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Absolute Threshold

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There’s something chilling about listening to Hawks pace, to hear the light taps of his bare feet hitting the floor as he circles you while you’re unable to see him, but it’s frightening in an exhilarating kind of way.

This isn’t the first time you’ve worn a blindfold during sex, but it’s not something Hawks regularly indulges in, because he prefers to maintain that intense eye contact – so intense that you can’t look away. You’re not sure why; perhaps it’s to do with the intimacy of it, or how the eyes hide nothing unless you’ve thoroughly trained yourself to control your emotions…or he’s memorising your face before he has to leave again, burning the image of your pleasure-drunk expression onto his brain.

“How does it feel getting a taste of your own medicine, hm?” he says – he sounds like he’s right behind you, probably assessing his handiwork, checking the very ropes you’d used to bind his arms now keeping your wrists together.

You attempt to sound unfazed. “You’ve tied me up before. This is nothing compared to other things you’ve done.”

His answering chuckle makes you realise that perhaps criticising his vanilla methods is not a good idea. Especially not right now, while you’re still buzzing from the aftermath of two incredible orgasms.

“I don’t think you understand just how much you’re letting slip by trying to sound all tough,” Hawks says, testing the knot of the scarf at the back of your head. He lowers his voice to say, “Let me know if it hurts, okay?”

You nod, and with your affirmation, his tone switches from concerned to arrogant. “It’s cute, you know?” He’s on the move again, and you try desperately to determine where he’s going. “Seeing you try to talk big, but you’re just giving me so many juicy secrets.”

You scoff, trying to seem indifferent, though your heartrate has spiked – your words blurted out in the heat of the moment are fuzzy. What exactly did you let slip that’s gotten him so excited?

Hawks hums thoughtfully at your response; your saving grace is that your eyes are hidden from him, so he’s unable to gauge your emotions. Although he can probably gather more than enough from your body language, being as perceptive as he is and you so terrible at hiding your reactions.

And with those sensitive wings of his…

Even just the slight increase of your pulse, or the quickening thrum of your heartbeat, a shiver of fear or excitement, even a single breath that sounds just that little bit sharper than the rest…Hawks catches it. Always.  

“You’ve gotten a little big for your britches,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, babe, I like this side of you. But I think just one occasion where you got me to beg isn’t something to praise yourself for.”

“Two occasions, actually,” you blurt.

A long silence follows, then Hawks laughs, and it sounds dangerous. “Oh, excuse me, you’re absolutely right. Thank you for reminding me…”  

You’re suddenly aware of the proximity of his body behind you, the heat pouring from him, and you get the sense that you may have just shot yourself in the foot.

“See what trying to act tough does?”

You stifle a squeak when he murmurs directly into your ear.

“All that cockiness gives you loose lips, baby,” he adds in a purr, his stubble ticking the shell of your ear. “It’s a good thing I didn’t gag you, isn’t it?”

You suck in a sharp breath when his chest presses against your upper back, and his cheek brushes yours. The touch isn’t sensual by any means, but for some reason it’s thrilling, succeeding in stirring every single nerve and cell in your body, making your skin tingle and your nipples harden. 

“You probably know how this works, already,” Hawks says. “You deprive one sense, and the others are heightened. It’s a survival thing.”

You twitch when he traces a finger along the edge of the scarf, skimming your burning forehead. “If you take away sight, your sense of hearing increases…”

He clicks his fingers beside your ear and you jolt, failing to hold back a yelp of surprise at how loud the sound is and he chuckles.

“That was mean,” you mutter.

“Just trying to prove a point.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, anymore, deciding to mimic Hawks and play stubborn, keeping your lips tightly closed. You’ll give him no more of your words, not even a noise; not a squeak, nor a gasp, nor a moan–

“So…squirted just from the sound of my voice, did you?”

The back of your neck prickles. “Um…”

“I knew you liked it when I got vocal, but damn…I really don’t have to try? I guess the filthy words and praises are just a bonus, huh?” 

Sweat trickles down the sides of your face. “I s-said that just to get a rise out of you!”

