Chapter Text
It all starts with Hawks finding dead birds in front of his apartment. Red birds, to be precise. As if he wouldn't get the point. And as if he had never been targeted before, for that matter. But he has to admit, this hasn't happened since he was appointed President of the Commission.
(He also didn’t expect the threats to come with an artistic touch—each bird pierced through with an ice needle that refuses to melt.
Charming.)
Anyway. He has been in the business long enough to find said threats all flair and no substance, but Mera still raises alarm bells the moment Hawks tells him about it.
He shouldn't have told him about it.
“You’re getting a bodyguard.” Mera announces as if it's a closed matter.
Hawks almost spits out his morning coffee. “A what??”
They are in Hawks’ office, standing in front of the windows overlooking the bustling streets. This was supposed to be a quick briefing before their meeting with the Ministry of Education, Hawks doesn't have time for this.
And so he tells Mera.
Hawks runs a hand across his face and says, “I really don't have time for this.”
But Mera doesn't yield. Like all the people who work for the HPSC, he's strict and inflexible, traits that are hard to notice if he's always exhausted and sleepy. When Hawks was a child, Mera was the least terrifying adult he knew, and therefore the one he liked the best.
Now he's not liking him one bit.
“Do you know how the last HPSC president died?” Mera asks after a short silence.
Hawks shudders. He’s not one to get uncomfortable easily, but even he thinks that this is not a nice topic for a Monday morning.
When there's no answer from his part, Mera sighs and continues: “She was attacked at the headquarters. Not here, though. The building was destroyed during the war, but the room wasn't much different from this one. Tall building, top floor, windows like this.” He taps the crystal with his knuckles. “She died in my arms. Not a pleasant memory, I must say.”
Hawks is not one to get uncomfortable easily, but Mera is testing him.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Mera-san, and I don't intend to offend the late President either, but I am not like her. I was trained under the Commission and worked as a hero for many years. I've been through this before.”
Mera turns to Hawks and scans him over from head to toe. “But you don't have a quirk anymore.”
“I have a sword,” he retorts, jabbing his thumb at his back where he now carries the weight of his new weapon. As there's no answer from Mera, he tries a different approach. “I have two swords.”
Mera turns to face the window again, arms behind his back. “You’re getting a bodyguard. And it's not up for debate.”
And Hawks is in no position to argue when, later that day, he finds his apartment door forced open and all the furniture knocked over and turned upside down.
Hawks enters the main room, wrapping his arms around his body to keep himself warm. It’s winter, but inside the apartment it’s colder, eerily cold. Maybe it’s because of the ice needles hanging from the ceiling, catching the light from outside like tiny daggers pointing at him.
The words “HPSC assassins” are painted across the wall.
The whole thing is not something he can hide from his colleagues in a feeble attempt to pretend that all is doing great. Not when he has to call the police to report the incident.
Before long, the president’s entire inner circle knows about the threats and supports the idea of a bodyguard.
And so Hawks agrees at last. Unwillingly.
A part of him knows that Mera is right. Quirkless, Hawks still has a keen eye and good reflexes, and he can probably put up a fight with his fists and his sword, but that’s not the same as having his quirk. Fierce wings gave him the panoramic view of any room he entered in a split second. He could hear the hushed conversations, the rustle of clothes moving, even sense the change in temperature, the blood throbbing in someone's face, the sweat pooling in the crooks of a body.
Now he can't.
And though it hurts his pride, he knows that getting someone to watch his back now that he can't watch it for himself would be a smart thing to do.
But he can't think of a worse idea than said someone being Todoroki Touya.
A few days later, Mera hands him a folder containing the bodyguard chosen by the senior committee. Hawks gives the report a quick look before his stomach sinks to the floor.
A pair of blue, utterly bored eyes crowned by white, spiky hair looks back at him from a portrait picture. Patches of leathery and healthy skin paint a handsome face. A face he knows well.
The jagged scar that runs from his left cheek to his neck starts to burn.
He closes the folder with a snap. “Are you serious?” he asks, a chuckle escaping him because right now it's either laughing in disbelief or jumping off the window.
Mera seems unfazed by the decision. “I assume you know pro hero Dabi…”
“We were trained together in the Commission’s program, Mera-san,” Hawks cuts him off. “And you were there, for that matter. Anyway, that's not relevant… I thought that the board would go for a sensory type, like, Miruko, you know? Good ears, good muscle, the whole package.”
“Miruko turned down the offer,” Mera explains.
That jerk. Hawks will deal with her later. More importantly now is…
“So that means Dabi did already accept the job?”
Mera nods and Hawks runs a hand across his face. How is this happening? He and Dabi have hardly spoken to each other since graduating from the Commission's program years ago. After turning eighteen, Hawks obtained his hero license and opened his own agency, while Dabi preferred to work independently, accepting missions as they came, and then... well, who knows. They were never close as they were kids, let alone friends, their personalities clashing every time they were paired up. They were just too similar—too stubborn, too ambitious. Hawks can remember one or two times when they fought big and he doesn't think age has made them any better.
This is hardly a good idea.
Hawks clears his throat in an attempt to pull himself together. “Wasn't there anyone else? What about Tsukuyomi-kun or I don’t know, Tentacole?”
The door creaks slightly as it's pushed open. Hawks figures that must be his secretary bringing him a message. He's expecting an update from the cleaning service taking care of the mess in his apartment. Or maybe it's a message from the hotel where he's staying in the meantime.
His eyes almost pop out of their sockets when he realizes it’s not.
“Those are young heroes at the peak of their careers,” Dabi drawls, entering Hawks’ office as if he has all the right to be there. “They won't step down from their spotlight just to get your back. Being the bodyguard of the HPSC President is not as flashy as being on the Billboard Chart. By the way, hey, Yokumiru-san.”
Dabi wears dark slacks and a grey overcoat. His white hair is tousled, pointing in all directions, and it might be the dark circles under his eyes or the exhaustion etched into his face, but Hawks can tell that he doesn't look the same as he did ten years ago.
The realization makes his chest clench.
“Good morning, Dabi.” Mera greets him with a nod. “You’re here early. I was just telling Hawks that you two are going to work together from now on.”
Blue eyes move to Hawks. They're so clear and transparent that it looks like Dabi has no irises, just black, infinite pupils. Hawks stares back into the void, trying not to show the uneasiness in him.
(Trying to pretend that Dabi didn't just hear him ask if there wasn't anyone else willing to do the job.)
Dabi’s eyes linger on Hawks’ scar for a second longer before he turns to Mera.
"Are we still doing it? ‘Cause I don't see Mr. President here very much into the idea.”
It takes everything in Hawks to keep the muscles in his face from twitching. Being this chill and nonchalant all the time is not as easy as people might think.
“Well, what can I say?” Hawks laughs. “Nobody wants to be in a scenario that demands a bodyguard. And I was surprised to see you here, that's all. Didn’t know you’d be happy with a job like this.”
Dabi frowns. “I didn't ask for this gig either, but it turns out I was available, and also had a fire quirk to match up against your stalker’s ice quirk.” Hawks blinks. Huh. That’s actually a good argument as to why it had to be Dabi. “I was recommended, I set a price and you guys accepted it, so here I am. A job is a job. You should know that better than anyone else, Hawks.”
He doesn't like the tone in Dabi’s voice, but he doesn't want to get into a fight with his future bodyguard so soon, so he lets it pass.
He sighs and gestures to the small round table in his office where they sit to discuss how they will proceed from now on.
Mera never says it out loud, but as they talk, Hawks gets the feeling that Dabi has done a lot of undercover missions for the HPSC over the years. That Hawks didn’t know about this even when he’s the current president of the Commission shows how good they are at keeping a low profile. Taking that into consideration, it makes a little more sense that Dabi was called in for this mission. The people at the senior committee know him, there must be a reason they decided on him and not someone else, beside the fire quirk, of course. And some of those reasons are in plain sight.
The guy is fit.
Dabi always resembled his mother more, slim and somewhat frail. Hawks remembered her from all the afternoons she picked Dabi up from the programme.
(Hawks had no one to pick him up, the Commission was his home now, but he still stayed behind, waiting for the day Endeavour would come for Dabi.
He never came.)
Dabi would hate for him to remember, and the guy would also hate him for thinking that some of Endeavor's traits have appeared in the eldest Todoroki as he grew older. Over the years, his neck had thickened and his shoulders broadened, and Hawks could swear that Dabi’s hands weren't as big and veiny back then.
“Is that okay for you, Hawks?” Mera's question brings him back into the conversation. Hawks blinks his eyes up. Mera and Dabi are looking back at him. “Todoroki-kun will move in with you until we stop the threats to your safety,” he explains further. “For now, he'll join you in the hotel you're staying in, but when you return to your apartment, we can set up a room for him.”
This shit of not showing his reactions to every word Mera says is getting harder and harder every time.
He eyes at Dabi, wondering if he's okay with the forced cohabitation and all the other stuff this agreement involves. But other than boredom, Hawks doesn't observe anything in him.
Mera’s eyes on him demand an answer and Hawks tries to come up with something.
“Huh, that's fine with me as long as we have separate rooms?” he fumbles, raising his voice at the end as if asking for a favor.
So much for being the HPSC President.
Mera blinks, the silence stretching for a long, awkward second.
"Sure. We can make a new reservation at the hotel.”
∆
The rest of the day goes as usual. Hawks attends a lot of meetings in different parts of the city, his chauffeur driving him around. When he's back in his office, he studies some documents and checks that everything is in order. Business as usual.
But it's weird to do all that with Dabi following him around. He didn't expect the guy to start working as soon as they were introduced (or re-introduced). It's odd and awkward, and Hawks is too busy to ease the tension by cracking a few jokes and making small talk, but at least Dabi hasn't forced any conversation between them, always staying two steps behind, or with his arms folded, unnervingly silent, sitting next to him in the car.
Hawks wants to ask him why he took this job, but it is Dabi who speaks the first word between them.
“You usually work this late?” he sighs, a hint of complaint in his voice.
Hawks looks up from his desk.
At nine in the afternoon, the office is almost dark. Only the light on Hawks' desk and the floor lamp next to Dabi provide some illumination. The guy is sitting on the office’s sofa, reading a book, but from the look on his face he would rather be anywhere else.
Hawks observes him for a moment. White shirt and black slacks, the rolled-up sleeves and the collar button open reveal the compression suit Dabi is wearing underneath, a support equipment that helps him regulate his internal temperature, Hawks guesses. He carries no gun or weapon, and he probably doesn’t need any of that when can open fire at the snap of his fingers.
Yes, he’s great and all that, but Hawks is still not happy with the whole bodyguard arrangement.
“You can leave at any time,” he hums, going back to his work.
“No, I can’t,” Dabi says, putting his book aside and crossing one leg over the other. “I signed a contract. I’m responsible for your safety now.”
The combination of words makes a vein pop in Hawks’ forehead.
He’s had to fend for himself for as long as he can remember. It’s been a long time since he had been anyone's responsibility.
“So you will be stuck to my back all day now?” he shoots. “What if I want to take a piss break? Will you follow me to the bathroom as well?”
“Well, that depends if you need me to hold your dick,” Dabi retorts, his arm draped over the back of the sofa, so calm and collected as if he hadn't just thrown a bucket of cold water on Hawks.
They are in an unequal power situation here, Hawks is (supposed to be) his boss, but it should come as no surprise that Dabi doesn't know his place.
Hawks sighs and gives him a flat stare. “Still a jerk, I guess.”
Dabi shrugs. “And you're still uptight and overworked, I see.”
Hawks rolls his eyes to the ceiling and prays that the quote-unquote threats to his safety stop soon.
∆
Mera said that some staff from the HPSC would bring their belongings to the new room (the one with, hopefully, two rooms), so when Hawks and Dabi arrive at the hotel that night, they pick up the keys in the lobby and ride the elevator in silence.
Hawks is tired and would rather not talk. Everything has been too much—the work, the threats, moving into a hotel room, being followed around by his new bodyguard who happens to be an old acquaintance.
(An old acquaintance with whom, although they are not on bad terms, he doesn't have a good relationship either.
They have no relationship. Period.)
Age must be taking its toll on him, because Hawks was used to stress levels way higher than this and now…
The door beeps as Hawks puts the key card against the reader, but Dabi grabs his wrist and prevents him from entering the room.
Hawks startles.
His fingers are long and cold, and Hawks doesn't know if it's that or the scowl on Dabi’s face that makes him shudder.
“Wait here while I check the room,” he says.
Hawks is left in the hallway, feeling a tingling in his back.
This is something he could have done easily with his quirk—check every nook and cranny of a place, look for cameras, microphones, or anything.
His jaw clenches.
Hawks is not one to dwell on the past. He knows he moves on from heavy stuff pretty quickly compared to other people. He lost his quirk, but he kept on living because, what else is he supposed to do? Lie down and mourn the loss?
He tries not to think about it, but all this situation makes it hard for him not to miss his feathers.
“All clear,” Dabi pokes his head into the hallway after a few minutes. “I don't know about you but I'm starving, so I'll ask for room service.”
The hotel room is much larger than the previous one, similar to an apartment. In addition to a living room with a sofa, coffee table, and television, there's a small kitchen with a dishwasher and a microwave, and for Hawks' peace of mind, two bedrooms with their respective bathrooms.
Everything is high-end and luxurious, but Dabi doesn't bat an eye as he walks to the phone and dials to the lobby.
He turns over his shoulder, the receiver balanced between his shoulder and cheek. “You want something?”
Hawks shakes his head. He takes off his coat and hangs it in the small closet by the entrance.
“I’ll be in my room,” he says once Dabi hangs up. Blue eyes just blink at him. “I guess, I'll see you tomorrow then.”
Dabi gives him an unreadable look before nodding. “See you tomorrow.”
∆
That night, he dreams that they are both kids.
He dreams about that time Dabi sprained his foot during training and Hawks offered to give him a piggyback ride to the infirmary.
Dabi hated asking for help (and hated Hawks’ guts with all his might), but he said yes.
“Don’t fly, though,” he had muttered. “Just walk.”
Hawks walked in silence with an extra weight on his back as Dabi's arms slipped around his neck. Said arms were covered in band-aids, burns and scrapes, something Hawks hadn't failed to notice.
Some time later, the same kind of burn would scar Hawks’ face.
∆
When Hawks gets out of the shower the next morning, towel around his waist, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
Going about his day in automatic mode, he had almost forgotten there was someone else in the hotel room with him.
His eyes take on a guy sitting in the small kitchen island, disheveled and bleary-eyed, sipping a cup of coffee, and Hawks throws a hand to his back in reflex.
It takes him a second to realize that it’s only Todoroki Touya, aka, pro hero Dabi, his new bodyguard, and another second to remember that he doesn't have his wings anymore.
Way to wake up.
For some reason, Dabi finds the whole situation quite amusing.
“Well, good morning to you too, Hawks,” he drawls. “Though I would appreciate it if you didn't think of killing me first thing in the morning.”
His arm drops to the side of his body. “I don't have my quirk anymore,” he says, sourness sipping through his voice. “So you have the upper hand now.”
“I wouldn't be so sure.” Dabi sets the cup of coffee down on the table. “You were brutal when it came to hand-to-hand fights back then.”
Blue eyes sweep over him from head to toe, lingering a second longer on his exposed abs and Hawks doesn't know how to feel about it. First of all, he doesn't know if Dabi meant what he said as a compliment or an insult, although he leans more towards the second option. Dabi has never had nice words for him.
Which brings them to the matter at hand.
Why is Dabi working as his bodyguard?
Hawks would rather not have this conversation wearing only a towel around his waist, but he can't stay in the dark like this forever.
“Todoroki, you…” he moves closer to the kitchen island. “Why did you take this job? Give me the truth now.”
“I told you already, it was good money.” Dabi rolls his eyes. “I don’t have an agency, just like your rabbit friend, Miruko. You probably know how it is for independent heroes like us. We take what they offer and the Commission offered me this job.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t say no.”
“Do you really need the money, though?”
It's a dumb question, all things considered. Dabi must have thought the same, for he raises a quizzical eyebrow.
“Don’t we all?”
“Your family is rich.”
A vein pops in his temple. It’s as if he's doing everything humanly possible not to argue with the person he’s sworn to protect.
“Well, that's up to them. I’d rather not ask my old man for money when I need it. Or is that something you do on your day to day?”
Hawks frowns.
“You know very well that I don’t talk to my parents,” he says through gritted teeth.
“You also know how it is for me, for that matter. I think we're even.”
But they are not. Even, that is. Hawks still doesn’t have his quirk and still needs someone’s protection. And he hates the fact that someone like Dabi is a good choice for the position—someone with a fire quirk, trained by the Commission, who knows him personally.
He hates it.
∆
It's not often that the HPSC President visits the training grounds and checks the kids in the Special Program, but Hawks stops by at least once a week, even if it's for five minutes.
He has a soft spot for these kids, maybe because he used to be one of them. Maybe because he wants to make sure the teaching methods have changed compared to his day. Maybe it's because these kids are the future and they can continue what he left unfinished after he lost his quirk.
There are a lot of things left to do and, as much as Hawks wants to get them all done himself, he can’t.
“I thought you would’ve shut down this shit at this point,” Dabi says sourly at his side.
Hawks glares at him. He would rather have the guy locked in the office upstairs, but it’s hard to get rid of him.
Guess that’s the whole point of having a bodyguard.
“The programme is different from the one we took part in,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. They are on a second floor, behind a glass overlooking the training grounds. “Now it’s more focused on training kids with difficult quirks, rather than training… well, soldiers.”
Dabi snorts. “If that’s the case, you could simply send them to a hero school.”
“Oh, really?” Hawks shoots him a flat stare. “You think you would’ve lasted long in a hero school when your quirk threatened to burn you alive every five seconds?”
Dabi frowns. The patches of scarred skin in his face and the compression suit under his white button down are proof that what Hawks says it's true.
(Not to mention the scar Hawks earned when he tried to give Dabi a helping hand.)
“I could burn you alive now in five seconds,” Dabi still says.
It’s a grim warning, Hawks shouldn’t be laughing, but he can’t help it. This is much more like the Dabi he remembers. Having the guy following him around all day with the promise to protect him feels… weird.
“Well, bye-bye your precious bodyguard money then,” he hums.
Silence falls over them and Hawks turns his attention back to the kids. They’re engaging in two-on-two fights and sparks fly, whether it’s water, fire, electricity, the ground shakes with their movements.
“You’re not coming down?” Dabi asks.
Hawks shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t want to distract them. Besides, we have to go somewhere else now.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s buzzing with a notification. According to his schedule, he has a meeting with the Yuuei Director in one hour. “Speaking of hero schools…”
Hawks had thought of reducing the activities on his agenda until the threats stopped, but Dabi and Mera insisted that they should keep business as usual, that they can’t show that the threats are working. Even when they are very much working—the most telling proof is having Dabi on his tail all day. His presence doesn’t go unnoticed at every meeting, every event Hawks attends, and surely the new development has reached the ears of the ones behind the threats by now.
And well, maybe the whole bodyguard thing wasn’t such a bad idea. Hawks hasn’t received any new threats in several days.
Until he does.
“Shit. Don’t come here,” Dabi says from Hawks’ room. He was running his routine inspection after getting to the hotel at night. Hawks was taking off his shoes and jacket at the entrance, dead tired and hungry, but Dabi’s words were enough to set him on high alert.
Of course, Hawks ignores him and runs into the room despite the warning.
Dabi is on the phone calling reception with his back to the door, but Hawks doesn’t register anything he says.
Lying on the bed, soaking the white duvet with blood, is a dead red hawk with its wings spread open and an ice needle pierced through its chest.
A dead hawk, the actual animal, a big one, not the little birds he had found before.
What—
There’s a buzz in his ear and a tight knot on his throat—a chill running down his spine. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he feels his feathers bristling, but he knows it’s just a phantom memory of his now non-existent wings. There’s nothing on his back and nothing in his stomach to throw up, although the bile doesn’t take long to rush up.
His vision goes black, but it’s just Dabi pulling him to his chest and dragging him out of the room.
“Are you stupid?” he snaps. “I told you not to come.”
His movements, his words are not caring or reassuring, but Hawks doesn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. He needs his quirk. If he had his quirk, he could scan any trace the perpetrator left behind and fucking find them, make it all stop.
Dabi sits him on a stool at the kitchen island. “Wait here,” he says. “Don’t move, and do as I say now, for fuck’s sake.”
Hawks hears people rushing into the room, probably employees of the hotel. He hears them apologize before a second batch of people make their appearance, maybe the police. Hawks hears the flash of the pictures, the rustling of the garbage bags, he hears Dabi saying they’re moving to a different room (again), that they’re not spending the night there.
But the new room has exactly the same layout as the previous one. Hawks still feels like he’s going to find the same dead hawk lying on the bed if he opens the door on the left.
Dabi plops down on the couch after he’s done a throughout room inspection.
“Jeez. Now that was somethin’ sinister,” he comments, dragging a hand down his face. He looks at the entrance when he realizes that Hawks is not moving from there. He sighs and leans back on the couch, eyes hard as stone. “Hey… what happened there, I don’t think this bodyguard shit is gonna work if you don’t listen to what I say.”
Hawks grits his teeth. He wants to protest, but he knows Dabi is right. He shouldn't have rushed to the room.
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
He moves to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. His hands are shaking for no reason at all. He shouldn’t let these stupid threats get to him, he had seen worse stuff–he had been in a war, he had seen people die, he had seen way much more blood than that, but maybe Dabi was right. It was a sinister sight. No one wants to find a dead bird laying on their bed.
A bird with his hero name.
“So… what do you want to do now?” Dabi asks from the couch. “I doubt you’ll be hungry after that.”
Hawks feels his stomach churning. “No, not hungry. But, I…. I think I will go for a run.”
He turns to Dabi. The guy has thrown his head over the sofa’s backrest and is looking at him with his head upside down. His white locks fall too, revealing his forehead.
“You can’t be serious. A run? After that?”
Hawks frowns. “You can’t pretend I can relax and sleep soundly after that.”
They reach a middle ground and Dabi accompanies him to the hotel gym. With his earphones on full blast, Hawks runs on the treadmill while Dabi walks on the machine next to him. As minutes go by, Hawks’ pulse picks up speed, his breathing sharpens and his brain empties itself from thoughts, just as he wanted, exactly what he needed. Right now, it was either exercising or working in his hotel room, and Hawks doesn’t feel like thinking.
Thinking about who is behind all this. Thinking when this is going to stop.
He had already discussed his suspicions with Dabi on the first day. They had laid all the evidence on the desk at his office and, after a brief examination, Dabi picked up the picture of the gratifi saying “HPSC assassins”. Then, he said the same thing Hawks had thought—that his dirty work as a double spy back in the day would come back to haunt him sooner than later.
Hawks hadn't expected it to be any different and had already come to terms with it, but honestly, he would rather have someone jumping on his throat than finding dead animals every other day.
(Dabi’s attention stays on the graffiti picture for a bit longer and Hawks knows there's an awkward conversation incoming.
He regrets showing the evidence to the guy.
Blue eyes raise in his direction. “Have you ever killed someone?” Dabi asks and Hawks tries his best to keep his facial muscles from twitching.
It's easier to hide his reaction now that the day has bled into the afternoon, orange shades seeping through the windows. They should switch on the lights before the office plunges into darkness, but none of them have moved from their respective side of the desk, as if the furniture could keep this distance they invented to keep their work relationship functional.
They have too much dirt on each other. Dabi knows the answer to that question. What does he want? Hear it from Hawks’ mouth?
He won't give him the pleasure.
“I don't know.” Hawks folds his arms and shrugs one shoulder. “Have you?”
Dabi arches a brow. “We are not talking about me, are we?”
All Hawks’ tricks to mislead people, change the topic, control the narrative won't work on Dabi. The guy was taught the exact same tricks as him. How do you deceive your reflection on the mirror?
“Does it matter?” Hawks sighs, dropping his arms to the sides. “People are not dumb, they know I never did only your classic hero work. And neither do you, for that matter.”
Dabi leans on the desk, both palms flat on the wood. His eyes glow in the dark and, if they were ice needles, they would've pierced Hawks’ heart by now.
“Stop trying to make the arrows point in my direction,” he says. “You're the public figure here. People don't give a shit if I'm your classic hero or not.”)
After ten kilometers of running and several sets of weight lifting later, Hawks feels a little lighter than he did before. But when they get back to the hotel room, an eerie feeling makes his skin prickle again.
“I don't think I will sleep a wink tonight," he mumbles.
“Me neither,” Dabi says.
Hawks moves to the living room and puts on a movie on the TV, settling down on the couch with a long sigh. It wouldn't be his first sleepless night, but that doesn't mean he's going to enjoy it.
Dabi sits in the armchair next to him, eyes fixed on the TV, but chances are he's not very into the movie. Hawks feels bad that the guy is staying up too. He would send him off to bed, tell him he doesn't need to stay up with him, but the truth is, Hawks doesn't want to spend the night alone. It’s dumb considering he's been alone most of his life, but there's something about Dabi's silent presence that feels comforting.
Hawks thinks of a quiet flame in a fireplace. The image seems fitting for Dabi.
It's just for tonight, he tells himself. Tomorrow he'll get his apartment back and they will get the hell out of that hotel and—
Wait.
They?
He suddenly remembers what Mera said about Dabi getting a room in his apartment and his pulse quickens.
They're going to live together. Like roommates. Or like the distorted, power-imbalanced version of being roommates.
Well, not that he can protest, the apartment is under the commission's name after all, and he already agreed to the whole bodyguard thing.
But it's going to be weird living with Dabi.
As if the earth had swallowed him up, Hawks had not heard about him for many years and the guy, ever so distant, hadn't said anything so far to fill in the blank spaces.
Hawks wakes up the next morning with his neck stiff and a patch of drool at the corner of his mouth. Bright morning light streams in through the window and shines on the empty armchair next to him. Dabi is nowhere to be seen, but there’s a blanket draped over Hawks.
Chapter 2: i don't believe in them
Summary:
Dabi has been his bodyguard for two weeks already and Hawks thought he had grown used to his constant presence. But that day has proved him wrong.
Because Dabi can be very distracting.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Best Jeanist's eyes are not trained on Hawks, but on Dabi when they both walk into his office. Yet the hero doesn't seem particularly surprised by the additional company. He even greets Dabi with a short nod of his head and invites them both to sit down at the coffee table.
“So you heard the news,” Hawks sighs, settling down in an armchair.
Dabi, conversely, stands near the door, stiff and serious.
“I did, yes,” Best Jeanist says, joining Hawks. “But I guess it's pretty bad if you need someone with you all the time.”
Hawks waves his hand in dismissal. He rather not talk about the last number they did on him.
“So far the threats have been all bark and no bite. I don't think I need someone on my back 24/7, but Mera insisted and you know how it is.”
Well, at least that's how it started. He might have thought the bodyguard thing was a bit too much at first, but good thing he wasn't alone for the hawk incident at the hotel. Dabi took care of everything and stayed with him all night.
(Night that neither of them have brought up again. And Hawks prefers it that way—sweeping everything under the rug as usual.)
At that moment, someone knocks into the room carrying a tray with three cups of tea, and they launch into a conversation about the developments from the past few weeks.
“Next week, I’ll see you at the Hero Billboard Chart, right?” Best Jeanist asks as they walk down the agency’s hallways. After an hour or so of conversation, Hawks excuses himself, saying he has to go back to work, precisely, on next week’s event. “Or is Mera-san doing the closing speech? I wouldn't blame you if you want to lay low for the time being, like a low-rise jeans.”
Hawks shrugs. “No, I'll do it myself. We decided to carry on as usual, not let them intimidate us. Right, Dabi?”
He takes a look over his shoulder. Dabi has been unnervingly quiet these past few hours. He didn't even have tea or sit with them while they talked, but the guy doesn't look particularly tired, all his features are devoid of any feeling.
That’s when Best Jeanist leans into Hawks’ space and Dabi’s eyebrows knit together, a deep furrow creasing his forehead.
Hawks had a loose thread on his suit and Best Jeanist, ever so concerned about clothes, had reached out to pull it off. He also says he will put Hawks in touch with his tailor because the HPSC President is in clear need of new suits, but Hawks doesn't manage to get everything his friend says. He's too distracted assessing Dabi’s reaction—jaw locked, hands twitching, as if he wanted to grab Hawks’s arm and pull him closer, put himself between the two friends.
Hawks doesn't know how to feel about that.
“You shouldn't let anyone touch you,” Dabi says when they're in the car. Side by side in the backseat, the chauffeur drives them back to the Commission building.
Hawks gapes. Dabi rarely starts a conversation with him when they're in the car.
He clears his throat before answering. “Best Jeanist isn't just anyone, he's my friend.”
"There are a lot of people with tricky quirks these days,” Dabi argues, looking outside through the tinted glass. “Shape shifting, transformation, you can never be sure."
“Well, if it comes to that, I guess that's where your role as bodyguard comes in, right?”
Dabi looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. It’s like he wants to say something else, but all that leaves his lips is, “Yes, I guess it does.”
Later, when they are in the elevator, Dabi reaches out to him. Hawks flinches, his back hitting the mirror wall, but all Dabi does is pull another loose thread in his suit.
“I guess you do need a new suit if you want to look somewhat presentable for the Hero Billboard Chart,” he says, dusting Hawks’ shoulders from imaginary fluff.
The elevator stops and the doors open with a cling. Dabi makes a gesture with his head toward the hallway, and Hawks takes a few seconds to react.
∆
Dabi has been his bodyguard for two weeks already and Hawks had thought he had grown used to his constant presence. But that day, after visiting Best Jeans, has proved him wrong.
Because Dabi can be very distracting.
The guy is just sitting at the coffee table in Hawks’ office, drinking tea and reading a book, but Hawks can’t help but look at him every five minutes.
When Hawks finally manages to focus on the work at hand, that is, reading past the first paragraph of this report, his phone starts buzzing and fuck it , he quits.
Rumi is calling him and now that he thinks about it, she still owes him an explanation as to why she didn’t take the bodyguard gig. He wouldn’t be going through this situation if she had.
“Hello,” he grunts to the phone.
Rumi whistles from the other side of the line. “That’s what I call some Friday night spirit, mate.”
“I’m at the office right now.”
“What!? No way. Drop whatever shit you’re doing and go home. I’ll bring the alcohol.”
He looks up and meets ocean blue staring back at him. Hawks’ eyes have never fled faster.
“Actually, I don’t feel like partying today, Rumi.”
“Relax. I’m not taking you anywhere. We’ll drink in your apartment, and if you get too wasted, you have your hot bodyguard at home to take care of you. I've heard that you and Dabi still haven't gouged each other's eyes, and if you ask me, that’s reason enough to celebrate.”
Hawks chokes. He thanks that Dabi doesn’t have an audition quirk (and prays that Rumi’s bullshit hasn’t reached his ears).
An hour later, Rumi is in his apartment, patting Dabi on the back (more like, slapping his back with her prosthetic arm) while saying how long it’s been since she last saw him. The grimace on his face sharpens with each of Rumi’s slaps and if for a moment Dabi doubted that this wasn’t the real Rumi, but someone posing as Hawks’ best friend, well, now he doesn’t.
“So, yes, I was offered the job as well,” she says, sitting down at the low table in the living room and popping open one can of beer. “But I think I’ll stick to hero work for the time being. At least as long as I have one limb left.” She lifts one muscular leg to show Hawks. “Gotta prove to all the press saying I should retire and shit that they’re wrong .”
Hawks snorts. Leave it to Rumi to have a longstanding feud with the press.
He grabs the can of beer that Rumi hands him. For a moment, he thinks Dabi will say something like don’t drink anything you’re offered, but the guy just plops down on the armchair and puts something on TV at low volume. Hawks supposes he can afford to relax a bit and have a beer or two in his own house now that they’ve tightened the security in both the apartment and the entire building.
Rumi gestures for Dabi to join them, holding a can in the air.
Dabi sighs and shakes his head. “No, I don’t drink while I work.”
“At least sit with us,” Rumi huffs, setting the beer down on the table. “It’s weird to have you there, pretending you don’t exist.”
“Just pretend I don’t exist,” he says, resting his head on his curled hand.
Hawks chuckles weakly. “Yeah, I’ve tried that too. Maybe it’s bodyguard etiquette or Dabi hates interacting with people. Or both.”
Rumi turns her attention back to her friend. “Jeez. Well, I guess I get why he's here. I heard you even received threats while you were at that fancy hotel. Some persistent haters you have, my friend. At least you’re home now.”
Hawks also thought he would have it easier once he got his apartment back, but he still sleeps like shit, waking up at 3 a.m., sweating and disoriented from a nightmare he doesn’t remember much about, except that there is a lot of blood. Blood and feathers.
(In his dreams, he always holds his blade-feathers and drags his feet away, leaving a red trail behind.)
Every morning, Dabi finds Hawks running on the treadmill of the apartment, trying to run away from those images, not quite succeeding.
He no longer has his wings, but he still feels like a bird trapped in a cage.
“It must suck, not feeling safe in your own home,” Rumi adds, going for her third beer. “That’s why I wanted to come here and hang out with you. This is your crib, you should feel like you can get wasted in the safety of your home.”
Hawks feels a sudden rush of affection and appreciation for Rumi. Of course his best friend would understand how important it is for him to have his own space, a safe space.
He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the genuine affection, or both, but he pulls Rumi close into a tight embrace.
She returns the gesture patting him (hard) on the back. “There, there. Wow, I didn’t expect age to turn you into a softy.”
As they pull apart, he notices that Dabi is looking at them.
Deep blue locked in amber, Hawks wasn’t feeling awkward, but now he does.
Rumi glares at Dabi, distangling her arms from Hawks. “You’ve never seen two friends hugging?” She clicks her tongue. “Honestly, Hawks, how do you do it? This guy follows you into the bathroom and everything?”
“No, of course not,” Hawks chuckles, opening another beer. “Not yet at least, thank goodness.”
Rumi doesn’t look convinced at all.
“Mmh. And what if you wanna get laid?” Hawks almost spits out the beer. “No, I mean it.” She points at them back and forth. Dabi is doing his best to pretend he’s not part of the conversation, eyes trained on the TV. “Have you talked about this? It will happen eventually.”
Hawks had thought about it, of course, but it’s not something he’d like to discuss with Dabi, so he lies: “Well, finding dead birds all over the place and having people sneaking into your apartment doesn’t exactly help to put you in the mood, you know?”
“I’ve been your friend for years, Hawks,” she counters. “You’ve been through worse and still found time to…” Her voice trails off as she realizes Hawks is gesturing for her to shut the fuck up. Red eyes widen as if she has just connected the dots in her head. Hawks drags a hand down his face.
Hopefully, Dabi didn’t pick up any of that.
At least Rumi is quick to change the subject. She talks about the latest gossip from her fellow heroes and the people she’s teamed up with lately. She also mentions how she ended up in a threesome with Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods.
“Though I couldn't care less about the guy. Nishiya fell asleep after the first round, so Yuu and I continued all night.” She preens, sipping her beer. Hawks had lost count of how much they’ve drunk. Rumi’s voice sounds distant, and the room has started to spin around him. “I’ve always wanted to bang Yu, I mean, look at her. She looks finer and finer with each passing year. It was my moment.”
He doesn’t remember much after that, only that he woke up a couple of hours later, his neck sore from falling asleep at the table. It was still dark and the lights from outside trickled into the apartment—yellow, white, blue.
Dabi’s blue eyes were right next to him as he slipped one of Hawks’ around his shoulders, a hand gripping him tightly around the waist.
“C’mon, Hawks. Help me out here,” he heard him say.
Hawks blinks, trying to focus on the task at hand: standing up. He leans into Dabi and pulls his legs from under the table, raising to his feet. But the floor feels wobbly and unstable.
“Where’s… Rumi?” he slurs, his tongue like paper. His head rolls over Dabi’s shoulders and why does it feel so warm and cozy here, snuggled against his body?
Dabi drags him to his room. Hawks does very little to cooperate, he knows, but his feet feel like lead.
“She took the couch,” Dabi says, strain in his voice. “Maybe I should have left you in the living room with her, you pair of drunks.”
Hawks laughs, pressing his forehead against Dabi's neck. He smells like pine and firewood. “Guess alcohol hits you differently after you turn thirty.”
“Yes, and with age you also should know when to stop. Now, wait. Shit —”
Dabi tries to toss him onto bed, but Hawks grabs him tightly and brings them both down.
The bed springs creak under their weight. A sudden twinge of pain stabs Hawks’ head and his eyes close, but as he blinks them open again, he finds white hair eclipsing the lights from outside and blue eyes all too close.
All over him.
Hawks’ sluggish brain wonders how they ended up like this. Who knows, maybe his hands clutching Dabi’s shirt have something to do with it.
Dabi’s warm breath ghosts over his lips and an embarrassing sound at the back of Hawks’ throat betrays him.
Shit. This is not the time, and this is not the person either.
Dabi snickers. “You reek of booze, Hawks. Whatever thing you’re trying with me is not going to work.”
“I’m not trying anything,” he protests weakly. “You’re the one on top of me now.”
Long fingers curl around his wrist. “And whose fault do you think it is?”
Clearly, not his. He's too drunk to plot anything. He could be making up this conversation in his head for all he knows.
He must be making up the way Dabi’s hands stay on his own for maybe a little too long before he pulls away.
∆
Miruko and Mt. Lady stand very close to each other during the Hero Billboard Chart afterparty and though Hawks doesn't know what they're talking about, he doesn't miss the way they laugh and make eyes at each other.
He huffs and sips his champagne flute.
He wishes that Rumi hadn't gushed so much about her sex life the other day. He didn't need to know that she was doing threesomes, let alone with whom.
Dabi seems to agree.
“Everything I know about your friend is against my will,” he drawls, sipping a glass of water.
For the event he’s wearing a white shirt, the fabric slightly stretching at the shoulders for the tension of his movements. He also carries a black duty belt, the straps crossing over his chest and lifting the weight of the gear. They look like a harness, Hawks thinks. Like Dabi just walked straight out of a BDSM dungeon or something.
(It takes everything in Hawks not to reach out and pull on the straps just to see what happens.)
He clears his throat and looks the other way. “It was a conversation between the two of us. You could've worn earphones or gone somewhere else if you didn’t want to listen.”
“Nice try, Mr. President. But I'm still supposed to look after you, even if it's to protect you from yourself.” He points at the champagne flute. “Be careful with that, you do stupid shit when you're drunk.”
Hawks feels his ears flushing. “I’m not getting drunk at an event held by the Commission. I'm not an idiot.”
This version of the hero billboard chart was rather underwhelming. There hadn't been many changes in the ranking compared to six months ago. The top 10 was still the same: Lemilliom was still first, Shouto second, Mt. Lady third, and so on. Hawks only went up on the stage to give the closing speech after the ceremony ended and didn't get to talk much to the heroes after that. He wanted to talk to Tokoyami, his former apprentice, and to Shouto too, you know, from former number two to actual number two, but he has to find the right moment to approach him if Dabi is going to be around there as well. Hawks remembers a thing or two about the brothers not getting along with each other (more like, Dabi not getting along with Shouto than the other way around) and he doesn't think that their relationship has changed.
The after-party is a smaller event, reserved only for the heroes and some of the accredited press. Held on the top floor of the Commission’s, the lights of the city glitter in the background and the music plays at a low volume, the buzzing conversations taking most of the space over their heads.
These events are a piece of cake for Hawks who, over the years, has mastered the art of cordiality and politeness, the perfect distance to never get too close without appearing too distant. But at this point in his life, he doesn't come to people. Rather, people come to him looking for a word, a smile, a wink, anything, and leave with stars in their eyes, especially the younger ones. He knows this is the reason he was appointed President of the Commission, to give the institution a new, fresh face, make it look less like an archaic organization that should've disappeared after the war, and more like an institution fit for these times.
Some might say the Commission is using Hawks’ name and charisma, but he likes to see it the other way around—that he is the one using the Commission, using their platform, using their power to steer the organisation the way that seems best to him.
Among the people that come up to Hawks, there's a former apprentice of Tsukuyomi. He met her once last time he visited his former junior and now she had recently joined the birdman’s agency as a pro hero. Fanning her long eyelashes and pouting, she asks Hawks why he hasn't visited his favourite junior lately, and well, first and foremost, he's been busy trying not to get killed by whoever is behind the threats. Yet he tries not to sound mean or disdainful, and smiles at her, saying he'll eventually stop by.
He's sure this girl wants to stand much closer, reach out her hand and squeeze his arm, but Dabi’s menacing aura hovering behind his back convinces her otherwise. Hawks is not looking at his bodyguard, but he knows the energy is there, so thick he can almost touch it.
She gives a stiff smile and nods goodbye, saying she'll be looking forward to seeing him. Hawks waves goodbye to her and then turns to Dabi.
He's sipping water, acting clueless and guiltless.
“What are you doing?” Hawks hisses.
Dabi shrugs. “My job.”
“I had that under control. You didn't have to scare her off.”
“Under control,” he repeats with a huff, putting down the water glass on a nearby table. “How am I supposed to know that? It's hard to tell when you flirt back because you want to or because you can't say no for your life.”
“It depends,” he replies, taking a sip of his drink. “But it's mostly half and half.” His lips purse—the champagne is warm and flat, so he puts it down next to Dabi’s glass.
When he looks up, Dabi is standing in front of him, face blank, thick eyelids, long lashes. The dim lights reveal his uneven skin, darkened at parts by fire. Being this close, Hawks can tell all the places where he once wore piercings—his lips, his nose, his eyebrows, his cheeks. In his mind, he draws lines between the dots, forming a constellation on his features.
