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“We should end this.”
It comes out of nowhere, spoken casually in a utility closet when Hawks has a hand halfway down Dabi’s pants, reaching for his dick.
They’ve been fucking for a while — messy makeouts that turn to sex in the bathrooms of bars, and Hawks has been trying to work up the courage to prod for more info when Dabi hits him with that like a ton of bricks.
“Um,” Hawks says, intelligently.
Dabi rolls his eyes, brushing Hawks’ hands away. He picks up his discarded shirt, sliding it over his head in a fluid, elegant motion, despite the staples barely holding him together, and Hawks’ mind is still working on processing this situation.
“Sorry -- You what?”
“I said: we should end this.” Dabi’s voice is edged in exasperation, fingers combing through his hair as he makes himself presentable. Like it will help with his whole zombie scene look, but damn it, Hawks still follows the lines of his scarred skin, transfixed. The words process again, and he’s suddenly on his feet.
“I -- Why?” That’s not the first question that comes to his mind, but it’s the easiest one to say aloud. “Did something go wrong?”
“Nothing went wrong, birdbrain.” He says, cool and casual, “I’m just not feeling it anymore.” He zips up his pants, buckles his ridiculous belt, then waves a lazy salute, turning to leave.
“Riiiight.“ And okay, this is weird. Everything about this situation is weird. Hawks can see the tent in Dabi’s pants that betrays his words, and flicks his gaze back up to Dabi’s face with a raised brow. “Your boner says otherwise.”
“Fuck off,” Dabi snorts, a sneer tugging the stitches on his cheek taught. “It’s a physical reaction to someone pawing at my dick. And I mean it — I’m done with this.”
Several thoughts flash through Hawks’ mind.
One: Ouch. He thought he was better at handjobs than ‘pawing’ implies.
Two: Shit. How is he supposed to get information if Dabi doesn’t keep their meetings up?
And Three: He’s still fucking hard. Something about the low, smoky rasp of Dabi’s voice really does it for him, even when he’s essentially telling Hawks to fuck off.
“Seriously,” Hawks says, his speech careful, practiced, and casual. The only thing that belies his nerves is his talons sinking into the walls. “What’s going on? You never bitch this much about getting your dick wet.”
Dabi shrugs, languid and bored. He’s leaning against the door now, all lazy ease, and Hawks is suddenly annoyed. And affronted. And definitely about to wipe that smirk off Dabi’s mouth.
He lowers his lashes, sliding into Dabi’s space in a single smooth motion. “You sure you don’t want some of this, hot stuff?” He purrs, wrapping his arms around Dabi’s neck. “You know it’s good, so c’mon, what’s the problem? It’s just sex.”
Dabi stares at him, blue eyes blank. Then he speaks, and Hawks’ blood runs cold.
“I know you’re a spy.” Before Hawks can protest, Dabi shrugs out of his reach, putting space between them. “Knew it was too good to be true — golden boy coming to slum with the villains. So I did some digging.” He grins, sharp and feral. “And ‘lo and behold, Hawks: the Hero Commission’s bitch.”
Hawks bristles, affronted. “I told you they ruined my life! I hate them! I —“
“But you still passed information.” His grin doesn’t subside, but the edges are feral and mean. “I fed you a couple tips, birdy, and you sent it right back to them.” At Hawks’ wide gaze, he snorts. “Please, you’re not the only one who can lie.” He is razor edges — sharp expressions, until suddenly — suddenly he isn’t.
“So you don’t have to keep doing this.” He says, and if it were from anyone else, he would call the tone earnest. Instead, from Dabi, it sounds a bit like pity — pity that makes his feathers bristle with rage and shame. “Drop the act. Go home, and get the fuck out of this shitty mess. I know exactly the kind of shitheads that run the commission, so get the fuck out of there.”
