quickly he comes again. No fucking complaints, though.
Touya fucks him through it, Touya fucks him after it. It’s familiar, it’s correct, it’s the way the world should work. An orgasm should last forever, and then some.
“Shitshitshitshit—”
“Mm. That’s right, you are mine, Keigo.”
“Y-yeah, nnngh—”
“Only mine.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Christ.”
“Gonna—fucking show you—”
Touya absolutely pounds into him a few more times and then pulls out with a grunt. He swings his legs over and hikes himself onto Keigo’s back. The hand already there glides upwards to palm aggressively all over the base of his wings.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Yeah, baby,” Touya breathes, spreading his downy feathers far and wide. Keigo tweets, chirps, near-screams, overstimulated but yearning for more, always. He’s split in two confusing directions, spasming.
Keigo thrashes and crushes his forehead into the mattress, eyes screwed shut.
“Right here.” Touya declares, sounding punched-out and weak, grasping wherever he can. “Right here—fuck, Keigo.”
He feels Touya’s weight shift above him. He lifts up his hips and angles himself right over the spot where Keigo’s wings meet his shoulder blades. He feels the hot, leaking head of Touya’s dick against the crest of his right wing and then—oh, fuck—a splatter of something warm, all the way across his feathers.
He stops thinking. He stops existing. Keigo explodes from his earthly body and ripples apart in scattered rapture.
Touya pants loudly. His euphoric fingers comb into Keigo’s plumage, drag across them, wiping cum in a long, messy, sticky streak. Keigo gasps sharply at further contact, vibrating from head to toe. Fierce Wings freeze behind him, simultaneously locked up in shock and paralyzed by bliss. He can’t figure out how to relax them, how to move in any way, shape, or form. He’s spent.
Touya slouches onto him until he sits in the dip at the small of his back. His breathing is insane, more ragged than Keigo’s ever heard.
Keigo’s is too, honestly.
The afterglow is more like…a fireworks show finale. Vibrant colors erupt and crisscross behind Keigo’s eyelids. He’s never been this high, even in the actual clouds. He dissolves into goop, overtired, body weakened, but kicked up with endorphins.
Touya eventually touches him again, tracing soft fingertips over his back. In silence, he shows him simple, quiet affection, something they’ve never really done. Even with how filthy he is, it lulls Keigo into cozy comfort. When his breathing calms down, he lets out a dreamy sigh.
“…Was that okay?” Touya asks eventually, rubbing circles on his spine.
Keigo’s mind unfolds from its sleepy nest. “Hm?”
“Was—all over them, was that okay?”
Keigo grins stupidly into the sheets. “Sure was.”
“Just seems like a pain to clean now.”
“Worth it.”
Touya flicks him. “Go clean up, don’t fall asleep. You’ll get the bed all gross.”
Keigo’s eyes feel heavy. “Already did under me. There’s a little washing machine, isn’t there?”
Touya jostles him insistently. “C’mon, Birdie.”
With a grumpy murmur, Keigo unglues himself from the mattress. His wings finally slacken, and then tingle in irritation at the…uncommon texture. They’ll get over it. As he sits up, Touya crawls off his back.
Keigo twists to face him, knowing his entire body is pink and bubbly. But he’s not embarrassed, not right now. Their eyes lock and it’s…it’s not sexually charged anymore, it’s just…a blanket of contentedness. It makes Keigo so happy. He roves over flushed, grey, scarred cheeks, over the sweat framing Touya’s forehead. Keigo lifts one hand and brushes pokey white hair back.
And then he kisses him.
It’s sweet, no longer any rush. Touya tastes a little bit like the noodles they barely ate, and he’s salty, too. His lips meet the same pressure; soft, leisurely. It lasts a few seconds, and then Keigo pulls back.
“Fine.” He mutters with a tiny smile. “I’ll go shower.”
——
Keigo almost dozes off again while waiting for Touya to finish cleaning up. It’s not even close to a normal bedtime, but he’s still in a lazy daze from the back-to-back romps. There isn’t a television, so Keigo lays in bed with just the light from the window streaming through, eyes closed. He plays peaceful music from his shitty phone speakers and inhales their delectable, mingled scent. It clogs the space, envelops him, and it’s perfect.
When the bed dips at his side, Keigo opens his eyes.
Touya’s watching him, drinking in his form. They’re both back in boxers again, because what’s the point of getting fully dressed?
Keigo watches him back. Even more scars cover Touya’s body, longer, twistier. His skin is off-color almost everywhere, from where he completely charred himself. But Keigo doesn’t care. As long as he isn’t in any pain, nothing matters.
Touya settles down, and Keigo immediately touches him. He lightly grabs his bicep, just to touch. Touya pulls the thin sheet from the foot of the bed to cover them. (He’s glad there was a spare set, because laundry feels impossible right now.)
“…Do we cuddle now?” Keigo asks. It feels scary. But he wants it more than anything. He aches for it.
Touya laughs through his nose. His head drops to the pillow, so they’re eye-to-eye.
“Well. I put my cock in your mouth on the first date. And now we’re on a first-name basis, it seems. Guess cuddling with you is the next step.”
“We don’t have to.” Keigo says immediately, because he’s still afraid of being clingy. Just holding his arm is fine, he’ll take what he can get.
“Do you want to, or no?”
“Do you want to?”
Touya takes a deep breath.
“…Saying shit is…hard for me…You get that, right?”
It’s funny, that they get tripped up over this and not the animalistic sex.
Wordlessly, Keigo shifts. He wriggles along the mattress until their bodies are flush. He tucks his head under Touya’s chin and curls an arm around his midsection.
Keigo’s wings fold in tightly to be smaller. They’re prickly and annoyed at having to get wet earlier for a shower, but Keigo ignores them.
They’ve never done this. Even with all the times before, it was always over and done. Fuck, get off, get away. Even when sharing a bed back in the compound, Keigo kept to one side and Touya to the other.
Here, now, Keigo relishes in it. Touya smells even better right against the collarbone.
Touya breathes deeply, lets his arm droop over Keigo’s ribcage. Their legs tangle up together under the thin blanket, side by side. Keigo flexes his foot into Touya’s ankle, hooking them.
He rubs circles over Touya’s back, since it was so nice for him earlier. But his palm accidentally grazes over the thick, intense ridge between his shoulder blades, and Touya tenses.
“Sorry.” Keigo says immediately, into his skin. He pauses, considers. “…Does it hurt?”
It’s…where the Quirk suppressant is buried, deep in Touya’s back. Probably against his spine. A foreign thing, surgically forced into him. The idea is…unsettling.
Touya takes a moment to reply. “…Not anymore. No.”
Keigo’s stilled hand resumes, skirting carefully around the scar. He knows this is a sore subject, but he wants to ask anyway.
“Do you miss it?” He whispers, like it’s taboo. Maybe it is. “Your fire.”
“Of course I do.” Touya replies, right away. It’s spoken into the crown of Keigo’s head. “Obviously. Wouldn’t you miss your wings?”
His wings…Hm. Sometimes, Keigo wonders what would’ve happened if All for One truly had taken them away. Would he…be the same person? They’ve always been a part of him.
Would he still be…worth anything? Without the thing that made him Number Two? Without the thing that earned him his success?
Without the thing that…took him from his mother? They were his savior, and his catalyst.
Two sides to every coin.
He knows that, intrinsically, of course he would still be worth something. Touya’s worth everything, Quirkless or otherwise. Everyone is. Having a Quirk or not doesn’t determine someone’s value.
Keigo thinks, maybe it would even be sort of freeing?
For a bird, unable to fly. There wouldn’t be anymore pressure, on one hand. He could go for a walk on a nice day without everyone staring, wondering why he’s doing it, instead of flying.
But it didn’t happen. So it’s hard to say. He didn’t have to face that version of reality, that life-altering scenario.
But Touya did.
“Well…maybe someday you can have it back.” Keigo says, knowing it might be too far. But when have they ever walked on eggshells for each other?
“Hah.” Touya tsks into his hair. “Okay, sure.”
Keigo wiggles backwards, so he can look into pretty, blue eyes. They share one pillow, a few inches apart.
“I mean it.” He insists, suddenly full of determination. “Like—look at this. Us, right now. We’re cuddling in bed, Touya.”
The name does something again, like it has each time. Ivory eyebrows knit together. Is it too much? Keigo doesn’t want to be too much.
Touya opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Keigo feels his bare chest expand against his own.
“I know. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, all right? Don’t get my fucking hopes up more than this.”
That…it breaks Keigo’s heart.
There’s…got to be a chance. There’s got to be a way to get Touya out of here. Even if it takes months, or years. Ochaco’s presentation on “reformation” bounces around in his head, with All Might’s positive outlook on the future. Keigo doesn’t know what it’ll take, but…he reminds himself that he’s Number Two for a reason. He got here tooth and nail, and he knows how to work the system that built him.
He can brush elbows with politicians, with heroes and villains alike. He’s got so much cash to spare that he doesn’t know what to do with it. That’s gotta count for something. He’s got a pretty smile, he knows how to convince people, he knows how to lie, and how to speak on incredibly difficult truths. He’s well-trained to achieve it all.
People like him. People love him.
The catch is that people don’t like Touya. Not after all his villainy and the shit he pulled. The lives he took. People hate Touya.
But…Keigo likes Touya. And Keigo’s taken lives, too. He’s done a lot he isn’t proud of, most of the heroes have. Their complex society works both ways, especially amidst a national war zone, last year.
Keigo can show them that Touya’s redeemable. That Touya’s a victim of the system, too, and that he’s capable of reformation. And Touya’s already doing the work himself, he’s trying. He’s in therapy, he’s serving his time. His siblings can also vouch for him.
And Rumi’s words muddle through Keigo’s head, on top of it all.
Will this be enough for him, for them? Rushed, insane fucking every few months, a couple nights together in the same bed, a few chances to cuddle between visits with guards on them the whole time. Passing books back and forth, eating cold takeout at a plastic table in a sad, light blue room.
It…won’t. Not because Touya’s not worth it, but because Keigo wants more of him.
All of him. Always.
He sets his jaw.
Keigo is going to get Touya’s hopes up, because he’s going to make good on it. Someday.
“Why do you look like that? Jesus, you’re so grim all of a sudden.” Touya asks, pulling a face like Keigo stinks. “What the hell, man?”
Keigo unclenches his teeth. He makes himself soften. He musters the most earnest voice he can.
“I’m not giving up on you…Do you trust me?”
Cerulean eyes stare back at him. In the late afternoon light, they shine. Keigo wants to dive into them and never come up for air.
“…Yeah.”
“Good.”
Keigo plops his head back to the pillow, shoving his forehead into the crook of Touya’s neck. His partner eventually succumbs to the snuggling once more. His fingers weave through his larger, less sensitive feathers.
“Not totally sure what that’s supposed to mean.” Touya sighs. “But yeah, yeah, I trust you, Keigo.”
The name blooms through him again. Keigo hums and lets out a tiny peep, unable to help himself. He rests his eyes against the warmth of another body.
(Keigo…obviously isn’t hugged much.)
“…You really do like that, huh?” Touya whispers a minute later, which sounds like another language, coming from him. Surprisingly gentle. He pets over the edge of Keigo’s wing, not enough to rile him up, but enough to comfort him. The same hand eventually finds his hair, combs over his unruly curls.
Keigo melts. His own voice sounds far away, quiet, as he unfurls.
“Yeah. I dunno. Just nice to hear it…from you especially. Haven’t been Keigo in so long…Nobody’s allowed to know him, nobody knows Keigo exists. Just Hawks.” Keigo smirks, keeps mumbling. “Maybe I was saving him for you, Hot Stuff. Little present.”
“Tch. Yeah, all right. Sure, whatever. Gift exchange. Keigo for Touya. Happy conjugal visitation day.”
Keigo giggles into his pulse point, because it’s stupid, and silly, and unexpectedly cute from Dabi, from Touya. But the moment does feel significant. The entire day does.
They’d already crossed some winding bridge a while ago, but it feels like they aren’t looking back on it now, not anymore. There’s only the path ahead of them, and Touya seems like he’ll let Keigo hold his hand for the journey. They’ve catapulted into…something different.
Keigo tilts his head back to look in sapphire eyes again. Touya blinks at him. Their noses are brushing, so Keigo plops a kiss on the tip of his. Touya’s face scrunches.
“What? You’re always looking at me with this look.”
Keigo shifts back further so his entire face is in view. The raptor in his ribcage croons at his mate, sings a ridiculous love song. It’s an atrociously embarrassing courting gesture, thunderous, at the top of its lungs. It threatens to spill out. It presses against Keigo’s chest cavity, insistent. It swells through him, chimes against sinew and bone. Special, personal, soul-baring music.
“Hey.” Keigo says, suddenly serious. “Will you…”
He measures Touya’s expression. He circles his scars, counts his near-translucent eyelashes, admire’s the cupid’s bow of his lip. Follows each dimple, the slope of his chin, the typically-grumpy bend of each eyebrow. Touya doesn’t look grumpy now, just…he’s waiting. For Keigo to continue.
“Will you freak out if I say it?” Keigo asks with bated breath. It’s like a grenade, the pin-pulled. Like a live bomb. But…it’s a relief, too. One more thing, out in the open. He hands over another piece of Keigo, hopes Touya will cradle them all.
He thinks he will.
Touya is silent, then he swallows.
“Say what?”
“…I think you know what.” Keigo tilts his head.
There’s another long, aching minute. Keigo watches Touya, Dabi, the person he is and the person he was, both of them, one of him, laying in bed. The metallic hand on his side squeezes a little tighter and Touya sucks his teeth.
“No. I wouldn’t freak out. I’d…probably say it back.”
Oh.
Oh, that’s. That’s.
Keigo inhales. His wings flutter behind him, like a knee-jerk reaction. His plumage audibly poofs and few feathers burst from place. They drift into the air and float down to the sheets like leaves on the breeze.
“That on purpose?” Touya raises an eyebrow, amused.
“No.”
Before Touya can get another word in, Keigo kisses him.
It’s not like a wildfire this time. Instead it’s mellow, like summer sunshine, or a hot bath after a hard day at work, or like holding his palms up to a hearth after it snows. Keigo is lucky, to have him both ways. At his Dabi and at his Touya.
It still feels a little scary, so Keigo says it against Touya’s lips.
“I love you.”
There’s another intake of breath, Keigo feels the heat of Touya’s following exhale against his chin. After a few heartbeats, Touya kisses him on the cheek, and then just…holds him. Temple to temple, chest to chest. He can take all the time he needs. Forever, even. Keigo will wait.
He’ll wait forever.
He doesn’t have to this time, though. Touya must feel just as shy, just as nervous, because his own confession is said into Keigo’s hairline.
“Love you too, Birdie.”
Keigo shimmies impossibly closer.
And…how is he supposed to go home after this? How’s he supposed to leave at the end of this?
He doesn’t fucking know. He’ll deal with it later and probably wallow for days.
It takes some time for them to speak again. Keigo knows it’s because they’re both fairly emotionally traumatized and…that was a lot. But a lot in a good way.
They’re in love.
What the fuck, they’re in love.
Keigo’s never been in love. He assumes—no, he knows that Touya’s never been in love either and, isn’t that something? It feels…meaningful. They’re figuring shit out together, doing it their own way.
He’s so happy that it hurts.
The afternoon slips away into the evening and the sun eventually sets. They don’t get out of bed, don’t bother eating. Any moment apart feels wasted, when time is so precious here. (And when marathon sex makes their bodies too lethargic for anything else.)
They chat about the songs that play, some new releases that Touya missed because, well, prison. Keigo shows him a few music videos and they’re tangled up together the whole time. It transitions to a sci-fi movie after that.
The room seeps into darkness and hours tick by. In the low light of Keigo’s phone, he realizes Touya started shivering a bit ago. He feels it too, across their conjoined bodies.
“Hey,” He nudges him, “You okay?”
Touya shrugs and grumbles. He shakes his head. “I…feel sick. Did you give me some disease or some shit from outside?”
Keigo chuckles. “I don’t think so. Sick how?”
Instinct takes over. Keigo’s gotta fix it.
“Like this, obviously. I’m shaking all over. It’s like, before fucking puking. I don’t feel nauseous but I’d always do this beforehand. Or like with a bad fever. I dunno. Just weird.”
“Well, I feel fine.” Keigo puts a hand to Touya’s forehead.
Touya deadpans at that.
“Thanks, Nurse Keigo. So helpful. Glad you feel fine.”
Keigo self-assesses, chews his cheek. “We didn’t really eat so it can’t be food poisoning. I haven’t even been around anybody sick. I feel normal. Um. I guess I’m just a little c—”
He cuts himself off. Duh. Keigo breaks out into a wicked grin, one Dabi gave him so often.
“You’re not sick. You’re cold, Hot Stuff.”
“What.” It’s not a question.
“You’ve been in a temperature-controlled prison cell for months and now you’re shivering because you’re out of it and you’re cold. Remember what I told you cold feels like? It’s this.” He explains with a smile.
That’s kinda adorable, actually.
Touya rolls his eyes to the moon. “Goddamn it. Sweating was bad enough. Fuck this. I thought you said cold was, like, wet, too? Didn’t you?”
“Oh, baby, I’m wet enough for the both of us.” Keigo teases, springing forward to capture Touya into an even tighter hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm!”
Touya groans in exasperation, but he doesn’t shove him away. They cocoon into the blankets, wrapped up in Fierce Wings. Touya lets himself be swaddled.
Half way into the second movie, Touya’s shivering subsides. It coincides with him falling asleep, Keigo clinched onto him like a leech.
With sharp night vision, Keigo watches him, cherishes him.
This feels so good, but, fuck, so bad. There is beauty in being here, but it’s contrasted by the looming, inevitable agony of leaving.
They’re in love, they’re in love.
It fills him with hope, unfathomable joy, glowing brightly like a beam of light. Rainbow colors through a sun catcher in the kitchen window.
In another day, it shatters, it hurts. And he’ll have to superglue the fragments together next time, and next time, and next time.
Keigo settles his head onto Touya’s shoulder, trying to chase the negative thoughts away for now. They’ve got another thirty-something hours.
He’ll take what he can get. He’ll remind himself tenfold that it’s eons better than nothing.
And, anyway, they’re in love, they’re in love, they’re in love.
They’ll be okay. Keigo will concoct a plan, and he will get Touya out of here.
Even if it takes a little time.
——
Sunday comes much too soon. It always does.
Every periodic Sunday, every six to eight weeks.
For the next seven years.
Notes:
*dodges tomatoes for the last line*
I hope you loved reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it :) <3 I know the next time skip to chapter 11 is a pretty large one (seven years) but....not much really happens in the gap, honestly. Touya's in jail and it's like...that's it LMAO. Obviously he'll be growing and healing and all those good things <3 And Keigo will keep on working to jailbreak!!!! And they'll be so cute <3 But I felt okay to kinda jump over it. You'll see!!
I would loveeeeee to hear your comments, I put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into this chapter lmao. Please let me know what you think!!! <3
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Notes:
Remember in Chapter 8, when I was like, "Dabi's POV, one time only!" ? Okay, so, I lied about that. This chapter (and probably next chapter too) is his POV hahaha.
Also, remember when the chapter count was 12? It's 13 now. Hehehe <3
Also ALSO, this is the longest single-chapter I've ever written, so I'm kinda proud of myself :') I hope you enjoy it!
TW for some descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter and one offhand threat of self harm, but no self harm actually happens.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Being in prison fucking sucks.
Sometimes Touya longs for the days in the stupid pod that they dumped him in when he was first admitted. At least there he was half-conscious and sedated fifty percent of the time.
He stares at the ceiling. He stares at the walls. He stares at the floors. He’s catalogued every fleck, and every speck, and every scratch, and every dent, and every ridge of every surface in his cell. He counts as high as he can, starts over when he loses his place. He reads the same books three to four times until he can get his hands on new ones. He stretches his stiff body. He works himself up to low-pressure exercise. He just lays on the ground, to spice it up and all. He sleeps. But even sleeping grows tiresome.
He’s allowed a phone call sometimes. He’ll bother Keigo, usually. Jerk off to thoughts of Keigo afterwards.
He goes to physical therapy, even still. Constant practice with his prosthetic. Constant checkups, constant medical maintenance, and testing, and dosage adjustment. He goes to emotional therapy, which, yeah, he doesn’t hate it anymore, but it usually feels like pulling teeth anyway. It’s never really welcome.
Every few days they let him sit alone in a concrete courtyard outside, surrounded by chain-link fence and barbed wire. He tilts his face to the sun and aches for her warmth. For his warmth, the fire that was once under his scarred skin.
It’s a distant memory now. He struggles to remember it, on some days. The taste of his Quirk. The power of it, thrumming luminously inside him.
Would it even still be there, if they took the suppressant out? Or did it wither away, like he is, little by little?
His family visits him, even his mom, when he finally asks for her. It takes a few more months from the point when he and Keigo have their first conjugal visit.
Rei is quiet, and she is kind, and she is soft in all the ways he remembers. Within a few minutes even she is able to smooth out his rough edges. She touches his cheek and…Touya doesn’t pull away from her. Maybe he even leans into it, the gentle palm of his mother.
Who he missed, but never admitted to.
And so, she becomes part of his routine, too. A merry-go-round of the same five people come see him, and every six to eight weeks he is allowed forty-eight hours with one of them. Touya doesn’t have a preference, but his only request is that every other visit belongs to Keigo.
Because he never stops thinking about Keigo.
Hawks, Keigo, his…partner, mate, lover, because they’re in love, apparently. How and why anyone would fall for Touya is absolutely fucking beyond him, but it happens anyway.
Being alone, festering in a fucking jail cell is hard enough, but being away from Keigo…God, Touya is decomposing here without him.
Keigo’s out in the world. Keigo’s still working, Keigo is seeing other human beings, Keigo is going out to eat, and drink, and watching television, and flying in the sky, and going on fucking—Reddit, or something. (Touya misses the pure, mindless hours spent on the internet.)
Keigo isn’t trapped in a box, shackled into the same day to day.
Sure, it sounds like some twisted jealousy, but, Touya isn’t jealous of Keigo. He’s jealous of those out there that get to interact with him every day.
Fucking pathetic.
Jesus, Shigaraki would be literally rolling on the floor with laughter if he could hear Touya now. Not even “Dabi” anymore.
Touya isn’t really sure when “Dabi” falls away. Pretty quickly after Keigo starts calling him by his first name, it only feels natural, again. After so long. Maybe Dabi needed rest. Dabi laid down, he went to bed and didn’t wake back up, leaving Touya in his place, a little uncomfortable, a little confused, a lot unsure of himself and who he is now.
He never requests “Dabi” anymore. And his family’s always called him “Touya,” anyway. The guards and staff call him “Mr. Todoroki,” which is fucking gross, but. Whatever.
(Touya doesn’t really think about Endeavor, either. His therapist insists they talk about him, but the minute he leaves that tiny, saccharine, sickly-yellow office, he closes the door and shuts Endeavor inside.)
And it goes like this for…an insurmountable amount of time. Years, actually. Seasons pass, but Touya only catches them in glimpses. Through the chain-linked fence, through the barred window of the visitation shack. He can feel the ebb and flow of the weather now, but it’s still hard to measure without any real benchmarks. His time only feels important when he’s with Keigo, or his family. It sluices together into patchwork pieces of them.
Otherwise, everything is the same. Everything is a depressing slog. As repetitive as the scuffs on the floor of his cell, formed from where he paces.
So, Touya has his worst slump around year three, an inch from year four. Not even that far in, he really should be better than this. Stronger than this.
Apparently not.
It’s made apparent to Keigo over the course of a few weeks. Touya really tries not to let it show, because he wants things to be good between them. He doesn’t want these visitations to start feeling like a chore. He tries to be snarky, and chill, and as feisty as usual but it…it’s eventually hard to keep the mask up. He doesn’t hide it so much for his siblings, or his mom, but Keigo…he doesn’t want Keigo to lose interest when Touya loses interest. When he can’t pay attention anymore. When his head’s full of gray slop.
Keigo’s telling a story about work, something “really brave” that Tokoyami apparently did, and it takes a way-too-long moment for Touya to realize he’s just…staring at him. Pretty tawny eyes bore a hole into his face expectantly.
“…hear me?”
Touya inhales and sits up straighter. He focuses harder on Keigo instead of the ruddy blue wall behind him. Taking actual note, he looks…nice today. It’s summertime (supposedly) and his skin has a golden sheen to it. His hair is blonder with natural highlights from the great outdoors.
Good fucking God, how does Touya look to him? Like a corpse? Probably. A scarred, ugly, pale corpse.
“Touya?” Keigo says again, waving a hand in front of his face. He must’ve been speaking to him for a minute, because he tacks on, “You’re freaking me out. Do you feel okay?”
Does he feel okay?
No.
“Sorry.” Touya responds finally. “Just tired. Yeah, Birdie, I’m fine. Finish your story.”
“…I did already.”
“Oh.” Touya blinks. He takes a weighty breath, feels like his chest is full of rocks. He scrubs over his eyes, always being delicate with the prosthetic. Blueish blotches color his vision and when he looks up again, Keigo’s still staring him down. He—he fucking sniffs the air. Him and his bird crap. Reads Touya way too easily.
“What’s wrong.” Keigo says, but it’s not a question. It’s a demand; tell him or he’ll be mad.
Touya dodges anyway. “Nothing. Get your fucking feathers out of your ass. I’m fine. Just slept shitty.”
Keigo tilts his head. Frustration knits his brows together. “You know. You told me that the last four times I’ve been here.”
Did he? Well.
Touya shrugs. “Just been sleeping bad. I’m fine, Kei. Let it go. Tell me something else about your day then.”
Because Touya’s days are fuck-all of nothing. He doesn’t have any stories worth telling. He just…kind of exists. They gave him green beans with dinner yesterday. Riveting as hell.
Keigo scoots closer, even though their chairs are already side-by-side instead of across the table from each other. He pets a hand over Touya’s temple and weaves his fingers into his thick hair. (It’s grown back unruly as fuck.) Gentle talons scratch his scalp. That’s nice.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you what was bothering you for a month, you know.”
Touya frowns at him. “What—”
“You. Smell different.—Shut the hell up, I know it’s weird…But I can tell. I just didn’t wanna push you.—Except I’m doing it now, because I’m tired of waiting for you to tell me. And you look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks, honey.”
“Touya.”
Keigo leans in, blurry this close. Like he’s shielding him from something, protecting him. Only look at me, he’s saying.
Touya is…not as himself, when they’re in this room. In the little house he feels a bit more free, but here he’s on camera, he’s on watch. He’s monitored to the minute, constricted to schedules, and checklists, and rules and requirements.
“…I don’t…” He grits his teeth, thinking. “Nothing is wrong.”
Because it’s not anything in particular. It’s just everything. He doesn’t have words for that. He can’t figure out how to convey that he’s just…hollow, lately.
Keigo nudges him. He kisses his cheek. It’s welcome and warm.
“You can tell me.”
Touya takes a heaving breath. Feels like he ran a mile. “No, it’s—there’s nothing. There’s—there’s always nothing. Everything is…fucking nothing…That’s what I mean. I just fucking sit here.”
His partner doesn’t have a response right away. The claws at his head dig a little deeper, just a pinch, and then retract completely. Keigo pulls back to look him dead in the eye, suddenly so serious that it’s startling. He looks gutted. His hands curl over both of Touya’s like he’s holding something fragile.
“I’m…gonna get you out. I still mean it. I’ve been—”
“Kei. Quit it, all right?” He snaps, voice mean like Dabi’s was. Defensive, angry. “It just makes it worse.”
Because this, again, always fucking this. He’s been saying the same damn thing for basically four years and the situation hasn’t moved an inch. Touya gave up on that fantasy a while ago.
(Which is maybe why he’s so fucking depressed, but. Whatever.)
Keigo goes silent. His eyes cut down and Touya’s do too, staring at their conjoined hands. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and that’s something Touya should be able to block out by now but never can.
Touya sighs again, after a beat.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” An achey breath rumbles through him, “You don’t deserve…”
The familiar hands on his own twist quickly to grab his wrists. Keigo stands up abruptly, forcing Touya to do the same. Their chairs screech on the floor and Touya staggers into the edge of the table.
“What are you—”
Touya cuts himself off when he looks up at his partner. Keigo looks—berserk. Face made of sharp edges and deep shadows, pupils narrowed to thin slits. He isn’t Keigo in this moment, he’s the Commission’s snarling hellhound, one that snapped necks and spilled blood to get what he needed. His crimson feathers bunch tightly like sawtoothed knives.
“What the hell are you doing?” Touya’s almost knocked off balance again as Keigo drags him to the door. Panic flickers in his chest. Is Keigo about to do something insane? Is he about to try and break him out of here, right now?
Touya attempts to calm him. “Kei—hold up—you can’t just—”
“Relax.” Keigo interrupts, voice like ice. “I’m not going to do anything irrational.”
Uh.
“I think that’s fucking debatable—”
Keigo pulls him anyway. He thunks his fist, hard, into the big, metal entryway.
The guard turns. He eyeballs both of them, then cocks his head.
“There a problem?” He asks through the intercom. Touya notices his fat palm settling on the gun on his belt. He must notice the malicious intent and fucking mania in Keigo’s expression. Nausea rolls through Touya.
“Keigo.” He says it like a plea. God only knows what he’s thinking. What he’s about to do.
He’s pointedly ignored.
“We’d like to talk to the head of security. Or the head of medical care. I need to discuss my partner’s welfare immediately.”
Okay, so. At least he isn’t planning a murder spree.
(“Might’ve been fun, though,” the voice of Dabi sneers in Touya’s head. Yeah, sometimes he’s still there, and sometimes he feels good.)
But Touya sags in relief.
The grip on his wrist is still ironclad, though.
“Mr. Hawks, I’m sorry to tell you that meetings like that need to be scheduled in advance. I’m not sure if we can—”
“It’s urgent.” Keigo interjects. “I have significant concerns. I’d hate to have to report to higher governing bodies that this facility is ignoring the healthcare of its charges. What with all the taxpayer dollars that fund it.” Hawks flicks his head to the side almost dangerously. On the hunt. In the skies, scanning for prey.
“What do you have to say about that?” He squints carefully. “…Badge number 8592017?”
Keigo looks like he wants to bite him, Jesus. And not in the way Touya is more accustomed to seeing. This isn’t Keigo, the animal. This is Keigo, the predator. Keigo who knows how to use his raptor’s talons.
The guard deadpans. He shuts his eyes with a quick, irritated grunt. Knows he won’t win this battle, not against Pro Hero Hawks.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He grumbles, begrudgingly pulling a cellphone from his vest. “Sit back down, please. If someone can meet with you, they’ll come here. Prisoners are only allowed in the counseling office and rehabilitation bay.”
Keigo nods curtly. His lips bend into a cutthroat smile.
“Thank you.”
Touya fidgets while he waits. He doesn’t really know what Keigo expects to gain from this, and he’s more keyed up than Touya is. Keigo grinds his molars and taps his shoe on the floor.
They don’t speak because…because Touya doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t feel well. He wants to go home, always, but he doesn’t have one, other than the person beside him. And that person’s going to leave in a few hours and—yeah. It’s a vicious, stagnant cycle.
After twenty tense minutes, the door clunks open. Keigo stands to greet the newcomer, stretches out a formal hand with his polished, pretty boy sparkle.
He’s incredibly tall, built like a brick, just rectangular and huge. Touya’s never seen this man before, but he can tell he’s important. He’s got several medals and patches adhered to his uniform, and he has a different cap on than what the other guards wear. He…looks down at Touya, once, like he’s mud on the sole of his boot, and then shifts his attention. At least Keigo gets some respect.
Touya listens, decides not to join the conversation. His say literally does not make a single difference, anyway. It feels hopeless, so he spaces out through the pleasantries. He stares at his dumb boyfriend, because he’s at least easy on the eyes—and then startles back to consciousness when things start to get heated—quickly.
“—and I’m just saying, sir, that his emotional state right now is abysmal. It has been for weeks.”
Wait. Touya’s? He blinks. Keigo’s gesturing to him, nose scrunched in frustration.
Abysmal? Is it that bad?
“And I can assure you, Mr. Hawks, Mr. Todoroki is receiving top notch care from our team of doctors here. If you think his medications need review or if he needs additional counseling, we can certainly address those concerns.”
Uh. No. Fuck additional counseling. And Touya’s tried so many different medications that he can’t even name them all. What he’s on now works fine. He opens his mouth to butt in, but Keigo plows forward.
“Right. No, I think his medications and counseling are sufficient. I think he’s depressed because you’ve got him locked in a box all day with little to no stimulation. Do you know how bad that is for the human brain?”
Hawks stands like he’s posturing. His wings look especially wide, especially red. He’s shorter than this guy by a long shot but he doesn’t seem fazed.
“Well,” The man half-chuckles. “This is a maximum-security prison and not a resort. Mr. Todoroki can consider himself lucky to have so many visitors and extracurriculars.”
His eyes jab over to Touya. He almost sticks his tongue out at this douche bag, but holds back.
“‘Extracurriculars’?” Touya asks instead, because he really doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
“You’re allowed books, we’ve made an exception for you there. And we provide recreational time outdoors.”
Touya can’t help it, he laughs, once. “You mean the, like, one hour a week where I can see sunlight?”
Keigo seems appalled at this. His jaw drops. He spins, one wing nearly batting the man beside him.
“Wait. What? Do you—you don’t even have a window? In your cell?”
“I thought you knew that?”
The head of security (apparently) nods. “Surely you understand that, Mr. Hawks? Windows in prisoners’ cells would present significant security risks—”
Hawks is immediately shaking his head and waving his hands, puttering the guy into silence.
“No. No, no, no. That’s just wrong. Have you—do you know what it feels like to be in a cage, sir?”
(Keigo sounds like he’s asking from experience. In fact, Touya knows he is.)
“He’s already in jail, do you really need to cut him off from sunlight, too? That feels criminal.” Keigo scoffs. “All right, I think that’s one change that could help. The first step. Let’s get Mr. Todoroki here transferred to a different cell. Something more humane.”
The executive seems taken a back. He raises his eyebrows and his mouth falls open like a stupid fish.
“…It…does not work like that, Mr. Hawks. I understand your…care, but we cannot—”
Keigo’s fed up, Touya can tell by the body language. He just knows him too well, can read the tension in his shoulders, the subtle shift that raises his wings even higher. (They’re so pretty, especially like this.) Feet parallel, chest wide, ready to spring into combat.
“Look. My partner is not okay. And that is not okay. So I have to insist, or this is going to be a much bigger problem than you want to deal with.”
(It’s actually hot, the way Keigo’s hands ball into fists.)
The guy, to all his credit, doesn’t back down.
“And I have to insist, that it does not work like that.” He replies steadily.
Keigo crosses his arms.
Oh, here it goes.
“Don’t make me laugh.” Hawks sneers. “I think you’re completely aware of who I am, the capabilities I have, and how long I worked for the HPSC. We both know that this facility was built on money, threats, bribes, and blackmail, like all of them are. So which one would you like me to pull today? Because we can do it the easy way, and I can get my accountant on the phone right now. I’ll wire you whatever the hell you want.”
“Keigo.” Touya splutters. Good God, when did the tables turn like this? Dabi slunk off and now Keigo is the one acting like him. They’re about to throw his ass behind bars too.
The head of security sucks his teeth. Unclear if he’s impressed or annoyed. He blinks slowly.
“And if I don’t accept your proposal? Then I’m being threatened?”
Keigo tips his chin up. “Not yet, sir.”
Touya slaps himself in the forehead. “Keigo!”
Birdbrained idiot. Touya can picture the handcuffs now.
“So just say the word.” Keigo continues, levelheaded. “Let me know how much money I need to throw around, I’ve got so much I don’t know what to do with it. I think we can agree it’s the more…practical approach.”
“Okay, Kei, why don’t you let it go?” Touya sighs, a bit harried. He’s worried about how far Keigo will take this. If they don’t fucking detain him for this behavior, they can still suspend him from visiting. “Can you let it go?”
Neither of them look towards Touya. Yet again, he’s ignored.
The head of security glares down at his partner with an unreadable expression. And Keigo meets it head on, slowly flapping those beautiful, powerful wings. Daring him to disagree again. They’re locked in a stalemate.
Two days later, without a word, Touya’s moved to a cell with a window.
——
Keigo has his own meltdown in year six. So close to the end, the home stretch, but they don’t know it at the time.
It’s springtime, which is definitely a contributing factor.
It’s one of the rare weekends in their shitty little house, where they can play pretend for a few days. The first day is always full of back-to-back-to-back-to-back sex and then they usually crash hard and sleep in an entwined pile, closer than physically possible.
So the cold, poignant absence of Keigo is what wakes Touya up. (He still can’t get used to this “getting cold” bullshit, even now.) He shuffles an arm around the mattress, and realizes he’s alone.
Touya sits up with a quiet sound of confusion. Keigo can’t leave so he’s in here somewhere. The room is dark, but not pitch-black. Floodlights from outside cut into the space in thin, yellow strips. The bathroom is empty, so he’s not in there—
Keigo’s…pacing. Near-silent, light on his feet like any bird would be. He wears nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Touya watches him cross the room, turn, and do it again. And again. And again. His arms wrap around himself like a pseudo-hug and his wings crumple low and snug over his back. A few sad feathers flit behind him onto the floor, all twitchy like overturned insects.
“…Kei?” Touya finally asks, sliding out of bed. “…Keigo, what’s going on?”
His partner jumps, caught off guard. Another few feathers split off and zip into the ceiling, only to immediately fall and join the others. They’re all without direction, squirming on tile.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Keigo says. His voice is…tight. Restrained.
Touya frowns. That’s. Concerning.
“It’s okay.”
He approaches cautiously, careful not to step on any feathers. Up close he can see his partner’s face a little better, but it’s still mostly shadow.
“What are you doing, Birdie? Can’t sleep?”
He expects a joke. Or an explanation of spring restlessness. Or a nightmare. Anything like that. Those things have happened before, actually. Plenty of times. They’ve both had some rough nights.
Touya never expects…silence. Heavy, leaden silence. Like a wall between them. Keigo’s…holding his breath, even.
Touya tries to fight a grotesque corkscrew of anxiety, but it happens anyway.
“Hey. Seriously.” He urges, gently laying a hand on Keigo’s shoulder—and fuck, his skin is hot. Almost as hot as his used to be, with his Quirk. Fierce Wings flap in response, skittering even more feathers, and Keigo squeezes his eyes shut like he’s been smacked.
“Jesus, what the hell is wrong with—”
He hears it then. Keigo finally, finally breathes, but it’s wretched and sad. It’s…a sob. Jagged and torn from his throat. He shuffles backwards slowly until his wings hit the wall and then he collapses in on himself, shrinking into a ball. Keigo smashes his face to his knees and tries to hide…whatever the fuck this is.
“Keigo, hey!” Oh, shit. “Hey.”
Touya hurries over, drops to his knees beside him.
Keigo’s wings are boxy and defensive right now, shielding his head, covering most of his body. His precious feathers don’t slice though, they know Touya’s touch too well. He brushes over them softly, and with enough insistence, is able to maneuver one massive wing out of the way.
“Kei. Please, hey.”
It sounds like Keigo tries to speak, but it’s not in any understandable language. Caught between a squawk and a wail, and a hint of human. He presses his forehead down, shying away even when Touya touches his hair.
They don’t…they don’t really ever do this. Cry. Bawl. Touya can count the number of times on one hand. It’s extremely few and far between, and never like this. This magnitude. Keigo’s inconsolable, shuddering hard.
“You’re okay.” Touya assures him, pinched, trying to remember what he’d say to his siblings. How did he calm down Natsuo, so long ago? What helped Fuyumi? What could he have done for Shoto?
Is Keigo scared right now? Is that why he’s so jumpy, so resistant to Touya’s touch? Maybe he had a nightmare about their big fight, maybe he’s reliving something from the Commission? Or his childhood?
Touya has enough backstory by now, he’s painfully familiar with Keigo’s trauma.
Still, he…hopes it’s not because of him.
“It’s okay, Keigo.” Touya reassures with a firm, grounding touch. Tries to center him. Both of them.
“It’s not,” Suddenly yelps out, barely indistinguishable from tears.
At least it’s something.
Touya palms over his hair, down his neck, trying to soothe him. He touches the knob of his spine, and, shit, he’s on fire.
“What’s not?” He encourages. “I can’t help if you don’t explain. You tell me that all the time, Kei.”
More mangled noises scramble from Keigo. Clawed hands thrash against his face, and then he chokes, coming up for air. Touya catches his jaw before he can hide again, or before he can scratch the fuck out of his corneas.
Oh, that’s—fucking painful. Even in the dim room, Touya can see how distraught he is. His handsome face is contorted, sopping wet with tears. Keigo’s mouth is like a serrated slash, pulled down at the corners. His eyes are black. Touya hates it.
“It’s—fuck, Touya.” Keigo says his name like he’s on his last breath. Weak and bloody. It’s a hole to the heart. “Touya.”
It’s the worst thing he’s ever heard. Twice in a row. Agonized.
“I—I can’t do this anymore.”
What?
Touya’s world stops. Because it’s essentially confined to this room, anyway.
What?
He stares at the shape of Keigo, inches from him, and feels like he’s dying for a third time.
What?
“I don’t know how.” Keigo whimpers, broken, beaten to shit. He snatches his hair at the roots and tugs it. He wrenches his face away and folds himself into an even tighter knot.
And Touya continues to fall apart.
He…can’t even cry.
What?
“…Kei?…I…”
He what? He what?
Touya can’t…keep him. He can’t force him. He’d never do that.
But he can’t…lose him either. What’s he supposed to do? How’s he supposed to keep going? It hits him like an avalanche. He’s going to throw up. He’s going to die. Touya’s weak heart is about to give the fuck up when—
“It—it hurts so bad.” Keigo coughs, body wracking. “Being away from you.”
…Wait.
God. Okay. Wait.
Touya inhales, on the verge of passing the hell out. He blinks through a tidal wave of relief and continues petting Keigo’s shoulder, hand trembling. He needs to swallow his own breakdown right now, for his sake.
“Keigo.” Touya hangs his head, bumps their foreheads together, exhaling deeply. His world slowly takes shape again. There’s a high-magnitude earthquake rattling the fuck out of it, but it’s coming back around.
A few more silent tears drip down Keigo’s cheek. Touya feels one of them hit his own.
“I was about to—fucking—If, if you hadn’t woken up, I was—,” Keigo trembles. “I was going to kill someone, I think. I’m…serious, Touya. I was going to just—do whatever it takes to get in here, to be with you.”
Oh, fuck. No.
Touya touches his shoulder, trying to snap him out of it. He jostles him, feels a wing swish against his back.
“Hey, no. That’s crazy talk, Kei. Even if you did kill someone, or do some top-class crime, they’re not sending you here, anyway. You’d go to Tartarus like everybody else.”
Keigo’s feathers vibrate on the floor, surrounding his feet. They pop between fluffy and pointed, like he can’t get a grip.
“I’d get here if I was hurt bad enough.”
Fuck.
Keigo may as well have just shot him, point-blank.
That’s the worst thing he’s ever heard.
“Keigo.” Fucking hell, Touya thought he was bad. He holds onto him tighter. “Holy shit, no. Don’t talk like that. Don’t you dare. That’s stupid.—It’s not like they’d give me a roommate, for fuck’s sake. I’d see you even less. Probably never again, actually. I don’t see any other prisoners here. Don’t be—don’t be insane. Okay? Please.”
Don’t be like Dabi, is what he wants to say.
“Please.” He repeats, like a prayer.
“I can’t do it anymore.” Keigo protests, voice quieter now because it’s all he can manage. He wilts and a tiny, involuntary peep escapes.
Touya scoops him into a hug. He collects as much Keigo as he can, wiggling between his wings, flattening to his torso.
“Yes, you can. This…” Touya works himself up to spew bullshit, because Keigo needs to hear it. Even if it’s hopeless. “This isn’t forever, remember? You’re going to get me out. You say it, like, once a week.”
Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. The sad sack of Keigo in his arms shrivels even more. His chest feels like a live-wire, and he’s still a million degrees.
Touya lets him crumble. Supports him through it.
“I’m…I’m trying so hard.” Keigo mutters, after a few silent minutes. He sounds like a kicked fucking dog. He finally composes himself enough to hug Touya back. Pointed talons press into his forearms but Touya doesn’t care.
He’ll bleed dry for Keigo.
“Around the clock.” Keigo admits. He sounds like he swallowed sand. “I—I still patrol, yeah, but, I—I’m always working on your case, Touya. It’s my number one priority. Every morning. Every day. Every night. I’m calling, and emailing, and donating, and meeting, and shaking hands, and signing shit, and arranging, and talking, and promising, and promoting, and—and trying and it’s not enough. Why am I not enough? What am I doing wrong? I let you down once already and I can’t—I’m serious, I can’t do it anymore. I have to get you out. I miss you. And you’re in here because of me.”
“Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?” Touya pulls a face. “I don’t recall you—”
“I could’ve stopped you.” Keigo cuts him off pitifully. “I should’ve. All I do is regret that I didn’t try harder back then, because we wouldn’t be like this now. If I’d just admitted how I felt. If I hadn’t been so afraid.”
Keigo’s voice is so small, so frail, and he hates it. He hates this entire conversation.
Touya sighs, long and heavy. He presses his forehead into Keigo’s warm neck, breathes again his rapid-fire pulse. He must be so hot from the season, and all the heightened emotions. The precipice of murder. It’s like a memory in reverse.
“Birdie.” Touya kisses his salty neck. He brushes his fingertips in little circles over Keigo’s bare skin, trying to bring him down from the ledge. “You couldn’t have stopped me even if you tried. I promise. I would’ve finished what I started with your pretty wings. This was inevitable.—Actually, a funeral was inevitable. You can thank Shoto there wasn’t one.”
“I have.” Keigo says without skipping a beat.
Hm. Touya wonders how often Keigo and Shoto talk independently, but now isn’t really the time to ask.
“But. If I’d never killed Twice.” Keigo says suddenly, and then it hangs in the air. Because every time they talk about it, it’s gets too messy.
Touya searches for words.
“…You can’t wonder about the ‘what ifs.’ What if I’d never gone to Sekoto Peak? You think I don’t think about that one?” Touya scoffs. He sounds like his goddamn therapist.
“If you’ve been blaming yourself for this for six years, you’re an idiot.” Touya gives him one more chaste kiss, under his jaw. “And you are enough. I’m just. A super villain.”
