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— Facedown, ass up, the cheap, old bed beneath him was creaking with every strike of the male’s hips behind him who buried his comically small, however thick cock into him as deep as possible with every new thrust. Tomura, elbows propped up, was eyeing his phone on the pillow next to him; “Shit’s been going for five minutes, so another ...three? If I'm lucky and the bastard loses stamina, then less…”, he thought and gasped when the male behind him grabbed his hair to pull his head back forcefully. “You like that, huh? Being fucked by daddy’s cock?”
He didn’t, but that wasn’t something he should answer if he wanted to keep this regular client, so instead, he replied, trying not to sound too bored. “Yes, daddy.” That almost made him want to throw up on the pillow beneath him, but whatever would make this end faster, he would do it.
“Then let me hear more of your filthy noises,” the older male demanded and twisted his white hair in his fist to yank at it again. Tomura rolled his eyes but then started to moan like a pornstar. Sounded fake as fuck, but maybe it’d get this guy to cum already so he could leave this filthy motel, go home and shoot up to make the rest of the day more bearable. “Yes, that’s my good little whore.”
Like a large chunk of his clients, this client was one of the kinds who was into daddy dom play and wanted to live the dream of being a sugar daddy without having the money to afford a luxury sugar baby for his fantasies. These were the kind of lowlives who'd pick up cheap prostitutes from the shabbiest alleys to at least pretend they were worth shit. For some reason, Tomura attracted these specific types of guys ever since he started prostituting himself approximately a year ago to fund his growing heroin addiction. Many of his clients were also regular ones. There also was a recurring theme of his clients preferring to fuck him from behind. Maybe because Tomura had the slim frame and full, shoulder-long, white hair, which, if you'd squint at him from behind, possibly made him look feminine enough so these guys could fool themselves. He long concluded that most of his clients were “straight” or at least liked to believe they were. Closeted gays weren't rare among married men who would go for cheap male prostitutes.
Tomura's throat started to feel dry from the obnoxious moans flowing out of it, and he felt his sore legs buckling, barely able to keep himself on his knees any longer. He was exhausted. He'd seen three clients today, and all of them were taking their sweet time with him. The night before, he didn’t get any sleep because he had been going through withdrawal syndromes, which didn't help his case. Like a few times before, he had tried to get off heroin without luck. He gave up when he couldn’t stop throwing up and felt like he was going to fucking perish from the illusory ten knives stuck in his body, which his insane mind created when he started hallucinating from physical and mental torment. Eventually, he had gone out this morning and hassled one of his neighbors for just one shot of heroin so he could make it through the day and earn money to get himself some H. His sobriety lasted precisely 42 hours. He wasn’t proud of it.
“Yes, that’s it. So good! Yes! Daddy’s gonna cum inside you!” Oh, thank fuck, this guy was finally about to come. Tomura already thought he never would. To speed it up, even more, he bucked his hips back to meet the other’s thrusts quicker, and then, seconds later, the guy came with a series of weird grunts and whiny moans. Tomura had heard all kinds of strange sounds from people when they climaxed, but this one always took the cake. The man sounded like an animal dying.
Finally, Tomura allowed his knees to give in when the guy pulled out of him, falling flat onto his chest and taking a few deep breaths. He didn’t come. But that wasn’t new; most clients didn’t care if he did or not as long as they could get off. He didn’t even get properly hard in this round, and it was fascinating how his client didn’t notice that much and probably thought he gave it to him good.
He felt the mattress sink and heard a loud groan as the male flopped himself down next to him. “Feel free to shower before yer leave.”
“Mhm, it’s okay. I’ll shower at home.” Tomura eventually sat up and looked over his shoulder at the guy who pulled off his condom to throw it into the trashcan and then lit himself a cigarette while lying on his back. It was a buff guy with blonde hair and too much gold jewelry around his neck, wrists, and fingers. Probably fake gold too. He was approximately in his late forties. Maybe had a wife and kids, too, like many of these guys he’d meet. Tomura could swear he had once seen a family photo in his wallet when he paid him.
