Shigaraki is drunk when he crawls into Dabi’s lap, pawing at his clothes, insistently trying to pull them off him. Dabi holds his cigarette out so the fucker doesn’t burn himself as he fists pale hands into Dabi’s shirt, mumbling something under his breath about fucking. He reeks of alcohol and bad decisions and Dabi is so not interested, for multiple reasons. Shigaraki grabs at Dabi’s dick through his jeans and Dabi pushes him back, taking a long drag, staring at him. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Fuck me,” he says bluntly, hiccuping, still trying to palm Dabi’s cock. “Come on...I know you wanna.”
“No,” Dabi says flatly, exhaling right in his face. “I don’t.”
“Why not?” Shigaraki whines. It’s almost pathetic—this is what his boss has been reduced to? Begging Dabi for a quick fuck on the League’s shitty couch?
“Not interested,” Dabi says, the cherry of his cigarette crackling loudly in the sudden awkward silence between them. He extracts Shigaraki’s hand from between his legs and gives him a bored look in response.
“What?” Shigaraki snaps, staring at his own hand like a foreign object. “What do you mean not interested? You, the one who fucks anything that moves?”
An interesting choice of words, considering that Shigaraki doesn’t know that Dabi prefers fucking the dead over the living. Shigaraki is attractive, sure—but Dabi doesn’t like it when they move around, when they squirm and wriggle and writhe. He prefers them still, deathly still, blue lips kissed by eternal sleep. “I said no, so get off my dick. Why are you so fuckin’ desperate, anyway? If you wanna get off so bad why not just go jerk off, or find someone else?”
Shigaraki looks dumbfounded, like he can’t believe Dabi is seriously turning him down. “Why? You’re right here.”
Dabi snorts. “That doesn’t mean I want you, dumbass. You’re too…” Alive. He gestures vaguely at him, and Shigaraki’s head lolls a little bit following his hand.
“Too what?” he grumbles. “Too drunk?”
“Sure,” Dabi says, smiling demurely. “Let’s go with that.”
Dabi’s boots are heavy up the old wooden stairs in the back of the bar as he heads up to his room. Noxious smoke trails behind him, stale and cloying in the small space of the League’s hideout—Kurogiri might take care of the bar itself, but the rest of the place is a fucking joke. He trudges down the hall and hears the sound of the shower running, the door wide open. His boots come to a halt, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he stares into the bathroom. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he steps in to find Shigaraki slumped in the tub, the water raining down on him and soaking into the fabric of his clothes, making it cling to every jutting bone in his body. There’s vomit running down the side of the tub and it looks like there’s some in his hair. Dabi crouches, watching him for a few moments, smoking in silence.
“Boss?” he tries, but there’s no answer. Shigaraki’s lights are out and no one is home, which isn’t a surprise considering how drunk he was earlier. Dabi takes another drag and ashes on the floor before reaching out and shaking him a little. No reaction—just an unconscious rolling of his head on his neck, wet hair plastered to his face. The water continues to rain down, swirling down the drain, and Dabi pushes some of his hair back. He looks so soft like this, with his eyes closed and his lips parted, and Dabi is struck by just how pretty he is up close even with the clear trail of vomit down his chin. It’s not very often that Shigaraki lets anyone see him without that hand over his face— Father, or whatever it’s called, and Dabi takes the opportunity to get a good look. His cheeks are surprisingly round, almost youthful—how old is he again? Dabi isn’t sure, he doesn’t think he’s ever said. The little scars littering his eyes and forehead are actually pretty cute, not that Dabi would ever admit it to his face, and he even finds the vomit crusted to his dry ass lips endearing instead of disgusting.
“Boss, you’re a fuckin’ mess,” he murmurs, wiping the bile from his mouth. He slaps his cheek lightly, trying to wake him, but—nothing. Dabi purses his lips, his cigarette dropping more ash onto the bathroom floor. Shigaraki was pretty fucking desperate earlier, and the only real reason Dabi turned him down is because he was squirming around too much for his taste...but now he’s unconscious, now he’s not moving at all. Dabi doesn’t usually go for the living and breathing, but...he is very pretty.