He knows he's staring too much, but he can't bring himself to look away. Dabi is always trained at his back, Hawks doesn't have many chances to look at him. And man , the guy looks good tonight.
“We never talked about what we're gonna do if you want to get laid,” Dabi says in a voice so quiet that Hawks has to lean closer to hear him better.
Bad idea. It's hard to keep a straight face when Dabi brings up this topic so casually.
He clears his throat, but doesn't pull back. He doesn't want the rest to hear (and he doesn't want to look weak either).
“Why would we need to talk about that?”
“I don't know. In case you want to be in a threesome like your friend there.”
He tilts his head towards Rumi. Or at least to the place she was five minutes ago. She's nowhere to be seen now and Hawks doesn't want to know where she has gone. Or with whom.
He doesn't know who he hates more right now—Rumi or Dabi.
Probably Dabi.
“Why?” he arches a challenging brow. “You want to join in or something?”
Dabi chuckles, completely unaffected by Hawks’ comeback. “Nah, I don't do that stuff.”
“And what do you do?” he hears himself asking. He might've had the past conversations under control, but he lost all authority over this one several minutes ago.
“I keep both my eyes trained on one person at a time.” He slips his hands into his pockets, casual and nonchalant as if they weren't talking about, what? Their dating preferences? How did this happen?
Hawks parts his lips and tries to say something, but takes too long. The buildup tension vanishes as soon as Mera approaches them.
“Hawks, Dabi, keep up the good work.” He does a very bad job at holding back a yawn. “These events are too much for me. I guess this is as far as I go.”
Hawks nods politely. “Go rest, Mera-san. The afterparty is almost over anyway.”
They talk a bit about their schedule for the other week before Mera leaves, sleepy eyes and dark circles underneath.
Conversely, Dabi and him don't talk about what just happened. Maybe they should. Try to draw the boundaries between them, keep the distance that comes with a working relationship, but Hawks can't ask his bodyguard to behave if he doesn't hold back his own tongue either. It's not like he ever expected Dabi to be quiet and compliant, that's not like him, but this is…
Weird.
To be honest, his relationship with Dabi has always been kind of weird. Always bickering and fighting as children, obsessed with surpassing each other, only to ignore each other as adults. Or at least Dabi ignored him. Hawks had found himself searching for the elder Todoroki many times on the internet, checking what he was up to, until one day he stopped appearing on the news.
He figured the guy had retired somewhere in the countryside where no one could find him. Hawks realized he didn't when Dabi appeared in his office out of nowhere, like he wanted to personally make sure Hawks hadn't forgotten about him.
He hadn't.
“Hawks.” Tokoyami's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Red, familiar eyes appear before him and Hawks smiles.
This smile doesn't feel as stiff as the others.
“Hey, Tsukuyomi-kun,” he says, ruffling his junior’s hair. Instead of spiky, now he wears his hair messier with a feather-y look that resembles Hawks when he was his age. The thought makes his chest tug with affection. “Congrats on keeping your fifth place. Rumi must be furious. Or maybe not. Maybe she’s not too concerned with the ranking today.”
“Thanks, Hawks. I'm glad to see you here.” Tokoyami draws his eyebrows together. “There's been some ominous things being said lately, like you’re being targeted by mysterious forces.”
Hawks blinks. It sounds more dramatic than it really is when it comes from Tokoyami.
“Yeah, well, that's true, but I guess it's to be expected when you have this kind of job.” Tokoyami doesn't look any less concerned. “Relax, Fumi-kun. I'm in good hands. This guy over here…” He turns over his shoulder, but there's no one there getting his back.
A cold, shivering sensation runs down his spine.
He had grown so used to having Dabi there with him that not seeing him makes him feel vulnerable.
But when he takes a good look, he realizes that Dabi is a few steps further back, pulled against the wall, concealed by darkness.
Hawks makes a gesture, tries to ask him what's going on, but he soon realizes what is going on.
“Hawks-san.” Shouto suddenly joins Tokoyami. Wearing his hero costume, he stands at the side of his former classmate, even taller than Hawks remembers and jeez , do these kids ever stop growing? “Sorry, Tokoyami-kun. Hope I'm not interrupting.”
“Not at all, Todoroki. We were discussing Hawks’ safety.”
Shouto tilts his head to the side. “Safety?”
Hawks forgets he's supposed to answer. He's busy assessing all the places where Shouto resembles Dabi—half his hair, half his eyes, his thick physique, and more or less the same height. But Shouto looks a lot like a less (way less) angry version of a young Endeavor, while Dabi… doesn't.
(He doesn’t look less angry and doesn’t take after his father as much as his brother does.
Not that he's going to tell Dabi any of that, Hawks doesn't want to die in the hands of his own bodyguard.)
He clears his throat. “Oh, yes. Safety. Well, you probably know that not everyone is fond of the Commission these days, Shouto-kun…”
But Shouto’s attention has drifted away. He now squints, trying to make out something behind Hawks’s back. Certain shadow has caught his attention and it's not hard to guess which one.
He turns pale. “Wait. Is that…?”
Hawks sighs. “I was just getting there. After receiving a couple of threats, nothing too serious, I promise, the senior committee decided to put a bodyguard on me. And yes, the bodyguard is your brother, Shouto-kun.”
Bi-colored eyes look at Dabi and Hawks back and forth. Hawks throws a glance over his shoulder to find the eldest Todoroki with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl in his face.
(Said face reminds him of Dabi when they both were at the Commission’s Special Program. Maybe it was a time when Hawks beat him in a two-on-two fight and Dabi refused to talk to him for a week.
The memory brings a wistful smile to his lips.)
Shouto blinks a few times more before lowering his eyes. The boy has never been an easy person to read, but Hawks can notice the twitch of sadness in his eyebrows when he frowns.
“Huh, I didn't know about that.”
“It’s okay, Shouto.” Hawks pats his back. “This guy never talks much about himself and I spend 24/7 with him.”
Shouto hums. “Yes, that sounds like Touya-nii. Anyway, I’m sorry to hear about the threats,” Shouto continues. “Is there something we can do about it?”
Tokoyami nods sternly at his side.
Hawks gives them a closed smile. “The police are investigating the case. I don't think they are a villain like the ones you are after. If they wanted to do me any harm, they would have done it long ago.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Tokoyami points out.
“Then think that the security in my apartment is very tight and there's a grumpy Todoroki following me wherever I go, eager to use his quirk and burn people at the slightest opportunity.”
Shouto chuckles softly and Hawks wishes he could see that smile on Dabi someday.
∆
“I won't ask why you didn't say hello to Shouto—”
“Then don't ask.”
“—but he looked very sad when you avoided him.”
They have just arrived at the apartment. Hawks is hanging up his jacket at the entrance when Dabi comes out from one of the rooms, tugging the buttons of his shirt open..
Hawks feels his breath hitching.
That's the first time he sees the compression suit underneath Dabi’s clothes. The fabric is dark blue and skin-tight, his collarbone, his pecs, his abs perfectly visible, highlighted even. There's a circle in his chest where blue flames appear to be blazing.
Hawks quickly lost the point he wanted to make. Why were they talking about Shouto again?
No belt, shirt untucked and unbuttoned, Dabi brings his hands to his waist and glares daggers at Hawks.
And Hawks must have a loose screw because he shouldn't be thinking that Dabi looks even hotter like this.
“If you don't need me anymore, I think I'll lay down for a bit,” he mutters.
And why Dabi would say something like ‘need me’ when he looks like this .
Like a forest fire.
Crap.
Later that night, Hawks struggles to fall asleep.
Well, he can’t sleep most nights. He's got a lot on his mind lately. Four hours of sleep are a rare blessing to him, and he doesn't think tonight is going to be any different.
Except.
Except tonight is different.
If he can't sleep tonight is not because anxiety has grabbed him by the balls, but because said balls are blue and aching.
He lifts the blanket and glares at his own erection as if that could make it go away.
It doesn't.
The image of Dabi doesn't leave his mind either.
Hawks didn't even see him naked, but that wasn't necessary. The bodysuit left little to the imagination.
Nevertheless. His imagination is running wild, he can't stop it.
Rumi is right, he needs to get laid. And soon. Because he can't be thinking of his childhood rival turned a stranger turned his bodyguard like this .
He tentatively slips a hand down his briefs and fists his shaft. It throbs against his hand and, jesus , he's not a twenty-something anymore.
But he's still a guy.
He gives himself one pump and his body shudders with relief.
“Well, fuck me,” he curses under his breath
He doesn’t want to do this, but as far as he knows, there are no more options.
Except for dying of blue balls, of course.
He closes his eyes and sighs.
Okay. He’ll do this just once, he'll think of Dabi just this time and never again. He'll get this itch out of his system and will forget about it in the morning—all the pent up frustration gone. The more he fights it, the stronger it will get, so he just surrenders to lust. Not that anyone has to know.
His hand sliding up and down his arousal, he remembers what Dabi said before Mera interrupted them. Blue eyes locked on him, he mentioned that he doesn't like his attention divided, that he prefers to focus on one person at a time— 'like I do with you,' was implied in his words.
(He imagines an arm around his waist, Dabi saying ‘you’re all I see’. )
Hawks tilts his head back and chokes a moan. Fuck. Why does this shit turn him on? It's such an ordinary, regular thing. Yes, Dabi is watching him all day, even when Hawks forgets about his presence, either too engrossed in work or nodding off at his desk. He already knew this, of course, but…
What is Dabi thinking when he looks at Hawks? Is he looking at the undercut on the back of his neck? The brief space between his blade shoulders? Maybe he wants to trace his fingers where his wings used to be, or push him down to the wood and rail him against the desk.
(At night, when there is no one left in the office, the lights off, and their clothes barely undone.
The echo of their skins slapping and their heavy breaths melting into one.)
He comes before he has a moment to hold it back, hot streaks of liquid shooting out of his cock and painting his stomach, and,
Shit . This is bad. This is very very bad.
There's no way he will forget about this by morning.
Notes:
alternative chapter title: hawks needs to get laid asap.
what did you think of this chapter? because i've spent the last four months gnawing at the bars of my enclosure waiting to post it, i need feedbackkkk.
Chapter 3: i don't believe in him
Summary:
Earlier that week, Dabi had wanted to murder Hawks when he checked the upcoming agenda, but didn't say a word about it.
It wasn’t until they arrived at the Todoroki residence that day that Dabi said he wouldn't go into his father's office with Hawks, that he would wait outside until he was done, and you better make it quick, pigeon.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hawks is trying to do his weightlifting routine, and Dabi is not helping, watching from a corner, long eyelashes casting shadows over his blue eyes. How does he manage to stay fit when all he does is stand back and watch Hawks when they go to the gym? A mystery.
Whatever. Hawks has to stay focused if he doesn't want to get crushed by the weight bar, he can't afford to get all blushy and flustered just because there's a pair of eyes on him.
But Dabi makes no effort to pretend he's not watching.
Straddling a turned chair with his chest against the backrest,a book dangling from one hand, the other cupping his cheek. He might as well be lost in thought, eyes on Hawks but not really looking at him, and Hawks prays that's the case. Lately, he feels that Dabi can see right through him without any effort, as if Hawks were as transparent as glass.
As if he had written on his face what he did last night.
(Jerking off to the guy sleeping in the room next door.
His bodyguard, no less.)
Maybe he does have it written all over his face. Maybe he's not making enough effort to hide the physical attraction he feels for Dabi.
But what can he do? Dabi is objectively attractive. The scars on his face add up to an unconventional but magnetic beauty that is not easy to find. In his bodyguard version, however, Dabi looks contained, less wild, more ceremonial, a side of him Hawks has never seen before.
He wonders if the Commission asked Dabi to remove his facial piercings as a condition of getting the job.
(He wonders if the guy is still a rebel on the inside. Is he still wearing the jewelry in places people can't see?)
Hawks feels his arms faltering before the weight bar slides to the floor with a loud thud that makes the walls shake.
The fuck he's thinking.
The loud noise snaps Dabi out of his reverie and he focuses on Hawks again.
“Who are you trying to kill with that weight bar?” he huffs with amusement. “I hope it's not me.”
If Hawks wants to murder anyone, it’s himself, because he can't be here thinking about the hypothetical piercings in Dabi’s dick.
He's still thinking about it when they visit the Commission’s training ground later. He must be quite distracted, because one of the kids in the program notices Hawks behind the glass on the second floor and tells the others, who start shouting and waving at them, asking the President to come down and join the training.
And, well, now that he's been spotted it would sit him wrong to ignore the kids, so he comes down, Dabi following close behind.
The instructor tries to contain the kids’ enthusiasm, but with little success. They buzz and talk and pounce on Hawks with too many questions, curiosity spilled all over the place.
They're kids, they pose no threat, but Hawks can still feel the restlessness in Dabi when dozens of hands are all over him. He knows his bodyguard wants to grab his arm and take him to safety, but Hawks doesn't mind. It reminds him of a time when people were fascinated by his silky feathers, his imposing wings.
He doesn't get that kind of attention anymore.
“Hawks-san, is it true that you were also trained here, like us?”
“What kind of training did you do?”
“How many years did you stay?”
“Did you like it?”
He hears Dabi scoffing at his back and well, there you have someone who didn't enjoy the training program.
He tells them that yes, that he was in the program from the age of six until he was eighteen, that the Commission is like a second home to him, and that he wishes they could feel the same way about the institution. Then, just to tease Dabi, he jabs a thumb over his shoulder and says that this guy here was his classmate in the program and they have known each other ever since.
The children chant “oooh” in unison, but don’t approach Dabi. They probably realized that he won’t let a bunch of kids jump on him like Hawks just did.
“Did you also train sparring one-to-one?” one of the kids asks.
“Yup,” Hawks chirps.
“Who won most of the time?”
He snickers. He knows Dabi is hating every second of this conversation.
“I did,” Hawks preens. “But that’s in the past now. I don’t have my quirk anymore.”
A sad murmur ripples through the group.
Dabi steps forward and bumps their shoulders together. “I bet you can still beat me, you pigeon.”
He’s too close, and there are a lot of people. Hawks tells himself that’s the reason why his brain short-circuits.
He can’t snap anything back before a kid suggests, “What if you spar now?”
Hawks and Dabi look at each other before turning to the instructor, who doesn’t seem to find any problem with the suggestion.
She brings a hand to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Actually, I think it could be very educational for the kids to see two former trainees testing their skills.”
He thinks Dabi will refuse, but he just shrugs and says, “Why not.”
Sleeves rolled up, revealing the compression suit underneath, Dabi cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders, preparing for the fight ahead. Hawks, on his part, plants one foot forward and raises his fists in front of his face, waiting for the first move. He had also stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The kids had fought to keep the jacket before the instructor, with blushing cheeks, said she would hold it for the president.
As soon as the instructor gave them the cue, Dabi closed the distance between them, his right fist flying toward Hawks in a swift, calculated punch. Hawks, light on his feet, sidesteps with his trademark speed, the punch missing by mere centimeters. He counters with a quick jab to his ribs, but Dabi absorbs the blow, his body turning slightly with the impact to minimize the damage.
A surprised murmur echoes among the kids, and some of them clap.
Hawks can't help the smile tugging at his lips. He had forgotten how much fun it is to spar in front of an audience.
But Dabi couldn't care less about the audience. He shifts his weight and feints to the left, drawing Hawks’ attention long enough to unleash a sharp hook with his right hand. Hawks, anticipating the move, ducks down and swipes his leg out in a low kick, aiming for Dabi’s calf.
Dabi staggers back just enough to avoid the full force of the kick, but Hawks follows quickly, left fist snapping up towards his jaw. Dabi barely has time to raise his arms in defense before Hawks’ knuckles graze his forearm with a sharp thud.
“Shit. That was close,” Dabi mumbles to himself.
Hawks takes a step back, breathing evenly. “Close to losing your job. I can't beat my bodyguard in a fight, you know?”
Dabi frowns and narrows his eyes, but says nothing.
They circle each other now, no longer rushing in for reckless blows, but sizing each other up, waiting for the slightest opening. That's when Hawks launches a straight punch with his left hand and Dabi moves just in time to block it with a quick parry, his hand snapping down to redirect the force, and before Hawks can react, Dabi lands a swift knee to his stomach.
Hawks bends over slightly, the wind knocked out of him. Dabi doesn't press the advantage, stepping back to give him some room to recover.
“You were saying?” he asks, his voice steady.
Hawks straightens up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. It's been a while since he wanted to punch someone so badly. Good thing that's why they're here.
They exchange punches in rapid successions, neither giving ground. Dabi’s fists find their target a few times, but Hawks’ quick footwork and lightning-fast reflexes keep him one step ahead.
With a sudden burst of speed, Dabi feints a left jab, but follows up with a right hook aimed at Hawks’ head. Hawks, seeing the move coming, ducks down again, his body low to the ground, and in one fluid motion, he shoots his right fist up toward Dabi’s chest, landing the punch solidly.
Dabi stumbles back half a step and grumbles. That must have hurt. He brings a hand to his chest and huffes a wry smile.
“Allright, you win this time,” he says, breathless.
A chorus of disappointment runs through the kids, and Hawks feels the same—puzzled and deserted, his erratic breathing moving his chest up and down. He was nowhere done with their sparring session. What is he supposed to do now with all this energy, this adrenaline rush, this urge to ruin Dabi’s face? Because if he can't have him in his bed, he could at least take out the frustration by throwing hands at each other.
Now he can't even do that.
“You were holding back, weren't you?” Hawks accuses once they're back in his office.
It was a short fight, a little midday workout, Hawks barely broke a sweat, but Dabi still unbuttons his shirt and heads to the bathroom. He wears his compression suit underneath and Dabi pulls down the zipper in the middle.
Hawks spots a sliver of his chest in the bathroom mirror and completely forgets what his point was.
“I didn't want the kids in the program to be disappointed in their president,” he says with a shrug. The faucet running, he splashes water on his face before running a wet hand through his hair and down the back of his neck.
Hawks has to focus real hard to put two ideas together.
“Huh, keep telling yourself that. I’m sure I would've beaten you fair and square if we’d kept—”
Dabi turns to him and the determination in his eyes makes Hawks’ brain go blank. He moves closer and quickly hooks a foot behind Hawks’ ankle, the sudden shift sending him stumbling backwards. The world tilts as Hawks loses his balance and crashes to the carpeted floor of the office, and, before he can recover, Dabi moves fast and straddles him, pinning him down with a firm grip.
If Hawks can’t breathe, it’s because of the impact, because of Dabi’s weight on top of him, and because he’s hyperventilating.
How did this happen?
Dabi blocks the bathroom light, casting a shadow over Hawks. He can’t quite make out his expression, but he knows his clear eyes are locked on him, just as his own body is locked under his hips. This close to each other, Hawks can feel the heat radiating from Dabi’s core, the drops of water evaporating even before they can trickle down his exposed chest.
A bare chest that Hawks could touch if it weren’t highly inappropriate and if his hands weren’t restrained.
(Mainly because of the latter, because straddling your boss in his office isn’t very appropriate either).
But Dabi had never given a damn about Hawks’ position, he doubts he’s going to start now.
A chuckles escapes Dabi, and yup, absolutely zero fucks.
“Sorry I didn’t want your precious kids in the program to see you like this.”
Like what , Hawks wants to counter, but he knows exactly what this looks like.
Thank god Dabi is sitting on his stomach instead of his pelvic bone, because he’s not trusting his own body right now.
(The way Dabi hovers over him, the grip on his wrists, the rasp in his voice when he talks, his chest moving up and down in a rhythmic, steady sequence).
Is Hawks the only one feeling eager and confused and just plain horny?
Dabi glances down, following Hawks’ gaze.
Hawks doesn’t tear his eyes from Dabi’s chest fast enough.
If he ever thought he was doing a good job of hiding how thirsty he felt for his bodyguard, well, he thought wrong, because Dabi doesn’t seem surprised in the least.
“Careful, birdie,” he hums, shifting his weight on top of Hawks and for fuck’s sake, don’t move . “Careful, or I’ll start thinking that I was in your head the other night.”
Hawks feels his blood running cold.
The other night as when he was…?
What could Dabi possibly know about that?
“You…” he breathes, his mouth dry. “What are you talking about?”
Dabi tilts his head to the side, a half a smile flashing on his face.
“What? You forgot they installed mics in your room?”
Hawks freezes.
They did WHAT?
He feels himself choking on air, his head spinning even though he’s been lying on the floor for the past five minutes.
How could he forget something like that?
(In his defense, he hasn’t been in his best mental state lately).
But still.
He takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together. People jerk off all the time. It’s only a big deal if he acts like it’s one. He has to get control over this situation again, he can’t let Dabi knock him down and make him all blushy and flustered like he’s never had anyone on top of him before.
He’s had. Plenty of them.
“And you heard it all?” he teases, trying to sound more relaxed and laid back than he feels. “It’s rude to spy on people, Dabi.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s literally my job. What if I turn off the mic and someone breaks into your room?”
“God forbid. I don’t want to die with my pants down.”
“Then don’t complain that I’m trying to save your ass.”
Hawks can think of other things Dabi can do with his ass, but now it’s no time to disclose that.
Especially not now that there’s a knock at the door.
They both jump to their feet—Dabi zips up his suit and buttons his shirt, while Hawks smoothes the wrinkles out of his clothes and heads to his desk.
When Dabi opens the door, the secretary is met by a disheveled bodyguard and with Hawks working at his desk. There’s nothing out of place, but you’d have to be pretty clueless not to notice the thick atmosphere in that office.
∆
It's hard to look Endeavor in the eye.
They're the same eyes as Dabi’s, and lately his exchanges with Dabi have been… odd.
Not to say heated.
Just the thought of Dabi listening as he jerked off one night was enough to make the blood rush to his face. And if he adds up their sparring session (more like, an excuse to touch each other) and the aftermath in his office on top of it… where, okay, nothing concrete happened that day, but it can't all be in Hawks’ head.
There's an undeniable spark between them, and Hawks doesn't know what to make of this, because this is the last person he should be attracted to, and yet…
Endeavor flicks his eyes in Hawks' direction, sending a shiver down his spine.
He hates it here. He shouldn't have come, but he had already made plans to visit, and he wasn't going to stand Endeavor up. It took him a lot of work to get his childhood idol to respect him, and he wasn’t going to throw all that effort away. Yes, the guy is not what he used to be, retired from active work with sustained injuries, but believe it or not, Hawks respects his elders.
Dabi would scoff if he could hear him.
He’s probably scoffing right now, going around in circles, smoking a cigarette in the courtyard of the Todoroki residence, checking his watch now and there, wondering how much longer Hawks will take.
He's not making any of this up. From Endeavour’s office, they have a privileged view of Dabi pacing around the courtyard like a caged lion.
Earlier that week, Dabi had wanted to murder Hawks when he checked the upcoming agenda, but he didn't say a word about it.
It wasn’t until they arrived at the Todoroki residence that day that Dabi said he wouldn't go into his father's office with Hawks, that he’d wait outside until he was done, and you better make it quick, pigeon.
Fair enough, Hawks had thought as he ignored the daggers in Dabi’s eyes.
But when Endeavor found out that his eldest son was there too, he stood in front of the window and didn't hear much more of what Hawks had to say.
“Is Touya doing a good job?” Endeavor asks, peering through the blinds.
Hawks shrugs. “You see me alive and kicking, so I would say he is.”
Endeavor doesn’t move a muscle at his answer. He has eyes only for Dabi.
After a long moment of silent observation, he moves the wheelchair away from the window and resumes their conversation.
“I don't know much about what he's up to these days,” he explains. Eyebrows knitted, he speaks slowly as if struggling to get every word out. “Because of his undercover work, he doesn't hit the headlines very often.”
Hawks raises an eyebrow. “Don't let him hear you, or he'll think you're comparing him to Shouto-kun.” Endeavor glares and Hawks quickly steers the conversation somewhere else. “How is Rei-san doing? I haven't seen her today.”
Endeavor sighs and pours himself a cup of tea. “She’s in Sapporo with Fuyumi. She just had a baby and Rei wanted to be with her for the first few days.”
Hawks almost drops his cup.
“Fuyumi!? Wow, I had no idea you were a grandpa, Endeavor. Congrats to her.”
“Natsuo too, last year,” Endeavor adds.
“That’s good. It’s always fun to have a cousin your same age.”
What would Hawks know., anyway He’s never had a cousin or a sibling, but he assumes that’s a safe thing to say. He has to tread very carefully when Endeavor mentions his family. For instance, he doesn’t ask if he has met Natsuo’s baby, if Fuyumi plans to visit soon, or when was the last time he saw Dabi.
He knows why Natsuo and Dabi don’t visit. It’s the same reason why Hawks hasn’t heard from his parents for years.
(The last time he wished his mom had been there with him, Hawks was thirteen and woke up in the infirmary.
He fluttered his eyes open and gradually became aware of his body again. Or as much as his throbbing head would allow. Everything hurt, especially his face—his left cheek stung badly all the way down to his neck, as if someone had hit him with a hot whip. He had few feathers left, and they trembled on his back like the last leaves clinging to a tree in autumn. And god knows why, but the smell of burning pervaded the air—burned flesh, burned fabric, burned feathers.
He didn’t quite remember what happened, but he did remember a lot of blue. A blue sky, blue eyes, blue flames.
A throaty, barely there voice spoke next to him. “I told you to mind your own business.”
With the little energy he had, Hawks slowly turned his head to the side, and found Touya sitting on the bed next to him. Bandages covering his arms and legs, plasters on his face, he frowned as if this was all Hawks’ fault, and maybe it was. He couldn’t recall.
“What… happened? ” he tried to ask. His throat was a desert and it hurt so much to put two words together.
Touya grunted. “What happened is that you’re an idiot who keeps throwing himself into the fire.” He struggled out of the bed and brought one hand to the opposite uppear arm, as if that would help him stay whole, not tear at the seams. “And I’m not gonna feel guilty about it, you hear me?”)
Hawks leans his temple against the cold car window and sighs.
“What did you have to discuss with my old man that took you so long?” Dabi asks all of a sudden. He’s also looking out the window, his own window, and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hands. Hawks didn’t know he smoked. “You were in there for about an hour.”
He chuckles. “If you were so curious you should’ve come with me.”
“Forget it.”
They ride in silence, the chauffeur driving them through the streets of Musutafu.
Hawks would be lying if he said he doesn't feel a little guilty about dragging Dabi here. He knows what Endeavor means to him, how messed up their relationship is, how much he hates anything related to his family, but the thing is, Hawks is not him. Endeavor is not Hawks’ father, and he doesn’t want him to be. They have a different bond. If the former hero hadn’t arrested his father, Hawks and his mother wouldn’t have left their small hut in Fukuoka, and if they hadn’t left the hut, the Commission wouldn’t have found him.
He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Endeavor.
No matter his past or how bad a father he was to Dabi, what he did for Hawks would never change.
But something about all this leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
After a few minutes of silent driving, Hawks addresses the chauffer. “Andou-san, can you turn here and drop us off two blocks away?”
Dabi shoots him a wary glance, but doesn't say anything until Hawks pulls a cap and a pair of sunglasses from the back pocket of the passenger seat.
“Seriously?” he frowns.
They get off at a nice café that Hawks fancies but doesn't have much time to visit. There aren't many people around at six in the evening, except for a few students or the occasional group of friends hanging out after work, so Hawks feels safe behind his makeshift disguise. The good thing about not having his wings anymore is that he no longer draws all the attention when he walks into a place (and the sad thing, too).
Hawks beams at Dabi, who raises an unimpressed eyebrow in return.
“What? Trying to make it up to me?” Hawks’ smile falters. Gosh, he hates this guy. Dabi gives him a smug smile, knowing that he just read through Hawkw’ scheme. “You're gonna need more than specialty coffee for that, birdie.”
Hawks nudges him. “Just pick something and I'll pay.”
Dabi gets himself a chai tea and Hawks a latte, and they both settle in front of a long, high table pulled up to a large window. As they sip their drinks, they watch the people passing by outside, the world taking on an amber tint behind his sunglasses. Hawks hasn't had much of a chance to roam around the city since the threats and the special protection began, as it's to be expected, so it feels nice to get away from his duties for a little coffee.
(He drums his fingers against the paper cup, thinking that maybe Dabi is wrong, that he's not doing this to make it up to him, that he’s doing this for himself, to breathe a little bit of fresh air).
He spies at Dabi out of the corner of his eye, only to realize that the guy is already staring at him, his eyes softening in the golden hour—all of him glowing golden behind Hawks’ sunglasses.
They stare at each other for a moment.
If someone had told Hawks that by the time he was thirty he would be low-key sharing an apartment with Dabi, spending all their time together, having coffee together, he wouldn't have believed them.
He wants to say something like that, but all that comes out is a half-smile and a nervous, “What?”
Dabi reaches out a hesitant hand in the space between them, and for some unknown reason, Hawks leans in. It's all too brief, but he could swear something flashes in Dabi’s eyes before he grabs the visor of Hawks’ cap and pulls it down.
Hawks almost spills his coffee on the table.
Jeez, what the hell was that for?
“Those sunglasses,” he drawls, bringing his paper cup to his lips. “They look like the ones you wore with your hero costume.”
Hawks adjusts the cap on his head and glares at him. “Well, yes. A fan gave them to me.”
Dabi snorts. “A fan?”
“Huh, yes. What? Is it weird?”
He shrugs. “No idea. I don't get that kind of attention. People don't know me that much. Although I made sure it was that way.” He takes another sip of tea, his eyes looking outside the window again. “I don’t want people comparing me to my old man, or worse, to Shouto.”
Hawks stares at him as he takes in the information.
He collects all the little crumbs that Dabi drops here and there about his life, in an attempt to piece together the puzzle of who he is now. But the guy says so little about himself that there's still a lot of blanks to fill in. Not that Hawks expects them to become friends overnight, but he hates being kept in the dark, and Dabi doesn't shed any light on him.
“I think you do have fans,” he says, folding his arms over the high table and leaning forward. “But maybe they're too scared of you.”
Dabi huffs. “As they should.”
A mischievous smile tugs at Hawks’ lips. “I bet they don't know you're a baby with motion sickness that throws a tantrum if there's fish on the menu.”
They don't know you like I do, he wants to say, but keeps that part to himself.
Dabi chokes and then shoots an outraged look at him.
Hawks loves to see the pink blooming in his cheeks.
“You—? How do you remember any of that?”
Hawks snickers under his breath and winks. “I have a very good memory.”
Dabi squints, the faint pink already fading. “I'm sure you'd put your brain to better use remembering something else.”
“I put it to good use now, didn't I?” He points a lazy finger at Dabi. “Making you blush and all.”
Blue eyes roll. “So this is how you win over the people around you?” He shakes the paper cup in his hands. “You drag them to fancy coffee shops and tell them the things you remember about them?”
“Huh. I don't know. Is it working?”
“No.”
Hawks bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and all.
A few people turn around at the sound.
Dabi glares at the prying eyes, and everyone quickly goes back to their business.
“Damn.” Hawks sighs. “Of course it wasn't going to be that easy.”
“Why would you want to win me over?” Dabi tosses his empty paper cup into a nearby trash can. “I’m already working for you. And if I remember correctly, you were the one who didn't want me in the first place.”
Hawks blinks and looks up and down at Dabi, before tilting his head to the side with a smile.
“Really? I don't remember that part.”
Notes:
hawks, unreliable narrator my beloved.
alternative fic chapter: men invented sparring to touch each other.
i love reading your comments!! thank you all for the good reception!! so blessed, so moved, can't believe this is my life.
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Chapter 4: they don't believe in you
Summary:
“Hawks…” he murmurs. “You know that I meant it when I said I wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on you, right?”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The sky is gray, matching the black suits and the mourning faces.
Hawks can never decide whether the anniversary of the end of the war is a sad or a happy day. Maybe it’s neither, like life itself. Maybe it’s neither black nor white, but all the grays in between.
And so is the sky today.
God knows he would rather be up there in the clouds instead of here, stuck to the ground. Too bad god rarely grants his wishes. He should be thankful that at least his most important wish came true: to get away from his parents’ hut. The rest… he can manage. He has been managing all these years. After all, he wasn’t the only one affected by the war, as this day reminds him. People lost their lives, their homes, their loved ones—losing his quirk was a small price to pay in comparison.
On the way to Kamino Ward, where the anniversary is commemorated every year, Hawks sits in the car and studies the speech written for him, adding notes here and there on the margins. Dabi tells him not to give it so much thought, says that someone had already planned the speech for him and wrote it down on paper, and why is he always putting more work on himself?
“All you have to do is stand there and recite everything the Commission wants you to say, as usual,” he snarks.
Hawks doesn’t look up from his papers when he tells him to shut up.
He studies the speech thoroughly so that it comes out natural and honest when he speaks, not as something he was forced to say, as Dabi implied. But when he gets off the stage, he can’t for the life of him remember what he said. Probably nothing out of place, or else people wouldn’t be clapping solemnly, but Hawks hates it when this happens, when his body is in one place, but his head feels kilometers away.
In the clouds, where he should have never left.
Dabi is waiting for him to come down from the stage at the foot of a small ladder. Arms folded across his chest, he’s not clapping.
After Hawks, it’s the turn of Yuuei’s director to get on stage. He addresses the collective responsibility to keep the peace, something Hawks already mentioned in his speech. Or not. But whatever. He’s not paying much attention—though he knows he should. He knows the importance of memorial events to preserve peace, to make sure this doesn’t happen again, but he can’t help but feel like he’s wasting his time here. He could be doing many more useful things right now, like checking the records of the students who recently received provisional licenses, looking for funding for the Commission’s training program, catching up on the latest major criminal cases piling up on his desk.
He could also devote some of his time to investigating who is behind the threats, since the police is not being very helpful.
Then, the distant sound of an engine reaches his ears.
Hawks perks his head up. The sound comes from the sky, but it’s not loud enough to be a plane. Still, it rings close enough to interrupt the Yuuei director’s speech and make everyone look up.
Like a bolt of lightning, a light aircraft passes over all the people gathered at the event at full speed, dropping hundreds of leaflets in its wake.
Before anyone could pick up a piece of paper, the aircraft had already swished past them.
Hawks intends to grab a leaflet in mid-air, but Dabi snatches it out of his hands.
“Don’t touch anything, idiot.”
“Jeez. No need to hit me.”
Dabi smooths the paper and reads it. Hawks peeks over his shoulder to see what's written.
HPSC: THE MAIN CRIMINALS IN TIME OF PEACE.
Now with Hawks, one of their main soldiers, at the head.
Winged Hero: Hawks killed people in the name of HPSC.
Now that he’s quirkless he trains kids to be soldiers.
We don’t need heroes nor the HPSC.
Long live the martyrs of Deika City!
Hawks has to read the text several times to get the whole message. His vision is blurry and he can't focus properly.
Who would have thought that high levels of streess and poor sleep habits can fuck up your brain?
“Oh, well,” he murmurs, “Looks like this shit about the threats has layers to it. I do appreciate the lack of dead birds now, though.”
The way Dabi glares at him could have broken one of his ribs.
“Are you se—? Fuck, forget it. C’mere.” He grabs Hawks’ arm and drags him away.
Having just finished his speech, Hawks hadn't returned to his designated seat in the front rows of the audience, so Dabi took the opportunity to drag him away to safety before a reporter could find him.
He doesn't know when the hand on his arm becomes an arm around his waist, but before he can realize it, Dabi has yanked the car door open and shoved Hawks inside almost with a kick.
Dabi is shouting instructions to the driver, but Hawks can't hear what he's saying. His fight-or-flight instinct is buzzing in his ears, a constant, insistent alarm telling him that something is wrong, that they should have stayed behind, that they're escalating the situation unnecessarily, making things worse than they are.
He stares at Dabi, who has his eyes glued to the windshield, as if he's afraid something will come from the front.
“We should have stayed,” Hawks says, his voice hoarse as the shock starts to wear off. “Why are we running away like we did something wrong?”
Dabi scowls. “I assume you saw the aircraft that flew over our heads. I don't know about you, but staying outdoors in a massive event didn't seem like the smartest thing to do, especially when these people are targeting you in particular.”
The car makes a sharp turn, sending them both swaying in the backseat.
“If I had stayed, I could have made a statement to the reporters right away and explained the situation, told them not to worry.” Hawks insists. “Running away like this only makes it seem worse. They'll ask questions, wondering why I left in such a hurry.”
Dabi takes his eyes off the windshield and turns to face Hawks. His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension.
“Worse than it is? Hawks, you have special protection 24/7 because it is that bad already. You think that I'm here to do what ? Babysit you? Join you for a coffee?”
Hawks runs a hand through his hair, frustration building.
“I know, but we have to be strategic. We can't just run away like this every time shit happens. It makes us look bad.”
“You can charm and mislead the press all you want later,” Dabi scoffs. “They will eat up everything you say, just like they always do. Blame it on me, say I didn't judge the commemoration safe anymore and made you leave. You can even lie and tell them I took my job too seriously and wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on you.”
And Dabi says it like it's a lie, but it doesn't look like one when he hasn't let go of Hawks hand since they got in the car, their palms clasped together as if he's afraid to let go, as if he doesn't trust that Hawks will stay if he doesn't hold him tight.
Still, Hawks jerks his hand away, wanting to stand his ground.
“Did you fucking read what the leaflet say?” he snaps.
“Yes, idiot. I have eyes.”
“They said I’m training kids for my own benefit!” He raises his voice. “What the fuck, Dabi. I really have to get back now. We can arrange a press conference right away, all the reporters are there anyway… and, shit. All the reporters saw me leaving.”
Dabi grasps the collar of Hawks’ shirt and yanks him closer, patience gone. If he ever had any.
“Looks like you idiot still haven’t realized, so I’m gonna break it down for you: you’re quirkless, Hawks, and you can’t rely on your wings or your quick reflexes anymore. If someone shoots you as you stand in front of a crowd, you won’t get away with it by flying away or doing somersaults in the air–you’ll be gunned down. And this?” He reaches behind Hawks’ back to hold the sword handle. Dabi has him almost pinned against the car door. “This ain’t shit. This is not going to help you. You wouldn’t need a bodyguard, you wouldn’t need me, if it did.”
“Don’t talk like you’re bulletproof.” Hawks sneers. “Yes , I know I’m weaker now. But quirk or not quirk, we’re both human. If you get yourself killed while trying to save my ass, what am I supposed to do?” The words tumble out of his mouth and he chokes on the last syllables. He’s not sure what point he wanted to make, but now the thought of losing Dabi claws at his insides. He puts a hand over Dabi’s and presses their foreheads together, locking eyes with him. “You can’t fucking leave me, Dabi. Do you hear me? You can’t.”
Dabi holds his gaze and nods firmly.
Once.
∆
Later that week, Hawks has to hold a press conference, put on a black suit and a tight tie, shave off his stubble, and fix his hair. Standing in front of the camera, he bows in apology and answers questions from the wary reporters.
The accusation that raises the most questions is, as he had expected, the part about Hawks allegedly training child soldiers. He explains that, while it’s true that the Commission's methods were different in the past, he took the position of HPSC President to make sure that the institution had changed from that time. He presented the current training program that he himself had designed, and explained that the focus now was to educate kids with difficult quirks, supporting them with free equipment and coaching sessions.
He explained it the best he could, but if people were determined to suspect the HPSC, well, that's also to be expected. Good thing that the public opinion is volatile and they will forget about all this in a week or two. Or when they stop writing stuff about him on the internet.
It's okay. He's been through this before.
He puts the phone face down on his desk and sighs.
Turning in his swivel chair, he addresses Dabi.
“Maybe we should get away somewhere,” he suggests.
Dabi looks up from his book and raises an eyebrow. The scarce winter light seeps through the window and shines on his white locks.
“Where?” he drawls, his lips barely parting.
Hawks shrugs. “I dunno. I've been wanting to pay Kaina a visit for a while now.”
“Who?” Dabi repeats, closing the book and putting it aside.
“Lady Nagant. Don’t you remember our senpai with the rifle quirk? She was already working for the Commission when we just arrived at the program.” Dabi blinks slowly, his gaze dull and uninterested. Hawks rolls his eyes. “She… well, at some point she switched sides, everything went to shit and she ended up in prison, but… during the war she collaborated with us and was cleared of all charges.” He puts a hand on the back of his stiff neck and tilts his head to the side, making a cracking sound. “She could've reintegrated the Commission, but she said she wanted to live away from the city, somewhere near the sea.”
“Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted to get away from you.” Dabi deadpans.
A smile tugs at Hawks’ lips. “Yeah. Too bad I would find her anyway.”
Despite what Dabi says, he has a good relationship with Kaina. He would have liked to work alongside her on the Commision, but her refusal didn’t take him by surprise. Hawks knows that her fears run deeper than his own. Maybe he would be the same if he had done the things she did, the things they made her do.
The kind of things that keep you up at night.
Hawks has had a lot of those sleepless nights lately.
Of course, this trip is not just for leisure. He wants to visit Kaina, that's true, but he also wants her opinion on the person (or persons) behind the threats. He doesn’t forget that the dead birds he had found for the past months were pierced with a particular, unmelting ice needle and maybe Lady Nagant had a more thorough knowledge of projectiles and arrows than he did. He thought of this as he put aside some of the artifacts from the police’s evidence and kept them to himself.
Dabi studies Hawks for a minute, as if considering the idea. Then, he sighs and pulls out his phone.
