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A Little Hatred

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Sitting at the stupid meeting table that’s nothing more than two folding tables pushed together with a bunch of cracked, rickety plastic chairs one bad push away from collapsing, Dabi scowls at anything and everything he possibly can.

Shigaraki just got done telling off his ass for not turning out enough recruits. Before that, Compress lectured him about his “lone wolf bullshit,” and Kurogiri informed him before that that his expenditures were over budget for the month. No matter how much Dabi snarled back at the faceless mist about the cost of his medical grade staples, Kurogiri remained impassive at best, unimpressed at worst.

Apparently, today’s agenda consisted solely of shitting on Dabi at every opportunity, and he was fucking over it.

Hellfire, even Toga pestered him about some crap he promptly forgot as soon as she let go of his arm and turned her attention back to Twice and Magne.

Needless to say, Dabi’s on edge and not fucking happy about it.

His fingers twitch where they’re shoved in his armpits, a poor attempt at controlling the insatiable need to burn; the people at the table, the table itself, his own body; anything and everything was a good target.

Including the stupid, idiotic bird staring at Dabi from the other side of the meeting table.

This is not the first meeting Hawks has ever “accidentally” crashed. He seems particularly good at pinpointing their meeting days and just…showing up. No matter how much Shigaraki rails at him, Hawks always uses some bullshit excuse out of his lying, whore mouth to weasel his way in. He would sit there the entire meeting, a cat that finally got its cream and interrupting with his input when no one—literally fucking no one—ever asked.

Now, Hawks stares and stares at Dabi with those half-lidded golden eyes and a smirk on his lips. Like he knows something Dabi doesn’t. The itch of tension makes Dabi shift in his chair, balanced precariously on its back legs. It’s like spiders on skin, snaking up his spine and making him jolt—



Motherfucker, that’s a fucking feather.

It has to be a smaller one if he didn’t notice until now. When did he—

The feather slides along Dabi’s back, right along the seam of healthy flesh and scar tissue Hawks is coming to know intimately well. This—whatever it is—only started over the past two weeks, and the handful of fucks were good. Better than good, really, but Dabi will never admit it to anyone but himself.

Continuing its deliberate path, the feather teases the seam right where Dabi is most sensitive. He stills in his seat, meeting Hawks’ gaze and tilting his chin up. Despite the newness, Dabi is confident Hawks won’t be stabbing him with the feather at this very moment. It would be stupid and ruin what he was going for. This much Dabi knows and is confident in.

The rest of it? Well, that’s the fun of whatever they’re doing.

It’s all about the anticipation.

The real question of it, though, is: how far would Hawks go with the eyes and words of the others on them, turning the air almost tangible with the possibility of getting caught?

Apparently, pretty damn far. The feather doesn’t pause as it slides around Dabi’s ribcage, twirling once around the perimeter of his belly button. Dabi suppresses the twitch this time, holding his breath as it meanders closer and closer to his nipples. The ridiculously soft vanes brush against one. He feels his nipples harden, his healthy skin breaking out in goosebumps. The implicit want of more makes Dabi arch his back a bit, trying to press the feather harder against himself.

The edge of the shaft catches on a piercing, tugging at it and making Dabi arch more. He hides the movement behind a shifting of limbs, all four legs of the shitty chair thumping against the floor as Dabi sits forward.

It tugs again and again, the vanes hardening just enough to scratch lightly over his skin. The thought of them—this intimate part of Hawks’ quirk, so deadly but so endearing at the same time—has Dabi wanting to melt. He loves the feeling of it, the wondering that comes as it hardens further of if it may catch Dabi’s skin just wrong (right) and open a razor thin line in Dabi’s skin. Would it leave marks on him? Make him bleed out so prettily right here in the meeting? Would the feather slice deeper and deeper each time, until it peels his skin open to his wretched, rotting heart? Would it bare him to pure, golden eyes?

Blades are blades, no matter if they’re in the form of metal or feather. Dabi sighs, trying to slow down his anticipatory thoughts. He watches Hawks instead, his hands clasped in front of him and pressed against his mouth like it can keep his uneven breaths in rhythm.