Dabi stands up and turns the shower off, watching Shigaraki for any signs of stirring. There are none, and Dabi climbs into the shower with him, boots and all, leaving giant streaks of mud in the bottom of the tub. Whatever—not like it was clean to begin with, anyway. He grabs Shigaraki by the back of his shirt and pulls him back with a loud schlurp of fabric, accidentally banging his head into the wall. Oops. But even that isn’t enough to wake him, his head lolling forward, slumped into his chest. Dabi is careful of his hands—he’s never seen Shigaraki slip up and accidentally dust something, but all bets are off when he’s unconscious and not in control of his faculties.
Dabi leans back against the shower wall and unbuckles his belt, letting it fall to the side. He watches Shigaraki’s shallow breathing as he pops the button and tugs the zip down on his jeans, pushing them down enough to spring his cock free. He takes himself in hand and starts stroking, leaning down and grabbing Shigaraki’s chin, forcing his head up. Dabi pries his lips open and shoves his fingers in, an involuntary shiver going straight to his dick as he explores his mouth. He’s too out of it to gag, and Dabi tests how far he can push his fingers back before his throat starts to clench. He’s impressed by how far he gets before Shigaraki’s throat reflexively convulses, and it doesn’t take very long after that for Dabi to get hard.
Dabi grabs a handful of that pale mop of hair and pries his mouth wide open, shoving the head of his cock past scarred lips. The metal of his piercings click loudly over Shigaraki’s teeth as he slides in, and Dabi sucks in a breath of air. Shigaraki’s lips stretch wide to accommodate his girth, his chapped lips cracking as Dabi pushes all the way into the back of his throat. He stays like that for a moment, admiring the view; he looks so calm, peaceful, those murderous red eyes hidden away behind closed eyelids. Dabi grips his hair tighter and slowly pulls him back, watching his cock slide in and out of his mouth with rapt fascination. He bites his lip and moves him a little faster, drool sliding down Shigaraki’s chin and running down Dabi’s balls, dripping and pooling in the bathtub at his feet. Goddamn, he drools a lot, but it’s hot—so fucking hot, like his mouth is watering at the feeling of being stretched open by Dabi’s cock even when unconscious.
Shigaraki makes a surprisingly good cock sleeve, taking Dabi’s full length without so much as a drunken hiccup—at least until his eyes start to flutter, anyway. He cracks one eye open and groans around Dabi in his throat. Dabi is undeterred, but grunts at the sudden bump in his blissful blowjob; he’s not sure how Shigaraki is going to feel about it but Dabi doesn’t really care, only cares about getting off in this moment. Shigaraki’s eyes roll, and he struggles against Dabi’s hold.
“Stop that,” Dabi orders, slapping him across the face. “Stop fucking wiggling, you’re ruining it.” Shigaraki’s eyes open more, trying to focus on Dabi, and Dabi slaps him harder. “Close your fuckin’ eyes.”
The response he gets sends a little thrill straight to his cock—Shigaraki moans loudly and his eyes obediently slide shut, his body going lax in Dabi’s grip. Is he actually enjoying this? Dabi will admit he wasn’t really thinking about Shigaraki’s pleasure at all, only his own. He doesn’t have to worry about it with corpses—they’re dead, merely holes for Dabi to fuck into—but he kind of likes the idea of Shigaraki enjoying it, and Dabi presses his boot against Shigaraki’s crotch to see if he’s hard at all. He’s delighted to find that he is, and his hips unwittingly rut against Dabi’s boot, another moan slipping past his lips.