Hawks stares. His cover is blown. He needs to retreat. He needs to —
Distantly, he realizes that the words Dabi says are correct — but the last part — the last part sticks in his chest like a knife. He needs to stop. He needs to run. He needs to conceal and hide, but his mouth moves on autopilot.
“I… I can’t.”
Dabi’s expression goes carefully blank. “… What do you mean you ‘can’t’?”
“I mean, I can’t.” Hawks desperately wishes for the words to stop, but they tumble out from his mouth, one after another, rolling over each other in waves. “Legally, I can’t. I’m under a conservatorship. I’m an adult, but the Hero Commission… they own me. And they should, right? They raised me. Because they wanted a hero. Because they wanted a puppet. Because —“
Dabi is speaking, but his voice sounds so far away. Hawks can’t think past the rush of blood roaring in his ears, the heaving of his chest as he breathes, and realizes how badly he’s fucked up. Somewhere along the line, he’s actually grown to trust Dabi, and now, all his secrets are laid bare. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to —
“Breathe with me, birdy.” Dabi’s voice cuts through the fog, and suddenly he’s warm. Warm all over. Dabi… is holding him. Cautiously. Like he’ll spring out of his arms, which honestly, Hawks kind of wants to. But the part of him that’s shaking leans into the touch, chest to chest, following Dabi’s slow, steady breathing like a lifeline.
“You’re okay,” Dabi says, and it’s comforting, somehow, despite it being miles from the truth. There’s a shuffle, then a tinny voice coming through speakers of Dabi’s phone.
“…eady…?”
“Yeah,” Dabi says, “It’s true.” He cards a hand through Hawks’ hair, and the look in his eyes — it makes Hawks ache.
“We’re gonna make them burn.”
The days pass in a whirlwind haze. There’s a boy — green haired and sharp eyed, who asks him questions, and smiles with catlike satisfaction at his answers.
There’s a man — a boy, really — who looks at him with disdain and says he’s a noob that should have broken the fourth wall sooner.
There’s a girl — cheerful and bright — who sings nonsense songs that somehow make him smile, even when he feels like he’s been gutted.
Whatever he was expecting from the League of Villains, this was not it.
Then the news comes out.
And the best part is, it isn’t even about him.
The green boy — Midoriya — had asked him if he wanted his story to be known.
He had said no. Quiet. Resigned. He was their prisoner. He had no right to make demands.
“You’re not.” The boy had said, with the gentlest smile. “You’re a friend. And you can make as many requests as you want.”
The Hero Commission had fallen. Just like that. One news exposé of some other atrocity, and suddenly the whole world was ready to burn them at the stake. It should be galling — the dismantling of a public institution. Instead, it feels like salvation.
And between it all, there’s Dabi, no, Touya - and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth? — holding him together as he relearns who he is without the Commission’s shadow. Without the yoke of expectations — the suffocation by inches.
“You’re free, birdy,” Touya says, “You’re free.”
Months and several embarrassing meltdowns later, it becomes true.
Because the papers are signed and notarized. Takami Keigo is an emancipated man. The League — who have essentially adopted him as their own, throw him what may constitute as a party, but also may constitute as a hazing ritual.
He begs for release after losing at Smash for the seventeenth time, Shiragaki cackling at his incompetence, while Toga paints his talons red. Kurogiri mixes drinks, Spinner and Compress are having a heated debate, while the rest of the League pick sides, and Keigo is happier than he’s ever been.
Touya, however, is notably absent. Has been, for the past while. Oh, he’s there anytime Keigo is overwhelmed or having a meltdown, but otherwise? Otherwise he’s in the wind.
And Keigo finds… he misses him. Misses him in ways he never expected — physically, yeah, but also in the quiet spaces of silence between them, when he can simply breathe and Touya will run his fingers through his feathers, gentle and soft. Will smile, his edges dulling to something sweet, before the mask comes up and he’s back to venom and spite.
He doesn’t know how to bring up what happened. How is anyone supposed to say “Hi, thanks for fixing my life — Sorry I had sex with you for information, but I would like to go back to doing that for fun.”?