Reaching for his boxers on the floor, Tomura got up to pull them back on, then grabbed his shirt and pants to get fully dressed. “Can’t wait to leave, eh?” the older man noticed.
“It’s late. I need some sleep,” he responded, pulled on his hoodie, and then grabbed the money on the bedside table to count it.
“I put in a few extra bucks. Buy yerself sumthin’ nice.” The male gave him a dirty grin and reached over to slap his butt.
“Thanks,” the junkie deadpanned and put the money into his hoodie pocket. This guy acted like 500 yen was a whole lot of extra. But he’d take it. Tomura pulled the hood over his head and walked to the door to open it.
“Next week, same time, same corner?” the blonde stopped him before he could leave.
Tomura turned to nod at him. “Yeah. If I don't show up, assume I'm dead in a ditch somewhere.” Which was a real possibility by the way he lived. It earned him a dry chuckle, even if he wasn't exactly joking.
Walking down the streets, Tomura counted the money from inside his pocket. He had made decent cash from his three clients today. Different clients paid different money; his first client today was one of the spendy ones who would drop a large sum. So much, in fact, that Tomura wondered why he didn’t get himself a high-end prostitute instead. But that was good; he quickly made enough today for food and to get enough heroin to last the week if he was using it in moderation. He put his money back into his pocket, not a good idea to flaunt it on these streets, and greeted the two guys in the corner with a nod when they called over to him. Another pair of junkies trying to make some money for their addiction to whatever these guys were on. From their appearances, probably meth. Everyone kind of knew each other in this part of town and scene, not always by name, but at least from their faces. That was why it would also always make quick rounds if someone dropped dead, which happened every other week or so. Tomura sometimes pondered what people would say about him when it was his time. Probably something along the lines of “Fuckface kicked the bucket, more clients for us.” He felt like some would celebrate his death because he was unexpectedly popular with clients and sometimes had six a day when others couldn’t even get one.
The alley he walked down was full of shabby bars, brothels, liquor stores, and businesses mainly used as money laundries, which were like an open secret. No one who didn’t live here would voluntarily step foot into this fallen neighborhood. Tomura lived here for almost four years. He moved to his first own apartment here when he was kicked out of the orphanage he had lived at until he was considered old enough at sixteen to become independent, and the state no longer wanted to pay for his accommodation. Before becoming an orphan, he had lived in a typical family house with his parents and older sister. But when his mother died when Tomura was only five, his alcoholic father put him into the state's care because his grandparents only were willing to adopt his older sister. His father was eventually found dead in his apartment three years ago after he hung himself when his existence took a dive due to alcohol addiction taking over his life. At least, that was the story people rolled with. As for Hana, his sister, he didn’t hear much of her anymore, but Tomura knew that she managed to live a somewhat normal life with her husband and two-year-old son. She'd tell him about her life in the periodic emails they would exchange, or more like she sent him because Tomura wasn't good at replying to her and only responded to two, maybe three of her emails in the past years. In those same emails, he would pretend to live a better life too. He was good at these kinds of lies.
His decline was a natural progression; once Tomura had moved to this part of town, first only doing regular part-time jobs and trying to make ends meet, he soon found himself surrounded by toxic people from his old workplace in a fast-food restaurant. Bunch of methheads. He never was interested in meth. Would turn his brain into mush. But one of them got him interested in heroin instead. As it’d usually start, he was willing to just “try it once.” Obviously, it didn’t pan out like that. After his first experience, back then, still snorting heroin, he quickly noticed that nothing else in his life had ever made him feel this good, this peaceful, this glad to be alive. The drug became even more magical when he started to shoot it up straight into his bloodstream, and that was when he stepped on a path with no return. Tomura was already pretty much programmed to fall into this addiction. Addictive personality disorder was running in his family, most notably with his alcoholic father and pretty much everyone else on his father’s family tree. He learned some people could try H five times and not get addicted. For others, it would only take one tiny shot, and they would be hooked for life. Tomura was in the second category, no doubt.
