A pair of blue eyes is all Tomura sees now, wherever he looks. There are other pairs of course, but the luminous blue is what jumps out at him from the shadows, what blends into them. There’s a hunger in those eyes, the way the light reflects off them as they look at him relentlessly, ceaselessly. Never has Tomura felt his presence more than before these blue eyes that dismantle him, take him apart, strip him down to the bare essentials…
And they’re deep, these blue eyes. Whenever Tomura looks at them to give an instruction- a person to capture, a building to burn with matching blue fire- they’re looking back at him almost ferally, lazily disassembling what he’s said right when he says it.
Dabi’s been with the League months now, and his blue eyes have been watching Tomura for months, taking in his every move like it’s the only thing they need to keep existing. If the eyes are the window to the soul, Dabi’s soul is darker than the darkest abyss and Tomura’s mesmerised. Darkness is what he’s drawn to, what he deals in This, though, is a different darkness, one that’s not so familiar to him as the darkness of death.
At first, it was just glances, from the shadows in the corners of rooms, across tables in meetings. Glances that seem to pass straight through his clothes and make their way down his body like a pair of hands, hot as fever.
Then came the stalking, and this was when Tomura realised that he wasn’t alone. He would never be alone again. Once, when he awoke in the middle of the night from one of his nightmares, a warm hand stroked his head till he was asleep again, Dabi’s eyes glinting in the faint light from outside the window and his smoky aura pervasive as ever. Another time, he was seated in the dark, against the opposite wall, his eyes trained on Tomura’s form as he looked up in a groggy daze. He didn’t say anything, just continued looking at him with a gaze as placid as it was fiery.
It was three months ago when Tomura walked in on Dabi in his room. It was late and Tomura had just returned from a meeting with a potential ally. He needed sleep and he needed to badly but when he saw Dabi all thoughts of sleep were replaced with thoughts of fear, of disgust, of… something else.
Dabi’s zipper was undone, baring his slick hard cock. He was touching himself and in his other hand was a shirt, clutched and held to his face. Tomura’s shirt.
“I’ll… let you finish, then,” he’d said, retreating to grab a drink for himself. His eyes found Dabi’s rose-tinged cheekbones and the way his eyes were screwed shut, inhaling whatever he found appealing from Tomura’s own shirt. And then he understood, truly, what these glances were about. A chill ran down his spine when the thought sank in- his subordinate, his right hand man, his knight Dabi- is obsessed with him.
He didn’t know how to feel about this, not at first. The sight of him on that bed, completely open and vulnerable, had caused a tightness in Tomura’s pants that he couldn’t pretend to ignore. Maybe he likes the attention. Maybe he likes the fact that there’s someone for whom he’s the default thought. Maybe it even turns him on, the thought of a supposedly stoic, well-composed, grim man like Dabi being sexually aroused by his mere belongings. That night he could not stop being aware that this was the place that Dabi had masturbated to the smell of his shirt and that made him wish the man would come back, give him another show like that. It was a blissful sleep, that one, with dreams of Dabi’s stapled-together mouth stretched around his cock, sucking on it like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
Since that incident, Tomura started to spend more time around the tall stapled man. He took it in his stride, leaving place for Tomura on the couch whenever he sat down, bringing him things from his trips outside- coffee, video games, and once, a hand from one of his victims.
He was normal around Tomura, though, his flat, monotonous voice not betraying his obsession like his eyes did, and they even began to live in a semi-acceptable form of a relationship. He did ask occasional questions though- “Did you like what I brought you? Was the hand good enough? Did you drink the coffee I bought?”- that seemed to be layered further than what they seemed at face value. All he wanted, or so he said, was to make sure Tomura was comfortable, to make sure he’s feeling good.
Tomura wasn’t sure why these statements were what he thought of as he got off that night.
And just as their relationship grew into something more than just master and loyal servant, Dabi’s errands grew into something… else. Reports of fire, of arson peppered the news channels and continue to pepper them, the numbers of casualties increasing with every attack. One time, when Dabi was giving Tomura a report, he asked him if he was doing enough, how Tomura felt about what he was doing.
“I’ll hurt anyone who messes with you, mophead,” he said in his monotone. Another time; “They’re all scum anyway. Not like us. They don’t deserve to live in the same world.”
Tomura couldn’t forget the chills he felt, though. The chills that creep their way down his spine every time Dabi says something, does something, looks at him with that gaze that’s hungry, almost predatory. With every passing day, Dabi seems like he’s inching further and further towards an unnamed breaking point and Tomura’s not sure he wants to find out what exactly it entails. His eyes are getting crazier, his attacks are getting larger and more high-profile, and it all seems to be geared towards something, some ulterior motive.
Tomura’s sock-clad feet are on the small coffee table in the living room of his shitty flat. It’s been a few months since the incident at Kamino and he’s grown used to the new place. His room isn’t as big as it was in the bar but it’s comfortable.
