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Field of Vision

Chapter Text

 Close-up shot: A shot that tightly frames a person or object.


Dabi's rage is extinguished all at once by the shock of the scene unfolding before him.

From the camera lens in Hawks' visor, the affection on Endeavor's face seems so unfamiliar, its uncanny. He sees Hawks' urgent hands rush into view, holding on to that rugged face and pulling it in. The familiar sound of Hawks' moan is quiet through the speakers, yet, it reverberates in his ears like a blare. 

The moment he'd realized Hawks was about to spill a big secret, he'd been entirely ready to incinerate him for the betrayal - it's just as he'd been suspecting, but how dare he? This uncomfortable turn of events was a curve ball he did not see coming. Well, he should have, really. Hadn't he been the one teasing Hawks for his friendliness with Endeavor, egging him to use their closeness to the League's advantage? 

((As the buzzing in his ears quieten down, he's faintly aware of the conversation crackling through the speakers:

"Hawks, let's set things straight."


"What exactly do you want from...this?"))

This tactic of initiating some kind of intimate relationship could open a whole lot of possibilities: blackmail, access to his house... Hawks is smart – a little too smart. And even if this seduction is only a performance to benefit the league, it’s a little too convincing, too sincere, to put Dabi at ease. The question remains: was this outcome really Hawks' intent? 

((The camera angle tilts up to the ceiling as Hawks moves the visor up his head. Soft blonde tufts of hair peak at the edge of the screen. Dabi can almost feel them singe between his fingertips.

"Hawks...we have a lot to figure out."

"I know that."

"So let's think this through."

"Please, no, I don't want to think."

"What do you want, then?"

"I just want you."))

Dabi's mind is still a stuck in a maelstrom of speculation as the visor clatters to the dressing table behind Hawks. He steps forward, determined. In the mirror's reflection, Dabi sees his (partner?) companion pull the other man down again, meeting his lips with heightened fervour. Endeavor’s arms encircle his waist, leaning over him, engulfing the younger man in his shadow as he kisses him deeper. Looking past the wide span of his wings, his lean frame looks so small in the other man's hold. 

A twinge of something dark plucks at Dabi's chest.

"Do you... how far do you want to go?" Endeavor's baritone voice is warm.

"Let's see." 

Hawks snakes a hand between them and he hears a surprised grunt. 

"This feels like... a lot." Hawks' laughs nervously. Dabi hears the rustle of cloth. "Oh, wow."

((Is this really happening?))

Dabi can only imagine what Hawks is doing as low grunts come through. Hawks presses closer, closer. Endeavor's fingers come up to the fluff of his jacket collar.

"Could you take this off?"

Hawks takes a step back and does as he's asked, stripping the jacket and shirt of his hero uniform off, baring his torso. He sheds his wings into a neat pile by the side of the room while he's at it, until they’re down to a manageably small size. He takes hefty hands in his own and guides them to the waist of his pants.

"Strip me."

He's backed up against the dressing table. The larger man kneels in front of him to make quick work of his belt and zipper. Despite his eagerness, Hawks feels a hot blush creeping up his neck. His senses are overwhelmed at the sight of his object of affection down on his knees, at the friction of rough fabric and fingertips moving down his hips, his thighs, his shins, as he pulls his pants and underwear down to the ankle. He tries not to stumble as he steps out of them.

He shivers slightly at being laid bare. The cold dissipates from his skin as he feels the heat of Endeavor's gaze (Enji, he corrects himself, but he’s still a stranger to this intimacy) trailing up his legs, resting on his pelvis. Firm hands retrace the path of his eyes, carefully smoothing over delicate ankles, the light hairs on his shins, to take hold of his hips. A tremor of self-consciousness settles in the pit of his stomach.

What does he see when he looks at me?

Enji leans in. Hawks doesn't realize he's holding in a lungful of air until questioning eyes look up at him and pierce through his chest.

"Can I?"

"O-of course!" Hawks sputters. "But have you done this before...?"

Enji just looks down again and exhales. The tension in his shoulders leave as he appears to make himself relax. 

"I'm guessing no?"

