Work Text:
Dabi says, "You want to meet the boss? This is how you meet the boss." And Hawks, assuming he could process anything right now, suspects he would feel as though he'd been slapped.
"You... can't be serious."
Dabi takes a moment to answer. "You can decide how serious I am when you pass up this... Golden opportunity." Dabi smirks as though this is somehow funny. Hawks stomach swoops out from under him, leaves him dizzy.
It's another test. Hawks plays out the moves in his head like chess: Hawk tries to play it off as a joke, Dabi will double down. Agree, and Hawks will look like he's trying too hard, like being a pawn for the League of Villains is more important than his pride. Refuse, and Dabi calls him out on not being serious enough about turning on hero society. Worst case, Dabi finally calls him out on being a liar and a fake.
Hawks has to prove to Dabi that turning on the heroes isn't a game to him. To do that, he has to play Dabi's game. Either way, he loses. Dabi's favorite.
Dabi pushes himself off the wall and snubs out his stump of a cigarette against the brick. "Let me know what you decide, but don't keep us waiting. Shigaraki is hardly what I'd call patient."
Coming from Dabi, the man who leaves if Hawks is even 3 minutes late, what the hell is that suppose to mean? Hawks wants to scream.
Dabi ambles away and Hawks is left standing in the alley by himself, cursing his existence. He already knows what he's going to do; it's not like there's an actual choice here.
Hawks thinks about going to his handler and, what? Asking for reassignment? Yeah. Right.
In the end, the only choice Hawks gets is to not involve the commission. He knows what they'd say, what they'd tell him to do. Even though he knows it with a surety that makes him nauseous, it feels easier to go through with when there still exists a chance they might have said, 'Not even we would make you go that far.'
Besides, he tells them and this becomes a detail in his file, just like Dabi is. Typed up by some underpaid intern and immortalized in text; plain for anyone with high enough clearance to to see. How much clearance would that be? How many people would know? How many people already know?
So.
Hawks doesn't tell the commission.
Even with his mind made up, Hawks doesn't text Dabi for 48 hours. A girl shouldn't look too eager, after all.
A few hours later, Dabi sends back a time, a room number, and the name of a hotel.
Hawks shows up to their appointment at one o'clock in the afternoon, three hours early. He doesn't see anyone suspicious (i.e., Dabi) enter the building. Does that mean they used a teleportation quirk to hitch a ride over? Is that one is that one more person who's going to know about this? Is he going to be there, still?
Shit.
Would they really pull out a teleportation quirk for something like this? Maybe this is some sort of trap, a set-up.
Hawks is desperately hoping this is a set-up.
Hawks stands outside for a long time, anxiety rising. In the end, he saunters through the door of the prearranged hotel room a calculated five minutes late.
Two men are already in the room. One is Dabi, leaning against a wall with a lit cigarette hanging off his lips, throwing Hawks a mildly unimpressed look. The other is Shigaraki Tomura.
Hawks feels almost like he has the man at a disadvantage. On the one hand, Hawks is a public figure with very little privacy; but his persona has been carefully cultivated. No one sees anything the commission doesn't want them to see. On the other, Shigaraki is a man shrouded in darkness and mystery; but Hawks has had the League of Villain's leader's dossier drilled into him for the last six months.
Hawks has read and reread the files, especially over the last few days. He's seen the candid grainy shots taken on cheap cellphones by both opportunistic bystanders and underground heros. He's heard third-hand rumors of a man-child with a temper who never quite grew up, who puts too much stock in complicated plans and gives too many evil monologues. He's been trained to spot possible tells, been given lengthy lectures on the villain's quirk.
Hawks glances at Shigaraki's hands helplessly, subtle as possible. Bare; ungloved. All five fingers of either hand make contact with anything and poof, right? Returned to dust. Are the bared fingers a threat, a warning? If Shigaraki tries to dust him, would the commission accept that as reason enough for Hawks to fight back?
Actually screw that, maybe he can take Shigaraki out right now. Sure that's not the plan, that doesn't get him good and situated and infiltrated, but the leader of a terrorist movement would be dead and really, what more could the commission ask for?
(Perfection, Hawks' first handler whispers in his memories, We are training you to be the best and we expect the best because of it. Do you really think we'd be satisfied with this?)
Shigaraki is quiet and his sunken eyes are piercing. If Hawks were a lesser man, the combination might have been enough to unnerve him.
The conditions aren't ideal. Dabi is lounging against a wall, jaw tense and eyes sharp. The close quarters suit both Dabi and Shigaraki's quirks better than Hawks' own. In order to get some distance between them he'd have to what, break through the window? Doable, but ouch. He could double back through the hotel; how fast does Shigaraki's quirk work? How quickly could he collapse the building on top of Hawks and who knows how many civilians? (Thirty-two, he thinks. Twenty-five hotel guests in various locked rooms, three people wandering around on different floors, five hotel staff. Thirty-two people Hawks might not be able to save.)