“Okay, I'll see if there's someone available to drive us there.”
“No,” Hawks says. Blue eyes flick up in his direction. “I want it to be just the two of us.”
His ears turn red.
Okay. That didn't sound as he intended, but he has no ulterior plans. He really just wants to go on a trip with as few people as possible, that's it.
Dabi blinks, the phone unlocked in his hands, the blue screen reflected in his face.
“Wouldn’t that be dangerous considering… the state of things?”
“Maybe,” Hawks huffs. “But one person escorting me is more than enough. I would go on my own if I could, but since I can't get away from you, I guess there are no more options.”
Dabi frowns. “I can't drive.”
“But I can,” Hawks counters. The swivel chair squeaks as he leans back. “Not that I'm much into cars and stuff, but I had to learn a lot of new shit after I lost my quirk.”
His throat closes as he finishes the sentence.
Fuck. Why does it affect him so much lately? He thought he had moved on from the loss of his quirk already, but lately the subject keeps coming back over and over again, hanging heavy in the space between them, weighing them down and making it hard to breathe. Or at least that’s how it is for Hawks. Dabi probably doesn’t even care.
“Okay,” he sighs at last. “When are we leaving?”
∆
(Later, as they ride in the elevator, Hawks feels the lightest he has felt in days.
He leans against the mirror and looks up at the screen showing the numbers going down, down, down.
“Thanks,” he says in a quiet murmur.
Dabi looks at him.
For a moment, Hawks thinks he's going to roll his eyes and say something like I'm only doing my job. But instead, he shrugs and hums wordlessly.)
∆
Purple eyes wander over the photos and the evidence arranged on the living room table. Kaina stands before it all and twirls a lock of purple-pink hair around her finger as she thinks.
The small-town life had done her good, Hawks muses. She no longer looks as serious and stoic as she did when she left Tartarus, getting a little closer to the casual, laid back young woman that Hawks knew as a child. Still, the scars of war are there to see, running down her face from forehead to chin, splitting to her cheeks at times. She wears a long-sleeved turtleneck sweatshirt, but Hawks notices the same scars on her fingers and imagines it’s the same for the rest of her body.
She picks up a sealed, transparent bag containing an ice needle and holds it up to the light for further examination.
“If you ask me, it does look more like the work of a quirk than just a theatrical, imaginative weapon,” she says, putting the bag down. “You could search the quirk registry and filter by quirk type to narrow down the investigation, but that would take a lot of time and personnel. I have no idea if ice quirks are common or not.” She folds her arms over her chest and leans back. “Though I guess the leaflets made it very clear that they're followers of the Quirk Liberation thing.”
If the media was shocked to find that there were still Redestro followers in this time and age, well, Hawks was not. The Quirk Liberation ideology had resurfaced in the past, it could resurface again and again. There will always be people opposing the system that restricts the free use of quirks. That's why, despite everything, he believes the HPSC is necessary.
Chaos always leads to war and he doesn't want another war.
Lady Nagant brings a hand to her waist and sighs.
“Well, if anything, this is not a long-distance projectile, so I don't think there will be a sniper aiming at you from a distant rooftop.”
Hawks gives her a flat stare. “Thanks, but I don't think that’s making me feel better.”
Kaina ignores him and continues. “I guess you can only use the ice needle as a small weapon like a knife or a dagger, that is, a short-range attack, so it's a good thing you have Touya-kun with you.” Her eyes move to the bodyguard who is standing a couple of steps behind Hawks. A curious smile tugs at her lips. “Though I never expected you two to work together.”
Hawks snorts. “Same here.”
He can feel Dabi’s eyes boring holes into his skull.
“You know, I don't think the same way these guys do,” she says, waving the leaflet in the air. “But I’m still surprised you haven’t resigned to the Commission yet.” She puts the piece of paper down on the table, the smile now gone from her face. “I thought you would’ve resigned by now. After all they've done to you, after what they made you go through, even now.”
Hawks picks up the leaflet and reads it for the hundredth time.
Golden eyes flick up at Kaina and she flinches.
“If it's not me, then someone else will take over the role of president and I don't trust anyone to do as good a job as me.” He hears Dabi scoffing at his back, and well, if Hawks is guilty of arrogance, sue him. He stands by what he says. “Mera-san stepped down from the position because he didn't want to be in the spotlight, while I don't mind it whatsoever. I've been in the spotlight since I first hatched, I'm used to this.”
Kaina frowns. “These things–the threats, the slander–will keep happening if you stay in the spotlight.”
“I know,” Hawks sighs and crosses his arms. “Power comes with a price, I know that well.”
You don't spend much time at the top before you crash and burn. Take All Might or Endeavor, for example, or he himself, who fell flat on the concrete, wingless and scorched.
If he doesn't have much time before he burns up for good, he needs to make it count.
Kaina's village is small, but she says there's this nice noodle shop that puts the ramen chains on Musutafu to shame, and she takes them there. They walk fifteen minutes in the night and the cold, past houses and crop fields, Hawks and Kaina in front, Dabi a couple of meters behind. As they talk, their breath comes in little white puffs, and Hawks feels his face muscles going numb. Knee-length jackets, beanies, scarves, and gloves, Hawks and Kaina are dressed from head to toe, while Dabi wears only an unbuttoned overcoat. Hawks shivers at the sight of his bare neck, his collarbone exposed.
He doesn't know if that's from the cold or something else.
The noodle shop is also small, but warm and cozy. Hawks feels the color return to his cheeks as an udon bowl is placed in front of him, and Kaina is right, the homemade broth and handmade noodles can't compare to any restaurant in Musutafu.
“Jeez, Kaina. This is delicious. I should come visit more often.”
Kaina blows on her noodles and smiles. “I know you wanted me to check the evidence and stuff, but it's always nice to have visits. Especially from my juniors.”
Hawks laughs, then winks at her. “Actually, that was just an excuse. I've been wanting to see you for a while now.”
She laughs too, and continues to eat, knowing it's just a light-hearted flirting that doesn't mean anything.
Meanwhile, Dabi has his eyes trained on his hot soba, frowning at his dish as if it had personally insulted him.
Hawks quirks an eyebrow. What’s with him?
While Dabi grumbles to himself, Hawks tries his best to ignore him and asks Kaina what life is like in her small town.
“Hmm. I've never lived in a small town before, but after being in prison for so long, I guess a big town like Musutafu feels like a lot,” she laughs apologetically. Hawks wonders if her neighbors know about her time in prison. He assumes they do, since she seems so open to talk about it. “People here are very friendly. Many are also like me, looking for a quiet life after the war.” She rests her cheek on one hand and looks out the window. A light snow begins to fall in the dark of the night. “It's nice to live close to the sea.”
Having spent his childhood in southern Japan, Hawks tends to associate the seaside with milder climates, so he was totally unprepared for it to start freaking snowing. Though it doesn't look like a blizzard, it's still freezing cold, so they pay the check and head back to Kaina's house with hurried strides, his reddened nose buried in his jacket.
On the way back, Hawks slows down to match Dabi’s pace, leaving Kaina a few steps ahead of them.
“What?” Dabi drawls, clearly not in the mood to engage in conversation beneath the falling snow, but frankly, when has he ever been in the mood to talk?
Hawks wraps his arms around his torso, trying to keep some warmth, tucking his gloved hands under his armpits. Right now he feels very jealous of Dabi’s ability to endure the cold with a deadpan face.
“Do you know if ice quirks, like your mother’s or your siblings’, are common?” he asks, fully aware that he’s getting into a touchy subject. Dabi doesn’t like to talk about his family, but sue him. Hawks’ question holds investigative purposes, and the thought has been gnawing at him for hours.
Dabi shoots him a sideways glance, and his narrowing eyes can be either wariness on his part or a warning to Hawks.
Or both.
“No idea,” he grumbles, shifting his eyes straight ahead.
Hawks hums, noncommittally, and doesn’t press the subject.
He sighs with relief as he dips into Kaina's bathtub, the water scalding but very welcomed. He tells himself that when he's old, he’s going to retire somewhere warmer than this, Kyushuu has many small towns too. Although Dabi won't be too happy with the humid summer.
His eyes pop open.
What does Dabi have to do with any of that?
He sinks further under water.
No, no. He forbids his brain to take that road.
Dabi is only accompanying him while he’s under threat. Once the attackers are caught, the guy will probably disappear the same way he disappeared from the map a few years ago.
And each will go their own way.
When he returns from his bath, he finds Dabi lying on one of the futons, shirtless, scrolling through his phone.
The wet ends of his hair stick to his temples and Hawks curses his life right now. Why does the idiot have to sleep with no shirt on?
They have been living together for a month and a bit, but this is the first time they sleep in the same room. At first, Hawks tried not to think too much about it. It's not like they were going to share a bed or something. There would be a futon for each of them. There was no reason to freak out. Hawks never freaks out. But maybe that was his mistake because he is freaking out.
The futons are so close to each other that they might as well be just one bed.
Maybe he should have slept in the living room, but now it's too late. Dabi is no idiot and would realize why he’s running away, and Hawks can't let him know that sleeping next to him affects him. Because it shouldn't affect him.
And, if he tries hard to convince himself, it doesn’t. He can’t afford to thirst over his bodyguard considering the (he checks his mental notes) state of things.
That is, the threats and all that jazz.
He takes a deep breath and acts as usual. Casual and straightforward.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, closing the sliding door behind him.
Dabi puts down his phone and looks up. His eyes are an open challenge. “Guess,” he says.
His scanning eyes make the ghost of Hawks’ feathers ruffle, but the former hero tries to play it cool.
“Oh yes, forgot the part about the fire quirk.”
He has seen Dabi shirtless before. He has had plenty of opportunities to do so during their forced cohabitation (out of the corner of his eye, always pretending he's not interested), but Hawks had never noticed the reddish trail of wavy hair growing below his navel, nor the way it disappeared under the elastic of his pants. He had never noticed the way his abs rippled when he sat up, the indistinct border that separated the healthy skin from the burned parts. The texture of his scars.
(The way his torso is three-quarters burned, yet his pectorals are in perfect condition, almost framed by the damaged skin.)
“You’re staring,” Dabi says.
Hawks looks up at him before his eyes go south again.
“I know. Want me to stop?”
I don't want to stop.
Dabi pulls him back down to earth. “You know you should stop.”
“I should do a lot of stuff,” he sighs. “Starting with going to sleep before I freeze my ass off.”
He claims the free futon and tucks himself into the bed, trying to ignore the way Dabi turns to him and props his head up in one hand. His bicep tenses, and is this fucker doing it on purpose?
“You’re the one who wanted to come up here and freeze your ass off.”
“Yeah, because I thought we could get a new lead on who's behind the threats. But Kaina thinks the same as you and I do.”
“What? That you only reap what you sow?”
Hawks wants to smack him. “You're supposed to be on my side.”
“You pay me to watch your back, not to be on your side.”
“I will remember this when you come asking for a raise.”
“Ohhh, how much of a raise are we talking about?”
It was a joke, but Hawks can certainly think of one or two Dabi things could do to get himself a raise and shit , he needs to get out of this room as soon as possible before he does something stupid, like flirt with Dabi.
Or worse.
Have the guy flirt back.
Hawks sits up in a flash and pushes the blankets aside.
“It’s, huh, still very cold so I'll ask Kaina for more bla—”
He doesn't expect Dabi to grab his arm and pull him back onto the futon.
“You don't need more blankets,” he says. “We got my quirk.”
Hawks blinks and looks at Dabi. The guy is propped up on one forearm and looks at Hawks with an unreadable expression, piercing his blue eyes onto him. His white locks of hair fall across his forehead, obscuring his gaze, and Hawks' wasn't born yesterday, but his cheeks still flush a furious red.
Well, not that Dabi is wrong. His body radiates a warm aura that it's hard to ignore, especially when he's so close. Especially if he has no shirt on.
(Or is it Hawks’ heart working at full throttle, pumping blood to his head and all over his body? Because if he's guessing it correctly, Dabi is offering to… what? Cuddle?)
Hawks clears his throat. “But, isn't it dangerous if you, huh, use your quirk for a long time?”
“It’s okay,” Dabi says. “It's part of my cooling system, transferring heat to other objects.”
Hawks frowns. “I’m not an object.”
“Your haters would say you are one.”
“And you top that list, it seems.”
Dabi flashes a smirk, and maybe it's because of all the time they spend together, but Hawks can almost hear his thoughts.
You want me to get on top of you that bad?
And what if he does.
After a brief moment of deliberation, Hawks lifts the blanket with his free hand and invites Dabi inside. Whatever. He can always say that it was Dabi’s idea in the first place and that he just went along for the ride.
Dabi takes the offer wordlessly and gets into the futon with him, lying down next to Hawks. Once under the blankets, it instantly feels warmer and comfier, so it’s totally not Hawks’ fault that he snuggles closer. Dabi is always so cold and distant, it feels weird that he had offered to cuddle. Although, well, they are not technically cuddling—they are just sharing body heat.
But then Dabi reaches out an arm under the blankets, pulling Hawks closer, and Hawks can't resist when the warmth feels so good.
A hand draped over his hip, Hawks snuggles in Dabi’s chest, but the latter wriggles away with a faint laugh.
The hand stays on his hip, though.
Hawks looks up almost with a pout. He doesn’t want the heat to go away. “What is it?”
“Your stubble,” Dabi says. “It tickles.”
Hawks runs a finger along his chin, feeling the rough texture in his pad. “You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
His head is spinning. Or is it the closeness, the warmth? Is it the way Dabi shifts his body under the blankets and hovers over him, pulling himself up in his forearm so as not to crush Hawks?
Maybe it’s the way Dabi slips an arm behind Hawks’ shoulders and holds him tight. And, okay. Now they are cuddling.
He doesn’t ask what this is. He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer. He’s not sure he’ll be able to register an answer with how feverish, how dizzy he feels.
It doesn’t help that Dabi wedges a knee between Hawks’ legs, making himself comfortable on top. The pressure between his legs might make him moan embarrassingly loud.
He bites back the moan, but can’t help but shiver and close his eyes shut.
Dabi snickers quietly at his reaction.
“You good?” he asks in a whisper.
Hawks nods as he presses his lips into a line. He doesn’t trust the words that might stumble out of his mouth if he were to open it.
He puts a hand between Dabi’s blade shoulders, because if the idiot can touch him, then he has the same right too. But his brain wasn’t prepared for the intimacy of skin-to-skin contact and short-circuits a little.
Not that it’s going to stop him.
Eyes closed, Hawks studies the different textures of Dabi’s skin, the smooth bits, the extension of the damage. He has seen his scars before, but it’s different to feel them with his hands. Eyes can only do so much. They show you where it hurts, but not how much, how deep. And Hawks understands because he, too, has many scars of his own.
(The empty place where his wings used to be.
The very same scar this bastard gave him.)
He wishes he could take off his shirt as well so their scars could touch. Their bodies together, melting, tangled as if they were one.
He wants them to be one.
The heat is making him delirious.
Sweat beads on his forehead and on his upper lip, coats his neck, pools on his collarbone. He feels like he’s going to pass out. He doesn't have a fire quirk to resist hot temperatures. He doesn't have a quirk at all.
“Dabi,” he croaks, his voice barely audible. “Dabi, I guess… this is enough.”
It's not, but he's not going to get intimate under someone else’s roof. Let alone with his bodyguard. He still has principles… he thinks.
Dabi presses his forehead against Hawks’, a hand cupping his cheek, a thumb moving the wet hair that sticks to his cheeks, touching the scar on the left side of his face.
Hawks lets out a shaky breath. Is he running a fever, or does every touch feel ten times more intense? Is he hallucinating the blue eyes locked on his own, so close that they look like one?
He hopes he's not.
Dabi’s hand moves to the back of Hawks’ neck, fingers tangled in his damp hair.
“Hawks…” he murmurs. “You know that I meant it when I said I wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on you, right?”
He's not sure what that has to do with what's going on here between them. Is it because of the incident a few days ago? Is it because he’s wary (jealous) of anyone who gets too close to Hawks, be it Kaina, Rumi, Best Jeanist, Endeavor, even? Is it because Dabi is his bodyguard, and that’s what bodyguards are supposed to do—protect?
But the greed, the hunger in his voice. That’s not what you would expect from your regular bodyguard.
Maybe they have left said realm long ago. The moment Dabi slipped into his futon, they lost it all.
Hawks licks the salt from his lips and blue eyes flick down to his mouth.
Damn.
They really lost their minds.
Fingers threading in white hair, Hawks wants him closer.
“I know,” he says. “Only you...”
Dabi nods. “Yes. Just me.”
Bridging the distance between them, their lips barely brush when they hear Kaina’s voice coming from the hallway.
“Hawks, I found these blankets. Do you still need them? ”
It suddenly dawns on him, his hand on Dabi’s back, Dabi’s knee between Hawks’ legs, their shaky breath, their raging pulse.
He swallows. Well, fuck.
Dabi grumbles and curses under his breath before rolling off him and crawling to his own bed.
It takes Hawks a few seconds to react. “Huh, yeah. I'll be there in a sec.”
Notes:
this is the equivalent of the beach episode in any show.
i saw this meme the other day and it's basically this chapter.
also, i know i'm not being very subtle about who's behind the threats but we're not here for the plot ain't we.
i really, really appreciate all your comments <3333 let me know your thoughts so far!!
Chapter 5: you don't believe in this
Summary:
“We should stop this thing,” he says the first word between them in hours, no prelude, no preamble, straight to the bone because neither of them is the type to beat around the bush.
(Except when they have to clear the air about how they feel about each other, apparently).
Dabi glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Arms folded across his chest, he knows what Hawks means, but he still asks, “What thing?”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
All Hawks sees along the roadsides are trees, trees, and more trees. Some of them are evergreen, though at this point in the winter their color is closer to brown than anything else. Most of them are leafless, though—dry and droopy. It probably looks prettier in summer or spring, but the blue sky on the horizon makes up for the depressing sight on ground level.
He never noticed all these earthy colors until he lost his quirk.
And they're especially interesting now that he has to distract himself with something for the four-hour drive it takes then to get back to Musutafu.
Infinite silence stretches between them, interrupted only by the music at low volume.
Hawks looks at the passenger seat from the corner of his eye. Dabi is looking outside the window, a hand cupping his cheek. His white hair contrasts with the blur of green and brown passing by outside.
Hawks focuses on the road again.
The car is moving forward, but the landscape doesn't seem to be changing. Hawks checks the GPS map to update the route. They have been driving for three hours and have at least another one to go.
He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel.
Damn it.
They cannot keep going like this.
When they see the next gas station down the road, Hawks pulls into the parking lot and turns off the engine, but doesn't get out of the car.
Instead, he takes a deep breath.
“We should stop this thing,” he says the first word between them in hours, no prelude, no preamble, straight to the bone because neither of them is the type to beat around the bush.
(Except when they have to clear the air about how they feel about each other, apparently).
Dabi glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Arms folded across his chest, he knows what Hawks means, but he still asks, “What thing?”
The leather in the steering wheel squeaks as Hawks grips it.
“All… this, you know? We can't. We just can't. Especially not now that all eyes are on me as the HPSC President. The Commission pays your salary, and I don't want people saying that I am…”
Banging my bodyguard , his mind completes. Because he is not. He wishes, but he is not .
Good thing Dabi doesn't make him say it out loud.
The guy huffs and searches in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out, but doesn't light it up just yet. Instead, he twirls it in his long, bony fingers.
Dabi is not an easy one to read, but Hawks can tell he has a lot on his mind right now.
The blue in his eyes flickers with something Hawks doesn't have a name for. Or maybe it's just the blue flame in his thumb as he lights up his cigarette.
He takes a drag and then says, “Okay.”
Hawks sighs and starts the engine again.
He doesn't like the smell of smoke, but since Dabi opens the window and blows the gray cloud outside, he just lets him do as he pleases.
∆
It happens a few weeks after they come back from their short trip. By that time, the public opinion on Hawks has swung back to normal, that is, some like him, some don't, you know, the usual deal. People are not big fans of the Commission these days, but, honestly, when were they?
It also helps that two cases involving high-profile villains broke that week. Luckily, Shouto was there to handle the incident, and when the reporters shoved a microphone in his face, he insisted on the importance of using quirks responsibly, explaining why organizations like the Commission are necessary.
“There's no one more capable of being the head of the Commission than Hawks,” he had said in his usual blank, deadpan tone.
Hawks could've kissed Shouto on the forehead. Don't let Dabi know that.
Anyway, he appreciates Shouto’s support. As a result, things have calmed down in the last few days. Even Dabi has returned to his usual self—distant, indifferent, silent. Not that he ever talked much (except to trash Hawks, of course), but Hawks feels the renovated cold treatment.
(And resents it, too.)
He tells himself that there's nothing he can do about it. He asked for this.
(But he never asked to be a target).
For not having Fierce Wings anymore, Hawks still has sharp and quick reflexes.
He feels the danger before it comes, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he grabs Dabi’s arm and pulls them both under the table. A split second later, glass shatters like a hundred tiny bullets, cutting through the air with deafening force. Screams and chaos erupt as people scramble for safety, the sound of panicked footsteps filling the room, but Hawks doesn't even register them—he only has eyes for Dabi.
It takes Dabi a fraction of a second to react, and by then Hawks has grabbed his face, hands seatching his body checking for injuries, trying to make sure that the guy is in one piece. Please, please. His breath is shallow as he realizes that Dabi is not even scratched. Thank god.
But then Dabi comes to his senses and shakes Hawks off himself.
“Get off me, fuck !” he curses under his breath.
Dabi slips from his fingers like water, rushes into the attackers’ field of vision, and shoots his flames before they can make a second move. A blue wave of fire erupts from his body, heating up the entire place up as if they were in hell and not almost touching the sky on the top floor of this building.
Hawks hears screams above the sizzling fire, and he curls himself into a ball to hide further from the blaze. Dabi’s flames only burn hotter, the world so blue it almost looks like a bright night sky.
It’s not long before it’s all over. Dabi pulls back his fire in a split second, the smell of burning wood and melting plastic pervading the air. His flames had shot out the window, but he still burned the carpet and some furniture, melted the glass from the windows, which dripped like lava from the frame.
Hawks peers out from under the desk, his pulse racing as he assesses the damage, but then Dabi is on him, yanking him by the shirt collar and pulling him out of his hiding place.
His blue eyes have nothing on his fire. They are ice-cold, ruthless cold. He glares at Hawks, almost baring his teeth as he exhales white steam, the columns spiralling at the sides of his face like snakes in the air.
Hawks doesn't remember seeing Dabi so pissed before.
“Listen, stupid pigeon,” he spits, a vein bulging in his temple. “I know you still think you're a hero and shit, but you're not . You're a civilian and I am supposed to protect you , not the other way around, so let me do my job for once, you hear me?”
But Hawks doesn't hear much of what he says. Panic washes over him when he realizes that there’s an ice needle stuck in Dabi’s shoulder.
∆
Good thing Dabi’ compression suit is thick, so the ice needle didn’t go through the fabric. Good thing Lady Nagant was right and the weapon didn't do much damage when thrown from a distance. Good thing Dabi was there and reacted quickly, the only one who did, except for, well, Hawks, who couldn't provide much support with his bare hands.
Immediately after the attackers left, they checked Dabi’s injuries, but there were only a few bruises on his body. All was well. For now. The police wrote all this down, as well as Dabi’s detailed account of the events, including physical descriptions and quirk analysis. Hawks didn't get to see much of the fight, so he’s just learning about it, too.
“There were three,” Dabi says, zipping up his suit again. “They had floating or flying quirks, I’m not sure, and they also looked quite young, early twenties maybe. Though I could be wrong, they wore face masks. Anyway, they…” He pauses, hesitates for a moment, and Hawks watches him closely. Dabi closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, and then continues, his tone lower. “They had bombs strapped to their bodies and blew themselves up without hesitation. Guess that was their plan.”
Hawks cuts in. “You mean like a suicide mission? And for what?” Blue eyes meet his. The silence hangs heavy for a moment. Hawks shoots him a sharp, accusing look, his irritation flaring. “What now? You won't let me participate in the investigation either?”
Dabi sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. Hawks wonders if it hurts.
“This changes things. Until now, the threats just wanted to scare you, but these guys came here to hurt.”
Hawks lets out a wry chuckle. “I think their intentions to hurt me were crystal clear when they dropped that dead hawk in my bed, don't you think?”
The policeman taking Dabi's statement looks at them back and forth, not knowing what to do. Hawks had practically forgotten that someone else was there with them. Dabi probably forgot as well—he only addresses Hawks when he speaks.
“The dead hawk was just a message.” His jaw locks and his eyes flick away from Hawks. “This is different.”
This is also the longest they have talked in days, Hawks realizes.
∆
Mera sends Hawks to his apartment and tells him to work remotely for the next few days, which he reluctantly agrees to. He hates holding online meetings when so much of his job involves pulling strings, negotiating, persuading—soft power moves that are difficult to execute when he's on the other side of the screen.
“Okay, but if HR writes a statement, send it to me. I want to see it first.” He says as he unceremoniously stuffs a bundle of papers and his laptop into a messenger bag.
Mera gives him a flat stare. “I know you have your bodyguard to look after you, but you should also take care of yourself, Hawks.”
Hawks blinks up to Mera and then turns to Dabi.
Since his bodyguard wasn't seriously injured, they didn't put bandages or a sling on him. He looks as if there had been no surprise attack (maybe the ends of his hair were a little singed, but that’s about it). Dabi grimaces as he throws the overcoat over his shoulders, but it’s only a brief twitch of his muscles. Hawks could've missed it, but he was trained not to miss details.
He speaks to Mera, but his eyes are still fixed on Dabi. “Send it to me. I'll write you back.”
He spends the car ride home sending emails from his phone and sneaking glances at Dabi out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m good, okay?” Dabi grumbles when he catches Hawks staring.
Charming, as always. Hawks can only trust that what he says is true. Maybe it is, maybe he is fine. The attack was more startling than harmful for them—Dabi was not injured, and while there was property damage, the Commission has money to spare to repair the windows and the burnt carpet.
Nothing has changed, there's still a lot of work to be done.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, he checks some documents on his laptop while holding one knee to his chest, almost perched on the stool. The lights are off and the screen casts a bluish glow on his face, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. He eats a quick supper and sets the empty plate aside, not caring to wash it or get up to turn on the light.
Suddenly, he hears the clicking sound of something closing and everything goes dark. His eyes don't take long to adjust to the lack of light and that's how he realizes that Dabi has closed his laptop with a snap, his hand still splayed on the device, imposing.
“Do you know what time it is?”
His voice sounds rougher in the dark. Hawks hasn’t heard from Dabi since he said he was going to take a bath and then go to sleep not so long ago, just a few hours.
Dabi doesn't wait for an answer. “It’s 3am, Hawks. Go to sleep. You have a meeting tomorrow at 9am. Today, actually.”
Hawks frowns. He wants to retort, asking how he knows so much about his schedule, but then he remembers that Dabi is his bodyguard and is supposed to know about his schedule.
He never said he was his brightest at 3am.
He tries to slap Dabi’ hand away and force the laptop open.
“Go mind your own business, Dabi.”
Dabi presses his palm harder on the laptop, not giving an inch.
“I'm your bodyguard, Hawks. You are my business.”
Hawks has been through too many emotions for that day, he doesn't need Dabi saying things like that.
(Like it doesn’t mean more things than it should).
∆
Mera advises them not to leave the apartment for a few days while they tighten the security in the main building. That explains the guy who works at the Commission bringing groceries at their door.
Hawks is not liking this house arrest. Not one bit.
It doesn't help that Dabi is wandering around the apartment in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, so nonchalant putting the groceries on the fridge and pantry while Hawks works at the dining room table.
Or as he tries to, his eyes constantly darting to Dabi.
“Just leave it there,” Hawks says, going back to the screen and typing on the keyboard. He's been trying to send the same email for the past ten minutes. “I can arrange the groceries later.”
Dabi huffs and closes the fridge door. “While I do what? I finished all my books, and you, illiterate, have nothing to read lying around your apartment.”
“Then watch a movie, what do I know?”
One week goes by and Hawks is going crazy just to have Dabi to talk to, so of course he agrees when Fumikage and Shouto ask if they can visit.
As expected, Dabi is not very happy with the news, but Hawks couldn’t care less.
Shouto steps onto the genkan next to Fumikage, carrying a bucket on his arms and Hawks gasps.
“Wait… Is that…?”
Bi-colored eyes blink up at him.
“A bucket of fried chicken? Yes, it is.”
Hawks has to hold himself back, rolling his hands into fists, burying his nails in his palms and all, not to hug Shouto in front of Dabi. The guy already looks like he wants to murder his brother as it is.
"I'm glad you're safe and sound," Fumikage says as they sit down at the low table in the living room.
“Yes, both of you,” Shouto adds.
Dabi watches from the kitchen, standing behind the counter as if that would protect him from his younger brother. He grumbles under his breath at Shouto’s intervention and sips black coffee.
Hawks eats a piece of fried chicken and cleans his hands on a napkin before speaking.
“Yes, but honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I mean, it took us by surprise and was a little chaotic, but before I realized it, it was over.”
Dabi snorts and puts the coffee down.
“I swear someone could hold a knife against your neck and you will still say it's not a big deal.”
Hawks pulls another piece of chicken from the bucket and ignores him.
They talk about the last incident, about the attack and the bombs. Shouto pulls out his phone and asks his assistant to check their reports and look for anything on a bomb quirk. Fumikage relays the information to his sidekicks and promises to keep his eyes open for anything that can help Hawks.
Hawks appreciates the concern, he really does, but he can't help but wonder if he'd have all this resolved if he still had his wings.
Shouto's phone glows with a notification and Hawks catches a glimpse of the sender's name. The screen is facing up, what can he do?
“Fuyumi, huh? Have you met her baby yet?” he asks, folding his arms over the table. The bucket stands empty next to him, all its contents now in his stomach.
Shouto blinks in puzzlement. “You know about Fuyumi’s baby?”
“Huh-uh. Endeavor-san told me about it. I drop by at the Todoroki residence here and there for a little chat. Didn't get to see Rei-san last time, though.”
Bicolored eyes spy at Dabi before turning back to Hawks. “And what about…?”
“He stays outside,” he says with a shrug, and it will never not be weird to talk about Dabi as if he wasn't there when he's standing a few meters away, scrolling down his phone and pretending not to listen.
But he listens.
Hawks says goodbye to the two heroes and thanks them for their visit, his chest a bit lighter than a few hours ago and his stomach definitely heavier. He still has work to wrap up, but he's too into a food coma to think about it right now. He would rather take a nap.
When he walks into the apartment again, Dabi is on the couch, watching TV and eating instant soba noodles.
Hawks plops down by his side, and Dabi pretends not to feel the springs creak.
“Sorry I didn't offer you chicken,” he says, snuggling into the cushions. The couch is L-shaped, and he lies down on the opposite side, farthest from Dabi, his feet facing him. “Food gets the best of me.”
“Didn't know there was a ‘best’ in you.”
Hawks tries to kick him, but Dabi grabs his ankle in midair.
“Don’t put your chicken legs in my face. I'm trying to eat.”
But instead of pushing him away, he dumps Hawks’ foot on his lap and,
Huh.
Wait.
This is not what he had in mind when he thought he would be sitting the farthest away from Dabi.
But.
His lap feels so warm and cozy that he pulls the other foot up.
Dabi doesn't say anything, eyes trained on the TV as he eats the last portion of his noodle cup.
For once, the silence feels calm and comfortable, and maybe house arrest with Dabi isn't as bad as it had felt these last few days.
Hawks wakes up feeling groggy and disoriented, not sure if he dozed off for a few minutes or a few hours. It takes him a moment to recall where he is and who he is with, but the warmth in his feet makes the task easier.
He had expected Dabi to be gone by now, but he's still there, scrolling through his phone, the movie already over.
Hawks wriggles his toes against Dabi’s stomach. Blue eyes don't look up from the screen, but a hand slides down the leg opening of Hawks’ sweatpants, long fingers closing around Hawks' ankle.
And his throat goes dry.
This shouldn't have turned him on, but it does.
Damn. He really needs to get laid.
The lights from outside illuminate the silhouettes in the room, but Dabi's hair glows as if it had a light of its own. His eyes, too, glow in the dark, when he locks his phone and sets it aside.
“Good thing you're wearing socks,” he says. “I hate feet.”
Hawks chuckles. “Boo. We’re crossing the foot kink from the list then.”
He wiggles his toes again and Dabi grips him tighter.
“Stop it. And let me go, my legs are cramping.”
He pushes Hawks’ feet away and stands up, but before he can leave, Hawks props himself up on one elbow and grabs Dabi’s arm.
He half expected Dabi to smack his hand away.
He didn't count on the guy stopping on his tracks.
Hawks blinks. Huh. Okay. What now.
The pause feels agonizing, but Hawks can't bring himself to say anything. If Dabi is wondering what he’s up to, he doesn't know either. His body moved on its own.
Dabi looks at Hawks, then flicks his eyes down to the hand holding his wrist.
“And?” he presses.
For someone who talks a lot, Hawks finds it weird that the words don't come to his lips.
He pulls Dabi closer, in case that gives him a hint.
Burying a knee on the couch, Dabi doesn't go any further. He towers over Hawks, who is still half lying down on the couch, and the height difference sends a shiver down his spine.
The subtle twitch of his body doesn't go unnoticed by Dabi, and something shifts in the air around them.
Blue eyes soften and a hesitant hand reaches towards Hawks, but then he curls his fingers and pulls it away.
“Hawks, you… what do you want?” Dabi asks.
“Stay with me a little longer,” he says like a coward, because he should be answering something like ‘I want you (to shove your tongue down my throat)’.
As expected, his lame excuse doesn't convince Dabi.
He narrows his eyes, wariness in his voice. “Last time you asked me to stop and I did stop. What do you want now?”
His throat tightens. Shit. If Hawks blew up his only chance with Dabi he's going to die right now, right here. Cause of death: unresolved sexual tension.
He flashes a guilty smile and tries again.
“Well, can you blame a guy for trying to do the right thing and set some boundaries?”
Dabi huffs. “Did it work?”
“Nah. Not my best plan, I must say. I still…” he trails off. He wishes Dabi could fill in the blanks, but all shows that the guy won't move until Hawks makes himself clear. “Fuck, are you gonna make me say it out loud?”
Dabi looks so good when he snickers, he should do it more often. Hopefully not at Hawks’ expense, but it's a rare occurrence, so he's not going to complain now.
He leans in, his free hand gripping the back of the couch. Hawks lies back on the cushions again, his pulse quickening as Dabi hovers over him, blocking the light from outside.
“What do you want, Hawks? Last chance.”
Hawks knows it is, but he's too distracted by Dabi’s loose T-shirt showing a glimpse of abdomen to answer right away. The hand on Dabi’s wrist moves to his waist, a thumb pressing the offered hip bone. He's burning, and Hawks wishes Dabi could join him on the couch, sit on top of him, anything .
Golden eyes flick up and he says, “You.” It's hard to assess Dabi’s reaction in the dark, so Hawks repeats, “I want you.”
He hates the pause that follows.
But then, Dabi moves closer, the springs squeaking as he climbs onto the couch and crawls on top of Hawks.
Fucking finally.
Their hips brush against each other, and maybe Hawks should feel more embarrassed that he's already half-hard, but shame had long since jumped out of the window.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have moved his free hand to grab Dabi's ass.
The guy makes a little sound in the back of his throat and Hawks takes it as a good sign.
But Dabi doesn't look too happy with his own reaction.
“You sure are bold for a guy who chickened out at the last minute,” he says, his hips moving, absentmindedly grinding against him.
Hawks loves the pressure, the languid movements.
“Shit, Dabi. Where is your work ethic? You shouldn't be seducing your protectee like this.”
And Hawks shouldn't be groping his bodyguard, but he can reflect on that later.
Dabi levels their imbalance by sliding a hand down Hawks’s shirt, thumb dangerously close to one of his nipples.
Hawks sucks in a breath.
“I figured you were having fun,” he shrugs. “So I played the game too.”
Hawks coos. “All this time you were distracting me from the horrors? How thoughtful.”
And, well, it kind of worked. He's not gonna lie.
Dabi laughs dryly. “I’m not altruistic, Hawks. I, too, wanted a distraction because this job is so fucking boring.”
Jesus. Hawks shouldn't feel so hot and flustered by everything Dabi says, but maybe it's the length pressing against his thigh, maybe it's the way Dabi’s hips find a place between his legs.
Fuuck.
He throws his head back and moans. Dabi welcomes the open path and presses his mouth against the crook of Hawks’ neck.
And he shudders.
“Shhhhit. You really are the worst bodyguard I can think of.” He can barely put two sentences together when Dabi is sucking the skin on his throat, brushing a thumb against his nipple, pushing his hips forward. If Hawks focuses really hard, he manages to move the hand on Dabi’s ass to the back of his neck, tugging at the white hair. Hard. Dabi groans, but moves back at Hawks’ command. “What would the Commission say if they could hear you?”
Dabi’s smile is made of bad decisions. “Don’t worry. They can't hear us.”
Like hell they can. Only Dabi has access to the microphones in Hawks’ room.
Something snaps in his brain then, and he pulls Dabi in for an open-mouthed kiss. Their teeth clash together, but who cares when Dabi kisses him back with the same desperation, humming into the kiss and licking inside his mouth. When Dabi is so eager for contact that he wastes no time in tugging Hawks’ shirt up to his neck and splaying a hand in his chest.
Hawks moans into his mouth, skin bristling at the touch, and yes . He wants this, he wants to feel Dabi against his skin, feel how hot he burns.
He grabs the back of Dabi’s shirt and pulls it up in an attempt to strip him. Too bad they have to break the kiss to get the shirt out. Dabi moves away, throws a hand to his back and yanks the garment out in one swift motion, and when he kisses Hawks again, he grabs his jaw firmly, as if to make sure Hawks won't close his mouth.
Hawks would protest by the lack of delicacy if his tongue wouldn't be lapping into Dabi’s mouth, if his throat could make any other sound instead of this embarrassing, loud moan because he has it bad, bad, bad for him.
He presses a hand between Dabi’s shoulder blades and sucks in a breath as their chests meet. It's like soaking in a hot tub, the same feeling he had back at Kaina’s house, but now there's no one to interrupt them. Now he can melt into the touch, now he can make as much noise as he wants, now he can use his other hand to tug on the elastic of Dabi’s sweatpants and pull them down to his mid-thighs.
“Stop squirming,” Dabi says when he breaks the kiss for a little air, but Hawks can't bring himself to stay still, he's buzzing, desperate to touch every inch of Dabi so he shoves a hand between their bodies and cups Dabi’s arousal and,
Oh.
Oh.
Shit.
Guess he was right about the piercings.
Dabi is hard and, unless Hawks is not making it up, he can count one, two, three, four—four piercings forming a ladder in his shaft and,
“You can't do this to me,” Hawks murmurs, a woozy smile on his lips.
Dabi huffs a laugh and presses his hips against Hawks’ hand, inviting him to touch more.
“I thought you wanted this.”
He did, and now he wants it more, way more.
“You’re crazy.” He chuckles. “Dick piercings? Really?”
“Haven’t heard any complaints yet.”
Dabi uses the little chat to tug at Hawks’ pants. Hawks wraps his arms around Dabi’s shoulders and lifts his hips to make the job easier, and the fabric swiftly slides down his legs, only the thin cotton of their briefs keeping them apart.
That doesn't stop Dabi from rolling his hips hard and shit. Hawks throws his head back and vocalizes an incoherent sound, alien to him. Just grinding shouldn't feel this good, he could come from the friction alone.
Or from Dabi swooping down and sucking kisses on his neck. Either would do.
“Shit, man.” His voice trembles. “Imma come in, like, record time.”
Dabi hooks a finger on the elastic of Hawks’ briefs.
“That ain't a problem for me,” he hums, his voice buzzing against Hawks’ skin.
Dabi's palm is so large and calloused, Hawks feels his head spinning at the touch. A layer of sweat smooths the friction, makes it less dry, easier, faster. It also helps that Hawks’ cock is leaking like a faucet. He didn't realize how much he ached for Dabi’s touch until this moment, until long fingers curled around his shaft, stroking him up and down, the side of the fist slapping the base of his cock.
It’s too much.
“Wait. Wait. Please, Touya,” Hawks begs. Dabi stops dead and blinks his eyes up, half confused, half stunned that Hawks has called him by his first name. Hawks doesn’t know where that came from either. Not that he’s going to dwell on that now. He licks his lips and continues. “I don't want to come alone,” he pleads.
Dabi parts his lips but utters no sound, his eyes searching for something in Hawks’ expression.
The longer the silence, the more self-conscious Hawks feels. Did he say something weird? He hopes he hasn’t. His arousal still throbs in Dabi’s hand, built up and hard rock—he’s going to die if he doesn’t come soon.
He offers a smile to ease the sudden tension. “What? Too sappy for a first time?”
Dabi huffs with amusement, raising his hips and sliding down his own briefs.
“Probably. But I wasn’t expecting anything different from you.”
Arms still thrown around Dabi’s neck, Hawks pulls him closer for another kiss. Their lips are bruised and swollen, almost numb from all the tugging, all the nibbling, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Kissing Dabi is fucking awesome, especially when the latter presses their cocks together and starts jerking them off as if they were one, the circle in his hands wider, but no less tight. Hawks nuts his hips mindlessly against him, the metal in Dabi grazing, no, scraping his taut skin and, fuck, shit— this. This is what he wanted.