Hawks hums. “Liar.” His wings ruffle gently, a soft rustle that in any other instance would indicate his excitement, but right now, it sounds taunting. “I can tell when you’re hiding something from me, you know?”

If your hands weren’t tied, you’d smack yourself. Of course you shouldn’t have told him about that incident! You should really start listening to that little voice that warns you against stupid decisions.

“See, now I want to know what interview you used to get off,” he says conversationally. “I’m not the most humble Hero in front of the camera, you know this. So maybe you just like the cocky type? Obviously, otherwise you still wouldn’t be sleeping with me…”

His tongue draws a slow, warm, wet line up your neck. “I could go on and on about how easily I can make you fall apart. I could spend hours reminding you how I can make you cum with my fingers…how you get extra noisy when I use my tongue on your clit…or how you practically melt in my hands when I find that lovely sweet spot of yours…”

To illustrate his point, his fingers brush against the delicate, sensitive spot on your body that rivals Hawks’ own; those muscles on his back where his wings meet his skin that you thoroughly abuse at every opportunity in the hopes that it will reduce him to a blubbering, wailing mess.

Your body still feels incredibly tender. The post-climax tingling between your legs blooms into a nagging, pulsing ache that you’d thought had been sated for the night. Despite the cooling wetness still slicking your folds, the copious amounts of Hawks’ cum mixing with your own juices, a fresh, obvious trickle of arousal escapes when your inner walls clench. 

“Do you just like it when I stroke my own ego?” Hawks pauses to nibble your earlobe and refuses to release it until a meek whine slips from your lips. “Or…is it the dominance that you like? How I take control of the interview, leaving the reporter struggling for questions, outsmarting them when they try to trip me up? Help me out here, babe…”

He laughs softly when you deny him an answer. 

“Could I just breathe in your ear and make you cum? That’d be hilarious.” 

Your entire body burns with humiliation. “I’m never telling you anything ever again!”

“What a shame. I guess I’ll have to force the answers out of you.”

Hawks pulls away and stands, and your back feels uncomfortably cold with the absence of his body heat.

“Other senses are heightened, too, if you take sight away,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder as he circles your kneeling form, coming to a halt in front of you. “Like touch. Apparently it’s to help avoid running into walls or falling out of windows. It’s all based on temperature, or something.”

His hand wanders, trailing up the column of your throat to cup your jaw and tilt your head back. “Do you know what absolute threshold is?”

“N-no,” you reply warily.

“Here’s a little psychophysics lesson for you. It’s the lowest level of stimulus an average human can detect. Bearing in mind, some people are more sensitive than others…”

He crouches to deliver a quick, chaste kiss to your forehead before he releases you completely, putting distance between you so you can no longer detect his presence; not the heat of his body, the sound of his rustling wings…

You swallow. “Can I ask? Why are you telling me this?” And why does he know this? Is this kind of thing taught to aspiring Heroes for combat purposes? Or could it be because of the nature of his Quirk…?

With feathers that can sense even the smallest twitch or minute vibration, he must be continuously threatened with sensory overload. The thought makes you feel a little bad for him…

“Because,” he says, his distant voice disturbing you from your thoughts, “I seem to recall you saying how much you loved how rough I get with you.”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, a fresh spike of anticipation pumping through your veins.

Hawks snickers. “See? So many secrets, baby. Did you know the threshold for touch is an insect wing falling on someone’s cheek? Allegedly. That’s pretty weak, wouldn’t you say?”

The softest, lightest touch presses against the dip at the base of your throat, then slowly glides upwards, and you twitch at the tingling sensation. The strange object pauses beneath your chin…

A feather…?

When Hawks speaks again, he sounds purely wicked. “I’m going to see how long it’ll take for you to beg me to fuck you raw.”

The feather descends, drawing a light line all the way down to your chest with a barely-there pressure, stopping right between your breasts.

“Remember the safe word, babe?” Hawks asks – he sounds like he’s on the other side of the room. “Tell me now if you want to stop…”

A smile tugs the corners of your lips, a whirlwind of excitement and lust and a small tinge of wonderful suspense awakening in your belly. “I’m kind of curious to see how you’re planning to punish me with a feather.”

