excerpt from a DabiHawks fic
read the full fic, Avoiding Stray Staples, here!
Now it’s Dabi’s turn to frown, “Fuck, Keigo, I still have the damn key, I didn’t lose it. I’ll use it every day if it’ll make you stop fucking complaining.”
He captures Hawks in another kiss, hard and passionate. Hawks is unable to keep himself from smiling into it. Hearing his name, so infrequently used, fall so effortlessly out of Dabi’s mouth starts a fire inside of him that has nothing to do with the other’s quirk. He uses a stray feather to place his coffee cup somewhere out of the way on the counter and brings both hands up to cup Dabi’s face. They kiss each other fervently, Dabi’s burst of anger becoming a hunger that Hawks can feel radiating off of him. The feeling is infectious. Hawks doesn’t think he’s ever tasted something so delicious as Dabi’s tongue against his own, but he still wants more, and so does Dabi.
In one fluid motion, he pulls away and scoops Hawks up to seat him on the edge of the kitchen island. Wings flare out behind him and Hawks quickly wraps his legs around Dabi to keep himself from falling backwards. Dabi lets himself get dragged forward, he wouldn’t try to escape Hawks’s grip even if he thought he could.
He has to tilt his head up to kiss Hawks now, but he seems less interested in that, only pressing a quick kiss to his flushed lips before moving down to his neck. The drag of the metal in Dabi’s face against the delicate skin of Hawks’s neck feels electric, drawing a gasp from his throat and another shudder from his wings. His reaction drives Dabi to attack his neck with a familiar wet heat, biting and sucking with no remorse. The thought that he could, in theory, make Hawks’s neck just as dark, angry, and purple as his own with enough hickies crosses Dabi’s mind, and he isn’t sure why he finds that image so appealing.
Satisfied with the first mark, Dabi finds a new target in a patch of skin just above Hawks’s collarbone. It’s harder to reach under the collar of Hawks’s shirt, and Dabi is tempted to just burn the offending garment to ash, but he knows he would never be forgiven if he did, so he settles for pulling it to the side with one hand, reattaching his mouth as soon as the spot is exposed. Even as oversized as the shirt is on Hawks, pulling it down only reveals so much, and the barest hint of Hawks’s chest makes Dabi want to feel it more. He slips his other hand under the hem of the cotton fabric, running it up over the hard planes of Hawks’s stomach. He squirms a little under the touch, reminding Dabi that he is a more than a little ticklish. As much as Dabi adores the sound of Hawks’s laugh, it isn’t what he wants to hear right now, so he stops touching his stomach and nips lightly at Hawks’s collarbone, a warning to keep still.
Dabi moves his hand directly to Hawks’s chest, his original goal. He traces the horizontal scars there with his thumb. He knows that they are surgical scars, not nearly as horrific as his own, but he still finds a guilty comfort in them, knowing that he finds Hawks’s scarred chest beautiful and irresistible makes it easier to understand how it’s possible for the other man to find his body attractive, with its burns that would never heal.
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