He hums against the kiss, something between a whine and a moan, maybe both. Dabi pulls back slightly, their lips connected with a string of drool.
“You like this, Keigo?” he whispers into his mouth. Hawks quivers at the sound of his real name. He hasn’t heard it in so long and didn’t expect Dabi to drop it while giving him a handjob. Actually, he’s surprised he remembers—the intimacy of it all makes his heart quicken and his eyes roll. “Been wanting to do this for a while now.”
“Aaa—fuck, Touya.” He closes his eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling. “I can't. I can't, I’m—”
A cry breaks out of him and his vision goes white. A wave of pleasure sweeps past him, drowns him, as hot streaks of come shoot on his stomach. Shit. He hasn't done this in so long that his orgasm doesn't seem to end. In the middle of it, Dabi joins him, coming on top of Hawks with a deep groan and the sound he makes is so hot, Hawks could get hard again just by hearing him.
Before he knows it, it’s all over. The echo of their heavy breathing is the only thing he can register, but then he opens his eyes and a worn, tired Dabi appears before him, propped up in one hand, the other still holding their softening cocks. A white pool grows cold in Hawks’ stomach and sweat damps his hair. They need tissues and a shower, but he couldn't move even if he wanted to.
Arms around Dabi, he takes the moment to drink him in with his eyes. A sheen film of sweat covers his chest and shoulders, the muscles firm and strong. Even in the dark, Hawks notices the uneven texture of his skin, the scars, the burns—he doesn't think he ever met an unscarred Dabi. His body covered in bandages, the red abandoning his hair and spilling into his burns. Maybe he should have asked him back then how things were back home, but Hawks was more focused on not letting anyone get ahead of him than making friends.
No wonder he didn't make friends until well into adulthood.
“Keigo, huh?” Hawks chuckles, tucking a lock of white hair behind Dabi’s ear. Blue eyes flick up at him. “They changed my name shortly after I joined the Commission. Didn't know you picked that up.”
Dabi grabs his shirt from the floor and wipes Hawks’ stomach with it. Hawks grimaces and hopes that shirt goes straight to the laundry pile.
“Yeah, I did,” Dabi hums, pulling his briefs up and sitting down on the couch. “I'm good at remembering the names of people I have a grudge against.”
Still lying on the couch, Hawks props himself up on his elbows and shoots him a questioning look.
“This didn't look like a grudge to me,” he says, gesturing to the space between them.
Dabi snickers like a villain, his eyes roaming over Hawks and lingering on his stomach for a second longer.
He stands up, the stained shirt dangling from his hands.
“Yeah, but you didn't have abs back then.”
Notes:
it takes all the self-control in me not to post the whole fanfic all at once, but then I remember that there are several things still very drafty and that editing takes a lot of time (I hate editing, wdym i can't post the fic as it is).
ANYWAY congrats to hawks for finally getting laid.
let me know what you think of this chapter!!
Chapter 6: you don't believe in us
Summary:
"Don't give me the bodyguard bullshit," Hawks snaps. "We both know that you don't care about our working relationship when it's just the two of us.”
Dabi scoffs, lips parted in surprise. “Are you for real? Are you blaming it on me now? Man, you’ve got some balls, Hawks. If I ruined the working relationship, then so did you. This shit goes both ways.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“... H….. s.”
Mera’s voice, so faint, so indistinct, seems to reach him from a distant galaxy.
“... H… wks.”
From a distant universe, even. As if he were behind a veil, or is it Hawks who can't snap out of his reverie?
“Hawks!!” Mera calls him out loud and clear, startling the HPSC President. They are on a video call—Hawks is in his office, trying to get back to his normal routine, while Mera is on the other side of the screen, somewhere in the city. He frowns and rubs circles in his temples, both tired and frustrated by Hawks’ lack of attention. “I’m meeting with the Prime Minister’s Security Council in a few minutes and I need your insight on the matter.”
Mera is attending some meetings on Hawks' behalf until they decide it's safe to send the HPSC President back out into the world again. They are proceeding with caution, though no further attacks are expected in the near future. They estimate that the attackers sustained heavy losses, so they won't make a move for a while.
Speaking of which.
Dabi is outside his office talking to Hawks’ secretary. Hawks can't hear them, but he can see them through the window next to the door. It's a narrow window that runs from the ceiling to the floor and barely gives a glimpse of the corridor, but it's enough to see Takahashi, Hawks’ secretary, blushing and twirling her hair as Dabi gives her some instructions and hands her a stack of papers.
Hawks can't blame her. It's hard not to feel flustered when Dabi towers over you, hands on his hips, sleeves barely rolled up past his wrist, and the duty belt suspenders clinging to his chest. Damn, the idiot is not even in the room with him and Hawks can barely pay any attention to Mera.
(Maybe he should ban him from wearing his duty belt. It's not only wreaking havoc on him, but on the rest of the office. Why does he even need it anyway? It's not like he has to carry guns or anything.
(Maybe he likes the slutty undertone of the straps and harness, who knows. It's hard to guess what Dabi is thinking).
But if you want Hawks opinion, he likes it.)
“Jesus,” he hears Mega sighing. “Well, I shouldn't be surprised you are burnt out after all you've been through. Maybe you should've taken a few days off.”
Hawks blinks and turns his gaze back to the video call. Taking a few days off would be a terrible idea considering the state of Hawks and Dabi's relationship which is, huh, a mess.
They made out a few days ago, yes, and frotted each other, thank you very much, but that's about it. Hawks needed to scratch that itch and now that he has, he doesn't want it to happen again.
(Bullshit. He does).
Well, it actually doesn't matter what he wants. They can't make this a thing. Hawks is not good at playing with fire—he always crashes and burns.
He clears his throat and smiles at the camera.
“Sorry, Mera. I couldn't hear you very well, you know, the connection and everything,” he lies. “I’m sending you the notes from the last meeting. Also…”
He tries real hard not to look up from the screen as Dabi enters the office again. Hopefully, the guy didn't notice how Hawks lost his train of thought for a moment.
He and Mera talk a bit more about strategies to tackle the meeting before Mera says he has to go and ends the call.
Hawks sighs and closes the laptop, only to realize that he’s alone in the office with Dabi, and now he can no longer pretend that he’s too busy to talk to him.
Fuck. What now?
This tension between them was supposed to evaporate after they made out, leaving only awkwardness and pretended amnesia behind. But it didn't. The tension feels thicker than before, oppressive, suffocating. And Hawks hates it. What would he have to do to stop feeling this tug in his chest, this flutter in his stomach, every time he runs into Dabi in the kitchen?
(Every time their eyes meet across the room, every time their hands brush as they stand side by side in the elevator, every time they wish each other good night at the end of the day).
What does he have to do? Blow him? Take it up his ass? Because he's not against it, but even if Hawks wanted to (he does), he wouldn't know how to initiate the situation.
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales deeply.
“Stop groaning,” Dabi complains. “I can hear you thinking and I'm trying to read.”
Of course, the idiot is of no help, comfy on the couch as he leafs through a new book, oblivious to Hawks' inner struggle.
Whatever.
Hawks cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders before opening his laptop again. Good thing he always has a task at hand to keep him busy. These new fifty emails aren’t going to answer themselves.
“What did Takahashi-san want?” Hawks asks after a brief stretch of silence.
Dabi shrugs. “She wanted an update on your schedule for the new two weeks, you know, since you moved some stuff and canceled others.”
Hawks huffs, his fingers typing fast on the keyboard.
“I think she just wanted an excuse to speak to you.”
“Well, good for her. It worked.” Hawks stops typing and Dabi snickers. “What? Can't talk to her now?”
Yellow eyes roll. “Nah, it's okay. I don't mind sharing.”
The smile on Dabi’s face falters until it disappears. He's about to reply when someone knocks on the door.
The secretary peers into the room. “Sir, sorry to interrupt, but Best Jeanist is here.”
Hawks raises an eyebrow. “Jeanist-san?”
She nods. “He had a meeting with another department and heard that you were back in the office. Shall I let him through?”
Best Jeanist smiles with his eyes when he sees Hawks, creases forming at the edges. He hugs him and pats him on the back, a sudden show of affection that takes Hawks by surprise. But before he can hug his friend back, Jeanist pulls away.
“Glad to see you're safe and sound,” he says. “Couldn’t get a hold of you these past few weeks, but it looks like you're in good hands.”
He greets Dabi with a nod of his head, at which the bodyguard–on his feet, arms folded over his chest–returns in kind.
“‘m fine, ‘m fine,” Hawks laughs. “You know me, bad weed never dies. And well, there's Dabi, too, making sure I don't die.”
Best Jeanist doesn't laugh at the jokes about him dying. Tough crowd.
“I don’t know if Shouto-kun has filled you in,” Best Jeanist continues as they sit down at the coffee table. “But we, as top six heroes, have made it our priority to find the people behind the attacks.”
Shouto and Fumikage probably decided that after they visited Hawks last week. He hadn’t been notified, but he suspected something like this might happen.
His smile turns into a grimace. He's not that into the idea.
“Well, don't let people know that, or they'll say you're wasting precious resources on me.”
“Miruko warned us that you'd say something like that.” Jeanist sighs. “Think of it as a collaboration saving us time, sharing the knowledge we have.”
Hawks runs a hand through his hair again. It’s probably all stiff and disheveled from how much he has touched it today.
“Thanks, man. I hope this shit is over soon so you can get back to your regular work.”
Jeanist nods. “Me too, we also want you to get your life back.”
Hawks blinks and stares blankly at his friend.
What was his life like before all this?
Oh, right. He didn’t have Dabi on his tail 24/7. He lived alone and didn’t wake up every morning to someone invading his kitchen, nor did he have someone complaining about how much milk and sugar he put on his coffee.
There was a reason Hawks was against the bodyguard idea in the first place, but now…
Now Dabi’s books fill his shelves, and his clothes smell of the laundry powder at Hawks’ aparment, and there are certain jokes that only Dabi would get.
(Whether he laughs or not, that’s another story).
And…
Wait.
Is he persuading his friends not to investigate the whole thing because he doesn't want Dabi's protection to end?
Damn, that’s fucked up.
But.
What will become of them when all this ends? Will they go back to being, what, strangers? They can’t, they know too much shit about each other. But he doubts Dabi would want to stay and work with him, the guy hates the Commission. And well, Hawks is not going to lie, working with Dabi is a pain in the ass too. They’ve never been a good match. They aren’t going to start now.
(They’re not a good match only when it comes to work, because in bed…)
Yeah, it’s better if they don’t keep working together after this.
After Best Jeanist takes his leave, Hawks stays on for a few more hours. Night has fallen outside and most of the HPSC workers have gone home by now. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were the only ones left, except for the security team on the ground floor. If Mera wanted him to go back to his normal routine, well, this is normal for Hawks.
He leans back in the swivel chair and rubs his tired, bloodshot eyes.
“What are you going to do after you’re done with this job?” Hawks asks Dabi. The question has been on his mind all afternoon.
Dabi looks up from his book and weighs the answer for a moment.
“I’ll think about it when I get there.”
Hawks presses. “Will you get back to your old work? Where were you before this?”
He has tried to ask it dozens of times, but Dabi always deflects the question somehow. Hawks’ techniques for gathering information are useless if the other person knows what he’s doing.
(They were trained in the same program. Of course Dabi knows what Hawks is doing).
He turns a page in his book, his eyes back to his reading.
“I don’t care if you’re the President of the Heroes or whatever thing you are now—a confidential mission is still a confidential mission.”
Hawks frowns.
Well, at least he got something out of him this time.
“Were you running an undercover gig?” he asks.
There’s a faint twitch in Dabi’s hands.
Bingo.
Hawks grins, swinging from side to side in his swivel chair.
“I see. That explains some stuff.”
Dabi closes the book and puts it aside. Guess it’s useless to pretend he’s still reading at this point.
“What stuff,” he mutters.
“Why the Senior Committee offered you this job. When you think about it, it’s not that different from an undercover gig.” He starts listing off with his fingers. “Uncertain and changing circumstances, no end date, you have to wait and stand there for days until something happens, and when shit happens you have to react in a split second.”
Dabi arches an unimpressed eyebrow.
“No need to show off, birdie. I know you’re smart.”
“Hey, I’m just filling in the blank spaces. You yourself said this job was boring when we were… uh… when we were…”
So much for trying to avoid the topic. Of course it was Hawks who dug his own grave.
A smirk tugs at Dabi’s lips, eyes lidded.
“When we were what?”
Hawks glances at the window out of the corner of his eye, but there’s not a soul outside.
“Let’s… not talk about that here.”
He turns back to his laptop, but he can’t get any words into focus. He doesn’t even remember what he was writing five minutes ago, a report? an e-mail?
Dabi has one arm draped over the back of the sofa, sitting comfortably with his legs spread. Hawks feels his hands sweat as he tries not to look.
“I’ll say it again: you’re smart, Hawks.” His voice sounds even—the ghost of the smile is gone now. “You know we can’t just sweep what we did under the rug forever.”
Said who , he wants to retort, but decides against it.
“Okay, whatever. But not here.”
“Why not? Shit gets you off?”
Hawks chokes on his spit. The way the blood rushes to his head, he could be having a stroke for all he knows.
“You won't catch me doing anything compromising in this office,” he states, appearing more confident than he feels. Because, will he?
Dabi shrugs. “I dunno, if that pulls the stick out of your ass…”
“The office is off limits.”
“Wow. Okay, President. Chill, would you?” Dabi slowly gets to his feet and exhales, his hands on his hips. “And if you ask me, you should be the one off work by now. It's 10pm. Everyone else is home and Mera is taking half of your workload. What else do you have to do that is so urgent?”
“None of your business.” Hawks snaps. “And don't give me the bodyguard bullshit. We both know that you don't care about our working relationship when it's just the two of us.”
Dabi scoffs, lips parted in surprise.
“Are you for real? Are you blaming it on me now?” He huffs in disbelief. “Man, you’ve got some balls, Hawks. If I ruined the working relationship, then so did you. This shit goes both ways.”
“I’m trying to get it back to normal, but you won't let me.”
“This.” Dabi buries a finger on Hawks’ desk. When did he get so close? “This is not normal.”
“It is normal for me ,” he counters, almost baring his teeth. “It's not my fault that your job is to stand there and watch. Some of us have stuff to do.”
Fuck.
He didn't mean to say that, but he did.
He doesn't know what he likes less. The regret pulling at his chest, or the contempt in Dabi’s eyes as he looks at him up and down.
(The sneer pulling at his lips in an expression he knows too well, because this is how Dabi used to look at him when they were younger and Hawks still could take pride in his wings).
“See?” Dabi spits. “This is why I never liked you.”
He strides to the balcony and flings the door open, to smoke, probably, as he does every time he’s upset.
Hawks remains at his desk, the small lamp illuminating his laptop in sleep mode, because he’s been doing everything but working for the past few minutes.
Including getting hurt by Dabi.
Well, who would have thought that Dabi’s rejection would hurt like this?
Because the guy has hated his guts for as long as Hawks can remember, but he doesn’t recall his rejection hurting like an arrow in his chest.
When Dabi returns from the balcony, Hawks has just slung his backpack over his shoulder. The phone unlocked in his hand, he is about to call a taxi.
Dabi closes the door and stands there, a cloud of smoke still curling around his shoulders.
Hawks stares at him for a breathless moment before both the backpack and the phone slide to the floor with a soft thud.
He doesn’t know who rushes in first. Maybe they both do at the same time, their lips clashing as they meet in a desperate kiss.
And this, fuck, this is what he wanted.
Dabi grabs Hawks by his jaw and kisses him like he wants to eat him, like he’s saying that, if a smoke break didn't cool him off, then shoving his tongue down Hawks’ throat probably will. Not that Hawks cares, whatsmore, he encourages him by moaning into his mouth, tugging at the straps of his duty belt, and letting himself be pushed against the desk, pulled up onto the table. He lets Dabi position himself between his legs as they kiss, bruise their lips, lick into each other’s mouths, and it all feels so good, so right. Why was he even holding back?
At some point, the lamp falls down as the desk rocks and the light goes out, but neither of them seems to notice. Hawks is too busy crossing his ankles behind Dabi’s waist and tilting his head back, asking for neck kisses, at which Dabi complies. He runs his lips along the sensitive skin and nibbles at Hawks’ collarbone, unbuttoning his shirt to open the path and reach further down. The idiot wastes no time pinching Hawks’ nipples, rubbing circles until they are hard and sore, the pain both piercing and pleasant. Hawks feels the air getting kicked out of his lungs as Dabi leans in to suck on his chest, his tongue running down his breastbone, lips kissing down his stomach.
He sucks in a breath and his abdomen tenses, his muscles sticking out.
“Show off,” Dabi chuckles, sucking a hickey on his stomach for good measure.
He doesn’t realize what Dabi has in mind until the guy is on his knees, unbuckling Hawks’ belt.
“Dabi, you…” Hawks breathes, his feet lowering to the floor.
A shiver runs through him as Dabi undoes his pants to his mid-thighs. Hawks is half-hard under his briefs, but Dabi still mouths his erection over the fabric and closes his eyes, almost as if he's praying.
“ Shit… ” Hawks shudders, clutching the edge of the desk.
Dabi looks up at him, pupils blown and breathing heavily. The way his eyelashes flutter could be the end of Hawks. City lights pour in through the windows, reflecting off his white hair, making the blue in his eyes glitter, and Hawks feels his head swim. Maybe the blue shadows draping over them are a deep ocean and he's drowning.
Dabi slides down the briefs, revealing Hawks’ twitching arousal. His cock stands between his legs, slightly curved, pre-cum beading on the head. Dabi curls his fingers around the base and gives it a tentative pump, making Hawks’ knees buckle.
“Damn, a little gentler, wouldn’t—”
He gives him another tug, paying no heed.
“Fuck, Hawks,” Dabi grumbles, rubbing his forehead against him like an animal in rut. His voice ghosts over his thighs, making Hawks to spread his legs wider. “What did you do to me?”
That should be Hawks’ line. What did Dabi do to him? Because ten minutes ago he said the office was off limits and now…
Now he’s getting sucked off by his bodyguard in said office.
What's more, he holds one hand to Dabi’s head and guides him between his legs.
Dabi grabs his cock by the base and sucks the head, tastes the salt of his precum. Hawks brushes the white locks from his forehead and grabs a handful of hair. Damn. He feels it as Dabi loosens his jaw and takes him deeper. His nostrils flare at the effort and his eyes close as Hawks’ length slides down the roof of his mouth, his lips stretching. It feels so hot and wet, Hawks loves the easy slide, the texture of Dabi’s tongue, the quiet vibration when he hums against his shaft. It’s hypnotic, the way Dabi bobs his head up and down, sucking him off, as if he had been waiting for this moment for a while now, as if he had pictured this moment a thousand of times in his head.
Had he? Hawks can’t help but wonder. Had he been holding back? Had he wanted this as much as he did?
Hawks quivers, feeling the climax building up in his lower abdomen.
“Dabi…” he hums, his hips rolling absentmindedly against him. The guy is completely out of it, both hands gripping Hawks’ thighs as he blows him deeper, his nose brushing the fine golden hair between Hawks’ legs. Hawks tilts his head back and groans. “Dabi, fuck… if you keep this up, I’m gonna come.”
Dabi sucks him harder, if that’s possible when Hawks has disappeared inside his mouth. His right hand has moved up to grab Hawks’ ass, one finger dangerously close to his hole, and the moment Dabi cups his balls, he loses it all.
He grips the white hair with both hands and hisses sharply as he comes inside Dabi’s mouth, knees almost giving out with the force of his orgasm—a warm sensation that ripples through his body, leaving him tender and boneless.
Floating.
Shit.
This is too much, he's going to pass out.
Good thing he’s got the desk to lean on, otherwise he would’ve ended up on the floor at this point.
Dabi pulls away from him and brings a hand to his mouth. Hawks watches him through lidded eyes and feels a tug in his chest. He didn't mean to come in Dabi’s mouth, but the idiot wouldn't let him go.
He doesn’t quite get what’s going on when Dabi spits the cum into his hand and stands up.
He starts to get an idea when the guy flips him over and bends Hawks down on the table, slapping his wet hand against his hole.
His brain short-circuits.
When he did what?
Still too oversensitive to react properly, he chokes as Dabi slides a finger inside of him.
He wants to protest but all that leaves his body is an incoherent moan.
His legs tremble, his cock hangs spent between his legs and his balls are sore and retracted after coming so hard, there’s no more room in his brain for any other sensation, but Dabi begs to differ, curling his middle finger inside of him.
His longest finger, goddamit.
“Dabi, wait,” he gasps. “Give me a sec.”
He tries to prop up on his forearms, but no muscle in his body wants to cooperate.
Meanwhile, Dabi pushes his finger in and out, rotates his wrist and puts his hand palm up, and Hawks groans again, his back fucking arching like a traitor.
“You don't know how much I fantasized about this,” Dabi rasps, voice unsteady. He adds another finger, using the cum to smooth the slide and push deeper. The squelching sounds he pumps are so obscene and ungodly, Hawks feels his eyes rolling. “You gotta admit, railing the HPSC President against his desk sounds pretty hot. What was I supposed to do?”
“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” Hawks chokes.
It might be a little rougher than he’s used to, but he savors the stretch, the time Dabi takes to prep him. There was no way in hell Hawks would have lube in the office, and neither does he have…
“Shit,” he lifts his head up, snapping out of it. “Shit, fuck, we don’t have any condoms.”
He hates that Dabi fumbles in his duty belt for a strip of condoms and throws it on the desk, all the while keeping two fingers inside Hawks.
“There you go.”
Hawks melts a little as Dabi adds a third finger, the pull on his rim burning, but it burns so good that he can't complain. How could he complain when he can barely connect his brain to his mouth, babbling like an idiot as Dabi looms over him, a line of heath rutting against his ass, the rough fabric of Dabi’s slacks scraping his bare skin.
Hawks feels his cock spasm between his legs, coming back to life.
“Wait, Dabi,” he tries to squirm away, but it's like swimming in choppy water. “Too much. I'm…”
Dabi pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, and the rush stops to a halt. He hears his erratic breathing, Dabi’s too, and feels his ass exposed to the cold. He can't see himself, but he knows that his ass stays open, twitching, clenching into nothing, almost pleading to be filled. Dabi spreads his cheeks to get a better look at him and fuck. Hawks presses his face into the desk. This is so embarrassing.
Dabi curses under his breath before he pulls Hawks’ back to his chest and rolls down the shirt he’s still wearing. Hawks lets himself be handled like a rag doll, he can't possibly tell his limbs to move at this point. Dabi kisses the bare crook of his neck and splays a hand over his firm chest, and how is it that Hawks can get goosebumps when his brain is soaked in endorphins? His body keeps reacting and reacting like he has never been touched before.
Like now, when Dabi unbuckles his own belt and Hawks shudders like a piece of paper.
“ Keigo ,” he murmurs against his shoulder, and Hawks sighs, rolls his head back onto Dabi’s chest. “Keigo, I want you so much, it's fucking me up.” Dabi’s hand stays over his left pec and Hawks’ heart pounds against his chest as if it wants to get out, as if it wants to be held by Dabi. “Please,” he says in a quiet whisper. “Please, say you want me like this too.”
His lungs swell with a feeling he has no name for, but it makes him dizzy and lightheaded.
“I do,” Hawks rasps. His head tilts forward, lolling against his chest. “Fuck, I do.”
He sucks in a breath when Dabi pulls out his cock from his slacks and presses it between his ass cleft like it belongs there. Hawks has felt Dabi’s length in his hands before, but it's different having it on his tailbone, silky-smooth and hot. The metal of the piercings scraping his hole sends a shiver down his spine and shit. He's not gonna survive this. Dabi hasn't even put it in and Hawks is already panting.
“You really want me?” Dabi purrs, fingers brushing Hawks' stiff buds.
Hawks parts his mouth, but no sound comes out. He's too wrecked to speak at this point, but he tries. He closes his eyes, focuses and tries.
“Yes,” he says hoarsely.
He positions himself again, forearms on the desk and ass up as Dabi rips the condom foil and rolls it down his cock.
It doesn't happen all at once because the guy likes to make him suffer. First, it's both hands viciously grabbing his hips as if Hawks was planning to go somewhere else. Then, it's the bulky head poking at his entrance, catching in his rim. Hawks tries to kick him to make him hurry up, but Dabi flattens a hand to his lower back and pins him down on the desk. He slides in slowly, enjoying how each ring of muscle stretches in his wake, how each piercing of Dabi’s Jacob ladder digs into him, and for every inch he claims, Hawks feels like he's getting further and further off the ground. He vocalizes something between a curse and Dabi’s name, and grabs onto the desk.
“ Shiiiit ,” he hisses.
When Dabi bottoms out, Hawks feels him in his throat. His brain buzzes and his knees wobble, but Dabi’s hands ground him to his moment.
“Fuck, so good,” he hears him mutter, his thumbs sinking into the dimples of Hawks’ lower back. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
Fuck, so good, indeed. Hawks had forgotten the high of being filled, the rush of having someone towering over you like this, rolling their hips against you, slow and languid at first, switching to energetic thrusts once they set a rhythm. Hawks moans when Dabi scrapes a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. He hasn't stopped moaning since they started, judging by the soreness in his throat. What does he know? He can barely answer for half of his actions. His hips rock back and meet Dabi’s thrusts halfway, his back arches in an impossible angle, his arm reaches back and holds his ass open because he wants more, more, more, deeper, deeper, deeper.
As expected, Dabi is ruthless. He slams hard against Hawks, all his weight clashing against his pelvis, as if he wants to break Hawks’ back. And he might by the looks of it. But Hawks doesn't care, as long as Dabi keeps ramming his prostate like this, the wet slap of skin against skin overriding his senses.
“Touya— aaa, Touya.” The name stumbles out of his lips without his permission, but he likes how Dabi, no, Touya, he likes how Touya grips him tighter, fucks him harder when he hears his given name. “Touya. I can't… too big…”
“Imma come,” he pants. “Too bad is not inside you.”
Hawks feels his breath hitching, his muscles clenching around Dabi at the thought of doing it raw.
(White ink slowly dripping out of his hole, all Dabi's doing. Not to mention his ass sore and pink because of course Dabi likes to spank him hard.
Aaa—that would be so fucking great).
He presses his forehead against the desk and brings a hand to his cock, which has been neglected for the last few minutes, hard just from being fucked.
“You want to do that?” Hawks asks, his fingers closing around his shaft.
He swears he only feels Dabi getting bigger and bigger inside of him, pulsing like a heart. All the blood rushes to his cock, he doesn't need it anywhere else.
“I do, and so do you, with how hard you squeeze me.” He rails him so well that Hawks feels like he could come untouched. The stimulation to his prostate is insane. “But you asked for this, mmh?” He grabs Hawks by the hair and pulls him back, tearing a cry out of him. God, fuck. This shit is too good to be true. “You asked for a condom and I follow your orders.”
He's blinded by pleasure, all he wants is Dabi’s come inside of him, white and thick. Warm.
“Next time,” he pleads. “Next time, please.”
Dabi delivers one last lunge, burying himself deep inside Hawks, and comes into the condom with a long, pleased groan. His cock pulses as it empties out, the veins throbbing against his walls, and Hawks loves it so much that he comes a second time.
But this time his orgasm doesn't leave him floating in ecstasy. This time it throws him over the edge in a free fall as he realizes that his come is dripping onto the carpet of his office, office where he's bent over the desk, his bodyguard’s cock shoved deep inside him.
He presses his forehead against the hardwood, trying to keep his knees from buckling as Dabi pulls out of him.
Fuck. He closes a fist and wrinkles a stack of papers in the process.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What did they do?
Notes:
hawks' morale be hitting him like a freight train and we love to see that (at least i do).
these last two chapters have been like "we should stop" *they hook up right after* "the office is off limits" *they hook up in the office*, i love putting the pathetic fictional man that keeps me going into a situation.
anyway i think this is my favorite smut scene i've ever written, hope you enjoyed it too <3333 picture me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure as i wait for your comments!!!
Chapter 7: we don't believe in us
Summary:
Two times doesn't make a pattern, and they still have to mantain the bodyguard-protectee façade at work.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It's weird.
Having mind-blowing sex in the office and then riding in a cab in silence.
Take the lift.
Go to sleep in their respective rooms.
But what else are they supposed to do, it's not like they are a thing.
Two times doesn't make a pattern, and they still have to mantain the bodyguard-protectee façade at work.
Especially when they are at work
Good thing Dabi hasn't blown their cover. He’s doing a very good job at pretending amnesia for someone who was very enthusiastic about sex office. Years of working as a double spy have prepared him for this moment. And they also did the trick for Hawks.
They don't comment on the subject for two, three days.
Hawks shouldn't get his hopes up.
And he shouldn't be thinking about how good Dabi looks standing in the kitchen in the morning light, making coffee, either.
Dabi spots Hawks out of the corner of his bleary eye and waves a hand in the air. His hair is a mess, and he has sheet marks on his face.
“Coffee?” he asks, voice hoarse as if he had smoked a whole pack of cigarettes.
It's a Saturday morning, and Hawks has just gotten off the treadmill. His skin glistens with fresh sweat, and his tank top, his running shorts clings to his body. Face still flushed, his cheeks turn a deeper red when he realizes that Dabi has suddenly snapped out of his sluggish state. His eyes are open, ogling the exposed collarbone and the offered bare thighs.
Hawks swears he didn't have this planned.
“You’re staring,” he says, grabbing a post workout drink from the fridge.
Why does that line sound oddly familiar?
Oh, yes. That time at Kaina’s place when they almost made out for the first time. Everything spiraled toward a mess after that. Or did it start earlier?
When did it start, really? Was it when they sparred and almost kicked the shit out of each other? Or the first night Hawks jerked off thinking about him? The moment Dabi first put a foot in his office and Hawks thought: ‘Shit. Why is he hot now?”
(Or maybe it was that time Hawks found Touya sleeping in the Commission’s library with his head nestled between his arms, a book under him.
As Hawks stared at him in silence, he realized that Touya’s hair was mostly white except for a few red streaks, the color fading as if his heart were bleeding through the strands.
Back then he wondered if that lack of heart was the reason Dabi always looked angry when awake.
Because he slept so peacefully, his lashes quivering like distant stars.
Flying at night, it was hard for Hawks not to think of Dabi’s eyelashes.)
“Well, yes. That's my job.” Dabi says, leaning against the kitchen counter and bringing the cup of coffee to his lips. “Staring at you, I mean.”
Hawks doesn't want to do this while he's gross and sweaty and Dabi is still groggy and bleary-eyed, so he uncaps his sports drink and announces he’s taking a shower.
“Today is Saturday,” he says over his shoulder. “So you might want to take some time off from staring at me.”
He didn't mean it literally.
Hawks spent more time in the shower than he thought he would, but the hot water cascading down his aching muscles felt very welcome after running five kilometers.
Once he steps out of the shower, he puts on a pair of sweatpants and a purple shirt with two bunny ears embroidered on the chest, Miruko’s merch from a couple of years ago. Then, he realizes he's free for the rest of the day.
Saturdays are usually work days for him—there's always some hero event where the Commission must be present or someone comes to visit, but he has nothing scheduled for that day.
He's wondering what he's going to do all day stuck in his apartment with Dabi, but then, as he walks from the living room to the kitchen, he spots the guy on the balcony talking on the phone.
Hawks comes to a sudden halt.
Dabi is now wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, and he snickers as he says something on the phone that Hawks doesn't get to hear.
An ugly feeling stirs in his gut, and this is not how his Saturday was supposed to go.
When Dabi walks into the apartment again, Hawks is leaning with his elbows on the kitchen island and slices an apple with a short knife.
“Who was that?” he asks as uninterested as he can, using the edge of the knife to bring an apple slice to his mouth.
Dabi arches an eyebrow and closes the sliding door behind him.
“I would've answered with or without the knife, you know?”
Hawks looks down at his hands. Damn. The knife was a coincidence, he swears. How else was he supposed to slice an apple?
Dabi comes closer and reaches out his hand, palm up, silently asking for a slice.
Hawks cuts one piece for him.
“That was Fuyumi,” he says. The apple makes a crisp sound when he bites into it. He doesn’t wait to swallow before continuing. “She wants me to go to Hokkaido to meet her baby.”
Hawks blinks.
So it was Fuyumi.
Oh, well. It shouldn't surprise him, though. There are probably a certain number of people to whom Dabi would answer the phone. His sister would be one of them.
“And what did you say?” He cuts the last slice of apple, leaving only the core behind.
“That Endeavor better not be there as well or her kid won't have any nice childhood memories.” Hawks chortles. Dabi looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you laughing? You like the old man, you should be on his side.”
“I’m not taking a particular side,” Hawks states, throwing the rest of the apple in the trash and washing the knife he used. “I’m on the side of all heroes,” he adds.
Dabi makes a gagging gesture. “Gross.”
“But you're a hero too,” Hawks laughs.
“Whatever. I hate it when you act by the script.”
“Huh, yeah. I've noticed that you like it when I go off script.”
Hawks wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, hoping that the last line will give Dabi a hint. But the guy plays dumb and tucks his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
He can't hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips, though.
“Well, if that's all, I think I'll be in my room, enjoying the day off my boss gave me.”
Dabi turns around and intends to leave, but Hawks grabs him by the back of his hoodie.
“I think… I've changed my mind.” He tries to be clearer this time. As clear as he can be when his relationship with Dabi is far from being so.
Dabi looks at him over his shoulder. “So you want me to work for you today?” he asks, dropping his voice to a quiet murmur.
Hawks moves closer, still holding him by the back of his hoodie. He doesn't know what comes over him when he rests his chin on Dabi’s shoulder. Blue eyes flicker down to his lips, but they're quick to hold his gaze again.
“Does that get you off?” Hawks asks, his arms circling around Dabi’s waist, sneaking his hands inside the front pocket. “Working for me gets you off?”
Dabi chuckles and interwines his fingers with Hawks.
“No, but I like it when you demand my attention.”
“You’re making me beg,” Hawks complains, burying his face in Dabi’s shoulder. “What am I supposed to do?”
Dabi untangles himself from Hawks' arms and slowly turns to face him. He's usually stoic and aloof, derisive at times, but now he looks so soft in the midday light pouring through the window.
He moves Hawks against the kitchen counter and holds him by the hips. His white locks of hair sway on his forehead as he tilts his head to the side.
“Of course I'm making you beg,” Dabi says. “I want to know how much you want this.”
Hawks snorts and slips his arms around Dabi’s neck.
“I thought that was clear when you caught me jerking off three weeks after you moved in.”
Dabi’s chuckle ghosts against Hawks’ lips. Ugh. He wants a kiss so bad.
“Were you thinking ‘bout me then?”
“Who else?”
He tries not to gasp when Dabi wedges a thigh between his legs. Shit. The sweatpants really make you feel everything.
“Dunno. Maybe you had someone else on your mind already.”
Hawks laughs. “Well, you made sure there wasn't.”
Hawks tries a tentative roll of his hips against Dabi’s thigh and fuck , he's so sensitive for some reason, he can't help but let out a moan.
Dabi swallows the sound with an open-mouthed kiss and that's all Hawks needs to melt. He's so down bad, how did this happen? Hawks tangles his hand in Dabi's white hair and pulls him closer, sliding his tongue into Dabi's mouth. He loves how soft, how warm the kiss feels, bruising their lips leisurely as if they have all the time in the world.
Dabi sneaks his hands under Hawks’ shirt and presses his thumbs over his hip bones. Hawks sucks in a breath, the stimulation going directly into his crotch. He loves Dabi’s hands, and he loves it even more when they're all over him, touching, exploring, studying.
Hawks brings a hand to the back of his shirt and yanks it off, drops it on the kitchen's floor as he fixes his disheveled hair.
Dabi smiles and kisses him again, his hands now bracketing his middle.
“That’s good,” he rasps, tugging at Hawks’ lower lip. “I noticed the bunny ears on your shirt. Didn’t want to rail you using your friend’s merch.”
Hawks snickers when Dabi swoops down to press kisses on his bare shoulders.
“Would you rather brand me instead?”
Dabi stiffens and slowly pulls away to meet amber eyes. He’s flushed under the scarred skin and his lips shine red and glossy. He stays still as he scans Hawks, trying to judge whether the question was a playful teasing or something Hawks actually wants.
Either way, it's not something Hawks should talk about so lightly.
Not when he already has him branded on his face.
It was a children's accident, but still. It doesn't change the fact that Hawks is forced to think of Dabi every time he looks in the mirror.
(And right now, as smitten as he feels, he wouldn't mind another mark on his body—something to remember him by when he's gone).
“Don’t give me ideas, birdie,” Dabi says, tapping his thumb against Hawks’ cheekbone. It’s not a soft touch, but it's not rough either. Hawks wants it to be rougher, wants Dabi’s thumbs branded under his hip bones, wants less clothes between their bodies.
He tugs at Dabi’s hoodie. “I want this off,” he says.
Dabi arches an amused brow. “Here in the kitchen?”
“My bedroom”.
It’s weird to have Dabi sprawled in his bed, just as he had wanted for months. It’s weird because it’s happening, because Dabi pulled off his hoodie and laid back on the mattress, snuggling into the cushions. It’s weird because it’s not as hurried or desperate as it was the last two times, both trying to put their hands on each other before one of them snapped out of their daze and remembered this was a bad idea. Because it was a very bad one, but now there’s nothing they can do about it, now that they’ve both fallen down the rabbit hole of desire.
Hawks splays his hands on Dabi’s chest. He loves his natural muscular build, loves the different shades of pink, brown and purple smudged on his skin, loves how despite everything Dabi is still sensitive. Or maybe it’s because Hawks nibbles a little too hard on his left nipple while pinching the right one. Dabi groans and tilts his head back, grabbing Hawks by his hair. The tug is a warning and Hawks apologizes, flicking his tongue over the bud until it hardens into a peak. He mouths at Dabi’s chest, kissing down the taut muscles in his abdomen until he reaches his sweatpants, where Dabi is pitching a very obvious tent.
Hawks hooks a finger on the elastic and flickers his eyes up.
Dabi looks drunk—hooded eyes, heavy breathing, his nipples pink and stiff, a trail of spit running down his chest. It’s been years since Hawks lost his bird quirk, but he can’t help the predatory rush kicking in at the sight of Dabi all pretty and eager in his bed.
He has to hold back real hard not to pounce on him.
His fingers tug at the elastic playfully. “Can I blow you this time?”
Dabi snorts. “You really have to ask?”
There’s a wet patch in his briefs, Hawks finds after sliding down the sweatpants. Dabi is hard and probably achy, but Hawks doesn’t release him right away, rubbing his face against the warm arousal instead. It smells of fresh laundry and something deeper—musky and addictive. It smells like too fucking good.
When he rolls down the briefs, Dabi’s cock appears in front of him.
Hawks swallows.
They have done this twice, but it had all happened in the dark, as if the lack of light could dispel the duties that fell upon them, blur the boundaries that kept them apart. This is the first time they strip naked in broad daylight and probably the first time Hawks can take a proper look at Dabi’s cock, even when he already had it inside him.
The thought makes the blood rush to his face.
Dabi’s cock is thick. Hawks already knows that, but it’s also slightly crooked and flushed pink. Hawks watches it pulse once, twice, a bead of precum collecting in the slit, the piercings tightening as the skin expands.
He feels Dabi getting restless at the close study, so Hawks yanks the clothes off, sweatpants and briefs included, and positions himself between Dabi’s legs. He takes the head in his mouth before even touching him and Dabi sighs, fluttering his eyes close. The head of his cock is firm and warm, tasting bitter and salty and so much like Touya, it almost makes his eyes roll. He tries to focus and breathe through his nose as overridden by desire as he feels before sliding down the shaft, his lips stretching as he takes in more and more of Dabi.
But then his lips reach the first piercing of the Jacob ladder and a shudder runs down his spine. He loosens his jaw to make extra room for the jewellery and every piercing that pops into his mouth drags him further and further down this spiral of want and desire.
When his nose brushes the red curls at the base of Dabi’s cock, Hawks glances up, feeling his face on fire and his eyes glassy. Dabi is looking at him entranced, like he has never seen anything better in his life, and reaches out a hand to brush the hair off Hawks’ face.
He huffs and columns of steam escape from his mouth.
“Fuck, Keigo. You’ve never looked better,” he drawls, cupping one of Hawks’ cheeks. Hawks hums at the caress, his head bobbing up and down as he sucks Dabi off without sparing any squelching, any slurping sound. The drool trickles down his chin and soaks Dabi’s balls, and his body quivers in anticipation as Dabi starts rolling his hips up, leisurely fucking into Hawks’ mouth.
“So this is how you want it today? You want me to finish inside your mouth?”
Hawks shakes his head, but doesn’t pull away to answer properly. Dabi’s cock hitting the back of his throat feels just too good to stop.
“No?” Dabi continues, the hand on Hawks’ cheek moving to his crown. “Then how do you want it? Oh, right. You can’t talk.” And to stress his point, he pushes Hawks’ head down, pulling a strangled sound out of him. “Do you want me to fuck you, hm? Is that it?”
Hawks glances up at Dabi the best as he can when his mouth is stuffed with cock, and nods.
Dabi twitches and grabs Hawks’ hair tighter.
“You want backshots?” He resumes the interrogation.
Hawks shakes his head again, his mouth pulling back and letting each piercing of the ladder pop from his lips. His hand wraps around the base of Dabi’s cock. He’s going to need some help if he wants his jaw to survive the night.