Hawks can't help but release the soft yelp of surprise as fingers carefully encircle his shaft. A wet mouth envelops his head as rough lips press tight against its rim, sealing the head of his cock in warmth. His thighs threaten to jerk when he feels a rough tongue laving over the tip.

"Mmh--" Hawks presses his lips together as he smooths a hand into the shock of red hair in front of him. Fingertips move against Enji's scalp. Then, he urges him further.

His lips move forward to take more of Hawks' dick into the inviting heat of his mouth. Heavy lids fall over amber eyes as he surrenders to the warmth. Slender fingers tighten at the roots of Enji's hair as that relentless tongue swirls up his shaft. Those lips come an inch short of the base before Hawks' tip hits something soft at the back of his partner's throat. Suddenly, the heat around his dick retreats, and he lets go of Enji's hair, startled as he coughs lightly.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." A wave of a large hand dismisses the concern.

"Don't force yourself."

"I'm not." He replies gruffly. Hawks reaches for him.

"Come on, get up, let's--"

Hands close over his own, and guide them down to rest on the wooden dresser top behind him. Hawks braces himself against it as his hip is grabbed again, holding him still. He stiffens, pulse quickening.

Enji's mouth is on him once more, moving a modest distance up his shaft before slowly coming back down. His tongue is hot and heavy in its now slower, firmer movement. The drag has his eyelids fluttering again. When calloused fingertips close over the lower half of his shaft, Hawks' incisors clamp down on his trembling bottom lip. In his gut, a vague sense of dread builds at the approaching possibility of unraveling the taut nerve of his body right in front of his hero.

As Enji's thick fingers tighten and twist, 

((Dabi can see Hawks' back in the mirror of the dresser. Tense arms begin to tremble from the effort of supporting himself.))

that thick tongue drags deliciously over the sensitive slit of his head. Hawks' mouth parts in a high moan.

((Muffled, as the microphone is tacked to his jacket, strewn on the floor. It sounds just the same as the dozens of times they'd done this before. He hasn't recovered from the realization that he doesn't hold the privilege of being the sole audience to Hawks' undoing.))

"Stop, please, I'll--" 

Another cry as the other hollows his cheeks and sucks him tight. A small gush of precum spurts onto his tongue. Hawks' cheeks flush further in embarrassment. A hand creeps up his stomach and strokes up his abdominals. The lean muscle beneath it quivers as his eyes fill with moisture. When calloused fingertips rub over his nipple, his back arches up into the touch. His hand flies to the red head of hair, tugs desperately as he works to finish him off.

He meets Enji's gaze as he takes his cock in deeper than before. His mortification builds up to the brim of his heart – he can't bear to be seen like this, not by him. The hand in Enji's hair slides down over his forehead to cover his eyes. He can't hear Enji's grunt of surprise over the crescendo of his own moans. With a wanton cry, Hawks comes. 

His knees would've given out had Enji not kept a firm grasp on his hip as pumps of cum fill his mouth. Time slows and ebbs as he’s drained of his pleasure.

Eventually, Hawks slumps against the dressing table with a spent sigh.

He spits into layers of tissue and tosses it into the bin. When he turns back around, Hawks is still leaning heavily against the dresser, eyes shut. 

Why did he stop me from looking at him?

He has so many questions, but no time to argue. This moved way faster than he'd anticipated - though, what else did he expect when he surrendered to Hawks' pace?

There was no deliberation, 

You, of all people, should know how bad this looks from the outside

no negotiation,

We have to keep this a secret

no disclaimers,

You don't know what I've done in the past to get what I want

no promises.

Why am I thinking of endings right at the beginning? How long will this last?

As he approaches him, slowly, he can't help but admire the way the dim glow of the lamp caresses the soft curve of his thighs. The lights shift gently over the planes of his torso with each rise and fall of his chest. He never thought he'd look so good, so organically debauched, with feathers ruffled, small right wing asymmetrically askew from the left. His gaze gravitates to that soft mouth, lips he wants to kiss raw. When feather lashes flutter open, amber eyes pierce into his heart like an arrow. His critical astuteness, his broiling doubt, his indelible sense of self-preservation, all fall to enraptured silence, usurped by a singular concern:


The younger man swallows and pushes himself off the dresser to his unsteady feet. 