They sit in the quiet for a while. Keigo’s heartbeat calms eventually. It’s more like he’s…drained of all energy. The feathers surrounding them slow down, no longer scattering like leaves in the wind. They fold over each other on the floor, like a pile of snakes.
“You’re not a super villain anymore.” Keigo whispers. “You haven’t been for a long time.”
That’s true, Touya supposes. But does it really matter? He’s gonna rot here for the rest of his life either way.
Keigo’s body languishes in exhaustion. He finally tilts into Touya, no longer so rigid. They just exist together, for some time.
Touya watches the feathers on the floor as they coil around squares of moonlight. There’s a lot of them, and they’ve been through a metaphorical blender, all out of sorts.
“Hey.” Touya nudges his partner, gently ungluing from his side. They’re both sticky with Keigo’s sweat. “Why don’t you sit on the bed and call those back? Where’s your preening oil?”
Keigo crams the heels of his hands into his eyes as Touya stands. His face is probably crusty, too. Touya will wash it for him.
“In my bag.” Keigo croaks, sounding like shit. He clambers up on unsteady feet while Touya roots in his duffel. Behind him, a swoosh of creased feathers fly home. He turns around to see Keigo flapping Fierce Wings, trying to reorganize the rows. He sighs, like it’s uncomfortable.
“Sit.” Touya gestures, bottle in hand. He tosses it next to Keigo and then gets a cold, wet wash cloth from the bathroom. Touya glides it over his face first, shushing when Keigo tries to protest.
“Shut up and chill.” He chides, gentle against his eyes. Touya slides the rag down his Adam’s apple, and then plops it behind Keigo’s neck to keep cooling him off.
He climbs behind Keigo on the bed and finds the oil among the sheets. After liberally coating his palms, he gets to work.
It didn’t take long after confessing their feelings to each other for Keigo to invite Touya into this ritual. It was maybe their third visitation, after Touya had debauched his wings again. Once that had become sort of a fun routine, Keigo had requested help cleaning them up and getting them back to working order.
It’s…Grooming his wings isn’t so sexual as it is intimate. Deeply so, actually.
Touya had barely been used to cuddling and was alarmed at how private it was, at the time. Keigo had blushed through the entire explanation, which was funny, because, Touya had literally fucked him into incoherence minutes before.
It’s second nature, now, though.
He threads his fingers through the most unique, personal part of him, his pretty bird. He helps put him back together in a carefully-laid puzzle, one that’s full of particular, reactive pieces. He knows which spots to gloss over, which spots to give extra attention, which spots want to go against the grain more than others. He knows exactly which areas love his attention and which areas hate it. And all of them are plush, all of them are as divine as they are deadly.
Learning Keigo had been as beautiful then as it is now.
His sad little Birdie.
A noise almost like a purr (more like a coo) rumbles from Keigo’s chest as the process continues. Touya’s near wrapping up, but he transitions from his wings to his human shoulders, massages into them with slick hands. He’s still running hot, but not so…violently.
“Thank you.” Keigo mumbles, half asleep. Fierce Wings ripple too, as if to say so themselves.
“Lay down.” Touya encourages softly, lightly pulling him sideways. It takes a little effort, but Keigo finally succumbs. When his head hits the pillow, he breathes haggardly like he’s ancient. Touya’s convinced he’s knocked out after that, but Keigo speaks up shortly after.
“Touya?” He mumbles.
“Yeah?”
Keigo flips over on the bed, sluggish and uncoordinated. Golden eyes find his, shiny in the dark. Maybe they’d look scary to someone else. Predatory. To Touya, they’re a comfort. Familiar fingertips tuck in onto his sternum.
“…I know I said I can’t do this anymore. But. You know I obviously will, and want to. I was just…” Keigo’s fighting sleep, but he rolls his eyes, likely at himself. “It’s spring. I feel insane about you. Insane. I swear I’ve never missed you this much. I want you all the time. Not just for forty-eight stupid hours.”
It’s…intensely open of him. Keigo hasn’t at all shied away from his love in recent years, but it’s so earnest here, so clear on his face.
Touya will never get over that.
He smirks at him. “You’ll miss me a lot more in a maximum-security prison, Kei.”
Keigo ignores the quip and burrows forward, mashing into his favorite spot at Touya’s collarbone. He smells bright like eucalyptus and rich like the earth, like he always does after they spruce his wings. The scent clings to Touya’s skin too, after the weekend together.
Touya shuts his eyes against Keigo’s curly hair.
“Don’t you fucking dare go off the deep end, okay?” He says, “Not until I’m out of prison, at least. Then we can do it together. Go on the run. It’s kinda hot.”
Keigo’s too sleepy to reply, but he nods. The lips against his chest twitch into a smile.
——
Shoto is dog shit at Scrabble. Like, pathetic at it.
Sure, he doesn’t have as much free time to sit around and study English as Touya does, but the lack of effort is laughable.
“Seriously?” Touya deadpans, gesturing to the game board. “The best you can do right now is ‘cat’?”
His younger brother sighs, blowing hair out of his face. He scans his available tiles and adds an “s” at the end.
“There. ‘Cats.’ Plural.—That was my last turn, I don’t have anything good left.”
Touya rolls his eyes and tallies up their scores. Shoto trails way behind him, as usual.
“Another loss.” Touya taps his pencil on the notepad. “Embarrassing for you.”
Shoto sips his tea, pushing the letter stand away to indicate that he’s done playing for now.
“I worked fourteen hours yesterday, I’ll get you back tomorrow.—Or mom will next time she visits you. She’s good at this game.”
Touya hums. She is. Their mom is the only one who ever obliterates him in Scrabble.
“Aw, should I be flattered, Shoto? You’re so exhausted from work and still came to see little old me? What a good baby brother.” Touya takes a swig of his own tea, sets down the ceramic cup. Shoto always brings new ones for them to try, whatever looks interesting. They have a lot of the same preferences.
“Have to take my chances when I get them.” Shoto says as he slumps into the seat, resting his cheek in his hand. “With Hawks snatching every other visit, it’s been months since I’ve spent the weekend with you.”
Ah. That’s a good point.
“I’m a hot commodity.” Touya jokes, smirking.
Shoto really does look exhausted. There are bags under his eyes. He’s been busting his ass, currently tied for Number Two hero with that loudmouthed guy, Bakugou. Midoriya Izuku shines extravagantly at the top spot, according to Keigo.
Keigo, Hawks, who has fallen into the late twenties, or maybe thirties? His “priorities have changed,” is what he says. And all those U.A. kids are making names for themselves, climbing up the ladder past the old pros. Touya doesn’t press Keigo about it too much, or bring it up often.
Endeavor has somehow managed to stay in the top ten, despite all the new heroes flourishing. It’s annoying.
Touya drums the table with his thumb. He rolls his shoulders in an apologetic way.
“Nah, but, I know. I…wish I could see you more, too. Hawks just…” He trails off, deciding on the best words to explain.
Shoto smiles across from him. One of those bratty, sly ones. Very Shoto.
“No need to go into detail. I don’t want to know what these four walls have seen.” He teases. Two-toned eyes glint at him.
“Ass.” Touya gripes. He reaches over to thwap Shoto on the head, but he dodges easily.
Touya stands and ruffles his brother’s hair anyway (Shoto lets him), padding over to the couch. He flops down with a grunt and kicks his feet onto the armrest. The thing’s a piece of crap but everything in this shitty little building is still better than in his goddamn cell.
“Get laid every once in a while and then you won’t judge me for doing the same.” Touya snarks with a grin.
Shoto sits up and leans back into his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest. It’s still weird that he looks like a fucking adult now and not a snot-nosed toddler. Touya spent so long without him that, even now, it can still be jarring.
“Who says I don’t?”
Touya splutters. “Ew, what? Gross.”
He lobs a gray throw pillow at Shoto, who catches it before it smashes into his teacup. He tosses it back so it whacks Toya in the leg.
“I’m seeing someone.” His brother says simply, without missing a beat.
Touya holds up a hand in shock. “Excuse me? What?”
“I’m seeing someone.” Shoto repeats, at almost exactly the same cadence, like Touya just didn’t hear him instead of didn’t believe him.
“Wha—who? You haven’t mentioned anyone since that short-lived thing with Deku after you finished school. That was years ago?”
“I know. This was sort of…random and unexpected. But we’ve been together a few months now.”
Touya sits up straighter in surprise. “Months? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? The fuck?”
Not that they tell each other everything, but.
Shoto sips his drink nonchalantly. “I wanted to be sure it was serious before I told anyone, otherwise it’s stupid.”
Touya rubs his forehead. All right, well. That tracks for Shoto.
“You’re so serious, Sho. That’s so…I dunno, formal. Old school of you.”
“Maybe it’s because our family handles romantic relationships so well.” He retorts. “I didn’t want to rush something.”
Ah, well. That also tracks.
“Fair enough.” Touya nods. He literally tried to murder Keigo once, so. He settles down more comfortably into the couch cushions. “All right then, tell me about them.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Um, I dunno, their name? What they do, what they look like? Why is this challenging?”
“It’s not challenging.” Shoto replies. He sets down his teacup and pours in a fresh serving. “Just didn’t know what specifics you might want first. His name is Shinsou Hitoshi. He went to U.A. but wasn’t in my class until after the war. He’s a Pro Hero now like me and we were assigned to work together a few times, which is how we…reconnected.”
Touya raises his eyebrows. There are a lot of implications there but Shoto isn’t really the kiss-and-tell type. It’s weird to think of Shoto kissing anyone, period, actually. Eugh.
“You got a picture of him? Would I remember him?” In between all the bloodlust and rage-fueled hysteria, of course.
Shoto sighs, but in an amused sort of way. “Maybe.”
He digs out his phone and pads over to the couch, sliding through the screen.
(Touya misses having a fucking phone. He’d sell his fancy, fake arm for three hours on YouTube.)
His little brother seems satisfied with the one he selects and turns the device to face Touya.
It’s notably not a press photo, but a personal one. Something quick in a coffee shop. The guy’s got a whole mess of purple hair and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, maybe. He wears a heavy scarf around his neck and fingerless gloves and cradles a glass of something beige and caffeinated in one hand. He’s looking at the camera mid-drink, like he’s caught off guard. The corner of his mouth ticks into a smile.
“That’s him.” Shoto supplies. He sounds…smitten. He swipes through another few photos and shows one of the two of them at a cat cafe, or something along those lines. A brown tabby squishes between them and Shoto looks…joyful. His eyes sparkle poetically or some shit, even if his tiny grin is as reserved as ever.
That’s all Touya needs to see.
“I remember him some.” He admits truthfully. “Vaguely. But a lot of those things are…blurry, now.”
Shoto shoves Touya’s legs out of the way to sit on the couch, and then situates them back in his lap.
“He played a fairly big role in the tail end of the war.” Shoto doesn’t go into details, because they just don’t, about the war. That’s enough. “His Quirk is very strong. He’s…admirable, apart from a relationship standpoint. I respected him a lot even before we were together.”
Touya tries to shove his foot into Shoto’s face, just to be an ass. Shoto slaps it out of the way, nearly frost-bites his ankle. Touya lets his foot fall in defeat.
“What does…what does the family think?” Touya asks carefully, not naming names, but his hidden question is fairly obvious.
What does Endeavor think and how is Shoto handling it?
Shoto hums.
“Yumi and Natsu have met him a few times. They seem to all get along well. Mom had lunch with us once, and he was very polite to her, of course.”
Shoto sets his phone down. He folds his arms behind his head and leans against the back of the couch. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling.
“Endeavor is…aware of him. Of our relationship, I mean. Hitoshi works at a different agency so we at least didn’t have to declare anything at work. But I don’t…hm.”
Shoto takes a deep breath. Touya watches him, feels a bit like he’s looking in a mirror. Their shared genes are crazy strong. In some ways. In the sense that they’re spitting images of each other and that they both were crushed under the insurmountable pressure of their father’s expectations.
Ouch.
“I’m employed by Endeavor, technically, yes. But I think that’s temporary. I think…in a lot of ways, I’m going to surpass him. And I’m doing that on my own, without his help. He’s…peripheral. Adjacent to my success, but he no longer has a hand in it. He definitely doesn’t have a hold on me like he used to.”
Shoto is quiet for another minute, thinking. Touya almost wants to hug him, but they don’t hug so much. Sitting together is enough.
It’s nice to see that Shoto actually appears…relaxed.
“I don’t really care, anymore, about Endeavor’s opinion…In all aspects of my life.”
Ah.
That…that flickers something in Touya. Either the warmth of some goopy emotion, some honeyed pride for his baby brother. Or a tiny spark of the white-hot rebellion he used to flourish in Endeavor’s face.
Touya cracks a smile. He jabs the same heel into Shoto’s stomach.
“And that’s what I like to hear, Sho.”
Touya thinks he’s at that point, too. Maybe. Theoretically. He still has no desire to see that bastard. But if he ever does, he hopes he can…come away from it unscathed.
Shoto clutches his sock, yanking Touya’s foot away once more. “Are you trying to lose a leg, too?”
Touya rolls his eyes. “You’d never. Anyway. Enough of your sappy fucking love life. Show me some good YouTube videos.”
——
Keigo is late today. By over two hours. They haven’t seen each other in over a week, because work has apparently been “a walking shit show.”
And he’s…been on this kick. Fully convinced and wholeheartedly believes that he’s actually going to get Touya out of jail “for real this time.”
In a phone call yesterday he said so. He’s supposedly going to pick him up today.
Yeah, okay. Funny concept. He’s either smoking something or about to crack from the stress of his real job. He’s delusional.
Touya had humored him, because what else can he do? The adamant denial track had only given Keigo enough turmoil to threaten murder.
But Touya will fucking believe it when he sees it.
When his partner doesn’t show up within fifteen minutes of the scheduled visitation time, Touya’s escorted back to his cell.
He knows Keigo will eventually show up a mess. Looking forlorn, apologizing that he got it all wrong. He’ll probably bring a bouquet of flowers because he’s a cheesy little shit. Maybe some soba to soften the blow. That’ll be decent, at least. They can eat dinner together, kiss goodbye, and part ways like always.
It’ll be…fucking fine.
Touya doesn’t really have another option.
It has to be fine. Out of necessity. After seven goddamn years and a million more to go. “Fine” is the only thing it can be.
He lays in bed and reads the book Natsuo bought for him for the second time. (Keigo was supposed to be bringing the last one in the series today.) The sun continues to dip lower outside, casting long shadows into the room from the barred window.
Touya peeks at it. The sky’s bright and blue today.
Painfully optimistic.
He hates it. Cuts his eyes back to the page.
Touya exhales and tries to focus on the words but they eventually slush together into nonsense.
Why’s Keigo so late?
He’s—he’s late all the time, it’s the nature of being a Pro Hero. But if today was so important, if today was some expected release date, why isn’t he here to get Touya like he said?
Did he change his mind?
…No. Touya shuts his eyes. That’s fucking idiotic. He wouldn’t.
And even so, conceptualizing, and guessing, and wondering about any of it is idiotic, especially when the situation isn’t even—it’s not going to happen.
(Touya can’t let himself think it’ll happen. When he’s inevitably let down, it’ll salt the wound even more.)
He sighs and slumps down, pillowing his head on his arms.
A nap sounds good. He can dream, at least. He can envision—
Touya’s cell door suddenly beeps and kerchunks open. He sits up with a start, knocking his book to the floor.
“Mr. Todoroki.” The guard nods. One of his regulars. His facial expression doesn’t indicate anything is different, so—
“Gather your personal effects.”
His…his what?
Touya stares at him. His what?
No.
There’s.
“Anything that belongs to you. Please bring it with you.”
Belongs to him. Why?
Does Touya even own anything, anymore? He has, like, two books in here. Those are his. He looks down at the one on the floor, split open in the middle. The other is by the foot of the bed, finished last week.
Is he…moving cells again? Are they taking away his sunlight?
His heart picks up. Anything but that.
(His heart refuses to believe anything otherwise.)
“Or would you prefer to stay?” The guard asks, voice flat.
Stay?
Touya clings to the single word. Robotically, he pushes to stand, picks up his tattered novels.
“Stay?” He parrots weakly.
His heart pounds. He feels hot, for the first time in almost a decade. Like his skin’s going to light up right here, deep and abundantly blue.
There’s no way. No way that Keigo…
“…Am I going back?” Touya asks, barely louder than a whisper.
“Huh?” The guard’s voice is clipped, short, like he’s got better things to do. That’s always his tone.
“Back to my old cell?” Touya hates to even ask. If the answer is ‘yes,’ he’s going to…probably lose it. If the answer is ‘no’…he doesn’t. He doesn’t know where he’s going.
“You’re getting out today, Todoroki. Thought you knew that?”
Touya…fails to breathe. For so long that his chest aches. His first inhale stabs like a knife, clear through the ribs.
Out?
No fucking way.
“Just have to do some minor processing and then you’re free to leave. Mr. Hawks is here.”
Free to leave.
Free. To Leave.
It rings in his head like a tolling church bell, loud enough to drown out an entire town. He almost drops his books again but he’s squeezing them so hard that, if he still had his Quirk, they’d be on fire.
Free to leave.
No fucking way.
Touya struggles to speak. He must just flounder there because the guard waves a hand, inviting him out of the room.
Out.
“Let’s go. Is that all you have?”
Touya chances a look at the books. Swallows glass and slowly takes in the room another time. He hates this room. He gets stuck on the window, the sky, the expanse of it as brilliant as familiar flame.
“Yeah.”
Touya follows him. But he’s…in a feverish fugue state. He isn’t handcuffed. He’s just…led down a hallway he’s never been down, out two sets of armored double doors. The walls are all white and steel.
Touya tastes steel too, tastes metal, probably where he’s gritting his teeth hard enough to make his gums bleed.
There’s still no fucking way.
It’s…it can’t be true. It’s a cruel test, something his therapist is backing, probably.
But.
The guard hands him a duffel bag at their final destination—Keigo’s duffel bag, it’s Keigo’s.
“There are some clothes in there he brought. Once you’re changed we’ll program your ankle monitor and then escort you out.”
Escort him out.
Outside.
Out.
Touya numbly takes the bag. The straps are well worn and the zipper sticks a bit, he knows from how many times he’s opened it himself.
They’re in a pretty plain room. There’s a desk and some shelving units and a large work table with a computer and printer. The guard turns to pick up some nondescript electronic shit while Touya changes.
Inside the bag are some clothes Touya doesn’t recognize. They’re not new, they’re missing the tags and smell like Keigo’s detergent, but…it seems Kei purchased them for him. Anything of Keigo’s would be too short. Comfortable joggers, a soft t-shirt, and an oversized zip-up jacket. Slip-on shoes and black socks. Things that are easy, right now.
It strikes Touya as he pulls them on that he hasn’t had any clothing to call his own in seven fucking years. What does he even like anymore?
His hands are shaking when he catches the zipper of the jacket, slides it up nearly to his neck. He drops the two books into the empty duffel, leaves his standard prison garb on the ugly concrete floor in a pile.
Then he just…stands there. Watches the back of the guard as he fiddles with something.
This still isn’t real.
It’s impossible.
He must’ve fallen asleep in his cell, he must be dreaming this. He wades through all the shit in his head to try and wake up.
What if he pinches himself? Slaps himself? Knocks out the guard? Is this a limitless fantasy realm? Can he just—
“Foot, please.” The guard prompts suddenly, twisting around a chair for Touya to prop up on.
He obeys, used to direction now, and steps up with the right one.
The guard shoves up the leg of his pants just a bit and then loops a thick—chain?—around his ankle. It flashes red, then blue, then green, and dulls again. The device molds snugly to Touya like a second skin.
“Forceful removal of the monitor and failure to comply with parole basically guarantees your ass back in the clink, Todoroki, so I wouldn’t mess around.”
He’s…still in the clink though.
This isn’t real. He’s not getting out.
There’s just no way. It’s a dream.
“Sit.” The guard nods to the chair. He hands him a gigantic packet of paperwork. “We’ll review the terms of your parole and you’ll need to sign all these claiming you understand them. If you have any issue, well, today’s not really the day to fix them, it’ll have to be discussed among the board, and usually in court. But Mr. Hawks has certainly…”
The guard shakes his head, actually with a soft laugh, “That guy’s worked some kinda magic. You’re in pretty good standing, to be honest with you. Every three years these will be up for stipulation again. All that to say, don’t fuck this up. You’re kind of annoying as a charge, I don’t wanna see you back here.”
Touya isn’t sure if that’s some sort of hidden affection or appreciation, or blatant honesty. He’s too jumbled to comprehend most of it right now.
Even as far as his terms go—definitely not good practice with legal documents, but Touya just nods through them, full of radio static. He signs blindly. He can’t—he’s still so afraid—he’s still petrified he’ll wake up gasping.
He probably will. Any minute now.
And his hands still shake, and his signature looks weird even after all these years with the prosthetic. And he’s ten thousand degrees when he scribbles his initials on the last page.
Because this is where it’ll end, right?
The guard collects the packet and scans in each document at the desk behind him. Touya watches, vision hazy, full of panic, and anticipation, and nausea, and—
The loud snap of the stapler makes him jump.
“All right. This way.”
No fucking way. No fucking way. No fucking way.
He’s going to wake up.
Maybe this entire fucking world has been a dream and he’s going to wake up after a years-long coma again with a face he doesn’t recognize anymore and—
Oh.
Oh, they’re outside. They’re under the sky.
Not a cloud in sight today.
Doors opened to hallways that opened to more doors and now they’re…on the sidewalk in the front of the building. Touya’s never even seen this view of it. It’s just a parking lot, and a high, stone wall, and he’s gripping the duffel bag like a lifeline. Touya blinks around, spooked, like a fucking newborn baby deer.
Then the guard lifts a hand in greeting to. To Keigo.
Keigo.
It’s Keigo.
“He’s all yours.” The guard indicates to Touya. Then the guard’s ducking back inside. “Be good, Todoroki.”
And he disappears and.
And.
Touya can’t breathe.
Oh, fuck. Is he about to faint? There’s a choking sound but he realizes it—it’s him—and he can’t really even see Keigo, but he feels a body hurdling into his, and strong arms wrapping over him, and warm salt on his cheeks. Big, red wings shield him, hold him, protect him. Familiar feathers swish everywhere they can touch.
He’s going to wake up.
Touya drops the duffel bag. He claws into Keigo’s jacket—he’s wearing a suit? Why is he wearing a suit? And he smells like sweat and stale coffee.
He’s going to wake up.
“Told you.” Keigo snivels out. It sounds pathetic.
Touya can’t respond. He’s going to wake up. He’s also…definitely sobbing, maybe. God. He can’t really differentiate between inhaling, and retching, and crying. He can’t find his voice or his words. He can’t remember the last time he sobbed like this.
Tiny cheeps join him, sad, weak ones, and eventually quiet coos of consolation. Keigo crams his head into Touya’s temple as hard as he can and they tremble together, they superglue into one body.
He’s going to wake up.
“Let’s go home.” Kei finally coughs. He pulls back, grabbing each of Touya’s cheeks to finally catch his focus. “Lemme take you home.”
He’s going to wake up.
“Keigo.” Touya finally manages. Sounds like he’s been throat-punched.
His partner is a wreck. His normally-perfect hair is flat and greasy. Deep, dark circles indent underneath his eyes like bruises. His tie is askew and there’s a stain on his shirt and his feathers are ruffled in a way that has to be driving him crazy.
“Told you I’d do it.” Keigo reiterates, so puny but so peaceful. “Only took me…Seven years and twelve days. But I did it, Touya.”
Keigo kisses him. He tastes like sunlight. When Touya tries to remember the flavor of fire, it’s that. It’s this.
“Come home with me.” His partner says, against his lips. Like an “I love you,” a long time ago.
“Is this a dream?” Touya dares after. His heart thunders. “I’m going to wake up.”
Keigo laughs, and Touya—fucking wishes he could bottle it. If he’s still actually in a jail cell, and this is a dream, he wants to save it for a rainy day.
“I promise it’s not. Let’s go. I didn’t jailbreak you to stand in a parking lot. Come home with me.”
Home. With Keigo.
Touya doesn’t even know what to say.
“Okay.”
It’s strange, to get in a car after not doing that for seven years. Even when they’d transported him to the visitation house, it was essentially in a big metal box in the back of a shuttle. Didn’t have a seat.
He almost forgets how to even buckle up.
Keigo sheds a lot of his feathers to fit in the driver’s seat and cuddles them all over Touya’s body. They’re cozy and welcome. He leaves the radio off, because Touya’s already overwhelmed enough.
They don’t really talk. Keigo’s visually exhausted, but content. So content. And Touya’s stunned into silence as he basks in the—the wilderness. The trees. The mountains. Eventually the return of civilization as they make their way into the city down long paved routes. Everything is so…colorful.
He doesn’t remember life before being this vibrant.
(And is that because he just spent so long behind bars? Or because Dabi was more bitter than Touya is? Dabi saw things in black and white, in between gray shadows.)
The other staggering thing is the people. There are so fucking many of them. Scattering over crosswalks like ants, carrying shopping bags, groceries, talking with their friends and families. A few Pro Heroes he doesn’t know whizz by, on patrol.
The roads and pathways are all foreign, the buildings are different. Touya very vaguely recognizes the part of town they’re in but it’s been so goddamn long. And so much was leveled during the war. Touya himself did a lot of that damage.
What would these people say, if they knew who Hawks has in the passenger seat?
What will they say when they recognize him, in due time? What will they do?
Touya’s out, but. He’s not necessarily welcome.
If he thinks about it too much he feels sick.
“You’re okay.” Keigo tells him out of nowhere. Touya looks over like a question, but the feathers against his sternum swirl.
Ah, yeah. They can tell. They can feel his pulse. He probably smells different, too.
“It’s okay.” Keigo promises, reaching across the center console to touch his knee. It’s grounding.
“This is going to be…a gigantic adjustment.” Keigo nods. “But you’re okay. I’m gonna make sure of it.”
“You already did, Kei.” Touya finally jokes, taking an unsteady breath. Tries his best to gather himself. “…Thank you. That’s not…enough, but, thank you.”
His partner shoots over a playful wink. “You can make it up to me, don’t worry.”
“Maybe if you shower first.” Touya teases. He lets his hand fall atop the one on his leg. Their fingers knit loosely together while Keigo drives. Hopefully they’re close to his place. Is it the same place as before? The one Touya never ventured to, afraid he’d get too attached?
(Look how fucking attached he is now. Dabi was an idiot.)
“…Also, is this your car? I didn’t even know you had a car?” Touya inquires, trying to remain calm amidst more street lights, and billboards, and restaurants, and road signs, and everything. There’s so much everything. His eyes strain with the effort to see it all.
“Ha.” Keigo turns a corner efficiently. “No. Borrowed it from work. I usually fly to you when I visit, but, figured you wouldn’t wanna fly home. Maybe a bit much for day one.”
“A bit.” Touya agrees. This is already a lot and he’s still half-convinced he’s going to wake up from it. “Are we getting close?”
“Just about. Few more minutes. You can close your eyes if you want, I’ll tell you when we get there.” The hand on his knee squeezes. Touya looks down, realizes talons are poking tiny holes in his new sweatpants. Keigo probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
It’s so…him that it makes Touya smirk. It puts him at ease, like sinking into an onsen.
“No, that’s okay. Just ready to…be home with you, like you said.”
“Yeah?” Keigo steals a glance at him again. It’s boyish and excited, openly endearing.
“Yeah. Obviously.”
A handful of scarlet feathers wiggle against Touya’s neck.
The rest of the drive swirls by like water down the drain. Too fast to process, and Touya’s brain is frothy like soap suds.
They pull up to a high rise in the center of town and Keigo circles around to the back. He fiddles with his phone and then a garage door rolls up automatically.
“This is my private entrance.” Keigo explains, actually a little sheepish. “Once we get your phone set up I’ll give you all the permissions, and access, and codes to everything, obviously.”
Touya nods. It’s dark in here once the garage closes again, and there are two other empty parking spaces. He assumes for guests. Keigo opens his door for him and calls his feathers home. They speed out of the car first and Touya follows. Keigo leads him to an elevator, scans his thumb over a glass panel and the door pings open with a green bulb.
“Top floor awaits.” Keigo gestures for him to enter.
The elevator is nondescript, but, large enough to fit a set of wings. And yeah, they’re going to the penthouse, that’s for sure.
“Twenty-fifth floor?” Touya raises his eyebrows. “Kei…how rich are you, really? You’ve never really given me a…number.”
Keigo sucks his teeth and laughs, scratching the back of his head.
“Let’s discuss that another day, Hot Stuff.”
That’s fair, but. God. The elevator opens to a short hallway and a giant white door. Keigo’s clearly trying to be casual about it all when he lays his palm on the scanner for that one too. A musical melody goes off and he tugs down the golden handle.
Okay. So Keigo’s like…loaded loaded.
The ceiling allows plenty of room for him to fly laps in here, if he wanted to. Touya literally cranes his neck to peer up at it, and the intricate glass chandelier that lights the place. The floors are marble, shimmering white, and the walls are sleek and a creamy shade of gold. His kitchen is gourmet, but Touya knows he can barely cook instant ramen, so it’s more comedic than anything; all these stainless steel appliances and a guy who probably doesn’t even use them.
The living room is ginormous, with an excessively-large television, a huge couch, and a fluffy maroon rug. Along the opposite wall, a set of double doors opens to a balcony big enough for a Keigo-sized landing pad. A sweeping view of the city sprawls ahead of them.
Touya blinks. Well. He lives here now.
“…Hm. Not as nice as my cell, but.” His lips twist, an attempt at humor amidst the shock. It makes sense, that Keigo was able to pull him a better room at the facility. That Keigo was able to spring him out of jail. He’s respectable in…more ways than one.
“Yeah, yeah, stuff it.” Keigo laughs and kicks out of his dress shoes. “The Commission set me up really nicely, and, I get a lot of brand deals…Like. A lot of them. Just make yourself comfortable, okay? It’s your place now, too.”
And if that doesn’t make Touya’s head spin. Hearing it out loud.
He’s home here.
With Keigo.
And he still hasn’t woken up, and it’s been a while so. Maybe he really isn’t dreaming.
Keigo takes the duffel bag from him and sets it on the kitchen counter while Touya gets out of his own shoes.
“Do you want to sleep? Or shower? Or I could make you something to eat? What sounds good right now?” His partner asks, wings flitting almost nervously. Like now that they’re here, he’s overwhelmed at the reality, too.
“I…” Touya breathes deeply and looks around again. There’s not much artwork or decor, but there are a few framed photos. Keigo, Tokoyami, and Rumi; Keigo and Best Jeanist; Keigo and Shoto? Interesting. And then there are several, a whole collage, of Keigo and Touya. All of them taken in their stupid little shack. Shitty selfies, Touya not even paying attention in a few, like they were snapped in secret.
Touya looks back at him. Wide tawny eyes meet his, borderline nervous.
“I dunno.” Touya answers truthfully. “You seem tired, and stressed. Should we just, like, lay down for a bit?…I don’t even know, Kei. I’m still kind of…freaking the fuck out. This doesn’t feel real.”
“I think it’s like, the comedown of stress, for me.” Keigo explains with an exhale. He reaches forward, grabs Touya’s hand. “Don’t have a reason to be stressed anymore, ‘cause you’re finally here.”
Keigo kisses his knuckles, then starts to walk towards what is presumably the bedroom.
However, when he gets in the threshold, he stops cold. Touya crashes into him with a grunt, feathers to the face.
“What’s—”
“Um.” Keigo says suddenly. He audibly swallows. “I forgot to clean up. I’ve been so busy. Fuck. Sorry. Just. Wait here a second?”
Touya rolls his eyes and squeezes his shoulder. He lightly pushes him forward. “Do you really think I give a shit about that? Like, actually? Don’t worry about it.”
Keigo backpedals against him. Even more feathers to the face. “No, no, it’s really messy.”
“Stop being stupid. I promise I’ve lived in worse. Can we just—”
“Touya.” Keigo squeaks. And he…sounds really embarrassed. That’s…different. Now he’s intrigued.
Touya pauses. He pretends to back off, scooting back into the living room, and Keigo’s wings sag in front of him, relieved. The moment he lets his guard down, though, Touya slides along his side, bursting into the bedroom.
“Oh, c’mon!” Keigo whines in protest.
His bedroom is also extremely large, with an elegant en suite bathroom attached. It’s actually very clean, so Touya doesn’t get what the hell he’s freaking out about…until he sees the bed.
It’s a king-sized, center of the room, under a window. And it’s…covered in blankets and pillows. And…clothing? So much clothing. Pieces are spilling off the side of it, onto the floor, mostly in shades of black. T-shirts, hoodies, pants, even single, unmatched socks? And there’s…a tiny, ratty-as-fuck Endeavor plushie, near the headboard.
Keigo’s gone remarkably silent. Touya can practically hear him freaking the hell out. He approaches the bed and goes for the Endeavor plush first. It’s in atrocious shape, clearly well-loved.
Keigo chirps when Touya picks it up.
“My mom bought me that.” He says quickly, almost all in one word. “I know that he’s—I know I shouldn’t keep it. Knowing what I know now, but. Fuck. Sorry. I just really should’ve cleaned up. Uh.”
Touya sets it down gently, because. He gets that. He won’t get angry for something like that. Not anymore.
He scoops up a t-shirt. It’s also very old, pinpricked with tiny holes, as if from ten sharp talons. He stares at it, almost…recognizes it?
“…Kei…Is…is all this stuff…mine?”
“Um.”
“Like, from before?”
“Well.”
“Did you steal all this from the compound?”
“Umm.”
Touya plops the shirt back onto the bed, then starts examining the rest. Yeah, definitely his. He’d wondered where the hell that hoodie went, had blamed Toga for weeks.
Toga.
Huh. Aw.
Weird.
Touya starts laughing. And then he can’t stop. He laughs into the hoodie, eventually using it to wipe tears. An hour ago he’d been distraught about not having clothes of his own in seven years and yet, here’s a whole pile. His clothes, Dabi’s clothes, Touya’s clothes. Ones Hawks stole, that Keigo kept. For almost a decade. Sleeping with them.
“Keigo.” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “C’mere, please. Stop fucking panicking. Come here.”
His partner crosses the room, wings trembling. He glances at the bed, then back at Touya.
“This is embarrassing.” He admits. “Thought you’d be mad.”
“Why would I be mad?”
“…’Cause I took them? ‘Cause it’s—fucking weird. I dunno. Nobody’s seen my ne—”
Keigo bites down, cuts himself off.
Touya sets down the clothing, holds out his arms for Keigo to come closer. He does, face cherry red. It’s stupid how cute it is. Touya wraps his fingers over sculpted biceps.
“What? Your ‘nest’?” He teases with a smirk. “Nobody’s seen your nest?”
Keigo glares at the ceiling, blush spreading down his neck. It tucks under the loose collar of his shirt, below his off-center tie.
“Don’t call it that.”
“You were about to call it that.” Touya teases. He squeezes tighter. He glides down, dragging his palms slowly over Keigo’s forearms. He links their hands again.
“My pretty bird.” He mutters appreciatively.
Keigo looks back down to meet his gaze. He’s…so beautiful. Even when he’s running on zero sleep, and his hair’s a wreck, and he’s exhausted.
Keigo allows himself to smile. It’s small and bashful, but playful.
“Fine. That’s what it is. I just…it feels good, to be around your stuff. It was the next best thing.” His eyes study Touya’s face, he wonders what exactly he’s thinking. “But now I have the best thing, so I can put it all away and—”
“No.” Touya tightens his grip on Keigo’s hands.
And that’s…yeah, that’s the moment the air shifts. Keigo’s pupils expand and Fierce Wings twitch behind him.
“No?”
“I think you should leave it.” Touya says. And suddenly he feels so alive. He’s fully convinced he’s not dreaming, because in what God-awful dream world would Touya put an Endeavor plushie on his lover’s bed? Not even he’s that self-deprecating.
“I think…” Touya tilts their faces together. “Maybe, if you’re up for it, you should let me fuck you in your nest.”
Keigo inhales sharply.
“If you aren’t too tired.” Touya tags on, genuinely. Because, really, he does look tired.
But his Birdie positively melts. A wide grin spreads across his face, canines poking out at the corners. His feathers jumble excitedly.
“I was hoping that ‘laying down’ was really a code for that anyway, because—”
Touya doesn’t give him a chance to finish. The smashes their lips together, surging forward to press Keigo down to the mattress. He peeps and meets Touya with just as much enthusiasm.
“Wait,” Keigo gasps between kisses. He fumbles beside them, clutches the Endeavor plush, and chucks it across the room. It hits the wall with a quiet thud.
“Too weird.” Keigo almost giggles.
“Too weird.” Touya agrees with a smirk, before smothering him again.
They wrestle Keigo out of his suit jacket and his dress shirt, nearly popping the seams of each. His feathers jumble around to help the process.
And God, Touya wants to tug off the tie with his teeth. He grapples it with one hand, lifting Keigo off the bed for just a few seconds, sliding to grip underneath the arch of his sweaty back.
Keigo croons breathlessly, hums into it. His wings scrunch against the blankets and flap fervently. When he’s lowered back to the bed, he groans into Touya’s mouth, choking on the rush of fresh air.
“Fuck,” He swears, “Fuck, you’re here.”
“I’m here.” Touya reassures, kissing him harder. He presses a thigh between Keigo’s.
“Mmm.”
As much fun as the tie is, Touya untangles it and tosses it aside to attack his bare neck. Keigo dips his head back, exposing it further, giving himself up. His gorgeous, pink throat. He keeps whispering “you’re here, you’re here,” and Touya’s already ramped up to eleven just from that.
“I’m here, Birdie.” He says again, licking his collarbone. Keigo squirms in pleasure.
“Stay this time.” Keigo half gasps, half laughs. He gathers himself enough to unzip Touya’s jacket and shrug it off his shoulders. And then he’s—fuck—yanking off Touya’s shirt at the speed of light. Their bare abdomen’s smack together and Keigo makes some sound like a feral, wounded animal.
“Please, fucking stay this time.” He practically wails. He snatches clawed fingers into Touya’s hair, drags him into another nasty makeout. They’re, fucking, sucking out each other’s saliva, it’s disgusting.
Touya loves it.
And he loves the feeling of Keigo’s pert nipples against his chest, and his hard cock at Touya’s knee, and a lot of other sensations that he can’t even pinpoint because they’re all happening at once.
“I will.” Touya promises, when they break apart. Keigo’s eyes are bright with lust, but they’re wet. So he pauses, says definitively, “I will, Kei. I love you. I’m here.”
And that…holy shit, sets something insane off.
Keigo groans like he’s been punched. He tosses his head against the sheets, and against like, three different articles of Touya’s old clothing. He breathes them in deeply, scenting them, rolling his hips, and his fingers tighten so hard Touya’s worried he’ll tear his hair out.
“I love you, too.” Keigo pants wildly. “You gotta fuck me right fucking now. Do you know how long—”
“Yeah.”
“Can you—”
“Yeah, yes.”
They scramble of pants, and underwear, and socks. Touya first, Keigo second.
And Touya leaves fat, reddish welts on Keigo’s inner thighs in the process. He shucks his slacks to the floor and then licks his fuzzy skin, kisses up his hip, suckles at the crease between his leg and pelvis. Keigo cries so loud the entire building can probably hear it, especially once the blowjob starts.
“Touya,” He chokes, still death-gripping his hair by the roots.
It’s sloppy, just for fun, just to make him writhe under Touya’s talent. It’s fast, sounds positively pornographic. When his partner’s dick pulses in his mouth, like he’s close, Touya switches to a rimjob.
“Babe—fuck,” Keigo keens at the transition. His hips cant upwards, but Touya keeps him in place with a firm hand to the stomach.
“Nnngh,” Keigo shudders as he laps deeper. Touya misses when he could warm his fingers, but Keigo still seems to thoroughly enjoy it when they join in, too.
Two off the bat, Keigo can take it.
“Shit, ohmygod—can—please, Touya, fuck me.”
He’s shivering, under Touya’s tongue. Rather than respond, or more like, as a response, Touya licks him even faster. Swirls his tongue.
“Ahh. Ah! Babe.”
Once Touya’s satisfied with how sopping wet Keigo is, he pulls back. He trails open-mouth kisses everywhere he can reach.
“Just had to open you up, Birdie.” He explains, looking up from his eyelashes. Keigo’s chest is red like his ruby earrings, and so are his lips, from biting down on them so hard. He’s sweaty as hell, but Touya generally likes how he smells, even then. His hair would be funny if he wasn’t so fucking hot.
“I-I think I’m good.” Keigo nods. He wipes his bangs out of his eyes. “I think you can fuck me now.”
“Can I?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I?”
“Touya.”
Touya grins, likes watching him beg. “No, really, honey, should I?”
Keigo might kill him. Or he might die on the spot, it’s hard to tell. He looks like he’s torn between wanting to snap and wanting to scrounge for more.
“Touya, please,” Keigo practically growls, “if you don’t breed me right this second, I—”
Oh.
They both stop. Touya sits up straighter.
Oh.
They’re frozen.
Oh, fuck.
Keigo goes wide-eyed, immediately, panic clear on his face. He tries to recover, poorly.
“I mean, no, like, I didn’t mean—”
“Birdie,” Touya shakes his head.
“It’s—fuck, I dunno, nobody’s ever fucked me in my bed, obviously, I—that was weird, sorry, if you wanna stop—”
“Keigo.” Touya shuffles up to his knees, effectively shutting his partner up. Touya wraps both hands over his tapered waist, then looks him completely up and down, drinking him in. Keigo vibrates under the weight of his gaze.
“Yeah?” He mumbles, clearly nervous in a way Touya doesn’t like. He doesn’t ever want Keigo to be nervous around him. Never again.
“I’ll breed the fuck out of you, baby.”
Keigo’s goddamn eyes roll back. He slumps in relief and barks out a laugh. His hands shake, his wings shake, his teeth practically chatter, like he’s suddenly so excited he can’t stand it.
“God. Fuck. Okay, yeah, please, Touya.”
That’s all it takes.
Touya slides into him with intent, with fervor, with fire, if he could. Somewhere inside him, there’s definitely a shit ton of fire.
“Fuck,” He echoes it the same time Keigo does, in the same down-to-the-soul tone. Every time is the best time, every time feels like the first time, every time makes Touya feel like he’s out of control of his own fucking body. Lust takes over, and melted, sickly-sweet love. It trickles down from his brain, glistens throughout his heart, charges through each harried movement. He wonders if Keigo can feel it in each handprint on his hips.
And he understands Keigo’s animal instincts, really, he does. Because fucking him is second nature for Touya, too.
“Oh,” Keigo squeals, rocking to match each thrust, taking it deeper, taking it better. His eyes screw shut and his claws thread little red marks into Touya’s biceps where he holds on for dear life. “Touya.”
“I’m here.” Touya repeats, reveling in the ecstasy clear on his face. “I’m here, Kei.”
“More.” Keigo lifts his legs, curls those strong, marked-up thighs around Touya’s torso. “I want it harder.”
“Shit,” Touya puffs. That’s so fucking sexy he almost loses his pace, as well as his mind. Yeah, for sure, if he still had a Quirk he’d be branding Keigo’s skin right now.
“Fuck, yeah, Birdie, you take it so good.” Touya picks up speed, tilts at a different angle, presses into him—
“Yeah,” Keigo keens. “Perfect, yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He starts babbling, incoherent human speech mixed in with his cute, little bird noises. Another thing Keigo thinks is weird that makes Touya feel unhinged. To—to send him over the edge like that, past the point of humanity that the Commission whipped into him and insisted upon—it makes Touya crazy. Keigo’s perfect, Keigo’s “weird” and he’s perfect, he wants every bit of him. He wants him in his nest, he wants him begging to be—to be—
“Gonna take my cum like you take my cock, Kei?” Touya chokes out between thrusts. His body is starting to feel so tight, it’s unbearable.
“Holy fuck.” Keigo trills, long and high.
“Gonna let me fill you up, Birdie? Breed you in your nest, make you mine?”
“Touya, shit—”
“You’re mine, aren’t you? My mate?”
Keigo’s heels kick into his back, hard. His claws tear down Touya’s arm, but only the right, like he’s able to keep it together just enough to remember. The metallic ring is lost among their panting, their moaning, their gasping. Fierce Wings flap over and over, crushed into the mattress, catching on clothing, tossing articles of it every which way.
“Fuck, fuck, yeah, give it to me,” Keigo almost screams. He’s so red, he’s so pretty, he’s Touya’s home, this bed is his home now, this place, this person who always has been, but now even more. It’s so much. It’s too much.
Touya’s about to lose it himself. His orgasm is right on the edge, winding up, like he’s going to burst into an inferno. It simmers in all his senses. It roars through his lower stomach.
“I’ll give it to you, and I’ll—God, baby—I’ll take you,” Touya leans forward. Their lips mesh in a sticky half-kiss, half-swallow. They steal each other’s oxygen and Keigo slams his forehead against Touya’s. He slips in the sheen of sweat.
“I’m—Touya, ahngh.”
“I’m here.”
“Touya.”
Keigo comes hard between them, hot as fuck, stringing together “breed me, breed me, breed me,” right into Touya’s ear. He gushes between a litany of other gorgeous sounds.
Fucking Christ. How’s he supposed to last much longer, after that?
So Touya sure as hell does what he asks. He pumps into Keigo as long as he can, making a mess of him, filling him, sending him into a fresh, delirious spiral of nonsense. It’s music to Touya’s ears, it’s orchestral, it’s an angelic choir.
He’s so in love with him that it hurts.
Keigo turns to mush, after, like always. He holds onto Touya like he’s never going to let him go, but the rest of his body droops into the bedding. Touya pulls out gently and cuddles into his side, well aware that the post-sex haze is long and bleary for his partner.
Especially after that.
That was something else.
Touya kisses his shoulder, then rests his chin on it. Keigo’s blissed the fuck out, eyes closed, skin still pink all over. He buzzes like a bee, inhaling hard and slow. His feathers dance back and forth to a secret tune.
“Wow.” Keigo eventually whispers reverently. “Funny the way you can still learn new things about yourself at this age, huh?”
“You’re ridiculous.” Touya sighs, but it’s affectionate. “How do you feel?”
“Like this is the best day of my life.” Keigo’s sleepy eyes finally open and he twists his neck to look over at Touya. This close, he’s just golden, just glorious.