“You want to ride me? No? Okay, maybe next time. What about…” His eyes widen as he realizes something. “Oh, okay. I thought you’d go for something more kinky, but you just want me to be on top.”
Hawks has been sucking Dabi off for the past five minutes, but only now he’s feeling embarrassed. Though for a totally different reason. He splutters something like ‘and what about it?’ but he doubts Dabi understood any of it.
It’d be easier to speak if he stopped blowing Dabi, but he can’t.
So it’s Dabi himself who pulls Hawks’ out of him, tugging at his hair hard. Hawks lets go of Dabi with a wet pop and only then does he realize how little he was breathing, how flushed his face is, how much his throat and jaw ache.
He pants, feeling a bead of sweat running down his temple, his lips wet and swollen.
He must look like a mess.
(He wonders if Dabi likes to see him like this.)
At least he looks as affected as Hawks is.
“If you want me to last, you hafta stop going so hard.” He snorts in amusement. “You’re too good at this, and I’m just a guy.”
Hawks crawls in the bed until he reaches Dabi’s lips. Kissing him, blowing him, anything would do.
“I just like you so much,” he says, and—
Shit.
Dabi is not supposed to know how far his feelings go, but he probably knows. Pulling away from the kiss, Dabi ignores Hawks’ little whine, and lets his blue eyes roam around his face and of course he knows. Dabi is smart and Hawks is acting like an idiot. Not something he’s particularly proud of, but if it gets him to be dicked down by Dabi, then he’s not complaining.
“You have lube?” Dabi asks after a stretch of silence.
Hawks’ stomach tightens in anticipation.
Their chest pressed together, Hawks hovers a bit higher over Dabi while the latter wraps an arm around his lower back and slides long, lubed fingers down his ass. Hawks shudders at the cold touch, but melts when Dabi kisses him, his plush tongue rolling into his mouth. It’s a different kind of intimacy to slow kiss while being fingered, or is Hawks reading too much into it? He hopes he’s not. He hopes Dabi is feeling the same lightheadedness, the same flutter in his heart, the same fondness swelling his chest.
Dabi presses two fingers deeper into him and Hawks whines against the kiss. The index and the middle finger go in and out of him, stretching him, prepping him as Dabi kisses him tenderly. He didn’t know Dabi could kiss like this, on a slow burn rather than on an outburst. He tilts his head to the side, his breathing brushing Hawks’ cheek as he licks into his mouth. It’s almost embarrassing how easy Hawks opens and comes undone for Dabi, but maybe after so much watching, the guy knows exactly how to push his right buttons.
Namely, the bundle of nerves in his ass that makes him moan in Dabi’s mouth and arch his back.
“Shit, Dabi.” He buries his forehead in the crook of Dabi’s neck. “Don’t make me come before you put it in.”
Dabi slides a third finger and Hawks groans.
“Talking about coming.” Dabi’s voice is so even, like he’s not even fingering Hawks or sporting a boner. “Did you mean what you said last time?”
Hawks snorts. “Of course you didn’t forget about that.”
“I’m clean,” Dabi continues. “I had a health checkup before starting this job.”
“Ohh, didn’t know the Commission wanted my bodyguard so nice and clean in case I wanted to bang him.”
Dabi spreads his fingers and presses hard against Hawks’ walls. He curses under his breath.
“It was one of many other tests," he says. "But guess you can also see it that way.”
Hawks' legs are trembling, and they haven’t even started the real deal.
“I’m… I’m clean…” he pants. “Just put it in.”
Dabi uses his free hand to hold his cock by its base and taps Hawks’ hips with the head. It’s still wet and slick with Hawks’ drool.
“You want this?” he purrs.
Hawks’ entire body clenches. “Fuck, yes. Stop teasing me, Touya.”
And he does. He pulls his fingers out of Hawks and flips them over, hovering over him. Hawks vision is blurred and hazy with the high, but he still gets a glimpse of Dabi’s white hair dangling over his forehead, the way he parts Hawks’ legs open and hooks them around his waist. He squirts more lube on his cock and strokes it a couple of times, the squelching sound making the muscles in Hawks’ abdomen to tighten.
He doesn’t want to miss a thing, so he focuses real hard and watches how Dabi guides his cock towards the stretched entrance. He plants both hands at the side of Hawks’ head and thrust forward, making him suck in a sharp breath.
The bare, slick glide of Dabi inside him is just too good to be true, not to mention the way the piercings slid inside of him one by one, grazing his inner walls.
“Fffffuck me, Touya. You… aaa—”
Dabi rolls his hips deeper, sliding in and out, his sloppy hole taking him so effortlessly until he bottoms out, their bodies meeting with a wet snap.
“Shit, Keigo.” Dabi lolls his head against his chest and takes a deep breath. “You’re going to kill me.”
Hawks whines, squirming restlessly under Dabi’s body when he doesn’t move. “Please, Touya. I need… I nee—”
His plea turns into a cry when Dabi starts rocking his hips forward, snapping his thighs against his ass over and over again. Hawks closes his eyes shut and throws his head back, riding the bliss.
He loves this, he really, really loves this.
Dabi pulls back a little and grabs Hawks by the back of his knees, pushing them up in an attempt to fold Hawks in two. He’s lucky Hawks is flexible, and even if he weren’t, he would suck it and endure the ache because this angle feels so fucking good and so deep. Dabi pounds into him, ramming his ass into oblivion, and Hawks feels so intoxicated he can only blabber incoherent sounds mixed with Touya’s name, his feet curling in the air as Dabi forces him further and further toward climax.
He doesn’t expect Dabi to fold over him, sliding Hawks’ legs over his shoulders, moving down until he’s close enough to kiss him. And Hawks kisses him back, tangling his fingers into damp hair, licking the salt off Dabi’s upper lip.
Dabi groans into the kiss, switching the pace to languid movements, hips rolling sweetly against him. Hawks sighs. This is not fair—kissing and fucking Dabi at the same time shouldn’t feel this good, shouldn’t make his heart flutter, shouldn’t make him wish they could do this every day.
“Keigo.” At least Dabi sounds as wrecked as Hawks is. “Fuck. I wish I could keep you.” Hawks inhales sharply, his hands buried in Dabi’s hair. “I wish you were mine.”
“Keep me,” he says, breath hitching as the thrusts pick up speed again. “Aaa—fuck it. Keep me, Touya. I’m yours.”
Dabi’s lips crash against his own again, the kiss messy and uncoordinated, but Hawks doesn’t want it any different. If Dabi is going to fuck him like this all the time, he can keep him, for all he cares. He doesn’t need anything else.
Dabi delivers a particularly sharp thrust and Hawks gasps, feeling it in his throat.
“Yes, shit, Touya. Come inside me.”
Dabi groans, the encouragement taking effect on him as he rams Hawks’ ass so hard that he could be rearranging his guts for all he cares. Hawks vocalizes a string of moans and whimpers, his vision going white as he feels Dabi growing harder and harder inside of him.
“Aaa, fuck, that’s it. I feel you, I feel you so deep.”
He clings onto Dabi’s shoulders, nails digging into his back. The pressure on his overstimulated prostate sends an electric shock to his brain, and he yelps with a jolt, his body twitching as he comes untouched between their stomachs.
His muscles clench around Dabi as he’s swept up by the force of his orgasm, aftershocks shaking his body. The new tightness seems to work on Dabi, for he melts in a groan and after two, three shoves of his hips, his body goes stiff and he shuts his eyes, parts his mouth with a silent cry.
“Oh, fuck—” he curses, his cock pulsing inside of Hawks as he shoots his cum, and indeed, fuck. Hawks feels the rush going to his head again. Why does it feel so good to be filled like this? He doesn’t want Dabi to pull out. Ever.
“Kiss me,” he breathes. “Kiss me, Touya. Please. ”
Dabi presses their lips together and slow-kisses him as he tries to catch his breath, to steady his pulse. He’s so sweet for the mess they are right now, all covered in cum and sweat. Not that Hawks has energy left for a deep kiss either—smooching like this feels perfect. They feel perfect.
But then Dabi gives him a last one peck and rolls off Hawks, landing on the bed with a huff.
It’s devastating how empty Hawks feels. His ass gapes into nothing before the cum starts to trickle down his hole, and, shit. How much did this guy come? He’s overflowing, but he can’t do anything about it.
Not a muscle in his body is listening to him right now.
He’s drifting into a light slumber, as exhausted as he feels, when he hears Dabi sitting on the bed’s edge and getting up.
Fluttering his eyes open, Hawks notices Dabi leaning against the doorframe, flushed and disheveled. The afterglow of sex looks so good on him, he could get hard again just from that.
Hawks’ heart does a weird flip when a smug smile tugs at those swollen lips.
“Close your legs, slut,” Dabi chuckles before taking his leave.
Hawks wakes up a handful of hours later, his ass sore and his body achy. It’s still daylight outside, but the night won’t take long to fall, judging by the length of the shadows.
He stares at the ceiling, wondering if he really spent this day sleeping and getting laid.
Apparently he did.
He sits up in bed, feeling gross and exhausted. Dabi should’ve dragged him to the shower instead of sneaking out of the room as soon as they were done, but it takes one to know one and Hawks guesses the guy was fleeing from the feelings he spilled on that bed.
Because, man, that was intense.
The kisses, the glances, the touches, their hands always on each other, the way they naturally slide their real names when they are like this.
Hawks blushes at the thought that he only calls Dabi by his real name when he’s inside him (or when he’s about to be.)
It probably doesn’t mean anything.
People say a lot of things in the heat of the moment, it’s like being drunk. And what if they kissed a lot, people kiss each other all the time, it doesn’t mean it’s special. And when Dabi said he wanted to keep him, he probably meant…
What did he mean?
The shower sprays water on him and Hawks sees his reflection warped in the porcelain in front of him—locks of blond hair stuck to his head, lovebites on his neck where a kiss was sucked too hard.
What did Dabi mean?
He puts on new clothes and walks into the dark, quiet kitchen-living room. Dabi is not there and everything looks untouched, except for the light flashing in the rice cooker. He turns on the kitchen lights and opens the lid. Half of the rice is gone, but the cooking steam rises up and makes his stomach growl.
There’s light coming from under Dabi’s dorm room, so Hawks knocks. He hears some movement inside before Dabi opens the door—black hoodie on and a wireless earbud in one hand, so cool and composed as if he wasn’t railing Hawks in the room next door one or two hours ago.
The computer lies open on his bed and Hawks assumes he was watching a movie.
Dabi quirks an eyebrow as he waits for Hawks to say something.
“Huh, er, I… ehm, can I have the rest of the rice?” he asks not very eloquently, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
Dabi blinks for a few seconds before answering. “That was meant for you.”
“Thanks, man,” Hawks beams. “Thought you were saving it for a late dinner. Good thing you didn’t ‘cause I’m starving.”
He goes back to the kitchen and half-expects Dabi to shrug and return to his business, but the guy trails along.
“What are you cooking?” he asks as Hawks opens the fridge and stocks himself with ingredients.
“Hmmm. Omurice is the easiest thing, I guess.” He looks over his shoulder. Dabi’s eyes look so pretty under the kitchen lights. “You want some too?”
He shakes his head. “No, I already ate.”
“Oh, right.” Hawks grabs the cutting board and starts chopping vegetables. “What time is it? I was so hungry I didn’t even check.”
“Around six.”
“Jesus. How long did I sleep?”
“Like three hours?”
He almost cuts one of his fingers. “Three ho—? Shit, Dabi. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“What?” He snickers. “You had somewhere to go?”
“No, but I can’t sleep the whole Saturday.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He breaks two eggs into a bowl and adds the chopped vegetables. He can’t find a good enough reason. He just knows he can’t.
“You’ve been sleeping like shit for months, Hawks,” Dabi says, leaning over the kitchen island and tucking his hands in the hoodie’s front pocket. “The world won’t end if you spend a day or two sleeping your ass off.”
Hawks sighs and continues cooking. Maybe Dabi is right. For someone who wanted to have some time to kill, Hawks sure doesn’t know how to kill time other than working.
The oil sizzles when he adds the mix to the pan.
“Were you watching a movie?” Hawks asks.
“Huh, yes.”
He places the rice in the center of the half cooked omelette. “What was it about?”
“Wanna watch the rest with me?”
Hawks turns over his shoulder.
Still with his hands in the front pocket, Dabi wears an unreadable expression. Is he messing with Hawks or testing him?
Whatever is the case, Hawks opts for the truth.
“Yeah, I do.” He turns to the pan and keeps cooking. “That is, if you don’t mind cuddling with me.”
Dabi huffs in amusement and rolls his eyes.
“Of course you’re a cuddler.” He pushes himself off the doorframe and shuffles to his room. “Take your time, I’ll wait for you.”
Hawks stays in the kitchen, daydreaming about cuddles and smooches (and who knows, maybe falling asleep together), and almost gets his dinner burned.
Notes:
alternative chapter title: accidentally became domestic boyfriends.
tysm for your comments <333 i think i can't thank you guys enough for coming back each week! it means a lot to me!!
Chapter 8: i don't believe in you
Summary:
They are not a thing—they don’t kiss each other good morning, don’t hold hands, and Dabi doesn’t call him Keigo in front of other people, you know, the usual friends with benefits arrangement. Except that they are not friends and are far from having an equal relationship all things considered.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He wonders if someone from the Commission can tell.
They’re both good at lying—that’s a plus. And an irony if you consider that the Commission itself taught them the art of deception. However, Hawks doesn't want to push his luck and see his head rolling if someone finds out. They already had their share of thrills banging in the office once. Why risk everything if they have an entire apartment to themselves?
So, they keep their hands to themselves during the day, and Hawks rides Dabi’s cock all night. Or at least the nights he doesn’t pass out in his bed as soon as his head touches the pillow, which is, most nights.
They are not a thing—they don’t kiss each other good morning, don’t hold hands, and Dabi doesn’t call him Keigo in front of other people, you know, the usual friends with benefits arrangement. Except that they are not friends and are far from having an equal relationship all things considered. Whether Dabi likes it or not (he doesn’t like it), Hawks is the president of the Hero Public Safety Commission and Dabi is his bodyguard.
This is the last thing they should be doing, but they were never good at sticking to the rules.
Hawks sinks down on Dabi’s cock, his thighs flexing as he rises and drops back down again. With his back turned to Dabi, he rides him senseless, enjoying the deep stretch and the sound of skin slapping. In this position, he has more room to touch himself and, also, he doesn't have to face Dabi.
(Face him and wonder if he would look at anyone riding his lap the same way.
With absolute adoration.
The way Dabi looks at him, it does things to Hawks.)
So it's better this way. This way, they both can get off no strings attached. Hawks buries himself in that particular angle that makes his nerves buzz while he jerks himself off, and if Dabi wants to slap him in the ass, well, that’s just more stimulation.
(And so are the hands holding his waist, making sure Hawks doesn't stray too far, making sure he sits deep and hard on Dabi.)
“Aaa— shit.” Dabi shudders. “Like to fuck yourself on me?” He grips Hawks' waist hard and, if he activated his quirk on his hands, if only for a second, Hawks would get them marked on his skin. Shit. The thought makes his head spin and his hips to pick up speed. “Yeah? You like that? You sure do, you clench me like crazy.” Hawks bounces on Dabi as he chases the climax, one hand on his cock, the other gripping the blankets as he leans forward. His hips rocking, his back arching, something about all that must have sent Dabi to the edge because he groans. Loud. “Shit , Keigo. If you move like this… I'm gonna—”
Hawks cums in his hand with a loud groan and Dabi fills him up, painting him white, and this shit is so good, he could do it all day.
He has work to do and places to be, but it can all wait a little longer as they snuggle in the afterglow—their legs tangled, their arms around each other, their lips sealed in a lazy kiss.
But the moment soon shatters when Hawks phone starts buzzing on the nightstand.
Dabi grunts, but doesn't say anything as Hawks roll out of his arms to pick the call.
Hawks tries to blink the haze away as he stares at the screen. It's Rumi and it's still a quarter to seven in the morning. There's no need to rush. Not yet, at least.
He clears his throat before answering.
“Hey, Rumi. Good morning.”
“Hey, Hawks! Just letting you know that I'll have time today to join you at the meeting with the Heteromorph National Council. I moved some stuff here and there to back you up raising the funds and…” His friend trails off as Dabi moves closer, spooning him on the bed. “Shit, Hawks. Didn't want to know you were getting laid first thing in the morning, but lucky you, I guess.”
Hawks chokes and Dabi freezes.
Damn.
How did she…?
Oh, right. The rabbit quirk. She probably heard the slide of the blankets and the brush of their bodies, plus Hawks might still sound a little out of breath.
He should've thought twice before picking up the call, but now it's too late.
“Rumi…”
“Hope I didn't interrupt anything. You must've worked very hard to get rid of your bodyguard for a morning quickie, unless… Wait.”
“See you later, Rumi.”
He cuts off the call before she can catch on more stuff.
Which she probably already did.
That's what he gets for having smart friends.
Dabi snickers against his shoulder. “We got caught?”
“Apparently,” he sighs. “But Rumi won't say anything.”
She may not say anything, but she doesn't need to. She only has to waggle her eyebrows and shoot them a knowing smile when she sees them coming down the hallway to make Hawks fidget.
“Don’t make it weird,” he says through gritted teeth as he reaches her side.
She brings a hand to her chest in mock surprise. “Am I making it weird?”
Red eyes move to Dabi, who stands behind Hawks, and although he cannot see him, Hawks knows the guy is acting listless as usual, almost bored.
(As if he weren't smacking Hawks' ass an hour ago.
Okay. He has to keep it together. They have a meeting now).
The Heteromorph National Council is wary of any government organization and thus difficult to win over, even though Hawks is a former heteromorph himself. Though some say he's not. A considerable portion of mutants don't consider people like Hawks or Miruko as such, as they still have many human traits and are rarely ostracized by society. But this is not about them, Hawks argues during the meeting. It's about the kids in the Commission’s program with mutant quirks that need their economic support, and all the other kids they haven't reached due to lack of funds.
“This program is aimed at children with difficult quirks, right?” asks a woman with a lion-type mutation, folding her paws over the table. “We certainly don't want to label heteromorph quirks as ‘difficult quirk’.”
Hawks frowns. “No matter what we call it, these kids will still have trouble dealing with their quirks if they can't regulate their powers,” Miruko points out, arms folded over her chest, ears bent back in irritation. “You know better than anyone that traditional quirk education often neglects heteromorph traits.”
“This program makes sure that there are trained counselors for all quirks, including animal and inorganic mutations.” Hawks follows. “Some of these counselors are even members of your association…”
The meeting drags on for a couple of hours as Hawks details the program, the coaches, the counselors, and the kids with mutant quirks who will take part in the training, and so on. He's so deep into his prepared speech for these fundraising occasions that he doesn't see the question coming.
“What about this thing they're saying, that you're training soldiers with this program?” asks a man with a rhino mutation.
Hawks blinks, and then it all flashes before his eyes—the dead hawk, the threats, the airplane, the pamphlets falling from the sky. Dabi’s presence should be enough to remind Hawks that he's under threat, but, you know, Dabi makes him think of other stuff these days.
Or rather, he makes sure that Hawks can't think at all.
He sighs and tries to pull himself together. “Yes, I'm well aware of the Commission's reputation, considering what they did to people like me or pro hero Dabi right here.” He gestures with his head to Dabi who stands behind him. “Since I was there myself, I don’t want the program to end up producing heroes who are useful to some agenda. In fact, the main goal of the program is not to train heroes, even if some kids go to hero schools when they’re older. We want to provide assistance to children whose quirks are difficult to handle in a traditional school setting, and provide them with the necessary equipment they might not be able to afford on their own…”
The meeting ends with a handshake and the promise to discuss funding with the rest of the association’s board. Hawks gives them a 90-degree bow and his most enthusiastic smile, which fades as soon as the group turns down the aisle.
He turns to Miruko and pats her on the shoulder.
“Thanks for backing me up there, buddy. These guys are a hard nut to crack. It always helps to have someone with me, you know, for a little boost.”
Miruko has been frowning with her ears pinned back since she walked into the meeting. Only when Hawks addresses her do her ears perk up, her frown melting into a smirk as if the recent meeting hadn't occurred at all and she had never stopped teasing Hawks.
Her eyes go from Hawks to Dabi and she smiles.
“Seems to me that you already have someone to give you a boost. Way more than a boost, I would say.”
That she can’t keep it quiet… She’s lucky the hallway is deserted.
He slips an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.
“Do me a favor and don't say a peep about this, okay?”
Miruko barks a laugh. “I thought you were going to deny it. Holy shit, didn’t see that coming. But now that you mention it, it kinda makes sense…”
He grips her shoulder tighter. “Rumi…”
“Okay, okay. I’ll shut up.” She wriggles out of Hawks’ grip, snickering the whole time. After smoothing her clothes, she turns to Dabi. “Hey, Todoroki. Have you seen your sister lately? Send my regards to Fuyumi-chan if you do. I don’t think I’ll be able to go to Sapporo anytime soon.”
Dabi arches a brow. “You’re friends with Fuyumi?”
Miruko brings her hands to her hips, looking very pleased with herself.
“Let’s say your sister went through a phase in college, and I volunteered to dispel her doubts. Anyway, we kept in touch after that, so yeah, we’re friends now.”
Hawks is no longer surprised by anything that might come out of his friend’s mouth, but that’s not the case with Dabi, whose eyes widen and his face turns as white as a sheet of paper.
(But Hawks has to admit, this time it does surprise him because, damn, Rumi, when were you gonna tell me that you slept with a Todoroki?)
After lunch break, Dabi looks just as shocked as he did that morning. Hawks doesn't know whether to laugh or worry.
“Didn’t peg you as the overprotective brother,” Hawks comments, typing on his laptop and throwing sly glances at Dabi, who is sprawled on the couch staring into the void.
“‘m not,” he drawls. “I’m just… trying to process the information ‘cause Fuyumi is the last person I would’ve expected this from.”
Hawks turns his swivel chair toward him. Dabi’s tousled white hair points in all directions, and Hawks would love to run his fingers through the spiky locks, but no. He rolls his hands into fist. They can't do that here.
“Well, think she also might have a stroke if she knew all the things you have done,” he suggests, propping his chin up in his curled hand. “Especially when you were young.”
Dabi shoots him a glare. “What would you know about that?”
“I don't know anything, but I can get an idea.” He waggles his bushy eyebrows.
Dabi stares at the ceiling, grumbling under his breath.
The day goes by, Hawks has more meetings, reports to close, emails to send, but somehow a miracle happens and they both arrive home a little after seven in the evening.
Hawks kicks off his shoes in the genkan and blurts out what's been on his mind during the day.
“Hey, talking about Fuyumi…”
“I don't want to talk about Fuyumi,” Dabi cuts him off.
“No, this isn’t about that,” he laughs. “Have you thought about visiting her? Like, actually visiting her?”
Dabi turns to him, his hands on his shirt, buttons half undone.
If Hawks is not making it up, Dabi is considering it.
“Maybe after I’m done with this gig,” he says with a shrug, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with one hand. “I can’t leave your ass unsupervised.”
“Okay, but… what if I come with you? I can take Friday off and we can go to Sapporo for the weekend.”
Dabi squints. “You? Taking a day off?”
“I took some days off when we visited Kaina.” Hawks folds his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up. “I know I may work a lot, but I’m not crazy about it, you know?”
Dabi gives him a flat stare. “Sure.”
“Ugh, whatever. I was just offering.”
He tries to walk past Dabi, but a hand on his wrist stops him.
No matter how close they grow (if whatever shit they are doing can be considered growing close), it never gets easier to read Dabi. His eyes are a known blue, but it's a different blue from his father, glistening with the gray shreds he inherited from his mother.
Dabi parts his lips to say something but, after some wavering seconds, his mouth closes, no sound uttered.
He neither utters a sound when Hawks drops a couple of plane tickets onto the coffee table in his office, but he doesn't need to. Dabi’s eyes speak for himself.
He's puzzled, and then furious. Maybe just as furious as that time when he realized that Hawks intended to visit Endeavor and he had to tag along. (Or maybe not. Maybe not as furious.)
“What's this?” he asks, closing the folder on his lap.
Hawks plops down in the armchair in front of Dabi. “Plane tickets.”
“To where?”
“Sapporo.”
There's a slight twitch in Dabi’s eyes, like a flame burning after you flick a lighter.
As quickly as it came, it's gone.
“What could you possibly have to do in Sapporo?” He tries to sound as indifferent as someone gritting their teeth can.
“You may well know that there is a Commission headquarters in Sapporo,” Hawks explains. “I thought it was about time that I pay these guys a visit. And, well, since I need my bodyguard with me at all times, you're coming too.”
If Dabi knew Hawks a little less, maybe he would have been more surprised, he would have opposed him more strongly. But this is Hawks and Dabi must know that, when the idiot gets an idea in his head, he carries it through to the end.
Dabi pinches his brow with two fingers. “You're lucky I'm not killing you.”
“You love me too much to do that,” Hawks laughs.
“You wish,” Dabi grumbles.
Dabi comes with him. Reluctantly. He packs his suitcase and gets into the car that takes them to the airport. Wordlessly. He doesn't even make fun of Hawks’ sunglasses or his baseball cap or his jacket. All signals that he must be really angry this time. But Hawks wouldn't be Hawks if he didn't meddle in other people's business. A hero is someone who intrudes where he's not called and blabla.
He's not a hero anymore, but he has that motto ingrained in his brain—there's nothing he can do about it.
It's weird to fly without his wings, carried by an plane that weighs tons. It doesn't make sense. The whole point of flying is being light, agile, weightless. This hulk of metal is anything but weightless.
It's also weird to fly in a seat, breathing this recycled air, looking down from the heights through a round window. He misses the wind in his face, the way it whipped his hair back, the cold in his cheeks.
Since losing his wings, Hawks has avoided flying as much as possible, traveling by car or train everywhere. But sometimes this is the only way. Sometimes he has to suck it up and endure the shaky takeoffs, the distressing turbulence to get where he wants to go.
Maybe this is his punishment for meddling in the Todoroki mess.
Dabi makes the entire trip with his earphones on, refusing to look at Hawks.
To prove that he is not a jerk (and so that Dabi doesn't hate him so much) he does indeed meet with the HPSC people in Sapporo. They attend a couple of meetings in the morning, stay for lunch, and arrive at the hotel late in the afternoon.
Dabi looks tired and done—he has black circles under his eyes and his hair is disheveled from running his fingers through it all day. A sigh escapes him when he sits down in the first chair he finds.
Hawks hangs his jacket in the entrance closet and wonders if he should be more pushy, ask Dabi if he has called Fuyumi. Or maybe not. Maybe dragging him here was more than enough.
“Why are you doing this?” Dabi suddenly asks. He rubs a thumb against his forehead, and for the first time that day, he locks eyes with Hawks.
Everything in the room—the walls, the floor, the bedding, the furniture, Dabi's clothes–is black and white. The only source of color comes from his eyes.
Hawks glances left and right.
“Huh? What do you mean? Like… hanging my jacket?”
Dabi looks like he wants to throttle him.
“We’re not dating, Keigo.”
Hawks blinks and then frowns. Dabi didn't have to use his given name to tell him that.
“Yes, I'm well aware. You're my bodyguard.”
“And even if we were,” he cuts him off. “I would never let you get in my business like this.”
And he should know that Hawks has a tendency to jump into a house fire, drawn like a moth to a flame.
“Just so you know, I haven't let Fuyumi know that we're here,” Hawks says, unbuttoning his sleeve cuffs and rolling them up. Dabi raises a wary brow. “I just made things easier in case you want to see your sister.”
“What comes next?” Dabi drops his arms onto his lap. “I make up with Shouto? With Endeavor? We babysit Natsuo’s kids?”
“Nah, I'd rather you not murder me for real. Anyway, you're free to call your sister or stay here. I can also help you arrange something so you casually run into Fuyumi, ‘cause I know wanting to meet your sister doesn't go with your bad boy façade.”
“With my what?”
Hawks winks at him. “If you need me, I'll be in my room answering emails and talking to Mera.”
The door is closed, but Hawks still hears Dabi call his sister. He doesn't get what they’re talking about, though. He would need his feathers for that. Anyway. He assumes the exchange went well—Dabi never raised his voice or changed his tone.
Hawks leans back in his chair and drums his fingers on the desk. He knows he might have been too pushy this time, but first, what is he if not pushy, second, he knows Dabi wanted to come, but was too proud to say it out loud. And Hawks meant it when he said that, if Dabi backed out at the last minute and decided not to see his sister, he wouldn't force the encounter. He's not that insufferable.
(Is he?)
Fuyumi is gorgeous. Hawks already knew this, but it’s been years since he last saw her and he had forgotten the breathtaking beauty of Dabi’s only sister. She wears her hair long, down to her waist, white with red highlights like someone Keigo knows well. Unlike this certain someone, she has gentle gray eyes framed by glasses and smiles wide when she greets them.
“Hawks-san! Didn't expect you to be here as well, although, well, it makes sense,” she laughs.
They are meeting at a café in downtown Sapporo to escape the cold. While winter in Musutafu is melting to March temperatures, it’s still chilly here in the north. Fuyumi unwraps the large scarf around her before sitting down with them and parking the stroller next to the table. The baby must be sleeping inside, covered by the canopy.
Hawks cups his chin in his hand. “Yeah, but, you know, your brother is obsessed with me and won't leave me alone.”
Dabi kicks him under the table. Fuyumi doesn't seem to notice.
“I’ve seen the news.” She pinches her eyebrows together and stretches an arm across the table to reach Hawks. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”
Hawks takes the hand Fuyumi offers. “It's not that bad. If anything, the threats have stopped for about a month now, I would say. Maybe my grim-looking bodyguard has something to do with it.”
Dabi glares at him but doesn't say anything. He hasn't said anything since they sat down at the table.
Fuyumi lets go of Hawks’ hand, leans back in her chair and turns to her brother.
“You moved out of Sapporo in such a hurry. I only heard you were working with Hawks-san through Shouto.”
Hawks looks at Dabi out of the corner of his eye.
Moved out of Sapporo?
Wait. Did he live here before?
As reserved as Dabi was, Hawks had given up getting to know more about him. Only now did he remember how little he knew about him, how hard the guy has tried to reveal as little about him as possible.
The realization leaves him a bad taste in Hawks’ mouth.
Dabi folds his arms over his chest and looks away.
“I don't remember ever telling you about my missions before. Besides, you just had Haruhi. You probably had other things to worry about.”
Well, at least it's not something against Hawks specifically. He never tells anyone anything.
A little whimper comes from inside the stroller, so Fuyumi unfolds the canopy and cradles a small baby of around three months with bright red hair in her arms.
The baby’s eyes are bluish gray and Hawks wonders if all the Todoroki siblings looked like this when they were little.
“Wow, little Haruhi took all the Todoroki genes, it seems,” he says, offering the baby his finger, which she squeezes.
“Oh. You mean because of the hair? Her father is a redhead, too. He has a wood quirk.”
Hawks hums. “Then Haruhi is a beautiful name for her. Spring day, right?”
Fuyumi smiles. “Yes. Pretty, isn't it?”
They talk about the baby (she's still very peaceful), about Fuyumi’s husband (he's a high school teacher), about her parental leave (“I have to go back in six months”), why she moved to Sapporo (“Got a nice job offer a couple years ago, and then I met my husband”), about the time Dabi spent in Sapporo.
“He dyed his hair black,” Fuyumi says. Hawks holds onto that information for dear life, wishing there were pictures of that period he could look at. Dabi with black hair strikes him as an alien concept. “He also wore way more piercings than he does now. Our parents would’ve fainted if they had seen him.”
Dabi chuckles mirthlessly. “I lost my chance to scare Enji to death.”
“Anyway, he was working on a top-secret mission, so we couldn't see each other much, but…” she smiles. “Living in the same city still brought us closer together. Even if Dabi will never admit it's true.”
“It's not true,” he grumbles.
They bicker like good old siblings. Or at least how Hawks guesses siblings would—playfully and lightheartedly. He smiles as he watches them talk. It's nice seeing this side of Dabi. A slightly more relaxed, softer version of him. So far, Hawks had only seen this side of Dabi the times they had been in bed, and Hawks is glad it isn't just about sex. It's just the way he acts with the people he feels close to.
Are they close?
“It would be nice if Natsuo and his family could move closer, you know, so Haruhi and Yukiko can grow up together,” she says, more to herself than to Hawks and Dabi. She cradles the baby and ponders. “Last time Natsuo and his family visited, they loved the cool weather. I think Sapporo is a good city for all of us.”
Much to Endeavour's dismay, most of the Todoroki siblings inherited their mother's ice quirk. Even Shouto, who is half-hot, prefers the cold and Dabi, who unlike their siblings can't create a single snowball for his life, has a body made for winters. Hawks can imagine them all living close to each other, and he would be lying if he said the thought of a large family didn't make him jealous.
He never had anyone nor anything. Not even a relationship he could repair, with his father in prison and his mother gone. Dabi still has a chance, but he seems uninterested, unmotivated, or maybe even wary of what might happen if he were to resume a normal relationship with his siblings.
The conversation drags on, but at some point Dabi folds his arms and looks out of the window while Hawks and Fuyumi continue talking.
Hawks recognizes that hollow look in his eyes.
Dabi is putting up walls.
Emotional walls are not enough to keep them from fucking, and Hawks is not a saint. If Dabi slams him against the door as soon as they close the hotel room, and smacks their lips together, it's not Hawks’ fault that he ends up tugging at his belt, undoing his pants, and leading them into the main room.
Dabi probably needs the sex to blow off steam, to have a way out of his head, and who says Hawks doesn't need exactly the same thing?
Hawks slides in two fingers, and Dabi sighs, mumbles, shudders. Large hands knot in blond hair, holding Hawks’ head where it belongs–between Dabi’s legs–and Hawks appreciates the help. Blowing Dabi while fingering him is as intoxicating as it's wearying.
Lying on the hotel bed, Dabi’s stomach tenses and hollows out every time Hawks sucks particularly hard. Hawks deepthroat him, pressing his nose against red, wavy hair, and feeling the weight of Dabi’s cock on his tongue. He has to focus to keep a breathing rhythm that won’t choke him, a tempting thing to do when Dabi tastes so good, feels so good. He twists his fingers inside him and Dabi jolts, hands tugging at Hawks’ hair harder.
For every reaction Hawks pulls out of him, Dabi pulses and grows bigger inside his mouth. The sensation is so arousing that it makes Hawks rut mindlessly against the mattress.
He needs to do something about it.
Hawks pulls out and pants, a thread of drool connecting the head of Dabi’s cock to his lips. Dabi lies back against the cushions, eyes hooded and hazy, the orange light on the bedside table spilling into his hair.
A thumb strokes Hawks’ cheek and the touch makes the former hero blurt out, “Can I top this time?”
His voice is a mess, but he reckons Dabi got the message from the way his breathing stopped and his eyes opened wide. Hawks moves closer to Dabi’s face, but keeps his fingers inside, curling and moving them at times to keep the stretch. He kisses Dabi’s forehead, his nose, his cheek, until he reaches his neck and stops there, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin. Dabi clenches his walls at every touch and throws his head back, and Hawks thinks that making him come dry by fucking his prostate with his fingers sounds just as appealing as doing him raw.
Because the longer the silence, the more Hawks thinks Dabi is not much into the idea.
“I’ve… never bottomed before,” he says at last.
And—
Oh.
Well.
That's why he took his time to answer.
Hawks moves back and locks his eyes in hazy blue, but Dabi looks to the side and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s as if he himself wasn’t expecting to disclose what had just slipped out of his lips.
It's not every day that Hawks can make Dabi feel flustered, so he takes the opportunity.
He offers a smirk and waggles his eyebrows. “I can be your first.”
Hawks thought Dabi would glare at him, kick him or turn in bed and say he didn't feel like doing anything anymore.
He didn’t expect Dabi to stay silent, his expression softening as if he couldn't refute Hawks, as if he were saying ‘you've always been my first.’
Clearly, he didn't say that, and Hawks should stop making things up.
But Dabi was his first. The first boy he met who was a little like him, the first time he thought ‘I want him to be my friend’.
When the friends' strategy didn't work out, they became rivals. His first rival. Having one made him feel more like a hero, more like an adult.
They were kids together, but it's been a while since they've turned into adults, and now…
What are they now?
Dabi hooks his legs around Hawks’ waist and lifts his hips to offer a better access. Hawks uses one hand to guide his cock toward Dabi’s entrance while the other props him up on the mattress for additional support. He loves the anticipation, the tug in his stomach as he pushes his hips forward, the head of his cock stretching Dabi’s walls. As soon as he's inside, Hawks is washed by a warm, tight sensation that makes him drop his chin and groan. In response, Dabi hisses with his loose hands thrown over his head. His hair spilled onto the bed merges with the white duvet.
The slide is easy, thanks to the excess of lube he squirted on them, but Hawks still goes slow. He’s savoring every inch he takes, enjoying the stretch, relishing the pressure around his shaft. His senses are overridden as he bottoms out, their bodies melting into one now that he has completely disappeared inside Dabi. And damn. It feels so good. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, when he hid his face in the crook of Dabi’s neck, when he opened his mouth in a silent exclamation. All his brain can register is the fire burning inside Dabi, the squelching sounds of their bodies colliding as he starts to move, his hips pounding against Dabi’s ass with heavy, dragged motions before he switches to a faster pace.
Dabi babbles his name and gasps every time Hawks brushes past his prostate. Every sound that escapes his lips makes Hawks smile wider and wider. He doesn’t need to ask how it feels because he knows it feels good. People often complain about his baseless confidence, but he’s confident that he fucks well–either giving or receiving, riding, on his back, on his knees and hands, he knows he does a good job, and he knows Dabi will come back for more. The way he's been doing it so far.
He curls his fingers around Dabi’s cock, trapped between their stomachs, and feels him jolt.
“Want me to help you, or you want to cum untouched?” Hawks purrs against his ear.
It takes Dabi a while to put two syllables together.
“Untouched,” he pants. “Wanna come untouched.”
Hawks hums, angling his hips to thrusts into Dabi’s most sensitive post, at which he groans in response.
“Quite ambitious for your first time, but I bet you’ve done this before. Using a toy or your fingers, I mean.”
Eyes closed, teeth clenched, Dabi nods as his cheeks flush a deeper red. Locks of hair stick to the sides of his face and curl around his neck. He's drenched in a sweat, his sweat or Dabi’s sweat, he doesn't know, but Hawks still licks the salt off his neck.
And it tastes so sweet.
“So what did it do?” Hawks continues. “Your fingers?” Dabi clenches around him and that’s a yes. The honesty makes Hawks smile. “Poor you, babe,” he says, nuzzling Dabi’s cheek. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have gladly dicked you down.”
Dabi chuckles. “Liar.”
As if it were a challenge, Hawks starts to rail him harder.
“You think I can lie to you?” He pants and grabs Dabi’s chin, makes him look into scorching amber. Or at least he tries, Dabi’s eyes roll back. “You think I haven't jerked off to you more times than I can count? At a time when I should've been focusing on my homework or working hard to get my provisional license?”
“Fuck, Keigo… ”
“I always thought you hated my guts, but the truth is, you've been fingering yourself while thinkin’ of me. Am I right?”
Dabi arches his back and squeezes him tighter, if that's possible.
“Shit, yes. Yes!”
His muscles are sore, and his lungs are spent, and they've made a mess of this bed with sweat and lube and precome. And once Keigo's done with Dabi, all the linen will be completely ruined, as ruined as Dabi's hole.
The thought triggers something in his brain and fuck. He’s at his limit.
His hand moves to Dabi's neck, and he's doing his best not to choke him. They've never traced a line around their kinks, and he's not sure if this is a green or a red light. It's probably a green one by the way Dabi moans and his breath hitches, but he can never be sure.
So Hawks moves his thumb to Dabi's cheek and strokes him dearly.
“Say it,” Hawks rasps, his voice a mess. “Say you want me.”
Dabi curses something along the lines of ‘you’re gonna be my end’ , and if that’s what he went for, well, they’re in the same boat.
A boat sinking deeper and deeper into this sea of pleasure.
“Can I come inside?” he asks, and Dabi locks his ankles behind Hawks’ back, a good enough answer when he can’t spell his name even if it was whispered in his ear. “Fuck,” Hawks curses. “Touya. I'm close... I…”
The cry that breaks out of him seems to be coming from someone else, the sound completely alien to him. The orgasm is so intense that it blinds him for a moment, and so hard that he feels the white leaking out of Dabi before he even pulls out. And he can’t pull out when Dabi grips him like this, like he wants to keep part of Hawks inside him.
My heart, he thinks. He has my heart.
Hawks grows soft inside Dabi but doesn’t pull out. They kiss slowly and leisurely, sweat cooling on their skin. Dabi slides his arms around Hawks’ neck, and all that Hawks can think is this is it.
He kisses Dabi and thinks, this is how it feels.
This is how it feels to be in love.
Notes:
he realized!!!!
many of you thought shit was going down this chapter but according to my schedule *check notes*, they have to be idiots in love first.
what was your favorite part of this chapter? mine is rumi telling dabi that she banged his sister. i love her so much.
Chapter 9: they don't believe in me
Summary:
This is what Dabi does best: he turns up the heat until the situation starts to boil over, spill over, and it’s exhausting. Today, Hawks doesn't have the patience to cool off and try to do some damage control before it all goes to hell.
For Hawks, too, is a time bomb.
