Thread by @rowanafterdark

It doesn’t take Keigo very long to notice it, but it does take him a while to do something about it. Dabi...doesn’t care much about his own pleasure, not in the actual fact of it. He acts as though he does, certainly. Wears a facade of selfishness like armor, even when they’re

chest-to-chest, breath-to-breath. But he never allows Keigo’s touch to linger on his skin, and even when he puts the hero on his knees, it’s more about making him submit and crack in all the right ways than it is about Dabi reveling in his own pleasure.

Which Keigo would like.

Dabi getting off on getting him off is one thing; it’s not precisely service topping, but he gets it. It’s another thing completely for him to avoid the topic of his body, his wants, his needs beyond the simple end of orgasm.

(Dabi cumming is great, don’t get him wrong.

He /growls/ in a way that sounds utterly primal and thrusts in like he wants to fill Keigo with every last drop of his cum until it leaks back out around him. But it’s not the only goal they have, not anymore.)

What to do about it...that’s a different challenge.

There’s probably some sort of healthy discussion they could be having about boundaries and body positivity, but Keigo knows damn well Dabi would just laugh that harsh laugh of his and wave him off with a ‘I know what I am, little bird, no need to fuckin’ sugar coat it’.

So in the end, the most obvious solution is the correct one. Handcuffs are easy enough for a pro hero to come by, and he tightens them around bony wrists, hooking the metal through the frame of his headboard while Dabi grins ghoulishly up at him.

“Damn, knew I’d be

getting this out of you one day. Just wasn’t sure if you were gonna throw me in a squad car right after or not,” he murmurs, voice gravel and velvet. Danger and softness wrapped up in one, and tonight, Keigo is going to show him how deeply he craves it.

“Maybe I’ve finally got you right where I want you,” Keigo shoots back, bending down to slide his lips in a long line across Dabi’s scarred throat, tasting the thrum of his pulse deep under the damaged skin. Every inch of him burns like there’s a fever living permanently just

beneath the surface, and Keigo feels his own breath puffing back against his skin as he drags his open mouth downwards. “Maybe I’m fucking tired of not being able to see you, to touch you the way I want.”

Under him, Dabi’s muscles stiffen. Not enough to be truly revealing,

he never shows his weaknesses like that. But enough that Keigo can feel it, and yet he presses on anyway, driven by the greed of love that demands to be felt by both parties. Soft on one side, hard on the other, and ravenous in between.

“Never thought a pretty boy like you

would be into ugly motherfuckers.” There’s the jeering edge to his tone, always pushing his fingers into bruises, but Keigo ignores it this time. Sliding back, he straddles his lover’s body and fans his wings out behind him, a massive display of crimson with a thousand

little deaths tucked inside. And he selects one, just one feather to slip out from the group and dart under Dabi’s shirt quicker than a knife, hitching against the fabric and slicing it open in one clean, fluid motion.

The chest that falls bare to him is scarred, but delectable

He used to think of it as a gruesome symbol of Dabi’s disregard of himself that he had so many piercings and staples so much metal pressed into his flesh. Now he finds it attractive, seeing it for the decoration that it is. Nothing attracts a bird like a glitter, after all.

“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, /baby/,” he purrs out, rocking his hips languidly back and forth just to feel Dabi’s growing erection twitching against his ass. “And tonight, I wanna look all I please. So be a good boy, and just enjoy it.”

Dabi’s arms tighten, the lean

muscle bulging out as he tugs against the handcuffs hard enough to rattle the headboard, but Keigo only tuts at the show of bad behavior. The same feather, which had seconds ago been sharp as a razor, now caresses across his exposed chest with a delicate brushing that sends the

skin shivering in its wake. Only at the end of the stroke does it form a hard edge, just enough pressure for a little spike of pain that wrings a gasp out of Dabi’s throat, and Keigo grins around his concentration.

“Fuck you.”

“We’ll get to that, hot stuff.”

Dabi looks like he wants to fire off some witty retort, and Keigo silences him with a rough, bruising kiss. They have their tender moments, for certain, but this has always been their best language. When the pleasure is cut through with just a hint of anguish. Keigo sucks

on Dabi’s tongue, drags that scarred lower lip between his teeth until it’s near splitting, eats the passion out of him ravenously. If fire consumes whole, then right now, they’re both burning in tandem. One of Keigo’s hands cups the lean muscle of Dabi’s pectoral,

groping and squeezing it between his fingers until he breaks free to press a kiss-slicked mouth to the point of one pierced nipple. Aching groans fall out of the villain’s throat from above him and he adores each one as he sucks the hardening point, delighting in the taste of

his flesh and the way his hips buck up. Still trying to claim that last inch of dominance, and Keigo won’t let him have it.

Behind himself he hears the rustle of feathers trembling in delight, even though the only stimulation he’s getting is from grinding his hardening dick

down against Dabi’s through the already-damp fabric of their underwear. It doesn’t matter, it’s only secondary; he moves off the stiff point with an obscene wet noise and pauses to stare down propane-blue eyes before moving over to the next.

“I happen to think you’re gorgeous, you know. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t think is sexy, so just shut the hell up and enjoy.”

Dabi grunts, and Keigo undulates his hips forward and back, catching the metal barbell

between his teeth and tugging until Dabi hisses, hips jerking upward frantically. Always loves a bit of heat with his honey.

“You make me want to take you apart one stitch at a time,” he breathes against swollen flesh, “You’re so fucking sensitive, and not the only sadist in

this room.” By now Dabi’s breath is ragged and Keigo revels in it, finally releasing his chest to slide up to the uneven edge of his scar. Dotted with so many little slivers of metal like stars; he picks one and hooks his talons beneath the edges, tugging up.

The villain’s moan turns to a keen of pain and want, and under his cunt, Keigo can feel his cock pulsing so violently he almost wonders if Dabi is about to cum. Just from this—there’s a fascinating thought.

“God, Keigo—“ A single bead of blood rolls across his pale

skin, ruby-red and copper scented. A predator’s tongue laps it up, and Keigo finally can’t stand it anymore. He might be breaking first, but damn it all, he’s not waiting anymore. Sure hands strip them both, leaving Dabi’s underwear bunched around his thighs once his

cock is free. Thick, glorious—Keigo is as in love with this as every other inch of the man beneath him. And what a delightful pair they make; the contrast of Dabi’s shaft gone dark with need, and Keigo’s own dick rose pink where it pokes out from between blond curls

darkened with slick. On ritual, almost, he rises above Dabi and cups the fat head, grinning wildly to feel it nearly filling his palm before he slides it between swollen folds.

“I adore you,” he whispers, and then begins to sink down.