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Field of Vision

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Establishing shot: A long shot used to portray a new scene, a new subject, or new object that is important to the film for the first time.



Dabi had come to learn many things about Hawks in the weeks since they'd began their enemies-with-benefits arrangement.

They were small things: the shudder of his feathers, his sensitivity to aural stimuli, the habitual breaking of eye contact when he approached climax. Mapping out the cartography of an unexplored body sated an unexplained hunger he never knew he had.

Most surprising of all was how much Hawks seemed to enjoy the nerve-wracking threat of discovery.

From Hawks reaction, Dabi isn't certain whether or not he'd been aware of this himself, nor if its source were a fetish for humiliation, exhibitionism or whatever else. All he knows for sure is that first moment of realization: there was a rap on Hawks' hero office door 30 minutes after closing time, when Dabi was buried deep in his ass, the other definitely tightened, unbearably, until the knocking stopped and the late visitor walked away.

His certainty of this vulnerability solidified when it was confirmed the next week, at the abandoned warehouse that served as their rendezvous site. When Miruko called as Dabi was bouncing on his lap, the pleasure that glazed over Hawks' eyes was immediate, undeniable. He'd leaned down to his ear.

"Answer it." 

"H-Hey. Girl." 

"Hawks! Where are you?" Hawks bit his lip as the other ground down.

"Downtown."

"Did you forget we're checking out the new store today?"

"I-ah!" A moan escaped as the other lapped as his neck. "I didn't forget, I just got caught up."

"You okay?" A deep flush spread across his cheeks, down to his collarbones.

"Stepped on lego." 

'Wow, that's the best you can come up with?' Dabi whispered into the other ear. The arousal in Hawks' eyes didn't let up even as he glared at him. Miruko didn't question the unusual response, though.

"Well, what time will you be here then?"

"Ah!--At 8."

"Get fucked, bro" Dabi sniggered at that. "If you aren't here by then I'm never lending you emergency eyeliner before press conferences ever again."

And with that solemn threat, she hung up.

Hawks loosened up, but only for a brief moment, before he'd gracelessly shoved Dabi down to the grimy floor. He’d manhandled him to his hands and knees and pounded into him with an unforeseen ferocity. Panting, Dabi turned his head to throw back a smirk.

"You love this, don't you?" Hawks looked away. Typical.

"I fucking hate you."

Hawks came faster than either of them anticipated. And his eyeliner privileges were maintained.





Somewhere down the road, he'd managed to unearth another compromising vulnerability about Hawks: his soft spot for Endeavor. He thought he'd imagined it at first -- the way his jaw would tighten whenever he'd make a jab at the new number one hero. He'd said nothing about Hawks’ casual meet-ups with the flame hero outside of their professional duties, nor of the small Endeavor action figure he'd found in his drawer on a hunt for condoms (he'd never lost a boner so fast).

"When you denounced the heroes at the ranking ceremony broadcast...did you mean it?" He'd asked once.

"Does it matter?"

"Why're you so chummy with Endeavor?" Hawks let out a dry laugh.

"Why d'you think I'm getting close to him, other than to investigate him and his allies' weaknesses?"

"What do you think of him," Dabi pushed, "really?"

"That's not important. He trusts me." He'd answered with a smile. It was prideful -- almost warm.

I don’t, Dabi thought, but what he said instead was:

"Would you fuck him?"

To his surprise, Hawks sputtered out his drink. 

"Don't..." Hawks wiped the dribble with his sleeve, lowering his gaze. 

It disgusted him, almost. But above all else, it had filled him with contempt.




Bypassing the guards at the main entrance of Hawks' building, Dabi scaled the emergency stairway, leapt past a couple of ledges, and slipped into his balcony. When he rapped on the glass, Hawks fumbled his phone a bit from where he was reclined on the sofa. He quickly recovered and advanced swiftly, a smirk tugging at the edge of  mouth as he slid the door open for his self-invited guest.

"C'mere, asshole," Dabi is dragged into Hawks' living room by the collar, the coat tugged off his shoulders, a pair of lips nipping at the crook of his neck. 

"Welcoming as always, I see," He shoves the other back a step, grabs his hand by the wrist and twists it. Hawks grunts as Dabi turns it further and pushes him chest first against the wall. He breathes into his ear, "Let's talk business." 

Hawks suppresses a shudder.

"They've identified four possible locations for the League's main hideout." He pauses to bite his lip when he feels lips against the nape of his neck. "Names of the local detectives in charge are in the folder. By the TV."

"Hm." Dabi hummed in approval. He let go of the other's wrists in favour of encircling his torso. His palms slip underneath the thin tee shirt to palm at his chest. "What's the timeline we're working with?"

"Ah--about three weeks from now," He began letting his feathers fall to his feet, reducing his wings. "They want to infiltrate with a surprise attack." Dabi snorted in response.

"That's some confidence." 

"Well," Hawks swallowed as the shirt was lifted off his body.  "Look over the files then, and tell me how much of that confidence is baseless."

"Stay." He commanded as he went over to the TV to grab the documents. Hawks huffed.

"What am I, your dog?"

"You sure bark like one." 

Hawks spun around indignantly to see Dabi flipping through the pages. As he began walking over, the other put his hand out in a halting gesture, palm sparking with blue flame. Hawks stopped in his tracks.

"Don't make me say it twice."

"Tch." Hawks folded his arms in front of him as the other perused the papers. He grew impatient as the silence dragged on.

"So," he prodded. "You wanna tell me which location's the real one?"

"Wing Hero Hawks," Dabi shut the file. "Which one do you think it is?"

Hawks rolled his eyes.

"You know, if you'd only show me, I could do a lot to mislead the police and hero investigation."

"You're doing enough for now." 

"But--" Dabi was right in front of him in a few swift strides, and had a patchwork palm up against his mouth.

"Shigaraki's words. Not mine." The defiant look in Hawks' eyes remained, brows furrowed in doubt. "Don't look at me like that, I've been vouching for you, okay?"

Hawks pried the hand off his mouth.

"I should've contacted Mr. Compress instead." He remarked. "Or Spinner, maybe Twice...hell, even Toga might've gotten me somewhere by now." Dabi chuckled.

"Yet, you came to me.”

"Thought I could work with you." It came out like a sigh, and resignation weighed his bare shoulders down. Slowly, almost cautiously, he embraced the other. Hawks let him. 

"We do work well together." He felt the other shudder as his hands slipped into the other's pants.

"Prove it."




Almost 300 kilometres away, Endeavor steps out of the towering skyscraper that served as the venue of a public safety conference, and frowns down at his phone.




Hawks shivers against the kotatsu's surface, voicing a needy “fuck, fuck, fuck” as Dabi works a finger inside him. 

"God, will you hurry up?"

"Stop rushing everything," He plants his free hand on the base of the other's spine. "Take this as an exercise in patience." 

"Ugh, I could've done this myself in--" his breath hitches when it thrusts in hard. He hears a dark chuckle behind him. "--in 10 minutes." 

Just as he's about to return a quip, they're both startled by the sound of Hawks' ringtone. To the blond's chagrin, the other recovered first, and reached back to grab the phone from the sofa. 

"Now, who could this be?" There's an unusually long pause, and an unexpected pulse of heat emanates from the body behind him, feeling like a sickening wave of anger. Hawks holds his breath.

"Oh, it's your favourite hero," Dabi finally announces. Hawks turns around and finds it difficult to place the other's expression – a mix of fury and excitement. "It's a video call."

"Dabi," He asks quietly. "Do you want me to answer it?"

He glances down at him, and recognizes that familiar arousal in those wide, pleading eyes. His mouth splits into a wicked grin.

"Of course." Hawks fingers tremble as he takes the device. Dabi pushes him back to his original kneeling position, elbows resting on the tabletop as he answers the call. Endeavor's face appears onscreen, illuminated by the light of a street lamp.

"’Sup, bro?" He gives an easy grin. He's met with a sigh.

"I've had a long day. What is it?"

"What's what?" His vision goes a bit foggy as he feels two fingers plunging into him now. He sighs quietly.

"You asked me to call you, what is it?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't you text me earlier to video call you?" Endeavor's brow furrows impatiently. "I just got out of a meeting. I'm leaving the Hiroshima public safety HQ now."

"Um..." It's hard to search his memory when his brain's slowly succumbing to pleasure. "I just missed you and wanted to talk to you!" 

The fingers moving inside him roughly crooked, making him bite his lip down in alarm. Endeavor's frown deepened.