"You got any lube?" 

The question leaves him dumbfounded. Hawks infers from his reaction that the answer is negative. He pulls the dresser drawer open and sifts through the combs and tweezers and clippers he finds there. He shuts it, opens the other, and repeats the process before finally grabbing hold of a bottle of moisturizer. "This'll do."

"For what?" Enji finds his voice again.

"Fuck my thighs." He breathes, bringing a handful of lotion between his legs. Lithe fingers spread swirls of white across his soft skin. The immodest sight almost has him staggering.

“Just returning the favour,” he keeps his eyes down, focused. “I don't like being indebted to others.”

“I didn't give you anything.” The blond laughs softly.

“Then do it because I want it.”

Once done, Hawks turns to face the mirror, reduced wings fluttering in the rapidity of that spin. His hands brace against the dresser top and he lowers his head and his voice:

"Enji, please."

He almost regrets putting his name into Hawks' hand, because it pulls him in like a leash. 

As he moves behind him,

((In the reflection, Dabi sees Hawks' body overshadowed by Endeavor's – the bulk of his body fills the full frame of the mirror. He's always been so intimidatingly big.))

Hawks' legs close shut, gluts rising tight against skin.

He frees his hefty cock from his pants and furtively brings it against smooth skin he's afraid of searing. Hawks tenses in anticipation.

((But Hawks is not intimidated. He looks...determined, hungry.))

The supple meat of his inner thigh squeezes and parts as Enji's dick slides into the crevice. Hawks bristles as he feels it brush against the underside of his own member. Lotion-slicked flesh closes tighter around the daunting girth, thick and pulsing. 

Peaking up over Hawks' bowed head, in the mirror, Enji catches sight of his tip peeking out between Hawks' taut thighs. He sees his own hands frame them as they take hold of him there. The sheer size of his thick fingers closed over those slender hips looks criminal, more so than he already feels.

"Enji...?" Hawks raises his head.

He begins sliding back, and pumps his hips forward in answer.


With that, he begins to move, experimentally at first; then, with escalating urgency. Hawks' lips seal themselves tight as moans move up his throat, punched out of him by each thrust of that thick girth sliding wet against his sensitive thighs. 

Hawks feels hands take hold of his own and guide them to push against the sides of his legs, holding them closed.

"Keep yourself tight." The command breathes hot against his ear as fingers glide up his stomach, his chest. He finds it hard to obey the order: rough hands greedily feel all they can from sweat-slicked pelvis up to pink-flushed collarbone, draining the strength from his arms, his thighs, his every muscle surrendering to Enji's possessive touch. 

((Obscene. Violent. Frustration builds in Dabi's chest as he looks at Hawks' desperate expression in the mirror. He tries to recall the last time he's seen him so euphoric - agonizingly, it's human nature to compare. His memory comes short, though. He realizes with a start that, with his companion's constant refusal to face him, to look at him directly whenever they fuck, this is the first time he's granted such an unobstructed view to Hawks' uncontrolled pleasure. Gold irises glisten as tears fill his eyes, as cheeks blush red and tongue lolls out - all while brutal hands grope his pliant flesh.

I can't watch anymore.

Yet, he does.))

Hawks' moans climb dangerously close to a discover-able volume. None of the kids are in tonight--

Oh God, kid. Isn't he the same age…?

--but the two housekeepers residing considerably further down the wing may hear, if Hawks manages to be loud enough. And he is one to exceed expectations.

This concern soon comes to be realized as his ministrations reduces Hawks to quivering nerves. When he finally takes hold of his cock, Hawks sobs – loudly. His hand shoots up and clamps heavy over the blond's mouth. He strokes his dick and continues thrusting between trembling, rubbed-raw thighs. Throaty groans vibrate against his hand, urging the swell of his dick between pliant flesh. 

He's startled when he feels tears gush over the top of his hand.

Shit. He lets go, pulls back, gives Hawks room to breathe.

Without support, Hawks lurches forward against the mirror, just managing to catch himself before he bumps his head hard. He pants heavy against the glass, shoulders trembling. The larger man stares awkwardly, mouth moving in an unfamiliar attempt at an apology. But words fail him as Hawks glances back.

