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27 Hours

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It’s thinking of love.

It’s thinking of stabbing us to death.

-Richard Siken


Dabi was a lonely boy. He can see it in the way the young man looks at him with eyes drunk on affection, a filthy thing housing in the decomposing remains of his physical shell, and Stain wonders if Dabi has ever been loved. He wonders about the hands that held him at night when he woke up from a nightmare, or the first mouth to steal the reminders of innocence from his lips. He wonders about masses of curious hands wandering between a pair of thighs and pressing rugged memories into the patches of skin not having been scarred by a past without words yet. He wonders how much blood Dabi spilled in the presence of loneliness, and how much more in its absence. Stain wonders.

Dabi went down so willingly, sank to his knees and offered everything he had left to Stain on bruised palms. He took his mouth and his tongue, often, whenever Stain felt like blowing off steam. Dabi never asked for anything in return after he swallowed whatever Stain gave him, licking the remains of what he surely mistook for fondness from his puffy lips, smiling at the older man with star-sprinkled eyes. Stain grabbed his chin and kissed him, and he knew Dabi would never ever leave him again.

But the boy’s love was a double-edged sword; it could cut in both directions, tearing apart more than just one body. The hapless figure of Shigaraki Tomura was the first to fall victim to Dabi’s dagger-torn tongue. Poor, unfortunate Tomura. Just a loveless ghost of something that maybe resembled a human at some point, but now nothing more than a field to harvest Dabi’s sick devotion.

Dabi isn’t what he’d describe as fragile, not with metal stitches protruding from his flesh like brutal halos, pulling at the skin whenever Dabi’s lips split in a tender-swallowing smile, sucking the light out of every room through his teeth. Stain thinks of the hungry monster sitting in the back of Dabi’s throat when he forces his jaw open, pushing his tongue into his mouth and licking, taking, never giving it back. The young man is so eager to allow him in, and he moans when Stain grabs his jaw and squeezes it harder than necessary.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he rasps against cobweb lips and opens his eyes to the sight of Dabi drowning in him. “You’d take anything I gave you, wouldn’t you? Be a good boy, nod for your sir.”

Dabi does nod, the motion so enthusiastic it sends the tips of coal-kissed hair bouncing, embracing Dabi’s face like a crown of thorns. He’s pretty in a violent way. Eyes like blue fires and long lashes, hands roughened by quirk but his fingers so graceful when he reaches out to entangle them in Stain’s shirt.

“That’s a good boy,” Stain coos, dragging a large thumb over the scarred bottom lip before him. “Now turn around and spread yourself for our guest.”

The guest is watching them out of blood-drunk eyes, a sharp crimson bleeding through strands of thunderstorm grey and Tomura doesn’t need to make a sound to fill the room with unfiltered rage. At first, Stain was surprised to see them both entangled on top of his bed, Dabi’s face delved between Tomura’s thighs and the picture looked so right, the way Tomura played with his hair like rewarding an obedient dog, looking at Stain with gratification kindling at the corners of his mouth. Between his legs, Dabi gagged on the cock blocking his airway as Tomura pushed him that bit harder against himself, just in time with Stain taking the first step into his demise.

There was a wordless understanding between them; the wish to destroy the boy body beneath their palms.

What a lovely victim Dabi would be. He could be dying around one of Stain’s knives and he’d still suck his own blood from their fingers with eagerness pumping through his drying veins. Of course, Stain knows of the gentleness that stands between the two young men like a nameless child, pulling and pushing at their forms, brushing them together only to yank them apart as soon as one of them comes too close to the source of suffer that blooms around their lungs like a garden of sick. Stain knows Dabi nurtures the poison ivy that he calls affection and enwraps Tomura in like a comfort blanket. He also knows their leader gave up his struggles a long time ago, and now he sucks the devotion from Dabi’s lips like day-old liquor.

A sigh rises from the lost boy between them, Dabi leaning against Stain’s broad chest while Tomura spreads his thighs with too-gentle fingers. He’s already stretched, his hole wet and glistening, inviting them in like a whore cooing to their potential customers. Tomura’s eyes are glued to the sight before him. If asked, Stain would have taken him for the impatient kind, the one to rip apart and devour, leaving the smell of death and desperation in his wake. But instead the young man takes his time, holding his cock and rubbing the tip over Dabi’s twitching hole. Dabi fidgets at the motion and pushes his hips forward, trying to impale himself on the hot dick pressing into his skin. Greed is pouring from Dabi’s eyes like hollow prayers, but Stain grabs his thighs, pressing his fingers into the skin and revels in the way he can almost fully reach around. There’s no doubt in the room that, if he wanted to, he could break his bones with a flick of his wrist. The power imbalance is what grounds him, and what drives Tomura up the walls. He offers Stain an enraged glare, but keeps his mouth shut. Between them, Dabi tries to worm his way out of Stain’s grip, but he’s not putting his heart into it.