“Enjoying yourself, slut?” Dabi croons, ramming himself into the back of his throat. Shigaraki’s throat convulsions milk a spurt of precum from the tip, which must hit Shigaraki’s gag reflex in just the right way—he vomits all over Dabi’s cock, clearish liquid seeping out of the sides of his mouth as Dabi keeps fucking him. Shigaraki’s stomach heaves and his cock grows harder under Dabi’s boot, accompanied by a pathetic whine. He chokes and tears stream down his flushed cheeks, his lashes wet and his cock achingly hard. “What’s the matter, boss?” Dabi asks huskily as he watches Shigaraki struggle to breath, the heat of an orgasm prickling along his spine. “Can’t catch a break?” The stench of vomit hits Dabi’s nose and it pushes him over the edge, and he smashes Shigaraki’s face into his pubes, forcing him to take Dabi’s entire load directly down his throat. Dabi watches with selfish, wanton desire as his boss gags again, and Dabi shudders hard as more vomit comes up his throat and gushes past his lips. Shigaraki is heaving with the effort but he takes it like a fucking champ, swallowing all of it down despite the vomit that keeps coming up.
“Good boy,” Dabi murmurs. He pulls Shigaraki off him with an obscene smacking sound, and Dabi smears the head of his cock over his lips, spreading vomit around his mouth and cheeks. Shigaraki coughs loudly, dry heaving, his lips cracked and bleeding. Dabi finally releases his iron grip on his hair and lets Shigaraki fall back like a ragdoll, his head knocking against the side of the tub. Blurry red eyes open to look at him, and Dabi likes them this way—puffy, tear stained, pupils blown wide with lust. Shigaraki tries to sit up, rolling his hips up against Dabi’s boot, and Dabi smirks down at his straining erection.
“Surprised you can even get it up right now,” he says, grinding the toe of his boot down. Shigaraki’s eyebrows pinch but his mouth falls open, gasping for air as Dabi applies more pressure. “Can you cum like this? I guess I can let you get off too, since you let me use your mouth and all.” Let is rather subjective—Dabi didn’t really give him a choice, but the fucker clearly gets off on it.
“Dabi,” Shigaraki groans, grabbing at Dabi’s jeans. “Just fuck me, please—”
“No,” Dabi says, pressing down harder, earning a little yelp of pain in response. “You get off like this or you don’t get off at all.”
“Cocksucker,” Shigaraki mutters, and Dabi’s face splits in a grin.
“Nah, that’s you, boss,” he says smoothly. “Now come on, I don’t got all day.”
Shigaraki gives him a scathing look, but his grip tightens on Dabi’s jeans as he starts rutting himself against Dabi’s foot, groaning in frustration. “It’s not enough,” Shigaraki huffs, looking up at him, his eyes still drunkenly half lidded.
“Well what do you want me to do about that?” Dabi asks.
“Can I—?” Shigaraki pants, his hands going to his fly. Dabi watches him with mild curiosity as he pulls out his cock, leaning his head against Dabi’s leg as he starts jerking himself off. Dabi’s never actually seen his cock before—it’s not that big, but it’s nice and fat, flushed red and leaking generously at the tip. He must be really fucking desperate because he cums with a stuttered breath not even a minute later, spurts of white shooting out all over Dabi’s boots.
Dabi is unimpressed, his lip curling at the thought of Shigaraki’s mess all over his shoes. He leans down and grabs a handful of his hair, wrenching his head up to look at him. “Lick it off,” Dabi says, a wicked smile spreading over his face.
“What?” Shigaraki says, his face twisting in disgust. “I’m not—no—”
“I don’t care what you want,” Dabi says. “Lick it up like a good little slut.” Shigaraki glares at him and Dabi shoves his head down, smashing his face into his boots, smearing his nose in his own mess like a fucking dog. Another lewd moan slips from Shigaraki and Dabi holds his head down, watching him intently. “Come on. It’s your mess—now clean it up.”