Hawks snorts. “Believe me, baby, you’ll regret saying that.”

He’s used his feathers on you before tonight, his favourite weapon of choice to tease your most ticklish and sensitive spots. But up until now, their intended use was primarily to irritate you, to play with you whenever Hawks couldn’t be bothered to get up or cross the room to where you were standing or sitting. You’ve often found his bizarre desire to maintain some form of contact without having to move not so annoying as it is endearing, because you learned very early on that, should he wish it, he can feel everything his feathers do.    

The feather strokes down your abdomen, pausing to teasingly circle your belly button, eliciting a shiver, before dragging over your navel, down…down…

You jolt when the soft tip touches your clit. That…felt very different to the usual sensation of the delicate bristles against your neck, or your cheek, or your back… “U-um…Hawks?”

The feather stills between your legs. “Um, baby?”

Sweat peppers your forehead, and you flex your fingers, testing your bindings. That one simple whisper of touch felt so weird; not painful, and not exactly ticklish, either, but you definitely felt it, stirring the smallest hint of pleasure…

“Not giving in already, are you?” Hawks taunts when you remain silent. “That barely touched you.”

You square your shoulders. “Of course not.”

“Ah, good.” The feather strokes against your swollen nub again and you choke on a gasp, hips jerking away from the strange, gentle touch. But the feather follows you, maintaining contact, slowly circling the ripe bud.

It’s so light, but you can still definitely feel the softness of the thin, tiny barbs. The touch teases every single nerve in your clit in an incredibly cruel way that tantalises pleasure rather than actually giving it.

You writhe, tugging against the ropes around your wrists to no avail, twisting on your knees, trying to shake off the insistent feather. But, of course, it’s useless when Hawks has complete control over the damn thing. It twirls and circles and strokes, sometimes dipping down to your dripping folds to lightly drag against the fragile flesh, each movement lazy and unhurried. Your arousal coats the feather, clinging to the bristles and making them stick together so there’s little bit more weight to it. When it returns to your clit, there’s more pressure, enough to stimulate your clit slightly better than before…but not by much.

If the feather moved just a little bit faster, then the sensations wouldn’t feel so maddening! You squeeze your thighs together to get a little bit more friction…

Hawks tuts. “Oh, no you don’t…”

His footsteps quickly cross the room and you tense when you detect his body heat as he kneels before you. His fingers slip between your thighs and he easily pushes them back open.

“That’s not how this works, babe,” he murmurs, his breath washing over your flushed, sweating face. “I wasn’t going to touch you at all, but if you’re going to misbehave…” 

The slick-coated feather disappears and you groan with relief. “Ah, look at all that,” Hawks muses. “I wonder…is that all from earlier, or is it fresh?”

You stubbornly clamp your lips together, but when a dry feather replaces its predecessor to torture you with that same, infuriatingly soft touch, you can’t hold back a whine. Your cunt clenches around nothing, and you strain against Hawks’ hold, trying to close your thighs, trying to pull away. But he effortlessly keeps your legs spread, and he controls the feather so it never leaves your poor, throbbing clit.  

 “You know what other sense is heightened if you take away sight?” he says, voice deep and thick with desire. “Taste.”

You flinch when the soaked feather strokes your cheek and glides towards your mouth, smearing your skin with your own wetness.

“Clean it up for me, would you?” he coos. “It feels all sticky…

You rear your head back, cheeks heating with embarrassment.

Hawks laughs, and the sound makes you shiver. “If you do that, then I might forgive you for being so mean to me earlier, and I’ll show a little mercy.”

The feather between your legs slows down, drawing circles against your nub so lightly that you want to scream. But no matter how turned on you are, you are not going to clean one of his feathers with your mouth…

“Come on, baby,” Hawks presses, his voice getting close and closer. “Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

When he teases you with the ghost of a kiss, you surge forwards, trying to capture his lips with yours, but he pulls back, and the wet feather strokes across your bottom lip, a request..