“Please,” he whispers, a war-torn sound spilling past lips that are bruised with memory and desire. “Fuck me already. Tomura, please, I need it so badly.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Stain adds and the mockery is easy to dismantle.

The air around them vibrates with bloodlust, and with more vigor than necessary, Tomura lines himself up and forces his way inside the pliant body. Dabi gasps, and for a moment the discomfort is visible in the curl of his toes and the hands flying up to grab Stain’s arms for stability; a stability he couldn’t offer Dabi if he wanted. There’s nothing to take from empty pockets. Dabi’s head sinks against his chest and he can already feel sweat slicken the skin. Tomura hasn’t offered them a word yet, but he willingly takes what Dabi gifts him in the pull of his brows, the teeth sinking into his bottom lip and the high-pitched moan rising from his throat. Beneath them, the mattress dips when Tomura moves forward until he’s pressed flush against Dabi’s backside, slick sounds emitting when his cock delves deeper into the welcoming heat.

“How does it feel, boy?” Stain rumbles against Dabi’s temple. The young man mewls.

“Good,” he whispers, a soft sound slipping from brutal lips. “I need more.”

“Heard that? He needs it. The little slut needs you to try harder.”

“Shut up,” Tomura hisses and his tongue glides over the command like a butcher’s knife. “Stop wasting the air in this room with your bullshit dirty talk.”

Fondness is a treacherous disease; it blooms around the spine, pushing its roots deep between the bones, but once it’s settled, it turns into something ugly, something unholy. Jealousy, possessiveness, obsession. The malevolent wish to own. Stain can’t imagine Tomura ever harbored soft feelings for Dabi, not in the shallows of his body, the demons hiding beneath a layer of moon-chafed skin, and yet there is the need to consume the boy between them, before Stain can sink his teeth into the rotten flesh and take him apart until Dabi lays bare to their eyes. Tomura doesn’t want Dabi’s core, doesn’t want the songs stuck in his lungs like boxed memories – he wants the easy affection and the touches drunk on violence-drenched needs. He doesn’t know how Dabi speaks about him in the dark, how his lips part to describe the scars on his neck like angel kisses, the depth of his eyes like the ocean Dabi wants to drown in. Stain knows, and he wedges the knowledge between his teeth and pulps it to nothingness when he buries Dabi beneath him and suffocates this reedy love. By the time Dabi spills onto the sheets, breathing Stain’s name, all of Tomura was forgotten.

He can’t rid Dabi of the young man now, not when Tomura is rolling his hips into him and Dabi whimpers through the stretch. Tomura might not be of an impressive size, but he knows Dabi, knows how to angle his hips and how to roll them into the familiar body in slow waves, to have Dabi fall apart beneath his death-kissed fingers. Dabi parts his lips eagerly when the same fingers brush over his lips and sucks them into his mouth. Tomura watches a pierced tongue press between his knuckles as he buries his cock deep enough to smear the lube all over his pubes. Dabi shudders, his teeth trapping the fingers inside his mouth, and Tomura hisses.

He pulls them out again and a string of saliva connects them for a moment, before breaking soundlessly.

“Ah, Tomura,” Dabi breathes when the smaller man leans forward, forcing Dabi to part his legs further to accommodate his broken body. There would be crescent moons littering his skin from Stain’s nails, if the skin wasn’t already a field of destruction. “Your cock feels so good –“

The rest of the sentence is cut off at a harsh thrust, and Stain watches everything gentle die in Tomura’s eyes.

“Then why do you keep coming back to suck this asshole’s dick like your fucking life depends on it?” he clenches between gritted teeth, ignoring Dabi’s pained groans when he slams back into him. “You make me sick, brat, so goddamn sick.”

If only that was true. Stain watches them silently, brushing aside his own need for now. Tomura presses forward, almost bending Dabi in half to get close enough to his sweat-slick face, brushing their lips together, albeit not diving in for the final kiss, and Dabi doesn’t dare to reach out to him.

“Pathetic,” Tomura whispers, and the lie glides easily off his tongue. “Disgusting.”

With a sudden movement, Stain’s arm darts between them, shoving his fingers past Tomura’s cock and alongside into Dabi’s slick hole. Both men gasp in surprise, Dabi grabbing Stain’s arm hard enough to scratch the skin open.