Hawks reaches the desolate conclusion that he's probably not getting out of this. "So," Hawks says brightly, grinning, "How do we want to do this?"
Dabi gives him a heavy look he can't decipher in these conditions and Shigaraki, Mr. Leader of the League of Villains himself, looks Hawks up and down coldly, prefuncturaly. He says, sneering, "Strip." so Hawks shrugs easily and does.
Hawks has never had the liberty to be shy about his body, but standing naked in front of two of Japan's most wanted is uncomfortable to say the least. Even the handful of times he's been naked in front of Dabi haven't felt like this. Hawks hadn't thought it'd be so different.
"On the bed, hands and knees," Shigaraki commands, and there it is.
Hawks glances at Dabi for reasons he doesn't fully comprehend. Dabi meets his eyes but makes no indication he feels one way or the other concerning what's about to happen.
Well then.
"You're the boss," agrees Hawks, eyes sliding off Dabi. He gets on the bed.
Hawks doesn't shed his wings, and Shigaraki doesn't order him to. Hawks feels vulnerable enough as it is. He thinks he might chicken out if he was told he had to lose the wings alongside the clothes.
Shigaraki climbs on the bed, behind Hawks. Hawks can't stop himself from holding his breath. He manages to hold back his instinct to recoil at the first brush of fabric on his calves, on the backs of his thighs.
He lets his wings droop on either side of him, not sure how he wants to play this but knowing he wants to be in a position to conceal his reactions.
Hawks looks at the cheap quilted bedding and tries to regulate his breathing, tries to breathe. A fleshy warmth bumps against his bare skin. His feathers sharpen in response. He can't quite get them to soften back down all the way and they tear lightly at the bed. Either Shigaraki doesn't notice or doesn't care because suddenly hands are on his ass, spreading his cheeks. Cold air hits sensitive parts of him he'd rather the leader of a criminal organization not be staring at, and Hawks ducks his face down towards his hands, into his chest. He fights down the shame burning a trail up his neck.
"Hmm," comes Shigaraki's voice from behind him, and he's close enough that Hawks can feel it reverberate through his ribcage. "So very... unmarred. I'd have thought there'd be more burns by now."
Dabi makes a disapproving noise from across the room. "Not all of us like to break our toys. Speaking of,"
There's a rustling of a plastic bag, and a small parcel lands on the side of the bed. Hawks sees the shadow of Shigaraki bend to pick it up.
Hawks feels a silent exchange happen over the expanse of his back. At the end of it is a sigh as the bag crinkles, falls away, and Shigaraki uncaps the small bottle of lube.
Shigaraki starts with two fingers right off the bat, the brute. The fingers scissor in and out roughly and Hawks stares at the bedspread, finds a loose thread. Imagines ripping at it with his teeth.
Every time Shigaraki plunges back inside of him, all Hawks can think about is disintegrating from the inside out. He waits for it, holds still for it, barely breathing. And for what? A chance at getting the League to slip up an let him in? Hawks can barely imagine what the commission would do if they found out he'd passed up this chance—but whatever they came up with to punish him, could it really be worse than this?
Shigaraki's fingers twist and squirm like fumbling worms, his other hand clammy and gripping Hawks' hip for leverage. The focus is mostly at Hawks' entrance, Shigaraki isn't deep enough to hit Hawks' prostate. Hawks focuses on the tiny buzzing in his brain, makes it louder, wills it to consume his senses.
Shigaraki pushes in at a particularly uncomfortable angle, and Hawks stifles a gasp. A violent twitch compresses his spine and jerks his head and vision slightly up. A few feet away, he spots black boots and black clad knees; Dabi has settled into a chair to watch the show.
Hawks' emotions swirl, seeking purchase. The red hot shame reaches his cheeks. Hawks feels the flush of it on his ears.
Hawks knows he'll regret it, knows he doesn't want to know how Dabi feels about all this, but he can't help a quick glance up.
It's a mistake.
Dabi's face is blank. He meets Hawks' eyes, but there's nothing there.
Hawks looks away as a facsimile of cold creeps through him. The cold webs through him until he feels numb from it, and he knows the tremors are next. He bows his head and focuses on his hands, wills the trembling to stay isolated to his hands, to his arms—but it's quickly spreading to his chest and lungs and Hawks can't get a decent breath.