To Dabi’s delight he finally relents, the sound of Shigaraki’s tongue hesitantly lapping over the leather of his boots echoing loudly in the quiet of the bathtub. Dabi holds his head down until he’s cleaned up the entire mess, and he gags at the end. Dabi shoves him away before he can puke on him again—it’s bad enough that he puked all over his cock and all down the front of Dabi’s pants. Shigaraki retches and Dabi pulls his pants back up, re buckling his belt, stepping out of the bathtub and leaving Shigaraki in a puddle of his own sick.
Dabi wakes up to a warm feeling surrounding his cock—not just warm, hot , hot and tight and sliding up and down, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. His eyes pop open to find Shigaraki with his hands planted on either side of Dabi’s head, riding Dabi’s cock with his eyes screwed shut.
Dabi pushes him away, instantly pissed the fuck off. “What the fuck, man?” he demands. His cock bounces in the air between them, still hard even though Dabi is completely turned off. What the fuck is he doing?
Shigaraki lands on his ass on the mattress, huffing loudly. “You did it, why can’t I?”
“That was different,” Dabi snaps. “You came to me, not the other way around.”
“So?” Shigaraki challenges. He’s still wearing his tee shirt but his pants and boxers are gone, his fat cock hard between his legs. “You got one and now I do. I’m your boss.”
“That’s not how it works,” Dabi mutters. He props himself up and looks at his own cock, his erection fading quickly. Shigaraki notices it too, and he gives him a strange look.
“Can’t keep it up?” he smirks, and Dabi glares.
“Not for you,” Dabi sneers, and Shigaraki’s brow furrows.
“Why?” he demands. “You fucked me while I was drunk, why not now?”
Dabi stares at him a long time, debating on what to say. Should he just tell him? Maybe then he’ll fuck off and leave Dabi’s dick alone. Finally Dabi says with a totally deadpan expression, “I don’t really fuck living people. I like it better when they’re dead.”
Shigaraki blanches for a long moment, then scoffs. “You’re joking, right?” Dabi doesn’t answer him and he watches as the reality of what Dabi just said sinks in. His face flickers through all five stages of grief before he looks down at his cock, still hard and leaking. He looks back at Dabi, his eyes round with...shock, maybe? Disbelief? Dabi isn’t sure.
“You good?” Dabi asks him, his gaze flickering to Shigaraki’s erection. Funny that he’s not turned off, but maybe he’s a little more open than Dabi’s given him credit for.
“So why did you fuck me, then?” he asks slowly. “I’m not…”
“Because you were unconscious,” Dabi says, his patience starting to wear thin. “Now fuck off and leave me alone.”
Shigaraki looks at him curiously before crawling over to him, straddling his waist. Dabi purses his lips as he watches him take himself in hand, slowly pumping his cock, staring Dabi down. “So what do I have to do to get you to fuck me, then?”
“Well...not this,” Dabi says, gesturing vaguely between them.
“I still wanna get off,” Shigaraki says, his breath hitching in his throat as he eyes Dabi’s softening cock like a starved animal. “I want you to fuck me.”
Dabi rolls his eyes. “Well you’d have to be unconscious, or at least try not to move around so much. I don’t like it when they’re all...squirmy.”
Shigaraki barks a laugh, but his eyes are dark with lust. “Okay? So if I agree to not move around, then will you fuck me?”
Dabi gives him a flat look. “You think you can do that?”
Shigaraki shrugs, shivering as some of his precum pools onto Dabi’s stomach. “Maybe. I’ll try.”
“You can’t be talking, either. And there’s one more thing,” Dabi says, “you’re too...warm. Gotta be cold. You were in cold water in the shower, but you’re too warm right now. It’s gross.”
Shigaraki huffs. “Anything else, princess?”
“Do you wanna get fucked or not?” Dabi snaps. He can’t believe they’re doing this—negotiating over fucking.
“Yeah,” Shigaraki says breathlessly, jerking himself a little faster. “I still wanna...wanna cum first.”