"How characteristically frivolous of you." He replies flatly.

"Ah--aww!" Hawks exclaims unsteadily as Dabi begins a fierce search for his prostate. He's familiar with its general direction. "You don't wanna talk to me? I'm hurt." He places a hand to his chest. "And here I thought we were buds."

"Why are you shirtless?"

"Mind your own business, bud." He gasps and shudders as Dabi finds his target. Precum beads from his cock, pressed against the table. He clenches a fist in an attempt at self-control. "The real question is, why aren't you shirtless, Mr. Endeavor?"

"Conversation with you always proves to be a profoundly unsettling experience." He says as he massages the bridge of his nose. Hawks takes the opportunity while the other's eyes are shut to close a hand over his mouth and bite down on his palm. Dabi savours the sight of his partner's hole tighten around his fingers. As he moves the digits in and out, the slow drip of lube down his quivering thighs makes him vow to commit this moment to memory.

"Wh--Why are you still talking to me then?" Hawks teases, voice unsteady as waves of pleasure shudder up his spine. He tilts his head curiously at the other's contemplative expression.

"Endeavor?"

"Truth be told, it has been a while since we last conferred." He admitted. Hawks face lit up. He thanks the heavens that Dabi can't see it from where he is.

"Aw, bro!"

"I'm an hour from yours. If you'd like to I can--"

"Fuck!" Hawks drops the phone as he feels a hot tongue plunge into his hole.

"Hawks?!" Endeavor's voice is muffled against the floor. Hawks could only press his forehead down, panting against the wood. Pleased, Dabi spreads him wider. 

"Keep talking." He urges, before his tongue plunges in with heightened fervour. 

"Augh! You fucking asshole!" Hawks breathes heavily, shakily lifting himself up by the elbows and reaching for his fallen phone.

"What happened?" He sounds so panicked. Hawks feels his chest tighten with something unidentifiable. "You okay?" 

"I'm A-Okay, man," he reassures as his walls spasm with pleasure. "I, uh, saw a cockroach." 

Endeavor frowns immediately in doubt. 

"You're telling me one of the most competent, fearless, dependable pro-heroes in Japan would shriek like he was being murdered over a--"

He's cut off by a sharp cry from Hawks as Dabi wrapped a warm hand around his leaking cock.

"Ah-oh my god. You think I'm dependable?" Hawks beams, holding back the tears brimming in his eyes.

The red flush spread from Hawks' chest up to his neck and ears. It didn't escape Endeavor's scrutinizing gaze, and he immediately shot further lines of inquiry. His cheeks burned. 

"God, where are your wings?" He tensed. "Tell me what's wrong, is someone holding you hostage?" He felt the vibrations of Dabi laughing a bit at that. 

"N-no." He bit down a whine as he ground his hips back in want of deeper penetration. 

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home, I'm not in danger."

"You're obviously not okay!" He barked, unconvinced. The physical signs of Hawks' distress were impossible to hide from the other at this point. 

"Okay, fine, I'm sick." He whined out a lie. "I texted you to call me while I was high on Ibuprofen. I'm sad and lonely and everything hurts!" 

Endeavor blinked back at him as he considered this. Hawks wiped his reddening eyes. The outburst startled Dabi enough to stop his ministrations.

"Where's Miruko?"

"On night patrol."

"You're alone?"

"Yes." He lied again through gritted teeth.

"Hold on, I'm coming for you."

"Please don't--" The call ended mid-protest. 

Dabi watches with mild amusement as Hawks slumps over in defeat, phone slipping from his slackened grip. He places his head in his hands and releases a long, frustrated groan. 

"I fucking hate you." He declares.

"You're too easy," Dabi pries the hands from his face and turns him around, pushes him so he's lying back against the table. He looks down at him.

"But that was an impressive performance, I'll give you that." It almost disturbed him, firstly, how naturally he lied, and secondly, how sincere his fondness for the flame hero appeared. "That idiot took the bait way too eagerly, though." He kisses him on the throat, trailing up to his jaw. "It's so revolting how easily you have him falling at your feet."

He claims the other's mouth with his own. Kisses were rare between them – their tongues more used to spitting venom than they were to each other's contact. Hawks whined contentedly in response, tilting his head to deepen it, holding the other's face in his hands. And Dabi devoured it all.

When he finally pulls away, the other gazes up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

"You better make me come before Endeavor does."

Chapter Text

Over-The-Shoulder Shot: A shot where the camera is positioned behind one subject's shoulder, usually during a conversation. 

 

 

His shoulders were tight as he rode the train to Hakata. The quiet hum of the engine was the only sound filling the otherwise silent car, leaving him to the disquiet of his own troubled mind. He looked out the window as the shinkansen cut through one province to the next; a silent blade slicing through the landscape of buildings and homes.

Endeavor wasn't always the sort of person with the inclination toward concerning himself with other people – and definitely not this intimately. Hell, a year ago, before All Might retired – before he'd come to the awful realization that he'd been fighting for the wrong reasons, shooting at the wrong targets, hurting the wrong people – he wasn't the sort of person who'd give a damn about anything beyond the feverish pursuit of the then Number One's back. He'd had a one-track mind, and a heart like a fiery engine, propelling the freight train of his body, speeding forth; scarring the landscape, the homes, the bodies it pummelled through. His vision a tunnel, a narrow scope zoomed in on the bright visage of the Number One, the object of his spite, his envy, his unfaltering fury.

And then, that figure burnt out – exhaled and deflated in the breath of a sigh. He’d fallen from the narrow scope of his vision and disappeared out of sight.

He'd caught up to the vacant space left by the other. He had ignored it up till then and swept away the brutalized bodies of his past into the stowaway safety of his subconscious. But when one stops where they are, well, the past catches up. He'd been vaguely aware of it before. But up till then the terrible weight of what he'd done hadn't dropped itself fully on his shoulders.

And what a weight it was. The ruination he'd caused was brutal, rendering the act of seeking forgiveness futile. An apology is not a cure. He’d fumbled around, opened his eyes looking for some new orientation; opened his hands in search of a new function, to divorce them from destruction, to dedicate them to a new reparatory task.  Eventually, after much uneasy contemplation, after much questioning he’d set sights on a new directive: to protect, to be the guardian of the people he'd failed to be to his family. The act of asking for forgiveness is pointless, but the act of toiling, of serving, of laying one's life down to defend the defenceless was a vital one. There is no way to undo acts of terror – the only thing to do, is to prevent its perpetuation.

Forgetting the muscle memory of mistreatment was one thing; learning how to connect to people was another. For when he’d first lost sight of his goal, he’d found himself motionless, direction-less, and above that, friend-less. He’d felt like the lone survivor in his own destructive aftermath, fumbling through the wreckage.

He couldn’t really perceive the vastness of the gaps left behind by the people who (rightfully) walked out of his life. That is, until Hawks came, and filled his time, his mind, his ribcage with some (till then unfathomable) light. It was not till then that he’d known how disconnected, how distrusting, how diseased he’d been. He wouldn’t consider himself dependent on him – people were no cure for one’s deficits – but God, did Hawks’ incessant friendliness and infallible fondness ease the grief. He’d wronged – inexcusably, undeniably. The task of picking up the wreckage of the disaster site he’d created was his own. But Hawks illuminated the way like a brilliant headlamp – he gave him sight.   

He looked towards the clock and hoped, to any God who hadn’t yet forsaken him, that Hawks was alright.




Hawks managed to drag himself to the shower by some miracle, though he didn’t have the strength nor time to get himself spotless.  (This sense of uncleanliness had turned into a chronic one since he’d taken on this dirty job). Nevertheless, he was a bit more presentable when he limped out. His intel was gone from the table, but Dabi was still there, smoking on the balcony. He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“He’ll be here soon; do you have a death wish?”

The odd look that Dabi threw him was undecipherable – not quite irritation, nor contemptuous – made all the more inscrutable with the white billow of smoke swirling between them. He drops the remnants of the cig and crushes it beneath his heel, casually sauntering over to the kitchenette. The last thing Dabi does, before running off with the classified documents he'd come to collect, is this:

Urging Hawks down to the sofa, he slides behind him to curl his fingers below his chin, tilting his head up. Hawks is enraptured by the impenetrable gaze he’s under as the rim of a sake bottle slips past his lips and its contents slide down his throat.

"Your act was good," Dabi praises as his eyes follow the bobbing of his Adam's apple. "But, just for good measure, pretend to be drunk when Endeavor gets here." He takes the bottle away but keeps his grip on the other.

