A Hard Day’s Work

It’s been a long day, but then again, they’re all long days at this point. Get up, slide into his hero costume, save the world, stop the bad guys, rinse, repeat. It’s exhausting when the days have piled on one after another until they bleed into years, but Hawks has been playing this role for so long, it’s like a second nature to him. Sometimes, it overlaps so much with the first, he wonders if he can even separate the two anymore.

Until....recently.

Closing the door behind him, he peels off his leotard, stripping down and placing his bare feet on the tile of his bathroom floor. For a moment he simply stands there,  luxuriating in the cold tile pressed against the sore muscles in the arch of his foot, spreading his toes now that they’re free of his boots and socks and enjoying the sensation of bareness. A long day of takeoffs and landings makes even his strong legs ache, and as he turns to face himself in the mirror, he gives a little stretch to relieve some of the day’s pressure in his calves and thighs. The man who looks back at him seems weary, worn, but beautiful enough that if captured through a camera lens, the traces of his tiredness could easily be erased with computer magic. He sighs, taking stock of it all. A bruise across his rib cage, turning a sickly yellow-green at the edges that ironically meant it was healing. A silvery scar over one shoulder, the remnants of what had been a deep gash months ago. His perfect musculature, the mess of dark blond curls at the center of his chest, a single piece of downy red fluff poking out along his neck.

And there, nestled in the crook, a bruise that means something different. Out of all the battering his body receives on a daily basis, this is the one mark he’s glad to see. The one factor which marks the delineation between his personal and professional life, between the man he is on the inside and the hero everyone looks up to, between Hawks and Keigo. It’s a small thing, really, a tiny blush of purple and red that could easily be written off as a hundred other things. Not that he’s even needed to, as the high neck of his hero costume covers the mark entirely, but the lie to wash it away sits so easily on his tongue he’s almost disgusted with himself.

As though on cue, the line himself twists open the doorknob and slips into the bathroom like a distended shadow, cold hands automatically reaching for his body. He closes his eyes as he feels them slip across his skin, the smooth texture of the palms giving way to the roughness of scar at the wrists, each sensation heightened by the focus he places on it. A contradiction of terms, a walking juxtaposition, a hypocrisy of nature that should not be and yet, beautifully, terribly exists. Fingers press into the midline of his lower belly, resting amongst the curling hair there, and he opens his eyes on a rush of an exhale to meet the icy blue in the mirror. Frostburn. They remind him of the idea of frostburn; something so cold it results in the same damage as heat.

Dabi says nothing, but his fingers become his voice, and Keigo has learned to listen for all the things he doesn’t say aloud. He’s become attuned to the drag of Dabi’s fingers, the gentle scrape of his nails, the way he flips between rough and calm with a sharp fickleness that keeps Keigo on his toes. Yet recently, the calm stretches have lasted for longer and longer, and while he knows with painful certainty all the cruelty Dabi is capable of, all the wrong that he’s done, there’s something in his embrace that Keigo can’t help but sink back into. Even now, those fingers ghost across his torso, barely a whisper and yet saying so much. They dance lightly around the edges of the yellowing bruise, does it hurt? Keigo nods softly, and Dabi moves on. A scratch across his upper thigh, is it healing? The scar on his shoulder, aren’t you tired?

Keigo catches his lower lip between his teeth, and Dabi knows not to press any further. Not now. Not when the anger and exhaustion seethe under the hero’s skin in equal measure, and he’s as fed up with his scars as he is questions about them. Instead, the touches shift in tone, the fingers somehow warming slightly, the movements quicker and more playful as they highlight all the parts that are Dabi’s favorites. He cups Keigo’s hips, his pectoral muscles, hands laying flat as they slip over the planes of his body, you’re so beautiful and I adore it . The pad of one thumb circles over the disc of his nipple, and a tremor of heat runs through his tired body, stirring up something that ought to be too exhausted to move. So lovely, little bird. The other hand slides downwards, fingers pressing across the midline of his stomach, tracing from his navel on down and his next exhale is shaky, head pressing back into Dabi’s shoulder. Those ghastly eyes are still watching them in the mirror and Keigo meets them, staring Dabi down as he toys with the body in his arms, playing it expertly until it begins to respond to him. He’s still clothed, a thin t-shirt hanging loose from his frame and the buckle of his belt pressing uncomfortably into Keigo’s lower back, but the heat of his body is so impossibly close he might as well be nude. Keigo shivers, and notices his cock jerk in the reflection, causing a mimicked hitch in Dabi’s scarred mouth.

