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The Number Three Hero, Hawks, is undoubtedly a shady guy.
Maybe Dabi is not a trustful individual at his core, sue a life of knowing you can’t even trust the people closest to you not to just ditch you someday. Still, someone with Hawks’ talents, his position in the Billboard Chart and his reputation for not having even an accidental body count as a rescue hero, can’t possibly think what Hawks says he thinks of the League of Villains.
He’s talented with words, Dabi will grant him that. He swirls pretense ideals around like they’re his second skin (that he doesn’t fit in the cage of heroism, he believes the League is IN the right and wants to support a society that is different than the one that made him, a lazy guy who just wants to chill, a slave of the system) to the point anyone barely naiver than Dabi would fall for them.
But he’s still the Number Three Hero.
Dabi has his eyes aimed right above Hawks, where his father occupies the second spot still, and he knows that being that high on a Hero chart doesn’t automatically mean you’re a selfless man. Yet, he also knows that’s not why Hawks wants in with the League. That guy is evidently a snooper, his intentions are not that serious considering that, no matter how many errands Dabi has him running in the middle of the city, there are no victims, and he tries so hard to get in.
Had Hawks’ ideals truly been aligned with theirs, he could change the world on his own with his stupidly overpowered Fierce Wings. Instead, Hawks acts like he needs them, like he wants them.
Dabi is so not going to fall for that.
In fact, because he is sure that, at heart, Hawks’ just a little good boy, Dabi has come up with the perfect plan to push him away: Dabi, the monster, will give him the only deal he knows Hawks will never take.
When he meets him at the edge of Fukuoka, in the shadiest, dirtiest, most abandoned bar of the city, Dabi fully expects this to be the last time he speaks with the Number Three Hero in Japan, ever.
Hawks doesn’t betray himself, doesn’t falter when he walks into the place. He is not intimidated by the stench of criminality coming from all the dark corners, where the shadows are so dense they might as well be hiding people. There isn’t anyone, though, Dabi made sure with threats that shone vivid blue.
Hawks follows the script, in fact: he’s Mr. Nice Guy who gives a shit about heroics, who thinks heroes are overworked, boo, the poor victims. Dabi can read through the casualty with which he moves – all confident and friendly – in light jeans, white t-shirt, tiny wings and a cap.
He slides in the seat at the table, next to Dabi, without actually touching him.
Dabi looks away from him, not because he’s embarrassed of his mastermind of a plan nor the proximity, but because Hawks’ just ugly to look at while dressed like he just rolled out of bed after a hangover without even showering.
He bets his hair looks messy beneath the cap.
“Didn’t think you’d show up today. You’re late, which is sad for the fastest man in the Country.” Dabi murmurs in the palm of his own hand, elbow on the table.
“Why would you think that? Have I ever stood you up?” Hawks’ tone is as teasing as always, overfriendly for the boundaries Dabi tries to set constantly. He hides half his face beneath the cap. “So what if I’m breezy? You should give this guy a little credit!”
“If only the guy ever gave me reason to. Saw you working almost two days straight in a row on TV. So much effort for a backstabber of the system.” Dabi feigns indifference.
Not that he’s nervous about his plan.
He just has to say it out loud, then Hawks will be disgusted - because shit, he’s desperate, but he’s still a top Three Hero on the Billboard - and they’ll be done with it forever.
Okay, so maybe Dabi liked Hawks’ attention a little, seeing how he could never get the one of the Hero just above him (not for lack of trying his entire life and death), so third best will probably do.
But again, that juvenile pleasure isn’t worth putting the League and, more importantly, Dabi’s own plans, at risk.
Better say bye-bye to the annoying bird.
“But have I given you a reason not to?” Dabi doesn’t know how Hawks is scooting closer. They’re practically glued by the thighs already. “You always see the glass half-empty, Dabi. I’ve proven myself useful. Bet you got something for me today too, since you called me up like this, out of the blue.”
There it is. His opening.
“Yeah,” Dabi looks back at him, he rests his face in the palm of his own hand, not to keep himself steady, but to look absolutely confident, “you’ll be thrilled. I have the perfect task for you, one that will definitely shut you up. And more importantly,” the suspense doesn’t kill the bird, who looks completely unphased, unblinking like some weirdass owl man; he will not see it coming, “one that will definitely get you into the League.”
Hawks mimics his posture ironically, elbow on the table, chin in his hand. “Ooooh. Do tell. Just nothing that will make me lose my rep, ya know. ‘Cause we're gonna need that.”
“Well, it might in a way.” Dabi grins widely, so much so that the pull of his staples distracts him from the one in his stomach, a tornado suddenly twisting in his belly. “But only if you tell.”