Notes:
i remember this was one of the hardest chapters to write (it took me about a month, lol), but now that I reread it, it's probably my fave eheh
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His last realization hit him like a freight train.
He’s in love with Dabi.
Well, what else could he have expected? For some time now, they haven’t been just fucking, slipping more words than they should in bed, disclosing more of what they mean to each other, spilling their whole hearts out like they’re not the type to stab you in the back if the situation calls for it.
Like they actually trust each other.
(Hawks wonders if they ever just fucked.
He doubts he wants to know the answer.)
He doubts he wants to know what Dabi will say if Hawks ever confesses, because sometimes it feels like they are on the same page (kissing and cuddling until they fall asleep, waking up the next morning in each other’s arms, the world around them twinkling and glittering in a soft light), and sometimes it feels like Dabi just wants someone to get off (coming inside of Hawks before he pulls out and jumps into the shower all the while Hawks looks at the ceiling and hears the water rattling against the bathroom floor, his ass sore and his heart uneasy.)
It always should have been about getting off.
Hawks rolls on the bed, feeling the come leaking out of him, and wonders if it would be better to stop whatever this thing is. There are a handful of good excuses for putting an end to their midnight incursions (their morning quickies, their lazy afternoons in bed) that make way more sense than preventing a broken heart.
He shouldn’t get involved with his staff. That's a good enough reason.
Dabi would hate to think of himself as part of Hawks’ staff, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is. Nor does it change the fact that the Commission is using public money to employ Dabi—a bodyguard who spends more time inside Hawks than watching his back, as he was supposed to.
Hawks throws an arm over his eyes and groans.
He hates this.
He hates the fact that he had already told Dabi they should stop—a promise that lasted barely a week. Since then, they've done everything but stop.
Neither of them is the type to keep their promises when temptation is at hand.
At least they have agreed that the office is neutral territory, and neither of them has tried anything where prying eyes might see them.
Perhaps on this common ground Hawks can call a truce without feeling the offering slipping through his fingers and exploding when it hits the ground.
"Now that the threats have almost disappeared..." He taps a stack of papers onto the desk by the short edge. “Maybe you can move out of the apartment and into a hotel nearby.” He doesn't dare look at Dabi, but he knows that the guy hasn't moved a muscle. That’s his way of dealing with stuff: being non-reactive. “Not that it bothers me, living with you, that is, but I think it would be good for us to keep some distance.”
“A hotel, huh?” Dabi repeats, holding a report in his hands, he hasn't lifted his eyes from the paper. He might not have even heard Hawks, answering just because he’s expected to say something. Or maybe he's showing indifference on purpose to ruffle Hawks' feathers.
It's working.
Hawks frowns. He would’ve expected a little more resistance. Something to prove that Dabi would, at least, miss the sex.
“I thought—”
“I don’t care,” Dabi interrupts flatly, still not meeting his gaze. His fingers shuffle through the papers, his mind clearly elsewhere. “You can tell Takahashi-san to arrange a reservation somewhere. Doesn’t matter to me.”
Hawks hesitates, feeling like an idiot.
He was the one with the idea and now he’s here, nursing second thoughts.
"So, you’re fine with it?"
Dabi snorts.
"Why not? You said it yourself. Space. If it helps, then do it. If not, whatever." His tone is too flat, like it’s not worth the effort to try to convince Hawks even with the power he has over him.
(Not something that makes Hawks particularly proud, but what was he supposed to do when Dabi showed up and offered him on a silver platter what he had been craving for years, even before he had a moment to realize what he wanted? It was as if Dabi could read his mind better than Hawks could read his own.
Maybe he did.)
“I guess," Hawks trails off, tapping the stack of papers again as if they had unaligned in the past five minutes. “If it's okay with you, then we’ll leave it at that.”
Dabi shrugs, finally making eye contact with him. Piercing blue.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
∆
It's awkward working together after that.
Evidently.
Hawks may not have thought this through. He had expected their relationship to go back to square one after Dabi moved out, not to get worse, like they are fifteen again and can't stand seeing each other’s faces on the other side of the training ground.
Dabi still follows Hawks everywhere, joins his meetings, and rides with him in the backseat of the car, but it still feels like they are further apart than ever.
The city rushes past outside the car window and Hawks drags a hand across his face, dog tired after a long day, yet Dabi doesn't look up from his phone.
The guy wears his indifference like an armor, one that Hawks doesn't know how to crack. And he doesn't think he has the right to build new bridges when he burned the old ones that kept them together.
It's not the outcome he had expected, but maybe it's the one he deserves.
Fortunately, he has too much on his plate to dwell on it.
That day, a reporter is interviewing him for a magazine. They’ve already gone over his lost quirk and the challenges of stepping into the presidency of the Commission at such a young age, topics that Hawks has discussed many times before. The speech is already prepared, so he doesn't have to put much thought into it. That's why his eyes, ever the traitors, continually drift to Dabi, who stands just behind the reporter, aloof and uninterested.
"I understand you turned thirty-one last December, right?" She asks, twirling a pen between her fingers. "What are your plans for the future in personal terms, Takami-san? Do you plan to get married, start a family?”
Hawks almost chokes on his coffee.
None of this was in the approved interview script his secretary had approved, but maybe that was the point—the surprise factor.
He knew that him being single was something people talked about, but other than the girls approaching him at galas, fanning her eyelashes or flashing a coy smile, no one had ever asked him so directly.
Eyes now on the reporter, he cracks an easy smile. He can't afford to look hesitant now, let alone uncomfortable.
“Well, the thing is, my job’s pretty demanding. I don’t think a potential partner would appreciate me putting work ahead of everything else.”
“Oh, but we've seen important heroes with large families before,” the reporter presses. “Take for example, Endeavor.”
He feels Dabi tense up at the edge of his vision.
The reporter probably doesn't know that his bodyguard is Endeavor's eldest son. Since his job is the undercover kind, few people outside the hero world know who Dabi is. Endeavor surfacing in this conversation is, then, a coincidence, albeit an unfortunate one.
Hawks makes a mental note not to agree to any more interviews in a while after this one.
“Yes, but I don't see myself as a family father of four.” He says with a casual shrug and a half-smirk. “I'm just a guy.”
“Hey, just-a-guy,” Dabi calls out to him, tossing a wad of paper on the desk. Hawks pauses, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, and looks up. “Takahashi-san needs you to sign these.”
Dabi stands next to the desk with his arms on his hips, hovering over Hawks like a bad omen. The blending of his parents’ genes makes him look cold, yet simmering with quiet intensity. Or maybe it's the sharpness in his eyes and the way his nostrils flare, almost letting out steam. Hawks is not sure what he did this time but man, he can’t have a break when Dabi is around him, can he?
He thought that distance would sever whatever had taken root between them, but distance hasn't done shit. If anything, it has made everything worse. Each word, each movement now pulses with heavy unease and Hawks wonders if said uneasiness is something new or if it never really left.
“You're taking your sweet time,” Dabi says, his voice cutting through the stillness and snapping Hawks out of his thoughts.
If Dabi had shown the slightest hint of a smile, Hawks would've thought his bodyguard was teasing him, but his expression is all business—jaw locked, brows furrowed, his sleeves are rolled up and the shirt stretches at his shoulders. The fabric is lighter than the ones Hawks would unbutton as he kissed down Dabi’s chest. He wonders when did winter bleed into spring.
April has been here for a while now, but Hawks didn't really feel the change of season, always cooped up in some room, either his office, his friends’ offices or his apartment, all rooms that kept the temperature at a comfortable, impersonal temperature. Dabi started as his bodyguard last autumn, he recalls. How long has it been since then? How long have they been dancing around each other?
A lifetime, it seems. If not more.
Hawks clears his throat and flips through the papers.
“Does she need them right now?”
Dabi glances over his shoulder, his gaze lingering for a moment as if he’s searching the room for someone, even though he perfectly knows that right there it's just the two of them.
“Dunno. I don't see any other reporter sticking around, so I bet you have time.”
A reporter.
So that's what it was all about.
Hawks sighs and takes a pen from the drawer, his signature scratching the documents with ink.
“Is that why you are angry? Because of the interview?” Before Dabi can confirm his suspicions, he adds: “Just for the record, it wasn't me who brought Endeavor up first, but I had to play along and say something.”
Dabi's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of wariness or disbelief passing across his face.
"I'm not angry, Hawks, and I don't care about your interview either. I’m just trying to do my job well enough so Mera doesn’t tear me apart and might actually consider me for a future gig when I quit at the end of the month.”
Hawks feels the tip of his pen slashing the paper, his ears ringing as if he had heard an explosion.
He looks up at and meets the arctic blue of Dabi’s eyes, the stark white of his hair. There’s not a hint of humor in Dabi's expression.
“Wait, what do you mean by quitting?” Hawks chuckles weakly. “You can't quit.”
“Oh, I can and I will see myself out since you don't have the guts to kick me out yourself.”
Hawks shakes his head in denial.
“Why would I want to kick you out?”
Dabi’s eyes remain unblinking, his posture as rigid as his tone.
“Are you kidding me, right? It's clear that you're not comfortable with me being around you and, shocking news, my job consists of being around you.”
Hawks drops the pen and turns to face Dabi on his swivel chair. The guy looks unyielding, like nothing Hawks might say could make him change his mind. Not that Dabi is the type to give in once he’s made up his mind.
Neither of them is.
Hawks sighs. “Yes, around me. Not over me or inside me, for that matter.”
Dabi’s frown deepens. “Don’t try to make it look like it was my idea.”
“It wasn’t just your idea, and I know you too well to realize we weren't going to stop if we kept living under the same roof.”
He doesn’t want to continue this conversation. It’s hard to get Hawks on his nerves, but Dabi always manages to do so, somehow.
He stands up and picks up the documents, ready to hand them to the secretary himself, when Dabi speaks up again.
“See, that's the problem with you, Keigo.” The use of his first name makes Hawks’ chest clench painfully. “You think everyone is after your ass, you self-conceited shit, but that ain’t me. This was just work for me and if we happened to fuck along the way, well, I thought it would make you happy because god knows how much you needed to loosen up and pull that stick out of your ass.”
Hawks rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I get it. You are so wise and levelheaded that you would’ve stopped even if I were around. But I wouldn’t have, okay? I couldn’t.”
Dabi tilts his head slightly to the side, a shadow of doubt crossing his eyes. It’s like this conversation is not taking the course he was hoping for, but Hawks doubts the guy had a plan other than to incinerate everything.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice barely a rumble, followed by an incredulous chuckle. “You liked my dick so much that you didn’t want to stop, is that what you meant?”
Hawks wants to pull his hair out. “No. Not your dick, you dipshit. If you’re so smart, draw your own conclusions. I’m out.”
He doesn’t get very far before Dabi grabs his arm and pushes him against the wall. It’s not hard enough to pin him down, but certainly fast enough to make Hawks drop all the paper on the floor.
Fuck. They’re making a scene in the office. Again. But now it's a broad day and there are a lot of people still swarming around the building. His secretary herself is right outside the office and might come to check on them if they keep arguing like this, like there’s only the two of them in the world and no one else to hear them.
It's hard to focus on anything else when Dabi burns so brightly, burns so terribly.
Dabi flicks his eyes down to Hawks' lips before they look up again.
“So, yeah, I'm a dipshit and I need you to spell it out for me,” he says. “Do me the favor.”
Hawks looks over Dabi's shoulder. The door is still closed, and there is no one peeking through the small window, but god knows how long this loneliness will last.
"Dabi," he replies in a hushed voice. "We can't do this here."
Dabi huffs. "Well, you tell me where we're going to do this, because it was your idea that I moved out of your apartment."
And this is what Dabi does best: he turns up the heat until the situation starts to boil over, spill over, and it’s exhausting. Today, Hawks doesn't have the patience to cool off and try to do some damage control before it all goes to hell.
For Hawks, too, is a time bomb.
"Because...! " He chokes out before remembering to lower his voice. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before locking his amber into blue. “Because I can’t do this no-strings-attached thing anymore, Touya. It’s fucking me up. That’s why.”
Dabi barely blinks. “What do you want, then?”
Hawks huffs. “I wish it was so simple.”
“I mean, it is simple. I’ll tell you what I want.” He puts a hand against the wall and kicks Hawks’ feet apart, leaning into his space. Hawks sucks in a breath. “I want you to be mine,” he says, bringing his other hand up to cup Hawks’ face. They are within kissing distance, but neither of them wants to close the gap. Hawks is barely breathing, he doesn’t think he can tell his body to move. “And I want to be with you. Does that sound attached enough or you need me to tie you down as well? The bed, a chair—your pick.”
Hawks feels his throat burning and his eyes itching. The answer to both questions is yes, yes please, but he can’t bring himself to come undone and pour his heart out.
He wonders if it’s pride or an old self-preservation instinct, because last time his heart was left out in the open, it rotted under the stars as he waited for his mother to return.
“Touya, don’t play with me,” Hawks stammers, hating that his words tremble at the end.
“You think I’m playing with you?”
“Yes, you are. You’re here being an ass while I’m trying to tell you that I’m in lov—”
Dabi tugs him close into an open mouthed kiss, kisses him so hard, so rough, like he wants to consume him and Hawks lets him swallow the words off his tongue because he knows Dabi heard it.
And you know what?
Fuck it.
Hawks throws his arms around Dabi’s neck and licks into his mouth, returning the kiss with the same enthusiasm. They cross no words, but right now Hawks doesn't need them. All he needs is Dabi tilting in, grabbing his ass and pulling him up in the air, pulling him up against the wall without breaking the kiss. The fact that Dabi can carry his weight makes his eyes roll. What the hell. Why he didn't do this before? His brain is buzzing with all the new possibilities.
His back pressed against the wall, Hawks wraps his legs around Dabi’s waist and hums into the kiss. It’s like he’s floating, hanging in the air, and not feeling the ground beneath his feet makes him feel euphoric, ecstatic. Maybe that’s why he groans into Dabi’s mouth and grips him by the back of his neck.
“Fuck, Touya. Touch me, ” he grits out. Dabi clutches Hawks’ waist with both hands, but it’s not enough. “Fuck me up,” he begs. “Fuck me up, please. I don’t care.”
He wants skin-to-skin contact, he wants to be pounded against the wall, he wants his utter ruin, and if Dabi will cause his downfall, well, Hawks will gladly take the bullet.
But then they hear voices from the hallway, and they both freeze.
They stare at each other for a breathless moment until they hear the murmur of footsteps and voices fading away.
Fuck. That was close.
“Bathroom,” Hawks whispers, because this wasn't going to end like this. He doesn't care about his no-more-sex-office policy anymore, not when his balls are aching and won't let him think. “Let’s make it quick,” he pants.
Dabi snickers against his mouth as he puts him down.
“Jeez. First you cockblock me by kicking me out of your apartment, and now you’re bossing me around…”
Hawks fists the collar of Dabi”s shirt and pulls him close, their foreheads almost bumping. “Because I am your boss, Touya. Now fuck me before Mera or someone else comes around.”
Dabi puts a hand over Hawks’ hands and grins wider.
“I’m on it, President.”
As rushed as they were, they didn't spend much time prepping Hawks, but that's okay considering that he had spent the night before fingering himself until he passed out (hey, Dabi wasn't the only one cockblocked here). Indeed, Hawks felt tighter than other days, but it didn't hurt when Dabi pulled him up onto the sink’s countertop and pushed inside of him. Or at least it doesn't hurt enough to complain about it. Or it hurts enough to feel good, which doesn't make any sense, but Hawks knows he's got some wires crossed, he's not going to dwell on that now.
It's hard to dwell on anything when Dabi is ramming his ass like this.
“Ah, ah, ah, fuck—yes. Yes, right there.” He clings to Dabi like his life depends on it, arms around his neck, legs crossed behind his back—a very unstable grip. Being impaled on Dabi is the main thing that prevents him from falling and Hawks is too old to keep trying new, risky positions, but desperate times call for desperate measures and if he feels the faucet’s handle stabbing his back, well, it would be worth the pain, because everything else feels amazing. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”
His face sunk in the crook of Hawks’ shoulder, Dabi rolls their hips together, slowing down the pace. It might be a bit too sweet for Hawks’ liking, but he can't really complain if the piercings on Dabi’s dick drag across his walls like this, scraping his ring muscles in a way that makes his eyes roll.
“Shit so good, so so good,” Hawks groans, tilting his head back, and Dabi presses a kiss on his neck.
“I've always wanted you, Keigo,” he mouths somewhere just under his jawline, making Hawks shudder. A warm sensation runs down his spine. “Always, always,” he repeats, nuzzling against his cheek and Hawks feels himself melting under his touch. “Fuck, I took this job to prove to myself that I no longer felt anything for you… but man, did my plan backfire.”
It sure did, and it blew up in their faces, because this is a disaster. Hawks’ black slacks are crumpled on the floor, his white shirt open, and his tie clinging somewhere in his neck. Dabi is not doing very well either. His pants are halfway down his thighs, his shirt is half unbuttoned, and his hair is a mess, pointing in all directions from all the times Hawks has tugged at it.
If someone were to find them like this…
“I knew it,” Hawks laughs with a breathy sound. “Fuck . I knew you felt something for me.”
He groans, his brain short-circuiting from a particular deep thrust and, god, let the walls be soundproof, please.
“And yet you made me work so hard,” Dabi grumbles, fingers plunged on gold hair, he pulls Hawks’ head back and bites into his throat.
Fuck. He loves this. His cock bobs, trapped between their stomachs, and twitches as Dabi quickens the pace, pounding his ass.
It's a miracle he can talk while Dabi is trying to fuck his brains out.
“I'm not good at easy stuff,” he states, bringing one hand to his own arousal and starting to jerk himself off. He's so sensitive and he's leaking. He's going to cum in, like, a minute. Not that it’s a bad thing. It's good, so good. Coming with Dabi inside of him feels so good. “I like it hard.”
Dabi groans under his breath before pulling out all of a sudden. Hawks yelps and wobbles after losing his main support, but Dabi catches him and puts him down, wasting no time to flip him over and bend him over the sink.
The air is knocked out of his lungs when Dabi jams into him again. Both hands gripping the countertop, Hawks bites his own upper arm to keep from screaming .
“Nuh-huh, we ain't looking down.” Dabi tugs at Hawks’ hair and pulls his head up, tearing a hiss out of him. “C’mon, open your eyes.”
Hawks doesn’t know at what point he closed his eyes shut, but as he flutters them open, through the haze and the high he sees himself bent over with Dabi towering over him. His bodyguard is a beautiful mess of tousled hair and crumpled clothes, and his face and chest are flushed pink where his skin is still healthy. Hawks blinks and focuses on himself, and my goodness, is that really him? This person blushing a furious red, hair sticking to his temples, jaw dropped in a silent moan? His cock slaps wetly against his stomach with each thrust and his face contorts in pleasure at how deep Dabi reaches, and jesus.
So this is what they mean when they say being fucked stupid.
He presses a hand against the mirror and closes his eyes again because he’s too overwhelmed to see anything, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s almost there. He feels Dabi’s pace growing erratic and his cock growing bigger, so Hawks fists his own erection and jerks off until something snaps inside his brain and he actually moans , loud and harsh, and fuck . Fuck Mera, fuck the Commission, fuck everyone. He comes hard and his orgasm doesn’t seem to end, and he knows it was a week or less but, god, he missed Touya, he missed the groan he makes when he delivers the final thrust, he missed the way his cock pulses as he shoots inside of Hawks, he missed his hands on his hips, their skins sticking together in sweat. He doesn’t want to lose this ever again.
Fuck. He’s doomed.
Dabi pants heavily, his chest rising and falling as his breathing settles. He pulls out of him and Hawks is glad that Dabi’s hands are holding him up because his legs are about to give out. They are shaking even now and he hates looking so weak, hates that Dabi knows how down bad he is for him.
Hawks sighs and drops his chin against his chest. He doesn’t think he can stand upright either. Maybe Dabi broke his back.
“Keigo…” he calls him, stroking a thumb across Hawks’ lower back. Dabi's calloused hands bracketing his waist ground him, sooth him. “Keigo, I….”
“Hawks?” They hear Mera’s muffled voice from the other side of the door, and they both stiffen. “Hawks, are you here?”
“He should be here somewhere,” his secretary says. “ He hasn’t left the office, as far as I know.”
Hawks whips his head up and meets Dabi’s eyes reflected in the mirror. He’s not half as panicked as Hawks is, the fucking idiot. He’s even chuckling in mischief and, god, Hawks is going to smack him later, after he fixes this mess (if he manages to fix it at all).
He clears his throat before answering, but his voice still comes out hoarse and spent.
“I… I’ll be right there.”
He picks up his slacks from the floor, and puts them on in a flash before buttoning his shirt and tucking it inside his pants. He turns on the faucet and washes his face, trying to look a little less flushed, a little more decent. He tries to fix his hair, what for, he’s not sure. With him and Dabi gone and the bathroom door locked, you don’t have to be very smart to put two and two together and realize what they were up to.
Dabi fixes his clothes the best he can and runs a hand through his hair, trying to flatten his unruly spikes, and, at this point, the more they try, the more obvious it gets.
“Hawks?” Mera insists, this time knocking on the door. “Are you okay?”
Hawks pulls the door open and Mera’s ever-sleepy eyes widen at the sight: the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission with his clothes in disarray, several hickeys on his neck, and a rosy face as if he had just gotten off the treadmill, stepping out of the bathroom so casually, as if Dabi standing right behind him, zipping up his pants, wouldn’t give him away.
“Yes, I’m good. Thanks for asking,” he replies with a casual smile, leaving the door open because whatever, they already saw the idiot. “You need somethin’?”
Notes:
rip mera.
all dabihawks do in this fic is argue and then have make-up sex, like god intended.if you ever saw that this story had 10 chapters only, no, you didn't (i'm still polishing the epilogue and the last chapter was getting too long, so i split it in two).
as always tysm for coming back every week <3333 (and let me know your favorite part of this chap!! mine is mera regretting all the decisions he made that led to this precise moment).
Chapter 10: you don't believe in chance
Summary:
If they had just kept their hands to themselves, maybe he and Dabi would still be dancing around each other. Never indulging themselves, keeping things shallow.
(But who is Hawks trying to fool? That could have never been them. Dabi has always meant everything to him. He was the mirror Hawks stared into, reflecting both the person he wanted to be, bold and unapologetic, and the guy he swore he would never become—cold and detached.)
His thoughts come to a sudden halt when someone slips up behind him and holds an ice needle to his throat.
Notes:
early update bc it’s been one of those weeks and i’m passing the yaoi.
didn't expect this fic to have a final battle, but i guess it was meant to happen, with the plot and everything lol.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mera covers half of his face with a hand in a thoughtful gesture and stares into the void, probably wondering what he could’ve done differently to avoid this situation.
Not making Hawks president would’ve been a good idea, and not hiring Dabi as his bodyguard might have helped too.
If you look at it, Hawks is only a victim of the circumstances.
(He wants to believe he's not at fault, but he knows the blame is his to carry.
And Dabi’s.)
So why is he the only one having this conversation with Mera?
Oh, right. Dabi had conveniently remembered that he had to pick something up downstairs, and Hawks wanted him out of his hair, so he just let him slip away through the door.
Now he regrets it.
“I don’t want to know how this happened…” Mera says. The dark circles under his eyes have never looked darker.
“I certainly don’t know how this happened either,” Hawks says, earning a flat look from Mera.
“You probably have a better idea than I do. Now… we should avoid a scandal at all costs because the Commission doesn't need any more bad publicity.” He makes a pause and Hawks knows what that pause means. It's the ‘we put you as the HPSC front face to give us a good name, and now you're doing just the opposite’ pause. Mera folds his arms over his chest and continues. “I won't tell the senior commite about this, but…” His eyes flick toward the door where Dabi had slipped out five minutes ago. “You know Todoroki-kun can't stay as your bodyguard now, don't you?”
Hawks knows. Dabi should've stopped being his bodyguard the moment they came back from Kainat’s place. Or even before. But they fucked it up and now they’ve reached this point of no return.
He huffs and brings his hands to his waist.
“Yeah, I know. And he knows it too.”
Dabi takes the news about his transfer better than Hawks had expected: with a silent nod of his head.
It seems to Hawks that Dabi was waiting for Mera to find out and discreetly relocate him to another post within the Commission. Because, of course, the idiot couldn’t quit like normal people.
He said he was planning to resign by the end of the month, but was probably counting on the news to break on Mera before it came to that.
Poor Mera, he doesn’t get paid enough for this.
Hawks stops feeling sorry for Mera after he says that Dabi’s relocation is no excuse to leave the HPSC president without a bodyguard.
Hawks would have expected to be much luckier than this.
“I haven’t received a threat in two months,” he tries to argue. “These guys probably got bored of me or found something better to do with their time. Anyway, they were kinda amateur, to be honest.”
Mera plops down next to the coffee table with a long sigh.
“And if they’re such amateurs, why haven’t we found them yet?”
That is a good counter argument that Hawks hadn’t considered.
Because it's true. No one had yet been arrested for the dead birds found outside Hawks’ apartment, or for the invasion of his property, or for the pamphlets dropped on Memorial Day, or the bombing of the Commission building.
“We have the current top five heroes investigating this case and we haven't found anyone,” Mera continues, voice flat and listless. “Why is that?”
Hawks wishes he had a clue.
What Dabi doesn’t take as well is the new assignment he’s given after being removed from his bodyguard obligations.
Rumi has been working on a case in her hometown of Hiroshima for several months now and needs backup for an infiltration mission. It’s something Dabi had experience with, but Rumi does not. Or at least very little experience, and Hawks can totally believe that. His bunny friend is the type to shoot first and ask questions later.
Dabi might come across as the same type, in a way, but he can also lay low when he needs to.
Creeping, like a villain.
“I hope the Commission doesn’t act too surprised the day I become a full-fledged villain,” he mutters, tilting his head back until it rests against the bathtub’s edge. The sound of dripping water rises above the steam. “They’re pushing their luck. Who says I don’t have it in me to change sides?”
Hawks sits across from him in the tub, submerged up to his chin, thinking that he should’ve made use of Dabi’s giant bathtub at this hotel much earlier. Why were they pissed at each other again?
“If you wanted to be a bad boy you would’ve become one by now,” Hawks answers, but his mind is adrift, floating in hot water. The bath is doing wonders for his strained muscles and his mushy brain.
But it seems to have no relaxing effect on Dabi. The temperature of this hot tub is probably a joke to him.
He huffs and rests an arm on the tub’s edge. “Maybe now is my chance.”
Dabi is clearly pissed, but Hawks can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.
“Sure, babe. Let's get you to bed.”
The best first thing about Dabi staying in a hotel is his bathtub. The second best thing is his bed. A queen sized bed with clean sheets, where Hawks lands on his back as Dabi crawls on top of him.
They didn't get to use the hotel they stayed at the beginning of everything the way god intended (fucking), because they were still getting to know each other (or getting to know each other again).
Back then they were testing the waters.
Now Hawks is immersed in Dabi’s ocean.
It's like he's swimming when he tilts his head back and Dabi’s lips travel down his neck. Still half-dressed, Dabi slips a hand down Hawks’ shirt and runs a thumb over his nipple. The touch makes him shiver with pleasure. It's hard not to let out any sound or stay still when Dabi’s hands are all over him, when his weight presses him down against the bed, but there's no one here who isn't them, so Hawks doesn't hold back.
“Yes, babe. Touch me,” he rasps, encouraging. Dabi huffs in amusement, his breath brushing Hawks’ cheek. “Nooo, please. Don't stop.”
But Dabi does stop. He pulls back slowly, just enough to look at Hawks in the eye. Hawks gazes back at him. Dabi’s hair falls over his forehead, ruffled and messy from the bath, his cheeks flushed a faint pink, and his lips are slightly red, a bit puffy, twitching with the hint of a smile. Hawks feels so enamoured that it's almost embarrassing.
(And suddenly, he’s very aware that they still haven’t talked about Hawks' almost-confession, or the real reason Dabi took the job, and, to be honest, Hawks doesn’t want to talk about that right now. What’s the point of discussing their feelings if Dabi will go on a secret mission on the other side of the country for god knows how long?)
Hawks doesn’t want to talk about anything, so he flips them in bed, straddling Dabi as he removes his top.
He feels everything through the thin fabric of their pajamas, and the sensation is too inebriating to stop and remove all of their clothes. So Hawks just grinds their hips together. The friction is so sweet—the rubbing of Dabi’s hard cock against his own is some good stuff, and fuck, he could do this all night. Especially when Dabi tugs on his arm, bringing him closer for another kiss.
“Try not to seduce the new bodyguard like this,” he chuckles against Hawks’ lips.
Hawks snorts. “You busted my plan.”
Hawks no longer laughs when he meets the new bodyguard.
If anything, he wants to call Mera and yell at him over the phone because what the hell was he thinking.
“Hawks-san. Good morning,” drawls a quiet voice that sounds like Dabi’s, from someone with eyes just like Dabi’s, and a slim, yet muscular build that resembles Dabi. But Shouto’s hair is not spiky like his brother’s. Rather, it's soft and silky, half-white and half-red. “I will act as your bodyguard from now on.”
Hawks saves the panic for later and smiles at Shouto, who closes the door behind him and walks into the president’s office.
He explains that the senior committee wanted one of the top five heroes for the job, but they couldn't get Mirio off his role as the new symbol of peace, Mt. Lady's quirk wasn't really suited to the job, and maybe someone younger than Best Jeanist or Kamui Woods had better reflexes for a job that required reacting fast and strong. Besides, Shouto had escorted people before, which made him a better candidate for the position than anyone else.
It all made sense in theory, but Hawks can't shake off the feeling that they did this on purpose. Replace Dabi with Shouto? Of all people? Having a dagger stabbed and twisted in his stomach would’ve hurt him less. Shouto probably knows it too, by the way he frowns slightly, as if he is not completely convinced of this new arrangement.
(Not that he has any say in the matter, but he probably resents being in a situation that will cause Dabi to hate him even more, especially since he's spent his whole life trying to get his brother to like him.)
Hawks leans back in his swivel chair and wonders if Dabi knows about this new development. He probably doesn't or he wouldn't have joked about the new bodyguard thing a couple of days ago. Does he know it by now? Hawks doesn't want to be the one to break the news to him, but it's not like he can keep the secret forever. First, it's not a secret. Second, the longer Dabi takes to find out, the worse it will be for him, for them .
Hopefully, the infiltration gig will keep Dabi too busy to care about Hawks.
“I’m sorry you had to leave your duties as number two to come and watch over me.” Hawks twirls a pen in his fingers and offers a guilty smile. “I said I'd be fine on my own, but it seems like my persuasion skills jumped out of the window years ago, along with my quirk.”
Shouto blinks, unfazed. “It's okay. I can leave the agency for a couple of months. We’ve been working with the rest, and we think we've narrowed down a possible suspect.” Hawks frowns. When were they going to tell him anything about this? Well, maybe they did, but he was too busy, choking on Dabi’s co— “Tokoyami-kun wanted to assume the position, but he’s much better at infiltration and espionage than I am. So they sent him out to investigate while I stay here.”
The concern should be comforting, but it's not. Hawks isn't used to people going to such lengths for him. Even after years as the HPSC president, he thinks he's done a pretty good job of looking out for himself without the need of others. Best Jeanist had told him that they had formed this group with the best heroes to investigate the case, but it was not something Hawks thought about on a daily basis. He had almost forgotten that he was under a threat. Lately, Dabi felt less like a bodyguard and more like a…
Maybe he needed this wake-up call.
The week goes on as usual: work, work, meetings, work, work, emails, more meetings. Best Jeanist calls him a couple of times. Fumikage texts him to see how he's doing. Mera peeks into the office here and there but avoids looking Hawks in the eye after the incident the other day (and to be honest, Hawks doesn’t want to look him in the eye either). Shouto behaves like a real shadow, following Hawks everywhere without complaint and retiring at the end of the day, along with the sun. Despite the silence, it's easy to be around Shouto and neither feels the need to make small talk or ease the tension with awkward conversations. And Hawks could use some focus because he's way behind on his work.
(It's all Dabi’s fault, of course.)
Still, Hawks misses the banter, the way blue eyes narrowed and the bridge of Dabi’s nose scrunched, the way his lips curled every time he wanted to taunt Hawks (the way he easily shut up with a kiss). He misses the possessive grip on his hips, and Dabi's ruffled hair in the morning. And now Hawks regrets all the times he said no to a cup of coffee with Dabi only to feel like he was drawing some boundaries. A useless boundary because Hawks always knew, deep down, that crossing that line never wouldn’t cost them anything.
It never did.
Standing on the balcony, Hawks leans on the railing as the city murmurs at his feet. The night feels crisp, but it’s not cold enough to put on a sweater over his short-sleeved shirt. Even if it were, Hawks is too flustered, trying to write a text message to Dabi to care about the weather.
His thumbs twiddle across the screen. ‘ I haven't heard from you in a hot minute. Hope Rumi is not overworking your ass. Miss you.’
He stares at the ‘miss you’ for a moment before pressing the delete button.
When he sends the message, the two last words are gone.
That’s too sappy for not even being boyfriends.
Dabi answers while Hawks is cooking.
With a call, not a message.
Hawks tries not to freak out as he lowers the stove’s heat and puts the phone to his ear.
“No dickpics?” Dabi hums from the other end of the phone.
Hawks rolls his eyes and stirs vegetables in his pan, balancing the phone between his shoulder and his ear.
“I don’t trust you with sensitive information,” he mutters, his cheeks flaring up as he hears Dabi’s quiet snicker.
“Well thought. I wouldn’t trust myself not to sell your pictures online either. Times are tough. You never know when you’ll wind up on the street.”
Hawks pauses, the vegetables sizzling in the simmering oil. Does he mean the sudden change in assignments he recently went through? Because Hawks doesn’t want to talk about Dabi’s last position, or who took over as his bodyguard.
His stomach tightens, and he’s suddenly not hungry anymore. He should’ve started with the elephant in the room instead of sending Dabi sappy text messages.
Dabi was going to find out anyway, he might as well find out from Hawks.
He puts out the fire and clutches the phone. “Dabi… do you know…?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out,” he cuts him off, sharp.
Hawks barely gets a word in. Dabi could mean anything by that, but something in his voice tells Hawks that he knew exactly what he was going to say.
(And Hawks hates to admit, but if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want to know either.)
He sighs and leans against the wall. “For the record, I tried to tell you.”
“Yeah, whatever. I can get pissed at you any other time, but today… your rabbit friend has been a bitch all day, and now I just want to unwind.”
Hawks chortles. “Your sister would say you hate women.”
“Ugh, please don't remind me there's a connection between Fuyumi and Miruko when I'm trying to get in the mood .”
In the…
Hawks’ stomach tightens, heat pooling low. Fuck. His body is betraying him. Just five minutes ago, he was stressing over how Dabi would react when he found out Shouto that is his new bodyguard. Now, there’s a familiar tingling between his legs.
Dabi turns him on like a switch and Hawks doesn't know if he likes or hates the idea of letting this guy pull his strings.
“I'm… cooking dinner,” he says, trying to put up some resistance. If it were up to him, he would've shoved his free hand under his pants by now.
He's getting uncomfortable hard, and for what?
“I miss you,” Dabi hums, voice a lazy drawl over the phone and—
Hawks sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes tightly.
He's hopeless.
He doesn’t even get to answer before Dabi chuckles, voice smug.
“Did it work?” he asks.
“No,” Hawks mutters, knowing damn well that Dabi heard his little breathy reaction over the phone. So fucking embarrassing. “I'm still hungry. Gonna hang up.”
A couple of hours later, as he's about to go to bed, Dabi sends a picture that reads: “at least one of us does send dick pics” .
Hawks stares at his phone for a long minute.
Then, he clutches the device in his hands and stumbles on his way to the bathroom, fumbling for paper tissues.
∆
A week later, the new version of the Hero Billboard Chart is held in the HPSC’ headquarters. A reminder that it's been six months and a couple of weeks since Dabi stormed back into Hawks' life. Time that feels longer than it actually is, considering the sudden but intense cohabitation they went through.
(And the way they couldn't stop catching fire until they burned out, and Dabi was pulled away from Hawks, paired up with Rumi and sent across the country.)
Hawks knows it was for the best of their interests, but that doesn't make him miss the idiot any less.
Shouto does a good job, that's for sure. He never gets too close or strays too far, and one of his icy glares is enough to dissuade anyone from messing with Hawks. He can't complain about Shouto, but he's not Dabi.
(And Hawks can't help but wonder—if had they been less stupid, less horny enough to get caught—maybe they’d still be together now. Casually brushing their knuckles at the slightest movement, or stealing glances at each other across the room, holding back a knowing smile. They’d barely make it to Hawks' apartment before getting their hands on each other. Dabi on his knees or tossing him onto the bed—either option was good.
He just wanted to be with him.)
“Oh, there's Tokoyami,” Shouto says. “Can I get a quick word with him?”
Hawks nods, too wrapped in thought to realize Tokoyami had even arrived.
(Still thinking—if they had just kept their hands to themselves, maybe he and Dabi would still be dancing around each other, playing the seduction game. Never indulging themselves, keeping things shallow.
But who is Hawks trying to fool? That could have never been them. Dabi has always meant everything to him. He was the mirror Hawks stared into, reflecting both the person he wanted to be, bold and unapologetic, and the guy he swore he would never become—cold and detached.)
His thoughts come to a sudden halt when someone slips up behind him and holds an ice needle to his throat.
His stomach drops.
Shit.
Now?
Of all times?
“Come with me if you don't want me to fly your little friends into pieces,” says a male voice, low and quiet, far from threatening. But no intonation is needed for Hawks to realize he's in danger. Hell, there's a weapon, cold as a dagger, held against his neck. And if that wasn't enough, there are waiters lurking around Shouto and Fumikage fidgeting but committed to the act, throwing eager glances to the man behind Hawks. “Or I can also stab them. You know I enjoy sending you dead birds from time to time.”
Hawks wavers. He could easily get rid of the guy by twisting out of the hold, disarming him and pulling out his sword. He's done worse under pressure, and even quirkless, he's still fast. But then he remembers the Commission bombing and how the attackers voluntarily blew themselves up just to send a message, and he knows this is the real deal.
These guys will blow up the entire hero billboard chart if necessary, and Hawks doesn't want more dead people to his account.
It only takes Shouto and Fumikage three seconds to realize that Hawks is in trouble, but before they can react, Hawks gestures for them to stay put. Eyebrows knitted, lips mouthing a silent don’t, he must look very convincing for the two heroes to obey him. Or maybe it's the two waiters stepping forward, revealing their alignment. Hawks knows his juniors are smart—they can put two and two together and realize those are accomplices. One wrong move can send everything to shit.
So they stay still.
“That's more like it,” murmurs the guy behind him. “They better not follow us because there are more supporters infiltrating this party.” He presses the needle harder, almost choking him. “Drop your sword and come with me.”
Hawks locks his eyes in red and blue-gray across the room, his gaze steady despite the ice needle at his throat, and moves his lips again, forming a soundless 'Trust me'.
Shouto and Fumikage nod briefly, but still look unconvinced, their posture stiff with unease, so Hawks tries again, slower this time, more urgent. Like he's a hero again and can carry the weight of the world in his wings.
Trust me, please.
They slip into the fire stairwell, and were Hawks in a better mood, he might've laughed at the irony, because there is no fire occurring. On the contrary, the guy runs his hand along the concrete wall and, after a soft creak, the emergency stairs turn into a tunnel of ice—the heavy metal door now gone under the cold, hardened surface.
Hawks presses his back against the icy wall and watches as this guy pulls back the hood obscuring his face.
He doesn’t expect to find a man some years younger than him with smooth features and long white hair. Despite the looks, his eyes are vicious as he now points the ice needle to Hawks' chest.
And Hawks can't help but notice that the guy has thick white eyelashes just like Dabi's.
The earth stutters on its axis and Hawks’ mouth goes dry.
The guy holds an uncanny resemblance to Dabi, and just thinking about it makes Hawks’ head spin.
(Maybe this is not the best time or place to be thinking about Dabi, but his brain is making connections, and he can't stop it.
He has to stop it.)
“You killed Re-destro,” the guy says in the same slow and leveled tone, although Hawks can hear the anger leaking through the cracks.
And maybe this is not the best time or place to act cool and nonchalant either—Hawks has a weapon to his chest, and this guy is clearly unhinged. But he needs to feel like he has the upper hand in this exchange somehow. And he's doing it the only way he knows.
Messing with his opponent.
“Did I?” He raises an eyebrow. “Look, I recognize that I’m not a saint when it comes to the ‘heroes-don’t-kill’ rule, but I don’t remember it being me who dispatched Re-destro.”
The tip of the ice needle now points under his chin, and, yikes, that didn't work out as he expected.
“Well, the Commission did, and now you're their main face. Just like your handlers wanted.”
Although it’s a legal term, Hawks can't help but feel that it’s uttered with contempt, like he's a puppet or a brainless doll and, somehow, that infuriates him more than this guy resembling Dabi.
Although it’s still pointed at his face, Hawks grabs the ice needle in the center and squeezes it hard.
“You guys also killed the former president of the commission,” he shoots back, no trace of humor in his voice now. “So I guess we're even.”
The young man snarls, slamming Hawks harder against the wall. His feet skid on the frozen floor.
So much for having the upper hand.
“You don't understand,” the man grits through his teeth. “Re-destro found me after my clan sold me to some creeps with experimental purposes. He took me in, made me his right-hand man, and I was willing to do anything to achieve the world he wanted.”