“C’mon, pretty bird. Shower time,” he finally says, breaking the spell of silence between them as he steps back. Keigo doesn’t even bother to hide the way his body sways when Dabi releases him, too tired to remain rigid, and comfortable enough not to. Pipes creak and water gushes, turning from the gurgle of the faucet to the hiss of the showerhead as Dabi starts it up, and Keigo moves slowly to stand behind him, fingers curling under the hem of his shirt and tugging on it in a wordless request. Steam billows out of the shower; blessedly, they both enjoy bathing at impossibly hot temperatures, except on the days when Dabi’s Quirk rides too high and he has to fill the tub with ice and lie in it until the sparks stop arcing off his body. But this is not one of those days, and he turns to Keigo and pulls off his shirt, revealing the scarred torso and lean chest, dusted here and there with tufts of red hair on the undamaged skin. It’s beautiful in its own way, not with the same measured perfection as Keigo’s own body, but something about the damage and proud muscle refusing to break down under all that has happened, all this body carries, draws him in. Automatically his hands begin to move across it, not aiming or focusing on anything, but touching all that he can reach. Dabi draws him in for a passionate, almost lazy kiss and he allows himself to melt into it, finally feeling the day’s tension begin to melt from his shoulders.

Once they both step inside the shower, the wide glass walls built to accommodate a large pair of wings, they stand with Keigo’s back to Dabi’s front and bask in the heat of the water pouring out. Bless good plumbing, bless water pressure, bless the hands that return to stroking his body and cupping his thighs, a pair of warm lips dragging up the length of his neck and teeth that snatch one pierced earlobe. His eyes focus lazily on the ceiling, mind draining away to nothing but tired appreciation for the feeling of being touched like this. He realizes that he’s probably toorelaxed at this point, his muscles limp and body lax, but even his ingrained training to stay on edge at all times can’t fight the sheer comfort of this moment. Even Dabi’s stapled skin pressing up against his own hardly bothers him, and he lets out a shaky sigh as two fingers pinch one of his nipples.

He doesn’t even have to say anything, though he could if he wanted to.

It’s not long before a hand wraps around his cock, pumping it in slow, steady strokes as he rests his slight weight against Dabi’s body and arches his hips into the touches. Those slender, bony fingers know how to work him effortlessly and soon he’s panting into the humid air, head turning until he can kiss at the side of Dabi’s neck and jaw. “Touya,” he breathes, and the name causes an electric shiver to run through Dabi, the temperature around them rising in a quick burst before he tamps it down again and squeezes the base of Hawks’ dick slightly.

“Keigo,” he replies, and that itself is enough for them. The intimacy of this moment, where they can whisper to each other the names no one else in the world uses. A dead man, and one who only ever existed as a government file to begin with. He slides his hand back, reaching for Dabi’s length, but a hand stills him as Dabi continues to work him with the other. “It’s okay, tonight’s about you. Just enjoy it,” he murmurs, and Keigo sighs, giving in. He’ll get on his knees for him after they’re out of the shower, lie Dabi back on the bed and spend an hour worshipping his gorgeous cock, kissing it and sucking it and rubbing it across his lips until Dabi is practically chanting his name.

For now, though, he contents himself to feel the rising pleasure in his own gut, the slow build of heat that contrasts their usual pace. God, he can remember their first frantic back-alley trysts, when they hardly knew or trusted one another. Slamming each other into walls and tearing at their clothes, biting and scratching and fucking like they’d just invented the concept. They still do that, sometimes. A lot of the time, really, because it feels amazing to fight for dominance, or to be held down and pleasured until all he can do is scream. But in this moment, his knees are slowly turning to jelly as Dabi’s thumb swipes across the head of his dick, and his tiny talons sink into the flesh of Dabi’s forearm as his orgasm draws closer, winding up inside of him in a steady burn. “That’s it, angel. Just let it happen—cum for me, right in my hand,” Dabi murmurs in his ear, his voice deep and rough with his lust.

Keigo’s breath rasps in and out of his throat now; he’s so close, he just needs that one push to send him over the edge. “Bite me,” he commands in a rush, though the words are barely above a whisper. “Please, Touya—give me another mark, I need it, I need to feel you,” he groans, voice bouncing off the tiles all around them. Touya doesn’t give him another chance to beg, his lips clamping over the side of Hawks’ neck and a beautiful arc of pain coursing down from where his teeth sink in. It’s a visceral, primal claim and the shock of it rips Keigo’s orgasm from his body, his back arching up to push his hips further into Touya’s hand as he spills. The cum rolls from the tip of his cock in heavy spurts, dripping down over pale knuckles as he moans aloud, a messy nonsense syllable that might have started as Touya’s name. Everything blurs into pleasure, even his muscles finding a last bit of strength to quiver and shudder as he cums, feathers rustling loudly.

When it finishes and he slumps back against the lithe chest behind him, he feels utterly wrung out but in a far better way than he had before. He’s tired, yes, but some of the world-weariness has lifted, and now he feels...deeply content. With a soft sigh, he tucks his wings in close and turns in Touya’s arms, stretching up to plant a slow, passionate kiss on his lips. He’s satisfied, yes, but not for too long; it’s nearly time to return the favor, and he whispers as much to Touya as he reaches back to turn off the shower and open the door.