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There’s always this sick sense of gratification that fills him to the brim when Dabi looks into these eyes - turquoise and gray and filled with the intent to burn. It makes him feel like he’s closer to his little brother than anyone will ever be; knows him better than himself. 

 

   Shouto, he rolls that name around on his tongue, and frowns when it doesn’t feel like anything. As if his memory of a little brother is as marred and numb as his burnt skin. Shouto was too young, too taken up by his father’s obsession that he somehow didn’t return, and Touya could only resent the idea, but not him. Shouto Todoroki, Dabi tries again. And that does it. That - when he sees through these pretty, revoltingly sanctimonious turquoise eyes into himself, his throat burns dry with that promise of one of their demise like some twisted joke of meant-to-be. 

 

  He really resembles his father - their father way too much. Dabi wonders if he likes that fact. He also wonders if he can even tell that apart from the way his stomach twists in on itself whenever he thinks about his family. 

 

  So Dabi keeps going. He runs his hand through his white hair and feels the dried blood sticking to his skull, dwells on the way the staples slightly stretches his skin when he moves. He thinks of the way Enji, Enji (he still shakes in fear of something he can’t quite name when he calls him by his name) used to look at him with such obsessive adoration before it got taken away from him, how Shouto squirmed and cried in the flames that should’ve been hurting him instead. He sinks into himself and runs his fingers down his scars, gasps breathlessly when he grips his barely-hard cock and the only thing he feels is some semblance of pain.

 

  The skin is leathery, just about fully healed - if burns ever fully heal, that is - and way, way too parched for it to feel good. But that suits him just fine.

 

  Everything smells burnt. Everything from his skin to his clothes to his pathetic excuse of a family. Maybe he fits in better than he thought he would. Maybe nothing changed and Shouto is just playing his role for him - that makes Dabi remember why he resented that kid in the first place and his entire body lurched upward to gag on nothing. 

 

   Fucking golden boy , Dabi curses as he spits into his hand, his voice barely above a whisper, playing pretend like that, like you’re fucking better than me…

 

  He thinks about the few times he talked to Shouto as a kid. When they sat under the autumn shade, huddled together as if they’re just normal siblings leaning into each other’s heat when the wind picked up. Shouto neither leaned into or away when Touya traced over the burn mark on his little brother’s face, indulging in what little imitation of normalcy they had.

 

  “It tickles.” Shouto said, lazily squinting his eyes together, “When you touch it like that.”

 

  “It’s good that it feels like anything at all.”

 

  Shouto peered up at him. Big, stoic eyes so soft around the edges it makes Dabi wonder what he saw with them. Then Shouto shook his head.

 

  “I was young. I’m a lot more resistant to heat now.”

 

  Something turned in Touya’s head then. He both pitied and envied Shouto’s obliviousness, but that paled in comparison to the things that always lurched around the back of his mind whenever Shouto was around. “Are you now?” He teased with an easy smile as he leaned away to take Shouto’s wrist instead. He was all skin and bones, they both were. ‘course I am . He heard Shouto as if he’s suddenly very aware of the way their skins touched. 

 

  Flames erupted from Touya’s palm. Shouto yelped in surprise, looked up at him and when he got the reassuring smile he wanted, trembled and endured like he always had. It wasn’t enough to actually burn him, but it did hurt. Touya’s skin against him felt too hot.

 

  And as suddenly as it started, Touya pulled away. Shouto let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

 

  “Good job.” Touya patted his head with his other hand. “Aren’t you such a good boy..”

 

  Touya hid his hand in his long sleeves for the rest of the evening. They were covered in searing blisters and smelt of his childhood. 

 

  He’s really burning up now; the memory only served as a reminder of how far he’s willing to go to hurt himself, mark his body up with imitations of a long extinguished flame and try to fool himself into believing the way it hurts feels good too. It is what he deserved. What should’ve been his instead.

 

  Does Shouto feel this way too when he touches himself? Dabi briefly wonders. Does he notice the way the heat inside threatens to spill over whenever a particularly sharp jolt of pain travels up his spine, or did he turn out just fine , with his gentle looks and feeble propriety? He must be popular with the girls, Dabi hisses as his cock twitches in his hand, he probably has a little crush on one of them. Hell, they would let him fuck them too. Spreading their legs for the golden boy like some cheap whore for vanity’s sake. Isn’t that just adorable.

 

   That idea makes him sick to his stomach.

 

  Dabi tries to imagine Shouto on top of some random, faceless woman. Tries to trace the curve of his body the way he traced his scars when they were young. His little brother would pant as he thrusts his hip into whoever he’s fucking, lean down to whisper something sweet (revolting). The noises are so loud, so fucking loud - Dabi lets up his hand for a moment to spit in it and the noises stop, until he reaches down again and god - so fucking loud. His cock is drooling and the wet, erratic squelching only drives him even more mad. Little Shouto is getting just as desperate now, damn near rutting into the heat while he groans, low and needy and downright obscene when he begs for it. It’s pathetic, but maybe in a cute way. Some pretty, brainless slab of meat getting lost in the pleasure. Dabi keens at the thought.

  

   So pretty , ffuck- Dabi rambles to himself, filled with that odd, patronizing adoration he always wore when it comes to Shouto. ‘m gonna mark you up, yeah? Bet you’d like that. Would thank me for it, too. I want to fucking ruin you, Dabi thinks and holy shit does he mean it. 

  

  The voices he makes - Dabi shudders when Shouto looks at him, eyes wide and terrified. He shrieks as the flames engulfs him, drops to his knees and just takes it . Takes it like the good boy he is taught to be. I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. Dabi’s mind screams, lay my claim on you and fucking remind you how useless you are. ‘can’t even be an obedient bitch when it’s the only thing you’re meant to be. 