“Fine,” Dabi mutters, folding his arms and watching him with disinterest. Shigaraki is undeterred, his breath coming in hurried little puffs, his hand sliding up and down, faster, faster.
“Why do you like fucking dead people?” he asks.
Dabi raises an eyebrow. “This is what you wanna know while you get off?”
“Yeah, just fuckin’ tell me,” he grunts. “It’s kinda hot, so fuckin’ tell me.”
Dabi’s expression shifts, his interest piqued—does Shigaraki get off to this shit? Dabi never would have believed it if he wasn’t hearing it with his own goddamn ears. “I dunno, I like the stillness—it’s hot that they can’t say no, can’t do anything, just lay there and take whatever you give them. I can go as hard as I want and it doesn’t make a difference, like they’re made just to get fucked. Nice little holes to fuck into—tight and cold, perfect little cock sleeves. You can go as long as you want and they don’t complain, as many times as you want, and you can do anything you want to them.”
“Fuck,” Shigaraki mumbles, closing his eyes. His hand moves faster, his cock flushed a deep red, straining and begging for release. “More, tell me more.”
A smile slowly unfurls on Dabi’s lips. Damn, he really is getting off to this—and it’s kind of hot, knowing that Shigaraki is just as fucked up as he is. “Wow boss, didn’t think you were into that,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to stick to orifices—you can cut them open and make your own, fuck them wherever you want. You could fuck their thigh, stomach, wherever you want. It’s nice in the stomach, feels soft and wet, but it’s tighter in the muscle.” Shigaraki moans, pumping himself in earnest, and Dabi watches his cock as it grows impossibly harder. “Nice and tight and wet, just begging to get fucked, just asking for someone to cut them open and fuck them like the obedient little fucktoys they are—”
Shigaraki lets out a strangled curse as he finally cums, hot spurts shooting out over Dabi’s stomach and chest. Dabi wrinkles his nose a little at the warmth, but it’s not enough to be a complete turn off. Shigaraki finally opens his eyes, his hand coated in his own release, and he looks down at Dabi’s stomach.
“Didn’t know that was hot until now,” he grumbles, and Dabi snorts. “So are you gonna fuck me now?”
“Yeah,” Dabi says. “Go get in the shower. It’s gotta be ice cold.”
Shigaraki nods and climbs off him, padding out of the room sans pants. Dabi briefly wonders if Kurogiri is around, or if Shigaraki just walks around with his cock out regularly and the mist man just doesn’t give a fuck any more. Dabi sits up and grabs a pair of discarded boxers from his floor, wiping up Shigaraki’s mess with them. If they’re gonna fuck, there’s no reason to put on pants, so Dabi wanders out after him, grabbing his cigarettes and heading for the bathroom.
He hops up on the counter as Shigaraki is climbing into the cold water, still in his tee shirt. “It’s cold,” he whines, and Dabi chuckles, withdrawing a cigarette and sticking it in his mouth.
“That’s the point, boss,” he says, lighting it with his index finger. He takes a long drag and exhales a stream of smoke towards the shower.
Shigaraki folds his arms and huffs as he shivers—he’s the one who wants to get fucked so bad, it’s his own fault. Dabi smokes in relative silence as he churns the thought over in his mind. He had no idea Shigaraki liked that kind of shit, and apparently Shigaraki didn’t know it either—maybe Dabi could show him a few things, if the sex doesn’t end in disaster. After ten minutes, Shigaraki is shivering so hard that he looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.
“Can I get out now?” he asks, his teeth chattering.
“No,” Dabi says, flicking his ash at him. “Your lips aren’t even blue yet.” Shigaraki huffs again and huddles in on himself more as they wait for his skin to turn clammy and bone white, for his lips to turn blue and his fingertips to prune. His teeth clack together loudly, and Dabi purses his lips. “Stop shivering,” he tells him. “It’s not hot.”