Hawks watches him right back, his smile lazy and so fucking smug it keeps Dabi’s rage stoking along with his newly ignited arousal. He wants to snatch the thing right off him, snap it in half where Hawks can see it. He wants to incinerate it and watch Hawks’ wings twitch at the telekinetic pain. He wants to announce loudly and proudly what, exactly, Hawks is doing to him, and watch the drama pan out like it’s some horrible reality show. He wants to watch Shigaraki dust Hawks’ face for it, pushed beyond his limit by the disrespect.

And what a show it would be.

Instead of that, Dabi waits and he watches, trying to control every part of him so as not to key anyone in on their little game. The feather teases and teases his chest, but Dabi adjusts to it eventually. His breathing evens out, his spine relaxes; he wins this round, and Hawks knows it judging by the slight furrow of his fluffy eyebrows.

Fucker that Hawks is, he just narrows his eyes in determination and slides the feather south.

Like that, Dabi is leaning even farther forward, every muscle in his body clenched tight as the feather firms enough to stroke over his half-hard cock through his underwear. Thank fuck he didn’t free ball it today. Hawks didn’t need more ammunition than what he already has.

Dabi feels his internal temperature ramping up, his shirt starting to stick with the horny-infused sweat he’s now living in. He sends another thanks for deciding to wear a black shirt instead of a white one. No one needs to see the faint outline of red beneath his usual holey white number, or the blatant wetness of it, either.

More importantly, if Hawks keeps going with it, Dabi’s going to be full-hard and stuck at the table to keep it hidden from the others. They’re too damn perceptive at the worst of times not to notice.

Unfortunately for Dabi, that seems to be the case this time.

Hawks does not relent, hardening and softening his feather at seemingly random intervals and making Dabi’s abdomen jump at the change in stimulation. The feather slides inside his underwear at some point, cupping his length as best it can and stroking in the most teasing, infuriating way Dabi has ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It tugs at his piercings along the frenulum, another weak point of Dabi’s along with the persistent idea of it hardening just a touch further, just enough to make him bleed

The temptation to burn the feather is even stronger, along with the temptation to haul Hawks out of his seat and fuck him stupid right on the table. Dabi prays for the meeting to end, or something to get the others out of here in the next five minutes because, if not—

“All right, fuckheads. We’re done. Get out. Kurogiri will give you your assignments tomorrow,” Shigaraki spits, obviously pissed about whatever he’d been talking about. Dabi hadn’t heard a word of it.

Everyone files out, Hawks leading the pack. Dabi watches him leave in disbelief. His feather doesn’t stop jacking him, trying its damndest to make him moan or squirm or something—

Fucking hell.

The door to the meeting room shuts, leaving Dabi still sitting. He tries to stand up.

It doesn’t go well.

He catches himself on the edge of the table when the feathers dives for his balls with the new angle, wrapping around them and stroking with some fucking determination. Dabi curses under his breath. Is nothing sacred anymore?

“Hawks, what the fuck,” Dabi whispers, steam curling from his shoulders as his temperature control finally slips.

The feather tickles at his taint in response to his words.

“You’re so fucking dead. I hope you know that. I’m fucking you until you can’t fly straight, birdy.”

Another tickle.

“That’s probably what you were hoping for, isn’t it?” Dabi’s lips turn into a smile even as the feather continues its business. “Who knew the number two hero was such a cockwhore?”

The feather pauses and gives a heart tug to Dabi’s cock as if to say—And who’s the one getting off to it right now?

“I’ll give you that one. Now get the fuck out of my pants and move your ass to my apartment or I’m burning a necklace on that pretty little neck of yours,” Dabi hisses.

The feather obediently slips out of his pants, waving goodbye in such a cheeky, Hawks-like way that Dabi’s half-tempted to put that necklace of handprints on him just for the attitude.

Tugging his shirt down, Dabi heads out and tracks down Kurogiri as quick as possible, avoiding the others.

Thankfully, Kurogiri doesn’t ask too many questions when Dabi demands a portal to his place. Instead, the shadows open up, swallowing Dabi whole and depositing him easily in the middle of his shitty living room, his dick and his temper still raging.