With a broken whine of defeat, you tentatively slip your tongue out to touch the feather, and it eagerly follows as you draw it into your mouth. You obediently suck it clean of your combined arousal, the heat in your cheeks travelling down to your neck when Hawks moans his approval. The feather’s texture feels so strange on your tongue, and the taste

There have been plenty of occasions where you’ve tasted your own juices, either through kisses with Hawks after he’s had his fill of your pussy, or sucking it from his slender fingers. As you continue to clean the feather, you notice that the taste is different…or you’re more sensitive to it. It’s tough to decide whether it’s more pleasant, or if it’s just a bit sharper.    

But you’re not so focused on the taste as you are the feather itself; the way it drags along your tongue so slowly and gently, how the barbs – now clinging together from your saliva – tickle your lips as it slips passed them.

“That’s a good girl,” Hawks praises when you’re done, and he withdraws it from your mouth.

You gasp when the feather between your legs speeds up, but it’s still too soft, too gentle. Your cunt spasms and you twitch when a weak jolt of pleasure zaps up your spine. Your head lolls forwards, landing on Hawks’ shoulder.

Please, Hawks,” you rasp without thinking.   

He hums in mock sympathy. “Now, where’s all that bravado you had? What happened to not so cocky now, Keigo? Or I don’t think you should be allowed to cum? Where’d all that arrogance go?”

You try to recall those moments when Hawks easily snatched control from you despite being the one on his knees, arms bound, taunting you with promises of how he’d please you if you’d only ordered him to.

But it’s incredibly difficult to think clearly through the pleasure. How has this slow but relentless assault managed to work you up so much? The touch is barely there, the movements so slow that it shouldn’t be this hard to recover from them – it’s be a completely different story if it was fast and brutal, barely giving you any time to think.

And yet this gradual build up is torturous, feeding that familiar ache, that pressure of release while simultaneously giving you nothing even remotely satisfying at all.

Hawks’ stubble gently scratches against your ear when he speaks. “I know you can play tough, but honestly, baby? I think you’re much better suited to the pretty little submissive.”

He releases your thighs and gently lifts your head from his shoulder. Excitement sings through your bloodstream when he shifts, but the high quickly diminishes when you realise that he’s getting to his feet. He’s going to abandon you to the feather, again…

Just one small act of obedience won’t be enough to appease him. Under the usual circumstances, it never did, so why would it work after teasing him and continuously denying him?

Hawks clearly takes notice of your despair. “I said I’d show a little mercy. Now…didn’t you say you were going to suck me off?”

The head of his cock traces the same path the feather did, coating your damp cheek with his pre-cum.

“If you do a good job,” he purrs, “maybe then I’ll let you cum.”

When his leaking tip grazes your lips, you eagerly open up to him, taking his hot, rigid cock into your mouth. As with the feather, you’re hyper aware of the texture; the softness of his skin, the veins bulging along his length, the ridges of his cock head and the small dip where the slit is. You’re already very familiar with the shape and feel of him after many nights of touching it, tasting it, feeling it ramming into you…but this seems so much more intense.

A growl of approval rumbles from his chest when you curiously drag your tongue along his length, making sure to feel every little detail and savour the taste of him, relaxing your throat so you can take him down to the base, then humming softly as you draw back while sucking hard.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he breathes. “I gotta say, you were right…I really do love that beautiful mouth of yours.”

Determined as you are to get a little revenge – just like he’d done to you, devouring your cunt with the wicked intent to reduce you to a wailing mess, just so you would surrender and let him have his way with you – since you’re blindfolded and bound, you’re a little clumsy. You try to co-ordinate your movements, to maintain a continuous, harsh, sucking rhythm, but without the additional support of your hands to grip the base of his cock, or even to hold his hips, you’re fumbling a bit.

Hawks’ own hands cup your cheeks, but he doesn’t guide you and instead languidly thrusts into your mouth at his own pace, content to let you do all the work.

“You can be so good to me, baby,” he croons. “You know how to suck cock, don’t you?”

In a brief – and probably unwise – moment of spite, you pull back and lavish his slit with quick, harsh flicks of your tongue, and his answering growl goes straight to the heat between your legs.  

Fuck, I love it when y-you do that…when you lick the tip just like that…” His grip on your head tightens enough for him to force you to take his entire length again. “But I’ve h-had my fair share of teasing tonight, don’t you think? I’m not very patient, anymore.”