“You don’t even know how much he can take,” Stain growls as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out of the squirming body at his own unrelenting pace. “Stop being so nice to him. It’s not what he needs.”

“Fuck,” Dabi curses, toes curling, eyes squeezed shut as he breathes through the stretch. “It hurts! Stain, please –“

“Give him what he deserves,” Stain continues, ignoring Dabi’s pleas. He curls his fingers, digging them into the young man’s inner walls, and Dabi cries out.

Tomura’s eyes are glued to the sight before him; Stain roughly fingering Dabi while he is still stretched around Tomura’s hard cock, pulling such lovely sounds from a love-slit throat. Stain realizes the exact moment Tomura decides to break the body between them for good.

Something in him changes, and Dabi is an idiot for not having realized the hungry wolves housing against Tomura’s ribs, predators waiting for their day to strike and rip apart the young flesh. This boy attracts death wherever he goes, and instead of running he decides to feed it his bones.

Dabi watches the fires die in Tomura’s eyes, and he turns his head away as he takes it silently.

The walls throw back the sounds of pleasure erupting from drowned lungs, Tomura panting, huffing, whispering cleaver-sharp endearments under his breath as he takes Dabi apart. He fucks into him without a care for the young man’s need. Before him, Dabi falls apart like a sunflower shedding its petals, trembling hands grasping at Stain’s arm still holding him open while his body is used for what it was made. He fingers him slower now, massaging Dabi’s prostate in hard rubs; not to offer him a release he doesn’t deserve, but to aid the boy’s total destruction. He wonders if Dabi knew that his prayers wouldn’t be able to come ashore here, that the welcoming arms were hiding knives in their palms. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. What does it matter to a dead body.

“Shit,” Tomura curses, shakily. That’s as much of a warning as they get before he topples over, burying the sounds crawling from his throat into the skin of Dabi’s neck, as he comes and spills into him. Stain purrs when the thick liquid gushes past his fingers, making a mess of the crossroad where they’re all connected.

He’s the first to pull out, wiping his fingers on Dabi’s thighs and waiting for the other two to catch their breath. From his place behind him, he can see the tears having caught in Dabi’s dark lashes.

“Can you take it?” Stain asks as he gets a hold of Dabi’s jaw, turning his head so the young man is forced to look at him. He doesn’t specify what, and there’s no need to. Dabi would take whatever Stain offered, and if it was his own bleeding heart on a silver platter, he would take it with happiness blooming in the empty place where the organ used to be.

Tomura pulls out and the rest of his semen drips out of Dabi’s hole in lazy streaks. They don’t bother cleaning him up before Stain lays him into the sheets, taking his rightful place between Dabi’s spread legs. Stain’s cock, having remained untouched during the whole procedure, stands proudly against his abdomen, and it only takes a few strokes until precum pearls from the tip. Dabi purrs at the sight, biting his lips and his legs drop that bit further open.

“You want this cock?” Stain rumbles, his eyes never leaving the love-drunk ones of Dabi. The young man nods. “Ask for it.”

“Please, sir,” Dabi begs and the need is dripping from his tongue in bottomless rivers, “I want your cock, I want it to split me open and make me scream. Make it hurt, sir, make it hurt.”

Dabi’s body is a dumping ground for dusty memories and affection that died at the roadside, but they fit together so well for this.

Stain keeps his eyes trained on the wreckage before him when he grabs his cock and slowly pushes inside of him, a shudder running through him when Dabi’s heat engulfs him like a glove. He’s halfway in when he abandons all care, and simply grabs Dabi by the hips, harshly pulling him over the crumpled sheets and flush against him. A groan rips free from Dabi’s throat, but if he’s hurting, he swallows the pain like a sugar pill, melting it on his tongue and turning these war-torn gestures into ghost bodies of devotion. The boy cares too much, and maybe Stain doesn’t care enough.

Just like demanded, he splits his body open on his cock, Dabi’s hands helplessly grabbing at the sheets while his whole form rocks with Stain’s brutal thrusts. The older man is almost startled by the pale hands coming into sight, caressing Dabi’s face as Stain takes, and takes, and waits for the boy to crumble.

Dabi turns into the softly lying touch, laying his whimpers to rest against the tips of Tomura’s fingers; a ghost trying to find peace among the corners of a slaughterhouse. Stain watches the false-tongued tenderness unfold, and the wish to destroy almost consumes him whole.

He reaches out to wrap two large hands around Dabi’s neck and it catches the young man off-guard. A warning growl is all it takes from Stain to ease Dabi’s struggles and he stares up at the large man in amazed fright.