Hawks is clamoring in his living room window just as Dabi appears.

“I beat you by like five seconds,” Hawks laughs, completely unbothered by Dabi’s flustered face or the way his erection still presses at the crotch of his pants, no longer hidden by Dabi’s shirt. “Kurogiri’s portals sure are fast. One day I’ll have to race him and see how long—”

Dabi cuts Hawks off, yanking him the rest of the way into the room and slamming him back and wings first into the wall. His hand finds Hawks’ neck, just like he promised, palm heated but not yet scalding the skin.

If Hawks is surprised, he hides it well. No, the fucker just looks pleased with himself, looking into Dabi’s eyes with a heated challenge Dabi can’t help but rise to. His dick throbs in his pants at the unspoken promise.

“What was that little game of yours, birdy? Hm?”

“You looked a little tense after getting reamed,” Hawks answers. “I can’t help a guy out?”

“Not in front of the rest of the League.”

Hawks’ eyes flick down to Dabi’s crotch, then drag back up, slow and steady. More steam leaks from Dabi’s skin. He can almost feel the look. “You certainly seemed to enjoy it. Don’t know why you’re complaining now of all times seeing as I’m going to let you fuck me.”

Dabi brings his face close to Hawks, his hot breath skating over Hawks’ sensitive ears. His thumb moves over Hawks’ pulse point, feeling the flutter beneath the thin layer of skin that tells Hawks’ truth more than his mouth ever could.

“I was going to fuck you regardless,” Dabi nearly growls. Hawks shudders in Dabi’s grip. “And that, little bird, is a promise.”

Dabi expects Hawks to go pliant in his hands, to give that sacred control up and let Dabi take him apart. That’s been their pattern, their beat in give and take. After all, Hawks is the hero offering it all, and Dabi? He’s just the greedy villain, taking and taking and taking some more, beyond what Hawks thought he could offer.

Dabi’s fine with that. He likes that.

But Hawks doesn’t melt. His breathing changes, and his skin pebbles, but his eyes remain full of tempered gold, steely in whatever convictions are driving him. Hawks cants his hips forward, rolling them against Dabi’s in obvious invitation. His head tips back, throat bared with Dabi’s fingers still necklacing it.

“Then show me,” Hawks says, smiling something filthy. “Let’s see what that dick of yours can do.”

It’s Dabi’s turn to shudder. “What is up your ass today?” he asks, surprised.

“Right now? Nothing. In about ten minutes?” Hawks pauses, his tongue flicking out over his teeth. “Well, we’ll see if you can get me horny enough to let you fill me up.”

“Christ, Hawks,” Dabi curses. And then curses some more when Hawks rolls his hips again, his hardness rubbing against Dabi’s and scattering any coherent thoughts he might have had. All that matters is this—this touch, this moment, and the promise of the next.

Dabi’s fingers tighten around Hawks’ throat.

Then, they’re smashing together.

The kiss is brutalizing, not a fight so much as a riot. Dabi’s blood practically boils when Hawks snags his lower lip between his teeth, tugging hard enough at the scarred tissue to make Dabi feel it all the way down to his toes. Dabi groans into it. Hawks’ wings sweep wide where they’re still pinned to the wall, reactive and telling of his pleasure as Dabi doubles his efforts to play Hawks’ game.

They kiss until they feel bruised and bloody, though no red sheen paints their teeth. When Dabi breaks off first for breath in his scorched lungs, he slides his hand from Hawks’ throat down Hawks’ body, following the curve of muscle until his fingers splay possessively over the small of his back. Dabi kisses at Hawks’ neck, sucking in oxygen between each one, heedless of the bruises he’ll leave with his volatility as the kisses turn into biting and licking.

Hawks groans when Dabi snags the junction of his shoulder and neck, grinding his teeth a bit deeper. Hawks’ hips jerk, bucking into Dabi’s in an apparent need for friction.

“Kiss me again,” Hawks demands.

Dabi complies, slotting their mouths together and wrapping his other arm around Hawks head, holding him in place as he kisses for all he’s worth. Hawks sighs into it, and Dabi is a goner. He follows the line of Hawks’ parting lips almost mindlessly, relishing in the feeling despite the way his dick screams at him for relief, tight and hot in his pants.