“Wh-what's wrong? Why'd you stop?”

The hands by his side subconsciously fidget. He smears the tears over his fingertips, as if confirming their existence.

((Dabi is tense in his seat.))

“You’re crying.”

((He can't move, he wants to scream.))

Hawks hums, brings a palm up to his face to swipe at the tears there. Eyeliner smudges slightly under his eyes.

"It's good." A small streak of black is visible in his open palm as he stretches a hand back, grasping for Enji. "Come, hold me again."

Muscular arms encircle him, tentatively. Chaffed lips graze against the nape of his neck. Hawks shudders at the touch. He pulls a big hand up to his throat.

"I'm not so fragile - look."

Enji stills as Hawks carefully positions his thick digits over the pulse of his carotid arteries on either side of his neck. Beneath his fingertips, he feels the rapid beat of Hawks' blood pumping.

Hawks' moves a hand to his burly wrist. 

"I'll tap thrice if I want you to stop." He demonstrates with successive pats.

"Now, squeeze."

He does, and feels Hawks' pulse flutter beneath the delicate skin of his neck. The shorter man cranes his head back to expose more of his throat, leaning his head back against Enji's broad chest. It takes all his self-control to stop himself from burying his face into that mess of soft blond hair.  

His free hand moves down to stroke Hawks' dick again, and he hears a pleased sigh in response. Carefully, he increases the pressure on his neck as he strokes Hawks' cock to hardness. Gradually, lithe hips thrust up into his large fist as the oxygen leaves Hawks' brain. Amber eyes roll back as his head begins to swim. He whimpers pitifully as a thumb smears the precum over his head. His thrusts grow jerky, desperate.

((Dabi wants to shout, ugly and brutal. Stop, stop--))

Broad fingers tighten around his shaft and twist deliciously. Back arching, eyes screwed shut, Hawks comes. 

White splatters upon the dark wood as Enji pumps him dry.

Hawks barely registers the kiss on his sweaty temple before his hips are pulled back, and a swollen dick slides between his thighs once again. 

((Filthy and unfair.))

Enji’s grip is bruising, but he's never wanted someone so much; he chases it with graceless fervour. His partner-- 

Wait, wasn’t this guestroom hers? She’d lived here when she'd first arrived at this estate, before our matrimonial vows were spoken.

--doesn't resist, and so he takes.

Hawks’ shoulder blades shake with the strain of holding himself up. Small scarlet wings jerk with each thrust. Lewd groans fall to the table top.

She’d used this room, this dresser, the combs in these drawers...Do white strands of her hair still cling to their teeth?

He closes his eyes to the ghosts lingering in this space. Now’s not the time, and, right now, he doesn't have the means. There’s no timely way nor appropriate method for an exorcism, is there? At least, none that will undo the damage, and no punishment will ever be just. 

((Dabi seethes. “You don't deserve this pleasure—"))

--not after what I've done.

Indulging in the comfort of Hawks’ affection and drinking in the sweetness of his ignorant devotion gives him the most definite sense that he’s piling wrong on wrong. Hawks is hiding something from him too, he knows, shielding him from something he doesn’t want him to see. But right now, in the obscure shadows of his own grotesque demons, he can’t envision the gravity of Hawks’ possible secrets, nor imagine if they will ever come close to matching the weight of his own misdeeds. 

All he can sense is the desire between them, made tangible in the aching hunger of the other's demands for harder, faster, hold me, please. All he feels is their bodies bumping, the burning friction of their frenzied desperation. Hawks' body is a temple, a private sanctuary letting him in when the people he's hurt most, wanted most, have shut him out.

Perhaps, seeking absolution at the altar of another body was a sin in itself.

"Please, Enji...Ah! Enji, Enji—!"

But he'll let the Gods damn his very name, if only to hear it fall like a curse from Hawks' lips.

A heavy groan rumbles from his chest, and he lets go.

When Dabi finally brings himself to close the camera feed, it’s with a hand dripping blood. It runs dark over his knuckles where surgical staples have sliced into his skin from the tension of clenching fists too tight.