"God, it burns." Hawks sputters.

Good, Dabi thought. How often had he fantasized breathing fire down that throat, setting his ribcage alight like a crackling lantern, burning him down from the inside out? (Hawks’ eyes widen at the spike in temperature from the other’s fingertips.) But in that moment, all he verbalized was the deadpan insult:

"Lightweight."   

And with that, he slips out the balcony into the inscrutable shadows of the night. Hawks brings his fingers to his neck, where the heat of the other’s hold lingered.

That overdramatic asshole…

This thought is interrupted by an urgent knocking.

He rises on heavy, aching limbs and opens the door. The sight of Endeavor’s hulking form always intimidated him, always excited him (and recently, it had come to be an unfailingly comforting sight). He quirked an eye at the stiff dress shirt and tie, the briefcase in hand, before he remembers the other had just come from a meeting. His eyes drift upward further still and, catching sight of the worry etched in his features, he begins feeling weightless.

"Hey, you came," he grins. “Looking sharp, Mr. Endeavor.”

"I see you got clothed," He eyes the sweatpants and tee shirt Hawks was dressed in. "for my sake, I'm assuming."

"I can get de-clothed again," He winks. "For your sake." The larger man's nose crinkles. Presumably, at the whiff of alcohol.

"Have you been drinking?" his tone is disbelieving. And some small semblance of shame bubbles in his gut, along with the alcohol.

"Have you come here to mother me?" he moves aside to let him in, sees him frown at the sake bottle on the table, the pile of feathers on the floor. "Is Endeavor a pro-hero or a pro-babysitter?"

"With you, I feel like both," he takes a breath, as if catching himself, and after a measured exhale, his tone then softens. "But I'm not here in my capacity as Endeavor. I'm here as your friend." The embarrassment that overcomes Hawks only deepens as he feels the warmth of the other's broad palm on his shoulder.

“You looked like you could hardly talk earlier, how are you now?” The unexpected tenderness towards him sends a distressing flurry of fondness and guilt around his chest. God, we really scared him with that shit we pulled earlier. All for my fucking boner, he realizes guiltily. My dick really turned out to be a hell-bound compass, huh?

“I feel better.” The reply is soft. He’s gently nudged towards the bathroom. 

"Go brush your teeth and get some sleep."

He does so, nearly scraping the enamel clean off his teeth with the absent-minded ferocity of his nervous brushing. And on the subsequent walk from bathroom to bedroom, Endeavor's gaze, despite its concern, stung in its sharpness, and he appealed to a higher power that the other man wouldn't notice the slight limp in his walk.

"Are you hurt?" Guess the higher powers had abandoned him yet again. Figures.

"Yeah it aches a little," he clutches at his abdomen and winces. No acting was required – the soreness was very real (for which he silently cursed Dabi). "But don't worry, the Ibuprofen will kick in soon, man. And alcohol's been a painkiller since the olden days."

"That's false," He folds his arms as Hawks climbs into bed.

"Those boobs," he points an accusing finger to his companion’s impressive pecs as he slurred. "Are the true falsehood. Are you sure they're real?" Maybe he was getting actual drunk.

"Hawks," he sighs. "Close your eyes."

He lays down and pulls the blanket over himself, shutting his eyes.  He hears the other move across the room, and the click of the lights turning off.

"Who would win in a fight?” he wonders aloud. “A boob quirk hero, or a butt quirk hero?"

"Close your mouth, too." He commands.

He makes a dramatic show of zipping his mouth shut and falls silent. Deeming it safe, Endeavor crosses to his bedside and feels his forehead for his temperature. He feels the other go tense at the gesture. Other than a slight warmth, he didn't seem particularly feverish, which was a relief.

And as he moved away, he felt fingers take hold of his wrist, saw amber eyes looking up at him, pleading.

"Have you eaten?" Hawks breathes.

"On the Shinkansen, yes." He assures. 

"Okay. If you're still hungry, heat the leftovers on the second shelf of my fridge," He was half up now, sheets rustling around him as he moves to lean on an elbow. "And it's late, please feel free to stay; the futon's in my cupboard.” He gestures toward it. “And the extra toothbrush is--" 

Objectively, Endeavor knew he it would be wise to resist being moved by the casual concern, to not get too attached. But there was something in the desperate tenderness of his companion's voice that compelled him to move closer, gently push that tense torso back to the bed, and assure him:

"Okay, I won't leave you."

The relieved, grateful smile from the prone man below him washes over his chest like a salve.



Endeavor doesn’t want to make things weird between them. 

Concern over his restless, disoriented, indisposed friend had kept him at his bedside. But after the blond had seemed to doze off, he thought it appropriate to give him privacy, and moved to the living room, where he now begins to lay out the futon. 

Even after that fiasco with High End, it wasn’t easy opening up to Hawks. Years of closing off the self, of only biting, snarling, hitting hard at the points of contact made with other people had turned the idea of a lasting relationship into a foreign one. And yet, quip by quip, talk by talk, Hawks had somehow come into his one-man space and made a home there. After their tag-team battle, he’d come to trust him in matters of business. And, in its current state of progression, it may soon come to pass that over their many phone calls, shared meals, and late-night banter, he’d come to trust him in matters of heart.

But God, he can’t come too close, or know too much. He realizes grimly. He’d be so hurt.

Because sometimes he felt that, inherently, he was a poison that contaminated anyone he’d touched.

Deep in thought, he knocks over a stack of comics, stationery, and magazines from where they were perched on the kotatsu. With an annoyed grunt, he gets on his knees, swiftly picking them up to rearrange them on the table, cleaning up the mess he made. But suddenly, he pauses in the task of retrieving the fallen items as he reaches for an open notebook, for something catches his eye:

His name, in Hawks’ handwriting.

Investigative instinct compels him to pick it up and scan the page, holding it close to his face to make out the words under the dimmed yellow lights.



Dear Endeavor,
I hope this finds you well.
TOO FORMAL?



It was a messy accumulation of scrawls, cancellations, unfinished sentences.



Dear Endeavor, 
I have to tell you something pretty serious. I'm sorry, but I've been hiding something.
 



His shoulders tense as he comes to realize what he's reading: drafted confessions.

Of what?

He glances towards the bedroom door at the end of the hallway before looking back down. As quietly as possible, he turns the incriminating pages.



Dear Endeavor, 
I wasn't wholly honest with you. But please believe me when I tell you that I have the best intentions.

Dear Endeavor, 
I thought I could keep this from you, take this to my grave. But when I saw you in that hospital bed, something in me broke. You damn well could've died, and I can't let that happen without telling you that 

Dear Endeavor,
When I said that you were cool, it was the truth. When I said that all I want is a peaceful world, where we aren't so heavily burdened with this crushing responsibility, it was the truth. I never show it, but you mean a lot to me. Your friendship and respect and trust mean the world to me. I'm so afraid of losing this. Please, please, promise me we won't lose this. I'm sorry, Endeavor, I  

 

It ended there.

Upon reaching the end of the notebook's legible contents, he releases an unsteady exhale. Once again, he looks up at the closed door separating him and Hawks’ sleeping form. He carefully replaces the notebook on the kotatsu as a tangle of neurons fire in his brain; retrieving the memories of Hawks' actions, Hawks' words, drawing new links, forming hypotheses, rejecting improbable conclusions. Of the dozen different permutations of transgressions his (up till now) trusted companion had possibly committed against him, one particular prospect twists his gut the tightest. Not for the severity of its betrayal, but for the small sense of longing it gave him.

Does that idiot have a crush on me?

Endeavor doesn't want to make things weird between them. But it appeared that destiny had the opposite desire. 

Chapter Text


Shot reverse shot: Film technique where one character is shown looking at another character, and then the other character is shown looking back at the first character.

 

 

 

Hawks pushes a scarred shoulder to begin turning around on the table, but Dabi grips his wrist, stopping him.

"Lie on your back." He holds his chin and tilts his head up. "I want to see you."

He swats the hand from his face. 

"That makes one of us," He shoves him away and turns around on the kotatsu, resting his elbows against the table top, bracing his knees against the floor. 

"Ouch," He's compliant regardless; he hears a condom wrapper and feels the other line himself up behind him. "Am I that hard to look at?..."

The head of his cock breaches the rim, and Hawks clenches his teeth.