The young junkie stopped before a building with exposed brick walls and looked up at the windows. He squinted to see if there was light peeking through the blinds on the second floor. The flashing lights from the streets didn’t make it easy to see, though, so he had to take a gamble and walk upstairs to stop in front of a door where he heard loud music from inside. So he was home. Tomura rang the doorbell a few times and leaned against the wall as he waited. The door opened minutes later, taking his sweet time like always. His neighbor and drug dealer showed himself. Black messy hair, blue-half-lidded eyes, wearing nothing but black briefs and high socks, thus revealing all the many burn scars painting his body, connected to his healthy skin by silver metal pieces. The lo-fi music and smokey air behind him made it clear he was in the middle of one of his “vibing sessions.” Dabi was just that kind of guy, a little “too chill” for his own good.
“No! No fucking way Shigaraki,” the black-haired male reacted as soon as he saw the addict standing before him.
“Yes way.” Tomura held the neatly folded money to the taller male in front of him without adding anything else. He already knew the drill.
“What happened? I thought you were planning to quit?” Dabi sighed, refusing to take his money.
The smaller man shrugged. “Surprise. Didn’t work out.” What was he acting surprised for anyway? This wasn’t the first time Tomura had bragged to the older man that he’d be quitting but ended up miserably failing at doing so. “So you gonna sell me some? If not, I’m going to your competition across the street.”
The taller male groaned but then took the money from him to count it. “You wanna die? Those thugs sell drugs laced with all kinds of shit,” he mumbled while flipping the bills in his hands.
Dabi was his neighbor and dealer and probably kind of his friend. The two had known each other since the older one moved here around a year and a half ago, which were a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he sold the cleanest shit you could get in the town, a curse because that made it too easy to get to drugs and thus even harder to quit them.
“Doesn’t matter to me. A high is a high,” Tomura shrugged.
“Fuck’s sake. Fine, come in,” Dabi mumbled and already walked ahead into his apartment, to which Tomura followed. “You look like shit, by the way. Worked all day?” The dealer asked without looking back at him as he pulled out an envelope under his mattress in the small apartment.
“Nah, just three clients, but I didn’t sleep last night, so hurry. I need to shoot up and get some rest.” Tomura scratched his itchy neck, one of the many unfortunate side effects of his heroin use. It covered his whole body with scratch marks on top of the track marks, already painting his pale skin.
Dabi turned to him, brow raised. “I fucking hate that you make me kill you.” But he held out the baggy stuffed with a bunch of pre-portioned little foil envelopes.
Tomura grabbed the ziplock baggie to stuff it into his hoodie pocket. “I’m killing myself. You just make it a whole lot easier,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“You became a dealer. You know what you’re doing. Anyway, thanks. Be back next week, maybe by the end of this one.” He turned to leave, but Dabi stopped him with his hand around his wrist.
“Wanna stay a little longer? Got some sweet ass weed, best one you've ever tried.”
“I’m not interested in weed right now,” Tomura sighed. The only drug besides alcohol and nicotine Dabi was consuming was a bunch of weed. Despite being a dealer for all the harder stuff, he strictly stayed away from it. He had said before that he had seen enough people go to shit doing harder drugs, and that kept him from wanting to even consider it. Dabi also liked acting morally superior about it, claiming that he was doing “god’s work” by selling the cleanest drugs in this part of town where everything else was laced with whatever shit that would make the progress of killing people faster. Maybe he was onto something. Addicts would buy drugs anyway. At least with Dabi, they knew they’d get the clean stuff.
“You were interested in my weed yesterday,” his dealer raised a brow.
“Yeah, cos I thought it’d make me feel less like wanting to pull my own guts out. Didn’t help much, though.” Tomura had tried to make his withdrawal more bearable the day before by smoking pot, but that didn't have the effect he wished it would.
“Then just stay, and let’s take the edge off. Y'can shoot up here for all I care.” When Dabi was this insistent on him staying, that could only mean one thing.
