Work Text:
The knock at the door is urgent, and unexpected. Hawks looks over at Dabi and raises his brow in question at the other man, who is still sprawled naked on the bed, phone in hand.
“No one knows I’m here,” Hawks says. No one should know he’s here. His frequent hookups with Dabi are off the books. He certainly hasn’t told the Commission that he’s started to sleep with his contact in the League, and he knows there’s a strong chance he’d be pulled in and have to list all the reasons why fucking one of the most wanted Villains in the country is a good idea. It’s not a conversation he wants to have any time soon .
Dabi shrugs. “Same.”
The knock comes again, firm and insistent.
“I’ll go tell them to fuck off,” Dabi announces, tossing his phone aside and grabbing one of the yukata provided by the cheap hotel as he heads towards the door.
Hawks can’t help smiling a little, admiring the view as Dabi pulls the garment on. He certainly never planned on becoming intimate with the villain, but he can’t say it hasn’t worked to his advantage. Dabi was a satisfying screw right from the start, and now he’s an almost constant source of release. It should be complicated, but somehow it’s simple when they’re together. They fuck, they feel good, and then they go back to their lives. Dabi has sometimes bitched about the League’s temperamental members, giving Hawks more intel, and Hawks in turn has complained about the demands of Heroics, voicing his wish for a world in which Heroes don’t exist (he thinks Dabi understands that Hawks wishes there were no Villains too, but he says nothing), but it never goes further than that. He almost thinks Dabi appreciates the escape as much as he does.
But Hawks is, first and foremost, a Hero.
He sees Dabi’s phone, carelessly tossed against the bedsheets, and can’t help reaching out to see if it’s still unlocked. Dabi is talking at the door, trying to tell whoever it is to go away, but the finer details are completely lost on Hawks when he turns the phone over and sees what’s on the screen.
It’s unlocked, showing a few apps positioned at the bottom of the an image that steals Hawks’ breath away. He stares, wondering how in the world Dabi got this photo of him sleeping, and why he has it as his wallpaper.
It takes a moment before he recognises the edging on the pillows, and places the memory of the love motel they’d chosen a month ago for convenience and anonymity. Hawks had been exhausted after a week with no downtime, and the moment they’d finished he’d passed out. Dabi had woken him what Hawks had assumed was just a few minutes later, but he now realises must have been longer. He’d just assumed that, after several long, stressful days his own estimation of how much time had passed was a little off. It hadn’t occurred to him that Dabi might have paid for extra time and then watched over him as he slept.
He doesn’t realise Dabi has come back until he jerks his head up and sees the Villain standing there, stock still and staring, seeming stunned.
“You… dropped it…” Hawks breathes, unable to explain the way his heart is racing. “I saw…”
Dabi takes half a step forward and snatches his phone back, retreating and cradling it to his chest. “You shouldn’t pry, it’s a fucking nasty habit.”
Hawks’ heart falls, his wings lowering at his back. “Sorry, it was just there…”
Dabi won’t look at him now. He’s turning away, scooping his ratty jeans up from the floor, starting to get dressed. Hawks watches him, trying to understand why his heart is all at once bruised and breaking, crying out for something he never knew he could have. He never entertained the thought of them being anything more than simple convenience to each other before because he was so sure that’s all Dabi wanted, and all he could ever have.
“Dabi…” he says softly, just to hear the other man’s name.
Dabi turns away, sniffing.
Hawks doesn’t know much about Dabi – he doesn’t even know his real name – but he knows that the man closing off before him, shrinking away as he watches, cared enough to take a photo of him as he slept, and to make it his wallpaper. He wasn’t angry or dismissive at being caught either, he was upset, embarrassed.
He cares.
And fuck, if Hawks doesn’t care too.
He stands up, crossing the distance between them and reaching out. The yukata has fallen open already, and Hawks slides his hands beneath the garment and against Dabi’s warm, scarred skin, hugging him and holding him tight. It’s different this time, perhaps because Hawks can feel the way Dabi’s heart races and his body trembles.
“Come back to bed,” Hawks murmurs, turning his face to kiss Dabi’s scarred collar bone.
He hears Dabi swallow thickly, the click of his throat audible. “Hawks, we can’t. This isn’t…”
“Isn’t what?” Hawks challenges as he looks up, meeting unsure blue eyes. “A good idea? No, probably not, but since when did you give a shit about that? I certainly don’t.”
“Hawks…” Dabi says again, although this time he sounds as if he’s wavering. “We shouldn’t.”
“Why not? Who is going to stop us?”
He looks up, daring Dabi to answer.
“I don’t do relationships,” Dabi says.
Hawks can’t help the way his heart flutters. Dabi’s denial gives him a strong indication of what Dabi wants. “Nor do I,” he makes himself reply with a shrug. “We can just do our own thing, it’s no one else’s business.”
Which is wrong, so wrong. If anyone finds out that Hawks isn’t just screwing a Villain but actively caring about one, there’ll be hell to pay.
Still, here in this room it’s hard to see the Villain. The man tentatively holding him in return, unsure about being embraced and letting this go any further, has only ever been a source of comfort for Hawks in private. He’s never been cruel or malicious, even when they’ve been rough with each other. Dabi looks down at Hawks with such human vulnerability Hawks can’t help smiling softly and reaching up to run his fingers through Dabi’s hair.
“So, what do you say?” he offers. “Come back to bed? Stay a little longer?”
He sees the hesitation in Dabi’s eyes as he wars with what he wants, and then it dies, defeated. Dabi leans in, pressing a kiss to Hawks’ waiting lips as he whispers: “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Those words make Hawks jerk back, staring up at Dabi with wide eyes. “Don’t… don’t say that…” he breathes. He doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want to have to face what will be the likely outcome of his involvement with the League. His wings wrap around them both, hiding them from the world. “No death. No dying. I’m not done with you yet.”
In the shadow cast by Hawks’ wings, Dabi lifts his hand, his thumb grazing against Hawks’ lower lip. “You care about me.”
And he seems genuinely taken aback by the realisation, nothing in the stunned way he looks at Hawks betraying malice.
“Are you really so surprised?”
“I thought I was just a convenient fuck for you,” Dabi admits. “Or that you were slumming it and would get bored soon.”
“Well, you were convenient,” Hawks admits. “But you’re also pretty damn hot, and you’ve taken what has to be the best photo of me ever, and trust me, there are a lot out there.”
“I know there are,” Dabi smirks. “You’re the picture-perfect, pretty little Hero everyone wants to use to sell their stupid shit.” And then the expression falters. “You really don’t mind though?”
Hawks isn’t sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is the same regardless. “No.” He smiles a little as he adds: “Take as many pictures of me as you’d like. I’m all yours.”
“All mine?” Dabi questions.
“Well, when we’re together, yeah,” Hawks says. “You’re mine too, right?”
“I suppose,” Dabi answers, as if doing so is a chore. The smile tugging at his lips betrays him.
“And you’ll come back to bed?”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” Dabi deadpans.
Hawks can’t help grinning, leaning in and kissing Dabi for all he’s worth. They might not have much time together, their meetings fewer and farther between than Hawks would like, but he thinks of that photo Dabi took with tenderness in his heart, knowing that they can find a small measure of peace together. It might not be much, but it’s more than some people ever get, and Hawks will cling to it with both hands, refusing to ever let go.