"...or do you like pretending you're getting fucked by someone else?" He breathes from behind him as he slowly bottoms out. "Someone like--"

"God, you mouthy fuck," he gasps. "I can't stand -- ah!" He starts pulling out to thrust back in “--how you look at me like--" He rests his forehead against the wood, bites his bottom lip to suppress another moan. 

"Like I'm some puzzle for you to decipher."

Even now, he felt the heat of the other's stare stinging his skin. He just knew the other was scrutinizing every twitch of muscle, every shake of his raised shoulder blades, the flutter of the small feathers on his back. Those critical eyes watched him, judged him at his most unsightly, most desperate, most debauched-- 

"Ah! Fuck." He feels the other's grip on his hips tighten as he's roughly pulled back to meet the thrusts. He holds a palm over his mouth to muffle his cries.  

--And the absolute worst thing about those piercing eyes? How undeniably, deeply blue they were. Perhaps, he thought distantly, blue would not have been the last colour discovered, the last put to words, if the ancients had caught sight of Dabi's gaze. 

The iciness of those eyes gripped him with an unforgiving violence. And it looked so much like his...

"Endeavor will be here soon." Dabi reminds him as he slams into his prostate. The sound that erupts from Hawks’ throat is indecently desperate. "What'll you do if he catches you like this?"

Hawks’ hand abandons his mouth for the swollen cock between his shaking thighs. He pumps it fast, smearing precum over his shaft as fingers move over the ridges of his raised veins. He thumbs over the head, gliding over the slit with a firm pressure. Moans are pushed out his open mouth with every thrust.

"Mmh! Harder." He pleads. "Harder, fuck, harder. I'm close."

"Endeavor must be close, too," He growls. He holds back a cocky snort when he feels the other clench around his cock. "Maybe he's already at this block. He can probably hear you begging me to fuck you," Admiring the spasming man below fills Dabi with a new and venomous euphoria.

"He can probably hear you crying like a slut."

With a sob, Hawks comes. 


"Dude! Dude!"


He sits up with a startled gasp, eyes widening at the surprising sight of a frantic Miruko frowning down at him, her brows furrowed in concern. He blinks up at her as a firm hand is on his shoulder, and suddenly her face is right in front of his.

"You okay?" She enquires, voice lowering.

"Y-yeah." He runs a hand over his face. "Wuh...what's happening?"

"You scared me, man!" He yelps when she slaps his arm. "Panting and groaning like that, I thought you were dying." 

"I was uh, having a nightmare."

"Thought you were having an asthma attack." He snorts.

"Heroes don't have asthma." A pillow hits him square in the face.

"Hello?! Bullet Breath: The Asthmatic Hero?" He hurls the pillow back at her, which she easily catches in one hand. Hawks breathes a quiet 'oh shit'. 

"Active 1973 to 2008? Her short, sharp breaths could penetrate metal. Know your hero history, dumbass!"

He was knocked off the bed by the force of the next projectile pillow.

"And work on your god damn reflexes."

"Ugh," He rose with his hands up. "I surrender."

"You have the right to remain silent," She sat on the edge of the bed with a chuckle, crossing a leg over the other. "A right I doubt you'll exercise."

He feigned shock, gasping with a hand over his mouth.

"Offensive, Miruko."

"You just proved me right." She declares smugly.

"Stop, I have enough trouble with smartasses as it is."

"Everyone looks like a smartass to your dumb ass." She quips before patting the bed "Sit."

She doesn't miss the way he favours one leg over the other as he moves toward her, nor the slight wince of pain as he sits down.

"Where's Endeavor?" He asks.

"He left soon after I reached here. He called me at my hero office telling me you're sick; came here soon as my shift ended." She replies. "Hawks..." He looks down when he feels a firm hand on his knee, and when he looks up again, he's faced with her arresting gaze.

"You got laid, didn't you?"

He sputters.

"Sis, you're wrong. There's nothing going on between us--" She rolls her eyes.

"Not with Endeavor, dude! I meant before!" He tilts his head questioningly. "That old man may have missed the signs, but not me. I suspected as much as soon as he described your symptoms over the phone."

Jeez, there's no hiding from her, is there?

"Okay, fine,” he admits. “I did get laid."

"Did you get hurt?" He ignores the mild tone of worry in her voice, the warm hand that moves to support his abdomen.

"No." Her expression changes to one of curiosity.

"Was it good?" 

"Yes." He finds himself not needing to lie for that.

"Nice…" She nods approvingly as she trails off, before she suddenly jumps, jolting her friend. "Wait, did you use protection!?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He laughed. He pats her head soothingly, and her ears twitch in response. "You're such a mum friend."

"Speaking of parental figures," she snaps back, though she makes no move to stop his affectionate gesture. "How dare you trick an oblivious old man into taking care of you?"

"What do you mean?!” His hand does stop now. “I told him to not bother coming over. He insisted." He defends. "And, parent figure? How dare you, I'm his professional equal. AND." He added indignantly. "He's not an old man – he's only just beginning to peak!"

"Settle down, fanboy..." She wasn't going to argue with him regarding number one Flame Hero Endeavor. She knows from personal experience that once Hawks starts, he doesn't stop. "Old man or not, he was pretty anxious about your state of health."

"Didn't mean to make him worry," He scratches the back of his head. "Or to trouble you, either."

"Yeah,” she sighs as she flops down to the bed. “Can't believe I got delegated to Hawks post-sex-aftercare duty with Endeavor." He feigns indignance and punches her shoulder. "Who's this person you banged, anyway?"

"Some guy," he averts his eyes. "I picked up at the pub."

"Well, watch your back, man." She cautions as she eyes the ceiling. "Heard rumours of suspicious characters sighted around this ward recently, pretty near this estate, actually."

He goes tense.

"What?"

"A nearby resident even claimed to see Dabi. Y’know, the one who slipped out of our grasp," she gets up with a huff. "I'm still pissed that coward fled the moment I joined the fray."

Shit. Shit. Had they seen where he was headed? Had they seen them in correspondence?

"These are all just rumours but...so was the talk of the noumu in Kyushu. And look what happened..." She trails off.

They sat in a tense, contemplative silence before she hops up.

"I'll alert the area heroes to increase surveillance and monitor the situation," she extended a hand toward him. "Including you."

He took her hand and let her pull him up.

"You got a plan?"



In another part of Fukuoka, in a district that was much quieter, much less populated, Dabi receives a call just as he enters his rented apartment.

"Report." Shigaraki's voice crackles over the line.

"I'll forward you his intel on the hero investigations. If it's accurate, they're nowhere near finding our bases."

"Good. But let's keep our guard up,” he hears Shigaraki move around. “Have you proceeded with the plan to scope out our potential...so-called ally?"

"Just hooked a mic to his hero uniform, and a camera to his visor," Dabi replies with a smile. "I'll see everything he sees, as long as he's wearing it."

"Monitor him for eight days."

"If he clears this, he's off probation?" 

"Yes." He pauses. "And if he doesn't..."

"I'll handle him." The tone of his voice betrays a small hint of glee.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

Medium shot: Also known as a mid shot or waist shot; it is a camera angle shot from a medium distance.

 


"She's outlined all these zones within a 38 km radius where you've been rumoured to be spotted," Hawks reports. 

"And the heroes are increasing patrols in these areas," He continues as Dabi studies the map handed to him. "You need to avoid them at all costs. We haven't been detected at this site yet," He gestures broadly at the warehouse around them. "But we'd be on thin fucking ice if we keep to this location."

Dabi's been expecting this meeting since he'd caught wind of Miruko and Hawks' cooperative to locate him, courtesy of the microphone and camera he'd planted on Hawks' hero uniform two days prior. Had Hawks withheld  information, it would've been an immediate indicator that his true allegiance was not to the League. He'd checked out so far, though. Dabi notes with some relief that his own apartment was out of the high-alert zones. But, as Hawks so eloquently put it, he'd be on 'think fucking ice' if he didn't move, and soon.

“Didn’t take Miruko for a team player.”

“She isn’t,” Hawks corrects him. “She just recognizes that a bit of coordination would make her job easier.”

Well, this is troublesome.

"Keep her busy," he instructs at the end of Hawks' briefing. "And in the meantime, you have a new side task: get all the dirt you can on Endeavor." Hawks' feathers ruffle slightly at that.

"Dirt?"

"You know, personal information? His address, his work schedule, his frequented locations," The villain elaborates smoothly. "Shouldn't be too hard for you, given your, uh, intimacy." Hawks ignores the unnatural grin the other's mouth contorts into.