Dabi sits opposite him, idly sipping from a can of beer and observing him, like he often likes to do, as Tomura miserably fails at his game. Its his third attempt to get past this particular obstacle and that’s a particularly bad record for him. He should be ashamed of himself, he wants to throw the controller across the room, he wants to.
His hand finds its way to his neck, to scratch at it as is his habit and Dabi’s hand finds its way to his wrist just as fast.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he says quietly, his eyes studying Tomura’s knees below him as he leans over them.
“What’s it to you, huh, asshole?”
“Nothing,” Dabi says in the same soft tones. He appears to pause, to think something over, and when he looks up, his eyes are all fire. He places a hand on Tomura’s shoulder, drawing closer and Tomura goes rigid. Dabi smells like smoke and beer from the can he just drank. He always smells like smoke. Tomura’s never sure whether it’s the cigarettes or because the fire in his blood is so strong it manifests physically in more ways than his quirk.
In a whisper, Dabi says into Tomura’s ear, “Really shouldn’t scratch up your pretty neck like that.”
His eyes are close. Really close. It feels like Tomura’s drowning in their luminous blue, like everything else is dark and their fiery intensity is all he can see and feel and hear and taste.
Dabi’s lips, cracked, broken, burnt. They’re on his and they’re moving, trying to taste more of him, trying to pry his mouth open.
He draws back and takes a breath. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking about you a while now, mophead,” he says.
One of his hands is still holding Tomura’s wrist, pinning it to the arm of the couch as he hovers over him. The other is ghosting his face, cupping his cheek almost lovingly in complete contrast to the expression on his face. He hasn’t done something as intense as this in weeks, or at least not that Tomura knows of, and he was beginning to think that their relationship was something akin to normal. Well, this proves him wrong.
He smirks. “Is that so?” he asks of the man above him. “What about me?”
Dabi’s voice changes to something a little more confessional when he answers. “All the things I wanna do to you. How good I can- I will make you feel. How I’m going to tie you up and fuck you so damn hard. You’re so pretty.” It’s a litany, almost, the way he says it without any pauses, his smoky breath hot on Tomura’s cheek.
Tomura’s quivering, just a little. The way Dabi’s eyes gleam as they bore into his own isn’t lost on him, neither are the sounds made by his harsh breath as it stirs Tomura’s hair. He knows that he can escape easily but he doesn’t want to cause any harm to his most valuable asset. Also, he has a growing boner that’s making it very counterproductive for him to leave the situation.
He sighs. “Touch me,” he says, his voice soft.
Dabi’s breath hitches. He draws back a little and looks into Tomura’s face as if trying to read it. “Are you for real?” he asks once his voice returns. His eyes are wide and Tomura can’t tell if he’s imagining it but there’s a faint dusting of red on his tanned cheeks.
Tomura can barely nod before Dabi’s close to him again, his hand traveling down his body from his face rapidly. He grabs the hem of Tomura’s shirt and rips it off with such ferocity that Tomura’s surprised it’s still intact as it lands in a black puddle in the corner of the room. Dabi’s breathing is labored now, his hand feeling Tomura all over- his shoulders, his collar bones, his chest, his stomach and back to his lips. All the while he’s looking down at Tomura, an endless stream of words gushing out from his lips.
“Oh my god, you’re so pretty, look at ya, I didn’t think this would happen this damn soon, I can’t believe…” he takes a breath and swallows, his eyes widening. “I can’t believe you agreed, I thought I’d have to…”
Tomura widens his eyes. “You thought…?” he asks.
“Let’s not think about that now, yeah?”
Tomura swallows, letting his hands wander, his heartbeat picking up its pace as he tries not to think about what, exactly, Dabi is capable of doing.
His hand finds Tomura’s nipple and he rubs his thumb over it, the motion sending electric shocks through his body. Tomura throws his head back, gasping.
“Baby, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you have no idea, just leave it to me, I’ve got it all planned out, mophead… Just… you’re mine now, you’re fucking mine, that right?”
His eyes are searching, pleading, almost dreading. He needs an answer to his question and he needs the right one. And Tomura has no idea what he’s going to do if he doesn’t give it. But that’s secondary; what’s the most important is the sparks Dabi’s planting on his stomach whenever he trails his fingers featherlight across it, the sensation of fallinf and flying at the same time.
“Yes,” Tomura gasps as Dabi brings his mouth down on his neck, lips moving almost feverishly. He’s sucking at the skin, biting it, nipping at it with his teeth, swiping at it with his tongue.
“I gotta… I gotta mark you up, Mophead. I gotta…”
He withdraws suddenly, shaking his head as though he’s woken from a dream. Tomura’s erection isn’t getting any more comfortable and when he opens his mouth to protest at this sudden lack of contact, it comes out as a pitiful whine.