“It’s a pretty good one.” Touya agrees with a smirk. “Best day I’ve had in…”
“Seven years and twelve days?”
“I was gonna say, like three weeks. It was fine.”
Keigo shoves him in the face with a laugh. And it’s sickening how it’s still so stunning, still one of Touya’s favorite sounds. In one of his new favorite places.
“I’m obviously joking.” Touya sighs. “I’m…I’m still feeling strange, I think it’ll take a really long time to…feel normal again, out here. But, yeah, that was a good start.”
“Really good, Hot Stuff.”
They clean up together afterwards in Keigo’s fancy-ass bathroom, with a shower big enough for twenty people. Keigo dotes on him. He washes his hair, gives him soft new loungewear. He heats up a light dinner and then tackles Touya onto his immense couch to “snuggle until the end of time, probably,” is what he says.
“And we can watch whatever you want on TV, you seriously missed so many good shows. I bookmarked a bunch for you.”
That’s sweet. Touya’s a little sleepy to really even listen to the plot explanations, but it feels good to be at Keigo’s side anyway. He nods at what he thinks are appropriate moments. Keigo’s hair tickles Touya’s chin and one of his wings arcs around both of them, like a fluffy umbrella.
He hasn’t been this comfortable in…even long before prison. He can’t remember when.
He hasn’t felt this safe, either.
He’s home now, he keeps reminding himself.
In this place, with this person.
Touya must doze off, because Keigo’s cell ringing wakes him up after a while.
“Sorry,” Keigo apologizes, digging around the couch to answer it. He pauses at the caller ID.
“Fumikage?” Hawks answers, voice tight. “Everything okay?”
Touya grumbles into full consciousness. He shifts to look over at Keigo. His partner’s eyebrows bunch in concern.
“What do you mean he’s not?”
Hm. There’s a long break while Keigo listens.
“Jesus.” Keigo sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I feel like shit, I’m so sorry.—No, I am. I assigned him that. It’s—I can be sorry if I want to…No, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you told me. I’ll go visit him tomorrow. Get some rest too, I know how you are…Oh. Yeah, he’s—we’re good. We can get together soon…Mmhm. Anyway, yeah, keep me updated if anything changes. Thanks, Fumikage. Bye.”
Keigo hangs up and hangs his head. He scratches his jaw. Touya’s about to ask what happened, when he goes into it anyway.
“I assigned Bakugou to work with Tokoyami while I’ve been out finishing up your case, and…I guess he got pretty fucked up on patrol a few days ago. He’s stable, but he’s in the agency med bay. Tokoyami waited a bit to tell me because…you know. Anyway, I just feel like it’s my fault.” He blows out a frustrated breath.
“How is that your fault, Kei?”
“I dunno, just is?”
“Dumb answer.”
Keigo sets his phone on the coffee table and sinks back into the couch, into Touya’s chest.
“I’d like to go see him tomorrow. But that means you have to come.”
Touya blinks. “…Huh? Why?”
“Did you…did they not go over your parole terms?”
“Uh.” Right. The ones Touya glazed through because he thought he was fucking dreaming. “Sorta.”
“You have to be with me, or Shoto, or Rumi, or Tokoyami twenty-four-seven the first month. Just to…make sure.”
“That I don’t go batshit crazy again and kill a bunch of people?” He jokes.
Keigo turns the volume back up on whatever he was watching on TV. It’s apparently a game show, and, hah. What memories.
“Yeah, basically. But, well, anyway, I guess I could ask one of them to hang with you if—”
“I’ll go.” Touya nods. He hugs Keigo a little closer. “It’s the least I can do. After everything you’ve done for me.”
He doesn’t want to say it’s because he doesn’t want to leave Keigo’s side for a while, not yet, at least.
Keigo’s quiet a second. Like he’s thinking. Then he says, “It’s at…the agency building. If you didn’t hear that the first time.”
“Okay?”
“The one I share with…”
Oh. Right.
Touya sucks his teeth. That certainly throws a wrench in things. God, fucking imagine, day one out of prison and seeing his dad sends him on an angry rampage.
Would it?
Will it?
He actually has no idea, he hasn’t seen the guy in person since they almost killed each other in a fiery, apocalyptic battle.
But…Touya didn’t wallow through seven fucking years of mandated therapy to be a little bitch.
He inhales and sets his jaw. He’ll do it for Keigo.
He’ll do anything for Keigo.
“It’s all right.”
“We might not even see him!” Keigo assures quickly, slotting his head back under Touya’s chin. “And…and if we do…”
Touya lets his cheek smush into Keigo’s crown. If he’s beside him, it’ll be okay.
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Birdie.”
Notes:
LMAO they went crazy style I just let them go for it.
If you've read "hate to be lame," next chapter has a part when they briefly kinda intersect :) But we'll see it through Touya's eyes, which I think is fun!
Pleaseeeee let me know your thoughts, all of your kind comments make my entire life, and make me scream and kick my feet, and feel so JOYFUL, you have no idea!!! They are so sweet and motivational <3 :)
And follow me on tumblr! Feel free to say hi, I love chatting! @redfoxfern
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Notes:
Hiiiiii! This chapter took me longer than usual because it's over 18k LMAO I went total fugue state for the tail end.
I wanna give a special shout out to my betas, Yarn and Owl, for being my biggest cheerleaders. Thank you both for being so cool, and for bouncing ideas with me, and for screaming with me, and all that jazz!!! <3
TW in this chapter for panic attack(s).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Touya’s wakes up with a feather in his mouth. He splutters quietly and blinks away sleep, craning his neck to gently dislodge Fierce Wings. The offending appendage just twitches.
A heavy shade is over the window behind the bed, barely letting in the glow of morning. There’s a split second of confusion, because this isn’t their tiny house, but a grandiose, unfamiliar bedroom.
And then he remembers, his bedroom, now. Keigo’s and Touya’s.
Touya rolls his shoulders out and peers over the blankets at the ball of Keigo beside him. They’d been too tired to do much with the bed last night, so they’d curled in together amidst all the stuff. The Endeavor plushie is back in its place by the headboard, and Touya’s old clothes are amuck across the comforter. Keigo faces him, tightly wound like a croissant, but breathing deeply. He looks cozy. He’d been so tired yesterday.
Touya takes a second to just…watch him. He’s done this often, during visitations, but it was paired with a nasty swell of anxiety. He was memorizing him, for their time apart. Trying to perfectly capture the sharp line of his nose, the little black arrows at the corners of his eyes, the disarray of his eyebrows, the pout of his pink lips.
This, though. This is just…observation. Enjoyment. Touya tries to relax and remind himself that he’s here to stay, now.
He leans down to cuddle against Keigo, shifting into his space. But when he scoops his partner into his arms, Keigo stirs and jumps like he’s been slapped.
“Ah!” He squawks, immediately tensing. His feathers jab into dangerous points and one pokes Touya in the eye this time.
“Ow, fuck, it’s me, it’s me!”
Keigo exhales immediately, recognizing him now that he’s fully-conscious.
“Shit, sorry, sorry, sorry!” He apologizes, willing Fierce Wings to smooth out. Touya squints against the sting, rubbing his eye with his organic hand.
“Good morning.” He tells Keigo flatly.
“You scared me,” Keigo explains with a shaky breath. “I think I just had a heart attack. God, I’m not used to anybody in my bed.”
Well, that’s a positive, at least.
“You better not be.” Touya gripes. He opens his assaulted eye to meet both of Keigo’s head-on.
His partner just fucking grins, cheeks pink and hair mussed from the night. “Sorry. Good morning back to you, Hot Stuff. Wow, what a wake up call.”
He rolls forward suddenly, mashing into Touya’s chest. His wings flutter jubilantly like he’s a dog wagging its tail.
“I like this.” Keigo says into his bare pecs. He pauses, thinking. Burrows deeper. “Wow, yeah, big fan. I don’t think I’ll wake up cranky ever again?”
“That makes one of us.” Touya says into his crown. He noses it, inhaling expensive shampoo. “I almost just lost an eye.”
“Well, good thing you’ve got two of ‘em.”
“Hm.” Touya grunts, without actual heat.
It takes maybe…forty seconds for them to start making out. Keigo squeezes him and trails his lips up Touya’s chest, over his neck, along his jaw. He meets him in the middle with a syrupy kiss.
He tastes a little like morning breath, a little like last night’s toothpaste, a lot like the wind, and the sky, and whatever else makes up Keigo. He cheeps and hikes a leg over Touya’s waist. Keigo settles comfortably into his lap, arms bracketing either side of Touya’s head along the pillow. It’s…nice; feeling the swell of his abs with each deep breath when they part for air. Feeling the goosebumps that race along Keigo’s ribcage. Feeling the twitch of his hips against Touya’s own. He glides his hands lower, down from Keigo’s sides to curve around his perky ass.
And it’s…it’s calm. It’s easy. Touya’s surprised at the lack of white-hot urgency ripping through him. It doesn’t feel like they’re on the brink of the end of the world, the way it usually does.
They kiss just to kiss. Not as the foreplay into crazy, rabid fucking. Kissing is simply the main event. Something about it peels back a layer of Touya, a layer of Dabi. It gently unspools him, opens him to the core. Keigo’s warm hands cradle his face, talons poised gently, carefully, on scarred skin, and Touya almost cries.
He doesn’t, but.
Almost.
He loses himself in it, hums against Keigo’s plush mouth. Touya doesn’t want to leave this bed for the rest of the day, the week, the month, the year. Keigo’s brilliant, scarlet wings unfurl from his back, lifting high to the ceiling like they sometimes do when he can’t contain it. They begin to flap slowly, nearly hovering him off of Touya. His fingers press down, insistent, keeping his beautiful bird in place—
And then Keigo’s alarm goes off.
“Ah, man.” Keigo grumbles onto Touya’s nose. He beats his wings elegantly and slips over to the side of Touya, instead of perched over top of him.
“I’d love to get carried away and all, but.” Keigo blows out a sputtering breath and shuts it off. “Guess we probably shouldn’t.”
Touya tries not to make a disappointed sound. He combs through his knotted hair, collects himself, and sighs.
“Oh, but I’m so looking forward to the day.”
Keigo frowns. He taps Touya’s metallic forearm. “You really don’t have to come. I can see if somebody can swing by here—”
“No, I don’t need babysitting. I’ll go with you, I’m just…” Overwhelmed? Worried? Nervous? Afraid to leave Keigo’s side for longer than two minutes?
“Apprehensive.” Touya settles on. He’d much rather spend the entire day fooling around together and binge-watching all the “critically-acclaimed” TV he missed. Eating garbage food until he pukes because he isn’t used to it. Drinking whatever he wants. Wearing loungewear. Snoozing on the couch that’s probably worth a billion yen.
“…Touya.” Keigo says it like a whine. “Really, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on my account…”
And it…hits him suddenly, irrational fear that Keigo’s pushing back because he’s…ashamed of him. Doesn’t actually want to be seen with him in public.
Touya scratches the back of his head. “If you don’t want me to go, Kei…”
Keigo pops backward, looking like he’s been backhanded. His expression is so grossly offended that it makes Touya raise his eyebrows.
“Don’t say something like that. Are you joking? Of course I want you to go. C’mon.” Keigo throws his legs over the side of the bed to get up. “Let’s get ready. I’ve got all sorts of stuff for you.”
“‘Stuff’?” Touya echoes, rolling out of bed, too. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Keigo crosses the bedroom, quiet on the rug. He sends most of his feathers skittering into a corner to wait for instruction and disappears through the doorway to the closet. God, it must be enormous, because his voice is muffled.
“Hold on, what the hell are you saying?” Touya tosses the comforter in a half-hearted attempt to make the bed and then trails after him.
“Jesus.” He gapes, once he’s around the corner in the closet. Whose closet it big enough for a fucking hallway?
It’s massive, almost as big as the master bedroom. The wall are lined with racks of designer clothing and shelves of fancy shoes. There’s an entire armoire dedicated to just Keigo’s hero garb. Touya never realized he had so many duplicates of that black compression shirt, for one thing.
There’s an island in the middle of the room with a million drawers and compartments, too. Countless watches, necklaces, bracelets, and pairs of earrings glint under a pane of spotless glass.
“Remember that time you said ‘no’ when I asked if you had tons of earrings? Fucking liar.” Touya tsks, eyeballing the gemstones lined up in velvet.
“Eh, well, I don’t have tons of the particular pair you asked about, so it wasn’t totally a lie. This pair is my favorite and I only have the one.” Keigo shrugs. That’s true, they sparkle in his earlobes right now, actually. Ruby red. Touya wants to bite them.
“Anyway, I was saying that I bought you some clothes you might like. Um. Hopefully. You can obviously have back all the—the stuff on the bed, I just…wanted you to have some new stuff, too. You deserve it.”
His partner crosses his arms over his bare chest, and now Touya wants to bite his biceps, too.
Keigo ticks his head to a chunk of neutral clothing amongst the racks and taps on a chest of drawers beside it.
“Everything here should be your size. Ish. You’re, like, longer than me and a little thinner so I did my best. Obviously if you don’t like anything we can return it and you can pick out something else, but I figured you’d like the darker colors and…what? Why do you look like that?”
Keigo’s cheeks are pretty and pink, like he’s self conscious about the fact that he bought Touya arguably more clothing than he’s ever had in his entire life.
“Too much?” Keigo laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “I just wanted to make sure you’re…What?…”
His voice trails off as Touya approaches. And then he chirps when Touya lightly threads his fingers into his hair. He kisses Keigo with the most romance he can muster, pulling their bodies flush together in the middle of this giant closet, under the bright, white light.
“Thank you, Birdie.” Touya whispers into his cheek, a few minutes after tonguing his brains out. He nuzzles his partner and then lets him go, slowly.
Keigo’s eyes are wide and wanting, and that gorgeous bloom of blush made its way down to his chest, like it always does. He lets his head fall back onto the wall he’d ended up pushed against with a thunk.
“You’re really not making the whole ‘getting ready to leave’ thing easy, babe.”
“So, let’s not?” Touya drags his eyes down Keigo’s body, weighty enough for him to feel it.
Keigo putters out a frustrated breath and rubs one hand over his face.
“Don’t tempt me. I expect to christen this place ten times over with you, but. Responsibility and all that shit for right now.”
Touya chuckles and steps back further. “If you say so.”
He turns to his area of the closet and flicks through the hangers of name brands, trying not to lose his shit over the price tags still attached. Keigo really is rich as fuck. Behind him, Keigo sighs and gets dressed, too.
Touya settles on a pair of black jeans and an official Hawks hoodie, partially because it’s comfy, but partially because he knows it’ll make Keigo feel even more territorial and insane. If he’s making him go out into the world one day post-prison, Touya’s going to be just a bit of a little shit. He snatches a baseball cap from Keigo’s side of the closet, too.
Touya’s nowhere near ready to be recognized.
Is he even recognizable, anymore? He’s still got a fuck ton of scarring, but it’s old and shiny, now. He no longer looks like someone took a flamethrower to his skin.
…Would Endeavor recognize him?
Touya shakes the thought away and roots through the jewelry case for something to do while Keigo finishes up.
“Take whatever you want from there.” His partner throws over his shoulder while buttoning up his jeans and tugging on socks.
So, Touya does. Like a kid in a candy shop, he picks out glittering hoops and studs. Feels more himself once his ears are stacked. He’ll need to get his nose re-pierced at some point, he misses the trio. He rifles through the rest of the jewelry, tosses on a plain chain necklace and then plucks up a sleek, black ring.
Touya stares at it. Inspects it. Thinks about it.
And then slides it on his left hand, ring finger.
Because.
Basically, right?
Maybe that’s weird, though. Maybe Keigo won’t like it. Maybe it’s too much, especially when they’ve never discussed it, and Touya has no desire to have any kind of…ceremony, or even something official, or—
“Shit, Touya.” Keigo curses quietly, and Touya’s eyes flash up to meet his, like he’s been caught. His partner is midway through clipping on a watch, clearly taken by surprise. “You look…you look like yourself. You look good.”
Keigo’s smile is cute and radiant. Pleased.
His eyes rove over Touya like he can’t get enough of him. “I like you in my—”
And, oh, yeah, there it is. Keigo catches it. The ring. Ocher eyes zero in on it and Touya swears his pupils dilate at the sight. Hopefully that’s…good? Something?
Keigo’s inhale is audible.
“Oh.” He says simply.
Fuck, ‘oh’? Touya isn’t sure if ‘oh’ is good or not. Panic flares.
“I was just fucking around.” He says hurriedly, starting to twist it off. “Doesn’t mean anything, Kei. Don’t worry about it.”
Clawed hands lightly grab Touya’s elbow, stopping him in his tracks.
“Maybe it could?” Keigo says quickly in return.
Touya’s heart picks up. He didn’t mean for this to be a big deal, or even anything to talk about in depth now, he just…figured…they were going out in public, and…it just felt…nice. Felt correct.
Maybe the anxiety is clear on his face, because Keigo doesn’t say anything else. Without a word, he presses a kiss to the corner of Touya’s mouth, digs in the jewelry case, and then shoves a thick, golden band onto his own left hand.
Touya blinks. Lets his hand fall. Leaves his ring be, then.
“Ready to go?” Keigo asks gently, eyes full of stars.
Guess that’s settled.
——
Riding in the car is just as disorienting as yesterday. And getting into the agency building is a whole other level of overwhelming.
It’s been a while since Touya’s been this uneasy. Like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He’d fallen into such a boring, predictable pattern in jail that he hadn’t often been freaked out there, once he was used to it. Especially in the later years. But right now? It’s menacing. He wishes he’d stayed home. But.
He’s doing this for Keigo. Being strong for Keigo.
(Keigo being out of his sight for an indeterminate amount of time would portably make it worse, anyway. He’s a safety net, right now.)
“You sure you’re okay?” Keigo keeps asking him. As they trek through the parking garage, into the shop next door to buy some fucking flowers for Bakugou, past the receptionist’s area, the lobby, and through the first long hallway to a tall elevator.
Touya keeps assuring him that yes, he’s fine, even if it’s a little bit of a white lie.
There are so many people.
So many noises.
Deafening chatter, and squeaky shoes, and phones ringing, and keyboards clacking. The lights aren’t fluorescent, at least. Looks like they have something nicer, casting a cozier glow. Touya can’t really tell exactly what, because he keeps his eyes mainly downcast, on the sleek tile floors.
Keigo, bless him, doesn’t stop for any conversations. A few voices greet him, and one even pauses to try and get into something, but Keigo displays the get well soon bouquet and bids him away with, “I’ll have to catch up later.”
And Touya just. Follows him. Tries not to look up. Tries not to draw attention to himself.
He feels like a little bitch, to be honest.
What’s he doing, anyway? He’s being kind of stupid. Touya’s…Touya’s allowed to be here. With Keigo. With his partner. The co-owner of this fucking building. His mate who worked for seven fucking years to get him out of jail using (probably) the proper channels. Touya didn’t break out, he’s not on the run, he doesn’t have a warrant out, he’s allowed to be here. In public. In this place. And they’re…wearing matching rings, for Christ’s sake. Keigo certainly isn’t ashamed of him.
(He has to keep reminding himself of that. Loops it through his head.)
He takes a deep breath and finally lifts his chin, just a little.
Keigo strides only a few feet in front of him, wings pulled in tight to make room. They’re on floor twenty-something. Red feathers keep flicking towards Touya, like they’re checking on him. The eyes in the back of Keigo’s head, really. That’s comforting.
“We’re almost to the medical bay.” Keigo tells him with a smile. “And I won’t stay long, I just wanna check on Bakugou, y’know?”
“Stay as long as you want.” Touya says, meaning it earnestly.
Because he can do this.
He’s literally already doing this.
Touya walks with a little more determination, shoulders wider—and then collides hard with Keigo’s back.
“Oof, what the—”
Keigo doesn’t say a word. Fierce Wings suddenly flare up, tall and strong, buffeting backwards and—and shooing Touya back the way they came. He stumbles over his feet and almost falls on his ass, but a few stray feathers catch the hood of his jacket and yank him back to a standing position. He gets a face full of Keigo, who turns on a dime and ushers him back down the hallway at high speed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Touya barks at being manhandled.
Keigo’s answer is to open a random fucking office and rush Touya inside. He makes a huge racket, tosses Touya into the edge of a vacant desk (Jesus, his fucking hip), and then slams the door behind them so hard it rattles.
“Giving you a tour?” Keigo laughs shakily in response, leaning against the doorframe. The flowers in his hand are half-crushed now. He takes a huge breath as his eyes scan the dim, empty office. “This room’s for temps. Nice, right?”
Touya glares at him. “No. What was that?”
Keigo swallows. Laughs awkwardly. “Nothing.”
And then Touya…feels a spark. Familiar heat churns through him. It prickles along his spine, along the device that chokes out his Quirk. He’s always wondered what it would take to blow it up. Render it useless.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Touya asks, voice like ice despite the burn in his gut. “Him” doesn’t need to be specified, they both know exactly who he means.
“We were going to run into him?”
Keigo chews the inside of his cheek. He continues to block the door like a brick wall.
“Yes.”
“So, he’s out there…right now? In the hallway?”
Warmth broils through Touya, begging him to ignite it into flame. He won’t, because he can’t, because he shouldn’t, but God, does it clamor. Hungry for kindling.
“Yes.” Keigo replies. He, again, pointedly doesn’t move.
Touya struggles with the heavy mixture of disappointment, relief, frustration, mania, fury, stress.
He babbles into the whirlwind, “Keigo. I’m capable of seeing him, you know? You don’t have to—I’m not a lunatic. Anymore.”
Probably. Most likely not.
What will actually happen? When Touya locks eyes with Endeavor?
Judging by the anger rolling through him, it won’t be anything good. But he doesn’t want Keigo to think he’s this weak.
“I know that, baby.” Keigo nods. The pet name feels demeaning to Touya, right now. Keigo crosses his free arm over his chest, like he’s fortifying the barrier. “Call it…a precaution? It’s literally day one, Touya, let’s just not push it, okay?”
Touya swears he can hear it, the thud of massive boots on the floor a ways down. The minuscule crackle of continuous flame. He can smell noxious gasoline, and dry, barren ash, and choking, suffocating smoke—
Touya almost hopes Endeavor hears them. He hopes he stops and listens. He hopes he opens the damn door. He hopes he can face him.
Touya sets his jaw, simmering. “You shouldn’t have brought me then. If you think I can’t handle myself.”
Keigo’s eyebrows draw down suddenly. His posture snaps up like he’s irritated. A few wilted petals fall to the tile.
“I asked you if you were sure you wanted to come. A billion times. That’s not very fair. Don’t act like I dragged you here against your will.”
“It’s not very fair that you did drag me here day one. If I’m so very fragile, then maybe you should’ve left me at home.”
“I never said you’re fragile, Touya.”
“It’s certainly implied.”
“Wrong. And I literally offered to have Shoto or someone stay with you.”
“Yeah, Shoto or your two best friends who I’ve never met under any kind of normal circumstances. Sure, we can have a fucking tea party while you prance around here with my dear old Dad.”
“I’m not ‘prancing,’ I’m visiting a kid who I basically had a hand in putting in the hospital because I gave him my workload.—And I’m certainly not ‘prancing’ with Endeavor. Don’t say shit like that. You know for a fact that’s not true.”
“Oh? Then why do you have a doll of him in your bed?”
Keigo stiffens. He frowns deeply, all edges in the shadows, and cuts his eyes to the side. Silence falls between them, thick and sticky.
“You’re being cruel.”
Fuck.
Fuck, he is.
Cruel to Keigo.
That’s…that’s enough to throw Touya for a loop. He takes a deep, heaving breath, shuts his eyes, counts to ten. All the bullshit they taught him to do. He shifts his weight backwards and plops down to sit on top of the desk, grounding himself with a palm on each side of his thighs.
“…I’m sorry.” He says quietly. It’s so insubstantial. He makes an effort to literally and metaphorically cool off, imagining snow on his shoulders, in his hair, up to his ears.
Fuck. Just.
Fuck.
Will Dabi always haunt him?
Touya had been fine, and then…almost exploded.
He’d wondered just moments ago about what will happen when Touya locks eyes with Endeavor.
He really should be wondering what will happen when Dabi does.
“That…was cruel of me, Birdie.” Touya searches the handsome face across from him. “I don’t…care about your doll. I understand it…And you didn’t drag me here.”
Keigo’s pouting, but he has every right to. He still won’t budge, not yet.
Touya grumbles. “I came with you because I didn’t want to be away from you. Okay? Not any time soon. And I understand you…wanting to see this brat. Even though it’s not your fault. You’ve got a far-reaching guilt complex. So it makes sense.”
Keigo doesn’t reply, but he looks over to Touya, finally.
“I didn’t mean to be a dick.” Touya continues. “I appreciate you looking out for me, obviously. He just…”
Abused Touya and his family his entire childhood? Drove him to pseudo-death and then into decades of rage, with a bloodthirsty, unquenchable desire for revenge? That Touya didn’t even get to follow through on?
“I know.” Keigo relents after he trails off. “Which is why I’m going to be extremely overprotective about you interacting with him…So sue me. It’s the bird.”
Keigo waves a dismissive hand over his chest, loosely indicating all his animal instincts.
Tension somewhat dissipated, Touya cracks a small smile. “Well. I love the bird.”
His partner’s shoulders finally reset to a normal, relaxed posture.
“I love you, too.” Keigo wrings his hand over his face. “God, probably too much. You’re an ass.”
Shaking his head, Keigo steps back from the door. Touya watches as a single feather splits off from his wings and zips underneath the seam, lighting fast. Keigo bites his lip, as if he’s focused, and within fifteen seconds the flash of red returns.
“He’s gone. Took the elevator downstairs.” Keigo explains, reaching for the handle. “Are you good?”
Touya hops off the desk and follows him.
Good enough. Crisis averted. (For now.) He’s hoping they can smooth out that wrinkle and get this over with.
It really isn’t much farther to the med bay. The end of the hallway opens into a bigger corridor with a few wider doors, like they could fit wheelchairs or rolling beds through them. It’s not a real hospital, just a recovery center, so there’s only a small reception desk with one woman in scrubs. She waves to Keigo and offers Touya a smile. He knows it’s because she doesn’t recognize him, or know who he is. It would be way different otherwise.
“Hey, there.” Keigo greets her pleasantly. “Looking for Dynamight’s room?”
The nurse directs them to the end of the hall, where one of the doors is propped open. Touya hears two voices, one bright and cheerful, and the other gravely and grumpy. Deku and Dynamight. The Wonder Duo.
…Weird.
He kidnapped that kid once.
He’s almost killed both of them a handful of times. It feels like a lifetime ago and…it…sort of is.
His presence is probably not wanted.
“I’m gonna wait out here.” He says quietly to Keigo, pausing to find a place to hover. “But, take your time.”
Keigo’s eyes have taken on a deeper shade of tawny. He touches Touya’s bicep in what’s supposed to be a soothing gesture, but Touya can’t tell which one of them it’s for.
“‘Kay. Gimme a few.”
He’s so fucking frustrating. This is in no way, shape, or form Keigo’s fault, but he carries trauma around like it’s his favorite accessory. (Touya’s one to talk, see: his meltdown minutes ago, but. Still.) Touya wants to shake him by the shoulders, but he already inflicted enough damage today. If Keigo needs to go bow his head to Bakugou for closure, he’ll let him.
Touya can’t completely hear what they’re saying. He catches bits and pieces. Keigo sounds apologetic. Deku’s a ball of fucking joy, as per usual. And Bakugou sounds…like himself. Feisty, and snappy, and a little rude, but he must not truly mean it, because the other two don’t get pissed off. Touya wonders how badly he’s hurt and takes a careful peek.
And. Oh. Fuck.
They’re looking at him. All three people are craning their heads to peer into the hallway, right at him. Bakugou’s mop of blonde hair is soaking wet, but he looks decent otherwise. He and Deku both look…old. Like Shoto. Covered in scars, some fresh and some healed over.
Getting caught is embarrassing. Touya blanches and lifts a hand in a sort-of wave, then curls his arms over his chest like it’ll hide him. He quickly looks away. That’s enough interaction, thanks.
Fucking fantastic. Two of the top heroes getting an eyeful of what a pathetic bitch he is now. He clears his throat and taps his foot while Keigo finishes up.
It isn’t long, like he said. Touya counts floor tiles because it’s become a second-nature habit for him. Waiting. Counting things.
His partner sounds lighter as he backs out of the room. He even laughs about something muffled that Deku says, and it tugs Touya out of his awkward lingering. He looks up to one of Keigo’s star smiles, aimed right at him.
“Hey, Hot Stuff. Ready to go?” He greets quietly, looking especially cheerful. He snatches Touya’s hand.
Touya lets him take it, lets Keigo lead him back the way they came. His wings flick back and forth, slowly, another tell of his better mood.
“What’s up with you? Feel better knowing he’s fine? And you didn’t do anything to cause this?” Touya shoulder-checks him when he asks. No one’s around, he supposes the hand holding is fine.
Actually, it’s…fine anyway? He guesses? Why wouldn’t it be?
Keigo glances over to him. He pulls at their conjoined hands, kisses Touya’s knuckles. It’s simple, but, meaningful.
“Bakugou said some nice stuff, that’s all. Took me by surprise. He doesn’t do that very much, you know?”
Touya rolls his eyes. “So he forgives you? For something you didn’t even need forgiveness for in the first place?”
“No.” Keigo smirks. “Well, yeah, but no.”
At the end of the hall, he presses the elevator button. A few sidekicks hurry out when the doors slide open, only ogling Hawks and his companion for as long as is socially acceptable. They brush by in a cloud of loud whispering. Here it goes. Touya can imagine the social media speculation now. Hawks and his “Mystery Guy.”
Keigo shepherds Touya into the elevator, but presses the floor to the lobby using a feather instead of letting go of his hand. Lazy bitch.
Or, maybe it’s cute. Touya can’t decide.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” He prompts.
Keigo hums. He brushes a thumb over Touya’s.
“He said some stuff that made it sound like…he forgives you, actually.”
Him? Touya? What…what is he talking about? What does Touya have to do with anything?
“What?”
Keigo’s trying to act casual, but he’s clearly bursting at the positive interaction. Like he’s proud, or something. His smile breaks through even wider, like the sun through the clouds.
“I just mentioned you felt…uncomfortable being here. And he said that you’re ‘all right,’ and you should feel fine showing your face here, because you’ve done your time.”
Oh.
Touya inhales. That’s…okay. That’s something.
A balloon inflates inside him, full of nerves and hesitant appreciation. Hesitant happiness.
“…That…is…surprising.” Touya says, mainly to his blurred reflection in the door of the elevator. With the baseball cap on, with the hood of his jacket high around his neck, he almost looks like a regular civilian. Someone just out in the world, spending his day with…
He looks over to Keigo, whose grin is beaming. It’s practically glowing.
Spending his day with his partner.
He can show his face here. Keigo wants him to. Keigo put on a matching “wedding” band, Keigo’s holding his hand, without hesitation.
And a hero Touya once kidnapped said he’s “all right,” seven years down the road.
Strange.
“Glad he’s fine.” Touya nods, rendered almost fucking shy at the way Keigo’s sparkling at him.
They get back down to the lobby without any other events or interruptions. But now that they’re visibly an item, all eyes are on them the minute they exit the elevator.
Keigo doesn’t bat an eye, though, or loosen his grip. He pulls Touya through the crowds of interns, sidekicks, heroes, and employees without concern or uncertainly. He says “hi,” waves with his free hand.
And he’s grinning like an idiot the whole time.
Jesus, Touya can imagine his inner monologue. Something idiotic like, “See? I told you so! My villain boyfriend could be reformed! I did it!”
It almost makes Touya snort, but he’s busy trying not to make eye contact with a single person. And in the back of his mind he wonders if Endeavor’s around.
But. Keigo probably would’ve clocked that within seconds. Old bastard must be out on patrol.
They’re almost to the back entrance, en route to the parking garage, when a familiar voice sifts through the crowd.
“Hawks?”
Touya stops before Keigo does, because he knows that voice, and it fills him with goddamn confetti. Someone who’s a welcome sight, amongst the masses.
“T—” Shoto blinks and cuts himself off in surprise. He’s leaned against a desk filling out paperwork, looking rough and tumbled from his own shift. There are char marks on his cheek and his sleeve is torn. A tall guy around his age stands beside him in uniform, just as disarrayed. Touya remembers him too, Ingenium. The second Ingenium.
Shoto sets down his clipboard and walks over to them purposefully. They’re near the back of the lobby, so it’s not quite as busy, but Touya’s still surprised when his brother suddenly wraps him into a hug. They’re never so blatantly affectionate, it catches him off guard. It steals a surprised laugh from him, right into Shoto’s hair.
“Hey, Sho.” Touya finally says, patting his back. It’s not a long hug, but it’s—it’s nice. Keigo watches them with poofy feathers, like he’s so fucking cheesed he can’t stand it.
When Shoto lets go, he looks Touya up and down, eyebrows drawn. Then over to Keigo. Back to Touya. Serious as ever.
“What are you doing here? I was going to come over soon, I didn’t realize you’d be…able to be…out already. Not at home, I mean.”
“Yeah, me neither.” He jams a thumb at Keigo. “I just do whatever he says, it’s like one prison to the next, basically.”
Keigo jabs him in the bicep, but it’s playful. “Thought you were done being a douche?”
Shoto speaks again, voice low this time. One thing on his mind.
“Did you see…him?”
“No.” Keigo answers for him quickly. His hand slides over Touya’s shoulder, presses down lightly like he’s keeping him settled with a touch. “All good.”
Shoto’s face slackens with some relief at that.
Touya can feel a bunch of eyes on them. It’s like everyone in the building wants to know the gossip. Who’s the guy with Hawks, who knows Shoto Todoroki well enough for a hug? Fuck. He’s definitely gonna be on Twitter.
Shoto nods, apparently able to ignore the background jabbering. Maybe he’s used to it, as high ranked as he is. He glances over his shoulder and waves Ingenium over.
His hero costume clonks when he walks, like it’s heavy. Pretty good tech that he can run so fast in something so bulky, it must need to be heat-resistant at such high speeds.
“This is Iida, my hero partner. We went to U.A. together.”
As if Touya doesn’t remember this guy. He had catapulted Shoto into their big battle, during the war.
It’s funny…how Shoto always just glosses over those memories, like they didn’t happen. It’s easier, that way.
“I’ve heard a lot about you from Shoto.” Iida sticks out a hand, elbow rigid at a ninety degree angle, Jesus. “He looks up to you quite a lot.”
Touya hesitates. That’s…startling to hear. And it feels a little gross, to pretend he didn’t try to obliterate the entire city a while back, while this kid watched on in horror. Watched his friend, his partner, go toe to toe with Dabi. He’s supposed to just act like this is a normal situation, being introduced to his younger brother’s coworker?
Keigo squeezes him, subtly. Encouragingly.
Guess so.
“Nice to meet you.” Touya relents. When they shake hands, he wonders if his metal one is off-putting. But Iida doesn’t indicate one way or the other. He wears a soft, professional smile. It even seems earnest.
God, all these fucking heroes. Too goody two-shoes.
Their forgiveness is…sort of tugging Touya’s heartstrings today, and he can’t take it.
“Likewise.” Iida salutes. “Shoto, if you’d like to talk with them, I can finish up our reports today. It’s no problem at all!”
Shoto twists back to the desk, to the stack of paperwork that he left behind.
He sighs. There he is looking grown up again. “No, we had a rough shift.”
Clearly. They lost a fight with a brick wall, it looks like.
“I don’t want to dump all that on you, but, thank you, Iida. I’ll be back in a second and we can wrap it up together.”
Iida says a quick goodbye to the three of them before marching back.
Shoto’s two-toned eyes find Touya’s again. He shifts his weight, like he’s a little uneasy. But neither of them speak. Touya’s too aware of all the other people, and Shoto’s too thrown off at his unexpected appearance. Emotions are high, or whatever.
“Hey, how ‘bout this,” Hawks leans in, shooting finger guns. Idiot.
“You wanna come over for dinner this week? I was gonna have Rumi and Fumikage over anyway. You can bring Shinsou.”
Touya gawks. “You know about Shinsou?”
Shoto’s answer is deadpan. “Of course he does.”
Right, of course he does. Yeah. Okay. Touya’s not sure when Keigo and Shoto became friends, but they did, at some point. They have a photo together in the living room and everything. Maybe they commiserated together, these past few years.
“Yeah, that’s...I’d enjoy catching up somewhere more private, Sho.” Touya agrees quietly. He’s embarrassed that he’s embarrassed, but the fucking peanut gallery is starting to grate on his nerves. Somebody just “sneakily” took a photo of the three of them. Wait ’til Endeavor sees that one.
(Does Endeavor even go on the internet?)
Shoto nods. “All right, that sounds good. I’ll text you—wait, do you have a phone?”
“He will soon.” Keigo explains cheerfully. “Gonna buy him one tomorrow.”
Touya pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, do you realize how much you act like a fucking…”
Wait, no, retract, he isn’t going to say “sugar daddy” in front of his baby brother.
“Like a fucking rich jerk?”
“Ah, grumpy Touya is coming out to play again…” Keigo teases.
Touya’s half way through an eye roll when his brother plops a hand onto his elbow. Shoto…expels a little warmth, lets it trek up Touya’s arm. It’s impossible to see, nobody knows, but it’s so achingly familiar that Touya almost gasps. He could do that too, once. And Shoto knows that.
“Go home and get some rest, Touya. It was good to see you here.” Shoto tells him, flaring heat into his veins. It’s like a treasured family recipe, a secret code, a cryptogram they made up as kids that only they can decipher.
Shoto and Touya didn’t…have a childhood, together. But they know the same language.
It tugs a smile out of him, despite the growing overstimulation and anxiety. Touya dips his head in what he hopes comes off as a “thank you.” He misses the comfort of his Quirk. It was a like a stupid hug in of itself.
“You too, Sho.”
——
Dinner ends up being three days later, after he and Keigo spent seventy-two hours rotting on the couch and trying different sex positions all over the condo, like wild animals. They sleep, eat, and fuck in a nonstop cycle.
Touya keeps asking about work, and when Keigo needs to return to it, but he brushes it off and insists that he “deserves a vacation,” anyway.
And there’s no shitting way Touya is gonna complain about that.
He’s quietly obsessed with the fact that Keigo hasn’t left his side since his release from prison. They’ve only separated to use the fucking bathroom, and Keigo even pisses with the door open sometimes, so. It’s a tight orbit.
He’s a little antsy, about this “dinner.” It feels significant. Like Keigo’s “bringing him home to meet the family.” Which, kinda? Mirko and Tokoyami are that, Keigo’s family. He’s said it himself, in those exact words.
And past interactions with them were…well…violent.
Intent-to-kill violent.
So, when the doorbell rings, Touya feels a little fucking sick.
“Hi, Hawksy,” Mirko grins when Keigo greets her at the doorway. They hug in a way that Touya’s never seen Keigo do with anyone else (other than himself). Comfortably. He’s hit with a confusing mix of mild jealously and sincere fondness. He shoves it to the wayside, because Keigo picked him, and she’s a lesbian, anyway.
“Been a bit, Rumes. Sorry ‘bout that. You know how it goes.” Keigo kisses her cheek and Touya weirdly leans against the kitchen countertop, knowing the attention is about to turn to him. He fiddles with his glass of water.
“Oh, yeah, I know how it goes. This one taking up all your time.” Mirko kicks off her shoe (she only has one, because of the prosthetic), and tilts her chin up at Touya. She struts over to him with confidence, rabbit ears at-attention.
“Do we really need introductions, you think?” She teases, holding out her hand. “I know your sex life probably better than you do, Jesus, the details Hawks gives me—”
“Rumi!” Keigo blanches, “God, off the bat?”
His partner’s face goes a sweet shade of red, and Fierce Wings hike up to the ceiling with a whoosh. Touya smirks, because, wow, he likes her already, actually. Teasing Keigo feels like the perfect bonding activity.
“Hm.” Touya takes her hand. She’s strong, right away. Has a grip strength that says, “I know who you are, I know you’re here to stay, and I accept you, but I’ll fuck you up if I need to.”
Not sure how Touya is able to derive all that from a handshake, but he is. The glint in her crimson eyes conveys the same message.
And, considering their history, he respects that.
“Yeah.” Touya grins. He cocks his head to Keigo. “He’s a bit of a floozy, isn’t he?”
“Oh, fuck.” Keigo sighs exasperatedly and steps quickly between them. He unlinks their hands and physically pushes them apart, while Mirko snickers.
“This was actually a horrible idea, go home, Rumes.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, we’re going to have such a good time. Where’s the wine?”
Keigo shakes his head. “Fumikage’s bringing it. He insisted on bringing something, ‘since we’re hosting.’”
Mirko eyeballs the bare, spotless kitchen and raises a silver eyebrow. Her padded foot taps a few times on the floor and Touya tries to relax. Things are fine, so far.
“Real good hosting, boys, where’s the grub? The charcuterie?”
Keigo waves a hand. “Don’t act like I can cook just because Touya’s here. He’s well aware I’m hopeless.”
“That is true.” Touya chimes in. He sips his water while Mirko roots through the fridge. She snatches a beer and pops the top with a fizz.
“Shoto and Shinsou are picking up the take-out I ordered on their way over.” Hawks explains. “They’ll be here soon and you can eat all you want.”
Mirko sighs and literally hops onto the countertop. She shakes her head.
“Hopeless indeed. Charcuterie literally isn’t even cooking.”
“Cooking adjacent.”
She rolls her eyes. “If you’re gonna be a trophy wife, Hawks, you gotta learn to cook for this man. He’s been in jail, what, seven years? Make him some homemade meals. Slave over the stove and all that.”
It pulls a laugh from Touya. And, in the back of his mind, visions of Keigo in an apron. With nothing on underneath it.
(He catalogs those visions to be explored later.)
“Who says I’m the wife?” Keigo combats, crossing his arms. “Maybe Touya’s the wife.”
Touya tsks. “Psh, in your dreams—”
He’s cut off when Mirko’s eyes go bigger than saucers. She clops down the nearly-full can, splashing droplets of foam into the air. She snatches Keigo by the left wrist and glares at the golden band he hasn’t taken off.
Oh. Right. Touya hasn’t taken his off, either. It’s his turn to flush.
“What the fuck?” Mirko gasps. She looks between both of them, at the black line circling Touya’s finger, too.
“What the fuckkk?!” She repeats, nearly demolishing his eardrums. “Since when, what the fuck! I wasn’t invited? You bitch!”
She thwacks Keigo hard right in the forehead, before he can speak.
“Rumes,” He laughs, rubbing the spot. “We aren’t—it’s not—just chill. You didn’t miss anything.”
“Um, clearly I missed you getting married, you asshole! I’m supposed to be your best man!”
“You literally identify as a woman?”
“Semantics. Shut the fuck up, Hawks. When?!”
Touya clears his throat. Jesus Christ, this is awkward. Explaining that he did it on a whim, feeling insecure, and clingy, and with such obnoxious yearning, is so awkward.
“It’s not official.” He answers, trying to lean into the counter, probably too casually. “I just. Put one on when I got here, and Hawks did too.”
Fuck, calling him “Hawks” again is more uncomfortable than the conversation.
“You didn’t miss any of his…big milestone moments, don’t worry.” Touya trails off. He scratches the back of his head and then downs the rest of his water. He twists the jewelry, like a nervous tic.
God, a wedding between the two of them would be…Touya shudders to think of it. A weird, paparazzi-filled nightmare.
…Endeavor would probably…show up. Ruin it, somehow.
Mirko pouts at Keigo, who’s smiling softly. At least he seems unaffected.
“See? Leave my fucking forehead out of it. I’m gonna bruise now.”
Mirko picks up her beer again. She takes a long swig and then holds it onto Keigo’s assaulted forehead.
“Fine. I’m still offended, but, fine. You’re pathetic.”
“You love meeee.”
She sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry.
God, they really are like siblings. At least the bickering smooths over the anxiety, takes the attention away from Touya. The ring feels heavy on his hand, but taking it off feels worse.
If Keigo’s keeping his on, so will he. Fuck it.
The other three guests arrive at the same time, twenty minutes later, after a nice, easy round of shooting the shit. Touya mostly listens. No other prying questions, typical talk of work and pop culture.
Seeing Shoto is a huge relief.
But seeing Shinsou, and then Tokoyami.
Fuck. Touya’s stomach turns over.
They were…teenagers, back then. Teenagers in the face of war. Bleeding on battlegrounds that Dabi charred to ash. Guilt and nerves swamp Touya the minute they step through the threshold, but he tries his fucking damndest to curb them.
He’s better than that, now.
Isn’t he?
Better than Dabi?
He has to be, or Keigo wouldn’t have him here.
And he trusts Keigo.
Touya swallows as the newcomers get acclimated, toeing out of their shoes and setting things down. Several paper bags of food slide onto the counter, with a few bottles of wine.
The others already have rapport with Mirko, all being Pro Heroes, so after a quick greeting to her and Keigo, eyes are back to Touya.
Cool.
“Touya.” Shoto hugs him again, which is a new thing, these hugs from him. But it’s soothing. One familiar thing in this upside-down fucking world. Two familiar things, actually. Shoto and Keigo.
Touya can do this.
“How are you?” His little brother asks carefully.
Why is it…carefully, anyway? Is he tense? Touya’s trying so hard not to appear tense. He can’t tell if it’s working.
Maybe he…can’t do this, actually?
“Good.” He answers simply, just as mechanically. “Adjusting.”
Shoto gives him a small smile. He side-steps backwards, allowing Shinsou to be more in view. The guy looks just as half-conscious in real life as in the photos he saw, and he wears a long black scarf that doesn’t necessarily match the weather outside.
“This is Shinsou.” Shoto says it with subtle pride. His boyfriend waves and says, “hello.”
Shoto tips his head towards the only person left. The one like a raven, Keigo’s intern turned Hero Partner.
“And Tokoyami and Dark Shadow.”
Yeah. Touya remembers.
Waterlogged memories suddenly surge up to bog Touya down. They drag him through the wringer, slosh him around like he’s caught in a rip current. He surfaces through the worst ones, but he’s in the dark, choking on grime. Choking on mania, and anger, and pain.
Jesus Christ. He tried to kill these fucking kids. He tried to—
“We’re glad to hear you’re doing well.” Tokoyami remarks, catching him by surprise. It’s like a life ring, tossed to the guy who’s clearly drowning.
…Fuck, he appreciates that. He feels…unworthy of it.