There’s a little flinch of Hawks’ eyebrows - a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that Dabi catches from the experience of seeing the Hero so up close so many times. He fears Dabi’s task. That’s all to Dabi’s advantage.
(Is it a little weird and nerve-shattering that Dabi has come close enough to Hawks personally that he’s able to see things that other people can’t? That the book of Hawks is only slightly more open to him than it is to other people? Not really. He guesses it’s just a natural consequence of their game and ignores the rumbling in his stomach trying to lie to him that it’s not.)
“Now you have my attention, Sir.” Hawks tries to hide it away, but some preoccupation still lingers vaguely over his features. Dabi wouldn’t even be able to tell where exactly it is showing, only that it is. He chuckles, too, a faint effort at feigning casualty. “I’ll have you know my reputation and my duty cost me working twenty-four/seven, as you see on TV, but my desire to break free might take me places, if it’s worth a shot.”
It’s Dabi’s time to chuckle, but it’s much more sincere than Hawks.
He can enjoy this.
He has the power here.
He controls whatever this is.
“Yeah, we’ll test that desire.” He teases, then he sprawls against the back of the bench of this forsaken club. He makes sure he’s as gross and repulsive as he can be, when he gropes his own crotch and says: “I’ll let you in if you suck my cock.”
There it is.
That will do it.
Hawks blinks impassively, eyes running down to follow the movement on instinct, then going back up to meet Dabi’s immediately. His lips are a tight line, his face is emotionless, but definitely a little voider than usual. Well, it’s not the reaction that Dabi expected, but it’s definitely one.
At least he shut the fuck up, which is rare for the bird, who’s either too friendly or giving Dabi the threatening pep talk.
Bravely, Dabi must admit, Hawks’ gaze does another round of him, following his body from neck to crotch once again.
If Dabi only could have made himself hard, that would have done it. That would have definitely grossed Hawks out enough to push him away, and what would Dabi have cared? Dabi is a ghost, he has no reputation. Touya is dead, there’s nothing to damage even further beyond that. And it’s not like Hawks isn’t an attractive guy, like objectively; it’s not that weird picturing him do that in a way that’s more pleasant than annoying… It's just that for some reason, along the way of this proposition, Dabi suddenly felt self-conscious about his own plan.
It’s a good one, really.
It is.
It’s not stupid or risky at all.
But what if…
“I’ll do it.” Hawks just spits out, a smile so pulled the corners seem to be hanging by invisible hooks on his face.
“Huh?” Dabi can’t resist the urge to breathe out, in a way that makes him notice he was holding his breath. Then the realization hits, that Hawks said he’ll blow him and that if Dabi acts weird about it now, then Hawks will know he was simply being tested. He tries to make it sound casual and amused when he adds: “You’ll do it? Are you that desperate to get in?”
Hawks’ grin widens emptily, but Dabi bets it’s not his brain playing tricks on him: there’s a weird spark in his eyes that cannot be an act. There’s no way he knows how to make his nostrils flare briefly like that, either.
“What if that’s not what I’m desperate for?”
Shit.
Shit-fuck, fucker, son of a…
“Knew I got you wrapped around my finger, but I gotta say… I thought you were more of a prude.” Dabi pretends confidence and detachment, hand still around his cock which does give a little sign of participation.
That’s probably because it’s dumber than Dabi. Somehow, his dick is fooling itself into believing the fact that Hawks is desperate for it; a bigger attention seeker than the main body, it would seem.
Dabi bets Hawks knows what he is doing.
He must know, because his eyes run him down again, a playful, confident gleam that meets Dabi’s. Hawks’ chest inflates when he rests his eyes on Dabi’s crotch. Dabi’s dick answers the silent call again, twitching beneath his hand, filling it as it grows, because fuck, of course it’s flattering. Hawks is just straight out stripping him naked with his eyes.
“What does me being a prude have to do with anything?” Hawks gives him a little nod, his bangs dance despite being partly trapped in the cap. His smile never leaves his face, there’s no sign – no sign – of pretense or lying. “Or was your deal just a way to get rid of me?”
Yeah, Dabi’s not gonna give him that.
That would be too embarrassing.
Besides… What if he does get his dick sucked by the Number Three Hero? That will give him leverage. Although he’s not sure anyone would believe him if he told them and it’s not like he came armed with cameras or microphones or anything, because he expected Hawks to just tell him to fuck off and fly away. There’s also the fact that his blood is rushing down and his head is getting emptier, and Hawks’ lips look so soft up close that Dabi does not think he has it in him to formulate coherent sentences any longer.