"You know what I have to say on senseless fatalities," It takes him actual effort to avoid growling out the reminder. "You've seen what happens when a symbol of peace falls – another one takes their place. We need to think differently."

"Relax, kid," he laughs as he grabs the other's shoulder, which goes rigid under his touch.

"Kid? You're the fucking amateur," his voice is low, strained. "I'm not gonna help you carry out one of your pointless murders."

"We just want to get to know the new number one, is all," Dabi claims. 

"We? Or you?" He had an inkling this had more to do with Dabi's own subtle fixation on Endeavor, or a personal sadistic impulse to taunt him, and less to do with the League's objectives. "I've been feeding you the hero association and police activities to keep your asses out of their reach. What the hell do you need individual heroes' personal information for? One that isn’t even a part of the Intelligence Unit?" He demands. 

"Know thy enemy,” he says in mock authority. “We want all the intel we can get on what we're dealing with. Endeavor will be central to the hero efforts to restore order, and he'll definitely be a key weapon in taking the League down."

"So you want to know his weaknesses?"

"So to speak. We'll look it over and plan accordingly. As for taking him out, I can't make any promises; I can't speak for Shigaraki." Dabi notes the flash of anger in the other's face, knows he wants to call bullshit.

"I'm not like you, and I'm not letting you kill anyone senselessly." He declares, shoving Dabi's hand off his shoulder.

But the breath is knocked out of him as he's shoved against the wall, both his upper arms pinned in the other's grip.

"I'm not letting you in until you complete this final task," Dabi declares in return. "The ball's in your court, Hero."

 


 

The conundrum permeates Hawks’ mind and maps itself out to a dozen different possible routes. He has to find a way to give Dabi what he wants without compromising the safety of his friend. Was it possible to fool Dabi with information he falsifies himself? Or to negotiate with him into letting him into the League without completing this one assignment? The labyrinthine problem presented before him seemed almost unsolvable – unless there were some way to give him intel on Endeavor that could not be effectively used against him. 

The possibility of letting Endeavor in on his mission crosses his mind (as it had many times before, on the nights he feels unsure, uncertain, and alone). But no, how could he? His superiors had advised that the job was best completed with the utmost discretion. The villains could easily find out. Not to mention the uncertainty of Endeavor's allegiance to him if he were to learn that the devastating attack by High End was wholly the result of his manipulation...

Guess he had to face the reality that this monstrous mission was a solo act, no different from all the previous ones in the one-man-play that was his hero career.

Other possibilities sift through his mind as he hurriedly seeks for a solution. He could warn him: increase the security measures at your hero office, lock up your home estate early on this day. How could he be so sure of the villains' plans, though? Would he be privy to such intelligence? Would he be able to protect Endeavor, as he had (barely) managed in that High End fight?

He falls into a fitful sleep, and the unfinished thoughts follow like an interloper. In the unreality of his subconscious, he has a vision of Endeavor's fire-framed back: broad-shouldered and brawny, almost Herculean. But unlike the demigod, his flesh proves to be fallibly mortal as the dream unfolds. Hawks reaches towards its warmth, calling his name in relief, calling (for comfort?) in elated greeting. But from his extended, grasping hand, a feather shoots forth from his open palm, piercing through the flesh in a spray of blood. Hawks freezes in fear as Endeavor turns his head, only managing to do so half way, enough to return Hawks' mortified glance before collapsing to a fallen heap. 


 

He wakes up so frightened that dozens of feathers are in a flurry about him, in frantic defence against some unseen evil. He lets them drop to the sheets as he looks down at his trembling hands. His eyes follow the lines across his palm as his mind searches for a solid border between good and bad, between acts of protection and betrayal, and finds none. 

He suddenly feels stupid for wishing Miruko were here, as she had been days prior, to soothe his nightmare-frayed nerves, to talk righteous sense to his morally muddled brain. He combs fingers through his sweat-matted hair, wishing it were Miruko’s digits he felt smoothing over his scalp instead.

Or Endeavor’s. 

Exhaling the remainder of the apprehension from his chest, he reaches for his phone, flops back down to the sheets, and begins messaging the objective of his pursuit.

Hawks:
>hey ;)
>wanna c u (≧∇≦*)

Endeavor:
>Can't get out of Tokyo this week. I'll find you next Tuesday.

Hawks:
>its urgent man ╥﹏╥
>ill come 2 u
>like today

Endeavor:
>What could possibly be so urgent, Hawks?

Hawks:
>gotta tell u face2face ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ

Endeavor:
>No.

Hawks:
>Pwease?? (´・ω・`)
>I'm desperate.
>So desperate, in fact, that I'm willing to use proper punctuation.

 

He follows this with a deluge of water droplet emojis for good measure.

 

Endeavor:
>???
>What is the meaning of that?

 

He's in the middle of typing out a cryptic combination of eggplant, fire, and crying emojis when the other sends him his google location.

 

Endeavor:
>This is my address. Be here after 2100. You can stay in the guest room if needed.

 

He quirks a smile. Sends prayer hand emojis along with his thanks.

 

Endeavor:
>Begone.

 





The buzz of excitement extinguishes somewhat as he realizes how easily he's fulfilled one of Dabi's given orders: to acquire his private address. 

Stop, that's enough. Let's just do this.

With as much determination as he can muster, he rises from the comfort of his sheets. He goes for his notebook and begins drafting his game plan, scribbling his script to Endeavor. As he works, he suppresses the growing, nagging sense that he’s authoring his own disaster.

 

Chapter Text

Point Of View Shot: A shot taken in a way that implies the scene being witnessed is through the eyes of a character. 

 

 

There's not much for Dabi to see in the work hours during which Hawks patrols the streets of Fukuoka.

He leaves the camera feed open on half the screen of the desktop monitor that colonizes most of the space on his worktable, as he clicks through news sites on its other half. He tries to ignore the mould taking hold in the damper corners of the small flat, crawling its way forth at its own slow time. It made his skin itch; at least, what was left of it that still held working touch receptors beneath its surface. He picks absently at the surgical staples south of his clavicles. An onlooker might've pitied him in these conditions, but Dabi was not one to pity himself. This was a great deal better than being destitute; a state he'd been all too familiar with, for quite some time before.

He shakes his head to clear all thoughts of the past -- at present, he has a job. He glances up at the monitor to see Hawks boarding the shinkansen. That was odd; this was the first anomaly from his usual work routine. Around now he'd usually leave his staff to lock up and head straight home. He observed with piqued interest for about ten minutes before Hawks' looked down at his ticket, which told him the Wing Hero's stop was almost three hours away. 

Filling the full monitor with Hawks' camera feed now, he lets it run while he performs the tedious task of replacing some of the looser staples holding his skin together. It doesn't hurt him too much - nothing has for a long, long time. He was desensitized, numb. Yet recently, since he got intimate with Hawks, he's had the peculiar unwanted sensation of his phantom fingers ghosting over the tender fault lines of his skin. Hawks had, in reality, did it only once: he'd held his face with a morbid curiosity and thumbed over his cheek. His fingertips ran over the metal ridges with a gentle caution that had stunned him to silence.

"Does it hurt?" It was asked in a tone of pure wonder.

He'd snapped back to himself then, grabbed the other's wrists and twisted them away, wrenched a pained yelp from the other.

"I ought to suture your mouth shut."

"Did I hit a raw nerve?" Hawks had taunted through his pained grimace. "I could dig my nails in, claw your face open."

"Cute," he sneers. "You think about killing me often?"

"I should kill you." Dabi laughs at that, bends his hand further, makes him grit his teeth.

"If you even kill me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize."

The wanton look that mixes with the fierce lines of the blond's face is captivating. And Dabi takes deep delight in being the solitary spectator to Hawks' undoing.

He's shown him so much. Yet, he knows there's more to him still. He can sense it in his perpetual avoidance, his airy flightiness. He senses it in the shadows of his form, in the subtle tension of his muscles.

What are you hiding from me, Hero?

At present, after a long wait, Hawks disembarks from the bullet train, crosses the platform and barriers, and keys a postal code into his phone map. After a brief pause, he takes to the air. The cloudless night sky fills Dabi's monitor as Hawks heads upwards, gaining altitude. Once ascended, the yellow-dotted cartography below blurs past with a brilliant velocity as Hawks speeds towards his destination.

The dotted lights below become sparser as he moves away from the city, towards a residential area. He sets sights on a quiet suburb of large and regal homes, traditional in appearance, and swoops down to one of the resplendent estates. Dabi has a feeling he knows where he is. And these suspicions are confirmed when the name plaque that comes into Hawks view reveals it as the Todoroki house. Dabi smiles as he leans back in his chair. He rests his feet up on the table.