So he enjoys the party as best as he can, and tamps down the ache.
Keigo finds him hours later in the alley behind the bar, smoking the last of a now empty pack of cigarettes. He puts it out, half-finished, when Keigo draws near.
“Hey,” That’s as good a place to start as any. “We missed you inside.”
Touya pulls a grimace, slouching against the building. “Yeah, well if Shiragaki pulls that pikachu shit in Smash one more time—“
“— I missed you.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. “In general, I mean. Not just tonight.” Touya’s eyes are growing wide, and Keigo forces himself to barrel on.
“I— You never gave me the chance. To say thank you. For everything. I mean —“
“— Didn’t do shit, birdy.” Touya huffs, looking away, “It was all the green kid.”
“No, you—“ Hawks struggles to find the words. “You helped. You — you noticed. No one — no one else ever did.”
“Yeah, well, it takes one to know one and whatever. Anyways, let’s blow this joint—“
Hawks kisses him. It's unintentional, mostly. He blames it on the moonlight. On the cast of shadow on Touya’s cheeks, as he tilts his head up to grumble about the cold, despite the fact he physically can’t feel it. On the glow of the neon lights that dance from the streets, haloing Touya in a kaleidoscope of lights. Mostly, he blames it on himself. On wanting, for once, to be selfish.
On, for once, wanting at all.
Kissing Touya is exactly how he imagined. Warm. Smoky. The faintest hint of tobacco. It’s everything he’s wanted, ever since Touya dragged him from hell — so much so that it takes him a few seconds to realize, Touya isn’t kissing back.
In fact, he’s pulling away. Gentle, but firm.
“You don’t owe me anything, birdbrain.” He says, his voice strained and hoarse. “You don’t have to do that anymore.”
Keigo stares, blank and uncomprehending. “I kiss you, and you say I don’t… I don’t have to?”
Touya sighs. He leans forward, carding a hand through his hair.
“Listen,” he says, and Keigo steels himself for a rejection. “What the Commission did to you was fucked up.”
… Huh?
He barrels on, unrelenting, while Keigo’s brain is just an error 404, because. What ? “I know they made you do some fucked shit, and I’m sorry I didn't notice sooner. I — I wouldn’t have touched you if I knew. So. I’m sorry. And you don’t need to do shit out of some weird sense of —“
Keigo kisses him again. This time, Touya was halfway through talking nonsense, so it’s the perfect time to lick into the seam of his mouth, pulling him to devour.
“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says slowly, when they break apart. “And before, I had sex with you because you were hot, and I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. Which is a fucked up metaphor, because honestly, no one’s aim is — I’m getting off track.” He heaves a breath, holding Touya by the cheeks and forcing him to look directly into his eyes.
“I like you.” He says. “I liked you from the start. Even if you were a Hot Topic reject. And yeah, the Commission slipped some hints about getting you to let your guard down, but no one forced me. So unless you secretly hate my guts and don’t think I’m hot, I’d like to make out.”
Touya blinks. And stares. Keigo stares back. He isn’t about to lose a staring contest, or he’ll lose all his bird privileges ever.
Finally, Touya speaks. “You’re confused. You’re equating gratitude and… whatever the fuck you think you’re feeling.”
And Keigo… He gets it, okay? The insecurity in this one runs deep, and he could say something witty and or intelligent here, but he’s always been a show, not tell kind of boy, so instead he presses Touya up against the dingy alley wall and slots their lips back together.
Slowly, Touya melts into the kiss, and Keigo nearly chirrups in victory when he starts kissing back. His wings flare out in pleasure, hiding Touya away in their span.
“I have the biggest thank-you boner.” Hawks says, when they finally pull apart. “So unless you want to back out, I would prefer we start fucking sometime, uh, imminently.”
“You’re such a loser,” Touya groans.