His voice cracks, and Hawks won't say it out loud, but the joke is on this iceman.
Because Hawks does understand what it’s like to be sold as a kid. By your family no less.
“He was… all I had,” the man continues, “And you, fucking dogs of the state, killed him.”
There’s a tremor in the air, as if the ice is reacting to the volatile emotions, and this might not be the best opening, but it is an opening and Hawks seizes it.
He surges forward, slamming his body into the man’s, one hand clamped tight around the ice needle to keep it from moving freely. At the last second, he releases it, using the momentum to shove the guy backward, hard.
It works.
One moment of confusion is all Hawks needs to drop low and reach for the blade hidden in his boot, because bodyguard or no bodyguard, he's not stupid enough to go around armed with just one sword.
They collide again, metal meeting ice with a screech. Blades flash and footsteps scrape against the frozen floor. In any other setting, it might be a fair fight—but this is this man’s element and Hawks is fucking quirkless.
(But, hey , he's been through worse, and whatever happens to him here, at least the rest are safe.)
A blast shakes the air, and the muffled but unmistakable sound of an explosion reaches his ears from the room next door, where the event is taking place.
(Except when they are not safe.
Fuck.)
The guy presses his weapon harder against Hawks' blade, face as cold as his quirk.
“You should know we don't care about our lives,” he says, gaining ground while Hawks loses it. “As long as we keep Destro’s ideal alive and destabilize the system that represses people, that keeps them from using their meta-abilities, we don't care about ourselves.”
Hawks is shaking, not from fear, but from the cold. His breath fogs in the freezing air, and his muscles have tensed to keep his body warm. He can barely keep his weapon up without faltering. His bones hurt from the cold.
He’s not like Dabi. His body was not made to withstand this temperature.
"Geten ," says a familiar voice as dragged footsteps come up the stairs.
Hawks' breath hitches when he sees the spikes of Dabi’s white hair slowly appear from downstairs, the ice melting beneath his feet with each step he takes. He's wearing baggy jeans and a black windbreaker, and doesn't look the least bit surprised to find them two clashing their weapons in the fire stairwell while the walls shake and rattle.
All hell breaks loose in the event room, and Hawks prays that everyone is safe. They should be. They are heroes. The best. Hawks has to focus his energies on the here and now if he wants to get out of this alive.
Because right now he’s not counting on Dabi as an ally.
(Why the hell did Dabi know this guy's name?
Why is he here when he's supposed to be away on a mission?
Where is Rumi?)
His brain is jumping to conclusions and he's not liking any of the scenarios he’s coming up with. He better be wrong, delusional, overreacting, an old habit that always makes him read everything in the worst possible way.
An old, but reliable habit that has kept him alive so far.
But he’s been too idiotized by love these past months to see bad intentions in Dabi.
(Dabi wouldn't double-cross him like this, would he?)
“Dabi?” The guy named Geten murmurs, recognizing him, and—
Fuck.
So the idiot can actually double-cross him like this.
Geten tries to divide his attention between Hawks and Dabi, still holding his ice needle up. Hawks, on the contrary, only has eyes for Dabi. Eyes that demand an explanation because what the hell is this.
What do you mean you know the person who has been threatening me all these months?
But Dabi pays Hawks no mind. With his hands in his pocket, he eyes the ice needle and then looks up at Geten.
“Drop it.” It's all he says, voice even, but loaded.
Geten hesitates for a second, but then clutches his weapon more tightly.
“Fuck off. You're not my boss. Where is yours by the way? Where are Shigaraki and the others?”
Hawks frowns. It's the first time that he’s heard such a name. Another proof that he knows nothing about this man he let into his life, his bed, his heart.
Who is Dabi—Touya , really?
He wishes his blade was pointing at this idiot instead of Geten.
Dabi shrugs, noncommittal.
“Wasn't never my boss, truly. Anyway, raiding an event full of heroes wasn’t your best shot. Your guys are being arrested as we speak. ”
Geten's expression does not change. It's as if he had counted on them getting caught.
"They knew what they came here for. Our names don't matter as long as the message is passed on.”
Hawks notices the shift in his posture. The angle of his hand. Geten wants to blow himself up as well and take Hawks and Dabi down with him. The message: fuck you, Commission.
So Hawks reacts in a split second—too fast to be quirkless, but it's in moments like this that his training really shines.
He grabs Geten’s wrist and twists it hard, forcing the ice needle from his grip. Almost immediately, he shoves his shoulder into Geten’s chest and knocks him flat on the floor. He jabs the back of Geten’s neck once with the butt of his blade—just enough to send a jolt through his nervous system and stun him.
The needle clatters to the floor, and Hawks kicks it away.
Panting, he stays there for a moment, making sure Geten isn’t faking it. He isn’t. The guy blinks up at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused, and his breath ragged, lips mouthing something Hawks doesn't care about.
Dabi steps forward. “What did you do?”
With Geten stunned on the floor, the ice slowly begins to melt. The ceiling drips and the water on the floor sloshes as Dabi approaches.
Hawks doesn't even look up when he answers.
“Don’t fucking talk to me.” His voice is flat, his fingers locking on Geten’s collar just in case.
Dabi comes to a sudden halt after hearing Hawks’ warning. The slow trickle of water echoes off the concrete walls.
“What?” Dabi asks. “Why?”
Hawks whips his head up and glares at Dabi. The idiot hasn't even pulled his hands out of the windbreaker’s pockets.
“What do you mean why!? ” he snaps. “Who is this guy? Why do you know his name? Why do you two seem to know each other?” He keeps shooting, his mouth, a never-ending stream of accusations. “Did you know this guy was behind the threats all along? Why do you two look so similar? And why are you here? Where is Rumi?”
Still kneeling over Geten, he’s breathing hard. He's hurt and furious and not making much sense. He doesn't think anything that Dabi can tell him now will calm him down.
Water drips onto his face, his clothes, sticking the hair to his temples and wetting his cheeks. Meanwhile, the drops of water evaporate as soon as they reach Dabi.
He answers none of Hawks' questions.
Instead he says, “Your lips are blue.”
Hawks wants to throttle him. He probably would if he didn't already have his hands on Geten.
“Go fuck yourself,” he mutters.
“And you're shaking,” Dabi continues.
Hawks look down. Indeed, his hands are shivering, and so is his entire body, for that matter. But that's probably just the adrenaline rush—the kick of energy he needed to knock Geten over.
It's nothing.
But Dabi insists. “You have mild hypothermia.”
Hawks wants to retort, say he's completely fine, but he knows that Dabi is right. His fingers don't have a strong enough grip to pin Geten down, and the guy underneath him starts to squirm, trying to get out of the hold.
Geten moves his arm in a quick motion that Hawks doesn't anticipate, but in a split second the guy lets out a cry.
Dabi has stepped on his arm.
“Aaa— ffuck you, Dabi!” He snarls. “This is why you left? To be a fucking guardian dog of these bastards?”
Dabi steps on him harder and Geten screams louder.
“I was never in your group,” he mutters.
Hawks has trouble following the conversation—disoriented, confused. It might be the shock, the lack of knowledge, or the hypothermia, who knows, but at that moment the door to the fire escape bursts open, letting in a stream of voices and people. Among them are Shouto, Fumikage, and Rumi.
Their footsteps splash on the freshly melted ice.
“Jeez, what the hell happened here?” Rumi asks no one in particular before turning to Dabi. “You okay, hot stuff?”
Hawks doesn’t get to hear Dabi's response. Shouto rushes to his side and kneels next to him.
“Hawks-san. You need to warm up as soon as possible. Let me just…”
Shouto places a hand on Hawks' shoulder and heat begins to radiate into his body in slow waves. The water evaporates, curling into white column of steam, and it would feel more comforting if Hawks weren't thinking of Dabi and him, cuddling and warming up under the blankets back at Kaina’s place.
(So at that moment, he had absolutely no need to move into Hawks’ bed to warm him up. Sly bastard.)
Although he received no damage from Geten, Hawks still feels as if an ice needle had pierced his heart. He closes his eyes and sees it, shees the tip of the weapon sticking out of his back in the space between his missing wings.
When he opens his eyes again, he finds Dabi staring at him. His blue eyes narrow at the sight of Shouto’s hand on Hawks’ shoulder but, whatever. Right now he would rather have Shouto warming him up.
He doesn't want Dabi anywhere near him.
Then, the fibers of Geten's clothes start to shift before they compress and wrap around his body, restraining him from moving.
“I guess this was the last one,” Best Jeanist says from a place Hawks can't pinpoint.
Then, he feels Fumikage’s black coat drop over his shoulders.
“I'm sorry, Hawks,” he says. “We…”
“It's okay…” he hears himself utter. The last thing he wants is for Shouto and Fumikage to take the blame for this.
Being attacked like this was bound to happen eventually. He had been targeted for six months.
And it seems like Dabi knew who was behind it all along.
Notes:
👀
Chapter 11: but i believe we're the end of everything
Summary:
Hawks grabs the collar of Dabi’s T-shirt and is about to pull him into a proper kiss when he realizes they have an audience.
Fuyumi and Natsuo are standing at the door, and so is Rei, and further back, Shouto. Fuyumi is holding her baby in her arms and rocking her, snickering under her breath.
“Get a grip. There are kids here,” Natsuo says, making a bad attempt at looking offended when he can barely stifle a laugh.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Outside the building, an ambulance takes Hawks' vital signs–blood pressure, temperature–more blankets are dropped over him, and heat packs are shoved under his clothes. He's supposed to be transferred to a cool, dry place where he can change clothes and warm himself up, but the police have to take his statement first.
Which probably won't happen soon—it's chaos outside. Injured people being distributed between ambulances, the attackers being arrested and loaded into cars, journalists are trying to get a statements from the heroes, the usual when shit goes down.
Hawks is surrounded by his friends, who other than being bruised and scratched are okay. Rumi has a hand on his back and pats him gently. Everything happened so fast, Hawks can't still make sense of what the hell just went down, or what is Rumi doing here when she's supposed to be in Hiroshima right now.
“Me?” She laughs. “I came to claim my place as number five hero, of course. Me and Dabi were a bit busy so we couldn't make it to the main event, but I thought, ‘whatever, we can always hop directly to the after party’ . Little did we know some people were planning to crash the party as well.”
Well, the theory of Dabi betraying Rumi and leaving her stranded in Hiroshima to join his real allies gets crossed out of Hawks’ head.
Still.
He pulls the blanket tighter around his body. “How did he find me?”
“We had just entered the party and… he said he saw someone taking you to the fire staircase. And then Tsukuyomi and Shouto were throwing hands at some guys, so we split duties.”
“Hawks-san…” Shouto speaks up. There's a slight twitch in his brows that Hawks has never seen in the youngest Todoroki. “I'm sorry, if I hadn't…”
“None of this is your fault, Shouto-kun,” Hawks says, reaching out to him. “I'm fine, you're fine, all is fine.”
Everyone tenses when Dabi comes into view. He'd been talking to a cop seconds ago, but as soon as he was finished, he approached the group.
Rumi puts her hands on Shouto and Fumikage's backs. She’s several heads shorter than both of them, but her hands steer them with ease.
“C’mon, guys. We gotta check on you two as well.”
Hawks doesn’t want her to leave. But he knows he can’t avoid this conversation forever.
Unless…
“I said I don't want you to talk to me,” he mutters, not sparing Dabi a glance and snuggling tighter into his blanket. But the guy steps closer anyway and drops a folder onto Hawks’ lap.
“I thought you wanted answers,” he says.
Red and blue lights from the cruisers and ambulances flicker across Dabi's clear eyes. Before Hawks had noticed, he was already looking at him.
His determination used to be stronger than this.
He sighs in defeat and opens the folder.
“Do you know my mother's maiden name?” Dabi asks as casually as if they’d been talking about his mom all along.
Hawks’ feels his brain stutter.
“What?” He wrinkles the edge of the paper in his hand. He’s so pissed that he couldn’t read a word even if he tried. “Why would I know? What does it have to do with anything?”
“Because she’s Endeavor’s wife,” Dabi says. “And you’ve always been obsessed with my old man.”
A vein throbs in Hawks’ temple. “Dabi, you asshole—if this is your way of explaining yourself…”
“It’s Himura,” Dabi cuts in. He reaches over and taps a spot on one of the documents with a long, bony finger. “Himura Rei.”
Hawks looks down and forces himself to read through the haze in his brain.
Himura Geten, it says.
Hawks feels his head ache as he tries to make sense of the pieces of information offered.
“You're… related?” he asks, voice low. This is the last explanation he expected.
Dabi shrugs. “Yes, but he doesn't know it.”
Hawks shoots his eyes up, skeptical.
“Why do you know it?”
Dabi raises an eyebrow and shifts the weight in his hips, clearly not in the mood for an interrogation. But he was the one who opened this can of worms. He better suck it up and eat the worms. One by one.
“He was part of a cell of a group I infiltrated some time ago, in Sapporo.”
The city name hits like a cold wave.
Hawks narrows his eyes. “That's where you met this Shigaraki guy?”
Dabi smirks. “You jealous?”
“Cut your shit, Dabi. Where are they now?”
Dabi's eyes flick toward the chaos beyond the building. The night air blows through his white hair.
“Out there. Stirring things up. They cut ties with Geten’s group when they decided to work with the Commission.”
“With the Commission?” Hawks repeats, incredulous.
“They throw intel sometimes. Mostly when it benefits them. Like taking out rival gangs.” He shrugs. “Everyone wins. You know what they say. Keep your enemies close...”
Hawks scowls, eyes going from Dabi to the document in his hands.
“How was I never informed about this?”
“Not everything crosses your desk, President.”
Hawks glares at him.
“Did you always know this cell was behind the attacks?”
“I suspected.”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t know for a fact, Hawks.”
“You fucker,” Hawks mutters. “Why you got an answer for everything?”
Dabi tilts his head to the side, his eyes catching light just enough to gleam.
“What, you’d rather I’d plot against you with Geten?”
Hawks locks his jaw. “No, of course not.”
“Then don't look so disappointed that I didn't.”
As Hawks doesn't say anything else, Dabi turns on his ankles and starts to walk away, hands in his pockets. He doesn't get far before Hawks gets to his feet and trails behind him.
“Dabi,” he calls. The blanket slides off his shoulders and falls to the ground. “Dabi,” he repeats.
Dabi looks over his shoulder, just in time for Hawks to slam him hard against the side of an ambulance.
The vehicle sways under the impact, the metal groaning with the force. Dabi huffs, caught off guard, and tries to push back, but Hawks presses the length of his arm against his neck, restricting the airflow.
“Don't you fucking dare to betray me,” Hawks hisses, his face inches away from Dabi, his nose scrunching as he bares his teeth. “Don't you dare. Ever. You hear me?”
Dabi goes still, his eyes opening wide and his breath hitching, escaping into white puffs.
It takes Hawks a moment to realize that the guy is chuckling.
“Jeez, Keigo,” he rasps. “Right here? In front of everyone?”
Hawks slams him again, lighter this time.
“I'm being fucking serious.”
“Who said I'm not being serious?” Dabi counters, clutching Hawks’ shirt and bringing him closer. “You look so hot when you get mad. And god, I love you so much.”
Hawks feels the air getting kicked out of his lungs.
What.
What .
He was completely not prepared for this.
And he hates that it works, hates that it cools him off.
He lets go of Dabi, his gaze going from his lips to his eyes, roaming across the face of this idiot, looking for a crack in his façade.
He finds none.
“Shit,” Hawks curses in a low voice. “Right now? Really?”
Dabi frowns, but a little smile still tugs at his lips. “Don’t act like you didn't know.”
But Hawks didn't know. Dabi never said it when he had the chance. Back then, he had said that he wanted Hawks, and wanting is different from loving.
Hawks had thought that, at most, Dabi cared for him.
But love… that's another thing entirely.
He swallows, unable to take his eyes off Dabi. The moonlight makes his hair look silver, the shadows giving dark blue notes to his scarred skin. And now that Hawks looks closely, he realizes Dabi is wearing his piercings again. The jewelry glistens faintly in the dark—the snakebites, the dimple piercings, the septum, the three dots on his nostril, the one in the bridge of his nose.
A vestigial, animalistic urge makes Hawks want to take him away, and although he tries his best to fight it, his hands still curl around Dabi’s forearms.
If his fingers were talons…
If he could still spread his wings and take Dabi in his arms, leap into the air and carry him away, carry them both away.
“I love you too,” he says, resting his forehead on Dabi’s shoulder. They can’t hug in public, let alone kiss. He guesses this would do for the time being. “I love you so, so much. It scares me.”
Dabi kisses the crown of Hawks' head and threads his fingers through golden hair.
“I know,” he mumbles. “It scares me too.”
∆
Hawks’ stomach sinks to the floor. To the same floor where Todoroki Rei drops her knees and then her forehead down in a completely unnecessary apology because none of this is her fault.
Hawks didn’t come to the Todoroki estate to toss blame on anyone.
(He doesn't know what he came here for exactly, but Fuyumi called a few days ago, saying she and Natsuo would be in town to celebrate the first birthday of Natsuo’s kid, and that he could drop by if he wanted.
He didn't expect Rei to be the first to greet him.
Let alone like this.)
He rushes to her side and kneels down, placing a hand to her shoulder.
“Please, Rei-san. Don’t blame this on you. You had nothing to do with the threats, and I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
She pulls back slowly and sits on her thighs, her hands gripping her knees, gray eyes refusing to meet Hawks’
“I’m so ashamed that someone from my clan was behind the threats to the President of the Commission…”
Hawks offers a reassuring smile. “Well, feel proud that two of your kids made sure I stayed alive and kicking all these months. I’m very grateful to them, you know?” Rei flicks her eyes up. A sad curve tugs at her lips. “Now, let's get you to your feet, okay? Also, you know me, Rei-san. Please call me Hawks, not President. ”
Hawks helps her up, holding her by the shoulders. He smiles and repeats that everything is fine, but he can't shake the pang of guilt that stabs at his chest.
(One foot inside and he was already opening old wounds. Maybe he shouldn't have come. This is not his place, nor his family.)
“Hawks-san!” Natsuo greets, walking down the hallway and carrying a sleeping baby against his hip. He’s got white stubble and short, spiky hair—he kind of looks like Endeavour did at that age with those two-meter shoulders. (But Natsuo would hate the comparison, so Hawks keeps it to himself). “Good to see you, man. Fuyumi and my wife trapped me in this family gathering and I need someone to talk to Endeavor so he doesn't talk to me.”
“Natsuo!” Rei protests, scandalized. “I’m so sorry, Hawks. We—”
“What?” Natsuo frowns. “Hawks is no stranger to our mess. He probably knows more about it than I do.”
“Yes, but he's still a guest. I—”
Hawks waves his hand light-heartedly. “It's okay, Rei-san. I know things are spiky here and there for you, and I'm happy to help Natsuo. And Fuyumi, who might be delighted to have the family reunited.”
They move into the main hall where Shouto, Endeavor and Fuyumi–and her baby–are seated at a long, low table. There's also a woman with long black hair that Hawks doesn't recognize, probably Natsuo's wife.
“Natsuo, dear.” The woman says as soon as they slid the door open. “Did Yuki fall asleep alread—?” She stops mid-sentence, her eyes opening as saucers when she notices that Hawks is there with them. “Oh my god, it's Hawks,” she murmurs in a high-pitched voice.
Hawks doesn't know what to do, so he just smiles and waves.
She gasps and brings her hands to her mouth.
(Did he make it worse?)
Good thing Natsuo only breathes a laugh and sits down next to her.
“I thought you had gotten over it after meeting Shouto and my old man.”
His wife blushes a fiery red and hides her face in her hands. “Yes, but Hawks is different~” she whines. “You should've told me he was coming.”
Fuyumi giggles as Hawks takes a seat between Shouto and Endeavor.
Shouto nods in greeting and tries, once again, to apologize for the incident on the Hero Billboard Chart. Hawks no longer knows how to tell him not to worry so he reaches out and ruffles his hair in a brotherly gesture.
Shouto looks at him like his brain short-circuited.
Huh. Looks like Touya never did that to his siblings.
At that moment, a tall ginger man that Hawks doesn't know enters the room carrying a tray with a teapot and several cups. That must be Fuyumi’s husband.
“Oh. Nice to meet you, President Hawks,” he says, offering a handshake after setting down the tray. “Yumi mentioned you might come. Glad you could make it.”
He pours tea with help from Fuyumi and Shouto while Rei sits beside Endeavor, and Natsuo chats quietly with his wife. Hawks is glad to be there among the warmth and the domesticity, but it still feels like he's crashing a family event that no one invited him to. Even when Fuyumi did invite him purposely, affectionately.
He still feels out of place.
It’d be better if Dabi could be here too, but Hawks isn’t counting on the idiot to show up. Fuyumi’s tricks might have worked on him–who can't say no for his life–but not on Dabi, who probably learned from an early age to stand his ground and not let his younger siblings get their way.
(Besides, he's not sure when this other mission he was thrown into will end. Hawks hasn't heard from Dabi in several days.)
He tries not to think too much about Dabi and engages in conversation instead—either with Endeavor, Rei, the siblings or their partners.
After twenty minutes of talking, Hawks excuses himself to go to the bathroom, but when he finds himself out in the hallway, he realizes that he has no idea where that is.
Whatever.
He might as well explore.
He has never been on his own inside the Todoroki estate and this place is as big as the Commission’s training grounds.
Besides.
He wants to check if there's anything left of Touya’s room, but chances are low. Dabi must have left this house as soon as he turned eighteen. And he’s thirty-four now.
(Jesus. How long have they known each other?)
Each room in the house is more or less the same. Hawks slides door after door, only to find large spaces with tatami floors, sparse furniture, bookshelves, wardrobes, and a few plants here and there..
It'll be hard to single out Touya’s former room like this.
But then, as he peeks his head into yet another space, he spots something different.
There are a handful of pictures hanging on one wall.
Hawks moves closer to take a better look at them. Most are pictures of the Todoroki siblings as children–playing ball in the yard, eating watermelon on the porch. There's one where Natsuo and Fuyumi are making a snowman in summer, and a hilarious one where Touya rolls his eyes while holding a crying Shouto in his arms. In the center, there's a photo of the four of them sleeping in a twin bed arranged from oldest to youngest—Touya, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto.
Shouto's first day of school.
Natsuo participating in a sports festival
Fuyumi's high school graduation.
And—
Hawks’ eyes widen.
This one is also from a competition, but he recognizes the place where the picture was taken.
And he also recognizes the person standing in the first place of the podium.
It’s him, as a teenager.
His breath hitches.
It was one of the tournaments the Commission’s Program used to hold every year. The one Hawks always won. But that year, Touya came in third place.
In the photo, Hawks stands in the center, wearing the black shirt with the wavy golden pattern and the HPSC diamond printed on his chest. He stood there with his feet at shoulder height, hands and wings behind his back. His chest tightens now at the sight of his lost wings—or is it because his stern face contrasts so harshly with the joyful childhood pictures of the Todoroki siblings?
No scratches on his body, that also contrasts with Touya’s appearance in the lowest place of the podium, looking like he had been beaten to a pulp.
Touya wore the same black shirt with the diamoned printed on his chest, but he had bandages on his arms and head, as well as an eye patch.
Hawks can’t remember for the life of him if he was the one who did that.
He would recall if he did, wouldn’t he?
Although Touya is barely visible behind the bandages, his stance exudes fury. Jaw locked, he scowls with his hands rolled into fists at his sides. His hair had already lost almost all of the red, so Hawks estimates that they were about fifteen years old in the picture. Blue eyes look away from the camera, far from the podium, and although the picture doesn’t have the best resolution, Hawks could swear his younger self is looking at Touya out of the corner of his eye.
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Are you done staring at yourself?” a dry voice asks behind him.
Hawks startles and whips his head back only to find Dabi leaning against the doorframe.
He looks far from amused, arms folded and brows furrowed.
Hawks blinks. When did he get here? And what about the infiltration mission?
“I wasn’t staring at myself,” Hawks protests. And it’s true, back then and now, it was someone else he was looking at. But Dabi is blind. So blind.
Dabi pushes himself off the doorframe and moves next to Hawks, skimming over the pictures.
“Mhm. Not my best shot, I must say. I look like a mummy.”
“Got news for you, Touya,” Hawks snickers. “That’s is how you normally looked when you were in the program.”
He snorts. “Well, no wonder why I never stood a chance.”
Hawks’s face flushes, thinking of what Dabi said that time they finally snapped (or was it the third, fourth time they snapped? who knows). That moment when they had the bright idea of hooking up in the office bathroom while everyone else was still at the Commission building.
(Not their best plan, in hindsight.)
But when Dabi said, ‘I’ve always wanted you, Keigo. Always, always’, well, he didn’t care about anything else.
“I look weird.” Hawks changes the topic to get his mind off improper thoughts. This is Endeavor’s house for god’s sake. “Like, why do I look like an adult? I was fucking fifteen.” He points at a picture where the four siblings are wearing ridiculous costumes. Halloween, apparently. “I don’t have pictures like that. All the pictures I got from when I was a kid were taken by the Commission. Probably all official stuff, probably all filed in their archives..”
Touya stares at him for a long, unnerving moment, and Hawks swallows.
Shit. What did he do now?
But then Dabi lets out a long sigh and runs a hand through his hair.
“I can’t believe I’m showing this to you,” he mutters, reaching out for the podium picture and turning it over. He undoes the safety clips of the frame and removes the back support, pulling out a picture hidden inside. One that was tucked between the frame and the main picture.
Hawks doesn’t get what is all this, but then Dabi hands him a polaroid and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets.
The photo sheet is glossy and the colors are still vibrant despite the time—red, yellow, and bright blue.
A young version of Hawks is leaning against a window, arms on the still, one hand cupping his face. He’s looking to the side and smiling like he just heard something funny. There are no creases in his eyes, his forehead, or his cheeks when he smiles. The wind blowing in through the window ruffles his hair, and his red, imposing wings are tucked behind his back, but they still take up almost half of the composition.
In this picture, he’s also wearing the commission’s T-shirt, and he recognizes the light blue classroom as the place where the program’s classes were held. One of his classmates must have taken the photo during a break, and that classmate must have been…
No way.
“Oh my god,” Hawks breathes. “You were a high schooler with a crush.”
Dabi tries to snatch the polaroid away from him, but Hawks is faster.
“I knew I was going to regret this,” Dabi grunts.
“No, no. Wait. You gotta tell me the entire story behind this picture.”
Dabi sighs and pulls away, folding his arms across his chest as if that would help him stay cold and detached when he’s being awfully vulnerable.
“I think you know the entire story already. Don’t need me to repeat it for you.” He makes a pause. “Unless your ego is that big. Which probably is.”
Nothing Dabi says could upset Hawks now. He can see the scene clearly. His pasr self was laughing, watching as their classmates fooled around, all the while Dabi watched him from somewhere in the classroom, camera in hand.
He wonders why he didn’t notice. He had his feathers back then, he was always on guard, always watching his back. Maybe Dabi, as perceptive as ever, waited until he saw a little crack in his armour before snapping the picture.
Sly bastard. He loves him.
“Didn’t know I had a stalker back then as well,” Hawks chortles. It's a very bad, dark joke if you consider they had just arrested his latest stalker a couple of weeks ago. Good thing Dabi shares his sense of humor and doesn't try to censor him.
He only huffs through his nose and shifts his weight from his hips.
“I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. You were everybody’s crush.”
Hawks gives him a flat look, but doesn't comment on that. Instead, he asks, “And why do you still have this?”
Dabi rolls his eyes, looking bored and uncooperative as if Hawks had asked him to recite some hero law or something.
“Well, when I was a kid, I had an instant camera and I liked taking pictures. That is, until Shouto broke it.”
Hawks grimaces. Poor Shouto. He can imagine Dabi’s fury at that time.
Davi brings a hand to the back of his neck and continues: “And, huh, not related, but around the same time, some shit happened, was hospitalized for a while, and when I got out… I kinda lost interest in pictures.”
Hawks blinks, taking in the information.
Did he know that Dabi had been hospitalized?
He swears he has a good memory, and he does, for a fact. But there are some things he doesn't remember.
Maybe Hawks was dealing with his own shit too at the time.
Dabi points at the snapshot still in his Hawks’ hands.
“I hid this one here so Natsuo and Fuyumi couldn’t find it and tease me about it, and so it stayed tucked in here all these years. Although Fuyumi, cunning as ever, might’ve known all along.” He smiles wistfully. “She trapped me into coming here as well, saying she had a book for me, then sent me to look for it in my former room.”
There are sad bits in Dabi’s story, but Hawks can't help the smile tugging at his lips. He loves the chaotic energy of the Todoroki siblings. He wishes some of it could rub off on him, so he could pretend that he also took part in that childhood (so he could pretend he’s normal too).
He flicks his eyes up. Dabi looks back at him with a mixture of awkwardness and longing, and everything about him makes Hawks’ chest swell.
He reaches out and takes Dabi’s hand, laces their fingers together. They’re long, and bony, and cold.
“Touya…” he murmurs, moving closer. “Thanks… for this.” He holds the picture up. “It means a lot to me.”
Dabi pulls him closer by their joined hands, just enough to kiss Hawks on the forehead.
Hawks grabs the collar of Dabi’s T-shirt and is about to pull him into a proper kiss when he realizes they have an audience.
Fuyumi and Natsuo are standing at the door, and so is Rei, and further back, Shouto. Fuyumi is holding her baby in her arms and rocking her, snickering under her breath.
“Get a grip. There are kids here,” Natsuo says, making a bad attempt at looking offended when he can barely hold back a laugh. “Also, why do you give Fuyumi all the credit? I knew all about this too.”
Dabi gives him the middle finger and Fuyumi covers her daughter’s eyes even though she’s fast asleep.
“I’m assuming you’re staying for dinner?” Rei asks, a hopeful glint in her eyes.
“No, I’m not,” Dabi says, turning to the desk in the room and grabbing the book lying on top. “I just came here to pick this up.”
“Can’t believe you made me stay for two whole-ass hours. Jeez, I hate you so fucking much,” Dabi grumbles as he gets into Hawks’ car and slouches into the passenger seat. “This family was big enough already, why did Fuyumi and Natsuo have to go and reproduce themselves too?” He glares at Hawks out of the corner of his eyes as the later buckles up in the driver’s seat. “Don’t get your hopes up with me, pigeon. I’ve had enough of kids for one lifetime with three younger siblings.”
Hawks snickers as he turns on the engine. He doesn’t know why, but Touya’s indignation is oddly endearing.
“That escalated quickly, hot stuff. You haven’t even asked me out.”
The only way Dabi could’ve stayed for a family dinner was by placing him as far away from Endeavor as possible, with enough people in between to act as buffer and prevent any kind of conversation between them two. Fuyumi and Hawks were on board with the task, and Natsuo wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was also on the same page. Shouto didn’t even seem to mind that Dabi had spent a full hour bragging that he had finally been better than the golden boy at something (being Hawks’ bodyguard) ( ‘because, you know, when I was around, nobody touched a hair on his head’ ). And Hawks wouldn’t have been surprised if Dabi had stayed just for that.
And maybe Hawks is biased—because, yes, he has a soft spot for the old man, Dabi would throttle him if he could hear him now–but all in all, he thinks Endeavor behaved himself: observing, mainly, and speaking only when necessary.
As a man of few words, he had thanked Hawks with his eyes as the latter made his goodbye rounds (Dabi just waved a lazy hand in the air and waited for him outside). Fuyumi threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Hawks thought she was about to cry. Amber eyes searched for Fuyumi’s husband in panic, at which he only shrugged and smiled.
Natsuo patted him on the back and Shouto gave him a stiff hug (which completely disarmed Hawks) (what the hell). And he smiled giddily when Rei grabbed his arm and told him he could always come and visit anytime (and damn, the mommy issues run deep, he could never say no to Rei).
It was a good day, even if he had Dabi sulking in the passenger seat right now as a result.
Hawks drives slowly through the streets of Musutafu and places a hand on Dabi's thigh at a red light.
That alone seems enough to dispel Dabi’s foul mood, as he had expected.
“What do you want to do now?” Hawks asks in a quiet hum.
His eyes stay on the traffic light, but Dabi makes it so hard for him to concentrate when he spreads his legs wider like this, opening the way to his crotch.
Well, it was Hawks that initiated the move. He shouldn't blame this on anyone else.
“We could go to my place…” Dabi offers and—
“What!? ” Hawks shrieks. They are stationed at a red light, but he still feels like they've just crashed into a concrete wall. “Your place? You have a place in the city and never told me about it?”
Dabi blinks, guiltless. “Where do you think I stay when I come to Musutafu? Not with my folks, that much is clear.”
Jesus.
When will Dabi stop coming out with new shit? Hawks can't do this anymore.
The light turns green and Hawks squeezes the steering wheel with both hands.
“But after you moved out of my apartment you didn't say anything. You went straight to this hotel…”
Dabi snorts. “I never moved out, Hawks. You kicked me out. Also, I was pissed and you offered a 5-star hotel. Was I supposed to turn it down?”
He doesn't know if all this new piece of information makes him hate Dabi or love him more.
“Goodness,” he laughs despite himself. Love, it is, then. He fumbles for his phone and tosses it into Dabi's lap. “Type the address on the map. We're going there.”
Dabi’s apartment is small but functional—a living room with an open kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and that's about it. It feels more like a place to crash than somewhere to live, which makes sense after Dabi’s brief explanation as to why this apartment exists in the first place. There's little to no furniture in the main room, just a low table on the living and a chunky wardrobe pulled against the wall. They take off their shoes at the genkan and the lights flicker when Dabi turns them on.
And then he has Hawks pressed against the kitchen counter, their lips crashing into an open-mouthed kiss and Hawks should be used to it by now, but it will never fail to amaze him how Dabi can go from zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye.
Hawks chuckles against the kiss and yanks Dabi closer by his shirt, rolling his tongue inside his mouth. Soon after, two bony and cold hands are cupping his face. There's heat gathering at the tips of Dabi's fingers and (his scar throbs) Hawks is going to melt into a puddle, he doesn't think he'll make it to the bed.
“I want to be with you,” Dabi murmurs against the kiss and Hawks melts a bit more. “Something steady, long-term, exclusive, that kind of shit,” he continues and Hawks stutters, slowly pulling away. Dabi tries to connect their lips again, but Hawks keeps him there by pressing their foreheads together. This is important, goddamit. He wants to listen and Dabi shoving his tongue down his throat won’t let him hear or process anything, for that matter.
(He wants to make sure he's not making this up in his head because, is Dabi—?)
“You can call it what you want, I don't care,” Dabi continues. His breath ghosts over Hawks’ lips. There's steam curling at the edges of his mouth and his pupils are blown, taking all the blue in his eyes. “If you want me to sign something, I’m not against it either.”
Hawks feels his pulse spiking, his throat closing.
What.
“Wait. What ?” His heart is pounding in his ears. Jeez. He had almost forgotten what vertigo felt like: thrilling and terrifying in equal parts. He laughs. “Wait a sec, Touya. What—?”
“I want you to move in with me,” he blurts out, like it doesn't kick out all the air in Hawks' lungs.
“Shit.” He chokes out a laugh. His hands are shaking, even though he's laughing, even though he's smiling so hard it makes his face ache. He holds onto Dabi's shirt, trying to ground himself. “Hold your horses, buddy. I only found out about this place, like, twenty minutes ago.”
Dabi smiles and it's devastating . If Hawks still had his wings, he would've already sent some feathers flying to his place to start packing.
“Weren't you like… the fastest hero or some shit?” Dabi teases, tilting his chin up and licking Hawks’ lips.
So much for keeping him at bay. He forgot this idiot has a damn long tongue.
“Yes, but this is my real life. Not a speedrun, Jesus.”
It’s not like he’s going to say no to anything Dabi offered, but it’s a lot to process in one go. Hawks thought he’d be lucky if Dabi wanted to stick around or move to Musutafu for him, and turns out the idiot wants to fucking live together.
Hawks is not going to process anything if Dabi keeps grinding the obvious, hard-rock tent in his pants against him.
So they move to the bed.
Night had dropped its cloak many hours ago, and the bedroom is now in shadows, the lights from the hallway barely sketching their silhouettes. But Hawks doesn’t need his eyes to admire Dabi’s body when he has his hands and his tongue, when he has his thighs sliding down the sides of Dabi as he sits on top.
They have barely discarded half of their clothes when Dabi seizes Hawks’ hand and guides it to his neck. Hawks obliges, curling his fingers around the column of Dabi’s throat, and that alone seems enough to make Dabi lose it. He throws his head back with a groan, exhaling white steam like his body is trying to cool itself down before he sets the entire city on fire.
Hawks doesn’t remember seeing him so wrecked before.
“Ah, yes, Keigo,” he rasps. “Gonna need you to hate-fuck me senseless while spitting ‘don’t-you-dare-betray-me’ now.” Hawks’ eyes go wide and he snorts—he can’t help it. This is the last thing he had expected, and yet— “And if you want to spit on me for real, well. Much better.”
He feels a little guilty, trying not to laugh while Dabi is being a mess under him, squirming, breathless, gripping Hawks’ forearm with both hands.
“What is wrong with you?” Hawks chuckles.
“You were so hot when you said that,” Dabi continues, breath shallow and grin delirious. “I’ve been jerking off to that image for weeks. C’mon. I need the real thing now.”
Hawks can picture it perfectly. Dabi, somewhere across the country, hand closed around his throat, jacking off, murmuring Hawks’ name—the memory of Hawks shoving his arm against his throat burned into his head, replaying again and again.
Heat pools in the pit of Hawks’ stomach. Shit. He didn’t know he was into this.
“You're insane,” he laughs.
“C’mon, Keigo. Don’t you dare blueball me now.”
Jesus. He’s in love with an idiot.
“Okay. I’m on it, I’m on it. But, for the record." His fingers twitch around Touya's neck and he notices his voice dropping a few tones. "I’m just doing this ‘cause I know you—and I can totally see you betraying me just to give me a reason to rail you stupid.”
A smile curls on Dabi’s lips, unapologetic. And yeah, of course the idiot had considered it. Why is Hawks not surprised.
“You love me insane,” Dabi mutters, one of his hands grabbing the back of Hawks neck and dragging him into another kiss.
“Yeah,” he breathes against Dabi's lips. “I love you so much it's driving me insane.“
Notes:
can't belive this fic is ending, i'm so sad TT___TT aaaaa thank you all for reading and coming back every week to leave your comments <333 people commenting on an ongoing fic is an invaluable part of the experience and i never take it for granted. i had a blast reading all your reactions, analysis and theories!!! tysm again!! would love to hear your opinions on the ending, the entire story, or even a keyboard smash will do <333 you can also come and scream at me on blsky!
edit: i wrote an additional epilogue lol so this shit is not over yet!! hope you like the next chapter <33
Chapter 12: (against the sun, we're everything)
Summary:
"You know Hawks. He's stubborn and likes to have things his own way. He's not too into the idea of a bodyguard, and would probably outwit anyone we throw in his way. But maybe you can keep Hawks in line.”
Dabi snorts. Mera surely doesn't want to hear how he would keep Hawks in line.
“You say I know him, but we haven't seen each other in, like, eight years.”
Mera huffs in amusement, a rare sound in him. “He hasn't changed one bit.”
Well, neither have I.
Notes:
THIS WASN'T PLANNED AT ALL but i don't know how to turn off my brain. so, yeah, happy monday. take this 9k epilogue of dabi pining and spiraling down for hawks (my favorite kind)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
... insane that their folks sent him to this freak circus instead of letting him enroll in Yuuei. Like, okay, Touya doesn't have a complete handle on his quirk just yet, he knows that, but Endeavor's influence would’ve guaranteed him a spot at the most prestigious hero school in Japan, shiny recommendation and all. No doubt about it.
(In the Commission's library, Touya was looking for a book on mismatches between the human body and supernatural abilities–one that his quirk history teacher had recommended. He had the section, aisle, and book code all noted down, but couldn’t find the damn thing anywhere.
How is this supposed to work? Because he’d never been to a library before. He always had all the books he needed at home.)
But no, now he has to study three years in this fucking, what is this? institute? And no matter how much the old man or his mom tried to convince him saying that the Commission is better at training heroes than Yuuei, Touya couldn't help but snap, "then why nobody fucking knows about it!?"
(The goddamn book is on the highest shelf of this aisle, and Touya can't reach it, not even if he stands on his toes, because stupid Natsuo got all the extra centimeters that Touya clearly deserved.
Seriously, why is Natsuo the tallest when he's just twelve?)
'Your father had to pull all his influence to get you a spot in there ' his mother had said, as if that could make Touya feel better.
Well, it doesn't.
(He comes back with a chair. Even standing on it, his fingers don't reach.
Fuck this.)
They probably wanted to get rid of Touya now that Shouto, the hero's family, has proven to be a prodigy mastering two quirks at the young age of seven—all the while Touya almost burnt himself in Sekoto peak last year.
Well, to be fair, his parents probably wanted a constant eye on him, because they couldn't afford to let their his eldest roam free, training on his own accord, that is, if they didn't want Touya to burn down for real this time.
(And he might, because he's an idiot.)
Touya steps onto the backrest of the chair and shifts his weight forward.
You don't have to be a genius to realize that that's a very bad idea, but what can he do? He's full of terrible ideas.
He slips and would've ended head first on the floor if someone (or something) hadn't caught him in time.