These goddamn heroes, they’ll be the death of him, even now. First Bakugou and Iida, now Shinsou and Tokoyami. It’s way too much.
Keigo’s hand slips onto his bicep and squeezes. It’s just enough to level him. Touya manages to say, “thank you.” He can’t tell if he’s visibly tweaking the hell out or if Keigo just knows him well enough to get that he’s tweaking the hell out.
“Let’s get something to eat, Rumi’s starving.” Keigo jokes, jutting his chin to her.
“Oh, fuck off.” She laughs. But she plops off the counter anyway, first in line to dig through the takeout bags.
Okay. This is fine. Everything will be fine.
They sit at the table after that with full plates of noodles and various kinds of booze. Shoto takes the seat at Touya’s left side and Keigo takes his right. Mirko sits across from him, which is a little bit easier to manage than if he had to look Tokoyami dead in the eyes all evening. She’s in the middle of a conversation with him about a rowdy mission the other day, thankfully.
“Have you seen Fuyumi and Natsuo lately?” Shoto asks Touya quietly, before taking a bite of his meal. “They mentioned wanting us to all get together. With Mom too.”
Shinsou watches, listening politely. Touya gets the impression he’s not very talkative. Or maybe he’s just apprehensive about the fucking former super villain at the table. The one who tried to murder everybody in cold blood, his boyfriend included.
Not a great first impression.
“Uh, not yet.” Touya tastes his beer. He sniffs and taps his fingers on the table. He hasn’t even started eating, doesn’t think he’ll stomach it, actually.
“They’ll probably come over soon, too, but Natsuo had class tonight and Fuyumi had some, I dunno. Work thing.”
Shoto nods. “All right. Just let me know when—”
“Uh, so, anyway,” Keigo says out of nowhere, cutting into the conversations like a knife through the air. His wings stiffen and scoot upwards, and under the table he nudges his foot into Touya’s. Keigo cradles his wine glass in one hand, swishing sauvignon blanc in circles.
All eyes turn to him at the interruption. Touya wants to kick him and say that his brother was talking, but he can’t find his voice right now, not too well.
Silence settles.
“‘Anyway’ what?” Mirko sasses him. “Not enough attention on you, Hawksy? Should I angle the spotlights?”
Shinsou chuckles, hiding a wry smile behind a pile of noodles.
“No.” Keigo snorts at her, half-grinning. He looks over to Touya, expression unreadable, and then knocks back his entire glass of wine in one go.
What the fuck.
Keigo sets the vessel down a bit heavily, so it rings out against the fine marble of the tabletop. He clears his throat and fidgets with the long, thin stem of it, looking exclusively at his plate.
Wait. What the fuck, actually? What’s this, what’s he doing?
Anxiety swells in Touya like the tide. It gets higher and higher, the longer the quiet stretches.
Fuck. What if Keigo’s—what if he’s going to say he needs a break from Touya? Three of these heroes are the other ones legally allowed to watch him. So. What if he’s going to pawn Touya off to them? What if he’s sick of him, already? What if Touya’s been too much? What if he hasn’t been enough? What if Keigo’s been putting on a front, and suffering, and dying, waiting for them to all come over and give him some fucking relief? What if this wasn’t all he imagined? What if seven years of effort ended up being a steaming pile of shit? What if Touya’s been a poor partner? What if he hasn’t been enough? Fuck, what if he hasn’t been enough? He’s been trying, he knows he’s still got a lot of shit to work on, but what if he hasn’t been enough and—
“I’m retiring.” Keigo declares.
He’s.
What.
Wait, what?
What? The fuck?
Touya’s jaw hits the floor. His eyebrows threaten to climb into his hairline. For a brief second he forgets to breathe.
The voices overlap in resounding chaos.
“You’re what?!” Mirko gasps, spinning on his partner like a tornado. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Hawks, you must be joking.” Tokoyami gapes, looking just as shell-shocked as Touya feels.
Shinsou hums. “Wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Did you know about this?” Shoto asks Touya, blinking in confusion.
Keigo, meanwhile, hasn’t looked up. He smiles begrudgingly, clearly feeling the weight of the words thrown at him like bricks.
“No, I didn’t know about this. K—Hawks, what the hell are you talking about?” Touya gently grabs his elbow, prompting Keigo to finally look up. He seems…resolute. Determined and charming as ever.
“I mean what I said.” Keigo replies. He shifts his shoulders like he’s trying to let it all roll off his back. He shakes Touya’s grip off but takes his hand instead, and Touya tries not to twitch at the PDA in front of others, even if it’s just this.
“I’m retiring from being a Pro Hero.”
Mirko’s rabbit ears stand up tall, straight as arrows. She nearly whaps her can to the floor when she faces him. “Hawks, this is crazy talk. You’re not even thirty. Why the hell would you retire?!”
“I’m, like, almost thirty.”
“Okay? So, we’re not even close to retirement age!”
“I have to agree with Rumi.” Tokoyami pipes up. Dark Shadow peers around his shoulder, yellow eyes boring into Keigo curiously. “This doesn’t make sense. I know you…have fallen in the rankings, but you’re still incredibly high, Hawks. You do a good job. We do. Have I let you down as a partner?”
Keigo looks boggled by that sentiment. He shakes his head back and forth at full speed, lifting up his free hand as if to wave away the absurdity.
“Don’t you dare suggest that, absolutely not. You’re incredible, Fumikage. You’re part of the reason I’m retiring. Well, and you guys.” He gestures to Shinsou and Shoto.
When the group continues to give Keigo baffled glares, he keeps going, after a little sigh.
“Look. I’m not old, no, but…it’s obvious to me that you guys are going to keep the country safe. I’m not…worried about things anymore. Because all you U.A. kids blasted past me in record timing. You already proved yourselves ten times over back when you were literal children. I…”
He spares another glance at Touya. Keigo glows with emotion that’s mushy and sentimental, too open, in a way that makes Touya feel warm. He holds his gaze, honey, golden brown meeting Touya’s icy blue, and it melts him, like it always does. Some of the unease sloughs away. Keigo’s hold tightens, his thumb gliding over Touya’s knuckles. He knows everybody can see it, and he tries not to care.
“I found out there are a lot of different ways to help people. When I was working on your case,” And he’s speaking directly to Touya, now, “I heard a lot of other cases. I talked to people from every walk of life, with every kind of Quirk, and background, and story. People are out there going through shit that’s a lot…different than just black-and-white heroes and villains. It’s not all fighting in the streets, and it’s just as important to help them, too. To help people like you, Touya. You—your story was a product of—”
“No, no, not about me right now.” He deflects hurriedly, clenching his teeth. He doesn’t want to get into that. Especially with Shoto here. Even if Keigo means well.
His partners smirks and concedes immediately. “Well, it’s true all the same. Do you see what I mean? I just…I feel like I found my life’s purpose. You helped me do that, Touya.”
Oh.
Fuck, oh.
This is the…polar fucking opposite of what Touya was expecting, and that somehow sounds like a wedding vow without actually being one, and he’s blinking away hot tears, not letting any gather at the corners of his eyes, not letting anyone see how hard this is hitting him.
For a while he’d thought of himself as Hawks’ undoing but, apparently Hawks doesn’t see it as a bad thing.
Keigo huffs a small laugh and looks back down. His iron grip doesn’t falter, in fact it tightens as he goes on.
“…To be honest with you guys, I…I’ve been tired for a long time. Since before the war, even. The Commission really…” He trails off, but Fierce Wings droop low to the floor, a clear mirror of how Keigo feels. When the primaries touch tile, he twitches, consciously pulls them higher. Keigo clears his throat.
“They fucked me up. For most of my life. I was even more cynical back then, I almost…” He cuffs his shoulder into Touya’s. “I almost convinced him to run away with me, before everything, but that didn’t exactly happen, so.”
Mirko looks wrecked, like she’s mad, and confused, and heartbroken, and sympathetic. She scrubs her palms over her forehead.
“Are you sure about this? I—I get what you’re saying, Hawks, but like, maybe you just need a vacation? I mean, do you realize how great of a hero you are?”
“She has a good point.” Shinsou says in his steady, balmy voice. “All of us looked up to you as kids. And we still do. You’re one of the best, and I think you’re being hard on yourself, maybe? If anyone can do both, it’s you, Hawks.”
All right, brownie points for Shinsou.
Tokoyami is noticeably quiet, looking somber. Dark Shadow drifts around him in a loose, nervous circle.
Keigo takes a deep breath and sucks his teeth, clearly mulling over what to say. Touya can guess he knew this wouldn’t be exciting news. Disappointment was a guarantee, with something like this.
“If that’s what you want, then you should do it.” Shoto remarks, earning a new slew of stares, this time aimed at him.
“You are a great hero.” His younger brother continues. “And I know that in a catastrophic emergency, you wouldn’t hesitate to take up the role again. But I think…you are allowed to change your life. To make it better for you, for once.”
Jesus fucking Christ, Touya’s on the brink of tears again. He inhales hard, pointedly looking away. Those words resonate with Touya, with Keigo, fuck, probably with Shoto himself. From the goddamn heart. How many times has Shoto wrestled with himself to change? How many times has Hawks? How many times has Touya?
Keigo chuckles. “Thank you, Shoto. I know you guys aren’t that much younger than us, but, you always shake me to the core somehow with your sincerity and wisdom.”
He blows out a breath, gathers himself into his normal, upbeat mood.
“And, look, listen, it’s not all doom and gloom, okay? I’m not cutting ties completely and jumping ship. I still want to be on the board of the agency for a while, at least for the first few years while you take over the operations, Fumikage.”
Keigo’s hero partner does a double take. Dark Shadow bounces him back up straight when he nearly falls out of his chair.
“W-what?” Tokoyami gasps.
“What do you mean ‘what’?” Keigo grins. “Obviously I want you to take over my agency. Like, duh. Who else would I trust to carry on my legacy? Literally no one.”
“You can’t be serious.”
That seems to turn Mirko’s mood around.
“Oh, hell yeah!” She cheers, slapping Tokoyami on the back so hard he chokes. “That’s what I like to hear!”
“Hawks, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Uh, yeah, you could. I mean, I’m kinda being a dick because you’ll have to find a new patrol partner, so, the least I can do is give you the agency. I feel like half of it’s already yours, anyway.”
Tokoyami’s definitely having a stroke. He tries to combat Keigo in a string of nervous protest.
“Hey,” Keigo pipes up, effectively shutting that down. He looks so…paternal there that it makes Touya’s heart clinch.
“All jokes aside, Fumikage. I mean it. You deserve it, and I want you to have it.—If you would like to, that is.”
“Should we call emergency services?” Shinsou teases, nudging his former classmate, who’s continuing to lose his mind. “You okay?”
Tokoyami tries to pull himself together. Dark Shadow buzzes excitedly right beside him.
“Yes. Of course I would like that. I am…deeply honored, Hawks. Thank you.”
“Fantastic. Don’t even sweat it. Should I pop some champagne?”
——
“I’m still kind of surprised at you.” Touya admits later that night, when they’re elbow to elbow, washing and drying dishes. Keigo has a dishwasher, but it’s loud and obnoxious, and Touya hasn’t washed a dish in seven years, so he doesn’t mind. One downy wing curls behind him like a shawl.
The guests left twenty minutes ago, after another two rounds of congratulatory drinks for Tokoyami. And then he and Keigo had started cleaning up in comfortable quiet.
Keigo smirks, carefully wiping down a thin-stemmed wine glass. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and water drips down his forearms in little rivulets. It’s easy to follow the paths.
The golden ring gleams on his finger, shimmery with soap and moisture.
“Are you?” Keigo inquires playfully. “I think I told you a long time ago how tired I was of all of the…I don’t know the best word. Turmoil?”
Keigo sets the glass down next to the row of others lined up on the counter. He wipes off his hands and turns, leaning onto it with his arms crossed. Fierce Wings collapse in tightly to get out of the way.
“Oh, am I doing the rest?” Touya snarks without actual offense, rinsing a plate.
“No.” Keigo says, and his voice is quiet now. It’s gentle in a way that makes Touya really look at him.
“Gimme that.” Keigo insists, taking the dish. He sets it down on top of the already-dry pile, dribbling water onto the countertop.
Touya pauses, shutting off the faucet. He rubs his palms over his shirt, blinking in surprise when Keigo grabs them right away; they’re still damp.
“I know you didn’t want to talk about it earlier, in front of everyone. But I meant what I said. It’s because of you, Hot Stuff.”
“Oh, fantastic.” Touya snorts. “I’m jazzed that I’m the downfall of Pro Hero Hawks.”
“You almost were once already, we just rescheduled.” Keigo grins, looking wicked. “You didn’t even have to torch me this time.”
Touya rolls his eyes extravagantly and starts to tug his hands away. “Sure, let’s twist the trauma-knife today—”
“Hey.” Hawks nearly whispers. And Touya stops fighting. He isn’t sure if it’s the booze in his system or the adjustable dimmers of the overhead kitchen bulbs, but Keigo looks awfully fucking dazzling. He radiates his own light sometimes.
“I’m serious. Helping you…helped me. I didn’t realize the Commission’s still been dragging me down, all these years later. This decision lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.” Keigo explains, shutting his eyes. “I feel like…I feel like I’ve still been masquerading as Hawks for so long. And when I’m with you, I’m Keigo. I want to be Keigo all the time.”
Fuck. Touya loves him. Keigo and Hawks. Hawks and Keigo. Them, the intertwined, knit-together entity. His soulmate, if there’s such a stupid thing. How does he tell him? It’s hard to put into words, that he wants to keep Keigo all to himself, but he wants to arrogantly show him off to the world, too. With the stipulation that he’s Touya’s, of course.
How does he express that every facet of the man in front of him is perfect, and that anything he does will be done with excellence and brilliance? That Keigo could be a bum on the side of the road and Touya would still be fucking proud of him? That his partner will excel in anything he does, that he’s…privileged to be even a fraction of his journey? And that he’s got it all fucking wrong, because Keigo saved him, not the other way around?
Ugh, it’s disgustingly sappy. Like, the cheesiest bullshit Touya’s ever come up with. He just…really can’t articulate all that.
Keigo and Hawks. Hawks and Keigo. Touya and Dabi. Dabi and Touya.
Jesus, it’s like they’re in a fucked up foursome, sometimes. But they…they work. They slot together like crumpled puzzle pieces, somehow.
Touya’s never been too good with words. So he doesn’t say any of it.
“I want you to do what makes you happy, Birdie. Whatever you want.”
Touya kisses him to get the message across. That usually does the trick.
Keigo hums into it and his wings flutter as they (barely) separate. Pretty eyes glow up at Touya, nearly incandescent. His cheeks are either pink from the sentiment or the wine.
“And of course, it means I’ll have a more consistent schedule, too. I’ve been talking with Uraraka and All Might about their programs, and the hours would be so normal. So I can be home with you more.” Keigo says it in a way that’s trying to be nonchalant, but his feathers give it away. They wiggle too excitedly to miss.
His partner raises his eyebrows and drops his hand to press into Touya’s abdomen. It’s so sudden that he inhales abruptly.
“And you can keep up the house for me, baby.” Keigo winks. “Since you’re the wife and all.”
Oh, the little shit. He thinks he can play this game?
“Actually.” Touya clears his throat. He steps backward, out of reach, making Keigo pout.
“I won’t be doing that.” He counters, propping himself on the kitchen island. “I’m gonna be busy, too. Can’t just fucking sit here all day, can I?”
“Oh, yeah?” Keigo crosses his arms again, clearly assuming this is all part of their flirty banter. “Do tell.”
It kind of…blurts out of Touya without much clear thought.
“I wanna go PT school.”
Keigo straightens. He jerks his head forward, astounded.
“What?”
“PT is ‘physical therapy’?”
“N-no, I know what it means, I just—really? Oh my God, Touya, that’s—,” Keigo smiles gigantically and his wings swhoosh, almost knocking over all the glassware. “That’s awesome! Are you serious?”
Touya scratches the back of his neck. “I…guess so? I’ve thought about it. First time I’ve said it out loud, though.”
Keigo swoops forward, planting another kiss on him. Which turns into two, which turns into three. And suddenly he’s climbing him like a tree and Touya’s laughing into his mouth. He clutches Keigo’s toned waist and slides him back down to the floor. Cute little coos bubble from his throat.
“I’m so proud of you.” His partner gushes. “That’s huge, Touya. Are you actually serious?”
“Just said I was, Birdie.” He mutters, still surprised at himself. “Might as well, right? I had a few PTs that really helped me. I could…do the same for someone else, I guess.”
Taloned fingers linger on his chest. Keigo glides them upwards, wrapping over the back of Touya’s neck, into his hair. He steals another kiss, deeper this time.
“Tomorrow,” Keigo breathes, in between sucking the air from his lungs, “we’ll go buy books. Whatever you—mm—need.”
“‘Kay.” Touya relents, fully accepting the onslaught of tongue. Keigo tastes floral, and fruity, and tart.
It doesn’t take much, but Touya actually no longer gives a fuck about PT school. His “future plan” narrows down to the next few minutes, specifically railing Keigo until he sounds like a crowded aviary.
Touya spins, throwing his weight around to swap places with him. In the same motion, he hauls Keigo up onto the island. Junk mail goes flying, a pen skitters across the floor, house keys sail across the room with a jingle, all when Fierce Wings flap into them.
“Okay, yeah.” Keigo grins with excitement. Sharp teeth nip Touya’s lower lip and he growls.
He shuffles closer, urging Keigo’s thick thighs to wrap around his hips. His partner sighs when they slot together and his claws dig further into Touya’s scalp. It sends sparks of arousal straight to his cock. Equally-muscled arms loop over Touya’s neck and they slant against each other with practiced ease.
“For the record,” Touya huffs out when he finds an opening, “you definitely are the wife. Wanna know why?”
Keigo preens. His feathers flicker against each other and the ridge of one wing bops into Touya’s head. They’re cresting over the two of them like twin umbrellas. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so horny.
“Why?” Keigo purrs, but he doesn’t give room for the answer. He leans forward, drooping all his weight to Touya. His hard-on is already obvious, snuggly against the button of Touya’s pants from this angle. His heels kick into Touya’s ass, yanking them impossibly closer.
Touya wants to answer, but, well.
Keigo falls into him, won’t let him up, glues their mouths together. He teeters on the edge of the countertop, letting Touya hold him in place. Full trust. Crimson wings arc over them, skewing the kitchen light like a halo.
“Mmm,” Keigo hums, urgent fingers meshing through Touya’s hair. His hot tongue plays against the inside of Touya’s cheek; it’s like he’s counting his fucking molars. Touya squeezes his glorious fucking thighs.
Keigo arches his back in response, knocking them chest-to-chest, almost sending Touya off balance.
“God,” Touya finally manages to groan against a pool of spit. He scrambles to Keigo’s waistband, trying uselessly to shuck off his pants without even undoing them. The fabric won’t budge, but he’ll get them off, whether Keigo helps or not.
Keigo lunges for his face again, but Touya dodges with a smirk.
“Wait, you impatient brat.” He laughs, though it morphs into a hiss when Keigo rolls his hips, right against Touya’s zipper.
“Why am I the wife, Touya?” He asks haughtily.
God, he’s a whore. God, Touya’s obsessed with it.
Touya tips him backward and there Keigo goes, loosely flattening to the counter. His wings cushion the fall, and then splay out gorgeously, like he’s an exotic butterfly pinned in a glass case. Like this, the pressure’s right on the base of them.
“Ah,” Keigo tweets on impact. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was just enough to get him right where Touya wants him. His cheeks are already flooding pink; the marble isn’t forgiving and he’s plenty wound up. Keigo squirms, two seconds in.
Touya smiles deviously. He watches goldenrod eyes roll back a little when he pops open his button. Touya doesn’t waste any time, he yanks off jeans and underwear in one fell swoop and lets them both puddle to the floor.
Keigo lifts his pelvis against nothing, desperate for contact. His cock stands tall, beading with precum already, but Touya ignores it. He reaches forward and lays a hand over Keigo’s chest instead, right between his pecs, and presses down.
Cue the chirping. Touya loves the chirping. No air can pass between Keigo’s shoulder blades and the surface below. A red flush seeps over his skin, crawling down his neck. His heart booms under Touya’s palm, even through the thin layer of his shirt.
“It’s because you want me to breed your little cunt like one.”
“Oh, fuck.” Keigo wails, tossing his head back with a thunk. Touya pushes harder, feels his ribcage, feels his shallow, hurried breath. Fierce Wings tremble and flex.
“Oh, fuck, fuck!”
Touya uses his free hand to brush over a wayward feather, jumping from the bunch. He traces over the vane agonizingly.
“Find the lube.” Touya instructs.
Off it goes, zipping through the air, straight to the bedroom.
Keigo’s fully panting by the time the feather returns, curled around a small bottle of lube. It delivers it right to Touya’s expectant hand.
“Surprised you could focus.” Touya teases, letting up just enough for Keigo to get some relief. He grinds his back into the counter. Touya watches him scrabble for purchase, but it’s too slick.
“Me fucking too,” Keigo whines, lifting his hips again. His legs are spread wide, inviting, begging.
“C’mon, I don’t need foreplay.”
“When have you ever, Birdie? So fucking slutty.” Touya teases. He bears down onto Keigo’s chest again and it makes his pretty cock jump. His wings flap, but they have nowhere to go.
His partner warbles, rolling his neck to the side. He’s blushing so hard, skin damp, the color of a strawberry.
Keigo clenches his teeth and wiggles, while Touya idly observes. Further experimentation proves that the harder he pushes, the tighter Keigo’s asshole flutters, too.
It’s pretty.
“Touya, please.” He chokes after a few minutes of torture. His gilded eyes are glassy, and a string of spit loosely connects his silky lips.
Fuck, he looks good.
“Please ‘what,’ Birdie?” Touya coaxes, undoing his pants. He steps out of them casually, intentionally nonchalant about Keigo’s scrounging. His clothes join Keigo’s on the floor, but he leaves his shirt on, because something about both of them being half-dressed and desperate is hot.
“Please fuck me, holy shit, Touya,” Keigo screws his eyes shut, uselessly scraping his back into the countertop.
“I will, I will, you’re so goddamn eager.” Touya teases, uncapping the lube. He pours a little over Keigo’s cock first and gives him a few languid strokes for good measure. His partner almost self-destructs. He gasps, wrecked and ragged, and the clack of his teeth snapping together pushes Touya to the edge. Yeah, all right, he’ll fuck him now.
He gets his own dick wet and then places his palms on the creases of Keigo’s hips, thumbs folding into the two soft, smooth spots there. The lube is sticky on Keigo’s skin, but so’s his sweat, it doesn’t matter. His partner huffs and starts bucking before Touya’s even close to being in. He has to lift up on his tiptoes just a little, has to angle Kei’s hips down, but when they meet in the middle it’s goddamn perfect.
“Fuck, Kei,” Touya moans, ignoring the immediate strain in his calves. Burying himself to the hilt in Keigo’s perfect ass is worth every sore muscle.
Keigo has…already left the building. He continues that scooting motion, trying to stimulate the erogenous zone in his back while throwing himself back and forth on Touya’s dick. He spouts nonsense and bird language through grit teeth. When Touya picks up speed, Keigo’s mouth finally drops open and he sings.
“Yeah, baby,” Touya encourages, fingers inevitably forming bruises, but Keigo clearly isn’t concerned about it. His curly hair fans out around him, tumbling off his forehead, and those tiny, black arrows are nearly invisible with how much he’s scrunching his face in pleasure.
Touya wants to destroy him.
“Feel good, Keigo? Getting pounded?”
“Nnngh,” Keigo cheeps, thighs bracketing Touya in even harder. “Yes.”
“God, fuck, that’s my Birdie.” Touya speeds up again, knowing if they were on the bed, it would be slamming the wall. Keigo keens and his body contracts around Touya, like he’s getting close already. Shit, that’s—that’s really hot. Touya’s surprised he hasn’t come yet, honestly. Keigo’s wings do something unreal. Insane fucking show of willpower.
“Gonna—ah—take my load like a good little bitch?” Touya tilts his hips and Keigo shudders. His talons suddenly screech horribly on the countertop, but the crude, sopping sound of skin slapping skin drowns it out.
“Yes, yes,” Keigo cries, finally able to wrench his eyes open. He finds Touya’s gaze and nearly sobs.
He’s beautiful.
“Nice and deep, right Birdie?” Touya thrusts into him, boiling with the sensation of Keigo’s body around his. Every time he quivers, every time he clamps on Touya’s cock, his wings thrash.
“Touya.”
“You—you want all this cum in your cunt, Kei?”
“Ah, nnngh, Touya!”
“Yeah, say my name. Say my fucking name. It’s yours.” Touya gulps, doubling down. He’s nearly there, he just wants Keigo to finish first, he wants to feel him fucking pulsing around his dick.
“Touya, shit—”
Keigo suddenly crunches up like he’s doing an ab workout, but then he throws himself backwards, bashing into the countertop with a yelp. His entire body tremors and he blabbers something like, “push me, push me, baby,” and Touya gets the picture.
He lets go of his hip with one hand, shoves Keigo’s chest down, hard, into the marble, and fucks him into another dimension.
Keigo grunts as the air bursts from his lungs, but it finally brings him sweet relief. He chirps, and chirps, and chirps and comes in thick spurts all over their stomachs.
Keigo pulls the orgasm from Touya in turn, selfishly, takes it for himself. He wraps their bodies into one and yells until Touya spills inside him. Keigo flails and begs for more as he’s filled, pleading, and tweeting, and whimpering until he goes lax.
Touya’s vision goes fuzzy at the peak of it. His ears ring as he chases the aftershocks, rutting into Keigo to feel those last little twitches and tweets.
He could do this every minute of every day, Jesus Christ.
They catch their breath when Touya slows, finally giving his burning calves a rest. He pulls out but hovers, drinks in Keigo’s fucked-out expression, the healthy glow on his cheeks. Fierce Wings are a ruffled mess, lopsided and weak where they sag across the island. Filthy stripes of cum line both of their shirts.
“Look what you did, Birdie.” Touya whispers. He runs his fingers over Keigo’s side, soothing him. Settling him down. He likes watching his ribs expand. “You made such a mess.”
“More like you made a mess.” Keigo mumbles dumbly. He lifts a wobbly hand and wipes drool from his mouth. “God, this kitchen is not comfortable.”
Keigo shifts to sit up, but Touya pokes a finger into his sternum.
“Can’t get up too fast, darling. Gotta lay flat for at least ten minutes if you want the baby to stick.” Touya teases, grinning diabolically.
Keigo’s scarlet face blossoms impossibly redder. With the little strength he can muster, he jabs Touya in the shoulder.
“Shut up.” He grumbles, hopping off the countertop. Touya snickers and makes a move to kiss him, but Keigo bats him in the arm. He’s so adorably embarrassed that he skitters to the bathroom high-speed.
“I say one goddamn thing to you,” Keigo mumbles, not turning around. Even the back of his neck matches his plumage. “In a sex-crazed haze. I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”
Keigo sighs and quickly hides behind the door, leaving a few stray feathers in his wake. They’ll need to preen his wings after this. Touya laughs and plucks one off the ground, molding it to his lips.
He speaks right into it, knowing full well Keigo can hear.
“Nope.”
——
The bookstore is a few city blocks from their apartment. Keigo says he never really has a reason to visit it, since he doesn’t like reading, but he’s excited to go with Touya anyway. He’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today, like a fucking squirrel instead of a bird.
They wear their matching rings, and Touya steals his baseball cap again, and they just…take a walk. Hand in hand.
What the hell’s up with that? Feels fake.
It’s a cloudless day, kinda dry, with half a lazy breeze. Keigo’s wings are vibrant against the sky, catching a lot of stares, as usual. A few people wave, call out to Hawks, snap their photo without asking. Keigo’s a good sport about it, totally used to it. Touya refuses to make eye contact and hopes nobody recognizes him in the hat and sunglasses. (He has a phone now, but he’s steering clear of any hero news. God only knows what’s been posted about them. Familiar Reddit forums and the vapid pits of YouTube are fine, for now.)
The store is squat with a bumpy brick facade and a crooked sign. It flanks a laundromat, like an afterthought of the complex. Potted planters bushel together to hide an ugly alleyway and there’s a bench outside, a bike rack chocked-full of bicycles. A little stand for umbrellas sits empty by the front door.
Touya likes it.
“All right, so, whatever you want.” Hawks beams at him as they walk inside, sounding a bell chime. “Whatever you think will be helpful.”
“Thanks, Kei.” Touya mutters in a low voice, slipping off his shades. There are only two other patrons roaming, and a man with an owl head reads today’s newspaper behind the counter. He greets them simply, clearly not overly impressed by Hawks entering his shop, which is a relief. He’s bird enough himself, Touya assumes.
Keigo trots off in another direction, and Touya’s appreciative of the privacy. He starts winding down the rows. It’s a big store, stretching back much farther than he anticipated, crammed full of novels of every shape, size, and color. Dozens of sections are separated by genre.
Touya…doesn’t even know what he needs. Or what will be helpful.
Not even finishing middle school sets him behind already, but he knows he’s smart. He had to be smart, to become a goddamn super villain, so he knows he’ll eventually be able to pass whatever exams he needs to take to play catch up.
But…will a school even accept him? Any school, let alone a university, or PT school? Is he…is he even allowed to get a degree? Would he be allowed to practice as a physical therapist, or would he be barred from that, too?
He doesn’t know. And the thought of asking gives him this sinking feeling, like he’s drifting to the bottom of a lake. Why the fuck does his anxiety always have to feel like being slowly waterboarded?
Touya tries not to consider it too much, for now. Because simply having any sort of plan makes him feel better. As much as he loves (and fuck, he’d never say it so frankly) simply existing with Keigo, he knows that he’ll eventually go stir crazy again without something in place. He spent the last seven years uselessly wasting away; he’s not about to do it again, especially when he knows he’s capable of harnessing a literally obsessive level of drive and determination.
That, and the fact that he’s gotta make up for utterly failing at his previous “life’s purpose.”
Touya gathers a stack of glossy science textbooks but tops it with a two other novels, just for fun. Those ones smell like pulp and paper, much better than the laminated anatomy and physiology manuals.
He finds Keigo flipping through a magazine near the front.
“You getting into crochet in your retirement?” Touya heckles him quietly.
Keigo sticks out his tongue and puts the copy of Your Yarn Yearly back in its place on the shelf.
“Maybe I am. Gotta learn how to make you a hat because you keep freaking taking mine.” He taps the brim twice. “Find anything good?”
Touya shrugs. “I guess. Kinda flying blind.”
“You shouldn’t do that, Hot Stuff, you run into buildings. Trust me.”
Touya fights an eye roll and follows Keigo to the register. They check out with ease, and Keigo both pays and insists on carrying his paper bag of books “since that’s what partners do.” Touya lets him, because it’s cute and because those big ones are kinda heavy.
“Thoughts on getting lunch?” Keigo wonders when they step back into the sunshine. Fierce Wings stretch wide now that they’re in the open again.
Touya fiddles with his sunglasses to slip them back on. “Sure. We didn’t really eat breakfast today, somebody just had to drag me back to bed—”
“Touya?”
Touya.
Touya?
Touya.
Touya crashes face first into concrete, into the crackled, spiderwebbed wall he erected in his mind. Into the barrier he put up with shaky hands, slab by slab, with mortar and stone.
It starts to crumble on impact.
“…Touya.”
He watches from afar like an out of body experience. Sees Endeavor standing there on the street, in his full hero uniform, sizzling with grandeur, and opulence, and lucent, orange flames.
Touya stares. Or he assumes he does. His brain goes blank, but for the spiral, the aching fracture he just created, the tiny pieces that chip apart and fall away, dissolving to ash.
To ash.
Endeavor smells like fire. Not like ash or smoke, like fire. Like heat, and torture, and the sick kind of cleanse that tears a house to its studs. It’s not gasoline, it’s not the acrid stink of a lit match, it’s flame itself. Overpowering, pure, reckless, dangerous.
It’s Touya standing atop Sekoto Peak, sobbing and screaming his way into Dabi.
“Touya—” That’s Keigo, he thinks. Not Endeavor this time, but Endeavor’s mouth is moving, too. A clawed hand furls over Touya’s bicep but he’s frozen in place.
Frozen, even with all that fucking fire.
He doesn’t really catch everything they say. Touya registers Keigo saying his name, over, and over, and over again, like a desperate prayer. Pretty sure he’s asking him to go home. Begging him.
Touya might throw up.
He forgot Endeavor’s eyes are blue.
Practically the same shade as his own.
If that’s not vomit coming up his throat, it’s another kind of bitter bile.
He doesn’t mean to, doesn’t know if he hurts Keigo in the process, but he wrenches his arm from his iron grip and huffs like he’s full of his own fumes.
“No.” Touya doesn’t recognize his own voice. Is that his voice? “I have some shit to say to this bastard.”
He stalks forward, footfalls thundering in his own ears. Keigo’s twittering behind him, but the wall’s collapsing down already. It’s way too late. Smog unfurls like dragon’s breath and Dabi emerges, triumphant.
Touya falls back into him like a snake shedding its skin. Too tight before, but this fits just right. He shakes off the pathetic excuse of Touya, the sad sack of shit who failed, and failed, and failed.
Dad was so brutal when he failed.
“Touya.” Endeavor says, voice flat, brows drawn. He’s always been tall, heroic in stance and stature. What a fucking sham. His glowing hands ball into fists at his sides.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” Dabi hisses, unafraid, jamming his metal pointer finger towards Endeavor’s unmoving chest. He doesn’t touch him yet, but nearly feels Endeavor’s booming inhale and the roll of steam that follows it.
“Touya,” Keigo again, sounding small and far away. Sounding scared out of his mind. A few red feathers try to snag at Dabi’s clothes and he smacks them away.
“You.” He scowls at Endeavor. “Do you have any idea what the hell you put me through?”
His father—fuck, his father—meets his gaze head-on. Doesn’t flinch.
And his eyes are blue.
“I am trying to atone.” Endeavor appeases, slowly. “I wanted…to see you sooner. But I did not feel welcome to.”
“Ha!” Dabi scoffs. His fingers almost snare into Endeavor’s cheesy-ass uniform. He wants to grab him. He wants to toss him across town. He wants to pummel him into oblivion. Past oblivion, into some radioactive fissure across the universe.
“No fucking shit.” Dabi barks. “God, I—I really thought I’d see you and feel okay. That I’d moved on. But no. I was a goddamn idiot, apparently.”
Dabi’s face scrunches in disgust. He gathers a wad of spit and hocks it at Endeavor’s feet, right next to his ugly boots. It splats onto the sidewalk and immediately evaporates from his elevated temperature. How unsatisfactory.
“You still make me sick, apparently.” Dabi sneers. He stomps closer, until he’s a foot away. “It’s still here—the rage, the wrath. I’ll never forgive you and I don’t give a flying fuck what that means about me. The past never dies, old man, you remember that?”
Dabi slaps his palms to his chest, fervid, furious, slinging poison.
“Remember when I said that?”
Endeavor remains fixed and rigid, but he tries to get a word in. He chooses the wrong one.
“Touya—”
“No, you know what, Dad? Let’s take a second to recognize that I actually have grown, to some degree, because I’m not going to melt your fucking face off like I would have a decade ago.—Do you know how many dreams I had, of bashing your skull in? Of turning you to dust? I must be a changed fucking man after all, because I’m not gonna do it now.”
Dabi claps, cold reality sinking in. “Couldn’t anyway, I’m all dried up. Do you feel good about that? You’re still able to parade around here because the only one who could really decimate you is handicapped, right? I’m fucking crippled like this. We both know Shoto would never give you what you deserve, it’s a goddamn shame he’s too good of a person. I’m not though. I still wanna crush you just a badly as I did back then. You know, I’m only out of prison now because of—”
Keigo.
Because of Keigo.
Keigo.
Dabi can hear him now, he’s still pleading right over his shoulder, voice high with hysteria. Feathers tingle all over Dabi’s clothes and he knows Keigo could just tackle him and drag him home, but he’s trying not to. He’s halfway to a heart attack but won’t force Dabi to do anything he doesn’t want to do. Like a lovestruck fool.
“Touya, please, let’s just go home. Forget him, Touya. Baby—”
Dabi whirls, jerking back to point at Keigo, who jumps in alarm.
“He is ninety percent of the reason I’m not stomping your jaw into the curb right now.” Dabi roars, seething. He notes the way Endeavor’s eyes widen just a tick.
“He is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He accepts me. He loves me. And I hope it makes you feel like trash, seeing our big gay relationship, besmirching the perfect Todoroki name. Hawks never outranked you, but you’re not even a fraction of the hero he is, Endeavor. Or that Shoto is.”
“Touya,” Keigo whines, and his voice sounds wet now. Dozens of feathers poke him insistently, starting to tug him backwards. Keigo’s afraid. He sees it escalating, he’s not stupid. “It’s okay, Touya, please. Let’s go.”
But Dabi railroads on. He refuses to stop now. There’s cinderblock at his feet and he’s still brandishing a sledgehammer.
“And I hope it makes your blood boil.” He spews violently, right into his father’s face. He watches flecks of spit sear on his cheeks. “To know that you failed, Endeavor. You got your goddamn legacy, your youngest son is number two, but he hates you. Your whole family fucking hates you.”
Endeavor clenches his jaw, Dabi analyzes the way his throat flexes. He’s got a beefy fucking neck and it’s taking everything not to suffocate him in that instant. Dabi could make quick work of it, too, with a metal arm.
He lifts that same arm, shoves his finger right in front of Endeavor’s nose. Still not touching him, but only a breath apart. He can feel the angry heat of him, and, fuck, does he miss it. Does he crave it, like a back alley drug. Dabi wants his fix, he wants to go toe-to-toe, flame-to-flame. He’s never itched for his Quirk so badly.
He musters every bit of hatred he can; the oily, black, rotting gunk that still clogs up his darkest corners.
Dabi gnashes his teeth. Leans towards his father with frenzied intention, putting his heart and soul in every word.
“You, Enji Todoroki, have failed. I hope you wake up every day of your atrocious life and feel as wretched and lonely as you made me. And years from now, after you wither away and die alone, I’m gonna piss on your fucking grave.”
That’s what does it. The piss thing, apparently. One phrase of flagrant disrespect too far.
Endeavor shoves him. Hard.
Dabi topples backward with a choked gasp. He loses his footing and his back rams straight into the bike rack. Jesus, it hurts. All-consuming pain. His head slams into handlebars and rugged tires, knocking off his hat, and his back, his back, his back, it’s exploding. Detonating, even.
Did Endeavor just break his spine?
Sure fucking feels like it.
“Touya!” That’s Keigo again, wired, cranked up to fifteen. Dabi hears the telltale swarm of sharp feathers as they blitz through the air and barrel, inevitably, right at Endeavor.
“Holy shit, I heard that crack, Touya. Touya? Hey!” Keigo kneels at his side, flooding into view like a bat out of hell. His wings are small, meaning most of his feathers are aimed at Endeavor. Did they start fighting? Is Keigo hurt?
Dabi groans and rubs his eyes. Moving his shoulders—splits him open, burns like a jagged gash—
Wait.
No, wait.
“Touya. Can you hear me?”
It burns. It burns.
Dabi gasps. His torso hates that, it’s spiky, but he, he feels...
He directs the pain, lets it race through his body, swirls it through every tendon, muscle, and vein. Dabi concentrates, left hand, left palm, five fingers—
It glows blue. Singes. That ring on his hand’s suddenly encrusted with sapphires.
“Touya,” Keigo’s lightly slapping his cheeks, he doesn’t even notice what’s happening. He’s having a crisis, but Dabi’s on cloud fucking nine, because his hand is on fire, his hand is on fire, and he did it, he lit his own hand on fire, his Quirk is back, his Quirk is rushing through him. His dumbass father knocked him so hard into a bike rack that it broke the Quirk suppressant on his spine. What a magnificent turn of events. Dabi can face him, he can annihilate him properly—he can—he can even call it “self-defense” now, and he can—
“Touya. Fuck. C’mon. Are you okay? Please talk to me. Please.” Clawed fingers swish over his lips.
And Keigo’s eyes are gold.
…He can’t.
Dabi takes a raspy breath. God fucking damn it. He’s about to fail again. He could take Endeavor by surprise here, do it right, but he’s about to let it go, and fail again.
Because of Keigo.
He thinks of the night, years ago, when he threatened to kill someone to get into jail with Dabi. And judging by his near complete lack of Fierce Wings, he’s right on the edge of dismembering Endeavor himself. If Dabi goes berserk now, he’s taking Keigo down with him.
And he can’t.
“We have to go.” He grunts, cooling off his palm. “Now.”
“I don’t know if I should move you. Your back—”
“I’m—” It takes everything in Dabi not to yell at Keigo, who isn’t pitying him, he’s trying to help him. He cares about him. Keigo cares about him and he’s gotta get Keigo out of here because he cares about Keigo. Even if he’s getting in the goddamn way right now.
(It’s that hotel room all over again. This dumb guy is his biggest weakness, his fatal flaw. He can’t get him involved.)
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
With nervous hands Keigo helps Dabi get to his feet. His going to have an enormous bruise, already tender across his entire back. He wonders what it looks like under his skin, the suppressant shattered, the kerosene of his Quirk coursing around it.
Dabi staggers. Keigo watches him. He notes that the book store owner and the two patrons are rubbernecking the entire exchange at the window, wide-eyed. Other passerby’s skitter on the opposite side of the road, giving them a wide berth.
Dabi hopes everyone saw. That Dabi was the one shouting, but Endeavor pushed him first. He always pushed him first.
Even when he was small, and hopeful, and helpless.
Dabi’s lungs are sore, the wind knocked out of him, but he rounds on Endeavor all the same. The so-called “hero” stands at the edge of the road; yellow, and orange, and red along the edges. Keigo’s feathers hover en masse midair, inches away, poised to strike if he tries anything else.
“You wanna atone?” Dabi coughs, practically heaving. He squeezes his right hand into a fist so hard that the squeal of metal-on-metal grates through the air. “Bullshit.”
Endeavor doesn’t move. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Dabi notices his controlled, labored breathing.
“Touya,” Keigo’s more insistent now, beginning to lead him in the direction of their apartment. “You said ‘let’s go,’ so let’s go.”
“You’re the same as you were back then, old man!” Dabi roars, even though his ribs ache in protest. “An egotistical, abusive, overcompensating bastard!”
Endeavor just tips his fucking chin up. Piece of shit. Asshole. Scum of the earth.
Dabi hates him. Dabi wants to kill him.
Keigo’s finally dragging Dabi with gusto, calling back feathers to aid in yanking him down the block. They herd him along in a big flash of crimson, trying to block Endeavor from view.
Dabi wonders if he’s bleeding, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that there’s fire cascading through him. Once Keigo’s safe, he can put it to good use.
He tastes smoke, when he yells hard enough.
And it’s good to be home.
“You can atone, Dad, when you’re six fucking feet under!”
Keigo moves faster, almost at a run, then. Feathers are flush to Dabi’s entire body now, he’s too swept up. He has to go along with him, there’s no other choice.
“All right, enough, Touya, enough!” Keigo hauls him down the road, holding onto him like he’s a spooked animal about to bolt. His talons would burst through skin if they were on his left arm.
They hustle and swerve back to Keigo’s private entrance, making a short walk of it with how fast Keigo’s going. Fastest fucking man alive, yeah, Dabi remembers that annoying tagline. He thinks Keigo will relax once they’re through the garage door, but he doesn’t loosen his grip until they’re in the elevator, zooming upwards.
“Where does it hurt?” Keigo asks, the first words he’s spoken since he scolded him. He looks more concerned than angry, more panicked than upset. His face matches his feathers, and they’re mostly back in place but on high alert, standing at attention. Dabi notices the few that are still loose are carrying the stupid bag of books and the stupid baseball cap.
“Nowhere.” He grunts, leaning off of the wall when they reach their floor. And that’s true, the pain should be there, theoretically, but it’s masked by unadulterated resentment and hypnotizing heat.
Dabi pads to the door, Keigo glued to his side.
He murmurs an apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was there. I wasn’t keeping an eye out for him. He’s never along this route because I live so close by. I don’t know if…if he was hoping to run into us, maybe…”
“It’s fine.”
It’s better than fine, actually.
Once they’re inside, Dabi takes a steadying breath.
The thing is, he’s gotta keep Keigo here. He’s gotta immobilize him without hurting him. Because Keigo will stop him, he won’t let him go extinguish Endeavor, once and for all. Keigo doesn’t realize that this is perfect timing, divine intervention to the highest caliber. Dabi got his Quirk back by some miracle, and he can use that secret to his advantage, and finally, finally, achieve his goal.
And then he can come back here, and pluck up Keigo, and they can pull a vanishing act and sip rum runners on the beach in Costa Rica for the rest of their lives.
It’s a flawless plan, this time. And he actually wants to survive, this time.
But he’s gotta make sure Keigo doesn’t interfere.
“Show me your back, baby. It sounded bad. I can’t believe you’re even on your feet, Touya.”
Keigo steps closer, hand outstretched to lift his shirt. His brows knit in concern and he looks beautiful, and sad, and stressed.
Eugh, this is gonna be rough.
Dabi spins on him and clasps his wrist in one fluid movement.
Keigo freezes.
“…Touya. What are you doing?” He asks hesitantly.
All the air exits the room. Dabi’s stomach plummets like they’re on a roller coaster. But he has no other choice.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Birdie.” He offers, voice low. Easy way equals Keigo just listening to him, but that’s unrealistic. Hard way equals probably fucking hog tying him and throwing him into that oversized closet of his until morning.
Keigo tenses. His pupils reduce to pinpricks. Dabi watches the gears turn in his head, calculating.
“…What does that mean? Do what?” Keigo ventures. His wrist twitches in Touya’s grasp. Fierce Wings raise behind him, subtly.
“It means you stay here and chill out. And let me leave. And when I come back, you’ll have a few bags packed and some snacks for the road. You’ll make us some bentos like a good little housewife, right, Kei?”
The shift is barely noticeable, but Dabi knows his partner too well. He sees Keigo’s chin rise and watches his nostrils flare minutely. Scenting him.
“What, do I smell different? Putting the pieces together yet, angel?”
Keigo shuts his eyes, crestfallen.
“What happened?” He asks, voice wavering. “That…that sound wasn’t a bone breaking, was it?”