“If you want me to stay and blow you, then say so. I’ll have you pay for it this time, though. Add half a gram of china, and I’m game,” Tomura held his hand out.
“Nah, it’s no fun if I have to pay you with what inevitably kills you.”
“Figures,” Tomura shrugged. Dabi and he had a weird relationship. Sometimes they'd fuck. Just because they felt like it. Not because they were attracted to each other or anything stupid like that. They could barely even stand being around each other for more than an hour. “You wanna get off, get yourself a druggy downstairs. A bunch of them need clients down the street. You’ve got the right currency to pay them anyway.”
“Not a fan of fucking junkies. You never know what STDs they carry.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Dabi snorted. “You know what I mean, like /other/ junkies. I know you’re somewhat clean.” Because Tomura wasn’t a fucking idiot and only let his clients touch him if they wore a condom. As desperate as he was to make quick cash, he still had enough common sense to do the bare minimum not to let prostitution kill him. If he went out, he didn’t want his legacy to be that he was dicked to death.
“Yeah, whatever, I’m gone. Good luck finding someone clean who blows you for free.” With that, Tomura eventually left the apartment to walk the few steps up to his own. He entered through the door and sighed. It was a long day. He could need a shower to wash off his past three clients, but he hardly could be arsed. All he felt like doing was shooting up and going to sleep. However, as much as he’d prefer that, he felt too nasty to let the shower wait for tomorrow. He stepped out of his clothes on the way to the bathroom, where he threw them into the hamper and turned on the water of the shower, waiting for it to warm up, which sometimes could take forever with these old pipes.
The junkie used the time until then to open one of the little foil packets, grab a syringe, a lighter, some cotton, and a spoon from the drawer in the bathroom cabinet, and sat down on the edge of the bathtub to prepare his second shot for the day. His hands were already shaking when he tipped the powder from the foil onto the spoon because it’s been too many hours since his last dose. When he was done cooking the white powder on his spoon and pulled it through a piece of cotton into the syringe, he searched his arm for a fitting vein. This wasn’t easy. Tomura had track marks all over both his arms and wrists. Lately, finding a good vein to inject into has become a challenge. Even though his skin was so pale, almost transparent, so his veins were always prominently shimmering through. Sometimes he’d inject under his fingernails when he failed to find a suitable vein, but he discovered that somehow, this made the experience less intense. Maybe it just didn’t work for him. He eventually found a vein on the back of his hand under his thumb that looked relatively intact and decided to use this one.
Tomura's head fell into the back of his neck as he eventually injected himself with the drug, releasing a soft moan. His muscles relaxed, and this specific type of ecstasy was washing over his body. Unfortunately, since he'd been using for a while, this feeling never lasted quite long. At his stage, he didn’t shoot up to feel good, just to not feel like shit anymore. It didn’t get him high as it would for a starter, just made him able to somewhat function. Although his high lasted longer than predicted this time. Usually, by the time he pulled out the needle, it was already gone. Tomura dropped the empty syringe into the sink and eventually got up to step into the shower, holding his head under the water, swaying while feeling lightheaded. Even his head felt sore today because all his clients enjoyed pulling his hair forcefully. He could swear he felt a bump at the back of his head from having his hair yanked so much. Maybe he should get a haircut. It was about fucking time. But then he’d probably lose clients who liked him for his long hair. He tilted his head back now to allow the stream of water to hit his hot face, run down to his neck, stinging somewhat at his fresh scratch marks. His whole body was a mess. Tomura wondered how his clients weren’t bothered by it. He thought, in a weird fucked up way, they preferred their prostitutes to look that damaged; it made them feel less awful for mistreating them because they already mistreated their own bodies.
After his shower, Tomura could finally fall into his bed, releasing a long sigh. Somehow he was still feeling dazed. Dabi sold him some good stuff today. He tilted his head to the window and squinted at the blue flashing lights entering his apartment. He was too damn exhausted to get up and close the blinds, so he rolled to his side to face the other way and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of sirens from a distance and the music from the bar downstairs. Alone again, and he was thankful for that. Tomura had started to appreciate time by himself so much more since he started selling his body for quick money. Not having anyone's hands over him, not being thrown around like a ragdoll, not having the constant sounds of people's dirty words and moans in his ear. He chose this life himself, so he had no one but himself to blame. But he sometimes couldn’t help thinking, “Why do I have to live like this?” And in rare moments, it would lead him to at least try and get away from this hell drug and start with a clean slate.