“Wait, my pretty love,” Dabi says solemnly. “I gotta do this properly. Y’know I’ve been thinkin’ about you forever, right? I… I gotta make you feel good. I’m gonna make you feel the damned best you’ve ever felt.”
Tomura whines again in protest, the pressure building up in his cock begging to be released. He bucks against the warm body above him. He needs some friction, any friction to get himself off, or-
Dabi climbs off the couch.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Tomura growls.
“I promise, this is gonna feel good. Don’t you trust me to take care of you, Tomura,” he asks, using his first name. “C’mon, follow me, we’re going to the bed, I’ve got so much I want to do to you.”
He holds a hand out to Tomura to help pull him up and then wraps an arm around his naked shoulder, guiding him to the bedroom.
It’s a tiny space, barely any room for anything other than his small bed and an even smaller cupboard. It’s grungy and dark, posters of his favourite videogames littering the walls, the dying evening light filtering through the grimy windowpane. He and Dabi have sat on this very bed, going through their phones for their various purposes, for hours together. Tomura wonders as he often does, how many of those times Dabi was actually thinking of pinning him down and fucking him right then and there.
“Lie down,” Dabi says softly and as Tomura does as he’s bid, he goes to retrieve something from the black sling bag he’s hung in the corner of the room. He returns with a pair of handcuffs, a piece of cloth and an oblong object that Tomura recognises as a vibrator.
Dabi’s standing over him, practically shaking with anticipation. “Babe, do you know… Do you know how much I’m controlling myself right now? How much I’ve been controlling myself all these months? But no, I’ve restrained myself because it never seemed like the right time and now it is. Oh my god, I’m gonna…”
He trails off and sighs. The blindfold is lowered onto his face and tied behind his head, and his hands are pinned behind his head, the handcuffs clicking around his wrists. Tomura huffs, his pants straining tightly. He feels Dabi’s fingers at his waistband, tugging his trousers down gently along with his boxers. His hands are warm and efficient, like they’ve deliberated on this precise motion way in advance, and when they brush his thighs he shivers.
“Patience, sweet,” Dabi whispers as he busies himself opening a bottle of what is probably lube. A few seconds later, there’s a dip in the matress, and Tomura’s breath catches as Dabi slides closer and closer to him. “Relax, babe,” he says. “This is gonna feel so good.”
A warm finger enters him, slowly moving back and forth, brushing lightly against his sides and making him whimper. He shudders when another is added, slowly moving in and out of him and then scissoring, stretching him out for the toy that’s to come. Everytime Dabi’s fingers hit his sweet spot, he tries and fails to suppress a soft moan.
“Wow, how pretty you sound Tomura,” Dabi says, his voice a rumble. His breath begins to pick up as he says, “Have you ever let anyone else see you like this? All gasping and blushing and pretty?”
Tomura doesn’t say anything, as Dabi’s finger brushes his prostrate, cutting off any possible words.
“Hmm, babe? Has anyone ever fucked you like I’m about to? I need to know, Tomura.”
There’s a note of desperation in that last sentence, and Dabi withdraws his fingers from Tomura’s hole, the lube squelching with the motion. Tomura lets out a whimper.
“One,” Tomura manages, trying to rut up but discovering nothing but cool air. “There was one, I’ve never seen him since.”
“Oh?” Displeasure. There’s a low buzzing noise, and the vibrator is pushed inside him, just below his sensitive spot. Tomura begins to pant now, the device making his dick harder than ever, precum beginning to leak from its tip.
“Please… please just fuck me,” Tomura gasps in one breath.
“Begging so soon?” Dabi asks. “Babe… you’re gonna make me pin you down and fuck you hard right now, the way you’re talking. We can’t have that, can we?”
There’s a pause, an uncomfortable one.
“Now,” he continues, taking a deep breath. “About this other one. Who is he?”
“N… nobody,” Tomura grinds out. He’s straining against his bonds almost against his will, his desperation hiking with every second the vibrator’s inside him. One brush of a finger is going to be enough to make him come at this rate. “Wh-why?”
There’s the sound of flame and of Dabi blowing out smoke. “No reason,” he says, his voice a shade less mellow. And then, “I wanna hunt this man down, y’know? Only I should get to touch you like this. It’s only fair.”
Tomura widens his eyes under the blindfold.
“I think…” Dabi trails off, musing. “I think I’m going to burn my name into your skin,” he says, his tone frank.
Tomura stops. He’s trembling all over, the conversational tone Dabi’s holding sending chills down his spine. He has no choice but to lie here and take it, take whatever Dabi has to offer.
“Dabi, I… What…”
This is all he’s capable of, incoherent half-sentences. This is what he’s reduced to. Dabi’s going to burn his fucking name into his skin, and he can’t fucking stop him.