“You’re so full of yourself.” He pretends to give his crotch a squeeze but he’s really just trying to fix himself in his pants because the constraint is becoming unbearable, and well, busy as he is, Dabi doesn’t think he remembers the last time he’s been so hard, and it never seems to fucking stop growing. “A guy can't just want to get his dick wet? You’re a beneficial asset but you’re as much of a pain in the ass. I think you should re-balance the pros and cons for me in this deal.”
He tries not to marvel when Hawks pulls off his cap, resting it on the table.
Insanely messy strands of blond hair fall over his face, hiding bits of it.
His yellow eyes seem to glow in the half-darkness of the place anyway.
His dangerous shady grin is more terrifying than when he puts a sharp feather at Dabi’s neck.
“Is this really how we balance it out?” Hawks asks in a teasing tone. Dabi thinks he can catch a hint of doubt through it despite the call of urgency coming from his own body. He’s probably seeing and hearing things. “You have me flying through buildings, testing monsters in combat, committing crimes for you in the name of the League,” his hand slips on Dabi’s thigh, his palm big compared to the rest of his body; the pressure there almost gives Dabi the illusion of feeling it on his cock, instead, “but blowing you will get me into the League?”
Dabi knows what this is.
It’s not like Hawks cares or actually craves, no matter what he says, because he’s a liar all the time. It’s that he wants to make sure that if he does this, then Dabi will truly let him in. Dabi cannot let him know that there’s no way this will do it. He cannot let Hawks know this was meant to finally push him away for good.
He shows the Hero another tasteless grab of his cock, like somehow it’s going to gross out Hawks the second time around: “Depends on if you’re actually good at it. Fucking please me and we’ll see.”
Hard to tell where these words are coming from.
Dabi deludes himself into thinking that this will be a save. There’s no way that Hawks, the Number Three Hero, Japan’s most eligible bachelor, knows how to suck cock. There’s just no fucking way that Hawks has ever, ever done this. And yet, he looks so absolutely unshaken by the idea of blowing Dabi that Dabi has to wonder…
The fact that he answers his words first with a sly smirk, that is made much more attractive by the fucker actually blushing at the same time, should be a huge glowing warning sign with a loud siren to go with it.
“Alright,” Hawks’ hand slips from Dabi’s thigh, Dabi almost feels relieved at the lack of contact, but his cock – the jerk – throbs in complaint, “then I’ll do everything in my power to please you, Boss.”
And just like that, Hawks, one of the most powerful men in the country, is sliding off the bench and onto the floor, jeans-covered knees on the dirty pavement of the bar. Dabi thinks he just imagined the bizarre fluttering of his tiny wings beneath the jacket as he gets down the table. He definitely imagines the trembling of Hawks’ fingers when his hands cup Dabi’s knees as he positions himself between his legs.
“You better,” Dabi’s voice comes out hoarser than he expected, though he tries to keep it steady and indifferent, “otherwise I really don’t know what I’m gonna do with ya, Hero.”
Hawks’ eyes are glued to Dabi’s erection and boy, does his cock like that. It’s practically all but jumping in his now insufferably tight jeans, preening beneath Hawks’ gaze, and Dabi is secretly mortified about how much his plan is biting him. His body slips along the bench, needy for Hawks to get started on something Dabi didn’t think he wanted in the first place.
One of Hawks’ hands runs from his knee to the inside of his thigh, his thumb stopping right before it reaches his crotch, teasing. Ah, Hawks’ always unbearable then. Unbearable in public, unbearable in crime, unbearable in bed.
He follows the movement with his own golden eyes, then he looks up at Dabi.
“I think you know what to do with me all too well.” He teases, quiet and suggestive, maybe even a little accusatory.
“But do you know what to do with me?” Dabi attempts at a comeback, but really, it immediately feels like he’s calling havoc to be wrecked upon him.
Hawks scoots in between his legs, tiny knee-step by step until his chest touches the wooden bench Dabi is sitting on. His smug grin never falters, not even when his neck stretches so that he can lean in and reach Dabi’s crotch with his face, his golden eyes never leaving Dabi’s as he grabs the zipper of Dabi’s jeans with his teeth.
It shouldn’t be such a fucking turn on, really.
Dabi doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking away to not get caught flushing with arousal and so that’s why he keeps on staring at Hawks, watching him pull the zipper down. It has nothing to do with the fact that what he is looking at is a wet dream so crazy he had never even considered dreaming it.
Hawks only stops the pull of his zipper when his chin hits the bench and he cannot go any further down. Does the asshole not know he has hands? And feathers, actually. Instead, he gives Dabi the most apologetic big puppy eyes.