Just like three days ago.
— “Fuck. I can’t take it anymore.” Sitting on the asphalt with his back against the brick wall, Tomura smashed his head against it, biting down his bottom lip so hard that he tasted blood from reopening the wound inflicted on him earlier. His face was fucked-up: he had a black eye and a busted lip. His whole upper body was hurting, and he had busted open his knee, apparent by the blood coating his skin and ripped jeans. His day had started normal, well, expected for him anyway. He'd spent most of it gaming in his small apartment, and by sunset, he was leaving to sell his body around the corner from his apartment building, where he always would. On this day, an unfamiliar face approached him by stopping his car in front of him and gesturing to get into the passenger seat. A relatively young guy, probably not much older than Tomura himself. Not his usual client, but he’d take it. Other than that, there wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary about the guy. He seemed to know what he was doing. He definitely didn’t pick up a prostitute for the first time by how he handled their transactional conversation upfront. As half his clients did, this one didn’t want to pay for a motel and just wanted to do it right in the car. That wasn’t anything strange either.
The stranger had parked his car in a dark, abandoned parking lot and pushed his seat back as far as possible. Then he had Tomura ride him right on the driver's seat. It was only after they were done and Tomura pulled his pants back that things went in all sorts of wrong directions. The guy who had brought him here refused to pay. That also wasn’t /that/ rare. Every now and then, he would end up with these kinds of assholes. But that didn’t mean that he’d just take it. Tomura refused to get out of the car when he was ordered to; of course, he knew this was stupid. He learned long ago that the safest choice, even if it sucked, was to let it go, forget the money and try not to make the same dumb mistake again. But he was in a stubborn mood on that day. It ended with the client getting out of the car, dragging him out of the passenger seat, and beating the ever-living shit out of him. That obviously wasn’t necessary. He could have just kicked the druggy out of the car, and that’s that. But some people just enjoyed fucking up junkies like him because it’s not like an addict would go to the police. To top it all up, the guy stole all the belongings Tomura had on him: the money he made that day, his phone, and even his keys for some reason. He just grabbed everything he had on him.
And that’s how Tomura ended up outside his apartment building, beaten up and unable to enter his apartment without his keys. His landlord wasn’t home to ask for a spare set of keys, and no one of his neighbors had opened up when he tried to find a place to stay the night, so he was waiting outside for any of his neighbors or his landlord to show up. Pushing his head back into the wall again, he groaned another few curses. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Bad day?” He opened his eyes he had closed at the familiar voice addressing him.
“What’s it to you?” Tomura responded in an annoyed tone when he recognized Dabi, who seemed to have just returned home from a trip to the convenience store, judging by the plastic bag he carried.
"Shit, what happened?” His dealer, who had walked up to him, must have noticed his messed-up face.
Tomura wanted to give him attitude again until he remembered he needed a place to stay the night and should probably try with a little more politeness. “Work accident.”
“Why are you sitting outside, though?”
The junkie sighed loudly. “My keys got stolen. So did my money and my phone.”
“I see, rough day at the office.” Dabi held his hand out to him, and Tomura looked at it with a raised brow. “Come on. You can crash at my place for the night.” Tomura had hoped for that. He grabbed Dabi’s hand and allowed him to pull him up but exhaled a pained gasp. His ribs hurt from having been kicked there a few times. “Someone fucked you up good, huh?” noticed the older male.
“Yeah, well, hope he’s proud he was able to beat up an emaciated junkie. A five-year-old would've put up a better fight than me.”