“It’s going to feel good,” Dabi says, his voice calm. “I’d never hurt you, you know that… I only want what’s best for you.”
The dip in the mattress approaches, Dabi now hovering over him. There’s a warm finger on his chest, quickly tracing out letters. ‘Dabi’s’ , they spell. Dabi’s property. Tomura shivers.
“You really…” he begins when Dabi stops.
“Maybe another day,” he decides and presses his thumb to the bottom of Tomura’s ribcage.
It burns, the skin sizzling, smelling like charred, disgusting flesh. Smelling like Dabi.
Tomura draws in a sharp breath and hisses audibly. “Fuck,” he moans. “What the fuck was that for?”
His heart is hammering in his chest, threatening to jump out. Dabi was right. It feels good.
“It’s like a hickey,” Dabi says, his breath ghosting Tomura’s neck. “But it’s permanent. Wouldn’t you like that? It won’t fade, now you’ll never forget me and how good I made you feel. Isn’t that nice, kitten?”
Tomura feels his cock throb at the word. “Mark me,” he gasps. “More. Mark me. I wanna be yours, I… I want your marks, just-”
There’s a sharp intake of breath.
Then, with a rustle of cloth hitting the floor, Dabi’s onto him, his bony knees in between Tomura’s, his elbows on either side of Tomura’s head as he kisses his lips swiftly, moving down to his neck, his chest, his stomach. All the while, he’s muttering about how he’s wanted this for so long and now he finally has it and he’s never going to let Tomura go.
In the back of his mind, Tomura knows he should be concerned about this, about the sudden possessiveness his subordinate is exhibiting but right now, all that matters is that he needs release, he needs the pressure in his throbbing dick to ease.
Dabi’s licking him, sucking hickeys into his skin, even biting him hard enough to draw blood, everywhere but where he needs it. His pale skin is going to be tarnished tomorrow, with the marks Dabi’s giving him. The mere thought of this, of everyone seeing what’s happened to him, makes him moan wantonly into the cool evening air.
When Dabi reaches the tops of his thighs, he stops and Tomura whines in protest, beyond the point of caring how desperate he sounds. Dabi picks up his cigarette and relights it, the heat warming Tomura’s cock and making him ache for release. Dabi blows smoke across his stomach lightly, making him shudder, and without warning he plunges the lit end of his cigarette into the insides of Tomura’s soft thighs again and again. Tomura can hear him breathing heavily, at this point he’s nearly as far gone as Tomura himself.
“This way they’ll know,” he keeps saying in between pants. “If any asshole tries some shit like that again… they’ll all know that you’re mine and mine alone. You… wow, you look so beautiful, all marked up like this, you-”
He withdraws, and the pants turn into low grunts and moans and Tomura needs the blindfold to be off so he can see him, so he can watch him as he completely loses himself in his orgasm, how he looks when he’s touching himself to the sight of Tomura spread out before him.
But that sight is denied to him, so Tomura relies on sound alone, the way the entire bed seems to shake with the intense bass of Dabi’s groans.
“T…Tomura,” he gasps as he gets himself off.
Tomura whimpers, feeling his boner now more than ever. “Please…” he breathes. “Please just let me… let me come.”
“You’re so pretty when you beg, my love,” Dabi says, his voice shaky.
And then there’s a mouth around Tomura’s dick, tongue flattening itself against his length, the piercing causing the friction he’s needed for so much time now. Tomura moans and thrashes, involuntarily trying to buck into Dabi’s mouth but the other man holds him down with a chuckle. He’s stronger than he looks.
“I…. I’m gonna come, Dabi,” Tomura moans as he spills over into Dabi’s mouth. He feels the man shudder against his legs as he takes all of it into his mouth. Tomura moans one last time and falls limply against the bed, the afterglow rushing to claim him. He doesn’t care about anything, he doesn’t care about how Dabi just went fucking batshit on him today after so many months of an almost-normal relationship. That’s a bridge he’ll cross when he comes to it.
Gentle hands descend on him, untying his blindfold and releasing his restraints. Dabi’s looking at him with an expression almost loving, and that scares Tomura as much as it intrigues him, as much as it attracts him.
“Was that good, babe?” Dabi asks, stroking his hair. “Look at all the marks you’ve got now.” He kisses Tomura’s forehead. “Now you’re actually mine. You can mark me too, if you like, I’d be yours forever either way.”
“Thanks,” Tomura mutters, because this is a kindness in Dabi's own way, however strange. The marking, the possessiveness, all of it- it's how he shows love. Tomura looks down at his body and his breath catches. Bruises, bites, burns, hickeys of various colours from red to dark, ugly purple litter his torso. There’s not a single space left untouched, not a single expanse of pale white skin that isn’t red or blue or purple.
“You look beautiful,” Dabi says.