When Hawks pulls away, Dabi chases, wanting the sweetness of his mouth once more. But Hawks smoothly moves his face, instead pressing his cheek against Dabi’s and whispering, “On your knees.”

Dabi’s never dropped faster. Something about Hawks’ crooning tone and all the teasing; something about his words, the simple commands. Whatever it is, Dabi’s head goes a bit fuzzy with it. He chooses not to question it when Hawks pulls at his own belt buckle, dropping the heavy canvas pants.

“Wait there,” Hawks says, shrugging off the jacket as well. He shucks off the shirt, too, chucking it away without a care. Dabi waits, his hands in his lap and rubbing over himself to relieve some of the edge.

In just his tight flight suit, Dabi can see Hawks’ cock straining against the fabric, the outline of it making Dabi’s mouth water. He leans forward, mouthing over it while Hawks fumbles for the zipper at the neck.

“I really worked you up, huh?” Hawks says. “You’re listening so well. Almost obedient.”

Dabi bites at him a little, making Hawks jolt.

“I said ‘almost,’ you ass,” Hawks huffs. The zipper finally gives, allowing Hawks to wriggle out of the one piece flight suit.

Dabi yanks Hawks’ boxer briefs down as soon as they’re visible, exposing Hawks’ flushed, aching cock. He wastes no time getting his mouth around the head, suckling at it for only a moment before he yawns down Hawks’ length.

The strong, thick muscles in Hawks’ thighs tremble, the flight suit bunched at his knees and limiting his movements. Dabi kneads at Hawks’ ass, determined to take as much of Hawks as he possibly can.

With his cock bumping the back of Dabi’s throat, Dabi moves his fingers towards Hawks’ asshole, intent on getting the prep over and done with while he has Hawks’ scent on his tonue, dizzying his mind with its headiness. It would be a sight to make Hawks lose it anyway, have him fucking into Dabi’s hot, wet throat and back on his equally hot fingers in his ass.

That is, until his fingertips brush the plug.

Dabi pulls off Hawks in surprise, feeling over the end of the flared plug and meeting Hawks’ slightly sheepish expression.

“Are you kidding me?” Dabi says.

“I had a plan,” Hawks protests.

“Obviously. Let me see,” Dabi demands, grabbing the back of one of Hawks’ knees and hooking it over his shoulder. He bends forward while Hawks shifts his hips, revealing the jeweled blue end of the plug.



With the open position of Hawks’ hips, Dabi is able to put his mouth on Hawks’ balls, sucking one into his mouth with abandon as more heat barrels through him. Christ, he must be burning. Steam to smoke to flame, but Dabi could not care less at this moment. All he wants to do is take all that Hawks is giving him, to show him how good he can make him feel. Take him apart and put him back together so sinfully.

Hawks moans into it, hips shifting into a more comfortable position. Dabi takes his sweet time, laving over every inch of skin he can and playing into the motions that make Hawks moan. Even though he desperately wants to fuck him, seeing and hearing and feeling the raw pleasure has Dabi’s mind in a tailspin. The haziness grows, swamping his mind and turning Dabi into a single-minded thing.

“Where’s your lube?” Hawks asks, breathless.

Dabi pulls off Hawks’ cock, fingers nudging the end of the plug. “Bedside table, second drawer.”

A feather darts off, returning soon enough with the familiar bottle and depositing it in Hawks’ waiting hand.

“Lie back,” Hawks says, nudging Dabi with a foot.

Something makes Dabi pause, the brain fog parting for a dear moment.

Defiant, Dabi stares back, hands shifting from Hawks’ ass to his thighs. He heats them up, wanting and wanting, the message implicit in the slight sting he gives to Hawks’ skin. Just enough to leave red marks, nothing more. Not yet, at least.

Hawks, however, takes that challenge in stride. He leans down into Dabi’s space, one hand cupping Dabi’s jaw. His eyes plead and demand in the same breath, breathtaking in their molten guidance.