When they were in Dabi’s apartment, Tomura cleaned his face in the bathroom to look at the damage now that he'd washed away the blood. It didn’t look so bad once the blood was gone. He returned to the living space after that, where his neighbor was lying in bed on his back, a thin line of smoke escaping his lips. The whole room smelled of weed. That wasn’t new. Without even looking at him, Dabi held the joint up, and Tomura walked over to take it from him and sat down on the edge of the bed before taking a drag. “Kurogiri is back tomorrow morning, in case you’re wondering. He’s gone camping or some shit,” said Dabi, who picked up his phone connected to the boxes on the bedside table to skip a couple of songs on his playlist.
Kurogiri was their landlord. Him going camping seemed like one of these random things he would do to get away from here for a bit. He did things like that a lot, little outings away from this awful town. “I’m quitting,” Tomura said instead of answering Dabi’s previous words.
“Hm? Quit what?” the other asked, reaching for the joint when Tomura handed it back.
“Fucking heroin. I’ve had enough of this bullshit life.”
“Took you to get the shit beaten out of you to realize heroin is bad, huh? But good for you if you go through with it this time,” mumbled Dabi with the end of the joint between his teeth.
“I ain't got much of a choice now anyway. My money's gone, and if I gotta go without shooting up until tomorrow night, might as well quit for good.”
“Awesome,” was all Dabi said before stubbing out the joint in the ashtray on the bed and picking it up to put it on the bedside table. Tomura couldn’t help detecting sarcasm.
“You think I can’t do it, huh?”
“Didn’t say that,” replied the older male with a raised brow.
“Whatever, mind if I go to sleep?”
“Go ahead.” Dabi was even so gracious as to turn down his music's volume when Tomura lay down in bed next to him. “Hey uh... “ Dabi started, and the smaller man opened his eyes to look at him. “... what happened to you today sucks. But that guy he… uh… he didn’t rape you or something, did he?”
“What difference would it make? But no… well... technically, maybe since he didn’t pay me after we fucked,” he sighed.
“You know you don’t have to take that shit. Just because you’re selling your body doesn’t give people the right to treat you like trash,” mumbled his dealer.
“Wow, thanks for the advice. So what do you expect me to do? Go to the police?” Tomura snorted.
“Nah, fuck the police. Next time you see the guy, let me know. Muscular has been itching to do some damage for a while. Gotta grand him some fun.” Muscular was a guy Dabi worked with. When he would do large deals with other groups, he’d bring Muscular along to scare everyone who could think about ripping them off because that guy was terrifying.
“Yeah, well, I doubt the guy is dumb enough to show his face again. But thanks,” Tomura couldn't avoid a sarcastic tone, then rolled over and closed his eyes again.
On his first night staying sober, he didn’t sleep well. At least Dabi knew better than to make a move on him this night. As much as his neighbor was acting like a douche sometimes, Tomura could appreciate that he was pretty sensible and actually also rather dependable. After all, he had not hesitated to let him spend the night and was always ready to offer some help. The next day Dabi even gave him one of his burner phones because Tomura's was stolen. The only thing Dabi would never do was hand out drugs before getting paid. He was oddly diligent about his business.
By the following day, Tomura had already felt like shit. But he was still determined to keep up with his sobriety. And Dabi even helped him by offering him a bunch of weed: The one drug he’d give out for free. The addict then spent the next two days in withdrawal and eventually gave up on this whole thing on day three.
— Tomura jerked up from bed when he heard a loud knock at the door. He groggily grabbed his phone to squint at it and wondered who would bother him this late at night. It was past 11 pm. He crawled out of bed to open the door and squinted at Dabi, who was standing in front of it. “Gimme the drugs I gave you earlier,” his dealer demanded and held his hand out.
“What?” Tomura asked, barely able to open his eyes completely.
“Shit’s laced with fentanyl. Just got a report back. It’s sent someone to the ER.”
“I already shot up. It seems fine,” the younger male mumbled and rubbed his eyes, having to hold onto the doorframe so he wouldn't fall over.
“Jesus Christ, you’re fucked up,” sighed Dabi and just walked into his apartment.