“What?” Dabi’s not frustrated when Hawks doesn’t speak for three whole seconds.
He’s not.
It’s just that he’s throbbing and aching and it is all Hawks’ fault. This is not how his plan was supposed to go. Hawks should’ve been out of the door by now, not unzipping him with his teeth.
“Nothin’ just, huh,” Hawks’ sly grin turns into a shier smile, he presses his lips together and looks away for a moment, “it must be uncomfortable with jeans so tight trying to keep something that big in.”
Ah, Dabi wishes he could ignore the awareness at this moment.
He wishes he didn’t catch it.
Instead, he doesn’t miss the way Hawks is absent for a moment, the way the words sound like part of a predetermined script, the way he slips into a part suddenly. It really clicks the way Hawks was so ready to go at it right on the spot, how he doesn’t hesitate. He has done some of this before, whether it is specially this or something else, only it is not in the way Dabi had imagined.
He wishes there was no urgency to pry, because this is Hawks and who the fuck cares? Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, the need to know that, if he digs deep enough, then maybe he’ll find that Hawks can be blackmailed, that he’s not the golden boy everyone thinks he is.
But for some reason the urgency, the curiosity is there.
Dabi and his dick seem to have different interests in this, though.
“You say that to every man?” He spits out, makes it as vicious as he can.
Hawks gives him another glimpse into something Dabi feels like he shouldn’t be watching.
He strokes Dabi’s thigh with his hand then leans in to press a kiss along Dabi’s covered length, one that is evidently attempted at and kind of successful in making Dabi’s brain freeze itself, incapable of coming up with questions.
To make it more efficient he adds, warm breath ghosting over Dabi’s pulsing cock as he speaks: “What other men, Dabi?”
Dabi can tell right away it is a lie.
Whether Hawks has slept or not with men before, the whole ‘only you baby’ narrative is an attempt to cast a spell on him. Hawks is still playing their game like this, between Dabi’s knees, trying to delude Dabi that he owns him, that he can use him at his disposal. He’s willing to prove it, alright.
“You should know flattery doesn’t work on me by now.” His voice is raspy, he’s warm all over, he twitches beneath Hawks’ breath. Maybe it does work a little.
Hawks’ eyes fall half shut, but they still stare at him from below, trying to catch him in an addictive illusory feeling of power. His lips stretch into a lazier grin before he bends down to nuzzle at Dabi’s pulsing erection, really doing nothing with his mouth, but making sure Dabi feels the pressure, kind of implying that it does work on Dabi’s dick, though.
He attempts again, because that’s Hawks’ most unbearable quality: he’s restless.
“I’m so glad you asked,” he rubs his cheek along Dabi’s cock gazing up again, really playing the helpless part like he couldn’t slit Dabi’s throat in a moment if he wanted, “I would have thought you’d burn me on the spot if I got on my knees.”
There’s a shiver running along Dabi’s back – a warning, like an animal sensing danger. If he falls for this, if he falls for the behavior of the predator luring him in, then Dabi might as well be a dead man. He’s not opposed to dying, but not yet. He still has a lot to accomplish.
So instead, he reaches for Hawks, grabs a chunk of his bangs in his fist and gives him a tug of warning.
“Yet with how much you’re talking, I wouldn’t think this was on your wishlist.” Hawks’ smile grows bigger for a moment and damn does he know how to sell it. He didn’t even react to the roughness, which opens new scenarios that definitely do not make Dabi’s dick throb in his briefs. “I thought I said this is mainly meant to shut you up.”
There’s a very brief moment where Hawks’ chewing the inside of his cheek and has a weird gleam in his eyes where Dabi thinks he can read that he knows they’re playing the game, that he’s perfectly aware Dabi didn’t think he’d do this and that he’s satisfied with himself that he can actually blow a villain off in an abandoned bar without a second thought; that he feels ahead of Dabi in their little game; that maybe he enjoys the game, testing each other’s limits.
Ah, that’s such a delusional thought.
Maybe he just prefers a blowjob over letting someone die to test his loyalty.
Nevertheless, the moment is soon gone and Hawks’ got the gist of what Dabi definitely wants now that he knows it’s possible.
Is it wrong to want Hawks for a moment when he’s hot and impeccable and unreachable all the time?
The Hero’s mouth reaches for Dabi again, his teeth getting a hold of the hem of his briefs this time. Dabi gathers all the strength in his body not to roll his eyes when Hawks pulls the material down, exposing him to the cold air of the room.