“Won’t you be a good boy for me?” Hawks asks.


Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dabi is done, a goner. The floaty, wonderful feeling blankets back over his mind, relinquishing his controlling grip on reality. His cock becomes impossibly harder in his pants, his breath faster and shallower. Every inch of healthy skin from his sternum to his forehead tips into pink with the flush overtaking him. He feels like he could cum right now, just from those words alone and the soft touch on his face.

Hawks knows it, too, based on the raising of his eyebrows and the renewed, mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, you like that,” Hawks breathes.

“I don’t,” Dabi mumbles back, automatic.

“You do. You like being my good boy, don’t you? Gonna fuck me so nicely.” Hawks’ fingers stroke over the scar tissue on Dabi’s face. “Just lie back for me, okay?”

Dabi still hesitates, torn over the need in his veins and the defensiveness in his head. His throat clogs with words, insults and praise tripping over each other in their eagerness to get out, to shove Hawks away and draw him even closer.

“I’m not going to hurt you, hot shot,” Hawks adds. “I’m going to ride you, and that’s that. Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” Dabi answers, mouth dry.

“Relax, then. Your dick is too good to cut off or kill or whatever is going on in that head of yours.”

“God, I hate you,” Dabi snaps.

Hawks smirks. “Your flirting could use some refinement.”

“So could your attitude, birdy.”

“Says you, Dabi,” Hawks coos. “Now lie back and let me do as I please.”

Fighting himself, Dabi obeys. Immediately, the staples in his back press uncomfortably against the cheap, scratched wooden floor. Dabi didn’t bother with carpets or the like, he never stuck around long enough to care about it.

Now, he regrets it.

Something must show on his face because a couple feather detach to gather some pillows. One cushions Dabi’s head, while the other elevates his hips.

“Need another?” Hawks asks. His hands move behind himself, working at the plug nestled in his ass.

Dabi grimaces. Hawks’ feathers bring one more, stuffing it beneath Dabi’s shoulders to protect the staples there.

“Good,” Hawks praises. “Take your pants off. Underwear, too.”

Dabi obeys, happily tossing the small pile of fabric away and basking in the coolness kissing down the length of his cock. Steam openly weeps from his skin, heating the air in his tiny living room.

“God, you want me that bad?” Hawks asks, staring at Dabi’s cock and the flush of his healthy skin.

Dabi nods.

Hawks’ brow furrows. “Use your words.”

Dabi catches the whine in his throat before it escapes. “I do,” he croaks.

“Poor thing,” Hawks pouts. “Everyone was being so mean to you during the meeting. I really thought you were going to combust right there.” As he speaks, Hawks manages to pull the plug from his ass, setting it aside. His fingers return to his hole, lubed from the bottle his feathers grabbed. “Let me do the work, Dabi. I’ll ride you so nicely if you’re a good boy for me and listen to what I say. Deal?”

Dabi nods, not trusting his mouth to speak the words without a moan driving them.

“What did I say about your words?” Hawks asks, sharp in the tension of desire.

He licks his lips. “Use them,” Dabi repeats.

“That’s right. Now, do we have a deal?”



Hawks pulls his fingers from himself, stepping over Dabi and positioning himself above Dabi’s cock. Dabi holds his breath, waiting for Hawks’ silky heat to envelop his length, to clench and rub each piercing in that perfect way he does.

Instead, Hawks shifts again, parting Dabi’s legs and settling between them. He grabs at the backs of both Dabi’s knees, pushing them back and back until his knees are close to his shoulders, feet in the air.

Dabi’s cock bends with gravity, drifting towards his stomach and exposing his wanting. The flash of his piercings has to be bright against his dusky length. Hawks licks his lips, spreading his own legs and shuffling over Dabi’s thighs and squatting.

“Wh-what’re you—” Dabi tries.

“Just trust me,” Hawks interrupts, grabbing at Dabi’s neglected cock and pulling at it.