Hawks, show me what you are.

 


 

Hawks is brought to the wing where guests are received and offered some food, which he accepts and devours with a pointed lack of gentility, drawing a mild scowl from his host.

"Did no one teach you basic manners?"

"You gave and so I took." He laughs.

"Even so, a little decorum never hurt."

"Between my 40-hour school weeks and extra-curricular training, my teachers must've thought dining etiquette was secondary."

Endeavor - no, in this private space, he's Todoroki Enji - tries to hide his disdain.

"So, did you come here with a purpose?" Hawks nods enthusiastically, cheeks stuffed. "...other than to impose on me?" Hawks' hand goes over his chest, feigning hurt. "...Because if I recall correctly, your texts mentioned you had an urgent matter to discuss." Hawks eyes the housekeeper who's busy in the adjoining kitchen, swallows, and smiles.

"Can we talk somewhere more private?"

He's ushered to a guest bedroom in the far corner of the wing. Endeavor shuts the door behind him, crosses over to the windows to open them, and turns on the floor lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow in corners where the moonlight doesn't reach. Hawks shivers despite his thick jacket, deciding to keep it on even as he places his headphones and visor down on the wooden dressing table. He starts wondering if the flame hero was insensitive to the cold he'd invited into the room, before realizing his host had already seated himself down on the floor. Rigid in posture, he gestures for him to sit across, which Hawks does inelegantly, legs sprawling in front of him. His palms press flat against the floor between his thighs as he hunches forward.

"So..."

"Just tell me what's on your mind." Endeavor urges.

Hawks has rehearsed this conversation in his head a hundred times, and then some. Yet in this moment, he opens his mouth to find it dry.

 


 

It's to Dabi's benefit that the visor on the dresser is angled towards the two subjects of his interest. The microphone is still hooked to Hawks' uniform, and it transmits their conversation clearly enough. Hawks voice comes through.

"What am I to you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm being one hundred percent serious right now."

"Are you having some form of identity crisis?" Endeavor breaks a smile. "Seems pretty unusual for a braggart of your calibre."

Dabi sees Hawks' foot twitch, perhaps suppressing some impulse to teasingly kick the other.

"Just tell me what you think of me," he asks again. "I need to hear it from your mouth."

His bulky shoulders lower, and eyes dart to the corner as he contemplates an answer.

"As much as it pains my dignity to admit it, I have a lot to learn from you," he shakes his head a bit. "No -- I can't speak of my own dignity. You haven't seen who I was before this, there's a lot of brutality there you'd probably, justifiably, despise me for."

Despite himself, Dabi feels himself tense a bit at that, and he sees from Hawks' shoulder blades that he does too.

"I've been trying to put this...grotesque ambition to better use. You don't know how much you've helped see me through that."

"Endeavor," Hawks swallows. "Is there something more you want to tell me?"

"Did you come all the way here to cross-examine me for some kind of admission?" Endeavor sighs. "What do I think of you? You're a pain. But I'm an even bigger pain, in all the ways that hurt. And you're the first person who's come to be such an intimate influence on me, and to show me a better way."

Even from this angle, Dabi can tell that Hawks is radiating fondness. It makes him want to gag.

Ask him again about what he's done. He wants to yell. Wrench the truth from his throat.

But the other, disappointingly, appeared to drop the subject.

"God, Endeavor, wasn't expecting you to get this real." Hawks laughs gently. A voice rises at the back of his mind: 'But don't speak so well of me without knowing who I am.'

Endeavor is visibly embarrassed.

"Is this all you came here for?"

"No, I--" Hawks snaps himself out of the giddiness of the others' affirmation as he remembers his awful task. "I need to tell you something that could ruin whatever this is. I mean, you could hate me for this." He gestures vaguely between the two of them. Dabi stiffens in his seat.

Is he really--

"Do you believe me when I say that everything I do is for some greater good?" Hawks asks.

"I...I think so." Endeavor's hesitation diminishes Hawks' courage a bit.

"Do you believe me when I say that I admire you? That I was absolutely rooting for you in that fight against High End?" The sincerity in his tone isn't diminished by the satellite journey to space and back before it transmits itself fibre optically through Dabi's speakers. He feels his pulse rising, his blood heating up.

Is this traitorous motherfucker really about to spill everything?

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, or I thought I did." There it was again -- that worrying doubt. "Lately I haven't been so sure. I have the feeling you're hiding something from me."

"Well, you're not entirely wrong..." Hawks scratches the back of his neck as he trails off. "I need to come clean with you."

Dabi has suspected that Hawks' alignment was with the heroes all along. Even as they became physically intimate, that doubt never left. In fact, the thought, the fantasy, of detecting, of dismantling, of destroying Hawks had grown to some pulsing addiction. Didn't this present an opportunity to execute it? So why did this betrayal sting so sharply, feel as real as if Hawks had plunged a scarlet feather-blade into his very back? 

Fury blurs his vision, but he keeps watching.


 

Enji's never seen his friend so unsettled.

Those feathers flutter subtly, and he bites his bottom lip. A hand rises to the lapel of his jacket, stuttering on the habitual motion of pulling the collar over his mouth. 

"I, oh God, you'll hate me for this."

There's genuine guilt in the slight quiver of his voice. He raises his gaze to meet his own and, Enji senses more than sees, those amber irises settle on the corrugated scar scraped down his face. 

"When you got hurt and hospitalized. I was more responsible than you think."

This again? He'd insisted time and again that it clearly wasn't - not with the unpredictability of the attack, not with him being morally obligated as a hero to protect the public at all personal cost, and it definitely was not Hawks' fault with the way he'd fought with all he could alongside him.

"I could have died without your help." He says.

Oh God, he's too damn trsuting. This feels so criminal.

Hawks swipes a hand across his eye and smiles up at him. And he's seen this fragile look of assurance masked over some profound anguish before, that day he'd come to him in his hospital bed. Battered and bruised, he'd look so much smaller without those imposing feathers framing him. Enji would've made him receive medical treatment himself if he weren't bound to the bed. But Hawks had carried that tired body out the hospital door and patched it up on his own. 

"Endeavor, you're really cool," Hawks exhales. "I'd really hate for you to hate me, but..." He turns his head away.

"Shit, I can't--" Face him. Just face him. A nervous laugh comes out of his throat.

"I'm sorry," He scrambles to his feet. "I guess I have to bear this on my own, because I can't tell you after all." 

He bows awkwardly as if in a parting greeting, as if in thanks, as if in apology. He turns his back to him goes to the dressing table, pulling the headphones round his neck and the visor over his eyes.

"This is my own responsibility," Hawks declares as he looks into the mirror atop the dresser, echoing Endeavor's sentiment. "I think for your sake, we need to see less of each other from now." 

Endeavor gets to his feet too.

"But know that when the time comes for everyone to show their hand,” He catches sight of the mirror – Hawks is smiling. “please, please remember that I am always rooting for you."

There was always some tragic aura about him. Sure, he was the flighty comic, the trash mouthed fool, the infinitely endearing entertainer of sorts. But as they'd grown closer, spent more time together, Enji could begin to see the vulnerability peeking out from the fault lines of his façade. The strained lines in the creases of his eyes, every flash of that superficial smile; the unexplained redness against the jarring whites of his eyes, betraying earlier tears. (Over what?) Sometimes, his young companion walked as if a tremendous grief weighed down on his lithe shoulders. 

He may have been his junior, but Hawks equalled him in strength, in skill, and apparently, in guilt. How had that slight frame built up the same remorse, the same pain as he had, in half the lifetime? It made him want to squeeze his palm, pull him in and chant the mantra it's okay, you're okay, I'm here.

"Hawks, you don't have to tell me what this is."

Because he knows what this is. It's so apparent to him now: the nervous behaviour, the fear of losing him, those cancelled confession drafts in his apartment...And this self-banishment, this avoidance. He's still faced with walls of red feathers as his back is turned. 

"Hawks."

He turns around now. Endeavor draws a breath, takes a step towards him.

Hawks' eyes widen as a warm palm cups his cheek, as calloused fingertips slide along his jawline to tilt his head up. The other man leans down over him and pauses, as if unsure, seeking permission. Hawks takes hold of that wanton face and pulls him down.

