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Hawks' knees dig against the red silk of the sheets, indenting into the material as he cages against Dabi's thighs between him, barely catching from sliding across the surface if Dabi wasn't there to stop him.
His hand digs equally hard against Dabi's left shoulder, fingernails pressing crescents against the skin as Dabi exhales out encouraging coos against his ear, breath low and exhilarated like a mutt in heat when all he's doing is making Hawks feel good.
Dabi’s shirt has been ripped off somewhere, but he hasn't even freed himself of the confines of his pants, the skin-tight of the black leather holding his cock against the seams like he couldn't be bothered to think about himself, couldn't be bothered with any needy fill of his cock when Hawks is on a mission to forget.
Even if Hawks feels each throb of his cock through his pants, his feathers picking up every trace of desire from every trickle of sweat beading against his forehead, every stutter of his breath and irregular beat of his heart that Dabi holds for him.
Only him.
Always him.
"That's right, birdie," Dabi hisses out, high on this moment, high on the way Hawks works himself up right along with him and puts on the most enticing show. "Fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me what you want. What you need. How I give that to you."
Hawks moans all drawn out, hips snapping out on pure instinct as he chases the endless feeling, the relentless pummel of Dabi's fingers continuously rutting up against his most sensitive spot in all the best ways. His lips part out, his forehead rests against Dabi's right shoulder, sweat clinging against his temples and it all feels like the best high of his life.
The kind that he only experienced once–the first time he flew above the world, the sky an infinite landscape he hadn’t seen and he'd thought then hopelessly optimistic that perhaps, he could be free.
He’s never been free.
The drugs he's downed in his system of a desperate attempt before hardly compares; no amount of addiction that the mortals sell on the corrupted streets holds an inkling of a feeling to this.
He isn’t free, not out there, not out anywhere else and he’s climbed the ranks of all that luxury has to offer. Has indulged himself in every wicked sin that the world has tempted out in an attempt meant to turn his thoughts off.
It doesn’t work. But Dabi does.
Dabi has a way of getting to his head, a way that laces through him like a different kind of toxin against his blood.
Adrenaline snaps right through each shift of his hips, each rise and fall of his pussy splitting open against those fingers.
Dabi fingers him like he's made to fit inside of him, long slender fingers made to draw out all his dirty little orgasms and work him down to his bone–until he forgets his name, forgets his job, forgets every sordid deed against his hands, forgets everything outside of being Dabi's insatiable fucking cum slut.
Whore.
He can't come fast enough, he whines like a bitch and Dabi lets out a soft chuckle against his ears, the heat of that sound ghosting a different kind of sensation through his overloaded senses.
It's all painfully good. All so fucking good.
Dabi lays his free hand against his hip, where he supports him there, lets him ride his tight cunt down against his fingers and grind his dirty little spot to his heart's content. He’s nothing but what Dabi lets him be. Wants him to be.
"Baby bird," Dabi coos out, affectionate and disgustingly fond. Hawks’ wing’s flutter against his back, the gentle flaps catching against the blue of his peripherals. Dabi licks his lips, tongue grazing against the curve of Hawks' ears in the process. Everything is so hot.
"You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you? Look how wet your pretty lips get flushed against my fingers, look at the way you wrap around me and you haven't even come yet?"
As if on cue, Hawks' pussy clenches and dutifully squelches in his hand, the wet mix of his juices combining with the sweat of his thighs and Hawks whines again, fingers slipping against Dabi's shoulder as he works himself harder, faster. Frantic, and nowhere near enough.
"Gonna come from your hole alone, pretty bird? Want me to work you apart until you're spasming around my fingers? Coming as I force another out of your pretty little pussy before you even catch a breath?”
Hawks exhales an inhumane ragged animalistic sound in the back of his throat between another whine and a plea. His clit is pink, throbbing, neglected. It doesn't even matter.
“Could go all day with you, little bird,” Dabi growls. “Want to know how many I can pull out of you?”
"Please Dabi," Hawks gasps out and his voice sounds so wrecked, so delirious with need as he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to beg like the prettiest slut in town and he’s all fucking Dabi’s. "Make me come. I can't—can't do it without you. Make me yours."
Dabi exhales out a breath and grins, manic, insane as his hand tightens against Hawks' hip.
“Hold still,” he bites out, words that go against everything Hawks has ever known, and it’s all the warning he gives as anticipation crawls across Hawks’ skin even if he’s never known how to throw caution to the wind. Dabi channels his heat to that hand alone, high enough to kick up his temperature a few notches but careful not to scald Hawks from the inside out with his other hand, not with the way Hawks sucks his fingers inside of him like it's his only job.
He’s not a hero here, not a trained assassin. He’s not anyone’s saving grace, not anyone’s angel of death with a feather blade dipped in blood. Hero, killer—the words fade out of existence.
He’s not anyone, anything, he’s just—Dabi’s.
Dabi’s to touch, to fuck, Dabi’s to mould—to brand.
Hawks throws his head back and keens, the most beautiful and violent cry ripping out of his throat as Dabi's palm heats against the curve of his bone, each finger splayed out like brushes of electricity across him.
