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"We gonna talk about it?" You're already reaching for the lighter, and he gives it up easily, shivering as your skin brushes his, tingles rushing through nerves that haven't yet been damaged by fire.
"Someday, maybe? Never?" That gets you to snort, eyes rolling
"I'm really feeling the love, man." He watches as you take a hit, smoke pouring from your mouth and clouding the air between you. He doesn't think anything of the way you stare him down when he takes the bong; you're always watching him these days. "Would it help if you saw it?"
He makes a sound like a dying cat, and you laugh, loud and helpless, as he hacks up the inhaled smoke.
"You're crazy," he finally forces out. His throat burns, and so does his face, but you only look at him, soft and warm. "Uh, sure, though."
"Sick. Alright, try not to scream, okay?" He's about to ask, but you're standing up, and his brain short circuits as you yank your shirt over your head.
"What-" You grin, shaking hair out of your face."Hang on. Check this shit out." He opens his mouth to reply, but his brainpower falters as you shuffle your pants down your thighs. Dimly, he realizes that inviting you over wasn't going to help him push you away.
You don't know what prompted you to offer, but the minute you toss your shirt onto the couch and drop your pants, there's really no recovering. Dabi is sitting like a deer in headlights, blue eyes as wide as they can go with the scars present, healthy skin flushed a pale shade of pink. He's not even really looking at you, eyes locked onto some obscure patch of your skin.
"Yeah," you drawl. "Uh, shit. Didn't realize you'd bluescreen, dude." He blinks, and that seems to do the trick as far as a mental reset goes, because he's looking very intently now at the branches and flowers that creep over your hips and wrap around your thighs.
"How big is it?" Your heart thumps as the room shifts, and your skin prickles under his gaze as your perspective twists, the high creeping up through your bones and loosening your mind and mouth.
"It's uh... pretty fuckin' big actually." You hesitate for just a moment, but at this point, it's not like you're losing anything by showing Dabi the rest of it, and with one quick movement, you've turned away, baring the entirety of your back and the massive dogwood tree that covers it, reaching up to touch your shoulders and down to your hips and thighs.
"It's huge," he breathes, and you snort, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth. The couch creaks, and before you can turn back around, you feel Dabi step up behind you from the rush of warmth. He doesn't do anything for a moment, but then his fingertips touch the trunk of the dogwood tree, and it's like he's sent lightning up your spine, knees briefly giving way.
"Holy fuck dude-" your croaky voice makes him jump, and he laughs uneasily, one hand still pressed to your back while the other keeps you steady at the hip.
"So, uh, you feel that too, then." Dabi traces the branches, mapping out the way they twist around and stretch along your skin.
"No shit, genius." You close your eyes, lost in the warm buzz his touch generates.
"Damn. Would've thought it was a tattoo if I didn't... know." Your eyes open at that, and you realize that he's inched in closer, creating a warm bubble around the both of you. The hand at your hip is barely moving, but you feel his thumb brush along more marked skin, and your heart hums.
"Gonna show me yours, baby?" You say it delicately, as a way of offering him an out. There's a reason you and Dabi hang out and share weed, and it's definitely not to discuss your deep, dark emotions concerning yourselves or each other. You expect him to take it, to let go and retreat from whatever the two of you are standing in the doorway of. "'s the polite thing to do when someone puts on a show, right?"
He scoffs and pulls away, and you settle slightly, reaching down to pull your jeans back up to your waist as Dabi reclaims his seat on the couch.
"You're a moron," he says, and you laugh as you fumble with the button and zipper, blinking to try and focus your thoughts, but you can't quite keep a handle on your mouth, mind spinning like a top.
"Yeah, well, I'm dumb and easy, and that's all anybody likes about me." You turn, hand rising to request your shirt, but it's time for you to stall out. Dabi's looking at you with sharp blue eyes, not unlike the expression you see when he's with other villains. "What?"
"You really think that?" Warmth floods your face, and you shrug, focusing on the crumpled fabric of your shirt.
"Dunno, man. I try not to think in general." His eyebrows drop, and your stomach turns, sensing the hole deepen beneath you. Dabi watches you for a moment more, then sighs and reaches for the bong. Unlike you, he can use his fingers as a means of lighting it - something you're only occasionally jealous of - and as he exhales, he gestures to the cushion next to him. Embarrassingly, you're seated before you can fully process the silent request. He sets the glassware on the table, looking at you from the corner of his eye.
"Listen. I'm not gonna say some mushy shit or anything, but uh. You're a lot fucking smarter than most of the idiots I work with." You laugh at his attempt, batting your eyelashes at him as you scoot a little closer, sink further into the warm haze he emits.
"But I'm still easy, right?" His eyebrows rise, eyes glowing in amusement. God, you love his eyes so much - they have so much life, no matter what he says.