Hawks tries to remember how to work his lungs manually as the blunt, wet head of Shigaraki's cock fumbles against his hole. Hawks grips at the sheets so tightly his fingers ache with the force of it; Shigaraki lines up, pushes in until he pops past the—
A hand in Hawks' hair forces his head up, almost painful. Hawks looks, catches and locks with Dabi's gaze. He hears the zipper of Dabi's jeans being tugged down, and then Dabi looks away, looks past him. He watches Dabi's brow furrow in annoyance.
The man behind him says something scathing, but the words are warped as if spoken underwater. He watches Dabi's hands work on the folds of jean and briefs. He maybe hears, "—you were gonna 'sit this one out'," and then hears Dabi's gruff low grumble of "Changed my mind," clear and solid.
Dabi's attention is back on him, and Hawks finds he's able to focus for it. Dabi's thumb presses down on Hawks lower lip and Hawks opens easily, gazing up. Dabi looks down at him and pushes his way into Hawks' mouth, and all Hawks can do is take it and think, thank God. Dabi cups the back of his neck, squeezes it lightly in a mocking facsimile of comfort; and Hawks is comforted.
Abruptly, Shigaraki slams in to the hilt. As jarring as it is, and violating, as nauseating—Hawks is glad Shigaraki is inside of him because that means what's in front of him is Dabi. Dabi's dick, Dabi himself, is something familiar. Hawks is knows this, he's dealt with this, and it's almost... nice. To have a job to do.
The impact from Shigaraki's next thrust forces Hawks further onto Dabi's dick, makes him almost choke. Dabi's hand is there, near his neck, pushing against his shoulder, absorbing the shock. He lets Hawks get a little deeper each time, but Hawks has enough warning to make a conscious effort to open his throat, to focus on not gagging.
Dabi stares down at Hawks like he knows how much this could break him, like maybe he wants Hawks broken. Hawks can't find it in himself to care. At least Dabi is here. At least Dabi didn't leave him alone in this.
It goes on like that, Hawks looking up at Dabi for direction, losing track of time as Shigaraki thrusts shallowly, wildly, like an amature. Like a virgin? Hawks half wishes the guy would just do it right, and half hopes that he keeps it up and comes soon.
Dabi slides in and out of Hawks' mouth, easy and practiced and deep, and then he's hitting the back of Hawks throat, still pushing, wanting to go further. Hawks closes his eyes, arches his spine. Ignores the clammy hands on his hips. Tips back his head, loosens his throat.
Hawks manages to swallow around Dabi's cock, and Dabi groans lightly. His fingers tighten and loosen in Hawks' hair, and Hawks feels a flush of pride.
The next moment, all Hawks really knows is that he's supporting more weight. There's a wider expanse clammy skin pressed against his own, and the pressure is buried yet deeper inside of him. Dabi leans forward half a beat later, dick slipping half out of Hawks' mouth. Hawks hears a smack from somewhere above him and feels the air pressure from the force of the blow on on the small feathers that sprout from his back. Dabi leaves his mouth.
"Don't," warns Dabi. "He needs those."
"'He needs those'," Shigaraki mimics, high pitched and sarcastic. His tone turns dark and threatening. "Not all of them he doesn't."
Hawks doesn't know what Dabi wants. Should he keep going? But Dabi pulled out. What does Dabi want?
The pressure inside of him mounts. The clammy skin against his own, the skin that isn't Dabi's, claws at the edges of his mind. The numbness in his chest takes root and rises.
What is Hawks suppose to do?
Another slap.
"Fuckin' cut it out." Dabi says, and he sounds legitimately angry. Hawks' insides quiver and his lungs stutter. "He needs those if he's to be useful to us."
Shigaraki's retort is a sneering, "Looks like he's plenty useful just like this." He accentuates his point with a thrust of his hips, but the extra weight and pressure eases up.
Dabi doesn't move for a moment, but his tangles its way back into Hawks' Hawks' hair and Hawks is breathing again. Hawks is ready, expects tugging, thrusting, expects sharp pain. Is prepared to welcome it.
He instead gets soft distracted petting. Some more words are exchanged. Dabi keeps the hand on Hawks' head light as he uses his other hand to line up his dick and slide slowly back into Hawks' mouth. Hawks widens his jaw gratefully and squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment of reprise. While he can still feel Shigaraki, feel the pressure inside, the foreign flesh on his hips, his thighs, his lower back—his other senses, taste and smell, are again filled with Dabi. Hawks gets back to work.
Shigaraki finds something he likes, shudders forward recklessly to find it and Dabi isn't quick enough to stop Hawks from pitching forward and choking himself.
Hawks convulses futilely, gagging and breathless and trapped. Dabi pulls back, just far enough that Hawks can breathe through his mouth around Dabi's dick. He thinks maybe Shigaraki laughs. Dabi holds him steady. Hawks closes his eyes and lets his body reacclimate to air.