“Nope.” Dabi grins, flaring his Quirk gently. He warms it like bathwater, circling Keigo’s thin wrist. His eyes snap open again at the sensation.
“Touya.” Keigo breathes.
He doesn’t loosen the pressure, but steps even closer, catching Keigo’s cheek with his free hand. Dabi pulls him in for a languid kiss and ramps up the temperature of his lips to what he remembers made Keigo groan, back at the League compound.
And Keigo does groan this time, but in aggravation. He tips his face back, away.
“Touya—look, I’m—I’m happy for you. Okay? I know you missed having your Quirk. It’s a big part of you. We don’t have to report this. But I’m not—I’m not ‘letting you leave’. To do what, anyway? Go after Endeavor?!”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy, Touya. Actually crazy. Are you joking?”
“Obviously not, Birdie, does it feel like I’m joking?” He tightens his grip, not enough to harm Keigo, but enough to clearly mean business.
His partner looks like he’s been slapped. Dabi watches him heave, half a cough and half a sob.
“You can’t, Touya. After…after everything you went through? Everything we went through? You wanna just—just throw it all away again, for him? He’s not worth it, Touya.”
Dabi jostles him, metal arm coiling over Keigo’s bicep.
“I beg to fucking differ. He should be in the ground, Kei. He’s a piece of shit. He made me this way, in case you don’t remember.”
Keigo’s eyes go glossy with unshed tears. He doesn’t even struggle in Dabi’s grasp. He trusts him completely, even like this, even when he’s being manhandled.
“Obviously I remember. Don’t act like this. Jesus Christ. I just got you back, Touya. And in case you don’t remember a conversation from literally fifteen minutes ago, you said that I accept you, and love you, and care about you, right?! And our ‘big gay love’ should be enough of a victory, right? Against all the odds stacked against you? I know you want to hurt him, and he deserves it, but can you…can you just be here, with me, and be happy? Please, Touya, can’t this be enough? Can’t I be enough for you?”
That one hurts.
God, he’s always been a fucking bitch.
Dabi knots his fingers into Keigo’s hair, probably a little too roughly.
“You are enough. This has nothing to do with you, Keigo. I’m gonna go finish him off, and then all my attention is on you, all right? Forever. Give me this one thing, and then it’s over. Then I can rest.” He ticks his temperature up, a careful warning.
“You can rest now! You—you wanna go to school!” A fat tear wells at the corner of Keigo’s eye, shimmery this close-up. “And you met my friends, and we wake up together, and I’m gonna retire and be with you, and wear these rings with you, and have a normal life with you, after so long. Just let this go. Put it down. Please.”
“I can’t do that, Birdie.” His Quirk swells, high with emotion. Keigo hisses, wrist and scalp going pink.
“You’re scaring me, Touya.” He utters.
And is he scared of being physically hurt, or scared of Dabi actually putting this plan into action?
Or both?
“Nothing new for us, right?” Dabi says, as a whispered breath between two lovers. It’s spoken right into Keigo’s chin. “I’ve always been dangerous, you know that.”
Keigo’s jaw clenches hard, and he exhales resolutely. Dabi watches as a few feathers split off from his wings. They levitate closer, but aren’t sharp and pointed just yet.
“I’m not letting you leave…You know that, right?”
“So, you really want me to burn your condo down?”
“Thought we were leaving it for good, anyway, if you go through with this.”
“Good point. Let’s fucking dance then, Birdie.”
This is stupid, Dabi knows rationally. Or, Touya knows rationally. But Touya isn’t driving right now. Dabi’s revving the engine, and he head-butts into Keigo full-force. Hopefully he doesn’t break his nose.
Keigo takes it like a champ, wincing without a sound. A drop of blood seeps from his nostril. It’s fucking annoying that fire is so lethal to him, because Dabi doesn’t want to hurt him. He just needs to knock his stupid ass out. He doesn’t want to burn him. He really thought that would do the trick, since Keigo’s got a tiny little birdbrain.
Shit.
Dabi throws an elbow, and Keigo dodges. A fist, and he dodges. A well-aimed kick, and he dodges.
God dammit.
Suddenly he’s real pissed off about how much he sucks. It’s not fair, Keigo’s been practicing this whole time, while Dabi’s been by himself in a jail cell. He sends a flurry of blows, not landing a single one.
Dabi lunges to sweep Keigo’s feet out from under him, but he leaps over the motion like it’s no problem.
“Yeah, babe, you’re really gonna kick Endeavor’s ass.” He taunts, not even panting. “I changed my mind, you should go.”
“Do you ever stop acting like a bitch?”
“I always thought you were into it?”
Keigo takes an easy opening and throttles forward. His hands bracket right into Dabi’s shoulders and he tosses all his weight forward, slugging them both onto the floor. It’s a jolt to the system, another throb where the broken Quirk suppressant is buried, but Touya tries to fight him off immediately. He lights up his body to intolerable levels, hoping Keigo will scurry off.
His partner puffs out a pained breath, but doubles down. His knees lock in at Dabi’s hips, and suddenly hoards of feathers throng around them.
“Stop, Touya.” Keigo insists, pinning him down in as many points of contact as possible. Any of the barbs that touch his skin directly dissolve in a light sprinkle of blue.
“Stop.”
Kinda funny, for Keigo to hold him down for once. Dabi’s surprised to find that he can barely even squirm. Keigo’s plumage is tougher than it looks. He’s flush with the floor.
If he wasn’t so goddamn mad right now, it would be…kind of hot.
Dabi lurches with all his might. He yelps in irritation when the binds don’t give an inch. Keigo’s hold strengthens tenfold and what’s left of Fierce Wings buffets in a livid flap.
“Stop. Look at me, Touya, fucking stop. I’ve got you beat, okay? And so will Endeavor. You need to just face it. Okay? Let it go. Move on.”
“Get off me.” He growls. Dabi won’t hear it.
“Touya—”
“You stop fucking calling me that!”
Keigo goes rigid.
They fall into silence. Their harried breathing is the only noise, mingling together between their bodies. It’s sweltering, like his Quirk. Like their anger.
Keigo’s face is inches away. Dabi follows the black arrows on his eyes, notices how shiny they look.
“What?” Keigo dares, voice taunt.
And Dabi doesn’t know how to explain.
Touya’s still there, but he feels like a facade right now.
Touya is his conscience, his guilt, his humanity, his sorrow. Touya is the one who forgave their mother. Touya is the one who found his way through the darkness, feeling along the cave walls with nothing but a lit match to guide his path.
But Touya’s checked out right now. He handed the reins to Dabi the second he saw Endeavor’s face. He shut down, ran back into hiding, crying pathetically like a child.
Touya can’t stand up to Endeavor, he’s too much of a pussy. But Dabi can.
“You heard me.” He chokes out. Swallows.
Something shifts in Keigo, after that. His expression transforms, and he looks more raptor than man. Honed in, stripped down to his instincts.
Dabi realizes he’s in deep, now. God, he still doesn’t like it, he still has a mission, but he’s seen this look in the battlefield. He’s felt the intensity of this…animal. He protects his roost, his friends, his family.
Nothing will stand between Keigo and Touya.
Even Dabi, apparently.
“You need to get a hold of yourself.” Keigo says, careful and measured. He takes a shaky breath and leans in, nose to nose with Dabi. The spot of blood creeps to his upper lip. His irises look huge, tawny and molten.
Dabi wants to go out kicking and screaming. He wants to slam into his forehead again. He wants to prove himself, take out Keigo in one fell swoop, knock him on his ass and get the hell out of here so he can do what he needs to do.
“I’m so serious.” Keigo insists, tipping all his weight down. His hips nearly flatten to Dabi’s. “Do you hear me, Touya?”
Oh, he’s being indignant on purpose.
For the millionth time, Dabi thinks Keigo’s a fucking bitch.
And yet it…flips him upside down, a little bit. Really throws Dabi off his game. When he exhales, Keigo’s claws dig in further, and he bares his teeth. Their lips nearly touch.
“You’re gonna stay right here. And you’re gonna let this go. For good.” Keigo threatens. His wings climb high, small but mighty, posturing. The feathers jamming into Dabi’s body, keeping him down, are stiff as stone.
Oh.
Hm.
Okay.
Dabi tries to gather himself. He’s got shit to do. This shouldn’t be…doing something to him. Not fucking now. He snorts and tries to wriggle again, spiking his temperature a hair further. Some of the bigger feathers smoke along the edges and the scent is repulsively familiar. It takes him back to the catalyst of the war. Twice. Almost eviscerating Keigo.
Fuck.
Dabi backs off.
He and Touya agree, he doesn’t want to hurt Keigo. Not again. Not like that.
But, God, is he pissed.
Dabi tosses his head back into the floor, flexes his hands, bucks his hips. Keigo’s a statue. Keigo’s watching him…like a fucking hawk.
“Touya. Calm down.”
Keigo gazes right into his eyes when his says it, unblinking, steady, assured. He tilts forward, hesitantly, cautiously, and lets his forehead press to Dabi’s. He breathes.
It would be easy to head-butt him again, like this. With more wallop than last time. More brutality.
Dabi considers it.
His heart hammers, like it’s going to rupture out of his chest. His Quirk tingles, waiting, expectant, eager.
He can get out of this trap, if he really wants to. He can fight a little dirtier, and ask for an apology when the deed is done.
He can still take out Endeavor.
His breath picks up.
He thinks of Endeavor.
He seethes.
Touya might throw up.
He forgot Endeavor’s eyes are blue.
Dabi might throw up.
He feels out of control.
He’s dangerous.
What…stops him from hurting Keigo?
From killing Keigo?
On accident?
On purpose?
He might throw up.
He doesn’t know if he can breathe.
Is he breathing?
“Touya?”
Keigo sits back, just enough to see his face. He’s still razor-edged and attentive, searching.
“Touya. Hey. You’re okay. You need to calm down.”
He can still take out Endeavor.
With his ice-cold blue eyes.
He has to.
Dabi has to.
For Touya.
Is he breathing?
It doesn’t make sense, to have blue eyes, but to be full of fire.
Is he breathing?
That doesn’t make fucking sense.
And Dabi’s the same.
His eyes are blue.
His fire is blue.
His fire is back.
He feels out of control.
He’s dangerous.
Is he breathing?
Dabi can’t tell if he’s breathing.
It comes out as a provocation and a plea. A challenge and an invitation. A command and an ultimatum.
“Make me.” He snarls.
Keigo kisses him.
Notes:
Oh, man, I hope this paid off haha. I hope you guys liked it! I literally wept over this, like, Touya Todoroki, you deserved better, baby. Canon hurt you too MUCH /sobs.
I'm feeling so emotional about the fact that we only have one chapter left. This is the longest thing I've ever written, and I'm so proud, and so in love with dabihawks <3333
ALSO I'm traveling internationally soon for almost two weeks, and I can't guarantee I'll get the final chapter out before I leave for my trip. Please be patient with meeeee, but I assure you it's on the way <3 :) And in fact, I even have a little epilogue planned for after the main fic heheheeee
Pleaseeeee let me know what you think, I treasure all of your comments SO MUCH, SERIOUSLY :')
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Notes:
Oh, guys lol. This is sooooo late. Thank you for all your patience!!!! I went on a vacation to Japan for almost 2 weeks, which was AMAZING, and then I was hella jetlagged, and then I was SICK, and then I was burnt out from work, and then I went on another short trip to visit family, and everything spiraled and this took two months LMAO. This chapter also kinda fought me in the pit. As Touya Todoroki tends to do. Love him though. Andddd, you may have noticed the chapter count go up, as fic also tends to do. Surprise! One moreeee, and then an epilogue, so really, like, two more chapters hehe. Enjoyyyyy!
TW for vomiting, near the end of the chapter.
And big thankies, and hugs, and love to Yarnestly and Owlfowlfa for being the world's best betas, as always <3
NOTE: The chapter starts in Keigo's POV, but switches to Touya's after the line of asterisks. Wanted to point it out since this fic hasn't had a mid-chap POV swap before!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Touya’s lips are hot—or, Dabi’s are.
Scalding like summer, like before.
Like long before the war. Reminiscent of rushed, overzealous fucks they stole between odd jobs and whatever villain bullshit they were assigned to do.
Like the burn of cheap liquor, or the wrong end of a cigarette, or when Keigo doesn’t wait for his coffee to cool and sears the roof of his mouth.
It’s an upside-down memory, so, so far away.
And the Hawks back then, and the Keigo right now, neither of them can give Touya what he wants.
He can’t make this better. All the money and fraternizing in the world can’t improve this situation. Keigo will lasso the moon for him, but he can’t do this. And it fucking kills him.
He wants to gut Endeavor, too, especially after watching the way he shoved Touya so brutally. Like he was made of matchsticks. It’s a drop in the bucket compared to everything else he’s done, but to see it with his own eyes…
It could’ve split Touya’s head open. It could’ve killed him. Keigo saw raptor red, and felt an unshakeable, overwhelming sickness when he heard the crack of that collision. Like the squeal of tires before a car crash. He thought he was running towards a corpse.
But neither of them can enjoy the satisfaction of taking Endeavor down. Keigo learned a long time ago that there’s too much injustice in the world, and some of it is untouchable, unchangeable. It’s part of the reason he wanted to become a hero.
It’s part of the reason he wants to retire from being one.
He kisses Touya like he never will again, because…maybe he won’t. Maybe Dabi finally blotted out his proverbial sun. Smushed down the tattered soul under all those scars. It’s hard to say like this, pressed overtop him, holding down a ticking time bomb. He keeps thrashing. Snapping like an angry, caged animal—and then kissing back. Like he doesn’t know what to do.
God, his voice.
His shattered shout of, “Make me.” Like he was begging.
Furious, vicious, vindictive.
But begging.
Keigo breaks off. He draws his head back to find Touya’s eyes in between their sharp, jagged breaths. His talons pinprick into Touya’s shoulders, tighter than ever. There’ll inevitably be blood.
Keigo feels like he’s bleeding. Dribbling and dying between them, a sluggish wound in his ribcage. His pathetic little bird sings a pitiful song.
He can’t lose Touya again.
“You’re okay.” Keigo assures him desperately, willing the sentiment into existence. He tries to soothe him, using some spare feathers to caress Touya instead of crush him fully to the floor. It doesn’t seem to do much.
Touya’s borderline manic, his handsome face contorted in pain. He meets Keigo’s gaze but it’s wild and wired, dashing between flashes of devastating coherence. He tips back into the abyss and claws his way out, over, and over, and over. Dabi won’t fucking give up.
“You’re okay, baby.” Keigo repeats, firmer, even when it makes his throat sting. He’s been half-crying for half an hour, and the nausea that pairs with that churns inside him. He folds, presses his forehead to Touya’s sternum.
“Let it go. Let him go. C’mon.”
He doesn’t even know if he means Endeavor or Touya. Dabi can’t fucking have either of them.
Touya’s abdomen scrunches at the contact and he rolls his head against the floor with a whimper. In a split second, Keigo catches the caustic scent of something burning. His knee smarts from a sudden rush of heat and, shit, the tile beside Touya’s left palm is charred black.
“It’s okay.” Keigo says hurriedly, even if his pants are singed and his skin will scar. He’s been dealt much worse by the same hands. He doesn’t care, he’ll go down in fucking flames all over again.
For his mate, his treasure, his partner. Keigo presses tighter into his shoulders.
“Come back to me, Touya. I’m here.”
“Keigo,” Touya gasps suddenly, more like hisses, through grit teeth. He gets a fucked-up rush, a sickly relief from hearing his own name.
“Get off me, I’ll fucking hurt you.”
Keigo nuzzles him anyway, feels warmth pulse even under the fabric of his shirt. Feels Touya’s jumpy heartbeat through his fingertips and a few dozen plumes.
“It’s okay.” He reiterates. “You don’t mean it, Touya.”
“Yes, I do!”
No, if Touya wanted Keigo dead, he’d be dead, because he’d probably let him do it. Gone are the days when Keigo could raise lethal force against him.
And he’s confident Touya feels the same, even like this.
The fire is erratic, after that. Licks over his clothing, peels over the floor, jumps into the air haphazardly. Bright blue flames nearly catch Keigo’s hair. A few more feathers can’t escape and the smell catapults him into more bad memories. A time when Dabi did almost take him out.
Would Dabi have killed him then, really? He’d been awfully close. It’s too hard to say.
It’s notable, though, that Keigo’s still alive.
He takes a shuddering breath and coughs around the smoke that billows. Keigo finally drags one hand from Touya’s tense shoulder and uses it to clutch his left wrist, to curl around it with an iron grip.
Sapphire eyes snap to his. Touya’s brows wrinkle with a glare and the deluge of fire ceases.
“You don’t mean it,” Keigo reiterates. He leans his weight back, sitting on Touya’s hips. His free hand glides over his partner’s chest, talons catching on frayed fabric. Keigo waits above his ribcage, feels the way his heart pounds, feels the way his lungs racket with terrified, angry breath. He holds him down, but it’s a bluff.
Keigo twists his wrist, lifts it higher. Touya’s fingers twitch and the ring he wears emblazons under the light of the stupid chandelier. Gently, Keigo places Touya’s shaking palm over his own throat.
He gasps. He freezes. Touya swallows an animalistic sound and huffs a furious question.
“What the fuck are you doing, Keigo?”
A cloud of smog drifts from between his teeth. His jaw’s clenched so hard that if he still had staples, they’d probably pop off.
Keigo lifts his other hand now, places it over the first. Uses both to hold Touya’s in place, right over his Adam’s apple, right under his chin.
It’s so warm. It’s too warm, uncomfortable. It feels how it used to, slapping his bent body over tables, tumbling him into empty warehouses, shoving Keigo onto a bare mattress.
But cradling his cheek. Tending to his wounds. Tracing over his back, between overstimulated wings.
“You don’t mean any of this, Touya.” Keigo says, unsteady, sick with nerves.
He wants this to be over.
Keigo loses some air, grimaces when those familiar fingers tighten. The temperature climbs, begging sweat from his temples and collarbones.
“Look at me.” He whispers. Keigo lets his feathers fall, all of them. They float to the floor like butterflies and scatter in a pile around them. Touya’s prosthetic arm flails, finally untethered. Keigo hears him crack it down and then—then grasp at Keigo’s hip.
“Look at me, baby.” He says again, hoping. He leans forward, drooping his weight into Touya’s hand. Offering him every piece of himself, like he has so many times before.
Touya finally caves. Blue eyes lock onto his, boiling. His lower lip bleeds, like he bit it too hard.
“Come back to me, Touya.” Keigo pleads. “Come on. You’re stronger than Dabi.”
Hard to tell if those were the right words to say. Touya wails inhumanly, spewing smoke and screwing his eyes shut. He squeezes the daylights out of Keigo’s neck—and then slackens his hold. Like he scared himself. Like that was too far.
Keigo sucks in oxygen at the release but doesn’t move. He pants over his partner and watches, waits. Doesn’t let go of him.
When Touya opens his eyes again, they’re noticeably wet at the corners.
“Fuck you, Keigo.” He hisses, lips separating into a sneer of saliva and blood.
And that makes him laugh, miserably, bitterly.
“Yeah?” Keigo croaks, “I’d much rather be doing that than this, babe.”
Touya scowls at him, face contorted into wrinkles, and rage, and sorrow—and then yanks Keigo forward, by the throat.
This kiss is different from the first one. When Keigo had done it, he was trying to placate him. It had been a battle, it had been like fighting tooth-and-nail.
But this…now Touya is drowning, lost, adrift, and it’s like Keigo is his only pillar. Keigo is his only salvation. Touya’s a dead man, clawing his way out of a crumbling grave, backsliding through layers of mud and muck and trying to gain purchase in the roots of green grass above.
Keigo hopes he can be like sunlight, like the open sky, welcoming him back to life. Welcoming Touya home.
“Yeah?” Keigo breathes, when they part, “Is this what you need from me?”
The response is half a sob and half his name.
“—Kei—yeah—yes.”
“Okay,” Keigo shushes him, settling fully into his lap. “It’s okay, Touya, stay with me, okay? C’mon. Stay with me.”
Touya whines. His left hand slides around to the back of Keigo’s neck, nesting in his hair. The right hikes up his shirt. He kisses Keigo again, slick with spit, red with blood. His entire body is warm, so warm, steaming like a furnace. Smoke trickles out of his mouth again and Keigo tastes it. He swallows it, remembers it.
“Stay with me.” Keigo insists in hushed tones, between each parting. “I’m right here.”
Touya makes a pained sound, pulling back. He cups Keigo’s face and looks right into his eyes again. It shocks him to see more tears, welled-up and spilling, sliding down in shiny tracks over pale cheeks.
Touya never cries.
“I’m here too.” He says pitifully. “I’m—I swear, Kei, I’m—”
Fuck.
“I know. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
They clash into each other, over and over, like waves to the shore, like whipping wind against craggy cliffs. They smash together their lips, and crush each other’s noses, and snap sharp teeth into tender skin. Keigo’s barren wings peak high at his shoulder blades and the rest of his feathers scatter on the tile. He shudders with the intensity, dips to hide in Touya’s neck at a sudden burst of blue fire.
“I—Keigo—”
His words are stripped bare, scratching and sparking like a live wire. He’s holding on by a strand, dangling precariously.
“I know.”
“Don’t leave me.” Touya begs. “Don’t let me—don’t—”
It makes Keigo laugh again, in that twisted, sick way, feels like a gut punch.
“Don’t leave me. You hear me, Touya?”
His name brings about his undoing, again. Embers pepper into the air and Keigo feels the sear on his ribcage—Touya’s hand under his shirt, branding him. Keigo yelps, but shakes his head quickly. Catches Touya’s wrist so he won’t pull away or fight him further.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m fine.”
Touya freaks out again, body spasming in panic, but Keigo smothers it with a kiss. Two, three, four, beckoning him into the familiar.
“Is this what you need from me?” He whispers again, onto white-hot lips, a lick of copper and iron. Touya finds him, pupils pinpricked, burnt-out and desperate.
Afraid.
His wrist flexes in Keigo’s grasp, heating up again like a torch. Touya grits his teeth and hisses, shakes it out, cooling it off. He wrenches his eyes shut and lets his trembling palm find Keigo’s skin again. Tries to avoid the fresh burn.
“…Yeah.” He mutters, and it’s loaded with unspoken words. Dabi wants to go; he’s hungry for vengeance, starved for retaliation and justice.
But Touya wants to stay here. His mate swallows glass and tips his head back. He inhales unsteadily, tries to even out his breathing while he shakes against the floor.
“Make me stay, Kei...Please.”
Fuck. Fucking Christ.
It’s like a waterfall. A deluge of relief over Keigo’s head. They aren’t out of the woods, but—
“Do you mean—”
“Yes, I mean—”
Keigo charges him again, where they meet in the middle with a broken, shared moan. They bump into each other with half-open mouths, gasping and growling like feral animals.
Distantly, Keigo remembers thinking Dabi would consume him alive. That his fascination and snowballing obsession with this man would be his end. That this relationship would incinerate and take Keigo down with it. Instead, he clings to him, clutches Touya’s face and prays the ruin of this pyre can be salvaged.
He sits up and properly straddles him, rocks into him, lets Touya feel this mounting, bubbling desire. His partner grunts and tightens his jaw to a razor’s edge. Frantic hands yank free to hitch Keigo’s shirt up even further. When the air finally brushes the welt on his ribcage, Keigo sighs unevenly.
He leans back, pulls off his shirt in a tangle of leftover feathers. Underneath him, Touya looks—thirsty. Like Keigo is an oasis in the desert. Like that waterfall rained over him and soaked him to the bone. Like he’s never had him before. Like they’ve never—
“Ride me.” Touya prompts, voice nearly breaking. When his hand glows blue, he balls it into a fist at Keigo’s hip. His fingers unfurl to dig into Keigo’s waistband. He tugs his belt loop. “Hurry up.”
Keigo inhales and sends a flurry of feathers to find lube somewhere in their apartment while he shimmies out of his pants. He keeps Touya half-pinned, just in case, grounding him with heavy touches between the shuffle. The ring on his left hand gleams with heat, bright like a gemstone, and it only makes Keigo shiver more. He snatches Touya’s warm palm, kissing over the band.
“I love you.” He reminds him assertively. “You’re staying with me.”
Touya moans weakly when Keigo lets his hand fall and wrestles him out of his pants. His skull smacks into the floor once they’re both bare from the waist down. Keigo nuzzles his stomach, trails a line up kisses to his chest as he peels off Touya’s shirt, too. His feather zips back into the room then, and drops the tiny bottle beside Keigo’s knee.
“You’re so warm,” Keigo comments, almost absentmindedly, with a hysterical laugh tagged on. His talons press against healed skin. “God, Touya, you’re so warm. Don’t leave me.”
Touya’s turquoise eyes rove upwards. Breathless, beautiful, broken, his mate nestles his scorching thumb into the corner of Keigo’s hip.
“Don’t let me, then.” He whispers, exhaling black smoke.
For one second, the room smells like cigarettes.
Like one that was half-finished, and then snuffed out in the snow.
Keigo folds, bending in half to kiss him again. Aligning their bodies like a constellation, like planets that orbit the sun together. Red string of fate, forever intertwined, all that dreamy stuff. His partner’s left hand snakes into his hair—heating, cooling, trembling. Touya snares his curls and shoves Keigo’s mouth even closer. His tongue burns, his blood slides onto Keigo’s cheek, mixes with what dripped from his nose with the head-butt. Two becoming one; metaphorical bullshit that he would’ve scoffed at eight or nine years ago. Plants that share a plot, roots intertwining indistinguishably. Two birds on a fucking wire.
Keigo separates from him with a gasp, shoulders heaving from the effort to pull away. Fierce Wings are smaller right now, only four feet or so in total span, but he flexes them wide. He seizes Touya’s hands, earning a noise of surprise, and settles them right into his scarlet feathers.
Touya’s face twitches as if Keigo struck him. He yanks his wrists backwards, like Keigo's plumage will melt from touch alone. But he can't break loose.
“Kei—”
“I trust you.” Keigo interjects firmly, no room for argument. He curls Touya’s familiar fingers over his ridges and sighs, suddenly aching with love, and want, and heartbreak, and hope. He squeezes them tighter, locking them into place.
“I trust you, Touya. Now and back then. Even when it was dumb as hell of me.”
He watches the gears turn in Touya’s head. The turmoil, the internal debate, the indecision. He swishes his wings uneasily, bracketing inwards, closer, shielding the both of them. Keigo leans forward.
Touya concedes. His fingers spread apart, then smooth between the vanes.
“Okay.”
That’s all it takes.
The sex is kind of a blur. Unpolished and urgent, rough and primal in a way they’ve unfortunately danced through a thousand times. Too many life-or-death scenarios. Too much time apart. Too many goodbyes. It’s not just desperate, not just passionate and clamoring.
It’s holding them together.
Because Touya can’t fucking leave.
“Ahh, fuck,” Keigo tosses his head back, dropping onto Touya’s wet cock. The prosthetic metal fingers could crunch his bones, but Touya displays impressive control. His mouth drops open in a silent shout instead.
Keigo catches his balance on Touya’s chest, slapping his palms onto steaming pecs. He doesn’t mean to scratch him, but his claws aren’t going anywhere in this state. Red lacerations scrape into thin lines down his skin before Keigo can stop himself. He whimpers an apology, figures that works.
“Nngh, Kei—” Touya jerks at the sensation, arching off the floor. He starts fucking into the rhythm Keigo created, right off the bat. Pulling Keigo onto his dick faster and faster until he can barely think. Touya stretches him, heavy, and thick, and wanton. Keigo whines, used to at least a little prep, but he works through it, chirping and tweeting until Touya is railing him open. Keigo flutters all over.
“Yeah, yeah, there,” He squeaks at the intensity. His body clenches involuntarily, earning another guttural shout. Touya grips him even tighter, snaps his hips sharper, bounces Keigo in his lap so hard he could pass out from it.
“Don’t let me go,” Touya says in delirium, tugging downwards suddenly. He nails Keigo deep, electricity jolting through every nerve ending. He swears he sees it flicker between them.
“Don’t let me go, Birdie.”
Birdie.
Birdie.
Keigo could cry. That’s a good sign, right? An animal sound rips from his throat, a cross between an avian screech and a human sob.
“Ooooh—mmm. Never, Touya. Never.”
Touya bucks into him with a moan, face contorting in pleasure. And then—
Touya’s left hand suddenly flares, a flash of blue.
“Fuck,” He hisses in panic.
It only hurts a second. Keigo doesn’t even have time to wince. A few of his feathers incinerate, but he lodges his wing further into Touya’s retreating hand.
“Don’t—I’m fine—”
“Hold me down, Keigo.” Touya demands, voice high with worry.
“Wh—”
“You heard me.”
Keigo gulps when both of them stutter to a stop. Humid breath clouds between huddled their faces, clings to the sweat on Keigo’s forehead. Touya doesn’t seem to be sweating, anymore. The trait vanished when his Quirk returned. With his mate still buried inside him, Keigo tips his head down to rest on Touya’s sternum. God, his scent is so fucking good like this. Like incense. Merciless memories ricochet through his foggy head. They pant, Touya shakes, Keigo fuzzes out like cranked-up radio static.
“C’mon.” Touya says quietly, into his hair. It gives him goosebumps, head to toe. “E-either we stop—because I can’t fucking—I can’t fucking control myself, or you make me, Birdie. I’m—”
Touya exhales hard when Keigo shifts instinctually. His fucking hindbrain raptor doesn’t like that things have paused. It smells like something sparks, but Keigo doesn’t feel it burn this time.
“Keigo,” Touya prompts with sad frustration, “if you don’t—”
Keigo pushes off suddenly, bracing on Touya’s chest again, poising talons over skin once more. Touya’s hot pulse rushes under his palms. His heartbeat thunders, just like Keigo’s own.
“Then I will,” Keigo shoots back, posturing upwards.
Fine.
Keigo can hold him down.
He feels himself suddenly purr possessively; angry, vast, and rumbling. Keigo snaps his wings out wide again, displacing Touya’s hands. Red feathers shoot off and wrap around Touya’s wrists, pinning both to the floor, instead. More zip over his body, fastening at his knees and ankles, pushing into his thighs.
Blue eyes widen, and Touya actually almost laughs in surprise. At the same time, a jet of flame chars the tile.
“Holy—”
Keigo snarls, slamming him flat before he can speak. He rushes up Touya’s chest until he’s planted over his collarbones, teasing his neck. One thumb hovers at his delicious Adam’s Apple.
“Kei,” Touya says simply and reverently. He wiggles against the binds enough to test them, and then bares his throat.
“Make me stay.”
Keigo might cry, this time. Furious, and pained, and in love, and stricken. He hauls his body weight into his hands, onto his mate’s chest.
Keigo would crawl into his ribcage, if he could. He wants to crack Dabi open and pull Touya out, to smother him until he can’t move. Until he can’t leave him.
He might cry, imagining it was all for naught. If Dabi walks out the door and annihilates his entire world, Touya included.
He might cry, fucking himself onto Touya’s cock until his legs threaten to give out.
He might cry, watching the man beneath him redden in pleasure and anguish, wrestling with himself, wrestling with fire.
Wrestling not to hurt Keigo.
“Y-You will stay.” Keigo chokes out, blinking back mixed tears, insides coiling. “Look, right—fuck—right now.”
Touya’s lips part, glistening with spit. His eyebrows knit together in something between affliction and euphoria. Keigo lengthens his strokes, gliding over his dick, slowing down until they’re both quivering. He tilts until they’re nose-to-nose. Touya wheezes.
“You could burn me up, Touya.” Keigo explains between cutting breaths. “You could—you could get out of this, if you really wanted to.”
His partner screws his eyes shut, hips chasing the heat and pleasure. Keigo tweets at the nudge, then drops until Touya’s flush and Keigo’s full.
“Fuuuuck, Birdie.” Touya shudders. The feathers on him don’t budge. Strong as stone.
Keigo tries to gather his thoughts, fingers twitching. He pats Touya’s jaw, getting his attention. Cherry-colored cheeks squint and then he finally looks to Keigo again. The air sizzles between them.
“You don’t wanna hurt me,” Keigo insists, picking up speed again. The sound is slick and lewd, so Keigo speaks louder.
“Right?” God, he’s going to explode. He loves Touya too much. He needs him too bad. Needs him to stay. “Y-you want me more than—than all that shit? More than Dabi?”
“Keigo.” Touya seethes, glittering with the embers he’s trying to hold back. His abdomen flutters, and Keigo almost comes.
“You love me, right?” The question squeals into birdsong.
He knows Touya does. He wants to hear it.
“Keigo. Yes.”
He knows.
“T-tell me I’m more important.”
He wants to hear that, too. He wants it to fill his soul the same time Touya does. God, meld them together.
Touya’s bright flames shoot out again, nearly catching the edge of the couch. He shakes his head against the floor furiously, looking distraught. It’s hot, all around them. A thousand degrees. Sweat races down Keigo’s spine, between his feathers.
“Fuck, Keigo, n-no shit you’re more important.”
“Then you’re fucking staying.”
Keigo takes control. More than he ever has in his life. He almost screams and levels Touya back against the floor. He sweeps his wings open for extra traction, and then rides him hard.
Touya makes a noise he’s never heard before. Like he’s being flayed.
But like he loves it.
“K—J-Jesus, I—”
“Tell me,” Keigo cuts off with a trill. He’s probably bruising Touya’s chest at this point. And he’s really close to coming, body wound tight, wings and feathers giving him a feedback loop of extra sensations. His mate’s temperature is addicting, his smoky breath is like nicotine, his heart rate booms from every angle.
He has to stay. He has to keep him. He has to have him.
This is more than Dabi or Hawks or Keigo or Touya. This is his mate. His bird Quirk goes into overdrive. Nature, mate, instinct, breath, breed, live, survive, strength, family, mate, mate, mate.
This is his fucking mate.
He has to stay.
“Tell me why you’re here. Huh, Touya?” He manages to spit out. A droplet flecks onto Touya’s chin, onto his bloody lip. Keigo zeroes in on it.
Shit, he’s losing traction. He’s getting sloppy. He’s feeling deranged. Keigo sings at the top of his lungs, trying to earn him, showing off to him, begging him to stay.
Touya whimpers.
With an extra flap of wings, Keigo mashes them into a kiss. It pushes him over the edge and he shouts obscenities into Touya’s mouth. They’re muffled by his partner’s own ragged gasp, by Touya’s loud keening.
Touya comes too, thrashing against his binds, wrenching into Keigo’s heat as much as he’s able to. The mess is instantaneous, cum dribbling down the back of Keigo’s thigh and over Touya’s stomach. Keigo won’t stop. He lifts his hips and pumps back down until he literally can’t anymore, sweating, and wailing, and melting in the aftershocks. His wings pound the air, trying to stir up those last thrusts. They manage a little, but Keigo’s completely spent.
“T-tell me why you’re—” He tries, words dying in his throat. He can’t even—he’s too weak, too saddled with emotion to even hold onto his feathers. They slip to the floor, and Touya’s free. “Why you…”
Shit. He could run. Touya could get out of here, right now.
Fuck. Keigo starts to actually cry. He tried his best.
Tears splash onto Touya’s torso, and Keigo attempts to hold back his pathetic sniffles. He crashes hard, crumbling into a pile. His forehead smears over the handiwork on Touya’s chest. He prays that he doesn’t try to bolt.
But they sit like that for a while; Keigo falling apart, Touya just breathing underneath him. He can’t tell which of them is shaking harder, this time.
“Hey,” Touya finally chokes out. His hand rises to card into Keigo’s hair. It feels…back to an average temperature. He pets over the crown of his head and urges Keigo to look at him.
Touya is…undone. Frayed. His snowy hair skews every direction, his lip is swollen and bleeding, his cheeks are too bright and ruddy.
Though his eyes, albeit shiny, look a little more clear than they did before.
“‘Cause of you, Birdie.” He says quietly, with a soft exhale.
Keigo stares, swallowing anxiety and phlegm. He tries to sit up, even though his body protests. Pulling out is…even messier, but he droops onto Touya’s lap after anyway. Keigo cheeps and they both wince.
“…Are you…?” Keigo starts, unsure where he’s even going with the question. His voice sounds like a shitty record player, scratchy and grating. He carefully rests his hands on Touya’s ribcage.
Is he okay? Is he hurting?
Is he Touya?
Touya shuts his eyes for a second before scanning over the room. Crinkled feathers are littered across the floor with several fresh, black spots where he lost control of his Quirk. Their clothes are nearly shredded in piles. A glass broke where it slipped off the counter in their tussle. He sighs like this aged him a millennium.
“I’m so sorry.” He utters.
Keigo holds his breath. Waits for a snark remark or a poisonous threat.
One doesn’t come.
He waits for Dabi to toss him off and take him out; he could do it, right now.
But he doesn’t.
“…Touya?”
His partner nods. He licks the blood off his lower lip. Cradles Keigo’s face in his hands.
“…Yeah.”
The relief is insurmountable. It swells like the morning sun over the horizon.
“God.” Keigo sniffs. He liquifies, becoming a puddle atop Touya’s body. Keigo crams his face into Touya’s neck and scents him until he can’t smell anything else. His mate’s hands brush up and down along Keigo’s back, gentle on his strung-out primaries.
He doesn’t know how long they stay glued together. Maybe fifteen minutes? Maybe half an hour? Keigo had been too close to losing Touya all over again. The fear sticks between his organs and muddles up his throat. It takes ages to dissolve. He waits until the raptor finally settles and calmly roosts back into its nest inside him. Touya waits patiently.
When he starts to ache from the position, Keigo rolls off Touya’s body.
“I’m sorry, Kei.” He says again, sitting up. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.”
“He just—”
“I know.” He insists. “It’s okay…It’s over.”
Touya grates his forehead. “What if it’s not? What’s stopping me from doing that again?”
Keigo almost snorts a little. How checked out was he while they fucked?
“You are, clearly. Maybe I…helped, but…Look, you stayed…You let Dabi go. And if it’s ‘for now,’ okay, we deal with it when it happens again.—But maybe it won’t.”
Touya measures him with a strained look. “But maybe it will.”
Keigo’s lip twitches upwards. He smooths over his partner’s bangs and attempts humor. “Then—then I hold you down and fuck you on the floor again, I guess?”
Touya scoffs and shakes his head. Exhaustion wrinkles the corners of his eyes. “God, Kei. I don’t know…what the hell I’d do without you.”
Touya trails off, glares at the floor again. “I really did come back…for you. I just…love you more than I hate my piece of shit father, I guess.”
Keigo leans in closer, teases a finger over Touya’s cheek.
Oh. That’s a lot, coming from him. That’s life-altering.
Keigo responds playfully to avoid losing his shit again. He thinks his reservoir of tears has dried up.
“Aw, Hot Stuff. When did you go so soft?” He whispers, feeling warm.
Touya chuckles dryly. “Hell if I know.”
They share a chaste kiss, one that makes Keigo want to weep again anyway. He wipes his eyes and squeezes Touya’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Maybe rerouting the conversation is a good idea. “Do you have any pain? Your back?”
Because, unfortunately, now that things have chilled out, he can’t stop hearing the way it almost snapped.
Touya frowns. “I’m more worried about you. Let me take care of your burns. I did a fucking number on you.”
“They’re really fine, Touya. I’ve had way worse.” Which isn’t a lie.
But his partner pushes on. “Please.”
There are a thousand apologies in his eyes, so Keigo agrees. Maybe it will help him calm down; the familiar repetition of tending to wounds.
“Sure. But let me clean up first.”
Touya helps him even though he doesn’t ask for it. They rise on unsteady feet and sweep up the glass, toss their clothes into the hamper. Keigo arranges his feathers into a neat pile, knowing he’ll need to preen his wings later tonight. The floor may be harder to salvage. They can…just buy some new rugs. The tile can be cold, anyway.
The shower is quiet, words muttered here and there between washing each other’s hair. Touya’s still a little bit cagey about touching Keigo, but he’s eventually coaxed into sudsing up his back. They take longer than necessary, wrapped up in steam and shower spray. Keigo, on the other hand, tries not to be too clingy. (But he’s failing.)
The first aid is even quieter. Keigo wipes antiseptic on Touya’s scratches and Touya gives the full, practiced, professional treatment to all his burns. They aren’t too bad, Keigo insists; his knee, his side, the crest of his wing. There are a few other tiny ones, too, that should heal quickly.
And maybe he…doesn’t hate having Touya’s marks on him. Maybe it makes him feel…proud? They’re permanent. Jewelry can be taken off, but, these sure as hell aren’t going anywhere. He doesn’t say as much, but they’re…weirdly soothing.
Touya begs to differ. He thinks they’re awful, but is too tired to debate. His guilt is obvious and booming, like an elephant in the room. So, Keigo keeps quelling him.
“It’s okay, Touya.” He tells him gently for the fiftieth time, as his partner settles onto the couch. “I’m not angry. I don’t want you to apologize. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear that I understand what…set you off.”
Endeavor is also an elephant in the room. Keigo doesn’t dare speak his name.
“I’m just pissed I roped you into it.” He says (again).
“And I’m just glad I was there so it wasn’t worse.”
Keigo speaks while pouring Touya a cup of tea. Decaf, just something to relax him. He might suck at cooking, but he’s capable of making tea. Once it’s full, he notices his phone on the kitchen floor, screen cracked to all fuck. Keigo picks it up on his way to the coffee table.
There are—one hundred and eighteen text messages and twenty-three missed calls. Sixteen emails.
“What the fuck,” He quips, plopping down beside his partner.
“What?”
Keigo nearly drops the cup onto the table and scrolls through them in a panic while Touya reads over his shoulder. The text messages pile together, from Rumi, Tokoyami, several other coworkers, his agency, and, primarily, Shoto.
saw the video, it’s fucking everywhere
is he okay?
Please answer
Hawksy, kinda freaking out
Are you home?
Where are you?
Tell me Touya is with you
Hawks please update
saw online
fucking INSANE
always knew he was a dick
Touya won’t answer his phone either
what the fuck did he do to your boyfriend birdbrain
Hope everything is all right!
Hawks
investigation
they’re MADDDD
Please call me immediately
We need your report and statement ASAP.
“Oh, fuck.” Hawks blurts. He’s been sent a link probably twenty times. It’s a video, clear as day, taken across the street from Touya and Endeavor as they argue. In perfect resolution, at an unobstructed angle, it captures the exchange. Keigo’s grateful that it’s obvious Touya never actually touched him, at least.
And then he has to see again, nauseatingly, Endeavor knocking Touya into the bike rack. It even echoes the sickening sound.
God, Keigo doesn’t know if he can watch this.
Fuck, wait, maybe Touya shouldn’t be watching this. This could trigger him to—
But his partner startles and then laughs. Bright and high like a hyena. He clutches his chest and laughs and laughs. Keigo blinks at him, confused.
“Oh, shit, Kei.” Touya wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, then explains. “I mean, not sure how much sympathy a villain will garner, but, that looked pretty incriminating, huh?”
Touya mimics spitting on the phone. “Dig your own fucking grave, Pa.”
Ah. That makes sense. It is…pretty damn compromising. And has tens of thousands of views already, despite the fact that this was less than three hours ago. Keigo fast-forwards the video, watches himself flit into view. There’s the final showdown, so to speak, and the image of him hauling Touya down the street. Luckily, his flame Quirk never seems to appear. Either he kept it hidden on purpose or Keigo’s body shielded it.
Endeavor stalks away, unknowingly in the direction of the camera. He mumbles under his breath, voice tense with ill-contained fury. It picks up a few heated words.
“…disgrace…should’ve ended…when I had the chance…”
Oh.
Oh, double fuck.
Touya’s eyes boggle from his head, but he’s the opposite of upset.
“Half a death threat on record? No fucking way, is it my birthday?” He cackles, and his giddiness even makes Keigo smile.
“Jesus, I think it is.” He loops an arm over Touya’s neck and tugs him closer, so their temples touch. “But don’t get ahead of yourself, Hot Stuff. We don’t know what’ll happen with this. I’m still nervous that you could be apprehended or—”
“I’m not.” Touya retorts, letting himself be cuddled. “I didn’t do jack shit. All I did was talk to the guy.”
“Yelled at the guy.”
“Fuck off, whatever. I was with one of my approved ‘handlers,’ you, my goddamn ankle monitor is still intact, it’s not obvious that I have my Quirk back, and even if it was, the only person harmed was—well…The worst person I could possibly fucking harm…”
“But I’m okay.” Keigo reassures him quickly. “And we’re keeping your Quirk a secret. Unless the…damaged device causes you any pain, we aren’t telling a fucking soul, Touya. Not even Shoto.”
Touya nods, a little solemn again at the reminder he burned Keigo. So he nudges him, smushes their cheeks together like a cat.
“Actually.” Touya muses between his affections. “Can you call Shoto? He’s probably fucking tweaking. I think my phone’s in the bedroom but I bet I have just as many calls from him.”
“Yeah.”
Keigo sets the phone to speaker mode and holds it at face level. The line only rings once before it’s picked up.
“Hawks,” Shoto prompts immediately, “is Touya—”
“I’m here, Sho.” Touya says hurriedly. “I’m all right.”
They hear this information relayed to people in the background. Shinsou? Natsuo and Fuyumi? His mom?
“I saw the video.” Comes back quickly. “Are you at the hospital?”
“No, we’re at home. He—he got me pretty good, but I’m fine. Just. Got worked up.”
Understatement of the year, but Keigo doesn’t say that. He doesn’t…know if it’s his place to divulge everything that occurred. He and Shoto have gotten close, but, Touya should be the one to share.
“I was about to come over there. This spread incredibly fast, Touya. We were all panicking.”
Keigo and Touya share a look, like, thank fuck he didn’t come over here sooner.
“…What’s the status on…Endeavor?” Keigo asks after a moment’s hesitation. He doesn’t want to say his name, but after hearing that shit, he needs to know if he should keep his guard up.
“Officially, ‘no comment at this time.’ Unofficially, Izuku discerned that he’s going on leave. No idea how long or what that entails, exactly. I’m sure his PR team advised that that was the best thing to do with something so…tumultuous.”
“That’s certainly a word for it.” Touya heckles. Keigo quiets him with a bonk to the ear.
“Would you rather I say it was a shit show?” Shoto sighs. “The Todoroki drama gets old, you know?”
Which is definitely brother code for, “I was worried about you, but good fucking God, stop being featured in newspaper headlines.”
Touya picks at a seam on his pants, mood suddenly dropping again.
“I’m sorry,” He mumbles. “…He…you know how he is.”