There’s some satisfaction in watching his eyes grow slightly wider when it catches the gleam of all of Dabi’s adornments. Always-put-together Hawks runs his gaze along each of Dabi’s piercings, magnetizing, for the briefest of moments, when he loses control over his own character. He runs the ladder of metallic balls over like it’s his way out and he’s running for his life. He doesn’t comment on it, but when he looks up at Dabi, his pupils are dangerously blown, like a wildcat’s.
Dabi can’t hold the long breath that escapes his lips in, though, as he stares through thick eyelashes at the way Hawks leans back in, tongue out to run a wet, cold line along his dick from base to head, pulling at one of his piercings, by accident or not, ending the run with a kitty lick that definitely doesn’t make Dabi’s hips jump on the bench.
“That all?” He’s a patient guy, alright. Touya’s been living as Dabi for years and he knows how to wait for things. Yet… “Maybe you are a prude.”
“I am.” Hawks’ little blush maybe proves it. Dabi doesn’t trust him. Hawks would be able to blush on command. “I’m also loyal and dedicated to proving my worth to you.”
God, this is so stupid.
In fact, it’s so stupid that Dabi’s almost tempted to break their stupid game and ask: really? Over dick-sucking? Is that what the Number Three Hero compromises himself with?
Almost.
Because the fact is it’s still Hawks’ on knees licking his dick and Dabi… Dabi is very committed but among the bits of things they patched up the monster he is with, there’s still a part of him that is only human.
He gambled with no card in his hand, double or nothing, like he knew he was going to get nothing. It feels like a fucking win, even if it’s not what he had planned, and shit, Dabi just fucking lost so many times that he would give up gambling altogether, but Hawks… Hawks was always too much of a risky play and a good gambler could never resist him.
“Prove it then.” He hides half his face beneath his black strands. “Prove me I have a reason to keep you around.”
He sprawls on the bench and lifts his waist.
Hawks catches the implication and pulls his pants and briefs down to his ankles definitely, leaving Dabi’s legs bare.
But of course, the idiot does not resume back to his task, no.
Instead, his eyes roam along Dabi’s skin, the burned bits of his thighs, then the parts where even the healthy skin sticks dangerously close to the bones around the knees and ankles. Dabi’s about to rush him back into motion, but Hawks’ very quick to wrap a hand around Dabi’s cock, stroking him slow and lazy, like he knows that’s gonna make Dabi groan, his brain shutter, so he can keep his staring game on.
Hawks’ palms are big and firm for a small man. His fingers also wrap around Dabi nicely too, and Dabi, well, him being a big boy was flattery but not a lie. He can’t help it if his hips roll a little to further push him into Hawks’ not-too-tight fist, can’t help it if his head falls back on the backrest of the bench and he’s suddenly staring at the ceiling through half-shut eyes, the warmth of Hawks’ palm wrapping around him.
If he looks away, it is simply not to give Hawks the satisfaction of seeing him flustered and breathless from just his stupid hand.
It has definitely nothing to do with how Dabi fears he might not survive the sight of Hawks, on his knees, jerking him off and managing to pull it off like he’s enjoying it. Because he can’t be. He’s just that good of an actor.
Unfortunately though, when he feels Hawks’ lips fall on the inside of his thighs, he has to get back at him again, hand automatically grabbing Hawks’ blond nest of hair in his hand.
“Oi,” he warns, his heart giving a violent throb against his bones, his skin, his body, at the deadly threat that Hawks kissing his scars represents, “get back to it.”
Hawks’ eyebrows are slightly arched, his yellow eyes glowing from beneath the table, with a sparkle of defeat in them. Dabi’s not going to be manipulated by such a feeble display of affection. He recognizes it for what it is. He doesn’t want it this way.
What is he even thinking? He doesn’t want it at all.
“Not into foreplay, I see.” Hawks comments, sarcasm leaking through his stretched grin. His warm breath ghosts over Dabi’s pulsing dick when he speaks, and with each word, comes another throb and a flicker of blue flame from deep within. “Should’ve figured.”
“I am into foreplay, dumbass.” Dabi’s fingers are a little too tight around Hawks’ hair. Dabi’s breaths are a little too short between words. Dabi’s aching a little too much now for foreplay. Dabi’s a little too scared of the lines they cross and the walking time bomb hazard beneath the table to allow foreplay. “You’re just not worth all that. I thought you weren’t going to waste my time anymore.”
Then Hawks’ got a bit of a terrible roger-that-boss face going on that should be satisfying, and that yet feels unsettling for some reason.
“Apologies, boss.” He claps his hands together for a moment – obedient, adapting.