“No, it’s fucking freezing,” Shigaraki snaps, and Dabi doesn’t have a counter argument. Dabi finally slides off the counter after a few more minutes and tosses his cigarette in the sink, grabbing him by his bony wrists and hauling him out of the tub. Shigaraki shivers violently, and Dabi pushes him over the sink, knocking over whatever containers were sitting on the counter, sending everything flying to the floor. “Wait, lemme fuckin’ dry off, asshole—”
“No,” Dabi says, grabbing a handful of his hair and smashing his face into the countertop. Despite his protests, the little mmf of pleasure that escapes Shigaraki’s throat doesn’t go unnoticed. “We do it like this.”
“So what do I do, then? Just play dead?” Shigaraki asks, trying to twist to look at Dabi.
Dabi pushes his face harder into the countertop, pressing himself into Shigaraki’s back. He’s cold and wet and an excited little shiver races straight to Dabi’s dick at the sharp ridges of Shigaraki’s spine against his chest—he really is all skin and bones, and if it weren’t for his constant fucking talking, he could almost pass for being dead. “Yeah, pretty much. No talking. If I have to keep telling you to shut your whore mouth I’mma burn the fuck out of you, got it?”
“Are you fucking kidding me,” Shigaraki mutters, but another harsh shove of his face into the countertop has him hissing in response, “Okay, okay—fine. No talking.”
Dabi pats his cheek roughly, grinning. “Good. Glad we can understand each other.” He releases Shigaraki’s hair and leans back, pushing his wet tee shirt up around his shoulders, exposing his back. He runs a finger along the peaks and dips of his spine before squeezing his ass cheeks, spreading them apart to expose his twitching hole. He’s still stretched open from before, and Dabi takes himself in hand and starts sliding up and down, admiring the view. He really is pretty, Dabi isn’t sure why he hasn’t noticed it much before. Maybe it’s the admission of finding Dabi’s kinks attractive that makes him more appealing—maybe Dabi could bring him with him sometime, maybe they could have a little fun cracking open a cold one together.
That thought hits him in a way that makes his lips part, his breath hitch. His hand moves a little faster, his cock thickening at the thought of sharing a corpse with Shigaraki, of both of their cocks sliding together as they ruin the same fucking hole. Dabi’s always been a solitary man in his post mortem activities, but...the idea of sharing with Shigaraki is actually hot, like really fucking hot. Dabi would love to dig a fresh one up and cut them open, watch Shigaraki’s pretty face bliss out as he slides his fat little cock inside the freshly cut wound. He seemed pretty into it when Dabi was describing it to him, and he'd love to see his reaction when he discovers what it actually feels like.
Dabi shoves himself in without warning and Shigaraki lets out a little yelp, which earns him a searing slap to his ass. “I said be quiet.”
“I was fucking waiting,” he huffs.
“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi growls, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward. Shigaraki’s whole body jolts forward, his wet skin squeaking loudly against the countertop. Dabi snorts a little as Shigaraki’s hands scrabble for some kind of purchase, fruitlessly slipping and sliding against the cheap sink. “What’s the matter, boss?” Dabi laughs, snapping his hips again. There’s something admittedly satisfying about watching him struggle, despite the fact that Dabi doesn’t usually like a lot of movement. “Don’t answer that.”
Dabi roughly grabs the back of his neck and pins him down, holding him fast against the sink. “That was cute, boss, but you better stop fuckin’ moving so much. You’re supposed to be playing dead, remember?” Shigaraki glares at him from under his wet curtain of hair but remains silent, his arms finally stilling as he lets Dabi hold him by the neck. Dabi rolls his hips with a satisfied smirk, pulling back before slamming back in again. The wet clap of their skin is obscene in the acoustics of the bathroom, and it only grows worse as Dabi sets a quick and punishing pace. He grunts with the effort, leaning most of his weight into the hand pressed against Shigaraki’s neck, gripping a dagger sharp hipbone with his other hand hard enough to bruise. Shigaraki lets out a loud moan as Dabi hits his prostate, and Dabi’s eyes light with rage.