For a few beats, they only hear the buzz of the phone line.
“All too well.” Shoto audibly exhales. Then, “Could I come over with Hitoshi? Mom would like me to see you with my own eyes for her peace of mind. Her, and Yumi, and Natsu would come, but the press is swarming the sidewalk and they can’t exactly traverse the streets as easily as we can.”
Touya looks to Keigo questioningly, like, should they let his baby brother and his boyfriend come over after his nuclear-level meltdown? And he figures, yeah, why not? Keigo’s completely familiar with fucked-up family situations, but he’s a much newer passenger on the “fuck Enji Todoroki” train. Shoto already gets it. Shoto may be able to soothe Touya in a different way than Keigo can, too.
He nods.
“Yeah. That’s fine.” Touya replies.
“All right. We’ll be there within the hour. See you.”
“Bye, Sho.”
Keigo hangs up but keeps his phone in hand, firing off messages to the most critical people. He tells Rumi and Tokoyami that all is fine now, but he’ll give them the full run-down later. His own PR manager gets something generic and he explains he’ll come into the office tomorrow to cool things down. Retirement cannot come soon enough, holy shit.
Same goes to Touya’s parole officer, since they currently have no reason to bring him in. Keigo reiterates that on his end, it was strictly a verbal altercation, and if they break down his door tonight to try and cuff his partner, it’ll be way messier than they’d like.
Legally, he means, of course. But he doesn’t present that distinction in the email. Nothing wrong with a subtle threat.
Because if anyone else dares to try and separate him from his mate again, Keigo’s slaughtering them.
Said mate slumps his head on Keigo’s shoulder and watches him type, occasionally sipping his tea. He lets Keigo finish, tossing his broken phone onto the table, before speaking.
“Do you think they can put me back for this?” Touya asks, soft and deadly serious in a way that he often isn’t. He’s not being coy or sarcastic, now. He’s…nervous. He’s surely thinking of that box, that cage. A barred square of sunlight and a shitty, run-down shack.
Keigo takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the leftover traces of smoke. They should open the balcony door before Shoto gets here, and move things around to cover the char marks. He twists to face Touya, studying his downtrodden expression.
Keigo’s been looking into these eyes a long time. In snatched, stolen moments, a cynical love story that he tries to shove into some caricature of a romantic poem. Icarus and his sun; it doesn’t make sense that they’re both alive. Keigo should’ve melted a long time ago, and Touya should’ve burned up like a black hole.
But that hasn’t happened yet.
He cups his partner’s cheeks with still-taloned fingers and kisses him once, long and slow, until they need to part for air.
“I won’t let them.” Keigo promises.
*************
Touya still feels hazy. Groggy, like he’s hungover, or dragging himself out of a bad trip. He clings onto Keigo like a greedy parasite, letting himself be comforted, even though it should be the other goddamn way around.
Dabi or Touya, they used the same hands to burn Kei.
He’s all mixed up inside. Wrecked over hurting his partner. Aching in pain over his busted back and his spiking skin. Elated that his asshole dad did something condemning in the public eye. Relieved that Dabi slunk back to his dark corner. Jealous of the raw power that Dabi wields, but that Touya won’t. Guilty and self-deprecating for not allowing himself to brandish said power. In love with Keigo, maybe more than he’s ever been.
It’s a garbage disposal of emotion, clipping and sawing away in his gut. Dicing him into even smaller, more confusing pieces.
Keigo rubs over his shoulder, nursing his own cup of tea now that they’ve aired out the room and rearranged the furniture to cover the worst of the burn marks. It’s…noticeable. Shoto will probably say something.
Or maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll be too stressed from the situation.
They sit in silence, which Touya’s all too familiar with. Keigo usually doesn’t like it, always playing music or throwing the TV on for a distraction, but he seems just as exhausted as Touya feels. His eyes are red-rimmed and tired. His wings are still down to the skivvies.
But he’s as steadfast as ever. Positive and insistent that things will be okay.
It’s hard to shake Touya’s typical pessimism, but maybe they will be. Keigo’s been right so far.
He can hope, at least.
Shoto and Shinsou arrive around thirty minutes later. Keigo answers the door because Touya’s sorta glued to the couch at this point. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, his body really fucking hurts. He didn’t even look at the state of his back, but it had made Keigo…upset.
Shoto and Keigo greet each other in hushed tones in the doorway while Touya strains to hear. After around a minute of that, he speaks up.
“Secrets don’t make fucking friends, y’know.” He grumbles, trying to sit up straighter. His muscles tighten in protest but he does it anyway.
Shoto finally pops his head into the room, two-toned hair whipped from the wind. Shinsou slinks in behind him and the two of them kick their boots off at the door. They’re in their hero garb. Keigo sidesteps to let them in.
“Not secrets.” Shoto replies. “Just assuming you might not give me a straight answer about how you’re truthfully doing.”
“So Hawks will?”
“Hawks tells me a lot of things.” Shoto says simply, which, Touya isn’t sure what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. But there are pictures of Shoto on the wall, after all.
Right. The seven years of commiserating and all that.
Keigo puts his hands on his hips. He’s wearing a blue sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, covering the physical damage done. The frayed ridge of his wing isn’t noticeable to the untrained eye; Touya just knows those wings very well. His partner’s lips tick up into a small smile.
“And I said you’re doing all right, all things considered.”
“Hm.” Touya glares, but doesn’t press further.
Shinsou walks in a slow circle, hands in his pockets. He surveys the room while Shoto makes his way to the couch, but doesn’t mention any of the “redecorating.” He doesn’t say much at all, actually, but that seems par for the course with him so far.
Keigo offers him a drink, and the two of them dip over to the kitchen, providing an illusion of privacy.
Shoto sinks onto the couch beside Touya, looking uncharacteristically worried. His normally stoic face warps into concern now that he’s closer.
“You don’t look well.” He states, tilting his head.
“Pfft, Jesus, thanks a lot, asshole.” Touya rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Don’t get defensive.” Shoto requests. He reaches out a hand to tug on Touya’s forearm. “You know I meant that you’ve been through a lot—”
The moment he touches Touya, he freezes. Shoto’s eyes go wide as saucers and his fingers lock in place. Feather light, he inhales.
“Touya.” He murmurs.
Fuck. He knows.
Touya can feel it, then. The way his own warmth reaches out to Shoto, chasing something familiar. The way, down to his bones, down to his DNA, his Quirk recognizes the likeness of itself. Endeavor’s blood coursing through both of them.
Here, it solidifies. In a way it never has. From long before his Quirk was suppressed, long before he became an echo of the Touya he used to be, before his coma.
Something surges between them, hidden deep down inside from Touya’s childhood. He thinks of the stolen moments the four of them had, back when they were just kids. Barely any with Shoto. The things they missed.
Fire burns, but fire comforts, too. Fire provides survival and safety, perseverance and subsistence.
Touya’s always considered his Quirk dangerous, but in this moment with Shoto, he wonders where he’d be without it. Touya has done nothing but endure, endure, endure, and maybe that’s part of why.
He starts to choke up, overwhelmed with feelings he can’t even place, because they exist beyond his understanding. Intrinsic ties between the two of them.
Touya knows he needs to somehow address this and explain. He isn’t going to harm anyone. It’s different, this time. He opens his mouth to speak.
But Shoto beats him to it. “Does it hurt?”
Not, “how did this happen?,” or, “what are you going to do?,” or, “how are you going to fix this?”
Oh.
Okay.
Touya’s lip almost wobbles. He bites it between his teeth, clamping down on rapidly-building emotions. He clears his throat.
“…Not so bad. Not like it used to.” He sniffs, not pulling away. He lets his stupid baby brother hold onto his arm. Thinks of his siblings as toddlers, clinging to him while they stumbled around the house.
Fuck. That doesn’t help.
Touya chances a glance over at Keigo to try and pull himself together. His partner is watching their exchange carefully, like he clearly heard everything. Alarm bells are probably going off in Keigo’s head now that Shoto knows, but Touya is…at peace. He’s safe with Shoto. And if Shoto’s safe with Shinsou, he’s safe with Shinsou, too.
“Hm. Maybe that place really helped your body adapt like it needed to.” Shoto muses, voice quiet.
“W-what, the jail?” Touya blinks and barks a small laugh. “Guess so.”
His brother squeezes his arm tighter, sending waves his way. It feels like a hug. It feels like home.—Well, the pieces of home he didn’t hate.
“The hospital part of the jail.” Shoto clarifies. He finally lets go, sitting back. “…Are you okay?...The video…”
Touya takes a shaky breath and rubs the back of his neck. Shoto saw the video. Everyone on fucking Earth saw the video. There’s no denying Touya was the one to get heated first (ironically), but he didn’t do anything.
“He set me off. But I didn’t touch him, Sho.”
“I know. That much is obvious.”
“Twitter is rooting for you, y’know.” Shinsou pipes up, from across the room. So much for privacy.
“Huh?” Keigo lifts an eyebrow. “I haven’t checked.”
Shinsou cracks a smile, digging his phone from his pocket. He leans on the countertop and scrolls, reading aloud as he goes.
“‘I know Dabi was a bad guy or whatever but wtf was that? He didn’t even front him and Endeavor coulda killed his ass,’ says DabiHawksHoneyxx.”
Keigo fucking snorts, tiny wings flapping. “Sounds like they have some bias.”
Touya’s jaw drops. “Does the public know I’m your—your—whatever?”
“Ehhh.” Shinsou shrugs. He waves a flippant hand. “A lot assume. Pics of you guys at the agency are everywhere and the pieces are being put together since Hawks was in the video. Here’s another one: ‘Not sure if I’m cool w Endeavor almost killing someone for just talkin’ shit? Former villain or no like have some self control?’ That’s from FeralHog69.”
“I don’t see how the usernames are relevant.” Shoto says, but he’s smirking.
Ah, okay. Touya gets it. They make more sense together now.
Shinsou juts his chin out. “What if it’s from ShoTimeBabe? ShoTimeBabe says: ‘Todorokis are crazy as fuck lol but this was like wild, he didn’t even lay a finger on him and Endeavor straight up said he should’ve ended him when he had the chance? Unreal from a top-ranked hero.’”
“There’s more of these?” Touya turns on the couch to face them. He hasn’t checked his phone since he woke up this morning, which feels like weeks ago.
“Tons of them.” Shinsou nods. He locks his phone and sets it on the marble, beside the tea Keigo poured him. “The tides of public opinion are turning and the people are not thrilled with Endeavor.”
Oh. Wow. That doesn’t make any shitting sense to Touya, but he’ll take it? Feels fucking weird, though.
“…But I’m…”
“You’re not a fucking villain anymore, how many times do I have to drill that through your thick skull?” Keigo huffs. He sidles back over to the couch, like he spent too long away from Touya’s direct side. He lightly bonks his forehead a few times, earning a swipe. If they were in private, Touya would yank on his wing.
“Okay, yeah, but I’m not fucking devoid of sin or whatever.”
“You Todorokis really are all dramatic, huh?” Shinsou says playfully, cheek in hand.
Shoto sends him a deadpan expression but then nods. “Hawks is right, Touya. You’ve done your time. You’ve changed and atoned.”
Atoned.
The word ricochets in his head. His father had said he was trying to atone, but that’s a load of bullshit. Hopefully Touya’s efforts are…more realized. These people around him certainly seem to think so, as do a few other heroes. And so do strangers on Twitter? Like, okay?
Until a few hours ago, Touya would’ve agreed, but he doesn’t feel like he’s on solid ground after his brief foray into being Dabi again.
“Well, all that matters is what the prison thinks, huh?” Touya sighs. He lets his head knock into the back of the couch to stare at the illuminated chandelier up above. Surprising that it avoided any damage what with all the flames flying earlier.
Keigo smooths over his bangs, which Touya tries not to be embarrassed about in front of the other two.
“Don’t worry about that.” He can hear, the unspoken ‘babe’ tagged on. “I’m going into the office tomorrow to sort out the shitshow. You’re right, you didn’t do anything, and no one’s taking you from me again.”
That last part is probably not meant to be said out loud, but he can feel the tips of Keigo’s talons in his hair. A tell that he’s still stressed and strained.
“…Does anyone else know about…your Quirk?” Shoto asks hesitantly. “That could certainly put a wrench in things.”
Touya shakes his head and shuts his eyes, lulled by Keigo’s touch; he can’t help it. “No.”
“And it’ll stay that way.” Keigo says definitively. Which is a barely-concealed threat. Fucking bird and his fucking predatory nature.
(It’s actually sort of sweet.)
“Obviously.” Shoto agrees.
“I know I’m the newbie to the family drama here, but I swear I won’t say a word. If that’s what you’re worried about.” Shinsou chimes in.
Touya opens his eyes again when Shoto declares, “I trust Hitoshi.”
Hah. Why is that cute? It cheers him up a little. He’s happy Shoto has someone. Touya pokes his brother in the thigh.
“So serious already, hm?”
Shoto swats him away, but his cheeks are pink. “We’ve been dating several months.”
“Aww, wedding bells soon?” Touya pushes, because it’s what older siblings do.
Except, maybe he backed himself into a corner with that one. Shoto tilts his head.
“Yes, you’re familiar with those, aren’t you?” He gestures blandly to the ring on Touya’s left hand. “I was wondering if you’d ever finally say something.”
Keigo booms with laughter, the fucking douche. He slides onto the arm of the couch, wrapping his hand gently over Touya’s shoulders, then plants a kiss on Touya’s temple. It earns him a half-hearted slap.
“Walked yourself right into that one, didn’t you, Hot Stuff?”
Touya pinches the bridge of his nose. This, again. Yeah. Unavoidable, apparently.
“Shoto,” He begins rigidly, “it’s not...”
Not what? Not “real”? It feels a lot harder to say it’s not real now. And it’s—always been real, anyway? It’s—it’s fucking complicated, is what it is.
“It’s not anything on paper. Not anything legal.” Keigo supplies, recognizing his struggle. The thumb on his shoulder brushes soothing circles while Keigo’s body fuses firmly to Touya’s side. “We’re just toying with the idea. Is it so wrong to wanna play house after so many years, huh?”
Keigo winks, teasing, trying to ease the tension Touya obviously feels. But that sinks in his gut, because it’s even more fucked up. They’re not “playing house.” This isn’t some silly game. He wants to be Keigo’s partner, or mate, or whatever the fuck forever, but…
“It’s not that.” Touya finally cuts in. “It’s…what it…symbolizes, all right? I’m just not a big, white wedding person, okay? Can we change the fucking subject?”
Shoto quirks an eyebrow. “You’re the one who brought it up in the first place.”
Touya grumbles at him. He’s right, but, like, he’s not.
“All right.” His brother looks away, over at Shinsou, like he’s searching for a different topic. “I…think Bakugou and Midoriya are getting engaged soon?”
Keigo snorts and Touya nearly scrapes his own face off with a groan.
“Not helpful, Shoto, that’s still a fucking marriage?”
“But it’s not your own?”
Touya blows out an aggravated sigh. Shoto can be so goddamn literal. Half the time endearing, half the time…this.
Keigo nudges him, knocking his head into Touya’s jaw.
“Aww, be my wedding date?” He croons, batting his stupid, golden eyelashes.
“Are you fucking joking?” Touya blinks, taken aback at the mere suggestion. “Absolutely not.”
Keigo slaps his own chest, feigning pain. “I’m wounded, honey.”
All right, yeah, enough of this. Touya shifts uncomfortably to address all three of them.
“Look, I’m not going anywhere near something like that. For me and Hawks, or anyone else. Just—think about what happened earlier. I go out in public to buy fucking books for school and end up plastered onto the sidewalk and all over YouTube. I go into a manic—Dabi episode and almost—”
He stops. Feels Shoto’s two-toned eyes zoom in on him. Feels the cold hand of anxiety clutch the back of his throat and jam into his stomach. Touya takes a heavy breath before continuing, speaking around cotton.
“Having our own, or going to a high-ranked hero wedding is just asking for a goddamn mess to happen.—I probably won’t even be invited to theirs anyway.”
Shoto’s gaze doesn’t let up; he feels it physically, like a barbell dropped onto his head.
“You…had a Dabi episode?” His brother asks carefully. God, his sincerity is too much. “Are you sure you’re okay?…And what ‘books for school’?”
Right, he doesn’t know the full story.
Touya is suddenly extremely interested in the fabric of the couch.
Keigo watches him, waiting for him to respond, but the silence stretches too long. It makes Touya’s skin start to crawl. His—his breakdown was only a few hours ago, it’s suddenly too fresh, he can’t breathe, and he’s too fucking hot after not having his Quirk for so many years. Everyone’s waiting for him to say something—
“He’s okay.” Keigo steps in, lightly touching the knob of Touya’s spine. “It was over fast. Tell them about school, though, Touya.”
Well. That’s kind of him. Taking the brunt of the bad shit and letting Touya share the sliver of joy from this morning. The daunting excitement of his potential future.
He clears his throat. “Uh, gonna. Try to get a degree or whatever. Physical therapy.”
“Oh.” Shoto practically gasps, which is a lot from him. “Touya, that’s great, I’m happy you—”
“I’m having some more reservations about it now though.” Touya explains quickly. He tries not to curl in on himself and focuses on the pressure Keigo pushes onto his skin. It’s rooting him right now.
“I feel like I should just fucking lay low again. Too much shit could…” He makes a dismissive gesture, indicating everything under the sun.
The group falls into quiet then. Touya’s gray raincloud hovers over the room. He can practically hear Keigo’s frown and he avoids his brother’s puppy dog eyes like the plague. He’s about ready to excuse himself to the bathroom, just to get away from their pity, when Shinsou speaks up.
The hero pushes himself off the counter to stand up straight. He looks more serious than Touya has seen him, so far.
“Y’know, this might be overstepping,” he begins, which, great, here it fucking goes. “But I think holing up here, and hiding from society, and locking yourself away forever is the total opposite of what you should be doing right now. You just were freed from that, right? I think you should go with Hawks tomorrow to work. Show them you’re beyond this shit with Endeavor…He wants you to rot inside by yourself, doesn’t he? People like him only see the bad in someone. Show him—and everyone—that there’s more to you than what the news reported on back in the day.”
Touya doesn’t know how to respond to that. His nerves coil like a spooked snake. He doesn’t…deserve that, he doesn’t think? He isn’t fucking sure. It’s an idyllic dream.
But so was getting out of prison, and that sure as hell happened, somehow.
Keigo suddenly snaps, pointing at Shinsou. The unanticipated movement makes Touya jump.
“I like your thinking, Shinsou.” He jostles Touya, pats his shoulder enthusiastically a few times. “We’re doing that.”
Just like that, like Touya has no say? Arrogant asshole.
“Wha—”
“I’ll be there tomorrow, too.” Shoto assures calmly. “If you need backup. I don’t anticipate Endeavor being foolish enough to get physical at the agency, but…”
“But it would be a great excuse to beat his ass?” Shinsou splits into a lopsided grin. “I’d love to see that, actually. Maybe it should get physical.”
“Hold on.” Touya shakes his head abruptly. “I didn’t even fucking agree to this, you guys are just—”
Out of nowhere, Keigo flips him around. Touya yelps as his entire torso is twisted to face his partner. He manhandles him to be two inches from his glinting, amber eyes. Jesus Christ, this is embarrassing. They’re so close, with an audience. It’s different from the one they occasionally had in jail. He actually cares about the opinion of these two people. Touya flushes.
Keigo looks a little haywire, pupils tiny.
“Shinsou is right, okay? This is a good idea. If people see you being the bigger person, being calm around him, you come out of this on top, right?”
Claws dig into his shoulders, evidence of Keigo’s passion for this. “He won’t be expecting you and he’ll get pissed off. But you won’t. It’s good PR for you, and bad PR for Endeavor.”
“Keigo.” He splutters, accidentally using his real name. But the bird doesn’t flinch. He’s focused right now, putting together pieces of a plan. Commission lackey, predator mode.
“It’ll be fine. Trust me the way I trust you.”
That’s…goddamn it, not fair. He trusts Keigo with everything.
“N-no fucking duh I trust you. Don’t be stupid. But what if I do get pissed off? What if I—”
What if he falls into Dabi again?
“What the hell did I just say?” Keigo says quietly. Almost intimately.
Bastard. He’s a fucking bastard and Touya hates him so much.
(Which is a lie.)
“I…” He what? Touya takes a shaky breath. Keigo believes in him so much, it’s hard to bear sometimes. “…Fine.”
Half a smile slopes onto his partner’s face. He tugs Touya forward and seals the deal with a kiss on the fucking lips, right in front of the other two, and Touya blushes so hard that he can’t even see. He feels his Quirk flare, bright blue and hot right under his skin.
But Keigo just looks conniving. He lets go with a tiny shake.
“Good. Then it’s a plan.”
Touya uses all the strength he has left today to shove him off the couch.
——
Keigo wakes him up early the next day, chirping and needy. He immediately hauls Touya on top of him and insists that Touya isn’t going anywhere. Bad dreams, maybe?
Touya had bad dreams.
When Touya promises he won’t, Keigo begs him to prove it. And then he tears his back to shreds with spiny talons while Touya rails him into the headboard.
He watches Keigo clean up and get ready afterwards, cementing his routine to mind. The way he brushes his teeth, combs his hair, stretches his wings while he stands at the sink. Touya even watches him put on fucking deodorant.
Just in case. Because if this goes to shit, he knows he won’t see it happen again. A second chance was already a miracle, Touya knows he won’t get a goddamn third.
They dress casually, since Keigo’s not going on patrol. And Touya skips the baseball cap this time. Bravery tastes like dog crap.
Arriving at the agency is noticeably different than before. Last time, Touya felt some curious, questioning stares and caught wind of a few stolen pictures being taken. But this time he feels on display. Like an animal in a fucking zoo, like he’s flattened between the slides of a microscope to be studied. It’s almost worse than his prison cell, with constant surveillance on a swiveling camera.
Almost.
Keigo struts around the way he always does, not missing a fucking beat. The appearance of blissful ignorance is probably just a facade, though. Touya can tell by the position of his wings that he’s paying close attention to everything and everyone.
His partner’s greetings to others are cheerful and chipper, walking ball of goddamn sunshine he is. But his constant contact with Touya’s body betrays his true mood. A hand on his wrist, a brush to his side, fingertips on his lower back as they walk the halls…Keigo’s not carefree right now, not really. He’s…possessive. Protective. He’s hypothetically got Touya on a short leash.
Which, Touya can’t really even blame him. He’s always craved attention, his whole life, but now that he has it so openly, it’s…scrutinizing.
Employees, interns, and heroes alike stop dead when they pass. Rubbernecking like they’re a car crash. None of the rumors have been confirmed since the first time Touya came here, but Keigo was in the video, Keigo swooped over to him, Keigo keeps touching his waist. Keigo and Touya are wearing matching bands on their left fucking ring fingers.
Oh, now Keigo’s fully holding his hand again.
“Comin’ through, guys,” Hawks calls lazily, chuckling at the inadvertent traffic jam they caused. “Just trying to get to my office here, ’scuse us.”
In the elevator, three teenagers who are obviously from U.A. record them under the guise of “taking selfies.” Right.
Keigo blocks it with a wing, nearly knocking the girl’s phone out of her hand.
“Sorry,” He laughs easily. “Tight spaces are hard for me.”
She waves it off, bright red, and thank Christ they get off on the next floor.
“Is it like this all the time?” Touya gripes, leaning against the handrail. “Being stupidly famous and hot?”
Keigo smirks and checks his nails. They’re a normal length, for now.
“Not so much in recent years. Back when I was twenty? Absolutely. I think you’ve got everyone stirred up, now. So new and exciting. It’s got my feathers a little ruffled, actually. Don’t they know you’re taken? Am I not being obvious enough?”
His eyes cut up to Touya’s, shiny, daring, playful.
“I think you’re being plenty obvious.” Touya huffs, “People here just act like they’ve never seen a fucking Todoroki before. Like Shoto and Endeavor aren’t here every day.”
“Hm.” Keigo hums. He tilts his head with a soft smile, turns to watch the numbers above the doors flash as they ascend. Nearly there.
“Y’know,” He begins again, rolling his shoulders. Fierce Wings fluff and smooth out again, like he’s trying not to posture.
“The talking yesterday got me thinking. If you ever…don’t wanna be a Todoroki anymore. Just say the word.—Not to add more junk to your brain today, but.”
Ding.
The oversized doors swoosh open, effectively ending the conversation when Keigo steps out of them. He leads the way in a confident flutter of feathers.
Asshole. Again.
He can’t just say that.
Even though Touya kinda knew that? He pinches his eyebrows together and follows after him, into Keigo’s office. Let’s the door shut behind them with a heavy sigh.
It’s pretty standard in here. Glossy, wooden furniture, steel filing cabinets, paperwork out the ass. There’s a huge monitor on the desktop, a single potted plant in the corner, and a wall calendar with Keigo’s chicken-scratch notes. His mini-fridge is probably chocked full of canned coffee. The only hint of Keigo’s eccentric nature is a giant beanbag chair by the window.
There aren’t any other personal effects. Maybe that’s something the Commission taught him, in case of a raid. No photos, nobody important. No mementos or memories of places that could be at risk.
Touya’s…glad he’s retiring soon.
“What’s gotten into you?” Touya prods as Keigo rounds to his desk. He hops up to sit on the edge of it.
“Yesterday was a fucking—nightmare and today you’re able to act like it didn’t happen? I just don’t understand how you’re so…flirty and carefree right now. I’m—I’m glad for it, Keigo, because at least one of us is on solid ground, but I just don’t get how. I feel like any second I’m just gonna.”
Touya makes an inexplicable, wild hand gesture.
“Not to mention that any minute now my batshit dad is gonna be here, and he’s gonna wanna finish the job, and I don’t know if I can hold it together for that. But you’re so…hellbent on some half-baked idea that it’ll be fine. It’s—”
Touya takes a sharp breath.
“It doesn’t make sense to me. That’s all. That you’re so collected. That you can—can talk about my last name, and insane, dreamy stuff like that. Like I’m not on a tightrope right now.”
“‘Dreamy’?”
“Keigo.”
Keigo kicks his feet, leans back onto his hands.
“I’m collected right now? You think that? That sex this morning, that was ‘collected’?”
Touya watches him, notes the way his expression crunches up. It had been…charged, yeah, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for them.
“And, here, now, I think it’s the first time I’ve taken my hands off you since we left the house, right?”
Not that they’re far apart. A few feet and a trodden beige rug separate them. Keigo holds out his palm, evidently wanting to close that gap again. So Touya takes it. Now that he’s back to running hot with his Quirk, Keigo feels cool, soothing, like a stream in a shaded forest.
“I’d argue that I’m the opposite of that, Hot Stuff. I’m actually…panicking. Trying to cling to you. Hoping you’ll cling back. Being over the top and obnoxious ‘cause I just wanna…”
Keigo gnaws the inside of his cheek. He frowns, looking so much older than he is.
“Remind you. Like, what you’ll miss if you…slip today. Hoping you won’t. Trusting you won’t, but being scared anyway. If I can just pretend things are normal, maybe they will be.”
Jesus, that’s…so fucked up. Keigo’s been so damaged by his upbringing. Whipped into smiling through his suffering. A few moments of tear-stained weakness in the early morning were all he’d allowed himself to have.
Touya’s so glad he’s leaving this job soon. Even if it’s his agency, the environment is probably similar enough. He wants to dump Keigo out of the box the Commission locked him into and shake him around.
Like a hypocrite. Like Touya doesn’t have his own laundry list of issues. i.e., his fucking dad and today’s situation at hand.
“Okay.” Touya concedes. “I get it...please, continue then.”
Keigo picks up his hand and presses a kiss into the center of it. Touya’s grateful for the privacy glass over the little window in the door, and even more grateful they’re on the top floor. They feel alone for the first time since getting here. It soothes some of his anxiety.
Keigo pets over his knuckles. “Maybe I shouldn’t retire just yet, actually.”
“What? Why do you say that?”
His partner shrugs and bites his lip, then juts his chin over his shoulder to eyeball the desk.
“Don’t you think I’d look good bent over this big desk of mine? It’s so scandalous, isn’t it?”
Ah. He’s definitely continuing. Touya smirks.
“Don’t tempt me, Birdie, I’ll do it right now. I thought we had some harebrained mission, though.”
Keigo yanks him closer, tugging Touya to stand between his legs in a tight hug. He attaches to Touya’s torso like a koala.
“There’s time. He’s not here yet.” Strong hands slide down Touya’s ribcage, cup over his ass and squeeze.
“…Maybe you could even take it for a spin, though?”
Touya’s eyes pop wider in surprise. “Tch. Since when are you all—fucking domineering like this, huh?”
Keigo’s nose nuzzles into his sternum. His wings almost knock the stapler onto the floor. He cuddles him.
“Hm. Since I realized how easy it actually is to hold you down.”
Heat swoops in Touya’s belly. That’s—that’s—this isn’t the time or place for that, and he’s skewed sideways today as is.
But.
Hm.
It’s kinda…?
No.
Touya bats away the butterflies that swarm inside him. He glides over Keigo’s shoulders, gently flaring heat in a faux-warning.
“Get off it, Kei. Don’t make me put you in your place.”
His partner literally coos. “Mm. That works too.”
Keigo kneads his fingers into denim and then tips his chin up, waiting for a kiss. Touya obliges, of course. It starts to borderline on wet, more-than-kissing when Keigo suddenly gasps and breaks off. He nearly topples backwards, wings vibrating at light speed.
“He’s here.”
A feather zings into the room from under the doorway; Touya hadn’t even noticed him dispatch it today. It circles them like a vulture before burying back into the masses of Fierce Wings.
“Cool. Real boner killer.” Touya quips, ungluing himself from Keigo’s inner thighs. His partner sits up straight as an arrow and jumps to stand beside him. He takes a deep breath, and then takes hold of Touya’s face.
There’s a tiny hint of talons.
“Sorry. I’ve been trying to distract you.” Keigo apologizes. “You seem tense.”
“Of course I’m tense!”
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“Fucking hope so.”
They have a minute-long stare off, where Touya tries to swim in the honey of his irises. If he could live there, he’d probably relax more.
“It’s gonna be okay.” His partner repeats, adding another kiss. Two more. Then he suddenly lets go, and drags Touya towards the door by the wrist.
“C’mon.”
He almost stumbles and freezes when Keigo grabs the doorknob.
“Wh-what do you expect me to even do?” Touya asks, trying to mask the higher octave of his voice. “What’s the plan here, Kei?”
“You don’t have to do anything, really.—Actually, not doing anything is the goal. Be…collected.”
Collected. Right. Collect the shitty pieces of Dabi and cram them in a garbage bag for the dump.
Touya can certainly try.
Anxiety sinks its teeth into Touya’s spine as they head back downstairs. Keigo’s apparently gathered that Endeavor’s on the second floor, in his own office. And Shoto’s there, too, he relays. There are other employees around, working on various corporate bullshit tasks and paperwork. It’ll be beneficial to have an audience, Keigo says.
Touya isn’t so sure.
His heart’s a jackhammer by the time the elevator opens. Touya fights the sour acidity of bile, the uncomfortable, gagging need to puke. His stomach keeps lurching. His skin’s so hot he swears he’s steaming. It’s appalling that Keigo’s still holding his hand.
The second floor is sweeping. A giant space of cubicles and smaller, square offices with glass panes stretches endlessly in front of them. Employees chatter at their desks, phones ring, sidekicks and heroes alike talk shop. It smells like coffee and fire.
Can other people smell fire? Maybe not.
Along the back wall, a set of double doors yawns open, revealing Endeavor’s giant frame. He’s not in hero wear, or currently alight, but his mere image makes Touya’s jaw clench. He feels Keigo squeeze onto his hand, and realizes he’s gripping his nearly tight enough to snap bones.
“It’s gonna be okay.” Keigo whispers. Speaks into existence.
Touya repeats it internally like a mantra. Clings to it the way Keigo’s been clinging to him.
Endeavor doesn’t notice them yet, but the rest of the room does. About twenty heads swivel to look at them when the elevator doors chime open. Someone even says, “Whoa.”
Keigo lifts his free hand in greeting and slips on his pretty-boy smile. “Nothing to see here, folks! Just looking for Shoto.”
No one believes that shit, obviously, but a couple people have the decency to pretend to go back to work.
Touya clings. Doesn’t meet eyes with a single person.
Keigo’s voice seems to rouse more attention. Shoto pops out from what Touya assumes is his own office, on the lefthand side, and starts to head towards them.
And that’s when Endeavor notices, too.
He turns slowly, like he couldn’t believe his own fucking ears. His massive, lumbering, stupid body angles until he’s.
Looking right at Touya.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He can’t do this. Touya feels heat sizzle over his own back, prays no one hears it—or sees it. Is there smoke? Does he smell smoke? He can’t tell if he’s lost in a bad memory or actually smoking.
Keigo squeezes him.
It’s gonna be okay.
Okay.
Okay?
Maybe.
“Shoto.” Keigo greets cooly. Touya feels a feather sneak to the back of his neck. It rubs a tiny circle, trying to soothe him.
“Just giving Touya the grand tour. Thought you might want to get some lunch with us?”
Touya can’t see them from here, not really, but he knows Endeavor’s unnaturally blue eyes are boring into them.
The same eyes he looks at in the mirror. Eyes he loathed for years. Loathes.
He swallows. It’s too thick, scratchy and painful like strep throat.
Dabi kicks the doorframe. Pounds until his fists bleed.
Touya might faint. Is this a losing battle? Fuck.
“Hi.” Shoto says, jumbling him back to reality. Touya looks to his brother, who’s calm and.
Collected.
Shoto touches Touya’s shoulder and his temperature quietly plummets.
Shit, that’s intense. An ice bath, like they used to try when he was young and still attempting to be a hero, even with his crappy skin. Touya’s mom had given him so many ice baths.
Oh. He thinks of his mom.
He thinks of Natsuo, giggling and splashing frigid water from the other side because it didn’t bother him. Fuyumi, offering them each a popsicle afterwards because she thought it was funny.
It’s gonna be okay.
Touya trembles once, either from the cold or the nerves. Dabi hugs himself and snarls, stalks in furious circles inside him.
“Lunch sounds great.” Shoto says, slowly dragging his hand back. Another blast of chilly air fans over Touya’s face when he retreats, invisible to the naked eye. One of those conversations they have, but don’t.
“Yeah, you guys like soba.” Keigo nods, none the wiser. Or—actually, he must be, through his feather. It curls behind Touya’s ear.
“There’s a newish place down the block I haven’t tried yet, figured we could clock out early and go.”
Shoto nods. “Sure, I’m actually caught up for the day.”
They continue to make fake small talk about the menu, but Touya can only focus on the stomping boots heading near them. He remembers being small, racing to his room to try and avoid them. Crying.
Wishing he’d seen them hiking up Sekoto Peak.
Dabi roars.
It doesn’t take long for Endeavor to cross the room, and his presence sucks the air from it. Conversations hurry to a halt, and soon it’s silent enough to hear a pin to drop. People clack on their keyboards, feigning being preoccupied, but they’re one thousand percent eavesdropping.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Who’s recording this? Why did they think this was smart? What’s going to happen when Dabi blows an inferno into the ceiling?
Keigo threads their fingers even tighter together, and Shoto keeps funneling him freezing cold air.
Touya holds his breath.
Keigo finally cuts off, looking up to meet Endeavor’s eyes. Touya—fuck, Touya does too.
His father is tired, absence of sleep made obvious by his dark circles and heavily lined face. God, without his flames he even looks—old.
And pissed. Mouth a straight line, temples practically pulsing, eyebrows flat.
Touya’s pissed too, and wonders with frustration if he looks the same. He doesn’t want to look like his father, hates every similar particle.
“Hawks.” Endeavor finally states. He hits him with a seething stare, and then pins it onto Touya.
Dabi throws himself into a tizzy.
Yesterday, they’d been this close.
And Dabi could’ve killed him.
He could still kill him.
Dabi could turn his father to ash and dance on the pile.
And he really, really wants to.
It hits him like a tidal wave of lava, and Dabi begs him to give in. Sobs that he needs it. Because without this, he’s nothing.
“Touya.” His father crosses his arms over his chest. His shirt’s too tight and it looks stupid. “What are you doing here?”
Keigo clings, clings, clings, holding on for dear life. He taps his talons onto Touya’s skin where their hands are joined.
“Didn’t hear me? Giving Touya the tour. I should be asking what you’re doing here. After yesterday.”
And that—hell, it gives everyone pause again. Even the typing ceases. The tension could be cut with a knife. No one moves.
“He’s picking up some things to work from home for a while.” Shoto explains, probably airing dirty laundry that the employees don’t even know. The subtle jab gives Dabi a smidgen of satisfaction.
“I am allowed to be in my own office.” Endeavor growls. “Though I’m concerned about the security risks of a former villain being here.”
Fuck, Touya can’t fight it. A slice of anger from Dabi’s silver tongue.
“Maybe reconsider your choice of words, Dad, you’re lucky I didn’t charge you with aggravated assault for the shit you pulled.”
Endeavor pitches forward, face turning red in rage. His form takes on a blaze of orange but it doesn’t burst through; Shoto steps between them in time. Dabi chants in outrage, but Touya manages to keep him down. Barely.
“I don’t think that would be wise.” Shoto asserts, arms covered in precautious frost. He knocks a hand into Endeavor’s chest and a loud hiss identifies the temperature difference.
“You are not welcome here.” Endeavor finally says through gritted teeth. “Leave the premises immediately.”
Keigo’s scarlet wings lift high and he tilts his head like a real-life bird. It draws Touya’s attention and he reminds himself to be like that.
Collected. Even if it’s a front, Keigo’s pulling it off. He minutely pulls Touya closer.
“I don’t think you can make that call, Endeavor, seeing as we’ve split this property for years. My husband has every right to visit me at work.”
His.
His husband?
His husband.
Yeah, that’s…Touya. Close enough, anyway. Nobody else in the room fits the bill, that’s for damn sure.
This throws Dabi for such a loop that he fades into the background, a little. The blazing heat in his body pools into a much tamer warmth.
Endeavor’s eyes actually comically widen. He snaps his chin down to look at their hands, the gold and black bands that symbolize their love and all that fucking gushy stuff.
It certainly looks like a legal union, doesn’t it?
Endeavor struggles for words. He opens and shuts his mouth like a fish, pressing his body weight into Shoto’s unmoving hand. Touya doesn’t look away. He—he can’t be scared here, not with Keigo and Shoto.
He can’t be Dabi, with them on the line. This life they’ve carved out of stone, one painstaking nick at a time.
And Dabi’s furious about it, a reflection of Endeavor’s wrath in a way that makes Touya feel sick.
He doesn’t want to be like his father.
“Get out. Both of you.” Endeavor finally clutters together, with barely-repressed fury. A vein in his forehead twitches. “Before I lose my patience. Don’t anticipate that I’ll make the same mistake twice.”
“Oh!” Keigo laughs, too brightly, like Hawks. “Did everybody hear that?”
Touya jumps with a start when Keigo fans his beautiful wings wide. He gestures to the entire room, where the staff is clearly locked in on their very public family affair.
“I’d like to go on record that we were just verbally threatened. With undertones of homophobia?” He jabs a finger at Endeavor, much like Dabi did yesterday. A long, black talon hooks at the end of his finger. Keigo flies gracefully into his prior persona and Touya’s envious of how he does it so easily.
“We are leaving, and I’m calling our lawyer the second I’m outta here. Got a lot to go over with her.—Consider this me formally breaking the lease, too. My agency will resume operations elsewhere.”
Shoto finally lets his hand fall.
“I’m resigning as well.” He says simply, another bomb dropped. An employee in the back of the room makes a sound of surprise.
Shoto stands tall, proudly, and the sight of it roots Touya to himself even more. He wants to watch his brother keep growing. All his siblings. He wants to see his mother flourish on her own. He has to be here, for the years he missed.
And for the hand that’s still steadfastly holding onto his.
His—husband’s hand? Jesus fucking Christ, okay.
Dabi’s anger still simmers, it will never go away, but even he has an Achilles’ heel—or a few—and two of them are right next to him.
“I no longer wish to align myself with someone who has such poor ideals.” Shoto continues, “And such an unkempt temper.”
Endeavor’s going to self-destruct. A few flames leap to his face. Touya screams at himself—at Dabi—not to react. He doesn’t know how long he can avoid it.
“Shoto, you will not—”
His brother is unfazed. “Should I go into detail about your temper? It’s always been a little high, hasn’t it?”
Endeavor lights up even more, becoming an obvious depiction of what Shoto baited him on. Vibrant oranges and reds climb up the back of his neck, and Touya needs to get out of here.
Fear, and fury, and hysteria are rising inside him, but he knows he can’t succumb to it. He taps repeatedly on Keigo’s knuckles, trying to indicate that they need to leave, now.
“He’s not worth it, Sho.” Touya declares, surprising himself. “You’re…”
Fuck, fuck, more tumbles from Touya’s lips that could warrant a punch.
“We’re all better than he’ll ever be.”
Criminal record be fucking damned. Touya’s taken lives, but he—but—
Endeavor has, too.
Touya’s own, right from underneath him. Flushed his eldest son down the drain. Didn’t look for him. Let him burn. Let him die. Let him rot.
He can go to hell, and Dabi will meet him there.
“Let’s go.” Keigo says suddenly, his angel of redemption or some shit. His lifeboat in the storm, the hand that pulled him from his burial plot. His partner turns on his heel and tugs Touya into the elevator while Endeavor breaks into a fit of unintelligible shouting. Shoto stays behind, surely to disarm him.
Because he isn’t afraid, anymore. He’s grown up.
Touya and Keigo don’t speak again until they’re in the parking garage. Touya doesn’t remember getting here, actually, and he knows his breath is too fast, too shallow. He—shit, he throws up in the corner. Like, fully. Hunched over, splattering it onto concrete. It’s what brings him to, pulls him from the fog.
“Oh, fucking God.” He wallows, leaning onto the brick wall. He hasn’t thrown up in ages and it sucks so bad. Another wave of nausea batters him and he spews his guts out one more time.
“Fuck.” He whines, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Kei, b—can you back up, don’t look at me right now. Fucking gross.”
Keigo doesn’t listen, of course not. He rubs circles over Touya’s back, pets his hair away from his face.
“I think our relationship is, like, far past being embarrassed about puking.”
Touya grimaces and sways to standing. He’s still off-balance and uneasy, but his stomach is empty. It gnaws him with an extra dry heave, just for funsies.
“Jesus, I guess.”
He’s grateful the garage is empty; it’s a little too early in the day for anyone to be leaving. At least they won’t see his walk of shame.
“Can we get away from my vomit? Can we go home?”
Keigo leads him to the car and offers him a bunch of fast food napkins from the glovebox. He dotes on him for a minute, not leaving just yet. The radio is quiet and the shadows in the garage are made of soft blues and yellows.
Touya realizes he’s shaking, hard. Keigo doesn’t comment on it.
“We just gonna sit here all day?” Touya asks, but it’s devoid of snark. He can’t muster it right now.
“Just watching you for a second. You’re okay.”
“I know.” Touya snaps, unintentionally. Goddamn roller coaster.
Damn it, shit, he dry heaves again. Touya slams his eyes shut.
“You’re okay, Touya.”
The “I know,” is a lot weaker, this time.
Familiar hands link over the back of his neck. Keigo wiggles closer, leaning far over the center console. Touya’s self conscious of his breath but Keigo hugs him anyway, as tight as he can manage. His wings blanket them both, snuggly and warm.
“…I’m proud of you. And we never have to see him again.”
“I know.”
Fuck, Touya’s—gagging and now his eyes are watering, and, that’s cool. He lets himself be held.
“And I’m here. And your family. You were right, Hot Stuff. You’re so, so much better than he’ll ever be…And you’re staying with me. You did it, Touya.”
Touya tries to nod, but it gets a little clinched in their position. He shoves his face into Keigo’s hair, inhales until he can’t smell his goddamn puke anymore, and he’s cushioned in expensive cologne and preening oil. He focuses on the low music in the air, the comforting, rumbling purr coming from Keigo’s chest.
He can’t figure out where Dabi went. It’s a little weird. It’s a little lonely.
“Just keep breathing with me, baby.” Keigo invites gently, scratching into his hair. “I love you. You’re okay.”
It…doesn’t feel like it this second, but Touya knows that he is.
He lets Keigo hold him, and he cries in relief.
Notes:
This chapter means a lot to me. I'd loveeee to hear your comments, as usual <3 :)
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Notes:
ooooo wow okay sorry for the wait again LMAO, I've had a lot going on irl but THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for your patience and for sticking with me. This is the longest thing I've written by over 50k words and I'm so proud of myself, and this labor of love, and how it turned out. Your comments, kudos, and love, fill me with so much joy, you have no idea :') Thank you as always to Yarn and Owl for all their motivation and help throughout this fic, and to my many discord and tumblr friends for their support.
Biggest thank you to dabihawks for being literal chef's kiss perfection??? Unmatched ship omfg HAHA good work hori. Getting into the heads of these two characters has been such an amazing experience for me as a writer and a person <3 /gen
i love fanfic i love ao3 amen
As a reminder, a long line of asterisks indicates a POV change!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Well, Fumikage, I gotta disagree with you. I think you were a natural, actually. I chose wisely. You trust my judgement, right?”
Keigo playfully nudges his former intern while he unlocks the door to his office. The new nameplate shines gold, dead center at eye-level: “CEO & Pro Hero: Tsukuyomi.”
“I suppose so.”
“You suppose you trust my judgement?” Keigo chuckles.
Fumikage sighs and shakes his head, stepping into the room. He shrugs out of his coat and folds it onto an upholstered armchair. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in yellowish afternoon light. Everything in here is still so fresh. Eons better than the former building.
“You know that’s not what I meant. I suppose I ‘was a natural.’ Are press conferences always so…” His brow wrinkles while he searches for the right word.
“Vicious?” Keigo offers, sauntering to the fridge with a smirk. He pops open a coffee and tosses one to Fumikage.
“Yeah.” Fumikage sits down gingerly in his high-backed rolling chair, like he’s still afraid he’ll break it. He’s been so hesitant and careful with all the new stuff, but Keigo enjoys surprising him with top-of-the-line gear. He sets his coffee can on one of the Hawks branded coasters. The place is overflowing with old merch, tons dug up from storage during the move.
Keigo paces for a minute, exhausted by the day’s events, too, and then flops into the beanbag he couldn’t bear to part with.