Dabi’s almost about to take it back.
He doesn’t know what it is about it that feels extremely wrong and filthy, like he just did something awful.
Whatever he was going to do or say about it, though, completely fades when Hawks’ tongue teases the base of his dick, flattening to slip beneath and touch his balls barely for a moment, before it’s doing the rounds of his length again, up to the top, eyes crossed, where he finally, finally wraps his lips around the head of Dabi’s cock. His hand is around Dabi again, too.
It’s a gentle suckle, really. Dabi’s legs kick the air a little, but fortunately enough Hawks seems too committed to the job to notice, mesmerized in the process, fingers tightening barely around Dabi. He lets go after a brief moment, Dabi pulsing in what is practically bodily wrath at the point, but it’s a brief interruption, really. Hawks settles on his knees like a man on a mission, lifts up a little and then his mouth is fully wrapped around the tip of Dabi’s dick, a long breath warming Dabi’s skin as it spreads over his belly.
And then it’s really just the feeling of Hawks’ hot wet mouth, wrapping him tightly, going straight to Dabi’s head. He jolts in his seat fully but Hawks takes it like a gunshot starting a car race, his head going down until he has welcomed all of Dabi’s length in, locking him behind perfectly soft lips. Dabi’s head falls back again, eyes at the ceiling, and God, he wish he wouldn’t but the urgency to bite something to keep from moaning like a fucking loser washes over him so suddenly that he has to bring a hand to his mouth.
Hawks is definitely more careless, though, mouth running up to the top with a pull, sucking Dabi like he means to taste every inch of skin and appreciating it with a muffled groan that reverberates around Dabi. The pull of the metal makes Dabi wince, yet after so much not feeling for most of his skin, he welcomes the bother even.
He wants to look down, he needs it.
He wants to see if Hawks is really enjoying this the way he’s trying to make it sound.
But does Dabi have the guts for it?
Does Dabi have it in him to fucking stare while Hawks is blowing him off on the floor?
Hawks is quick to pick up the pace, breathing in from his nose and accompanying the next descend-and-climb up Dabi’s cock with a higher moan. He pulls more firmly this time, viciously sucking Dabi practically off the bench, his waist following up and then sitting down. Hawks doesn’t comment on the desperation thankfully, and that’s mostly because he’s apparently too focused to think of anything that isn’t Dabi’s erection in his mouth. His hand starts following the motion, giving Dabi little strokes that make him stomp his foot on the ground, chasing the balance, looking for proof that the floor is still beneath him because he feels like he’s gonna burst up the sky and burn himself to ashes.
The wetter Hawks leaves him with the layer of drool he’s dressing his cock in, the deeper he welcomes him in the cave of his hot mouth, the more Dabi feels a strange, dry burning feeling growing from the center of his chest. He hops on and off the seat, pushing into Hawks’ mouth to distract himself from the feeling, but really the way Hawks’ throat just squeezes briefly with no further reaction when the tip of Dabi’s cock accidentally reaches it just makes it much worse. His body temperature is rising, he can tell, and when he opens the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed, he’s staring at a blurred ceiling through gray smokes.
Hawks slows down, both with his hand and sucking him off, mouth leaving the tip of his cock with a lazy roll of his lower lip.
“You okay there, boss?” His voice is hoarse, his tone half-preoccupied, half-proud. How badly is Dabi losing this game? “If you want me to go slow–”
“You, going slow?” Dabi looks down at him, his voice drier than Hawks’ for some reason, which is insane considering the Hero is, you know, blowing him. Hawks’ got the biggest wet bird eyes that shine like the sun. He looks uncomfortable squeezed between the table and Dabi’s dick. He looks pleased as well, too fucking pleased. Dabi’s hand grips his bangs again. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” his fingers are only trembling a little when he pulls Hawks’ hair, “I am the one who’s going slow. Open your mouth.”
Hawks rests his hands on the bench like a good boy, stretches his neck and obeys, mouth hanging open, eyes looking straight at him. Dabi cannot unsee it. It’s there lingering in Hawks’ gaze – the want, the need; it’s in the way his chest fills the tight space between his body and the bench and then falls back rhythmically; it’s in the way Hawks’ bottom lip trembles in anticipation; it’s in his blown black pupils, in his furiously pink face.
No one is that good of an actor.
Does Hawks always look this good and needy in bed? Or does he just really want Dabi this much? Why does it feel like the roles are reversed from Dabi’s original plan now?