 

   Shouto would look so pretty. Dabi’s mind supplies, and he imagines how it would feel caressing the scar on the right side of his little brother’s face, how these apathetic eyes would follow his movement and how pretty he would look when that patch of darker skin overrun his entire body. He’s seen that body before, knows how soft and pliant it can be when there’s enough pain to hold it down, and it makes his mouth water. 

  

   Daddy would be so disappointed at you , Dabi grins crudely as he closes his eyes so the image of Shouto looking at him with those big, confused eyes would come back. 

 

  So, so disappointed that his masterpiece turned out the same way as his freak of a brother. Full of scars and smells of smoke and filled with contempt like the walking reminder of Enji’s past he is. Isn’t that so pretty to think so. Fuck. 

 

   Shouto’s room, he noted in passing, was obsessively tidy back then. His bed made (who in their right fucking mind makes their bed) when they stumbled inside together, laughing with the boyish mischeviousness they both thought were long gone in them as they shut the door. There was no way to lock it, but that’s fine. It’s already past bedtime and if they keep it down, no one will suspect a thing.

 

  Shouto was so quick to open up to him, too trusting for his own good. But there wasn’t anyone other than Enji who would hurt him in his eyes then, much less his big brother, who he always dreamed of getting to know. It didn’t matter if it’s Touya, specifically, but it’s his family and Touya looked at him with such kind, accepting eyes so there’s no way he could bring himself to not trust Touya, even if he wanted to. Even if it proves him naive.

 

   Does it hurt a lot? Shouto whispered as they laid on his bed, holding Touya’s hand close to his face. The blisters are already healed into a delicate shade of baby pink by now.

 

  “Not really.” Touya lied. It never stops hurting. 

 

   His little brother seemed convinced enough. Shouto smiled at him, visibly relieved, then nudged his face into the palm of Touya’s hand. It took everything in him to not flinch at the pain.

  

   “You really don’t have to, you know?” Shouto clung onto him gently, and despite what he said, he looked happy. Content that someone is willing to go this far just for him.

 

  “I’m doing this because I want to.” 

 

  Untangling himself from Shouto’s embrace, Touya climbed on top of him, thighs straddling each side of Shouto’s waist, and slid his hand over Shouto’s neck. It strikes him at that moment how young and vulnerable Shouto really was, when his hand almost wraps around his neck entirely and feels his pulse through numb, leathery skin. He wondered if their father sees it too.

 

   I’m doing this for you. Touya murmurs to no one in particular. Then it burns

 

  It burns and burns and burns and Shouto became too caught in the heat closing in around his throat to really look at him properly. Face contorting as he struggled for both breath and clarity, but the flames dancing in its turquoise depravity wouldn’t allow for either. Touya can feel his palm tearing, rotting away in his own flames by the second, but doesn’t let up. Can’t let up because it hurts so good.

 

   He’s bleeding , Touya stared at the way his little brother bites down on his lips, halfway panicked and enamored, the blood trickled down into his flames and they burned too. He's bleeding. Holy shit. 

 

   Something at the back of his mind screams at him to stop, that dad is going to notice, but he can’t bring himself to listen. Not now, not when his cock is straining against his pants painfully, pressed up against his baby brother’s abdomen and leaking at the tip because how can he not. Shouto was being so good for him, the skin on his neck so tender as he shook beneath him in sheer agony. Like the good boy he is. 

 

   He was full on humping Shouto through their clothes in a matter of seconds. The sound of his soft, shaky groans and the sizzling of where their skins met felt oddly intimate. 

 

  Shouto whimpered when Touya leaned down to bite him on his right shoulder - it’s a surprise he can register that in his scorched brain at all. He tried to say something, but no words came through the steady grip Touya had on his throat. 

 

  “You good?.” Touya asked as he loosened the grip a little, still breathless, willing himself to stop grinding his hips as Shouto came down from the asphyxiation. He couldn’t quite make out Shouto’s expression, not that he cared to. But he sounded as gentle as ever and Touya didn’t know what to make of it - 

 

   Does it hurt a lot? His little brother whispers without looking at him. 

 

  Touya bites down harder in response. Of course it fucking does. How many times… The thought trails off when Shouto lifts up his arms to give him a weak hug. 

 

  Dabi’s mind goes blank for a split second. 

 

   What’s that supposed to mean, he croaks when he feels blood seeps out from under his stables, what the fuck is that supposed to mean. 

 

   Touya grips his little brother’s neck with newfound frustration, hiding his face by burying it on the other side of Shouto’s neck. The flames only grew from that point on. Fuck you , he thought as his rutted into Shouto’s tummy, you dont’t get to just do that, fuck you . His little brother is silently screaming into his flames now, way too taken up by the pain to notice anything out of the ordinary. Whatever ordinary means now.

 

    Wouldn’t now be the time for something to happen? Now, as his little brother cries and clings onto him like a man drowning, as he humps Shouto through his clothes and he’s literally gonna cream his pants, holy fuck - wouldn’t now just be the perfect time for their father to burst through the door - whatever his excuse might be - and uncover whatever this is? 

  

   This. This horrible, repulsive, half-burnt mess of… things he created. 

 

  Touya came with a sob, his poor dick twitching in his pants as he felt the warmth dribble down and between his thighs. The flames lost their control for the split moment his mind went out and they both shrieked at its intensity. Touya’s arms gave out as he collapsed on top of Shouto, barely catching his breath.

 

   I’m doing this for you, Dabi thought to no one in particular as he stares at the mess in his hand, the hint of red so unsaturated under the fluorescent light it looks almost grey to him. 

 

  He remembers noticing his bite marks on the left side of Shouto’s shoulder showing slightly. They pretty much went away the next morning, so Enji never found out. Nothing ever happens in that place they called home anyway.