“What did I say?” he snaps, heating his hand up. Shigaraki shrieks and struggles under his hold as the smell of a second degree burn, of blistering skin and burning hair, hits Dabi’s nose. He struggles more, and Dabi grips his neck tighter. “Stop fucking wiggling!”
“F-fuck off,” he stammers, sniveling, his entire body trembling under Dabi’s grip. “Fuck, I’m trying, okay?” He’s shaking so hard that Dabi almost doesn’t notice his hips swiveling against the edge of the counter at first, and then he realizes—Shigaraki is enjoying it.
Dabi groans, an unexpected ripple of pleasure skittering along his spine at that thought. “You like that, boss?” Dabi pants, grabbing his hair and turning his head to look at him. “Don’t answer that.” Shigaraki looks wrecked; his lip swollen and bleeding around clear teeth indentations, tears and snot streaming down his wet face, his hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead. He nods a little, biting his lip to keep himself from saying anything else. Dabi is impressed—anyone else would have quit by now, which is another reason Dabi usually prefers corpses. Corpses don’t complain when Dabi burns them, when he leaves blackened scorch marks in the wake of his depraved desires...but they also don’t react like this, either. And this is delicious, something Dabi didn’t even know he wanted until now.
Dabi rolls his hips again and Shigaraki’s eyes flutter as he resumes his pace, pounding away into his ass, their balls slapping wetly together. Dabi is curious to find that Shigaraki’s sniveling is actually a turn on, the muffled little whimpers he can’t quite hold in curling Dabi’s lips into a cruel smirk. He can’t believe that Shigaraki is actually enjoying himself, that not only did he still want Dabi to fuck him after finding out about his kink, but is still trying to get himself off after Dabi burned the fuck out of his neck. He can see the skin bubbling up already, angry and red and swollen in the shape of Dabi’s handprint, and seeing it there does something to Dabi, makes him hot all over, makes his hips drive harder into Shigaraki’s waiting hole.
“Fuck,” Dabi pants, leaning back, watching his cock slide in and out. He holds him in place by his hips instead, enraptured by the sight of his hard length disappearing inside that tight ring of muscles. Familiar heat coils in his lower abdomen, orgasm brewing like a coming storm. Shigaraki moans pathetically, and Dabi’s eyes flick up to look at his face. He’s biting his hand now, more blood streaming down his wrist, and Dabi chuckles darkly at the effort. “Lemme help ya out, boss.” Dabi peels off his shirt and crumples it up, leaning over and extracting Shigaraki’s hand from his teeth. His mouth falls open uselessly, drool pooled around his cheek, and Dabi shoves his wadded up shirt in his mouth, a sense of satisfaction curling in his gut at the lewd sight of Shigaraki splayed out in front of him.
“Look at you,” Dabi murmurs, heating up his hand again and cracking it across the back of a pale thigh. Steam hisses in the air and Shigaraki howls into Dabi’s shirt, a violent shudder wracking his entire body. His cry cuts off into a warbled moan before tapering off, his red eyes rolling, and Dabi grins. It’s kind of fun to watch, despite the fact that he’s moving quite a bit. “Our fearless leader, reduced to what? A useless fuckin’ cocksleeve?” He laughs and slams his hips forward again, digging his fingers into the newly burned handprint on the back of his thigh. Shigaraki whimpers and Dabi presses harder, digging his nails in until he feels blistered skin sliding off underneath his fingernails. His Cheshire cat grins widens when he sees Shigaraki trying to hump the countertop like a bitch in heat, desperate for some kind of friction against his cock. “You get off on being hurt?” Dabi asks, cracking his hand across his burn again. “You like getting fucked like a dirty whore?” Shigaraki’s eyes roll back and Dabi laughs, thrusting harder. Dabi initially thought this would be more of a pity fuck, but he’s pleasantly surprised to find that he’s actually enjoying it too, Shigaraki’s pathetic little sounds setting Dabi’s blood on fire in a way that he hasn’t experienced in a long time.