Dabi keeps himself steady when he grabs himself with his free hand and guides his dick to Hawks’ face. The urge to just stick it in is almost insurmountable but the need to prove himself better than the nationally acclaimed Hero is a powerful deterrent. So instead of heading for Hawks’ mouth, Dabi rubs the wet head of his cock along his cheekbone, stroking it with a little throb when Hawks holds his breath.
His lips slip closed and Dabi takes the hint as permission, maneuvering to run a thin line of pre-cum along Hawks’ mouth. Of course the jerk licks it off his lower lip immediately. Of course it makes Dabi’s fist tighten around his own cock.
Hawks’ following smirk has got teasing written all over it, so before he can make any remark that would give him the upper hand, Dabi tugs at his messy blond hair again, pulling until Hawks opens his mouth.
They meet halfway, so who’s really in control is not something they’ve deserved to figure out, apparently.
Dabi guides himself up just as Hawks is lowering to wrap his mouth around him again. Dabi doesn’t exactly have the longest story of received heads, but when Hawks has got his hot, moist mouth around him, he guesses it’s a natural, animalistic instinct that drives him to sprawl further into the bench, ass sliding lower along it, and to drive both his hands in Hawks’ hair, fingers almost meeting behind his head.
Head back and eyes closed, he feels like he’s sinking in a pool of lava, body warming up quickly from within. His hips roll lazily at first, meeting the push of his hands on Hawks’ head. Hawks’ spongy tongue beneath his cock tries to participate between movements, but when Dabi starts slowly fucking into his mouth, it gets very clumsy for a man with a score so clear at everything he does.
“See?” Dabi says breathlessly, too confident that he sounds in charge rather than wrecked, “You’re pretty useful when you shut the fuck up-ah.” Hawks slipping a quick suck through it only proves his point, really. “I was definitely making the worst use of you.”
Hawks sighs and vibrates around him through muffled sounds, and as a man of his caliber should, does not give up on the mission of participating in spite of the fact that with each passing second the supposed blowjob simply turns into Dabi fucking his mouth. He still tries to suck him off through the now frantic jerks of Dabi’s hips. He still tries to lick him through it despite the slap of Dabi’s balls against his chin. He doesn’t give it up and that makes him look so desperate, especially since, when Dabi looks at him again, he’s all half-shut, wetting eyes. Dabi has to slap himself back mentally to remember that this is just a game.
It doesn’t really help that when he tries to look away from Hawks’ hot, needy sex face he catches a glimpse of the hero’s jerking arm and, really… Dabi is doing is best but how is he supposed to keep his cool when he has the Number Three Hero on his knees, letting fuck him his mouth and touching himself to it?
He tries to keep his cool.
He really does.
But the fact is, Dabi is already using all of his will and resilience not to blow them up because each thrust into Hawks’ mouth is sparkling little flames inside him and he thinks that if he lets himself go for just one moment on that, they’re going to find their carbonized bodies just like this. All of his control is going into keeping himself alive, it has for almost a decade, and he is not going to die from Hawks blowing him, what the fuck?
So eventually, he has to surrender control somewhere because the explosion is spreading all around and he cannot keep everything safe from damage. He feels it the moment his toes untangle, the fingers in Hawks’ hair relent and his head falls back against the bench. His hips jump up towards Hawks still, cock pushing into the Hero’s welcoming slack mouth, his mind slipping dangerously into a vision where he’s not fucking his face, but Hawks instead.
He gasps for air dangerously, lungs not generous or kind to him in the state they’re in, and his sight blurs on the ceiling until he has a perfect imaginary sight of Hawks bent in a half beneath him, Dabi slamming into his body like it’s a fight for survival. Maybe it is. This is a fight too, after all.
He can picture Hawks’ blushing naked body perfectly, can actually hear how he would moan with his mouth free of Dabi’s heavy weight, especially with how loud he is now, groaning and whining around Dabi’s dick, following the rhythm of his own jerks. He’d take it like a good boy, like he’s taking Dabi now, without any breaks, pleasuring himself to it even. Shit.
And if in this vision there’s no pretense, no Hawks trying to please him, no game – but just Hawks wanting him so bad that it’s a lie-or-die need, then Dabi’s going to blame his idiocy on his building orgasm.
He should probably say something.
He does open his mouth to say something, but his lips stay wide and the only sound coming from them is muffled panting, then a little cry when Hawks sneaks a quick gentle suckle in between thrusts. One of Dabi’s hands slips from the back of Hawks’ head to the base of his own cock, wrist rolling quickly to jerk himself right into Hawks’ mouth. When he looks down, Hawks’ now free strands of hair are falling everywhere on the side, still perfectly tugged by Dabi’s hand on the other.