“Dude.. you can’t just trespass like that,” Tomura complained in a lazy voice but didn't have the energy to kick him out either, so he dragged his body back to flop back down into the bed. He could barely keep himself awake. He only half-comprehended that Dabi was searching for the drugs and, when he found them stuffed them in his pocket.
“Sorry 'bout that. Tried a new supplier this time and fucked up. I’m getting you clean shit tomorrow,” he then said.
“Mhm,” the younger mumbled into the pillow but felt the mattress sink as the other sat down next to him.
Dabi reached to grab his chin to lift his head. “You sure you’re alright? You shot up earlier, right? You feeling weird?”
“I’m tired, is all,” Tomura mumbled. His mouth felt so dry that his voice came out a little hoarse.
“Are you sure?” Dabi questioned another time.
“Yeah. ’m fine. If I'd ODd, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. Can I go back to sleep now?”
Dabi let go of him and nodded. “Right. Why the fuck do I even care? You gonna kill yourself sooner or later anyway,” he sighed and got up. There it was again. Acting like some kind of saint when he was providing Tomura with drugs on the regular. The addict didn’t feel like replying and just waited for his neighbor to leave the apartment, which he eventually did.
When Tomura woke up the next morning, he'd already forgotten about the late-night visit that'd felt like a fever dream anyway. He was ready to prepare his morning dose, just to find that his drugs were gone. Thus, he started to remember slowly. “Fucking hell,” he cursed, scratching at his neck. He was already in dire need of more toxins in his bloodstream. He wobbly got out of bed, didn’t even care to change out of his sleeping wear, and walked in boxers and his t-shirt downstairs to pound on Dabi’s door. When his dealer opened, he found Tomura in front of him, scratching simultaneously at his neck and with his other hand his arm, shaking already. “You took my drugs,” he just said.
“Yeah, might've saved your life too. Judging by how out of it you were yesterday, this shit could’ve killed you. Might wanna thank me," shrugged the other.
“Whatever, you got new supply yet?” Tomura was still scratching and impatiently stepping from one foot to the other.
“Nah. Will have it by late afternoon.” Dabi reached into the bag of potato chips he was holding onto and stuffed a bunch of them into his mouth. Breakfast for champions, apparently.
“But I need them now!” Tomura snapped back.
The other rolled his eyes and mumbled with his mouth full, “You can’t be that far gone not to be able to wait a few more hours.”
“Give me back my money then. I’ll buy across the street,” the addict held his shaking hand out.
“Not a chance,” was Dabi's simple answer while he licked his fingers clean.
“Dude, it’s my money!” Tomura raised his voice.
“Yeah, so? You gave it to me. You bought from me, so you can’t have it back. Besides, be thankful I’m not letting you buy across the street. Uncleanest shit in town.”
“Jesus fuck! How’s that your problem? Do I look like I give a shit what they put in there?”
“No, you don’t, and that’s what’s fucked up. At least be a little less careless with your life, won’t you?” Some days Tomura didn’t understand what Dabi's problem was. He’d sometimes start acting like he was his mom or something.
He sighed, irritated. “You got at least something to bridge over?”
“I got weed.” Tomura expected that answer and rolled his eyes.
“Something stronger?”
“MDMA.”
“Hell no.”
“Now you’re picky or what?” sighed Dabi.
“I don’t wanna go to a fucking rave; I wanna get numb. You got Oxy?”
“Nah, I got coke.”
“You’re the worst drug dealer ever,” Tomura grumbled.
“Right, I also got benzos.”
“I’d have to eat like fifty of those to feel something.”
“You’re the worst client ever.” Dabi rubbed his forehead.
This was going nowhere. So Tomura gave up with a drawn sigh. “Fine, I'll take some weed.”