(“You’re gonna want it on late nights, believe me.”)
“Yes and no.” Keigo answers, loosening his tie with one hand. He kicks off his dressy loafers and lets his wings do a nice, big stretch. He glances outside, then back to Fumikage.
“I’m sorry that your first few weeks as CEO have been so chaotic, Fumikage. Me and Touya’s relationship, and the shitstorm with Endeavor—the press is too focused on all of that. I wish they’d just let it go and celebrate you, instead. I mean, I got more questions than you did today. I tried to field things to you as best I could, I hope you know that. I don’t want the spotlight, anymore. You really did do a great job.”
Fumikage slowly rotates his chair to face Keigo and tilts his head in a way that’s so familiar. His thinking face. He taps his foot on the plush rug.
“The public is, of course…inflamed about your early retirement and the other news. While it has been an adjustment, it not anything you need to apologize for. It will all settle down eventually.” Fumikage nods sagely. “In the meantime, I am figuring out how to handle these high-stress PR situations just by seeing you in them. You really are good at this, Hawks. I’ve…always known that, but it’s even more noticeable from where I am now…I still have so much to learn and...”
He trails off and takes a deep breath. Fumikage visibly sits up straighter, shoulders wide with dignity. It strikes Keigo then that he’s not a kid anymore.
Like, obviously. He’s in his twenties. But sitting here in front of him, it’s so apparent—that’s Fumikage’s desk. It’s not Hawks’. This office, this building, they’re places where Fumikage will steer the ship. Hawks is still the namesake of the agency, and he’ll still sign the dotted lines, give his input on the board, or guide his intern when he needs it, but, Fumikage rules the roost now.
Ha. Bird pun.
“I hope,” Fumikage dips his chin in a bow, “that once the training wheels are off, so to speak, I will represent you well, Hawks.”
Affection flutters in his chest. Keigo always wished he had a little brother. With Fumikage and Shoto, he apparently gained two. His pride bursts, warm and fuzzy.
“Gonna get me choked up.” Keigo rakes a hand through his hair to try not to. “You already do, Fumikage, duh. It’s why I picked you. I meant it when I said nobody else could carry on my legacy.”
The other hero opens his mouth to potentially protest, surely to say he’s not there yet, so Keigo holds up a hand. “Nuh uh. Take the compliment or I’m pouring my coffee on your new carpet. Don’t test me.”
He tips the can precariously as a threat.
“Fine, fine. Thank you.” Fumikage relents and crosses his arms. He leans back in the fancy chair and Dark Shadow finally emerges, floating in a circle around it. He relaxes over Fumikage’s shoulders.
They settle into quiet, unwinding from the draining day. Another conference is scheduled for tomorrow, and three more meetings, and then one more week of hectic transition before Keigo is officially “off the clock.”
He shoots Touya and Shoto a text that he’ll be home in a few hours and then pockets his phone.
“Hey,” he says to Fumikage, who’s dozing, “can I ask you to do something for me, by the way?”
Fumikage stirs, rubbing the few winks of sleep from his eyes. He quickly blinks to full attention.
“Of course, Hawks. What is it?”
It…feels scary. So much so that Keigo can’t even look at him when he asks. He finds himself staring out the window, at a flock of gulls skating across the sky. He’s already taken the difficult steps, this should be a piece of cake. His heart picks up speed, and he presses past it, to freedom.
“Can you call me ‘Keigo’?”
After a beat of silence Fumikage says, “What?”
Keigo sets down the coffee next to the bean bag and wrings his hands together. Feeling sheepish, he finally manages to look over. Keigo tries to squash down his embarrassment with half a smirk.
“It’s my name. Takami Keigo.” He explains, shrugging. “What, you thought my birth name was Hawks?”
Fumikage splutters, holding up his hands.
“W-well, no, of course not. At least, I don’t think so?”
“You don’t think so?” Keigo teases, grinning. “My parents were shitty, but they didn’t name their bird baby Hawks.”
Fumikage’s shoulders drop in defeat. Keigo always knows how to push his buttons, like any big brother would.
“I just am surprised, that’s all.” He taps his fingers on the desk. “You’ve never…shared that with me. What else was I supposed to assume? We’ve worked together a long time and it’s the only name I’ve known you as.”
“Hm.” Hawks cocks his head. “I guess that’s true.”
He pushes to stand and pads across the rug in socks, shoving his hands in his pockets. Fierce Wings fluff and then straighten back down at his shoulder blades.
“Yeah, I dunno. It’s…My name’s not for everybody yet. Up until Touya, no one knew it but the Commission. And my mom, wherever the hell she is.”
A bit vulnerable there, but, Fumikage’s gaze is soft. He’s not judging him, he never has. Even when Keigo was burnt up in the hospital all those years ago, crying about the villain he’d fallen for.
“But, you and Rumi are my family, too. You should know it.” He affirms. “I plan to tell her next time I see her.”
Keigo looks to the sky again. It melts into the first pretty shades of orange. Apprehension still gnaws at him, over all the future unknowns, but he’s also the lightest he’s felt in years.
Maybe ever?
“Turning over a new leaf and all that.—Besides, you’ll probably see it on all kinds of paperwork now, anyway. Might as well pull the trigger early, boss.”
Fumikage’s eyes pop open.
“‘Boss’?” He parrots. “Don’t—”
“Yeah, you’re the boss now.” Keigo shakes his head dramatically. He stalks over to sit on top of the table, wings spread wide. “I forfeit all responsibility to you, the new head honcho. I’m simply the guy behind the curtain. I am no longer important. Please don’t ask me a single question or give me a single task.”
“Hawks—”
“Who?” He smiles wryly, raising an eyebrow.
Fumikage plops his face into his hands. He sighs heavily, and it only makes Keigo laugh.
“That’s too weird. I don’t want to be your boss…Keigo.” Fumikage says into his palms. And it’s muffled, but, the sentence feels like a hug. His name, given to somebody else he loves, to hold onto, to care for.
For the person he really is.
Keigo can’t help it, he pets over the top of Fumikage’s head, smoothing down his dark feathers.
And, all right, so, he was wrong, earlier. Fumikage still looks like a kid to him, sometimes. Right now especially.
Keigo gently noogies him. “Why’s it weird?”
Fumikage doesn’t move for a minute, but eventually he raises up onto his elbows. Dark Shadow peeks around from his neck. Now it seems like it’s his turn to be embarrassed and shy.
“…Because I will always look up to you.”
Oh.
Firing close-range at the fucking heart, that takes him out. Keigo holds back a emotional, pathetic noise and sweeps off the desk. He clears his throat and walks back to retrieve his coffee.
“Well,” He says, scooping it from the ground. Keigo takes a swig to avoid breaking down into touched tears.
“Then I’ll keep trying to make you proud.” He vows. “…Though I still accept zero responsibilities after next week, don’t ask, seriously.”
Dark Shadow’s buzzing laughter warms the room, paired with Fumikage’s half-hearted exasperation.
“No, no, of course not. That’s what my new hero partner will be for, won’t it? And all my own interns?”
A change of subject thankfully shakes Keigo from his deeply moved stupor. Crying into the new carpet would probably stain it as badly as the coffee would with how he’s feeling.
“Yeah!” He snaps his fingers. “Have you talked with anyone about partnering up yet? Or reviewed any intern applications?”
Fumikage shakes his head. He clunks open the filing cabinet to his right, gesturing to an absolutely gigantic file folder stuffed with forms. A stretched-thin rubber band barely holds it together.
“No. But we already have…so many.”
When he lifts the heavy folder onto the desk, it sounds like a brick.
Keigo smiles. He remembers paperwork like that, days like this, pouring over documents until the wee hours of the morning. Biting his nails off, tearing his hair out, trying to be perfect for the Commission, for the public, for his fans. Every decision was paramount. Every detail was scrutinized. Every action—professional or personal—was measured. Every staple had to be exact, every T crossed, I dotted. Every email perfectly composed, every report combed-over until his eyes bled.
And for a very long time, he did it all alone.
Keigo holds out his hand, makes a grabbing motion.
“Splitsies. Give me half.” He insists.
“What happened to ‘zero responsibilities’?” Fumikage challenges playfully, but he divides the stack anyway.
“Hmmmm, I said ‘after next week,’ so you’ve got seven days. Use them wisely.”
Keigo collects his ream of paper and a pen and folds back into the beanbag with it. Ninety-five percent of their employees migrated over to the new building, but if he can help set up Fumikage with even more core support, he’ll be climbing higher up the ranks in no time.
Keigo uncaps his pen and begins making notes. There’s a lot of talent here. It’s going to be a lot to manage, but if anyone can do it, Fumikage can.
And Keigo knows that, even in retirement, he’ll end up here plenty.
Not as the head of the agency, not as the CEO.
But as a friend.
*************
Touya assumes that when Shoto briefly treks downstairs, it’s to meet a DoorDasher. What he does not anticipate is Shoto returning with their food and also Bakugou fucking Katsuki in tow. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight or whatever the hell his obscene hero name is.
The guy Touya kidnapped as a child is in his condo, in streetwear, toeing out of his shoes like he’s going to stay a while. Touya’s brain struggles to keep up. He can only blink.
“What’s up, fucker?” Bakugou greets casually, seemingly unaware of how Touya’s lagging.
He carries a second bag of food and sets it on the counter while eyeballing the height of the ceiling. Bakugou scans over the elegant kitchen and then the living room.
“Nice digs. I’ve never been to Bird Brain’s place.”
“‘Bird Brain’ and Touya’s place.” Shoto corrects flatly, digging into the first bag.
“Tch. Obviously. You know what I meant.”
Bakugou quickly makes himself at home, sorting through the drawers to find chopsticks. Touya watches in silence for probably far too long.
“What are…what are you doing here?” He asks eventually, eyebrow quirked.
Shoto already chews on something fried. Smells like takoyaki.
“Bakugou picked up lunch for us.” He explains, as though that answers the fucking question.
“…Okay?”
Bakugou turns to root through their refrigerator, also not answering the fucking question.
“I told your dumbass boyfriend to stop drinking these forever ago. Surprised he’s still alive.” He gripes, fishing out one of Keigo’s canned coffee’s. Bakugou checks the nutrition label, and then chucks it to the back of the fridge. He selects another beverage of Keigo’s for himself, something orange and full of electrolytes.
“Izuku would have come, too, but he’s doing a presentation at U.A. today.” Shoto dumps a bunch of food from the to-go container onto a plate and offers it to Touya. He takes it robotically, still confused as hell.
“Come for what? I don’t understand what—”
“Godddd, you’re so impatient. I thought Shoto said you, like, chilled out?” Bakugou sets down his drink after a few swigs and then lifts open the right side of his jacket. He sorts through the pockets for a minute and then pulls out a white envelope.
“Here. Jesus. Assumed we were gonna eat first, but no.”
Touya stares. It’s small, square, the names neatly handwritten in ink.
Addressed to both of them: Hawks and Touya.
“You just gonna fucking stare at it or what?” Bakugou barks. “I came all this way, don’t be rude.”
Touya immediately knows what this is. He backpedals.
“Hawks isn’t even here right now. I don’t think I should—”
Shoto pops up beside him, leaning his chin onto Touya’s shoulder to get a better look.
“It’s for both of you. I think Hawks would be fine with you opening it.” He takes the plate back from Touya and sets it on the counter, freeing up his hands.
God, fuck both of them. His annoying little brother and his annoying little brother’s stupid friend.
Touya grabs the envelope with a grumble.
“Fine.”
Yeah, it’s a wedding invitation, all right. Beautifully made, actually, on glossy, thick paper, embossed with vines. Sage green, gold foil, the works.
Anxiety crawls out of the cardstock, too.
“Congratulations.” Touya says, because he should. And he…he does mean it, he’s just more freaking out about the prospect of going to this wedding than celebrating it.
“Thanks.” Bakugou grunts in return. He shrugs. “Izuku wanted to invite everyone in person instead of by mail, which is stupid to me, but—”
“But you’re whipped?” Shoto says, totally deadpan, and it yanks a startled laugh from Touya.
Bakugou pops his younger brother on the bicep. “Shut the hell up. Can we eat now, or what?”
Shoto cocks his head to one side. “Where’s my invitation? I thought you would bring it as well.”
Bakugou sighs heavily and assembles his own plate. He shovels a generous portion of rice out of one of the containers.
“I don’t think the people in the wedding need a fucking invitation. No shit you’re invited.”
“Hm.” Shoto muses. “Cold.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man, relax. You’ll fucking get one. ‘Zuku probably wants to give it to you himself.”
Touya sets the card on the countertop, not very hungry anymore. He elects for a cup of tea instead.
“Wait, Sho.” He prompts, realizing the implication a second late. “You’re in your ex-boyfriend’s wedding party? Isn’t that…weird? Like…what does Shinsou think about that?”
Shoto is unfazed as usual. He slides into one of the barstools and continues eating.
“Hitoshi is well aware that I love him and that my feelings for Izuku are purely platonic now.”
Touya shuts his eyes and shakes himself, pulling out the teacups. “Okay, ew, I don’t like the emphasis you put on ‘well aware.’ Forget I asked.”
“‘Ew’ is right.” Bakugou sits on the barstool beside him, leaving Touya to stand at the stove. “I don’t wanna hear shit about you and Izuku or you and Eyebags.”
“Don’t ask then.” Shoto shrugs.
Weird fucking friendship these two have got, but Touya isn’t really one to judge. He goes through the motions of making a drink while they bicker. Actually, it’s not really bickering. Bakugou complains and Shoto just kind of responds simply here and there. It…almost feels like Touya and Shoto? The way their conversations tend to go?
Even weirder.
Touya’s inspecting the food to look busy when Shoto’s phone rings. He wiggles it from his pocket and checks the screen.
“Speaking of Hitoshi. Hang on a second. Hello?”
Shoto picks up the call and then steps out to the balcony, pulling the door shut behind him.
And he and Bakugou are very suddenly alone.
That’s…great. So great. Touya and the guy he kidnapped. Touya and the guy he…hasn’t spoken a word to since then, until today? Sooo great.
Touya rummages deeper into the takeout bag, but there’s literally nothing else to examine, so he goes back to his tea. When he peeks at Bakugou over the rim of his cup, he’s not even looking at him. The hero’s scrolling on his own phone, tapping out a text or an email.
At least he’s not trying to blow Touya up with his eyes. Which could be entirely fucking possible these days. He’s tied for number two for a reason, who knows what kind of weird crap he’s capable of? U.A. gives their kids steroids, or whatever.
Touya sucks his teeth and taps his fingertips on the counter. The left hand, because it’s quieter.
Several long weeks ago, from a hospital bed, Bakugou had apparently forgiven him. But does Touya even deserve that?
How can someone be forgiven when they haven’t even apologized?
Touya has a lot to apologize for, too, holy shit. He’s been…trying. A little at a time, over days, over weeks, over years. It’s—fuck—it’s shit. It feels like hell. Changing, and healing, and trying. Some days, all that emotional garbage is harder to manage than a fourth-degree burn.
He puffs out a breath and it draws Bakugou’s attention. Startling red eyes snap up to his.
“What?” He barks. “Shoto invited me over, for the record. I didn’t just show up here.”
“No,” Touya shakes his head quickly, “it’s, uh, not that. I…thanks for the invitation. It’s a…nice gesture.”
Bakugou quirks an eyebrow. He rests his chopsticks on the edge of his plate and stares, like Touya just grew a second head.
Touya decides to power through. Better late than never? Even, like, eight-to-nine-ish years late?
“I was just gonna say…fuck.” Touya rubs the back of his head.
“‘Fuck’?” Bakugou pulls a face. “Yeah, okay, fuck—”
“No,” Touya cuts him off, “Jesus Christ, God, this is so awkward.”
He crosses his arms, closes himself off, protects himself, and then glares at the ceiling. Doing this crap is even scarier without Keigo standing beside him.
The words come out in a rush and Touya has to fight the literal heat of embarrassment that flushes over his entire body.
“Sorry for kidnapping you when you were a teenager, I know it was really goddamn weird and awful. I was going through some shit clearly and I’m still working on it. I know you already told Hawks it was fine, but, I’m sorry anyway.”
Silence builds in the space after he speaks. Heavy, aching silence that presses in on Touya from all sides. He glowers at the chandelier so long that he’s surprised Bakugou doesn’t just get up and leave.
But then the brat laughs.
Touya blinks in shock, finally able to look him in the eye. Except, he can’t really, because Bakugou’s doubled over in hysterics.
“…What the fuck?” Touya asks, unsure if he really even wants to know the answer.
Bakugou wipes his face, like, there are actual tears streaming down his cheeks. He just keeps laughing? Is Touya on TV? What’s happening?
“Holy fuck, that was rich.” Bakugou eventually says, voice light. “You think I'm still hung up on that? Of all the shit that happened in first and second year, you wanna apologize for that time you made me attend the world's shittiest slumber party?”
Oh.
Touya…doesn’t know how to respond to that. So maybe he didn’t catastrophically ruin his life that time? One less person than he thought, what a plus.
Bakugou runs a hand through his spiky hair, smirking. “You know I fuckin' died once right? That little stunt you pulled was…nothing in the grand scheme of things.”
Touya doesn’t know how to respond to that, either. He swallows.
He died once too, he wants to say. Twice, actually. Almost died a lot of times.
Maybe he and Bakugou are…way more alike than he thinks.
“We don't have to be...chummy or whatever the hell, but I don't hate you.” Bakugou tells him matter-of-factly. It comes as a surprise, even though Touya maybe knew that?
“I just hand-delivered you an invitation to my goddamn wedding. If me or Deku didn't want you there, you wouldn’t be invited.”
Cool, Touya is still in the paralyzed and unsure what to say boat. He lets Bakugou continue.
“Anyway, it’s whatever.” The hero shrugs. “And your stupid bird boyfriend's not an absolute shit judge of character. I’ve known Hawks forever and I trust him well enough.—Shoto too, no duh. Shoto’s…don’t fucking tell him I said this, but he’s one of my best friends. If those two are telling me you’ve changed, then you've changed.”
They lock eyes, blue crashes into red. Bakugou’s gaze is definitive and earnest, and Touya feels it down to his core. Someone normally so rough around the edges looks uncharacteristically soft with his next words.
“I'd be... pretty fucking hypocritical if I didn't think people could change, all right?” Bakugou makes a flippant hand gesture, like he’s trying to brush off the sincerity. Like it’s too much.
And that, Touya understands to a T.
Hm.
“All right,” Touya nods. His mouth feels like cotton, but look at that, he survives another reconciliation. Keigo (and his stupid therapist) will be so proud.
“Thanks, then.”
“Yeah, yeah, let it go.” Bakugou insists, scooping into his food again. “It’ll be fucking annoying if you keep bringing up this old crap.”
Touya takes a deep breath. He feels a bit less strained now, sips his tea to try and completely relax.
“Okay, I—”
Shoto pushes back into the apartment then and shuts the door behind him, cutting Touya off. Was that little asshole waiting for an opportune moment to come back inside? How long was his phone call, even? Had he been listening to their conversation?
His brother nonchalantly slips back onto the barstool and picks up his utensils.
“Bakugou,” He points at him with his chopsticks. “Hitoshi said if you want proof that I'm committed to him, he can ‘absolutely provide it.’ He said to emphasize those words heavily and also, yes, he definitely means it ‘like that.’”
Oh, Touya gags.
“No, no, no, no, not in my fucking house, I don’t wanna hear—”
“Fucking gross, no, offer declined. Gonna yarf into my rice, asshole.” Bakugou yells in time with him.
And Shoto, the prick, only smiles.
Shared trauma really strengthens bonds, so Touya’s heard. Guess he and Bakugou will get along just fine.
——
Keigo gets home well after midnight. He tries to sneak in, but Touya’s still in the living room watching a campy horror movie in the dark. Shoto snoozes against his shoulder, cooking like a space heater. He apparently runs hot when he sleeps. Touya thinks it’s cozy; his own Quirk does the same. They respond to each other in a pod of warmth.
“‘Be home in a few hours,’ huh?” Touya whispers, not wanting to rouse his brother. All that fucker does is work, he deserves the rest.
Keigo toes out of his loafers and pulls off his coat. He pads over and hangs it on the back of the couch.
“Holy hell, you guys are baking in here.” Keigo whispers back with a soft laugh. “Doesn’t even feel like I took my jacket off.”
He gently presses a kiss to the crown of Touya’s hair. Cold lips thaw immediately thanks to his Quirk.
“But I know, I’m sorry I’m so late,” Keigo continues with a sigh. “We had a rough press conference. I wanted to hang around and help Tokoyami out with some other stuff. Just wanna set him up for success as best I can.”
“Before the baby bird jumps from the nest to fly.” Touya teases. He lowers the volume on the TV and shifts to get a better look at his partner. “You already have set him up for success, Kei.”
He looks good, cheeks pink from the chill, even in the dim, blueish light of the television screen. His tie’s askew and the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone. Touya hums appreciatively.
Shoto stirs at the commotion and lifts his head.
“Hawks back?” He mumbles, barely coherent.
Touya presses a palm to his brother’s forehead, effectively shutting his eyes for him. He untangles from Shoto’s body and maneuvers him onto a pillow, flat against the cushions.
“Go back to sleep, Sho. Just crash here tonight, it’s late.”
Touya wriggles off the couch and tosses a throw over him, then pets over his two-toned hair.
Shoto knocks out again immediately with zero protest; he knows he’s safe here. And Shinsou knows where he is, anyway.
Keigo smiles at the interaction, then crosses the condo to their bedroom. He looks wobbly and tired, massaging a crick in his neck as he goes. Touya clicks off the television and follows, softly shutting the door behind him.
Once they’re through the threshold, Keigo makes a beeline for the bathroom to presumably shower.
“How was your day?” He asks with genuine interest, even though Touya can tell from the slope of his wings that he’s exhausted. Bright red primaries skim the floor.
“I was studying and taking a practice exam most of the day.” Touya answers, following him into the bathroom without shame. He leans on the counter and watches while Keigo orders his feathers into a neat pile.
“Then we had a fun surprise visitor.”
Keigo freezes, concern clear on his face, before Touya shakes his head. He reaches out with both hands and starts to unbutton the rest of Keigo’s top for him.
“Relax, it was Bakugou.”
Keigo quirks an eyebrow, lets Touya undress him because protesting is futile.
“Bakugou? What? Why?”
Touya takes a deep breath. He loosens Keigo’s tie even further, then chucks it to the floor.
“Well. We’re invited to their fucking wedding.”
Keigo has the audacity to look excited, that bastard. His golden eyes go wide and twinkly. Detached feathers dance in the corner.
“No way! Ha! We obviously have to go.”
Touya slides Keigo’s shirt off his shoulders. Starchy fabric gives way to corded muscle, still toned even with how he’s eased off of patrolling. (It’s probably a lot of fucking work to carry around those wings, Keigo’s gonna be ripped for life.) Touya rucks up his wifebeater, untucking it.
“Maybe.”
“Ooooh,” Keigo grins, letting Touya peel his tank off. He shakes his torso and arms after like he’s all ruffled.
“That’s not a ‘no.’” Keigo notes stupidly.
Touya rolls his eyes. “It’ll be a ‘no’ if you act obnoxious about it.”
“When am I ever obnoxious?” Keigo asks with a stupid, charming wink.
Even as wiped as he is, Keigo accepts a kiss. And a cute coo rings from his chest when Touya’s hands whisk downward. When they wind up on his belt buckle, Keigo’s lower stomach jumps. It’s hot as shit, so Touya pursues, even when his partner takes a step back with a chuckle.
“Hey, we can’t. Shoto’s here.” Keigo protests lightly, playfully batting Touya’s hands away. He ends up squished into the wall while Touya attempts to unbutton his pants.
“Okay? Be fucking quiet then, Birdie. He’s two rooms away.” Touya shoots back. Fucking duh.
“Touyyaaa,” Keigo whines, a little giggly. He shimmies against the tile and wraps both hands over Touya’s wrists.
“You know I struggle with being quiet.” He mutters, like that’s an excuse.
Touya heats up his left arm in a faux-threat. Keigo’s grip tightens, and tiny pinprick claws touch his skin, shink over the metal of his right forearm.
“Hey,” Keigo laughs again, “quit it. I’m serious.”
“Yeah, you’re so serious, that’s why you’re getting hard right now.” Touya quips. He presses his hips closer, flattening Keigo to the wall. He knows how to push his buttons, it’s so easy.
He kisses Keigo again, lets him have this illusion of control with the imaginary ‘cuffs’ on his wrists. Keigo squeezes tighter, but their bodies mold closer. Lips slant, stubble scrapes. He tastes like a carbonated energy drink.
“Changing your mind?” Touya teases, stepping with one leg between the planes of his thighs. Rigid muscles lock him into place and Keigo tugs Touya impossibly closer.
“I think,” Keigo whispers, licking over his bottom lip, lapping against his cheek, “I actually have a solution.”
Visions of Keigo, bound and gagged, sparkle through the forefront of Touya’s mind. He smirks into his mouth, messily bumping their noses together. His own arousal stirs.
“Sure fucking hope we have the same idea.” Touya grins.
Keigo lets his head thump into the wall, chest already heaving. When they lock eyes he looks animal, wild, disheveled and…dangerous?
Hm. That’s…
“What?” Touya asks, hair raising on the back of his neck. His stomach swoops and the heat in his arms unexpectedly floods his entire body.
Keigo’s fingers twitch. His own smile stretches wide, displaying shiny canine teeth.
Oh.
Something is…
Keigo leans in, so their lips are a breath apart again. Touya’s heart suddenly pounds because Keigo feels…different.
“I always have so much trouble keeping quiet, huh, Hot Stuff?”
His breath is so warm, it throws Touya for a loop. He’s the one with the fire Quirk, so how the fuck does Keigo feel about a thousand degrees?
He blinks at him, taken aback by the sharp beauty of his features. Taken aback that Keigo looks…like a predator that caught his prey.
“But you sure don’t, do you?”
Oh, fuck. Shit.
Touya’s the prey, isn’t he?
He gasps when feathers flit over his body, curling over his limbs and waist. Before Touya can register what’s going on, he’s spun around and—bent over the bathroom counter.
He inhales in surprise, brain in overdrive. Goosebumps race across his entire body and his heart threatens to crack through his ribcage.
Keigo crowds behind him, fingers toying with the waistband of Touya’s sweats. His talons are sharp, making Touya’s spine prickle. The room merry-go-rounds.
But it’s not…it’s not bad.
Feathers slip over his arms, behind his ears, along his Adam’s apple, around his ankles. Touya catches sight of his reflection—confused and—fucking horny. Behind him, tawny eyes glint in the mirror.
Keigo kisses his shoulder, runs his hands up and down his sides instead of stuffing them into Touya’s pants right away.
“Is this okay?” Keigo whispers, sneaking sincerity into—into whatever the hell this is.
Because it’s not like Touya’s never been on the receiving end. He’d hooked up with plenty of random people before Keigo, and he’s been with Keigo so long now that it’s happened here and there, it just—it’s not frequent at all. And it’s never been so—charged.
“Because if it’s not that’s fine,” Keigo says hurriedly. “I just…”
He begins sucking Touya’s neck, right at the pulse point. Teeth graze there tenderly. Touya swallows.
“Ever since…”
He can’t seem to finish his sentence, too preoccupied on coloring Touya with a hickey. Talons poke into his shirt, threatening to make little holes. Touya fucking—his body flares with heat and Keigo sighs unevenly, into his jaw.
Touya knows. He doesn’t have to say it. Ever since Keigo held him down, it’s been…on their minds.
In other words, Keigo wants to treat Touya the way Touya treats him.
In other words, Keigo wants to wreck him.
Touya doesn’t quite understand the whole “mate” thing, even after this long. Some days Keigo rolls over in submission and begs to be bred until he can’t see straight, but other days, more recently, he seems to want to…take what belongs to him.
Make his claim.
The hickey bruises quick and dark, and Keigo starts on a second one.
Touya exhales, unsteady as fuck. He can feel the line of Keigo’s entire body, the weight of his cock, the shallow rush of his breath.
“Wasn’t even gonna ask tonight, but, since you’re so in the mood anyway,” Keigo mumbles, sounding hypnotized. “If you want to.”
Touya feels drunk, suddenly. Drunk on the intoxicating idea of…letting go. He answers before he can think about it too much.
“Annoying that you’re gonna make me be quiet while you fuck me into oblivion. Not very fair.”
He feels Keigo’s smile more than he sees it and almost yelps when those threatening fingers nip into his obliques.
“Shit,” he hisses, “and you know you can’t finger me with fucking knives for nails, get ahold of yourself, Birdie.”
Does that sound snappy enough? Touya can still run the show from here, can’t he?
Keigo trills and yanks his pants down.
Can’t he?
And then Keigo fully disappears, gone in a flash, fastest man alive, because he drops to his knees and starts eating Touya out like it’s his life’s only purpose.
“Ah!”
Touya immediately clamps his jaw shut, knowing that since he talked such a big game, he’ll get a ton of shit if he’s too vocal. He crams his fist against his mouth and plonks his forehead into the marble.
Keigo loves oral, he’s always loved oral. He has an oral fixation. Giving, receiving, it’s like a fucking hobby. He slaps his palms over Touya’s asscheeks and suckles his taint with so much enthusiasm that Touya nearly self-immolates.
He can feel his partner chirping and making all these insane noises, but it’s muffled enough that they won’t escape the room. And it’s never made Touya so jealous in his life. He’s fighting the urge to moan and fog up the huge fucking mirror in front of him.
“Kei,” He squeaks, very suddenly feeling lame. His toes curl into the bathroom rug and the intensity of it all has him feeling like a virgin. Keigo’s tongue does something inexplicable and Touya actually whimpers.
This is embarrassing, actually?
What if he’s just been full of crap this whole time? Almost eight years together and maybe Touya’s just been a goddamn poser their entire relationship? Maybe he’s the sniveling little bitch instead of Keigo, and—
“Oh, fuck,” He groans, unable to hold it in anymore. Keigo teases him with just a fingertip and Touya’s knees nearly buckle.
Yeah, it—it is embarrassing.
“Kei, maybe—,” he pushes to stand, but a whole mess of feathers swarm along his spine and nudge Touya back down to the vanity. They’re gentle, but insistent.
Keigo sends one to turn on the shower, to add some white noise and drown them out. Fuck the water bill, apparently. Another darts off, probably to find lube in the bedroom.
Then Keigo pulls back and bites the swell of Touya’s asscheek.
“Do you actually want to stop, or do you just feel shy?” Keigo asks, leaving room for an honest answer. He pauses completely, not trying to pressure him.
That sounds even dumber; does Touya feel shy? He’s not a teenager. He’s done this before, even if it’s been a really long time. Touya’s not a prude or something.
Keigo shifts to kiss his lower back. It’s chaste and comforting, not a bid to move further. The silence clearly goes on too long because Touya hears a scuffle, like Keigo’s getting back onto his feet.
“Wait.” Touya puffs. He reaches back and around, accidentally smacks Keigo in the temple but then knots into his hair. There’s a flapping noise, the flutter of his pared-down wings beating in excitement.
“I don’t want to stop, Birdie…So, get back to it.”
In some semblance of power, Touya yanks Keigo’s bangs.
Touya’s hand is jostled off when Keigo leans in, sloppy and eager. He sees a feather zip by in his peripheral vision, then hears the thump of the lube bottle hitting the floor, and the reverb of the bathroom door closing again. Keigo figures out his whole talons issue quickly enough, because pretty soon a slick finger is pressing into Touya, a little at a time.
And, fuck, it’s. Yeah. It’s nice. Initial discomfort swells into pleasant nerves that tickle down Touya’s legs once Keigo gets a rhythm going.
Touya grunts into his palm and shuts his eyes, focusing on the feeling. Focusing on Keigo inside him, on familiar, doting fingers that nearly shake with how much he’s holding back. Another tweet sparks against Touya’s skin and he can tell Keigo’s already wired.
“Chill out, Birdie, thought you were supposed to be quiet doing this.” Touya whisper-shouts over the running shower. When Keigo picks up speed, Touya’s voice cracks at the end.
“Mmm,” is the only response he gets. That, and a sudden, unrelenting pressure on his g-spot.
“Shit,” Touya inhales. Which is the perfect encouragement for Keigo, who circles over the spot about a million fucking times until he’s goddamn squirming.
“Shit, holy shit,” Touya already feels the stupid fireworks. And they’re incredible. Fuck.
Keigo slips his fingers out and spreads Touya wide, admiring his handiwork. He hums and licks a hot stripe between his cheeks. In the mirror, Touya’s face goes deep cherry-red.
“Gonna fuck you so good like you always fuck me.” Keigo whispers as he trails kisses everywhere. From within him, to his hip, to the dimples on his back. Keigo clutches his waist and uses it to clumsily stand up.
Touya scrapes a hand over his forehead, pushing back his stringy hair in the humidity of the bathroom. The feather earlier just kind of—cranked the shower handle to the hottest setting. He isn’t sweating, but condensation gathers all over, especially on his fiery skin. Actually, half the fucking steam in here might be from Touya.
“You need more prep or can I do that?” Keigo asks, voice strained. Claws creep out again, catching on fabric when he shoves Touya’s shirt up to his armpits. “Can you take this off? Can I fuck you?”
Touya grumbles and tumbles out of his shirt, dropping it into the sink carelessly. He watches the reflection of Keigo take off his own pants one-handed, like he doesn’t want to release the grip on his ribcage.
It makes him shiver.
Touya breathes deeply and Keigo’s hand flexes on him. Keigo’s so strong, it’s simultaneously pissing Touya off and filling him with insatiable desire.
“You can do that.” Touya murmurs, heart pumping. He’s never ridden a roller coaster, but he imagines this mounting anticipation is exactly what it would feel like.
Keigo’s barren wings snap again and then he lounges himself over Touya’s back. Wet kisses pepper his throat, behind his ear, everywhere the wayward feathers brushed earlier. He’s already sensitive, fights the urge to fucking tremble.
Keigo palms the back of his neck roughly and twists Touya’s face to kiss him, to bite him, to growl into him. Touya white-knuckles the countertop at the heavy feeling behind him, at the glide of Keigo’s cock, at the way he makes out with Touya and abruptly shoves it into him at the same time.
Touya keens. He doesn’t mean to. He manages to do it onto Keigo’s tongue, and hopefully that masks the worst of it.
“Jesus Christ,” Touya gasps, half onto his lips, head snapping back.
He locks eyes with the reflection of his partner. Keigo’s mouth drops open and his eyebrows knit in ecstasy. Even in euphoria, he still looks sharp and possessive. The arrows under his eyes grow darker and he sings, low and crooning. Keigo starts fucking into him with a territorial rumble and Touya feels it vibrate through his entire body. He does it several times in a row, thrumming to Touya’s core.
Keigo.
Keigo’s having him.
It’s—it’s never been like this. Touya tries not to mewl like a fucking kitten, scrambling for purchase at the quick pattern, at the way Keigo rails his prostate again, and again, and again. His pelvis aches from where it’s crushed into the edge of the sink, and his own dick isn’t getting an ounce of relief, but the—the fucking internal bloom bursts hot, over and over.
Touya’s afraid he’s going to come very fast. No wonder Keigo pleads for this like a little whore. He wants to inject this into his veins.
“Holy fuck,” Touya huffs quietly. He wants to let loose, to shout from the rooftops. Keigo roves over the back of his neck again, closing over the top knob of his spine. Touya barely gets to catch sight of his partner’s eyes rolling back before his own face is promptly smushed into the marble.
And he almost ignites.
He can’t move.
He can’t move and it’s—fuck. Yeah. It’s hot as hell.
Touya chokes on his own spit. He can tell his skin is blistering right now. He’s practically sizzling, but it only eggs Keigo on.
“That’s right.” His Birdie hisses, other hand catching his wrist again. Keigo locks it behind his lower back and fucks him into the next dimension. Zero to one hundred, Keigo’s been pounding him at a relentless speed since he pushed inside.
“You’re mine.” Keigo declares quietly, barely audible over the shower, like he’s in a fugue state. More to himself than to Touya. “You’re mine and you’re not fucking going anywhere. Only mine.”
The fingers on his neck scratch but it’s good, it’s so good. Touya wants to slam his skull into the stone he’s crushed into but he can’t even open his jaw. He’s pinned, he’s trapped. He lets Keigo take him, tries to nod.
“My mate,” Keigo reiterates, thrusting deeper, quicker, pressing harder.
And then he fucking bites Touya, hard, on the shoulder.
“Ow, bitch!” Touya yelps and breaks free, back arching.
“So everybody knows you’re mine,” Keigo explains, licking over the mark like it’ll heal it, bracing him down again. Touya’s nose is back to the countertop and his stupid cock bounces in enjoyment.
God, they’re so idiotically made for each other.
“Thought—ah, Kei, fuck.” Another nibble, on his shoulder blade. “Thought that’s what the rings are for? No one can see a bite there, anyway?”
Keigo jerks his hips upward, making Touya see stars. Then he slows. The stretch isn’t comfortable, but it’s so good, so fucking good. Touya still wants it to last forever.
“You want some visible ones?” Keigo teases, finally easing up the pressure on his neck. Touya lifts his head and finds Keigo’s eyes again. They shimmer like gold, like a sunrise, like a first place medallion. Keigo licks his lips.
They huff in the humid air, Keigo still nestled completely inside him. He lets up on Touya’s arm, instead trails both hands down his back, skating pointy talons over sticky skin. He sneaks one forward to take hold of Touya’s dick, leaves the other thumb pinching the curve of his ass.
Touya’s legs almost give out again. Keigo humps closer and languidly starts jerking him off.
“I-I think you already did plenty to my neck.” Touya barks back, eyelids fluttering.
“Wanna paint you,” Keigo whispers again, borderline delirious. “Wanna—ngh—decorate you. Make you shine.—Can I buy you more jewelry? God, Touya, you’re so hot.”
This is emphasized with a brutal roll of hips, one that makes precum leak from Touya’s cock. He can’t help it, he starts to meet the pace. Fucking himself backwards on Keigo’s dick like he’s needy for it, because he is.
“Yeah,” Touya nods, mindless now. Stupid on dick. “Whatever you want.”
“Want you,” Keigo breathes, doubling down on his efforts. He’s rocking, and pressing, and stroking, and Touya is definitely whining. Probably loudly? He almost suffocates trying to stop.
Oops—he chars the counter, too, just a smudge of black.
“Ruin it,” Keigo encourages, twittering. “Show me how good it feels, Touya.”
“Ah, ah—Kei.”
Touya’s brain starts to shut off. He plummets into instinct, nature, into being Keigo’s mate, if that’s what he fucking wants. He won’t be pliant, but.
He’ll also do whatever the hell Keigo wants.
It smells like hot metal again, so Touya has to wrench his arm away from the faucet. Keigo laughs, ecstatic, and then—holy shit he fucks him like this is their last night on Earth.
Touya prays that Shoto’s dead to the world and the walls in this rich boy condo are thick, because he can’t hold back the sounds he’s making anymore. It’s futile. And Keigo’s repeating his name like it’s the only thing he knows. Well, that and—
“Mine, mine, you’re mine.”
Keigo punctuates each word with a slam of hips, and soon Touya’s spilling into his hand and trying not to set the building on fucking fire. He holds his ragged breath so he doesn’t scream.
“Yeah, fuck, baby, there you go,” Keigo encourages, nonstop. He hammers into him until it’s too much, until Touya’s fingertips are blue with flames, and he’s rasping out smoke, and then—
“Oooooh, Touya, Touya,” Keigo praises quietly, clamping his jaw closed so fast that he hears the crack of teeth. Touya pants into the countertop and feels Keigo’s warmth flood him, feels a cloud of feathers cuddle up to him immediately. Keigo apparently wants to touch him and absorb him with every possible sense he has. He rides it out for ages, until Touya’s about to fucking sob.
Wisps of smog drift to the ceiling when Keigo finally slumps against him. The planes of his torso expand into Touya’s sweltering back as he takes gulps of air, while Touya tries to remember how his own lungs work. Keigo’s sweaty where Touya is not, but he doesn’t push him off, for now. He’s almost like a security blanket.
“I feel kinda bad,” Keigo says eventually into the shell of his ear. “I came stupid fast. Wanted to give you more.”
Touya can’t help but smile. He rolls his eyes. Idiot.
“You gave me plenty, Birdie. That was…good.” Touya admits. He ‘came stupid fast,’ too. His body’s still fuzzy with pleasure and his ankles are starting to get pins and needles from all of Keigo’s weight hanging over him.
“Yeah?” Keigo asks. His scaled-down wings posture and flap with pride.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Touya retorts weakly. He shrugs a little and Keigo gets the message. Gently, he kisses the apple of Touya’s cheek, and then his shoulder, and then pulls out. It’s strange, for a second, breaking their connection, but more feathers swish through Touya’s hair and along his arms until his pulse calms to normal.
Keigo traces his claws lightly along Touya’s spine, bringing him back to planet Earth. His reflection is still mussed, bright red and glistening from the steam of the shower. Touya swears there are hearts in his partner’s fucking irises.
“I could probably…go again?” Keigo suggests, dipping his thumb into the curve of Touya’s waist. His gaze follows where it goes, like it’s a stream of water in the desert.
“Pfft, in your fucking dreams.” Touya taunts. He finally wills himself to stand up, almost crashing on the condensation-covered countertop. He turns around in the bracket of Keigo’s arms and meets a pair of lovesick golden eyes.
“It’s not even spring yet, Kei.” Touya says. They share breath as Keigo keeps trying to inch closer. His hands clasp behind Touya’s lower back. He looks devilish, and Touya would be fucking lying if he said it wasn’t doing something for him.
That had been a lot, but in a good way…so, Touya does think he can manage one more.
“Early winter is like, almost spring.” Keigo says flippantly. A feather flicks against Touya’s ass cheek, instigating him.
Touya sucks his teeth and sighs, but Keigo can tell he’s bluffing. And when he guesses right he grins, like sunshine personified.
Touya leans forward and watches Keigo quiver in anticipation.
“Fine, spoil me again, Birdie.”
——
“How’d you sleep last night, Shoto?” Keigo asks brightly the next morning over coffee, and Touya nearly fucking spills his own mug.
His partner and younger brother are seated at the dining table while Touya hovers by the toaster, bread in one hand and macchiato in the other.
“Fine. I was out all night.” Shoto answers, sipping his drink and checking his email. “I was more tired than I thought.”
“Oh good, sometimes that couch isn’t the most comfortable, that’s all.”
Keigo fucking cuts his eyes over and winks at Touya.
Sly motherfucking bastard. He knows what he did and he knows he’s a proud little douche over it.
There’s a sudden pop and a poof of smoke as Touya burns the perfectly good piece of sourdough he’s holding.
Shoto looks up and tilts his head in concern. “Are you all right?”
With a grumble, Touya drops the blackened brick into the trash.
“Never better.” He says flatly. Is his face pink? Probably.
Fuck Keigo.
Thankfully, Shoto doesn’t prod. He sets his cup down and starts typing again, probably replying “affirmative” or something dorky as hell to today’s work schedule.
“Anyway, it was fine.” Shoto nods. “Thank you for the hospitality.”
“Of course!” Keigo grins. He smirks at Touya again and has the audacity to say, “You’re welcome any time!”
And then Touya burns piece of bread number two.
*************
Spring brings the usual. Keigo being outrageously horned-up and obnoxiously in love with one Touya Todoroki.
One Touya Todoroki who lives in his house now. So, that’s a plus.
With his hero duties behind him, Keigo has…abundant free time too, so, spring is especially well-spent this year.
And spring also brings a hero wedding. Touya very begrudgingly agrees to attend Midoriya and Bakugou’s soiree, much to Keigo’s surprise.
He cleans up nice, Keigo teases him, when they’re getting ready (after they fuck in the closet). But he means it.
Keigo spends the entire day memorizing the way Touya looks in a sleek charcoal-grey suit, because him wearing one is a rare occurrence. He stares at him incessantly, engraving Touya further into his mind. He studies the angular lines of his face, the windswept look of his styled, snowy hair, the clean, rich fabric that hugs him just right, the expensive studs and hoops Keigo bought him (Touya was thrilled to get his trio of nose piercings re-done a few weeks ago).
And there’s also that black band on his left finger. It keeps catching Keigo’s eye, flaring dully in the late afternoon sunlight.
It makes him so needy, so possessive. Is that crazy? Maybe. Keigo’s been a little crazy since the first blowjob, shoved against a tree.
What if they dip for a few minutes? It’s not too suspicious, like, walking to the bathroom together, right? Girls do that all the time, so.
Touya catches his eye. He observes Keigo for a second, and then tugs low on his wing.
It’s classic scolding behavior. Keigo must look like an animal. Is he chittering? He clears his throat and schools his expression, realizing that his feathers are vibrating.
Ugh. Later.
“That really was a nice ceremony,” Rumi comments, knocking back the remainder of her sauvignon blanc. She sets it down a little aggressively on the high top table, grinning. “But I did wanna see Bakugou sniffle just a little bit. He’s such a hard ass. I’m gonna tell him I saw a tear in his eye just to fuck with him later.”
“I did not really expect Bakugou to cry. Midoriya, however…” Tokoyami laughs lightly.
Shoto nods, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He’s piling on hors d’oeuvres like he hasn’t eaten in days. Maybe he hasn’t? He barely stops working, now that he and Shinsou are building their own agency.
“Yes, Izuku was very on brand.” Shinsou chimes in for his partner, since he’s chewing on something.
They stand in the garden courtyard of a glitzy hotel with nearly one hundred other people. The wedding of two top-ranked heroes certainly garners a crowd. Their class from U.A. alone makes up a huge chunk of it.
There are very few decorations—the colorful flowers and lively plants do the legwork. Lots of tables dot the area for people to hover, and chat, and drink, and eat. Bakugou and Midoriya disappeared to take photos, which Bakugou characteristically complained loudly about, so the guests mill around for a while until it’s time for dinner.
Touya’s visibly uneasy. Even though he’s been out of prison a few months now, he’s on-edge in large groups of people. Keigo keeps tabs on his body language, soothes with a feather where he can, when it isn’t obvious.
“Hey,” Rumi says suddenly, slapping a hand over Touya’s shoulder. He jumps, almost spilling his glass.
“Jesus, what?” Touya blinks. His pinot noir sloshes.
“How is the whole school thing going, anyway? You never talk about it.” Her rabbit ears flick curiously.
Aw. That’s sweet. Maybe Rumi can sense how tense he is, too. Talking about his studies might bring Touya out of his shell a little.