Dabi watches in borderline amazement as Hawks maneuvers Dabi’s cock into a good angle and sinks down on it. Hawks grabs Dabi’s airborne ankles for support, bending Dabi’s spine even more with careful movements and watchful eyes. He’s definitely popped a staple or two, but he doesn’t care. He can’t because—

Dabi throws his head back at the feeling of Hawks’ clenching walls along with the way he’s being ridden—like he’s the one receiving, like he’s the bottom in the scenario. Even the suggestion of it has Dabi aching, but actually watching Hawks ride him in such a way? Watching the way Hawks’ abdomen flexes, his own cock bobbing against his stomach as his hips rock and grind down on Dabi’s pierced length?

He bites his tongue to keep from cumming right then and there, unable to tear his eyes away from Hawks’ expression. His lips are parted around a silent moan, his brow furrowed in concentration while his eyelashes flutter closed. Hawks holds Dabi’s ankles tighter, wings flaring behind him into a shivering curtain of red.

“Fuck,” Hawks curses. “Your dick is so good, Dabi. The piercings, I—Christ.” Hawks curses again, rutting his hips forward, trying to keep Dabi buried as deeply as he possibly can.

“H-Hawks,” Dabi gasps. He needs and needs with every piece of himself, the haze so impossibly tight in his mind it’s all he can feel besides the sensation of Hawks’ ass taking Dabi effortlessly.

“So good,” Hawks breathes. He moves his hips a bit faster, chasing the wonderful, disastrous edge and riding it as thoroughly as he’s riding Dabi’s dick.

If there’s one thing Dabi’s learned from the roughly two weeks they’ve been fucking, it’s that Hawks loves drawing things out. He spools his pleasure into the spaces of seconds and minutes, relishing each one in the here and now and moderating his pleasure to feel the entirety of it, to wreck himself in the process instead of the end goal.

This time is no different. Hawks rides and rides, shifting his grip on Dabi’s ankles every now and then as he speeds up and slows down and speeds up once more. Watching the sweat accumulate on Hawk’s body is treasure in itself, the dripping of it only highlighting the warm tone of his skin, the draw of his brow or the bow of his lips. It’s entirely too much, and Dabi fights his own orgasm several times, determined to make Hawks cum first instead of indulging.

After all, he wants to be a good boy. Needs to please now.

“Dabi,” Hawks bites out. His hips start speeding up, fucking Dabi into the pillows cushioning his body at a relentless pace. Red wings flare wide, drawing Dabi’s attention.

He wants to touch them, run his heated hands through them and feel them twitch.

Through slitted eyes, Hawks sees. He sees it all, sees the way Dabi’s fingers bracing the backs of his own thighs loosen as if to reach up and grab, sees the direction of Dabi’s blue, blue eyes.

Hawks smiles down at Dabi, confident and knowing in each movement of his hips. “You want my feathers again?”

Beyond words, Dabi nods frantically, only the tail end of a whine escaping him.

Hawks lets go of Dabi’s ankles and drops forward, his hands on either side of Dabi’s head and his nose brushing Dabi’s own. Still, his hips rock, so much deeper, so much harder with the change in angle.

“Your words, angel. Tell me.”

This time, Dabi does whine. It’s high-pitched and needy, fractured by Hawks words and his actions. He’s never been in a position like this, emotionally and physically, during sex. He’s never had someone call him a ‘good boy’ or ‘angel’ and demand things of him. He’s used to taking, and nothing more.

But this?

This sense of more? Unspoken but known, tugging at their fabricated realities and threatening exposure?


Dabi could get used to this if it feels this good. Hawks has never felt tighter, never felt hotter as his hole clutches at Dabi’s dick. Dabi himself has never been awash in such a sensation, bursting at every seam he has.

“The feathers—want them. Want it, Hawks,” Dabi says between Hawks’ thrusts.

Hawks’ grin is predatory and proud and so fucking bright in the dim light of Dabi’s apartment.

“There’s my good boy,” he praises.

Dabi’s guts clench, then clench stronger still when a few of Hawks’ bloody red feathers detach and trace over Dabi’s skin, so soft but so hot at the same time.

“Harder,” Dabi demands.

The feathers obediently stiffen, two of them finding his nipples while a longer one draws around his balls, stroking occasionally over the whorl of his ass and making his hips shift up with each rub. It’s suggestive and steady enough to make Dabi envision the possibility of Hawks fucking him with his flawless cock.