He thrusts sharply into your mouth, only once as a warning, then his hold on your head loosens.

“Make me cum, baby,” he orders, “and don’t fuck around. Otherwise I won’t let you cum at all.”

As a reminder, the feather circling your clit speeds up, only for a moment, then it returns to that maddeningly slow pace, stroking and curling against your hard, oversensitised button.

You moan with defeat and suck on his cock in earnest, trying so desperately to pleasure him without the aid of your hands or your sight. His breathing turns ragged, his hips jerking to meet each bob of your head. Saliva escapes the corners of your mouth, but you persist, dragging your tongue along his shaft, sucking as hard as you can, trying to draw out his climax quickly so the gentle but cruel torture will stop!

Hawks’ composure finally slips, evident in the way the feather between your legs becomes clumsy, frantic, but it’s a blessing, because the increased speed better stimulates your clit and you can actually feel the damn thing, feeding that building pressure so much faster.

“That’s it, babe,” he slurs, his hips uncontrollably snapping forwards. “That’s it…fuck, that feels so good…” 

Your moans are no longer forced for the purpose of pleasuring him, and the intensified vibrations seem to be his undoing. Either that, or he must have been incredibly worked up before you took him in your mouth, because it only takes a few more harsh sucks for him to climax with a stifled groan, cum streaming from his cock and sliding down your throat. You greedily swallow it all, hardly bothered when some of his escapes the corners of your mouth, too busy focusing on the small waves of bliss rolling through you from head to toe, trying to get some pleasure from all the teasing between your thighs.

Hawks’ thrusts gradually slow, and once he’s ridden out the aftershocks of his orgasm, he pats your cheeks and wheezes a laugh.

“You can do as you’re told, can’t you?” he croaks, slipping his cock from your mouth. “Fucking hell, baby…”

The throbbing ache in your core isn’t so painful, now, but it’s still there, just much duller than it was just a moment ago. When the feather brushes against your clit, almost in some weird gesture of gratitude, a small spark of pleasure jolts you, and you realise…

While you were busy pleasuring Hawks…did you climax?

…That was the weakest orgasm you’ve ever had!

Could it have been an orgasm at all? It was nothing like your earlier climaxes, not the same amazing, mind-numbing, explosive burst of ecstasy that satisfies that long build-up, that makes all the denial, all the teasing and taunting worth it…

That…whatever that was barely affected the burning, almost painful pressure in the pit of your belly…

“K-Keigo,” you whimper pathetically, shifting to press your thighs together. “I d-don’t think…I…”

“I said I’d let you cum,” he says, feigning innocence. “And I did.”

You shake your head. “I…don’t think so…”

“Oh, yes, you definitely did. I felt it.” His wings rustle, and the feather between your legs dips from your clit to glide through your folds, collecting a small coating of your arousal.

You squirm, and the irritating pulsing between your legs seems to get worse when you realise you’ve been cheated.

“N-not…enough,” you grind out, shifting to press your thighs together. 

Hawks huffs. “Is that you begging? You sound more ungrateful to me.” He kneels and pries your legs apart again, commanding the feather to resume it’s slow, measured teasing.

When you release a frustrated whine, he laughs delightedly. “Oh-ho…are you angry?

He tenderly nibbles at the healed bite wound on your shoulder. “I hope you liked getting all dominant on me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Because putting you in your place like this is really fucking hot. Do you regret it, baby? Feel like begging , yet?”

In retaliation for his very unfair move, you lean forwards and search for his ear with your lips, giving the lobe a sharp nip. 

“N-no,” you say defiantly.

Hawks chuckles. “Are you sure? Because I can go all night, baby. And every time you beg for me to fuck you, I want you to remember what you did. I want you to remember how you tied me up and denied me, and think all about those naughty little secrets you shared…”

You won’t be forgetting this anytime soon, not because Hawks will absolutely make good on his threat to remind you every time you say please – and you know he won’t restrict such teasing to the bedroom after tonight – or because he’ll keep taunting you with his voice and only play rough when he desires…

You’ll never forget because if this is his response, you just might have to tie him up again, in the future.