"I've never seen you with anyone, but sure, honey. You've got mad game, and you get all the bitches." This is familiar; joking around, not thinking about anything important, letting time and troubles slide away for a little while. "I mean, you got me." You have to process that for a moment, but when the words register, you blink dumbly at him, and he smiles faintly. "You did say it was polite, right?" Just like that he's sitting up, grunting as he struggles out of his hoodie. You see something for a split second - a flash of black ink that disappears as he wrestles with his clothes, but then his hoodie is on the couch, and he's tugging his shirt off too, baring more of his patchwork skin, more staples and scars laid out for you to see, but your focus narrows your gaze, putting the rest of his torso on a mental back burner.
Right above his heart is a dandelion puff, a few seeds blown sideways onto his shoulder. It would look out of place to anyone else, but you're mesmerized, lost in the simple, clean beauty of it.
"Wow," you mumble, and he laughs, the sound forced and awkward.
"Yeah. I, uh, heard that it’s what i am to your - uh, to you, and... I looked it up. They're a symbol of pride, and- and healing." His face is getting progressively more flushed, blue eyes flickering between your face and the wall as his voice cracks, all gruff rasp and forced nonchalance. "There was some shit about, like, freedom and shit too."
"Yeah?" He looks at you when you reach out, fingers just barely skimming the dandelion, and you get to see his mind shut down in real time, a look of helpless wonder passing over his features.
"This... wasn't the plan," he admits hoarsely. "I was uh, gonna say some mean shit, make you leave crying. Whole nine yards."
"Breaking up with me so soon, baby?" You tease, tapping each stray dandelion seed. "Thought you were a gentleman." He laughs, distracted, but then his hand slides across your back, finding the tree with its twisting branches and many flowers, and for a moment, neither of you seem able to breathe.
"Oh." It's such a simple word, falling out of his mouth like a rock, but his surprise isn't unfounded; you can feel the same humming under your skin, intensified with both of your marks bare to touch. "Damn. C’mere, honey.”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice, and by unspoken agreement, the two of you shuffle until you’re straddled across his lap, head fuzzy, skin warm.
”You’re beautiful,” he mumbles, fingers skating up, up, up, tracing each inch of your spine, doubling back to slide down your hips, graze the flesh beyond the hem of your pants. “Shit, honey.” You savor the warmth of his voice and hands. He’s not pushing for anything, content with the electric feedback loop you make with your skin touching.
“You’re beautiful too,” you promise, and he snorts, but the sound dissolves like ice in the sun when you lean down and press your lips to each bit of ink you see, working your way to the heart of the flower you’ve engraved on his flesh. “Dogwood,” you hum, fingers petting gently along his side, brushing scars and staples and provoking shudders that sway the both of you and make the couch creak ominously. “Stands for strength and resilience. Bad circumstances.” You tilt your head upwards, plant a kiss directly to the scars that hide his throat and he inhales deeply. You see his eyes widen, above you, and it makes you smile. “Suitors used to give it to the person they wanted to marry. It can mean unrequited love, sometimes.”
”No.” His grip is tight, but not painful. “I-“ You shush him with a kiss, slow and soft, and his eyelashes flutter charmingly when you sit back, cupping his face in your hands.
”You don’t need to say it.” Your voice is goose down and fluffy December snow, and he shivers at how gentle you are. “I see it. I see you, Dandelion.” His jaw works, chews up countless words, but he finally sighs, eyes rolling back in his head as his face lights up. He likes the nickname - you can tell by the way his lips pout, pulled away from a grin by sheer force of will.
”You’re killing me, honey.” You tap his soulmark, unable to hide your goofy smile as his fingers reflexively squeeze the flowers on your hips.
“Quickest way to a man’s heart is through his chest, baby.” That pulls a deep laugh from him, and then he’s sitting up again, one hand splayed against your back to keep you against him as he reaches for the bong on the table.
”I’m not nearly high enough to deal with your murder-y flirting,” he grumbles, but he turns his head, draws you in for a kiss that has your fingers creeping up into his hair, playing with black stands that have the barest hints of lighter roots peeking through if you look closely. You discard the information after making a mental note to tell him about it later.
”Don’t hog it, baby,” you say as he sits back and takes a hit. “I remember you promising to send me to the astral realm.” He waves you off as he sets the piece to the side, cupping your chin in his hands and pulling your face in to meet his. It’s definitely not the neatest shotgun you’ve experienced, and smoke billows everywhere, but you manage to get a breath of it down, somehow, before it devolves into just kissing.
“I can get you there without weed,” he says when he pulls away, and your grin is saccharine when you respond.
”You’ll have to show me, Dandelion,” your voice is airy, and he blinks, then smiles back at you, somewhere between enthused and warmly incredulous.
”Well, if I show you, you gotta show me. That’s the polite thing, right?”
You laugh until your face hurts, clinging to his shoulders, and your heart dances in your chest when he laughs with you.