“Uh, it’s fine,” Touya answers, lightly rolling his shoulder to jostle her off. “I take an exam next month that would basically equate to passing high school. And then from there I can…apply to universities, I guess.”
He’s been studying so much. Books strewn across the table, pages upon pages printed and highlighted, journals full of notes. Keigo works from home most of the time, and they hunch over laptops together, clicking away. But they take plenty of breaks, too. Of course.
Has he mentioned it’s spring?
“One step closer to proving Dad wrong.” Shoto says casually after his next bite.
Everyone stiffens, except for Shoto. It’s some unspoken thing; the other Todorokis are the only ones who can bring up Endeavor around Touya. Otherwise, he’s off-limits. Keigo doesn’t even like to breach the subject when he doesn’t have to.
Touya takes a drink, but the liquid in his glass doesn’t boil, so that’s a good sign. After a beat of silence, he shoves his free hand in his pocket and nods, too.
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Endeavor has thankfully been…radio silent. Forced into retirement, quietly. It was all swept under the rug. The paparazzi still hounds everyone for information when they can, especially in light of Keigo’s career change and Shoto’s new venture, but the explosive fallout is becoming old news. Finally.
Keigo heard through the grapevine (All Might) that Endeavor’s doing pencil-pusher shit behind the scenes. He still thinks about ripping his head off, or even just egging his house, but as long as they don’t see his face, Keigo can let it go to preserve the peace.
And to keep Dabi at bay.
“So you did end up getting approval on all that then?” Rumi asks, leaning against the high-top on one elbow. “Can you be my physical therapist? My shoulder’s been hurting like a bitch lately, lemme tell you.”
She mocks throwing a punch.
“Yeah. As long as I maintain the boundaries of my fucking parole, I can go to school online for now. They’ll reevaluate later.”
And when it’s been much later, and Touya’s inevitably given more freedom due to good behavior, they’ll finally let the cat out of the bag about his Quirk to the officials. Neither of them want that device in his body forever, and, besides, a heat Quirk could be really beneficial for a physical therapist.
“Sweet.” Rumi fake-punches Touya four more times in a mock combo. He finally stops her and redirects her fist to Keigo. She just snickers.
“What did you do to it?” Keigo asks, taking the “blow” to his shoulder.
Rumi grins, looking diabolical as always. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe if you hadn’t ditched us I could share my fun work stories with you. Only my cool, new partner is in the loop.”
Keigo pouts and sends puppy-dog eyes at Tokoyami. His former intern squints at the expression.
“And your cool, new partner will tell me, won’t you, Fumikage?” Keigo flutters his wings hopefully. “Did Rumi do something embarrassing on your shift together?”
Fumikage opens his mouth to answer, when the music cuts out. Kirishima excitedly explains over the speakers that it’s time to move inside for dinner.
“Guess you’ll never know, Keigo.” Rumi jeers, patting him heartily on the cheek. She throws him a wink, which means she’s joking and will surely tell him their patrol story another time.
Keigo. It’s still weird to have everyone call him that, but it’s a little easier every time.
The masses slowly funnel into the reception hall, sluggish from downing appetizers and alcohol. Keigo takes Touya’s hand, determined to hold it for most of the night.
The ballroom is grandiose and candlelit, decorated with sage green drapes and clippings from the garden in crystal vases. There’s a gigantic dance floor in the center of all the round tables, three different bars, and a big disco ball spinning on the ceiling. They find their table with relative ease and settle in for the first dance.
Bakugou and Midoriya are cute, to the say the least. Looking more done-up than Keigo’s ever seen them, but still so authentically…themselves. One bubbly goofball and one sharp-tongued hothead. They slow dance and stare at each other like no one else exists.
Love is weird.
Keigo spares a look to his left, at Touya.
Who’s already looking at him.
His partner gently kicks him under the table and resumes watching the dance, like the mini-moment never even happened.
Secret softie.
“You know what they say,” Keigo hears Shinsou whisper to Shoto, two seats over, “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage.”
The two of them cackle, their temples pressed together, continuing to watch the couple in newly-wedded bliss. It wouldn’t be surprising actually, if the top heroes had a kid right away. Especially with how they did a speed run on the whole dating to engagement to marriage thing.
It’s funny to think about, those two as parents.
Hm.
Keigo looks at Touya again.
The dance turns into dinner, and then toasting, Best Man speeches (Kirishima’s: enthusiastic, Shoto’s: short and sweet), cake, and then absolute debauchery on the dance floor. The lights drop even lower, Present Mic takes the DJ booth, and the bass gets cranked up to an ear-splitting level.
“Please.”
“Kei, no.”
“Please, please.”
“Keigo.”
“Please, please, pleaseeee.”
“Seriously? Are you a fucking child? How many times do I have to say ‘no’?” Touya crosses his arms. “I’m not gonna go out there and look like an idiot in front of all these people I don’t even know.”
They’ve been alone at their dining table for a couple of minutes now. After the first few songs, Rumi managed to drag even Tokoyami and Shinsou out there. The crowd is a gyrating mass, but Keigo sees her ears every once in a while. There’s also a concerning number of yellow sparks shooting into the air? Probably Kaminari.
“Exactly,” Keigo pouts. He scoots his chair closer, shoving his knees into Touya’s thigh. Keigo plops his head onto Touya’s shoulder. “You don’t even know most of them. So who cares?”
He may have had a few more drinks during dinner. He may not care if he’s being kind of annoying right now. Love is in the air, obviously. He wants to dance at a wedding with his partner/mate/husband.
“Please,” he says again, to Touya’s grumbling silence. Keigo flutters his wings and leans a little closer, stealing one kiss on his jaw. “Dance with me or let me give you head in the bathroom.”
“Keigo,” Touya actually laughs, because he’s been drinking, too. He shoves Keigo’s face away and sighs.
“C’mon,” Keigo whines, “we used to do that all the time. Warehouses, train stations. What’s a little bathroom blowjob?”
“That was before I was on parole, Birdie. I think they can arrest you for public indecency.”
“Well!” Keigo grins, jumping to stand. “If you’re gonna be boring, I guess the only option is dancing, then!”
Touya gasps when Keigo drags him to his feet and then all the way to the edge of the dance floor. He loses his balance and wallops them right into the crowd. It parts easily, welcoming, accompanied by hoots and hollers.
Touya half-grimaces and half-smiles, letting Keigo grab onto his waist now that he’s stuck here. The people in their direct vicinity he knows only vaguely, so Keigo pretends it’s just the two of them. Like Bakugou and Midoriya during their first dance, lost in each other’s eyes and all those other cliches.
He loves Touya’s eyes. Smoldering blue, blazing like his fire.
The bass thumps in his chest and Keigo kisses him. It’s brief and sweaty (on Keigo’s part, anyway). He runs his hands up Touya’s sides and soon they’re twisting to the beat.
“See?” Keigo shouts over the music. “Not so bad, huh?”
“I’d have roasted anybody else for making me do this, y’know?” Touya says, low in his ear. “You’re lucky I love you, Kei.”
Of course he has to kiss him again after that, and Keigo’s about to say, “actually fuck this, let me go down on you in the bathroom, seriously,” when Rumi crashes into them from out of nowhere. With a mischievous grin, she slides between their embrace and steals Touya. Shoto appears, giggling like a madman. His cheeks are pink and he’s got Midoriya hung over his shoulders. They’ve both lost their suit jackets and Shoto’s tie is wrapped around his forehead. Keigo can only assume he didn’t do that to himself.
“She insisted.” Shoto explains from behind his hand. He tugs out his phone to take a video.
“Let me have this dance, you bastard.” Rumi laughs wickedly while Touya tries to fight her off half-heartedly. Even when he dead-weights, she twirls him like a ballerina. He underestimates both her strength and insane determination.
Midoriya holds up his beer bottle. His freckled cheeks are flushed from booze and unbridled joy.
“We’re glad you guys could come, Hawks!” He says brightly. “Mina has also stolen Kacchan, do you wanna dance with me and Shoto?”
“Sure,” Keigo smirks, catching sight of Dark Shadow looping around Touya, now. “And congrats, again, Midoriya! I’m really glad, too.”
——
The partying goes on for hours and the drinks flow like water. Touya finally manages to break away from Rumi after a few songs, but Keigo doesn’t let him leave the dance floor. The evening ticks away under the glimmer of the disco ball. Five minutes to midnight, Present Mic announces they’re going to “slow things down.”
The track morphs into a sweet, popular one from the radio. A little less club and a lot more piano, with beautiful, crooning lyrics. The LEDs shift to an amber glow and a handful of people scatter as the couples pair up. When the crowd thins out, Keigo snatches Touya closer and curls his wings around the two of them like curtains.
“Really covert.” Touya quips, but his shoulders sag with secret relief. Keigo knows there aren’t any eyes on them at this point (everyone is wailing about how cute Midoriya and Bakugou are), but Touya likes his privacy.
They clasp left hands and Keigo squeezes Touya’s shoulder. His metallic one settles at Keigo’s hip and they drift in slow circles, hidden from the world.
“…Surprised I’m not stepping on your feet.” Touya says quietly, unexpectedly. Red feathers behind his head make his blue eyes radiant. “I’ve never slow danced with anyone like this.”
Keigo’s mouth turns up at the corner and he buries his forehead in Touya’s neck. The collar of his shirt is crumpled after hours of being out. He’s still wearing his suit jacket, and it smells rich like cologne.
Keigo inhales deeply before he speaks. Mate, mate, mate, his brain supplies pleasantly.
“I know you said you’re not one for the big, white wedding but…you look pretty good here, I gotta say.” Keigo admits.
Touya doesn’t stiffen, but he doesn’t respond, either.
“…It’s worth noting, too,” Keigo continues carefully, “…that you’ve changed your mind about a lot of things over the years, Hot Stuff. Especially when it comes to me.”
He feels Touya’s snort in his hair. At least he isn’t nervous.
“Oh, is that what you think?” Touya scoffs.
Keigo grins. “Yep.”
“Hm. Inflated ego you’ve got there.” Touya punctuates his words with a firmer hold on Keigo’s waist.
He almost warbles in reply, has to hold it back.
“Oh, you know. If the shoe fits.”
Touya drags him in, pressing their bodies flush together. But nothing more. Being a tease, making Keigo’s slutty, little heart race.
“…Well what is it, you’re itching to be my wife that badly? Huh?”
Shit.
Fuck.
He sure is.
“Ooooh, don’t get me all frisky, Touya, I’ll steal the spotlight from Bakugou and Midoriya.” Keigo reprimands, feathers fluffing out.
Then, to Keigo’s surprise, Touya spins him away, like they’re professional freaking ballroom dancers. He almost loses his balance but manages not to crash into Aizawa and Present Mic, just by a hair.
When Keigo twirls back inward, like the move was all planned, Touya pinches him hard in the side.
“You’re already fucking frisky, you brat.”
He’s not wrong. So Keigo swoops in for another kiss.
When the song eventually ends, Uraraka and Iida pass around tiny vials of bubbles with miniature wands. Everyone’s instructed to line up alongside the exit and blow as many as they can for Bakugou and Midoriya to run through. The drunken lot of them all gather, and the newlyweds pause at the start.
Before they go, Bakugou addresses them. He’s bright red and disheveled, but Keigo’s never seen him so excited. Which is really saying something about a guy who hoots every time he explodes something.
“Thanks for coming, all you fuckin’ extras. It made Izuku really happy.” He hollers, one arm wrapped around his partner.
Midoriya slaps him on the bicep and Bakugou rolls his eyes. He corrects himself.
“Ugh, fucking fine, it made both of us really happy. There.” Bakugou mushes a hard kiss onto his partner’s cheek and then catches his hand. “Now get the hell out of here, the ballroom closes at one AM or the bill’s on your asses. I gotta go ravage my husband.”
“Kacchan!” Midoriya giggles, but doesn’t argue. The love birds break into a clumsy run and hurry off to the hotel across the courtyard to presumably consummate their marriage. Loads of iridescent bubbles follow in their wake, with cheers so loud they could break the sound barrier.
They dump their bubbles into a little basket as they leave. Keigo smiles a dopey smile and follows the masses out of the event space. He does a double take when he sees Mt. Lady on Rumi’s arm. She shoots him a devilish grin, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and mouths, fuck yeah! The two of them quickly disappear into the back seat of a ritzy Uber with heavily tinted windows, and it speeds away into the night.
Huh. Keigo can’t wait to hear about that.
Tokoyami bids everyone good night and leaves with a few people Keigo recognizes from class 1-A. Dark Shadow loops in buzzed circles behind them until the group disappears.
Shinsou trails in the very back with Shoto half-asleep on his shoulders, piggy-back style, but he heads into the lobby since they’ve got a room reserved, too.
He gives Keigo and Touya a weary salute and says, “Wish me luck with Shoto’s hangover of the century. He’s gonna wake up puking fire and ice.”
“Have fun with that.” Touya taunts, mussing up his brother’s hair in passing.
Keigo lingers on the sidewalk in front of the hotel as the guests disperse, slipping his hands onto Touya’s forearms. He glides up to his biceps, links over his shoulders. Touya meets his eyes, looking uncharacteristically soft.
“What is it?” He asks. His curious gaze rakes over Keigo’s face, touches on his lips. Makes him feel warm. Or maybe that’s Touya’s Quirk.
Or maybe it’s both.
“I dunno.” Keigo snuggles him.
Except, he totally knows. He’s just in love, that’s all. And his brain is full of weddings, and happily-ever-after, and soulmates, and all that rosy, cliché stuff.
Touya lightly jostles him.
“Well, Birdie, you got me into an idiot suit, we danced—both regular speed and slow—we ate the stupid cake, we participated in the toast, we drank more than I’ve had in years—and I’m gonna feel it tomorrow, holy shit. Let’s go home now. These shoes are fucking killing my feet.”
Keigo’s still tipsy, lets himself swim in it. He kisses Touya on the nose and struggles to hold back the surprise.
“Hmmm, no. We aren’t going home, Hot Stuff.”
“…Excuse me?” Touya taps him on the head. “If there’s some after party bullshit I am not up for it, okay? My social battery died when we fucking got here.”
Keigo keeps hanging off of him like a leech and Touya lets Keigo’s sweaty dress shirt wrinkle into his own.
Time to let the cat out of the bag.
Keigo smirks and feels himself twitter.
“I mayyy have booked us a room here.”
“…What?” Touya’s brows hike up his forehead. Keigo ponders what it would look like if he pierced one. Hot, definitely. “Why? I know you’re too blitzed to drive but I can?”
“Um, you don’t have a license? And no you can’t, we went drink for drink.” Keigo says back, fluttering his lashes in what he hopes is an enticing way.
Touya grumbles. “All right, well, we can call a cab?”
Keigo’s half-lidded eyes flick upwards then, drinking Touya in like he’s another glass of Bacardi and Coke. He squeezes him around the neck and goes on his tiptoes enough to mouth Touya’s ear. His whisper must be electric, because he notices Touya break out in goosebumps.
“Home is far, Touya…and I want you now instead.”
Touya’s entire body cooks under his touch. The undercurrent of his Quirk, right below the skin, right beneath a few layers of expensive, designer fabric.
Keigo’s feathers fluff up in response.
Got him.
“Oh?” Touya lilts back with a soft laugh. “Is that so?”
“Mmhm.” Keigo nods, nipping an earring. In the shadows, and the thinning crowd, and the lull of mild intoxication, Touya lets him.
“Of course you did,” Touya sighs, but it’s without malice. He leans back, untangling Keigo from his torso.
Touya waves his metallic hand in a grand, flippant gesture.
“Lead the way then, you little whore,” he smirks.
Keigo sure can do that, he’s still the fastest fucking man alive, even if he’s retired. He practically flies them to the front desk and throws down his credit card. He signs blindly for all charges with lightning speed while Touya hooks a finger in his belt loop. Then he’s off like a rocket, dragging Touya behind him—so quickly that the receptionist has to call them back for the room key.
“Idiot,” Touya mumbles into his mouth once they’re in the elevator. And Keigo can’t even complain. Spring is surging in his veins; Touya can call him whatever he wants.
They hop off on one of the top floors (the newlyweds scored the penthouse, of course), pants practically unbuttoned. Keigo doesn’t even care if some security guard just got half a show watching them tongue each other’s throats from the camera in the elevator. All he can think about is the smell of cinnamon, the safe and sound temperature of his mate.
“You just walked past the room, genius. That’s a cleaning closet.” Touya snarks, snatching the ridge of Keigo’s wing to stop him in his tracks. It’s right over his nearly-invisible burn scar, where Touya marked him, and he has to snap his teeth shut to hold back a sound at that.
“Right,” Keigo clears his throat, turning one-eighty. They’re on one of the single-room floors, how had he even missed it?
He smiles sheepishly and keys into the lock.
“One track mind, huh?” Touya croons, a few steps behind him.
They flick on the light switch by the door, illuminating a grand suite with golden and bronze embellishments. The bed is at the center of the room, even bigger than the one at home, facing a gigantic television. A set of balcony doors let in moonlight from outside through sheer, creamy curtains. There’s an oak armoire, a tan chaise with a billion pillows, an ornate rug, and a wide, arched door leading to the bathroom. Frosted glass hides pearlescent countertops and an immense shower.
“Wow, Birdie, you couldn’t splurge for anything nicer?” Touya jokes, slipping out of his loafers.
“No, sorry,” Keigo kicks off his too, sending one flying into the wall. His neck feels prickly already. “Maybe you should punish me for how shitty the accommodations I booked are?”
“Ha!” Touya barks a laugh, mouth stretching wide in a handsome grin. He starts forward while Keigo backpedals eagerly, already making their way towards the bed. Touya shrugs out of his suit jacket and lets it plop to the floor.
“Thought for sure you’d be asking to have a turn again, with how much you like that lately.”
“Mm,” Keigo slows, considering. He sure does like fucking the shit out of Touya. To see the man who’s normally so edgy go soft and weak—it riles him up a lot.
“Okay, you’re right,” Keigo nods, changing his mind, licking his lips, “let’s play that game.”
Except Touya does not change course. He locks onto Keigo like he’s got him targeted in a fucking scope and continues his advance. Keigo blinks and before he can turn things around, the backs of his knees hit the mattress. His stomach swoops when Touya inches closer.
“I don’t think so, honey.”
Oh.
Yeah, okay, this is—Keigo swallows. His eyes almost roll back.
Fuck it, this is his rightful role. Mmhm. He never wants to fuck Touya again (that’s a lie, this is just tonight), he just wants to take it, take it, take it—
“Shit!” Keigo gasps when Touya clutches his bicep and swings him around to face the chaise. His other hand burrows into the back of Keigo’s jacket and starts to yank it off.
“Feathers,” Touya commands with another tug. In other words, get them out of the way so Keigo can be stripped.
“Oh,” Keigo says dumbly, sending them in a flurry to the side. Touya doesn’t waste any time wrangling him out of his jacket, and then his dress shirt (while Keigo frantically unbuttons it), and then his undershirt, until his torso is bare.
And then he grips Keigo’s waist, fingers dancing up his ribs where another scar colors his skin. It took Touya a while to get used to seeing it, but the mark fills Keigo with a strange swell of pride. He shudders when Touya squeezes.
“Now put them back.” Touya demands, voice low and velvety.
His feathers swoosh back into place in an elegant whirlwind of red. They shuffle and quiver, well aware that their favorite person is very close by.
Touya dips forward to press a kiss to the top of Keigo’s spine. His lips trek down, while his palms crawl up, and Keigo knows how good it’ll feel when they meet in the middle. He’s already tenting his fucking pants over it.
“I think,” Touya whispers into his skin, exhaling unnatural heat. It’s like hot water rushing down his back. It’s…wet, almost.
Touya licks him. Ah. Actually wet now.
“I’m gonna need to preen you after tonight.”
Keigo inhales when the tips of Touya’s fingers brush the underside of his wings. If he wasn’t already horny as hell, he’s off the charts, now. Keigo whimpers.
Touya presses up, two fingers nudging into the downy part. He suckles lower and lower, while digging in higher and higher, and Keigo loses his balance, tumbling into the chaise.
“There we go,” Touya audibly grins before fucking mounting him. He sits cozily on Keigo’s lower back and buries his hands right where Keigo wants them.
“O-oh, fuck,” Keigo cries into the fabric, face smushed under throw pillows. Touya bats them aside so he can get a good view of his expression instead and then gets back to business.
“What did you say before? ‘Punish you’?” His partner chides, wrapping both hands fully around the sensitive, muscular base of each wing. It’s like lightning—through his wingspan, down his back, into his tailbone, into his core.
Keigo slams his head into the cushion with a shout, dick jerking at the sensation.
“Fuck, Touya,” He squeaks, back arcing away from him because it’s too much, way too fast. It always is with them. But that only earns another tug, this time with extra heat on it.
“Nnngh,” Keigo gasps, craning his neck and mashing his forehead down again. His feathers squirm, but the tiny ones (those fucking traitors), uncurl wide like flowers to the sun. Betraying him.
“What do you think, Kei?” Touya whispers, gliding away from the base and back up to the bends. He runs his hot fingers through coverts as he goes. It’s the wrong direction, but Keigo doesn’t hate it. And Touya knows he doesn’t hate it, because Touya’s the only one allowed to do it. His abdomen tightens at the familiar intimacy.
“You think cumming untouched in your dress pants like a little bitch is punishment enough?”
“Ah,” Keigo flushes. He hates that idea.
But his cock twitches again. So he loves that idea.
“C’mon, Touya, these are the only pants I have.” He whines, flapping uselessly.
His partner doesn’t seem to care. Touya pries open his wings in one smooth motion, splaying them wide, and Keigo sees stars.
“Shit.” He yelps. It’s like he’s doing a split. The tendons ache.
“What, rich boy like you can’t afford dry cleaning?”
Touya pulls them apart too hard—if it was anyone else, they’d be fucking bleeding out. The discomfort of being pinned, the alert from Keigo’s instincts to fight, fight, fight, the panic of being prone—it all quiets because it’s Touya. It’s still there in the back of his mind, of course, but the soul-deep desire to be fucked by him overpowers everything else.
Touya curls his wings backwards, bowing Keigo’s back. His shoulder blades burn from exertion and probably from Touya’s Quirk, too.
“Aahha, Touya—fuck.” Keigo grits his teeth and tries not to tear a hole into the seam of the chaise. He pants hard and then finally sags when Touya lets go with one hand. The other wing remains captive, rippling and poofy.
“You know our rules, Birdie.” Touya whispers.
Gently, painlessly, he twists a feather out of place. It goes easily because it knows him, but Keigo still jumps in surprise. He feels it in every cell of his body when Touya presses the vane to his lips.
“Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
Maybe there’s a hint of tongue, a graze of teeth. Keigo’s head swims too much for full clarity.
He just knows that he doesn’t want it to stop.
“Don’t,” he chokes out, because—yeah, wait, that’s definitely Touya’s tongue. Oh, yeah.
“Didn’t think so,” Touya chuckles, right into the barb. The vibration rockets through Keigo, sends him to another solar system. He chirps and crushes his face into the chaise.
“Touya,” he mumbles, voice high.
Keigo doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but Touya has the answer, as usual. With a new level of audacity, he sucks the feather between his lips and holds it there like a fucking cigarette. It’s hot, and wet, and it’s the most intense, no-contact blowjob he’s ever had. Keigo shudders and twitters, chest trembling. He can’t catch his fucking breath.
With both hands free, Touya wraps around the down of his wings again. He fires up his Quirk until Keigo feels like molasses, wriggling and rutting into the couch. Meanwhile, Touya ruts into him. Keigo feels the weight of his cock over the swell of his ass, rustling their slacks.
“I-I’m—holy shit, Touya,” Keigo shudders, abdomen clenching.
“Close already, Birdie?” It’s muffled, because that spare feather is in his teeth now. Touya picks up speed, both in his ministrations and full-on dry humping.
“Yeah, fuck, fuck.”
Molten fingers spread and knead into Keigo’s down while his ears start to ring, while his insides loop into a tight, euphoric coil. Any second he’s gonna snap like a rubber band. So fucking fast, but he can’t even be embarrassed, it feels too good.
Keigo’s feathers tremor like an earthquake. He feels the birdsong rumbling from his throat, but he can barely hear it. He does catch Touya’s teasing snicker and something along the lines of, “You’ve always been so easy, right, Kei?”
That does him in, because he has. Because he remembers a million times where he bared his throat to Touya, literally and metaphorically.
He’ll always let go, for him.
Keigo groans and spams, almost slapping Touya across the face with both wings when he comes. They flail so hard that it knocks his hands loose, but he finds purchase on Keigo’s hips while he rides out the orgasm. Touya rocks down onto him and hisses into the feather, contributing to full sensory overload, contributing to near-blindness when Keigo’s vision whites out.
Keigo does rip a hole into the chaise, too, right on the backrest. His talons gut through the pricey material and Touya just laughs. The music of that, through the feather still in his mouth—it feels like a sparkler, twinkling in Keigo’s lungs. He gasps and writhes, gouging the fabric even farther. Keigo’s wings beat the air—he can’t take anymore—he’s gonna scream—
And then Touya finally spits it out.
“Haah, God, shit, fuck,” Keigo blares, melting.
His lover’s palms skate up and down his sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Keigo half-hums, half-moans. His pants are wet, and his brain is fuzzy, and his skin is full of electricity. His heart still thunders, but he has a feeling Touya won’t allow for much recovery time.
“Was that good?” Touya asks playfully, index fingers gliding upwards, towards his shoulder blades again. Keigo nearly wails.
“Touya,” He begs. But whether he’s begging him to stop, or to continue, Keigo himself doesn’t really know. He wants both.
“Answer me, Keigo.” Touya mutters, with another alluring threat. Hands ever-closer. Keigo’s wings lock up, folding in tightly to try and cover his overstimulated back.
“Yeah, yes, it was good.” Keigo manages to slur. “G-give me a sec.”
Decision made. Keigo sure fucking wants to continue.
“Jus’ a sec.”
Touya just cackles. He slides off the back, over Keigo’s thighs, nudging him with his cock as he goes. And then there’s one hand on his wrist and one on his elbow, and Keigo’s being tossed onto the bed like a rag doll.
Dizzy and dazed, he lands on his back. His feathers don’t like that right now, but Keigo’s too blitzed on hormones to move.
“When did you get so strong?” He mumbles, staring at Touya through half-lidded eyes.
Touya, who looks like he’s cut from a glossy magazine cover. Sleeves rolled up, ivory hair mussed, clinking open his belt buckle with deft, glowy fingers. He glimmers with jewelry that Keigo gifted him. He smells like smoke, and ash, and spice.
He feels like home.
“Shit,” Keigo sighs, blowing out a puff of air. If he was buzzed before, he feels drunk as hell now.
Touya drops his pants and boxers without preamble and then tousles out of his top layers. He stands there, naked, in this glamorous hotel room, straight out of a center fold and Keigo’s dreams.
“When you kicked my ass super easily a few months ago. It pissed me off. I don’t just study when you’re at work, y’know.”
Keigo knows. He eyeballs his biceps all the time, but, fuck.
He sure likes being manhandled.
Touya crowds him, scratching lithe fingers over Keigo’s thighs. He inches them upwards, scoffing at the dark stain on the front of his pants.
“You really did it, huh?”
“No duh,” Keigo wheezes. His trapped wings scuff over the comforter and his hips twitch when Touya touches his belt. So much for taking a sec.
That’s fine though. More than fine. Amazing, actually.
“Let’s see, is it fucking insane of me to wonder if you have lube on you? Otherwise we’re gonna hope for the best with the lotion in the bathroom.” Touya muses. He works open Keigo’s pants and shimmies them down his legs. Hums in satisfaction when he gets an eyeful of Keigo’s boxers.
“…Yeah.” Keigo replies, only half-embarrassed. With pink cheeks, he sends a feather to get a few plastic packets from his inner jacket pocket, wherever it was discarded to on the floor.
“Keigo!” Touya laughs brightly, genuinely, in surprise. It breaks some of the tension but it’s the sweetest sound Keigo’s ever heard.
“Fucking hop off,” Keigo defends himself with a lethargic swat. It doesn’t stop Touya’s eager hands as they slide off his underwear. “It’s spring. And aren’t you glad I’m such a sleaze, huh? You’re welcome.”
Touya smirks, scarred chin looking smooth and soft in the wash of moonlight. One of Keigo’s feathers drops off the lube and then scurries back home, like it’s fucking excited.
Honestly, yeah, that tracks.
The cool breeze of the AC makes Keigo’s lower stomach jump when it hits his bare skin, sloppy with his own cum. Touya emanates warmth for him, steps even closer, bends to press a kiss to his pec. His own hands tangle into Touya’s gelled hair.
“You look good like this, Birdie.” He relishes. Trails a gentle mouth up to his collarbone. Keigo lets his eyes slip closed, still hazy from his probably world-record orgasm.
And then Touya fucking bites him. Sharp canines right into the flesh.
“Ouch,” Keigo gripes, almost ripping his mate’s hair out. But it only makes Touya laugh again, into his shoulder.
“Payback.” He says simply.
Touya leans back, hands gliding to the divots in Keigo’s hips. His turquoise eyes follow their path and then—
“Ah, God,” Keigo gasps suddenly, at the palm swiping over his cock. It’s too much, oversensitive, overwhelming. Touya looks fiendish as he works it up and down.
“I’ll decorate you myself later, but we shouldn’t waste this, should we, Kei?” He mutters.
Keigo’s trying not to blast into orbit again, so he can’t really form a question or an answer. And then Touya’s smearing his cum into the coverts of his right wing.
“Oh—oh, fuck,” Keigo yelps, mouth dropping open in an earth-shattering moan. His feathers shake and shudder and his wing lifts to bat the air, but Touya presses it down into the mattress.
“I know you like it, don’t you? When you’re so messy for me?”
Touya flattens his wing and then wrings over his dick again, stirring it back to attention. He hurries into a breathtaking pace that leaves Keigo tweeting.
“Touya, Touya—”
“Don’t you?” He exhales, slowing his wrist, sending the first billow of smoke into the room. It circles over Keigo, makes him lightheaded. It stings his eyes, burns his throat, but he sucks it in. Adores it.
“Yeah,” Keigo coughs.
God, fuck, he can’t even think. Every sensation is zeroed in to Touya’s hands, Touya’s taste, Touya’s touch, and the sticky cum on his plumes.
He wants that to be Touya’s, too.
Touya heats up his Quirk until Keigo’s almost sobbing, until his lungs feel like they’re going to collapse from smog and euphoria. And then he stops.
Keigo pries open his eyes, unaware he’d squeezed them shut. And his heart falls into his stomach.
Touya’s so fucking gorgeous. Beautiful, sculpted, painted on canvas like a work of art. Formerly so cutthroat and dangerous, handsome like the devil. Tempting like sin.
And, he still is, but, Keigo’s looking at him with a flurry of hearts and a bouquet of roses, too. He’s softer, in the face of love.
His partner tears open the thin packet of lube and slicks himself up while Keigo’s chest nearly booms open. And then he grips over Keigo’s knees, digging into muscle to spread his legs open.
Keigo croons.
“Beg for it.” Touya commands simply, raising an eyebrow. He scoots forward until the tip of his hard-on brushes Keigo’s rim. He whines, high in his throat, like a little slut. Because he is a little slut, after all.
“Please,” Keigo urges, tilting his hips up to chase it. Touya’s left hand, the band on his finger, they ramp up to an almost unbearable temperature.
And Keigo hopes it scars.
“No,” Touya shakes his head, pushing harder, teasing, squeezing. He licks his fucking lips, Keigo’s going to die.
“You know what to beg for, Birdie. C’mon.”
Keigo’s skull drops back onto the bedding in time with his wings. They skitter uselessly, craving more. They bow into the sheets of their own accord while his back wiggles for further stimulation. Spring clatters around his brain like a marble, pinging around and infecting every thought.
“Touya,” Keigo trills, locking eyes with him. Blue and gold, swirly and shining. Touya’s gonna consume him like he has a thousand times, holy fucking shit. It’s moments like these that he reminds Keigo he’s a former villain.
Touya pulls back, lifting until his cock isn’t making contact with Keigo anymore. Jesus Christ, he wants to cry.
“Yeah?”
Keigo jerks up, birdsong stuck in his windpipe. He shifts forward to clutch Touya’s wrists, talons shrieking over the metallic one, snipping into the vulnerable skin of the left. Touya doesn’t care. In fact, Touya grins.
It clicks, it clicks, he knows what to beg for.
“Fuck, breed me,” Keigo pleads, eyebrows knitting, face contorting in ecstasy before it’s even begun. Just at the idea of it. “Breed me, Touya, please, please—”
Touya doesn’t have to be asked again. He sprawls Keigo’s legs open wider and lines up—and immediately starts fucking him. No foreplay today, he already came in his goddamn pants. Keigo’s been ready since the fucking dance floor.
They groan in tandem, shaky, soaked, spasming. Keigo slams backwards until he’s bouncing off the mattress and rocking harder onto Touya’s dick. His wings clench and then jolt open to cocoon around Touya’s back.
“Shit,” Touya half-laughs, half-grunts. Keigo’s feathers snuggle them closer, tracing his partner’s spine, his shoulders, his overheated skin. Letting Keigo see without his eyes, letting him drown in Touya. It’s so fucking good.
“More,” he implores, though he doesn’t even know how much more Touya can give him. Keigo’s going to crack, he’s going to split down the middle. His prostate aches in the best way, he’s already hard as fuck again. Every time Touya slams into him his cock slaps onto his abdomen. More might be physically impossible.
“Always been such a—whore,” Touya teases, pushing Keigo’s knees up to his chest. Thank fucking God for years of training and the flexibility of a nineteen-year-old. Is he drooling? Maybe.
“Ahh—ah! Just for you,” Keigo melts, wings fluttering again. He dispatches a few feathers, curls them over Touya’s bicep, his hip, his calf, his pec, his pulse point. The feedback loop drives him wild. Touya may not sweat with his Quirk back, but his heart still races. His body lights up with heat. Keigo, on the other hand, is definitely sweating. He feels it pooling like the magma in his gut.
Touya pounds him until he’s about to come again, and then pulls out just in time. Keigo’s about to flip him over and mount the shit out of him, when a firm, metal hand slings Keigo onto his side.
“There,” Touya explains, chest heaving. He moves back in between Keigo’s legs and spreads his asscheeks, teasing over Keigo’s rim. With his left hand, he races up Keigo’s ribs, then—fuck—buries into his down. His hand is hot, and his ring is solid and blazing.
“Best of both words, huh, baby?” Touya smiles, saccharine. Like he’s going to kill him.
So, Keigo dies.
He essentially screams when Touya replaces a fingertip with his cock again, driving into him so intensely that it’s almost mean. (Keigo loves it, obviously.) He twists his torso like they’re in a goddamn yoga class and curls his hand into a fist in Keigo’s smallest, most sensitive feathers. His right thumb mashes into Keigo’s asscheek, slips lower to play with his balls.
“Touya. Touya. Ohmygod.” Keigo huffs, fraying into nothing. Spindling into spiderwebs. His primaries crowd towards Touya’s grip, like every bit of him wants a piece of the action.
“Touya.”
Touya exhales another cloud of smoke, dipping down to get his mouth on Keigo. He pumps his hips in time with suckling Keigo’s chest, his nipple, his neck. Their lips meet in the middle but it’s awkward, more like swapping saliva, just licking over each other’s mouths at this angle. He tightens his grip, smashes his forehead into Keigo’s side.
“God, you’re pretty.” Touya says, voice like gravel. Keigo feels it more than he hears it. Feels another smattering of kisses, too, a few more nips of teeth. He hopes Touya marks him, covers him with hickies like the burn mark on his ribcage.
“So fucking pretty, Kei.”
He emphasizes it with a yank on his wing, with a particularly hard thrust of hips. His right hand smooths over Keigo’s lower stomach but he comes again before Touya can even wrap over his dick.
“Fuuuuuck,” Keigo cries, thrashing, dripping. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes and dare to spill. His feathers tense up and dance over Touya, soaking him in, egging him on, praying he’ll never stop.
And he doesn’t. Always rides it out, long and hard.
“Yeah, Kei—Fuck, come on my cock. Holy shit.” Touya urges, knocking loose a few feathers with the intensity of his hold. His right hand jerks over Keigo’s dick, shooting him into oblivion. He wants it to last forever, he never wants it to end, he wants their bodies to fuse into one fucking being, he wants the pleasure-pain to engulf him.
“Ahh, ah, ah, nnghh!”
Touya fucks him while Keigo rips the comforter to shreds. Touya fucks him while the headboard knocks a hole in the wall. Touya fucks him while Keigo’s wings sharpen and smooth and nick them both with little paper cuts. Touya fucks him while Keigo yells at him to breed him, breed him, please, breed him.
Touya fucks him until he comes too, borderline shifting into a fiery shade of sapphire, shouting Keigo’s name like it’s sacred. He floods into him and doesn’t stop, yanks Keigo’s spine into a curve, crams feathers into one palm and makes indents on his hip with the other.
Somewhere in between, they babble, “I love you.”
Keigo gets the shakes after. Like he always does. It starts before Touya even pulls out. He whimpers and clings, chirpy and untethered. His brain is goo, his body is floating in another dimension.
“Mm,” Touya hums, unlinking their bodies. His cum puddles out onto the comforter and Keigo squeaks at the sudden emptiness.
“Fuck,” Touya breathes, scattering kisses over Keigo’s arm, tracing him with his eyes. Still-hot fingers ease against Keigo’s ass, gathering Touya’s spend. And then he streaks a white stripe over Keigo’s other wing.
“Oooh,” Keigo moans, mouth going dry like the tears on his cheeks.
“Pretty,” Touya mutters, while Keigo fights another shout. His feathers throb.
His whole body throbs, honestly.
“Feel nice and well-bred, Birdie?” Touya teases, leisurely standing back to full height to admire him. His sticky palms run over every plane of Keigo he can reach, grounding him. Smoke lingers in there air, musky and dark.
Keigo can’t really remember language yet. He nods and swallows over the last notes of whatever the fuck else he was doing.
He takes a deep breath, inhaling every flavor of Touya. The bird inside him cozies up and cheers over his mate, mate, mate.
“You wanna take a shower? Five-star place like this, I bet they even have robes.”
Keigo manages a human laugh, finally, and unspools his spine from the knot it was in. He sags onto the bed and blearily attempts to sit up.
“I’ll wear a robe if you don’t leave it on the floor and disappear in the morning.” Keigo says weakly. They link their disgusting hands together and share a cliche kiss that wouldn’t have happened, all those years ago.
“Foiled my fucking plan, Birdie.” Touya jokes against his lips. “I’ll stay if you don’t put on some shitty game show.”
Keigo scoffs, “If I remember right, you put on the gameshow.”
Touya waves a hand and helps Keigo stand up on unsteady feet. They shuffle to the bathroom amidst their clothes and shreds of expensive furniture.
“You wracked up some extra charges,” Touya nods to the wrecked chaise.
“Your fault.”
There aren’t any robes, surprisingly, but the shower’s big enough for both of them, and the towels are white and fluffy. It’s not like there’s preening oil, either, but they make do with the shelf of samples of luxury beauty products. Keigo flips on a trashy reality TV show while Touya sits behind him, working to settle down every skewed, fucked-out feather.
“I did a number on you, huh?” He mutters, charging one hand with relaxing warmth as he goes. Keigo slumps into it and sighs in satisfaction.
They fall into quiet, in the dim, cozy light of the room. The TV flashes with a wheel of color but neither of them are really paying attention.
Keigo thinks of…before. A hotel room years and years ago, a bitter, sinking, sick feeling. One that swallows him whole. The agony of loss.
The blessing of a second chance. The beauty of rebuilding trust.
Keigo swishes a wing, like a wave. “Hey, Touya?”
“Hm?” His partner asks, carding carefully through red hue. They’ve done this so many times, it’s one of his favorite bonding activities.
Keigo doesn’t let himself think of the past too much. He did early on, but, it only brought him pain. Regret is sour, and it doesn’t solve anything.
“Everything from…back then is kind of a blur sometimes. But…I’m glad things turned out the way they did.” He states, turning to look at Touya. Affection rushes through his veins at his mate’s unguarded expression, his focus on each feather.
Touya’s lip turns up at the corner while he brushes over a primary.
“You’re glad we both almost died multiple times and then I went to jail for seven fucking years?”
“No!” Keigo scoffs and chuckles. “No. I just mean…Everything that happened…It brought us together, in the end. I dunno. Obviously I like things better now, I just don’t regret any of it, I guess. Maybe someday we can…be like Bakugou and Midoriya.”
“Fucking airheads?” Touya snarks, eyes glinting.
“Married, asshole.” Keigo shoots back.
“…Maybe.”
Keigo thinks the conversation’s over, because the television fills space for a while. Touya’s hands continue their duty, but he waits for Keigo to turn back around before speaking again.
“I…feel the same, Kei.” He admits. He slides up to rub circles over Keigo’s neck. “I’m glad we made it through all the bullshit to get here, too, even if it was…unpleasant, a lot of times.”
“Big understatement.”
“Tch, yeah, well.—Though, if I could bring one thing back from the past, it would be having a fucking cigarette.”
“Oh, God, me too, Hot Stuff.”
They dissolve into giggles and Keigo leans back, crashing into Touya’s chest. He catches his forearms and tugs them around himself in a hug. Keigo nuzzles right under Touya’s chin, where he fits perfectly, he’s gotta say.
“Rumi would kill me and your doctor would kill you. Besides, you make your own smoke again, it’s basically the same thing. In fact, I would like some.”
They scuff cheeks together and meet for a sleepy kiss. Ash fills Keigo’s mouth, but he craves the taste. He gulps Touya in, snuggling as close as he can.
“Okay, ugh, fine,” Keigo says when they eventually part. He watches Touya exhale until his breath runs transparent again. “We’ve risked setting off the fire alarm enough tonight, gotta open a window if we wanna keep that up.”
“You won’t be saying that when you wake up in the morning and your horny ass is ready to fuck again.” Touya teases, smooching another kiss to his jawline.
And that’s…not untrue.
Deciding they’ve preened enough for the evening, Keigo doesn’t resume their prior position. He folds his wings in tightly and worms down under the blankets, using Touya’s stomach as the perfectly-toned pillow it was designed to be.
And Touya doesn’t complain.
They don’t talk much more. The TV drones on and Keigo feels at home in their mingled scent. In the proximity of his partner, in the afterglow of incredible sex, as usual. He lets his tired eyes droop closed and lets Touya’s heartbeat be his lullaby.
Maybe he falls asleep. Maybe he goes to that place between asleep and awake, to dreamland. Their life feels like a good dream sometimes, especially on days like this. Eons from what it used to be.
“Keigo.” Touya calls delicately, like he doesn’t want to startle him.
“Mm. Huh?” Keigo yawns, pulled back to consciousness. He blinks up at Touya, at his blue, blue eyes.
And Touya won’t meet his eyes, but they shine nonetheless.
“I’ve been thinking about something…” He clears his throat. “When I get my degree, eventually…I’d like to have my name on it as Takami Touya. Is that okay?”
What.
Wait, what? Is he actually awake? Is this a dream?
Keigo sits up in surprise, fumbling with the comforter, almost popping Touya in the face with his wing. His partner is unfazed, so used to it by now.
“Are you serious?” Keigo asks stupidly.
Because that’s like.
A big fucking deal.
“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t, Birdie.” Touya says in earnest, sweeping Keigo’s hair behind his ear.
“Like—like you wanna change your name? To my name?”
Touya finally looks him in the eye, but then rolls his own. He grins and flicks Keigo in the forehead.
“Am I speaking fucking French? Yes, Keigo.”
Keigo inhales, but it’s all broken and shuddering. Emotions blast through him, ones he doesn’t even know the names of.
They’re in love, he remembers thinking, in a crummy little shack, and now they’re even more.
“Absolutely it’s okay. I—I—yeah. It’s more than okay. Like, you don’t have to, uh, wait that long, y’know? You could totally do it sooner. Than that.” He explains, twisting to fully face his mate. His mate who’s smiling, sly like a fox.
“Oh, can I?” Touya flirts. His hand still rests loosely on Keigo’s neck. He can probably feel his pulse hammering.
“Yeah. Like. Fuck, tomorrow, even?”
“Right. I guess I could do that, couldn’t I?”
“Definitely.”
“Kei?”
“Yeah?”
“You know you’re hovering right now?”
Keigo laughs and stills his wings almost comically, flopping back onto the bed beside Touya. He crowds him, grabs his shoulders with tiny talons.
“Sorry, I’m—”
“Excited?”
Keigo nods, blooming with joy. His feathers ruffle and his chest sings, and his thoughts race at every possibility.
A future with Touya. One they never thought they could have, taking shape with such simplicity.
Hawks and Dabi, who ever imagined, huh?
Keigo can’t hold back a chirp.
“I can practically see your heart exploding from your chest, Birdie, c’mere.”
Touya folds him back into his arms and Keigo’s wings canopy over them once more.
“Shut up. I’m…happy.” Keigo grins like an idiot. “Fuck, Touya, I’m really happy you asked.”
“Yeah.” Touya steadily radiates his Quirk, enveloping them in warmth. “Me too.”
“Can we celebrate?”
“Pfft, celebrate how? You want a confetti canon or something?”
“Umm…drinks? I’ll take you out and buy you a drink.—Dirty martini with extra olives! Just for you, Mr. Takami.” Keigo’s eyes boggle out of his head after he says it.
“Jesus, that’s hot.” He swoons. “Takami Touya. Seriously, wait, that’s so hot. Fuck.”
“God. That’s—going to take getting used to…But I do like it.” Touya shakes his head and snickers. Like music, it reverberates through both of them.
A unit, a pair, mates, birds of a feather, partners, best friends, husbands, lovers, after all they’ve been through. Next time that turned into every time. A mistake that never was. A cigarette tossed into the snow.
Thank fucking God his lighter went out.
Touya presses a kiss into Keigo’s hair in a swanky hotel room, and he falls even more in love.
“Sure, Birdie,” Touya laughs, “for old time’s sake. You can buy me a dirty martini.”
Notes:
Tears in my dabihawks eyes ok???? I love them???? I love them so much?? I hope you loved this as well and hearing your favorite parts would make me so, so happy!! Thank youuuuu for infinity :') <3 I'd like to eventually do an epilogue, but have got some other things I wanna work on first, so keep your eyes peeled!
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