“A loser you want to have sex with, hot stuff.” Hawks reminds with a smirk. “Although, I will insist on a location upgrade.”
“You sound like Shirigaki.”
“… that was so unsexy — you’re lucky I like you.”
And Touya laughs — a shocked, punched out sound that Hawks instantly adores.
“Yeah, pretty bird.” He finally says, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
They barely make it to Keigo’s apartment.
He’s pretty sure his talons have ripped holes in Touya’s shirt, but from the way his gaze went dark and wanting when Keigo sank his claws in, he’s pretty sure Touya doesn’t mind. They fumble around like stupid teenagers, ducking into alleyways and kissing until Hawks almost wants to bend over right then and there, but then he remembers he has these wonderful things called wings and sweps Touya off his feet.
They argue while he flies — Are you kidding me? A princess carry? — but then Touya’s hands are under his shirt, warm brands against his skin, and Keigo can barely fly straight.
He doesn’t remember how he got the door open — in fact, they may have broken the lock. His new apartment is a far cry from the Hero Commission’s gilded cage, but it’s his , in a way his old apartment never was. It feels so right, having Touya here, and maybe this is a thought for after the first date but he wants him here always.
Then Touya picks him up like he’s nothing and tosses him on the bed, his pupils blown wide with lust, and Keigo stops thinking entirely, mouth opening in a whining keen as Touya presses him down into the sheets.
He’s babbling, he thinks. Saying nonsense words — trying and failing to articulate what he wants — what he needs — but Touya seems to know anyways. His hands are everywhere — against his skin, carding gently through his wings, and then they’re around his cock and he’s a mess of whimpers and groans, bucking up into the warm tightness of his fist. He’s been on edge all night, and knows he won’t last.
“Fuck…” Touya murmurs something into the crook of his neck, pressing biting kisses to the shell of his ears, and it’s too much, yet not enough. He cums with a cry, hips jerking off the bed, and when he blinks back to reality, Touya is licking the cum off his fingers, meeting his gaze with a smirk.
“You fucking… asshole…” Keigo huffs, trying to muster rage in his post-orgasmic bliss. “You ruined my pants.”
“They were nice pants.” Touya concedes, helping him pull them off. “They show off your best assets.”
Hawks makes a sound of affront. “I’ll have you know they struggle to contain my magnificence.”
“Yeah, yeah, your ass is huge and I’m going to fuck it. Roll over before you break a wing.”
Hawks complies with minimal protests, then changes his mind partway. With a devious smile, he hooks a leg around Touya’s waist, pinning him down in a move that would make his old handlers weep with joy. Though perhaps with different intent.
Touya scowls up at him, chest heaving as he struggles, but Hawks has a solid decade of good nutrition backing his muscles, and has the upper hand. He grinds down against Touya’s cock, reveling in the moan he tries and fails to stifle.
“C’mon, Touya,” he teases. “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”
He growls, muscles flexing with strain, and then they’re grappling, Keigo letting out giggling shrieks as Touya presses bites and kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. He fumbles with the lube bottle, and Touya makes a snarky comment, up until Keigo bites his shoulder in retaliation.
Then he’s slicking up Touya’s cock, sliding it home, and the stretch burns so good after so long. He rocks his hips, testing the waters, and Touya snarls, snapping his hips up in a way that makes Keigo see stars.
“C’mon, pretty bird,” he rasps, and Keigo keens. “Let’s make up for lost time.”
And they do.
But the best part — the best part of it all is when he wakes up, his mate in his nest. Touya is softer when he sleeps — his brow is still furrowed in a frown, but his hair is soft and wispy in the morning light. Keigo could stare at him forever, but he settles for nestling in close, wrapping his arms around him.
“S’too early,” Touya groans, when Keigo starts pressing kisses against his neck. “You’re a menace.”
“Mhmm,” He warbles agreeably, “Stay for breakfast?” Stay forever.
“Yeah, pretty bird,” Touya smiles. “I will.”