And that’s enough to have Dabi on the edge of cumming once more.

He doesn’t know that he’ll be able to hang on much longer. He’s not a huge fan of edging, and besides, his stamina is pretty shot today. Still, he wants Hawks to cum before him, wants to watch the bird fall apart on his cock before filling him with cum.

“Hawks,” Dabi says.

Hawks cracks open one eye, his face still hovering above Dabi’s own, hands bracketing Dabi’s head. He watches Dabi below him as he rides faster and faster, almost grinding at this point as he works Dabi’s cock over his prostate until he’s shivering in pleasure.

It’s too much, and not enough, and just perfect. Over, and under, and enough.

Dabi heats his hands, beyond just red marks—blistering and burning—grabbing at Hawks’ hips and guiding him sharper with each thrust. Hawks cries out at the heat, the explicit marking of Dabi’s claim.

Hawks ruts forward a few more times until he’s cumming, his spend dripping out of the red head of his cock and dribbling onto Dabi’s stomach. His lips part around a drawn out moan, brow furrowed and tense, fingers spasming on the floor next to Dabi’s head.

At the same time, Hawks’ feather sharpen until they’re drawing lines in Dabi’s skin, blood beading at the edges and the stinging crescendo tipping Dabi over his own edge.

This orgasm isn’t like others he’s had with Hawks. Those others were good, fine, a bit more than he expected but satisfying nonetheless.

But this? This whites out his vision, parts his lips around a deep groan that quickly turns into high-pitched whimpers as Hawks continues rocking his hips, slower and slower but stimulating nonetheless. He’s never been a vocal lover, but with Hawks? Apparently, that’s all out the window with the fuzz in his head and the drip of his blooming blood on healthy and scarred skin alike.

Dabi empties himself inside Hawks, the clutch of Hawks’ ass milking Dabi for all he’s worth. It’s delicious and tempting and absolutely perfect for what Dabi needs. Combined with Hawks’ whispered praises into the scarred skin of Dabi’s neck? The way it blends into a seamless stream, a comedown he’s never experienced? Dabi’s body shivers with the words, hazy-minded and loving every second of it.

They breathe in the after, catching themselves and putting the pieces back together.

Slowly, so slowly, Hawks pulls himself off of Dabi’s softening cock. He lets Dabi’s legs finally relax from their cramped up position, flopping out against the floorboards with muscles trembling.

Dabi doesn’t realize he’s clutching at Hawks until Hawks whispers, “It’s all right, Dabi. I’m not going anywhere. It’s all right.”

Foggy-minded and uncoordinated, Dabi lets Hawks stroke through his hair, brush over each inch of his face and neck; he lets Hawks’ wings fold over the two of them in feathered shelter, even as the weeping blood of his superficial cuts from the same feathers start scabbing over. He lets his own hands, warmed just a bit, trail over Hawks’ sides and lower back, a hum stuck in his throat. His mind repeats some aimless tune he doesn’t remember hearing. Dabi keeps it within.

Dabi doesn’t keep track of time as it passes, but Hawks does.

After some invisible signal Dabi gives, Hawks pulls away.

Dabi’s conscious enough to let him go, to remember who, exactly, he just slept with. Again.

A feather brings a wet washcloth to clean away their mess. Dabi debates his next words, but Hawks beats him to the punch of speaking.

“Thanks for the fuck,” he says, blunt but still charming.

Dabi snorts, rolling his eyes. “Not like you gave me much of a choice.”

“I mean, we set up safe words for a reason. But also, no.”

“You planned that whole thing.”

Hawks grins, a dimple popping. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I hate you.”

“Such a charmer. Speak more pretty words and maybe I’ll let you fuck me again.”

Dabi grimaces. “You’re a menace. I hate everything about you except your ass. That’s all your good for, you little whore.”

Hawks’ grin widens. “Never stop hating me, hot stuff. It’s the best compliment you could ever give me.”

Dabi learned his lesson the best way possible that day: a little hatred, a little planning, a little praise—it all goes a long way, in the right circumstances.