He pulls Shigaraki’s hips back enough for Dabi to slide his hand between his legs. He’s so hard, painfully hard and wet, his cock leaking all over Dabi’s hand and all over the counter, and Dabi is surprised to find the cabinet under the sink is utterly soaked too, long wet streaks dripping onto the floor. “Did you already cum?” Dabi asks, pressing his thumb finger harshly into the slit. Dabi wonders what pushed him over the edge already—was it one of the burns Dabi gave him? Shigaraki nods briefly and Dabi pushes a little harder, digging his thumb in until Shigaraki’s muffled moans turn to pitiful whines. “Wow, you really are a fuckin’ slut for this.” Dabi squeezes his cock and heats his hand up, cranking up the heat until Shigaraki is writhing and screaming into the shirt stuffed in his filthy little mouth, his asshole clenching around Dabi’s shaft as his cock gushes in his hand. Dabi is utterly elated and Shigaraki finally goes limp, his jaw going slack and his eyes rolled back. Dabi stares—did he pass out?
Oh, this is too good. Dabi takes full advantage, grabbing a handful of his hair and wildly bucking into him, his eyes raking over the mess he’s made of his boss. His limbs are slack and loose and perfect, and he simply lies there and takes every inch of Dabi’s cock like he was made for it. Dabi’s breathing quickens, pleasure sharpening like a knife before exploding through his entire body, his thrusts turning wet and slippery, filling Shigaraki’s abused hole with spurt after spurt of cum.
When Dabi finally comes down, when he’s panting hard and trying to remember how the fuck to breathe, he finally releases his grip on Shigaraki’s hair. Shigaraki is still unconscious as Dabi pulls out, spreading his asscheeks apart to watch his cum dribble out and run down his pale thighs. Seeing it has him feeling hot all over again, and Dabi takes another good look at the burn on his thigh. It’s definitely going to leave a scar—good. He wanted to fuck so bad, and now he’s never going to forget it.
But Dabi doesn’t think he’ll be able to either—this is the first time he’s ever met anyone as fucked up as he is, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t intrigued by the idea of showing him more, of fucking him again. How could he not after a show like that?
As Shigaraki starts to rouse, Dabi smacks his ass again. “Wakey wakey, asshole.”
Shigaraki mumbles something before grabbing at the shirt in his mouth, pulling it away from his face and dropping it in the sink. It’s soaked in drool, and Shigaraki’s mouth is bleeding at the corners from being stretched so long. “Did I pass out?”
“Yeah, it was actually pretty great,” Dabi says. He reaches for his cigarettes and pulls one out, sticking it in his mouth as he watches Shigaraki slowly sink onto the floor, unable to support himself on his legs any longer. He lights up with his index finger, an amused smile tugging at his staples. “You good now? Satisfied?”
Shigaraki nods, gingerly prodding at the burn on the back of his neck. “For now, yeah.” Dabi takes in a long drag, debating on if he should suggest them doing more together later on. He almost wishes he’d given Shigaraki a chance sooner—maybe they could have been doing this all along, instead of Dabi constantly shoving him away. Shigaraki looks up at him, wiping his nose and eyes with the back of his hand. “So...can I come with, next time?”
“Why?” Dabi asks, forcing his face to remain neutral despite the surge of excitement that bubbles up in his gut.
“Because I wanna see it,” Shigaraki says bluntly. “I kinda wanna try it. So...will you?”
Dabi looks at him for a long moment, smoking in silence. Shigaraki doesn’t look away or flinch, and a slow smile starts to unfurl on Dabi’s face at the endless possibilities stretching out before them in this moment. “Yeah, boss. I was hoping you’d ask.”