“We’ve done this before,” he says, thrusts slowing to slow rolls of his hips, “when it gets too much, you squeeze my arms. But, this time’s gonna be a bit different. How about we let our guest decide who lives and who dies?”

With a confused look, Dabi turns his head to stare up at Tomura, who stares at Stain’s hands around his throat. Wordlessly, Tomura reaches out, wrapping his fingers around wrists that are so much thicker than his own, brutal strength barely constrained by a bronze layer of skin. He looks as pale as the moon when he tests the give of Stain’s flesh with a four-fingered grip. There’s no need for guidance, not with the way Dabi reaches up to Tomura’s arms and takes a gentle hold of them.

“When he squeezes your arms,” Stain begins, “it means he’s got enough. Squeeze my arms in return and I’ll stop. And if you don’t, there might be a mess to clean up.”

What a sick exercise of trust. The elephant in the room is crumbling to ashes while everything that was once holy chokes on its own blood.

Dabi nods, and he’s a fool to trust these rotten men with their rotten desires.

The air that remains gets stuck in young lungs when Stain squeezes his airway shut, picking up his thrusts again to fuck into the oh so willing body. The only sound is Dabi’s humanity being torn to pieces and the small rasps escaping his abused lips. His eyes are locked onto Tomura’s face, like the man is a beacon of light, guiding Dabi through the stormy sea. Soon, he would watch his ship shatter against the stony cliffs.

Stain sighs as Dabi’s guts give way to his large cock, head tipping back and tongue lolling out. His orgasm is a storm building between his thighs, and he wants it to hurl down onto the body beneath him with all cruelty he has to offer. His thrusts pick up in pace and he’s positive there will be bruises framing Dabi’s backside once he’s done, something he looks forward to, something he will admire next time the boy gets down on all fours before him. Under his fingers, the life drains from Dabi’s body, but his star-struck eyes are still captivated by Tomura above him, like there is anything good to come from this broken shell, like there’s remedy to find for Dabi among the splinters of grief edged into Tomura’s skin. Two dead boys trying to suck the life out of each other.

Dabi’s eyes turn hazy, unfocused, spit dripping past his barely opened lips. Stain watches them roll back with a flutter of his eyelids, and his own orgasm comes crashing down on him.

Stain growls, a sound unfolding from the depth of his chest and he slams into the pliant body before him. The pleasure rips through him like a lightning bolt and for a moment, everything is colored in a lilac haze, their bodies melting together to one big misery, before the air returns to Stain’s lungs and he comes to a halt with a stutter.

His heart is still pounding a mile a minute when he looks down, and laughs.

“Aw, someone’s spilled all over themselves,” he chuckles, watching as Dabi’s semen collects in his navel.

Tomura blinks, and then yanks his hands back as if he’s been burned.

“Holy shit,” he curses and edges away from the motionless form of Dabi between them. “Fuck, is he… - did we fucking kill him?”

“Guess you ignored his tapping out,” Stain rumbles, his cock beginning to soften, still lodged inside the familiar form. “So, if anything, it’s you who killed him. Don’t worry though, happened before, goddamn idiot liked to push his own limits in the beginning.”

He leans forward to pat Dabi’s cheeks, turning it into a light slap when he gets no response. With a groan, Dabi tries to bat off the bothersome hands, which then turns into a small coughing fit and him rolling onto his side as his lungs burn with the fresh air filling them. Stain’s cock is pulled from his hole and the older man watches his cum trickle out, collecting in the stitches gracing Dabi’s thighs.

There’s too much relief opening up Tomura’s face, and Stain wonders yet again about the nature of these loveless ghosts.

“You good, kiddo?” Stain asks. Dabi nods, hands still massaging his own neck.

“Amazing,” he croaks, voice a wreckage of what it used to be. Stain feels himself get hard again at the mere sound of it.

But he doesn’t plan on sticking around to pick up the pieces, doesn’t plan on collecting the remains of a love he shattered in his fist until it’s nothing but ashes infiltrating his lungs. He might cough every now and then, but with every spasm he will rid himself of this shallow disease, and soon Dabi will be nothing but a scrape in time.

It’s better this way. He doesn’t have anything to offer besides blood-stained palms and the poison cursing through his veins.

Maybe Dabi will grow up, maybe he will grow old. But it won’t be with any of them. Not with him, and not with Tomura, who brushes aside sweat-slick strands of midnight coal, mumbling about Dabi being an idiot and he thinks there’s the brush of an apology tripping over those inexperienced lips. Dabi looks at Tomura, and it’s like the clouds part and he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

All these loveless ghosts.

It makes Stain sick.