It's definitely something , because suddenly his shirt is hooked on two feathers and his feet dangle in the air like he actually knew how to use his quirk and could imitate his father's trick, launching himself with fire.
But it's not that. It's the work of a boy standing in front of him with a dull and aloof expression. Almost his age, just as thin (kind of malnourished, but what does Touya know), he stares at Touya with utter disinterest, a feathery lock of blond hair falling onto his forehead, black marks around his amber eyes giving him a bird-like appearance.
And of course this boy couldn't care less about someone like Touya when he holds two wings bigger than his future.
(Bright red like the color that was fading from Touya’s hair.)
“You need help there, buddy?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He's wearing the uniform of the Commission—a black compression shirt with wavy golden lines and a diamond insignia over his chest. The exact shirt Touya wears, though right now, it has ridden up to his stomach, thanks to the feather-grip, revealing more scarring that he would even show his parents.
(Golden eyes widen when they notice the exposed scars on Touya’s belly.)
“Get off me,” Touya demands with the most threatening voice he can muster. The one his father would use when he wanted to be left the fuck alone.
So the boy drops him and Touya falls on his ass.
Bastard.
The feathers fly back to his owner and zip seamlessly into his wings. He hasn't taken his hands out of his pocket during the entire exchange.
As Touya gets back on his feet, golden eyes flick up toward the shelf.
“Should I get you something from there?”
“No,” Dabi grumbles. “I'm doing perfectly fine by myself.”
He hates the little smile that tugs at the boy’s lips.
“Sure thing. Now, which was it? ‘Bodies and quirks: a study of mismatching by Garaki Kyudai’?” he asks as one of his feathers shoots up and plucks the exact book from the shelf.
Touya blinks.
How did he knew?
He brings one hand to his stomach, scars now protected from view under the fabric.
Yes, the boy saw them, but how did he piece the information so fast?
Fucker.
Touya snatches the book from the feather’s grip.
“Being a smartass won't land you many friends, huh…” He thumbs the page edges before blinking his eyes up. The boy hasn't moved an inch since he popped up out of nowhere. “What was your name again?”
“Hawks,” he says, voice flat.
Touya snorts. “That ain't a name.”
The kid called Hawks (allegedly) frowns, bushy eyebrows knitted together.
“Well, it is my name. What's yours?”
“If you don't give me your name, why should I give you mine?” Touya retorts.
Hawks seems about to argue, but then his mouth closes and his eyes widen.
They are at a safe distance from each other, but Hawks suddenly seems to forget the concept of personal space and tackles Touya, his hand closing around the opposite arm and tugging him down the aisle, running away from some imaginary threat because what the hell, all was good three minutes ago.
“Hey!” he protests. “What’s your probl—”
“Mind your language boys!” A voice scolds from somewhere nearby. “ And not talking in the library!”
Hawks yanks open a narrow archive room door and drags Touya inside before closing the door shut.
You gotta be kidding me.
It's a dark and cramped room. There are no windows and barely any space to move, as they are both squeezed between a wall and a shelf filled with folders and files, plus Hawks’ feathers occupying half of the space.
Touya hates it here.
But Hawks doesn't seem to mind the lack of room, too busy playing the spy game to notice Touya's discomfort. He sends two feathers down the door as if that would help him hear or see something.
Jesus.
Touya feels smoke coming out of his nostrils. He should be giving this guy a good burn because what the hell does he think he is. Instead, Touya looks away, jaw tight, and presses his back against the wall. It's the largest distance he can put between them, but he can still feel Hawks’ breath on his face, his primaries brushing his shoulders.
“Sorry,” Hawks says in a hushed voice, not sparing Touya a glance. “I really can't get myself in trouble.”
Dabi gives him a flat stare. “I don't know how that's supposed to be my problem.”
A beat. Then, Hawks laughs softly, his eyes finding him in the dark. Or so Touya thinks.
“That's why I said I'm sorry. You looked like you were gonna sell me out if Ma’am asked where did I go, so I took you with me.”
Touya frowns. There's weird heat creeping up his neck.
(And this better not be one of his spontaneous combustions, because this place–a room crammed with paper–would be the worst place to have an episode.)
“I ain't a snitch,” he grunts under his breath. “I don't care what happens to you, but that doesn't mean I’mma sell you out.”
And what's with all this shit? Trouble? Why should Hawks be in trouble? Who's Ma’am? What's this shit about ‘selling him out’ ? It sounds sick.
Hawks chuckles, a lazy smile blooming in his lips, as he throws his head back until it rests against the shelf.
“Thanks, buddy. I guess.”
Touya wants to throttle him. “Don't you buddy me. We're not friends.”
The smile vanishes little by little from Hawks’ face, diluted in the dark. The only source of light comes from the small gap under the door, but that's enough to make out each other’s silhouettes, the subtle change in their reactions.
“If I give you my real name…” Hawks asks. “Then what? We're friends?”
Touya snorts. “No. That's not how it wor—”
“Keigo.” The word slashes the dark, cutting through Touya. He gapes, caught off guard, but Hawks' eyes look so earnest when they lock in him. “It's Takami Keigo.” He pinches his eyebrows together, almost like he regrets it already. “They told me not to tell anyone…”
It's hard not to laugh, but Touya doesn't want feathers shoved in his mouth to keep him shut.
“Not good at sticking with the rules, are you?” He asks, voice a little smug.
Hawks blinks. “Actually, you'd be surprised how good I'm at following instructions.” He— what? “Also, what's your name?”
Touya clears his throat and avoids eye contact. Trying really hard not to think what he meant when he said he's good at following instructions.
(Probably nothing weird. Touya is the one with the head in the gutter).
“I never said I’d tell you my name,” Touya grumbles under his breath, leaning further against the wall.
He pictures the guy arching a bushy eyebrow.
“We're in the same program. I could find out your name in a heartbeat.”
“Whatever, go find it,” Touya grunts. “I don't feel particularly cooperative today.”
Hawks’ soft chuckles reaches his ears, the air almost brushing his neck.
“Why do I feel like you're never cooperative, hm?”
“Well, someone has to counterbalance your good-boy act, Hawks”
He's not sure when their eyes found each other in the dark again, but Hawks holds them wide open. There's a faint, closed smile tugging at the corner of his lips that makes him look half wary, half amused.
“Oh, god,” Hawks snorts, dropping his chin down against his chest in a defeated gesture. “You're going to be a pain in the ass, aren't you?”
Touya grins. “Just wait and see.”
∇
“Todoroki.”
Touya winces.
They're leaving the training grounds after a long morning of sparring class. It's been almost two months since they started attending the Commission’s program. By now, Hawks should've noticed both Touya's name and quirk, and made the connections.
Touya should've started to walk faster the moment Hawks called him.
He turns over his shoulder in spite of himself and finds Hawks standing awkwardly two or three meters away. The guy looks fidgety, his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, rocking on his heels.
There's something about his posture that makes him look way younger than he actually is.
The rest of their classmates trickle down the hallway on either side as they leave the gym, but they two stay in the middle, like two islands refusing to move.
“What?” Touya snarls, knowing exactly what the question is coming.
“Are you… huh, are you the son of Endeavor?” Hawks asks in a small voice.
Touya rolls his eyes. He hates that he was right.
“Yes, but I'm not getting you any autographs.”
Hawks whips his head up, eyes big and hurt.
“You won't?”
“Jesus.” Touya drags a hand across his face. Meeting an Endeavor fanboy, just his luck. “You wouldn't like the old guy so much if you knew him in real life.”
Red wings flap behind Hawks’ back. “Can I meet him in real life?”
Touya squints. “No.” The wings drop almost immediately, the tips grazing the floor. “Or at least I won't be the one to introduce you both.”
Hawks trots to his side, and they start walking down the hallway.
“Ohh. C’mon, Todoroki-kun.” He nudges him. “Ain't there a hero you really admire?”
Well, that had been Endeavor as well, but not anymore.
Touya shrugs, puts his hands on his pockets. “Ya know, All Might is pretty cool. Also, don't call me Todoroki. I hate it.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Hawks snicker. The first time they met, Hawks had struck him as a more cool and detached, but he's been all smiles and winks around their classmates.
Touya wonders how much is real and how much he's faking.
“Well, Touya , if you wanted to be on a first name basis with me you just had to say it,” he almost coos.
Really?
Touya glares at him. “God, I’m gonna kill you”
He doesn't mean it literally.
But Hawks should've kept his distance. He has a sharp eye—he saw Touya’s burns the first time they met, has seen him bursting into flames at the slightest provocation, hell, everyone has seen the bandages on his arms, the plasters on his cheeks he wears for two, three days after a bad episode.
(Not so often anymore. He wants to believe that he's got a better grip on himself now. It's been six months since they started the program and Touya thinks he's more contained, less flammable, but that has been a horrible week. Arguing with Endeavor, saying hurtful things to mom, throwing hands at Natsuo, who of course kicked his ass, yelling at Fuyumi and Shouto when they tried to check on him, his handler at the program saying he shouldn't make them waste their time…
No wonder he snapped.)
And Hawks should've been smart like the rest, who ran for their lives after Touya went up like a funeral pyre. But the idiot is good at heart, or doesn't value his life at all. Dying like a martyr suits guys like him, but Touya can't be killing people while he's trying ( trying so hard, Hawks, why do you make it so much harder for me) to be a hero.
Hawks yanks off his jacket, flies to Touya’s side, and wraps it around him as if any of that would be of any help. It isn’t. But Hawks, ever so optimistic, holds Touya so tightly, and whispers to his ear ‘it’s okay. It's okay, Touya’, and did he really expect that to work?
The ceiling of the infirmary is a familiar vision for Touya at this point. He doubts that it's the case for Hawks too.
(But the guy right now is not seeing shit, still unconscious on the infirmary bed.)
Touya stares at him, lying down in the bed beside him.
Everything is white, white, white. The bed linen, the floor, the walls, the curtains, the bandage wrapping Hawks’ limbs, everything, except the small wings peeking from behind Hawks’ back.
They are red. A bit scorched, but red still.
At least Touya didn't burn them down.
Touya takes a deep breath, but the air struggles to get in. He wouldn't be surprised if he had lung damage at this point. Although with every trip to the infirmary, he feels less and less of his body, the pain barely registering in his brain.
(How long until he fucks up all the nerves in him?)
Still, he feels a pang of guilt as he watches Hawks stir and groan in his sleep.
As expected, none of this relieves the tension back at home.
Endeavor makes Touya sit in front of him as he reads the letter sent by the Commission. And the more he reads, the harder he scowls, if that's even possible. Touya stays there with a mixture of uneasiness and irritation. Why is he in trouble for something that wasn't (entirely) his fault?
Because, yes, he should be able to control his quirk better, but everyone knew he was volatile and unstable, Hawks was the only one who threw himself at Touya like he was a poor civilian asking for help.
Endeavor grumbles under his breath and runs a hand across his face, his palm as huge as the size of Touya's resentment.
“You burnt a kid from the program?” he asks after a brief pause.
Touya scoffs. “It was an accident . Does the letter say that or do they try to frame me like the bad guy?”
“Accident or not, you still gave him third-degree burns,” Endeavor points out, now massaging circles in his temple. “What is his name? I'll have to call his parents and apologize.”
Touya snorts, laughing at the idea of Endeavor apologizing to the Commission, of all people.
“Joke's on you,” Touya says. “He has no parents.”
Blue eyes, the same as his own, shoot him a quizzical stare, and Touya flashes a conspiratorial smile. Maybe burning Hawks wasn't that bad as he had thought if he could get Endeavor in trouble.
“He's a protégé from the Commission,” he continues. Endeavor turns pale. “So I guess you'll have to deal with them now.”
He's not (always) a terrible person. He does feel bad for scarring Hawks’ face. But why did it have to be his face, of all things? Plasters are not easy to hide when you wear them on your cheeks, and now everyone knows that Touya nearly turned Hawks into fried chicken (and the girls hate him for ruining his pretty face).
(But if you ask Touya, he thinks Hawks looks hotter this way.)
(Pun non intended.)
After classes are over, Touya collects his books, shoves them unceremoniously into his bag, and slings it over his shoulder.
It takes Hawks three seconds to reach his side, his small wings fluffing at his back.
Touya tries not to wonder if they had ever taken so long to grow back.
“Heyy, Touya,” he sing-songs, like he's not addressing the guy that sent him to the infirmary just a week ago. A white plaster is still pressed against his cheek, the burn probably hasn’t healed yet. “Can we talk for a bit?”
Leave to Hawks to ambush him with smiles and nice words when Touya less expects it.
The bottle clatters as it falls on the pickup port of the vending machine. Touya needs to keep his hands busy if they're going to have some kind of serious talk. One he doesn't want to hear, but it's not like he has another option.
He uncaps the bottle and takes a small sip. “So, what is it? Spill it out.”
Keigo leans against the vending machine, crosses his ankles and avoids looking Touya in the eye. Something unusual for someone who carries himself around with the confidence that comes from a quirk that fits your body, a pretty face that seduces everyone around him.
“Hey, huh… yeah, I just wanted to say…” He trails off and brings a hand to the back of his neck. “I'm sorry for giving you a hard time.”
The plastic bottle squeaks under the pressure of Touya’s fingers.
What?
“Hawks, I scarred you. Probably for life,” Touya grits out. “Why are you apologizing to me ?”
The guilt hits harder now, especially because Touya had said he wouldn't apologize.
And he's not one to back out from a decision, so he stands by that.
Hawks shrugs. “Yeah, but I've heard that the Commission has been pestering Endeavor about it.” Nothing in his expression reveals that he's sorry about it. “The bright side is that Endeavor knows who I am now.”
His smile is so broad—Touya doesn't understand this guy.
“If you keep smiling like that, I will start thinking you did all this to get Endeavor's attention,” he deadpans.
Hawks barks a loud laugh. He throws his head back and the sound echoes off the walls, wings flapping at his back.
And if Touya’s chest tightens, it's not from guilt or discomfort, but something else entirely.
He's not sure if he wants to dwell on that.
∇
When Touya turns seventeen, Fuyumi gifts him a Polaroid camera, because in her words ‘you need another hobby that is not throwing hands at your classmates’.
She probably says that because a few weeks ago, Touya had come home with bruises all over and an arm in a sling. It had all been Hawks’ fault because, of course, the bastard is not only good with long-range fighting and battling with weapons, but he's a savage throwing fists as well.
And Touya is a stubborn one, always thinking that, this time around, he will beat Hawks at last.
Which never happens.
But his smile is so infuriating. Maybe that's why Touya keeps trying to beat him when he has everything to lose.
And because the feeling of Hawks pinning him down on the floor is pretty addictive too.
(Hawks’ strained body coated with a sheen layer of sweat, his muscles taut, the tendons in his neck showing. Blond hair stuck to his temples and his flushed face grinning at him from above as he sits on Touya’s hips, one foot stepping on one arm, his other arm pinned on the floor. Their breathing is erratic, but in sync, and Hawks' body emits so much warmth that Touya wonders if the fucker has a fire quirk on him that he never told about.
Touya wishes they could stay like that longer, but in a gym full of their peers and instructors, being straddled by Hawks for five seconds is already awkward enough.)
That last time they had sparred was a bit different from the previous ones, though.
Might have been the fact that they were alone, just the two of them in the afternoon in the HPSC premises when everyone else had left. Touya didn't want to go home, and Hawks had nowhere else to go. So when they bumped into each other in the building's hall, they decided, well, we might as well kick the shit out of each other while we’re here.
It helps them blow off some steam, take their frustrations out. And god knows how bad Touya needs an outlet.
After a brief exchange of blows, dodging, sidesteps and improvised choreography, Hawks holds him by the throat and sends Touya down, knocking the back of his head against the ground. White sparks flash before Touya’s eyes before they turn into white teeth, red feathers, and blond hair.
Hawks smiles, perched over him, eclipsing the afternoon lights seeping through the tall windows. His chest rises and falls to a slightly heaving rhythm and his wings fluff up behind his back.
His hand gripping the crook of Touya’s shoulder, he taps his fingers playfully against the battered muscles.
“Guess this is going to bruise tomorrow, hm?” he rasps.
Touya is too dizzy by the adrenaline and the lactine running through his veins to care about the sudden trespassing of his personal space. Not that Hawks had ever respected the proper distance between them, and neither has Touya for that matter, winding him up, needling him every chance he got because an angry Hawks is his favourite brand of the guy—not the bland, insipid project of a hero with shallow smiles and sweet nothings that comes everyday to class.
But his smile now is anything but shallow—it's dark and rich, and Touya wants to believe it's a look reserved only for him.
The jagged scar that goes from Hawks’ cheek to his neck (Touya's little service) stretches when he smiles, the texture rough, the color darker, just like the burns Touya hides under his clothes.
Before he has a moment to think it through, Touya is running the pad of his thumb over Hawks' scar.
“Is this a payback from last time?” Touya asks. And maybe this wasn't a bright idea.
His finger is too close to Hawks' bottom lip.
Hawks chuckles under his breath.
“Stop pretending we’ve got bad blood, because we don't.”
His fingers now pinch Hawks' chin, pulling him closer.
“Says who?” Touya mutters, arching a challenging eyebrow. “Because on my terms, it's very bad blood.”
Hawks leans on his free hand, his palm pressed on the floor beside Touya’s head.
“It's not my style. Holding grudges, that is,” he says, tapping his thumb against the side of Touya’s neck. “I like being the bigger person. You should try that too.”
Touya makes a gagging gesture and lets go of Hawks. “You're so full of yourself, it's disgusting.”
He props himself up on his elbows to sit up, but Hawks doesn't get out of the fucking way, his weight full on Touya's hips.
What the hell does he want?
“And if I’m so disgusting,” Hawks says, letting go of Touya, both hands now planted on the sides of Touya’s body, voice a few notes lower, a few tones more conspiratorial. “Then why are you always on my tail, asking me to spar with you?”
Touya’s throat tightens.
He's not telling the idiot the real reason. He's not even sure if that is the reason.
So he goes for a half truth.
“Because everyone else sucks and you're the only one who's not that bad.”
Well, it is true. But it's not the whole truth.
And of course Hawks doesn't believe him shit.
His eyes narrow the broader his grin gets.
“I think it's because you like it when I kick your ass.”
Oh my god. He hates this guy's guts so much.
“I think it's the other way around,” Touya says, tilting his chin up in defiance. “I think you like having your own punching bag way more.”
Hawks snorts.
“Is that what you think you are to me? A punching bag?”
Touya frowns. “Well, what else?”
Hawks blinks, tilts his head to the side in a bird-like gesture. He seems lost, for a moment. Like he had the reins of this conversation but suddenly lost them, the horses now running rampant. Away.
“Aren't we… friends?”
Touya scoffs. As if.
He pushes Hawks’ shoulder, trying to get the guy off him.
“I don't want to be your friend,” he grumbles.
Maybe he shouldn't have said that, but Touya has a tendency to say mean things when someone is trying to get close to him. His family knows that well. So should Hawks at this point.
He might have hoped for Touya to have a change of heart but, no matter how volatile and erratic his quirk is, his heart never changed.
(He's obsessed with his father after all this time.
And he would stay in love with Hawks for many, many years to come.)
The realization dawns on him when he hears the clicking sound of the camera shutter.
The image develops in the Polaroid sheet—a teenage Hawks, leaning against the window sill, red wings tucked behind his back as he cups his chin in a hand and laughs, looking anywhere but at the camera’s lens–and that's when Touya realizes it.
Realizes he's in love with the moron.
Oh no.
A sheen layer of red develops in Touya's face as well.
What the hell is he doing, taking pictures of Hawks while they're on a class break? He tucks the picture away with a hasty movement. One second he was bored, fiddling with the camera Fuyumi gave him, the next one he was looking at Hawks through the viewfinder. He's not even sure if the flash was on. He prays it wasn't. How would he explain that if Hawks were to find out? The idiot probably noticed. He never misses anything. Fucking telekinetic feathers.
But when Touya looks up again, Hawks is still talking to their classmates, still laughing out loud, throwing his head back, oblivious to Touya's inner turmoil.
Well, Touya kind of deserves the indifference. He wasn't particularly nice last time they talked, and if it’s friends what Hawks wants, then maybe their classmates can offer him a better deal than Touya does.
Touya's love is not the good kind.
It's obsessive and suffocating, all-consuming and dominating.
When Touya hits the mental hospital, they tell him something in that line—that his fixation isn't healthy, that the medication coursing in his veins will help him stabilize, but he will have to learn how to tackle things differently ( and you'll start seeing a therapist now, young man), because you can't set a room on fire with all your family inside just because your youngest sibling mastered the Prominence Burn at the age of nine.
He was mad, but he didn't do it on purpose. He swears. Yet no matter what Touya says, no one believes him when he uses “it was an accident” card anymore.
He might've gotten away with it when he was ten, when he was fifteen even, and almost left quirkless a young promise of the Commission.
At seventeen, they expect him to have his shit together.
Well, he doesn't.
That's why he stays two weeks inside. Two weeks, or two months, Touya couldn't tell the difference—days pass like static and he can't tell one from the other. His senses are dulled as if he had overused his quirk and cooked his nerves, but he knows that's just the pills he takes, wrapping his head in an invisible cloth and pressing in, like cotton stuffed in his ears, like he's underwater.
Maybe soaking him in mood-stabilizers and antidepressants was the only way to prevent another spontaneous outburst, getting him sedated for enough days to make an intervention.
He wonders what his classmates at the program have been told.
He wonders if Hawks knows why Touya hasn't showed up for so long, if he has asked around where his sparring buddy is, or if he just forgot about Touya already, cutting it though the clouds yielding his brand new provisional hero license (the exam that Touya missed for being a match that lights too easily), too high up now to look down and see where Touya has fallen.
He thinks about the Polaroid he hid at the back of a wardrobe and judges that Fuyumi was right.
That he needs to find his own path instead of trailing behind other people—be it Endeavor or Hawks.
When he's out of the hospital, his handler at the Commission arranges a counseling meeting with him to go over his future plans.
“Your quirk is powerful, there's no doubt about it,” she says, inspecting the folders and documents in her desk. Touya fiddles with his thumbs, sitting across from her. “But it's a double edge sword, something you’ve experienced firsthand already,” she continues, flicking her eyes up, her stare roaming around the burns in Touya's neck and arms. “No matter how much we train you, you'll always be at risk of catching fire. So from now on, you have to use your flames only when it's absolutely necessary.”
Touya balls his hands into fists, trying to look somewhat contained. He is contained—medication and therapy aren't magic, but they are not completely useless either, and he feels a tiny bit more stable these days.
Still, people don't seem to trust him much after his last episode.
Although his handler doesn't even flinch at his reaction, crossing her fingers over the table as she waits for an answer.
“Does that mean I can't be a hero anymore?” he asks, the question gritted through his teeth.
“I never said that,” she answers, not missing a beat. “We just have to find a job that might suit you better.” She pulls a paper sheet from a pile of documents and lays it over the table in front of him. “Say, Todoroki-kun. How do you feel about working in counterintelligence?”
∇
“Dabi?” Hawks repeats, both parts confused and amused, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline. Dabi doesn't get why he’s so shocked when Hawks’ choices of hero costume are way more debatable (for fuck’s sake, how is he supposed to unsee those khaki baggy pants now). “Why did they pick that name for you?”
Dabi exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “No one picked the name for me, Hawks. I did.”
He doesn't intend to act biting or taunting, but old habits die hard, and it's been a while since he last talked to Hawks one-to-one.
It's hard not to fall back into their old dynamics all over again—their jokes, their pauses, their banter, their silences.
(Their wandering eyes, their twitchy hands, the words they swallow, the calculated poses that somehow help them keep this unreliable and fragile, so fragile, distance, because all Dabi wants to do now is reach out and—
And, what?)
It's hard not to fall for Hawks all over again when the idiot pulls his visor up his head and beams at his former classmate like a good old friend, but maybe Dabi never fell out of love as he had (convinced himself) thought.
Dabi had graduated from the Commission’s training program a year ago (the benefits of being one, almost two years older), and has worked undercover on different tasks given by the Commission ever since. Hawks had recently opened his own hero agency down in Fukuoka where the Commission allowed him to relocate, being originally from the southern island of Kyushu. They were meeting that day in Hawks' office to go over Dabi’s latest case—a smuggling ring that trafficked illegal support gear.
But Dabi, though a professional, is having some trouble trying to get his head on the task at hand. He wants to ask Hawks so many things, he doesn't even know where to start.
Did you know why I was gone for three months at that time? his head supplies.
Did you notice when I graduated from the program? goes around his head too.
I think you were away on a mission working shoulder to shoulder with Best Jeanist and Edgeshot like you had an actual hero license and not some provisional crap.
You were always so much better than me, don't you think? That's why you have your own shit, your own agency at eighteen while I lay low, creeping like a snake.
But maybe being something like a cold-blooded animal has helped me not to combust again.
Or at least not so often. I'm doing better, I think.
He glances up at Hawks. Blue eyes trace the jagged scar.
What about you?
“This is what my team has been able to seize so far,” Hawks says, showing an array of makeshift equipment on the desk, oblivious to Dabi’s inner monologue. “There has been an outburst of petty crime lately and they’re all related to this kind of half-assed equipment.”
Touya picks up a gauntlet and examines it. Maybe if he keeps his hands busy he won't crave touching Hawks. He doesn't know another way to be around him that is not touching. That's what they have always been doing since they both met—pushing and pulling at their physical boundaries (a tug of one arm, their shoulders bumping together, their fists finding each other in a choreographed spar, the full weight of Hawks on him).
"Not so good at keeping the streets safe anymore, hmm, Hawks?" Dabi drawls, trying to keep his thoughts off them.
The idiot holds a hand to his chest in mock offense and fans his eyelashes at Dabi.
"I'm just your regular rookie hero. I'm not even of drinking age."
Touya snorts. "Don't fuck with me, Hawks. You've been saving people since you were six or some shit.”
“Yeah, well. You wouldn't know it, but dismantling a smuggling ring is harder to deal with than a crash accident.”
“I know it, idiot. Why do you think I've been investigating this case for months?”
Hawks flashes a shit-eating grin. “And how is it going?”
Dabi narrows his eyes.
Bastard.
“Heard they’ve been using the Fukuoka port to ship this crap in and out,” Dabi says, putting down the gauntlet and fiddling with a face-mask device. “I’ve got a line on someone meeting a seller tomorrow night.”
Hawks hums and drums his gloves fingers on the desk. “You want backup?”
It's hard not to laugh. “Not if I want you to blow my cover with those wings.”
Dabi realizes it a bit too late.
That he shouldn't leave words laying around for Hawks to pick up and use them against him.
He's more cheeky now, less naïve, a little bolder too. He's been around adults for long enough and has learned to play with double meanings and innuendos if the occasion calls for it.
And Dabi called the occasion.
Indeed, as he looks up again, he’s met by an arched eyebrow and a knowing smirk, amber eyes scanning him up and down.
Dabi has never seen that look in Hawks’ face before.
“If I'm blowing anything, that's not your cover,” he says, straightening up and folding his arms over his chest with a confidence that would put All Might to shame.
Dabi gives him a flat stare.
This idiot is so full of shit. As if Hawks has ever seen a dick that is not his own.
Well, has he? Who knows. Dabi doesn't want to think about it.
So he rummages through his pockets for a packet of cigarettes and twirls the box in his hands.
He takes one cigarette, but doesn't light it. He lets it hang from his mouth as he says, “Hope you don't have a gag reflex, then.”
Hawks just snorts—the idiot.
∇
They don't talk much as they are adults—Dabi is dealing with his shit while Hawks manages his own. They don't live in the same city, which makes it harder to casually bump into each other. Dabi doesn't even have a fixed place where he resides, changing locations as his missions call for it. Some are mid-term, some are longer. Sometimes he touches base with the Commission sooner than they expect it, sometimes he disappears for a year.
(Not something that keeps the higher ups awake at night—unlike Hawks, Dabi is not owned by the Commission, but works as a freelance hero. They only pay him as they see results, and it’s up to him to produce said results.
Good thing the Commission taught him a whole deal of tools to get his hands on.)
His hands on strong hips, his eyes on a tiny waist that reminds him of someone, but this is not him. It's just a guy that mined government data for a living, touch-starved enough not to turn down any of Dabi's advances and invited him home where anyone could go and plug in an USB stick when the guy wasn't looking.
And Dabi made sure the guy didn't look, pressing his face into the pillows.
“Ah, ah, yes. Fuck. Harder,” his muffled voice pleads.
The slap of wet skin against skin echoes in the room as Dabi props himself up in one hand and keeps the other gripped on the back of this guy’s neck, his thumb brushing the fuzz of short hair.
It's hard not to think of the resemblance.
The hair is ashy blond, a bit like Hawks, and he wears it short, with a clean undercut like Hawks did at some point. When they talked the guy was sassy and witty (like Hawks) and now he moans a bit like Dabi thinks Hawks would do.
(But what does he know, the idiot never groaned nor complained once when they were kids).
Dabi breathes out a column of steam, grips him harder. The guy gasps and arches his back in reaction.
He's not Hawks, yes—the hero is way more ripped than this, and has two whole-ass wings sprouting from his back, a detail hard to miss, but sometimes Dabi thinks that this (fucking someone else while thinking of Hawks) will be the closest he’ll get to having him.
(Because Hawks likes to play, but hates to lose, and Dabi wants to see him break.)
It's easy to forget about all that when Hawks’ eyes find him across a room and light up as Dabi would be a pleasant vision to see.
(He's not. He had to overuse his quirk recently to get out of a sticky mission and burned his arms quite badly. His face also suffered the consequences and had to get stitches. So, no, not a nice sight at all.)
The hall room is packed with people, stuffy and suffocating. Dabi wonders if all the Hero Billboard Charts are like this. He's never been to one of these, because 1) he doesn't appear in the ranking, not even in the three digits, 2) he's always wrapped up in some missions by the time they hold the event. But this time around he was free and decided why no t. Endeavor was on a break, recovering from some major injuries he got a week ago, so less chances to meet the old man. More chances to meet with—
Amber eyes are fixed on Dabi as other people try to talk and get a little piece of the Number Four’s attention. His wings fluff up and flutter as if they had a life of their own, and although Hawks nods and answers all questions, his gaze never leaves Dabi, raptor eyes narrowing over the rim of a glass.
Dabi had gotten out of the balcony to get a smoke and now watches as Hawks politely shakes the people off him, slipping through the crowd, almost swimming at times to get to Dabi.
(He watches as Hawks comes to him, and the closer he gets, the louder his heart throbs in his ears.)
Dabi takes a drag of his cigarette and leans his back against the railing. There's few people outside and the night air cools him down. He's not wearing the hero suit that helps him regulate his temperature, but white slacks and a black button-down instead. The people here probably don't know he's a hero and he wants to keep it that way. Helps with the undercover and shit, but mostly, he doesn't want to enter the dick-measuring contest that is the hero billboard chart.
The one Hawks loves taking part in.
Hawks strides to him, waving a gloved hand in the air with a big grin. Something about him yells tipsy—either his half-lidded eyes, or his flushed cheeks, or his slightly uncoordinated steps, or the way he almost trips when he reaches Dabi.
The idiot.
Dabi reaches out a hand, the one that doesn't hold the cigarette, and holds Hawks by the waist, helps him steady himself.
“You're drunk, stupid,” he observes. The thought both irritating and endearing. Hawks is twenty-one now, but probably hasn't had many chances to go out and drink to his heart's content. Two glasses of champagne must be a few too many for him.
And it is, judging by the way he snickers under his breath and brings one finger to his lips.
“Don't get me in trouble, Touya.”
The call back resonates in him—Hawks said the same thing the first time they met, locked in a dark archive room, pulled together a bit too close in a tight space. Now they're out in the open, but Dabi holds him close, doesn't want him to leave. His hand still rests on Hawks' waist (down the jacket, fingers brushing the black shirt underneath) but Hawks doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he tilts into Dabi's space, using his wings as a curtain to keep prying eyes away from their private bubble.
He looks over his shoulder just to make sure they're safe, and a messy ponytail jiggles on the back of his neck. Dabi doesn't remember Hawks having his hair long enough to pull it up in a ponytail (and wishes one of his hands were free just to hold it, maybe tug at it, see what face Hawks makes).
“Nice to see you, man.” Hawks says, turning his eyes back to Dabi. “Didn't expect you to like these events, though.”
Hawks puts one hand on the railing. Like this, it's hard to judge who is caging who.
Dabi shakes the ash off the cigarette, watches as a column of smoke emerges from the tip.
“Don’t like ‘em, indeed. But I was curious about the new ranking. That's all.”
Hawks chuckles. “Just say you came to see me in four.”
Dabi arches an eyebrow, at which Hawks pushes his shoulder playfully.
“Because I'm Number Four now, Dabi. Try to keep up.”
“Yeah, I get a joke when I hear one, Hawks. Yours was just bad.”
“Oh, c’mon.” He laughs and nudges Dabi. “I couldn't resist. The joke basically made itself.”
The smile slowly vanishes from his face as he realises that this is not a laughing matter for Dabi.
Because of course he has pictured Hawks in four before.
Bent. Not ranked.
But when I take you, Hawks, Dabi thinks, his hand gripping his waist tighter now. When I take you at last, I'm gonna make you look into my eyes. Amber locks in blue and, unless Dabi is making it up, he hears Hawks' breath hitching. I've been waiting for this shit for so long, for fuck’s sake, Keigo. I want to see your face when you break. Hawks' eyes drop to Dabi’s mouth and he swallows. Dabi is about to burst at the seams. I'm gonna take you apart so slowly, you just wait and see.
He's pulled Hawks so close that now their chests are touching, molded to each other like they're used to this pose—a dance they've been rehearsing for so long.
(And Hawks is lucky Dabi has a better grip on his quirk now, because his skin prickles with the urge to burn.
Burn and take them both down.)
The Number Four parts his lips, but utters no words. Either because he forgot how to speak or his throat dried down, Dabi doesn't know.
He closes his mouth, takes a deep breath and tries again.
“Dabi…” Hawks rasps, his eyes half-lidded and hazy (with… want?). He licks his lips and blue eyes follow the movement. “Dabi, I…”
“Hawks!”
It's like someone had flipped up a switch. Hawks snaps out of whatever trance Dabi put him in and his jaw locks, his shoulders square, his eyebrows knit together. Even his feathers look pissed, flapping and ruffling.
“Hawks, there's people here you still haven't talked to.”
Dabi huffs under his breath and takes another puff of his cigarette, his hand sliding off Hawks’ waist.
“They be calling,” Dabi says, leaning both elbows against the railing.
Hawks’ wings fold behind his back and he grumbles before his face contorts into the lighthearted hero with the breezy attitude everyone likes (and Dabi hates). He turns around and waves at the Commission worker tugging at his leash before shuffling his way back into the party.
But before entering the hallroom again, Hawks looks over his shoulder and looks at Dabi.
There's so much to read in that stare and so little that Dabi can decode.
It's so frustrating, how little he can read Hawks at times.
A blue flame emerges from his right hand and engulfs the cigarette completely.
∇
He doesn't call him when Hawks loses his wings.
He doesn't call Endeavor for losing one arm and leg (Fuyumi is going to hate him for this), so why should he call Hawks?
Dabi doesn't even have his number.
(He could've asked around for it, yes, gotten it easily—their paths cross in more ways than one.)
But he doesn't.
Right now he's not supposed to be the Touya that loves Keigo, but the Dabi in an undercover mission somewhere lost in the cold of Hokkaido.
He didn't even take part in the war—or he did, but in a less glamorous way that didn't involve him losing a limb or two in the battlefield. He joined the League of Villains after they severed links with All for One, and Dabi was tasked with keeping the two factions from making contact again. With Shigaraki’s decay and Twice’s doubles, that would've made things too easy for the Demon Lord. No wonder why he kept searching for them. Good thing Kurogiri’s portals helped them change locations frequently enough to stay hard to track.
Not much happens during the five years Dabi stays with them. A big part of his job is to stay there and wait. He smokes with Twice, plays chess with Compress, gets his ass kicked by Shigaraki and Spinner when they play video games, lets Toga paint his nails, helps them rob a bank by Wednesday, you know, the usual villain stuff.
Being around people that don't know him, helps him keep his head off other issues, just the way he wants it.
“You're in love, Dabi.”
Except when it doesn't.
He wasn't expecting the statement, but has learned not to expect anything from Toga at this point. The girl is crazy as a loon.
He looks up from his phone, the blue light reflecting off his eyes. The buzz of the TV echoes in the background as Toga sits on the other side of the couch, knees pulled up to her chest. She wears her hair down, blond locks spilling down her shoulders.
“You're in love,” she repeats, giggling like a teenager although she must be around nineteen now.
“Not with you, that's for you sure,” Dabi counters, eyes going back to the screen. “I don't like brats.”
“No, not me. Or any of us for that matter.” She takes a deep breath and her face twists into a lovesick grin. “This smells longer. Your love smells like oaked wine.”
Smell? He frowns. That one he didn't expect either.
“If you are old enough to know how oaked wine smells, then you should stop wearing that serafuku, Toga,” he drawls, putting his phone aside. Not that he was looking at anything anyway. “You look ridiculous wearing a school uniform at your age.”
She pouts while twirling one lock of hair in one finger. “But it's cute~! Don't you think it's cute?”
“I said I don't like brats.”
His eyes stray to the TV, which shows Hawks in a press conference. He laughs and answers the questions from the journalist with effortless charm. He looks older now, his cheeks are not round and smooth, but sharp, cutting at the right angles like a face meant for the media. Creases fold in the corner of his eyes when he smiles, and his facial hair is not a pathetic stubble anymore but a proper beard now, one that hugs his jaw with intention.
(And it almost, almost conceals the scar Dabi left on him.)
The headline reads “HPSC President Hawks to support Zero Gravity Hero: Uravity’s Quirk Counseling Project.”
“Yes, Uravity’s Counseling project tours elementary schools around Japan to provide better guidance and support to young children,” he says, his voice the same lighthearted but grounded tone Dabi remembers. “Some of these children have problems getting a grip of their quirks, or their bodies don't fit their abilities. So we at the Commission offer them to participate in our program with further coaching sessions and free equipment.”
He looks so much smaller without his wings, Dabi thinks. His shoulders seem much narrower and his hair less feathery. He kept the eye markings, but other than that he lost more of his avian appearance.
He looks like an ordinary person now.
It pisses Dabi off, how at ease he looks like this.
(All the training they went through… for what?)
“Does this person love you back?” Toga asks with ogling curiosity, snapping him out of his thoughts.
His throat tightens as a result.
She doesn't need a knife to stab Dabi’s heart. One question seems to be enough.
Because Hawks and he haven't talked in years, they haven't seen each other in years, it wouldn't have surprised him if Hawks had forgotten about him at this point, yet Dabi is still brimming with unresolved feelings, still burning with desire and longing.
He should put a stop to this, it's been over a decade already. What is he doing, wasting his life away for someone who doesn't love him back?
To be honest, it wouldn't be the first time.
He leans back on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest.
“No, I don't think he does,” he sighs.
∇
Mera’s call is a surprise. He didn't even know Mera had his phone number. Yes, Dabi has been working for the Commission until recently, but all communication was with workers in the intelligence division, never with the higher-ups. Never with Mera, let alone with—
“President Hawks needs a bodyguard,” Mera says without missing a beat. Dabi feels his mouth go dry. “He's been under serious threats in the past week and needs someone to take care of his security.”
Dabi had just woken up. It's too early for this shit.
He sits on the bed’s edge and runs a hand through his hair. It’s still stiff and damaged after dyeing it black for so many years.
“Why me?” he asks, blinking the sleep away. “Bet you have better people to do the job, don't you?”
Mera exhales sharply from the other side of the phone. “The stalker probably has an ice quirk, so you have more leverage in the event of a direct confrontation. Besides, you know Hawks. He's stubborn and likes to have things his own way. He's not too into the idea of a bodyguard, and would probably outwit anyone we throw in his way. But maybe you can keep Hawks in line.”
Dabi snorts. Mera surely doesn't want to hear how he would keep Hawks in line.
“You say I know him, but we haven't seen each other in, like, eight years.”
Eight years. Jesus. Time sure flies when you're pining for your childhood’s almost something.
Mera huffs in amusement, a rare sound in him.
“He hasn't changed one bit.”
Well, neither have I.
Hawks is having a terrible day, week, and year, and Dabi is just here to make it worse. The thought pulls a smirk to his lips. He's always been a bit cruel, and what can he say, he likes his man a bit wrecked, a bit tired, dark circles under their eyes, hair unbrushed, malnourished with too much coffee and lack of sleep. That day, Dabi can read Hawks like a book and knows that it takes everything in him not to groan and run a hand across his face when Dabi steps into the president’s office.
A part of him feels bad for torturing the poor man, but the other part (the petty one) thinks it's only fair to pay him back in kind after Hawks had tortured him over a decade (if not more) with all the ghosts of the things left unsaid.
Dabi follows him through the corridors of the Commission, their footsteps echoing off the high walls. Hawks casts wary glances over his shoulder before quickening his pace, almost as if he were running away—like he's more concerned about having Dabi at his back than the threats to his safety.
Because Dabi is a threat. But a different kind.
Maybe he knows what Dabi came here to do (give me some kind of closure, Keigo, for fuck’s sake) and they can skip the explanations.
Dabi walks two or three steps behind, thinking he might let Hawks run a little before catching him at last.
Notes:
congrats to me, this is oficially the longest fic i've ever written ??
thanks for reading <3333 would love to read your comments!!
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