Any other day, Hawks would be resentful, would demand Dabi back off and let him breathe for a goddamn second. Right now, the weight and taste of Dabi are a perversely necessary anchor.
After a few moments, Dabi's his fingers tilt Hawks' jaw up and his hips thrust his dick steadily into Hawks' throat again. He hits resistance; he pushes through it. Ready this time, Hawks doesn't gag. Dabi pushes yet further; Hawks' forehead is almost against the mottled skin of Dabi's stomach. Hawks can't breathe. He doesn't pull away.
Hawks brain flutters black and urgent from the lack of oxygen. He can't breathe or think or do anything and everything is Dabi Dabi Dabi, and Dabi is stroking the wetness on his cheek but not letting up and thank God.
Dabi doesn't say anything to Shigaraki. Doesn't make fun of Hawks. Doesn't acknowledge verbally what his hand is doing on Hawks' face instead of back on his neck or in his hair forcing him to choke. Dabi brings up his second hand to help smooth the wetness from Hawks' other cheek.
Hawks can't fight a few more loose tears and Dabi takes care of them without a word, cupping both sides of Hawks face with almost reverent gentleness and Hawks thinks:
Is this what love is?
It can't be. There's no way that love would let something like this happen to him—but he thinks this must be the closest he's ever gotten.
Dabi is in a position to destroy Hawks, to humiliate him; and instead, he's helping Hawks hide his cracks. There are no benefits to being kind in a situation like this. Dabi has no reason not to turn on him.
The best thing the commission ever taught him was that all anyone needs is an inch to make you unravel.
Maybe that's what comes next. Maybe Dabi is just waiting for a better opportunity to use this against him. Maybe, maybe, maybe—right now, all Hawks can do is cry silently and plead in the safety of his own mind: Don't leave me.
Dabi comes down Hawks' throat and Hawks works to swallow as much as he can—but then it's over, it's done, and all that's left is Shigaraki pumping away behind him. The motion, the renewed, creeping cold, combined with Dabi's semen in his stomach curdles and rots and—
Hawks feels a warm pressure on the side of his neck; Dabi's hand. It presses and presses and presses until Hawks looks up.
They make eye contact briefly before Dabi looks away, says something to Shigaraki, but Hawks keeps looking, keeps watching. Dabi lets Hawks keep the spent dick inside his mouth, and Hawks is careful not to jostle it.
Dabi moves his hand to the back of Hawks neck, twists his fingers in the short hairs, edging on too tight, on almost-pain. Shigaraki has picked up the pace, is bucking wildly and Hawks prays he's almost done. He can barely hold onto the thought before it slips away, leads into an avalanche of things he can't afford to think about right now.
The hand at the base of his skull tugs him forward, presses him into Dabi's unclothed abdomen, into smooth skin above a pelvic bone. The angle is awkward and Hawks is afraid it might hurt, so he lets Dabi's dick slide out of his mouth. Dabi doesn't pull him away, so Hawks pushes his brow, his cheek, his nose into Dabi's skin and inhales as deeply as possible. His breaths are shaky but it's still Dabi Dabi Dabi and everything else falls away. Dabi holds him there, doesn't move or pet but lets Hawks stay. Shigaraki pumps shudderingly once, twice—
Hawks inhales. Dabi.
Shigaraki pulls out. Dabi.
An aching emptiness; wet slops it's way down Hawks thighs. Dabi, Dabi, Dabi, Dabi—
He's pushed himself hard enough into Dabi's skin that he can't breathe. He thinks that maybe he hasn't been breathing anyway. Dabi holds him fast. He thinks about the skin in front of him, thinks about Dabi. He tries to shift back a little, just enough to breathe now that he's remembered how. Dabi allows it.
There's a swaying of balance, and a soft thump as Shigaraki disembarks from the bed.
Dabi pulls away. Hawks' thighs tremble.
"We'll be in touch," Shigaraki says. Hawks nods, maybe. He's not sure. He watches Dabi adjust his pants, zip up his fly.
Hawks hears Shigaraki walking away, and Hawks thinks it must be when Shigaraki isn't facing them, when he's not looking, that Dabi runs a hand through Hawks' sweat dampened hair. His hand lingers for a moment at the back of Hawks neck, thumb stroking the patch of skin behind Hawks' ear. Hawks wants to lean into it, wants to lean into Dabi but he's so tired. The warmth leaves; Dabi is leaving. Following Shigaraki. Hawks hears his footsteps and the door to the room click shut.
Hawks falls to his side. His wrists and jaw ache. His knees and hips are bruised. His throat is raw and throbbing. He thinks he might throw up. He stares at the wall as his vision starts to blur and he wonders,
Is this what love is?