The press of Hawks' lips against his own feels like relief. A part of him hesitates, unsure of the other man's boundaries, reluctant to push more force into the act. (For what had his passions brought about before, but pain?) Yet, the press of the lean torso against his own, the eager swipe of a tongue across his lips, has him guiding the other's hips against the dresser for leverage. The hand cupping Hawks' cheek slides to support the back of his neck, headphones clatter to the dressing table top, as he tilts the other's head back to plunge into his mouth, deepening their kiss. He feels the soft rumble of the other's throat as a moan rises out of him. It’s with great reluctance that he pulls away from the other to catch a breath. 

"Endeavor," he pants out. "Holy shit."

"Enji," he breathes back. "Call me Enji."

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 Close-up shot: A shot that tightly frames a person or object.

 

Dabi's rage is extinguished all at once by the shock of the scene unfolding before him.

From the camera lens in Hawks' visor, the affection on Endeavor's face seems so unfamiliar, its uncanny. He sees Hawks' urgent hands rush into view, holding on to that rugged face and pulling it in. The familiar sound of Hawks' moan is quiet through the speakers, yet, it reverberates in his ears like a blare. 

The moment he'd realized Hawks was about to spill a big secret, he'd been entirely ready to incinerate him for the betrayal - it's just as he'd been suspecting, but how dare he? This uncomfortable turn of events was a curve ball he did not see coming. Well, he should have, really. Hadn't he been the one teasing Hawks for his friendliness with Endeavor, egging him to use their closeness to the League's advantage? 

((As the buzzing in his ears quieten down, he's faintly aware of the conversation crackling through the speakers:

"Hawks, let's set things straight."

"Huh?"

"What exactly do you want from...this?"))

This tactic of initiating some kind of intimate relationship could open a whole lot of possibilities: blackmail, access to his house... Hawks is smart – a little too smart. And even if this seduction is only a performance to benefit the league, it’s a little too convincing, too sincere, to put Dabi at ease. The question remains: was this outcome really Hawks' intent? 

((The camera angle tilts up to the ceiling as Hawks moves the visor up his head. Soft blonde tufts of hair peak at the edge of the screen. Dabi can almost feel them singe between his fingertips.

"Hawks...we have a lot to figure out."

"I know that."

"So let's think this through."

"Please, no, I don't want to think."

"What do you want, then?"

"I just want you."))

Dabi's mind is still a stuck in a maelstrom of speculation as the visor clatters to the dressing table behind Hawks. He steps forward, determined. In the mirror's reflection, Dabi sees his (partner?) companion pull the other man down again, meeting his lips with heightened fervour. Endeavor’s arms encircle his waist, leaning over him, engulfing the younger man in his shadow as he kisses him deeper. Looking past the wide span of his wings, his lean frame looks so small in the other man's hold. 

A twinge of something dark plucks at Dabi's chest.

"Do you... how far do you want to go?" Endeavor's baritone voice is warm.

"Let's see." 

Hawks snakes a hand between them and he hears a surprised grunt. 

"This feels like... a lot." Hawks' laughs nervously. Dabi hears the rustle of cloth. "Oh, wow."

((Is this really happening?))

Dabi can only imagine what Hawks is doing as low grunts come through. Hawks presses closer, closer. Endeavor's fingers come up to the fluff of his jacket collar.

"Could you take this off?"


Hawks takes a step back and does as he's asked, stripping the jacket and shirt of his hero uniform off, baring his torso. He sheds his wings into a neat pile by the side of the room while he's at it, until they’re down to a manageably small size. He takes hefty hands in his own and guides them to the waist of his pants.

"Strip me."

He's backed up against the dressing table. The larger man kneels in front of him to make quick work of his belt and zipper. Despite his eagerness, Hawks feels a hot blush creeping up his neck. His senses are overwhelmed at the sight of his object of affection down on his knees, at the friction of rough fabric and fingertips moving down his hips, his thighs, his shins, as he pulls his pants and underwear down to the ankle. He tries not to stumble as he steps out of them.

He shivers slightly at being laid bare. The cold dissipates from his skin as he feels the heat of Endeavor's gaze (Enji, he corrects himself, but he’s still a stranger to this intimacy) trailing up his legs, resting on his pelvis. Firm hands retrace the path of his eyes, carefully smoothing over delicate ankles, the light hairs on his shins, to take hold of his hips. A tremor of self-consciousness settles in the pit of his stomach.

What does he see when he looks at me?

Enji leans in. Hawks doesn't realize he's holding in a lungful of air until questioning eyes look up at him and pierce through his chest.

"Can I?"

"O-of course!" Hawks sputters. "But have you done this before...?"

Enji just looks down again and exhales. The tension in his shoulders leave as he appears to make himself relax. 

"I'm guessing no?"

Hawks can't help but release the soft yelp of surprise as fingers carefully encircle his shaft. A wet mouth envelops his head as rough lips press tight against its rim, sealing the head of his cock in warmth. His thighs threaten to jerk when he feels a rough tongue laving over the tip.

"Mmh--" Hawks presses his lips together as he smooths a hand into the shock of red hair in front of him. Fingertips move against Enji's scalp. Then, he urges him further.

His lips move forward to take more of Hawks' dick into the inviting heat of his mouth. Heavy lids fall over amber eyes as he surrenders to the warmth. Slender fingers tighten at the roots of Enji's hair as that relentless tongue swirls up his shaft. Those lips come an inch short of the base before Hawks' tip hits something soft at the back of his partner's throat. Suddenly, the heat around his dick retreats, and he lets go of Enji's hair, startled as he coughs lightly.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." A wave of a large hand dismisses the concern.

"Don't force yourself."

"I'm not." He replies gruffly. Hawks reaches for him.

"Come on, get up, let's--"

Hands close over his own, and guide them down to rest on the wooden dresser top behind him. Hawks braces himself against it as his hip is grabbed again, holding him still. He stiffens, pulse quickening.

Enji's mouth is on him once more, moving a modest distance up his shaft before slowly coming back down. His tongue is hot and heavy in its now slower, firmer movement. The drag has his eyelids fluttering again. When calloused fingertips close over the lower half of his shaft, Hawks' incisors clamp down on his trembling bottom lip. In his gut, a vague sense of dread builds at the approaching possibility of unraveling the taut nerve of his body right in front of his hero.

As Enji's thick fingers tighten and twist, 

((Dabi can see Hawks' back in the mirror of the dresser. Tense arms begin to tremble from the effort of supporting himself.))

that thick tongue drags deliciously over the sensitive slit of his head. Hawks' mouth parts in a high moan.

((Muffled, as the microphone is tacked to his jacket, strewn on the floor. It sounds just the same as the dozens of times they'd done this before. He hasn't recovered from the realization that he doesn't hold the privilege of being the sole audience to Hawks' undoing.))

"Stop, please, I'll--" 

Another cry as the other hollows his cheeks and sucks him tight. A small gush of precum spurts onto his tongue. Hawks' cheeks flush further in embarrassment. A hand creeps up his stomach and strokes up his abdominals. The lean muscle beneath it quivers as his eyes fill with moisture. When calloused fingertips rub over his nipple, his back arches up into the touch. His hand flies to the red head of hair, tugs desperately as he works to finish him off.

He meets Enji's gaze as he takes his cock in deeper than before. His mortification builds up to the brim of his heart – he can't bear to be seen like this, not by him. The hand in Enji's hair slides down over his forehead to cover his eyes. He can't hear Enji's grunt of surprise over the crescendo of his own moans. With a wanton cry, Hawks comes. 

His knees would've given out had Enji not kept a firm grasp on his hip as pumps of cum fill his mouth. Time slows and ebbs as he’s drained of his pleasure.

Eventually, Hawks slumps against the dressing table with a spent sigh.


He spits into layers of tissue and tosses it into the bin. When he turns back around, Hawks is still leaning heavily against the dresser, eyes shut. 

Why did he stop me from looking at him?

He has so many questions, but no time to argue. This moved way faster than he'd anticipated - though, what else did he expect when he surrendered to Hawks' pace?

There was no deliberation, 

You, of all people, should know how bad this looks from the outside

no negotiation,

We have to keep this a secret

no disclaimers,

You don't know what I've done in the past to get what I want

no promises.

Why am I thinking of endings right at the beginning? How long will this last?

As he approaches him, slowly, he can't help but admire the way the dim glow of the lamp caresses the soft curve of his thighs. The lights shift gently over the planes of his torso with each rise and fall of his chest. He never thought he'd look so good, so organically debauched, with feathers ruffled, small right wing asymmetrically askew from the left. His gaze gravitates to that soft mouth, lips he wants to kiss raw. When feather lashes flutter open, amber eyes pierce into his heart like an arrow. His critical astuteness, his broiling doubt, his indelible sense of self-preservation, all fall to enraptured silence, usurped by a singular concern:

"Hawks..." 