He looks up to Dabi, and for just a slippery moment, Dabi falls into the trap and feels like Touya again.
Hawks’ lively eyes, his furiously blushing face, his wet tongue against him. It’s stupid, but it reminds Dabi that he is alive, that he was a person at some point and that in a different life he could have been more than a ghost chasing revenge. It’s a flashing thought. It’s not that important. It’s just Dabi seeing himself as Touya for a second, a man lying with another man without power games, needing to control and a second purpose to hide behind.
A gasp cuts through the stream of thoughts when Hawks sucks on his head again and Dabi is just there. He can keep his body from bursting into flames but he cannot keep it from letting go. He tugs at Hawks’ hair again, gives him quite an eloquent warning.
Hawks doesn’t relent.
Of course he doesn’t.
Because that’s what Hawks is to Dabi, a disobedient little hound, a complicated mess that won’t fucking do what Dabi expects him. Isn’t it enough proof that Dabi pulled this whole stunt to push him away yet Hawks’ sucking him dry and getting off on it? He’s a ruiner fully intent on ruining Dabi, that’s it. So the only thing Dabi can do, if he wants to survive, is go along with the game, play until they figure out who can ruin who first.
So that’s what Dabi does.
(Is it truly for survival or is it because Dabi just cannot resist the temptation of coming into his mouth?)
His hand is back through Hawks’ hair as he blocks his head still and resorts to thrusting into his mouth. It’s really just a few seconds and a drop of sweat along his forehead later that Dabi is seeing white, spurting right into the hote cave of Hawks’ mouth, spasming on the bench and gasping for air. His chest is filling too much, burning too much and he can feel the unpleasant itch of blood from the corner of his eyes that he has to immediately take care of.
If only he weren’t distracted by Hawks’ own little concert of moans and following panting, his arm finally twitching still as he unwraps himself from Dabi and swallows discreetly.
After that, it’s just the mere sound of their breaths reaching every corner of the abandoned bar.
It’s just a moment before Dabi starts feeling the overwhelming wave of regret and awareness washing over him. It’s a bitter taste at the back of his mouth and the itch at the back of his head, rubbing all the wrong spots. Dabi should never trust Hawks, that much is crystal clear, yet the real issue here is Dabi cannot trust himself either. There’s a burning scream at the back of his head that dangerously sounds like his own voice on Sekoto Peak, telling him to kick Hawks off of himself. Then why is the hand that was grabbing the Hero’s hair before now cupping his face, forcing him to look up with a gentle squeeze?
Hawks is dangerously marvelous like this.
Blond strands of hair fall over his flushed sweated face, gleaming yellow eyes reveal a strange mix of satisfaction and an emotion that seems to mirror Dabi’s doubt. What would Hawks be doubtful over though? Dabi’s plan clearly bit him in the ass. Whatever he is doing stroking Hawks’ face with pants and underwear still down is a sign of weakness. He threw the bait, Hawks threw it back at him and now Dabi’s the one falling for it. The plan was to push Hawks away, not to have him satisfied, wet-eyed and blushing between his legs.
Yet…
“We should do this more often.” Hawks says hoarsely, which dangerously sounds like a rushed attempt at establishing their tone back. He never moves his cheek away from Dabi’s palm. He indulges it, actually, cocking his head to the side, strands of his hair swinging in the motion.
What should they do more often? Trying to trick each other and have it turn into sex?
No, they shouldn’t.
Ah, but they totally should.
It would be a shame if they didn’t.
The fact that Hawks himself suggests it is part of the game, too, after all.
He’s buying himself chance after chance, and in the worst way possible.
“You were decent enough,” Dabi lets out before it starts becoming clear that he had no idea this was actually going to happen or that he would even see Hawks again, let alone have him blow him, “just don’t get any ideas,” his hand slips up to Hawks’ hair again and gives it a little pull, gentler this time, “this is merely the beginning of your test.”
He doesn’t mean it that way.
It’s just that there really is no other way to tell Hawks that he is not letting him into the League despite saying so when he thought Hawks would never blow another man, let alone a villain, let alone Dabi. There isn’t another way to say it without taking his word back and unveiling the truth of the trick he tried to pull. And that would somehow unveil Dabi’s self-consciousness because Hawks’ not a dumbass. He plays the part, sure, but Dabi can tell.
Hawks’ lips stretch into a smile.
He clears his throat.
“Hardly the worst test I’ve taken.” There’s teasing in his voice, flirting evidently too.
But more importantly, Dabi wants to ignore the dreadful feeling that there’s truth in the Hero’s voice for once, because that thought and the perspective of sympathizing with Hawks of all people truly is terrifying.