Dabi holds him tighter, steadfast. Hawks inhales lungful of air and smoke in between his cries. His heart lodges in his throat, his wings flap endlessly behind him as Dabi burns a hand print right up against his flesh and oh god, it burns and burns and it’s Dabi’s—he doesn't stop moving, doesn’t hold still.
Every part of him is on fire, the excruciating amount of pain blossoms across his skin and whites out his brain, throbs against his pulse as Dabi sears himself into him and Hawks doesn't stop fucking himself against Dabi's fingers. Doesn’t stop riding his eager pussy for all he’s worth as those fingers continue sliding right up against the velvet heat of his walls and presses up. Dabi’s fingers hold hard and ruthlessly against him as the pressure builds in his gut, the feeling curving against every nerved out inch of his body and chokes him between the land of the living and the dead.
He’s in heaven, he’s in hell. It’s euphoric, it’s soul-piercing.
It builds and builds and he burns and burns.
The smell of smoke and heat and what’s distinctly Dabi, is overwhelming.
It’s too much, it’s not fucking enough.
Fucking god.
He's close, he's close close close—
Dabi laughs, breathless as smoke curls out between his staples, voice like divine silk cutting through the pain and pleasure. It’s smooth and deceivingly warm in contrast to everything else that he’s set on fire. Hawks can’t fucking breathe. "Not even a little fire will slow you down, huh? You're already fucking mines."
He’s Dabi’s. His.
"Yes yes yes–so fucking good, yes,” Hawks babbles, hysteric in between shuddering breaths, voice coming out in a way that he can’t even recognize, can’t even coherently put to thought. His face is wet, his vision is blurred, his mind is in overdrive. “I’m yours, yours, so fucking– please Dabi, Dabi!"
He’s climbing through the gates of the underworld, demons ripping his halo right off his head, he’s burning from the inside out, he’s Dabi’s—and he needs and needs.
Dabi takes everything inside of him from only years practice to reel in all his excess heat, to not overdo it and burn Hawks and him down to pure ash. He shifts his hand up to hold onto Hawks as carefully as he can, to prevent him from thrashing further against his hold–to let his newly fresh brand breathe and cool against the air of the room. He leans forward and presses his lips against Hawks’ cheek, lips mouthing across the tears that have trailed down the corner of Hawks' eyes as he shushes him gently.
“I’ll give you what you need, baby bird,” Dabi promises in the same breath that he slips his fingers out.
Hawks’ wings shake and his hole squeezes around nothing, protests spilling out as he relies on gravity to drag his ass back down to chase what he needs. Dabi swats his thigh to stop him and then lets his fingers curve around the perfect shape of his opening lips, still glistening from being played with.
God, the sight makes him salivate. He could get off on watching Hawks alone.
Dabi takes his forefingers and spreads those pretty lips, watches the way Hawks tries to clench again against nothing and he swallows.
Dabi raises his hand next, just enough to let the force of it slap back down against Hawks’ vulva. The slap jolts against his ears and Hawks cries openly, unrestrained between more pain laced with pleasure. Dabi slaps his pussy again, loud enough to be heard over Hawks’ cries, loud enough to feel the sting against his fingers.
Once, twice, his middle finger catches against Hawks' clit, fingernail scraping up against it just in time with the sting of the slap and Hawks screams.
He gushes out against Dabi's palm, thighs shaking as the force of his release rips out of him and Dabi curses, praises him through it. "So fucking good for me. Perfect, gorgeous little bird, mines–"
Dabi doesn’t stop.
Dabi slaps him right through his orgasm, hand coming down consecutively against his sex and never slows down. Again and again, hand slapping right down against all of Hawks that burns and burns and he’s coming so hard, his body convulses and his wings flap out of control behind his back, Dabi’s hold on him the only part grounding him there.
It’s so fucking good and he’s so fucking high.
His clit throbs incessantly beneath the slaps, his pussy flushes brighter and he’s both pulling from the sensation and thrusting himself up to meet each smack. He’s not sure if he stops coming, or if Dabi pulls another one straight out of him before the first one even ends when he starts squirting all over Dabi’s hand. Everything is too hot and too wet and hurts so fucking right and Dabi keeps giving it to him.
Hawks comes and comes and comes and–
He’s beautifully and blindingly–free.
By the time that he comes back down, somewhere floating between heaven and hell, the world is silent, their breaths the only indication of life. His throat is parched and his voice is gone. His skin burns in a way that he’s never burned before; he's not sure if he'll ever stop burning. Dabi’s hands are still on him.
Distantly, his feathers pick up that he’s not the only one who’s soaked down to his thighs; Dabi’s soaked right through his pants.
Hawks arcs against his arms, wings having settled into silence as it curves and dips against the soiled sheets. Crimson wings dipping into red silk sheets. Hawks blinks hazy golden eyes into the void, mind quiet and blank from anything but Dabi.
Dabi, who holds him for everything that he is and laps at the tears streaked down his cheeks.
Like an angel torn down between the mortals, dragged down to depths of hell.
Even god can’t save him now.
Dabi has never known anyone more perfect.