The younger man swallows and pushes himself off the dresser to his unsteady feet. 

"You got any lube?" 

The question leaves him dumbfounded. Hawks infers from his reaction that the answer is negative. He pulls the dresser drawer open and sifts through the combs and tweezers and clippers he finds there. He shuts it, opens the other, and repeats the process before finally grabbing hold of a bottle of moisturizer. "This'll do."

"For what?" Enji finds his voice again.

"Fuck my thighs." He breathes, bringing a handful of lotion between his legs. Lithe fingers spread swirls of white across his soft skin. The immodest sight almost has him staggering.

“Just returning the favour,” he keeps his eyes down, focused. “I don't like being indebted to others.”

“I didn't give you anything.” The blond laughs softly.

“Then do it because I want it.”

Once done, Hawks turns to face the mirror, reduced wings fluttering in the rapidity of that spin. His hands brace against the dresser top and he lowers his head and his voice:

"Enji, please."

He almost regrets putting his name into Hawks' hand, because it pulls him in like a leash. 

As he moves behind him,

((In the reflection, Dabi sees Hawks' body overshadowed by Endeavor's – the bulk of his body fills the full frame of the mirror. He's always been so intimidatingly big.))

Hawks' legs close shut, gluts rising tight against skin.

He frees his hefty cock from his pants and furtively brings it against smooth skin he's afraid of searing. Hawks tenses in anticipation.

((But Hawks is not intimidated. He looks...determined, hungry.))

The supple meat of his inner thigh squeezes and parts as Enji's dick slides into the crevice. Hawks bristles as he feels it brush against the underside of his own member. Lotion-slicked flesh closes tighter around the daunting girth, thick and pulsing. 

Peaking up over Hawks' bowed head, in the mirror, Enji catches sight of his tip peeking out between Hawks' taut thighs. He sees his own hands frame them as they take hold of him there. The sheer size of his thick fingers closed over those slender hips looks criminal, more so than he already feels.

"Enji...?" Hawks raises his head.

He begins sliding back, and pumps his hips forward in answer.

“Mmph!”

With that, he begins to move, experimentally at first; then, with escalating urgency. Hawks' lips seal themselves tight as moans move up his throat, punched out of him by each thrust of that thick girth sliding wet against his sensitive thighs. 

Hawks feels hands take hold of his own and guide them to push against the sides of his legs, holding them closed.

"Keep yourself tight." The command breathes hot against his ear as fingers glide up his stomach, his chest. He finds it hard to obey the order: rough hands greedily feel all they can from sweat-slicked pelvis up to pink-flushed collarbone, draining the strength from his arms, his thighs, his every muscle surrendering to Enji's possessive touch. 

((Obscene. Violent. Frustration builds in Dabi's chest as he looks at Hawks' desperate expression in the mirror. He tries to recall the last time he's seen him so euphoric - agonizingly, it's human nature to compare. His memory comes short, though. He realizes with a start that, with his companion's constant refusal to face him, to look at him directly whenever they fuck, this is the first time he's granted such an unobstructed view to Hawks' uncontrolled pleasure. Gold irises glisten as tears fill his eyes, as cheeks blush red and tongue lolls out - all while brutal hands grope his pliant flesh.

I can't watch anymore.

Yet, he does.))

Hawks' moans climb dangerously close to a discover-able volume. None of the kids are in tonight--

Oh God, kid. Isn't he the same age…?

--but the two housekeepers residing considerably further down the wing may hear, if Hawks manages to be loud enough. And he is one to exceed expectations.

This concern soon comes to be realized as his ministrations reduces Hawks to quivering nerves. When he finally takes hold of his cock, Hawks sobs – loudly. His hand shoots up and clamps heavy over the blond's mouth. He strokes his dick and continues thrusting between trembling, rubbed-raw thighs. Throaty groans vibrate against his hand, urging the swell of his dick between pliant flesh. 

He's startled when he feels tears gush over the top of his hand.

Shit. He lets go, pulls back, gives Hawks room to breathe.

Without support, Hawks lurches forward against the mirror, just managing to catch himself before he bumps his head hard. He pants heavy against the glass, shoulders trembling. The larger man stares awkwardly, mouth moving in an unfamiliar attempt at an apology. But words fail him as Hawks glances back.

“Wh-what's wrong? Why'd you stop?”

The hands by his side subconsciously fidget. He smears the tears over his fingertips, as if confirming their existence.

((Dabi is tense in his seat.))

“You’re crying.”

((He can't move, he wants to scream.))

Hawks hums, brings a palm up to his face to swipe at the tears there. Eyeliner smudges slightly under his eyes.

"It's good." A small streak of black is visible in his open palm as he stretches a hand back, grasping for Enji. "Come, hold me again."

Muscular arms encircle him, tentatively. Chaffed lips graze against the nape of his neck. Hawks shudders at the touch. He pulls a big hand up to his throat.

"I'm not so fragile - look."

Enji stills as Hawks carefully positions his thick digits over the pulse of his carotid arteries on either side of his neck. Beneath his fingertips, he feels the rapid beat of Hawks' blood pumping.

Hawks' moves a hand to his burly wrist. 

"I'll tap thrice if I want you to stop." He demonstrates with successive pats.

"Now, squeeze."

He does, and feels Hawks' pulse flutter beneath the delicate skin of his neck. The shorter man cranes his head back to expose more of his throat, leaning his head back against Enji's broad chest. It takes all his self-control to stop himself from burying his face into that mess of soft blond hair.  

His free hand moves down to stroke Hawks' dick again, and he hears a pleased sigh in response. Carefully, he increases the pressure on his neck as he strokes Hawks' cock to hardness. Gradually, lithe hips thrust up into his large fist as the oxygen leaves Hawks' brain. Amber eyes roll back as his head begins to swim. He whimpers pitifully as a thumb smears the precum over his head. His thrusts grow jerky, desperate.

((Dabi wants to shout, ugly and brutal. Stop, stop--))

Broad fingers tighten around his shaft and twist deliciously. Back arching, eyes screwed shut, Hawks comes. 

White splatters upon the dark wood as Enji pumps him dry.

Hawks barely registers the kiss on his sweaty temple before his hips are pulled back, and a swollen dick slides between his thighs once again. 

((Filthy and unfair.))

Enji’s grip is bruising, but he's never wanted someone so much; he chases it with graceless fervour. His partner-- 

Wait, wasn’t this guestroom hers? She’d lived here when she'd first arrived at this estate, before our matrimonial vows were spoken.

--doesn't resist, and so he takes.

Hawks’ shoulder blades shake with the strain of holding himself up. Small scarlet wings jerk with each thrust. Lewd groans fall to the table top.

She’d used this room, this dresser, the combs in these drawers...Do white strands of her hair still cling to their teeth?

He closes his eyes to the ghosts lingering in this space. Now’s not the time, and, right now, he doesn't have the means. There’s no timely way nor appropriate method for an exorcism, is there? At least, none that will undo the damage, and no punishment will ever be just. 

((Dabi seethes. “You don't deserve this pleasure—"))

--not after what I've done.

Indulging in the comfort of Hawks’ affection and drinking in the sweetness of his ignorant devotion gives him the most definite sense that he’s piling wrong on wrong. Hawks is hiding something from him too, he knows, shielding him from something he doesn’t want him to see. But right now, in the obscure shadows of his own grotesque demons, he can’t envision the gravity of Hawks’ possible secrets, nor imagine if they will ever come close to matching the weight of his own misdeeds. 

All he can sense is the desire between them, made tangible in the aching hunger of the other's demands for harder, faster, hold me, please. All he feels is their bodies bumping, the burning friction of their frenzied desperation. Hawks' body is a temple, a private sanctuary letting him in when the people he's hurt most, wanted most, have shut him out.

Perhaps, seeking absolution at the altar of another body was a sin in itself.

"Please, Enji...Ah! Enji, Enji—!"

But he'll let the Gods damn his very name, if only to hear it fall like a curse from Hawks' lips.

A heavy groan rumbles from his chest, and he lets go.


When Dabi finally brings himself to close the camera feed, it’s with a hand dripping blood. It runs dark over his knuckles where surgical staples have sliced into his skin from the tension of clenching fists too tight.