“Well, that could've saved us a hell of a lot of time if you just said so from the start,” answered Dabi but then turned around to walk inside, leaving the door wide open as an invitation for Tomura to come in, which he did, closing the door behind him. Dabi always acted like this, just leaving him to stroll into his apartment like he owned the place. He wasn’t like that with all his customers. Probably he trusted Tomura a little more because the two spent quite a lot of time together. The dealer’s apartment also was always surprisingly clean. He didn’t own a lot of furniture or things, so it was probably easy to keep the place tidy. Sometimes Tomura wondered why he lived like this, with so little belongings in such a small apartment. He probably made so much bank with his business that he could definitely get a better place with a nice interior. Tomura had a hunch that the reason Dabi decided to live here, of all areas, was because he had all his clients basically at his front door. He definitely wouldn’t run out of customers here.
“You want prerolls or buds?” Dabi asked while he sat down to open a ziplock bag with all the pot inside.
“Not a fan of labor. Gimme the pre-rolled ones.”
“Here,” his dealer held out a baggy with three joints inside, but when Tomura wanted to reach for it, he pulled it back. “You gonna pay this time or nah?”
“You still owe me money, asshole!”
The other raised a brow but then held out the baggie again. “Fair enough.”
Tomura sighed and took it from him, immediately opening it and sticking one of the blunts between his lips, gesturing to ask for a lighter silently, and his friend reached in his pocket for one and then got up to light his joint. “Thought you’d go back home now,” Dabi said while doing so.
The younger male inhaled from the joint and blew the smoke into the other’s face. “If I do, I’ll just start picking up old cotton all over the place to see if I can get crumbs out of them to reuse. Last time I did that, I got a cotton fever, so not risking it.”
“Fucking hell, I don’t get how you can still be on that shit. It’s doing nothing good for ya.”
“Big fucking duh. You think I like it?” Tomura mouthed back and inhaled another round of smoke deeply.
"Then stop?" Of course, he'd say that.
Tomura snorted, then gasped exaggeratedly. "Right, why didn't I think of that?" he snarled with cutting sarcasm. At least that weed helped a bit to calm him. He felt less shaky now. He then handed the joint to Dabi, who took it from him and brought it to his lips but stopped midway when Tomura pushed him back to sit on his bed and straddled his lap.
“Uh. I said you didn’t need to pay for the weed.” Dabi raised a brow but didn’t stop him when the younger unzipped his pants.
“I’m not paying for the weed; I’m distracting myself,” Tomura mumbled and reached into the unzipped pants to pull out the other’s cock earning him a soft gasp.
“Alright, I won’t say no to that.” Dabi gave him his sígnature shit-eating grin, and Tomura kind of wanted to smack it out of his face. But instead, he gave his length a good squeeze to make him jerk. He worked Dabi’s length into a hard-on pretty quickly and couldn’t deny that he enjoyed seeing the loudmouth squirm under him and release a soft moan when he twisted his hand around his cock the right way. “You've got fucking skilled hands. You know that? You should pick up a musical hobby, like playing the piano or something.”
Tomura sighed. Did this guy ever shut up? He took the joint from Dabi again to take another drag before slipping it between the older one’s lips. “Shut up. You get like twenty times less hot whenever you talk.”
The other inhaled from the joint, picked it up with his fingers, and blew the smoke at the younger male’s face. “So that means you think I’m hot when I shut up is all I’m getting from this.”
“Oh, spare me, you know you’re hot, and it’s fucking annoying.” Tomura gave his hard-on another good squeeze and grinned when it made Dabi moan in response. “You got lube?” he asked, and Dabi just nodded to the bedside table, so Tomura got off his lap to walk over, open the drawer, and found lube and condoms, which he grabbed. He threw the pack of condoms at Dabi’s face or wanted to anyway, but his dealer had surprisingly good reflexes for a stoner and caught it mid-air. Meanwhile, Tomura stepped out of his pants and opened the bottle of lube before coating his fingers thoroughly in them while returning to sit on the other’s lap, facing him. He dropped the bottle on the bed and lifted his hips slightly to reach behind himself.
They locked eyes, and Dabi licked his lips in anticipation as he watched Tomura’s eyes go half-lidded when he inserted his middle finger into himself after circling his entrance with the lubed-up fingers. Tomura released a soft moan when he stretched himself out by adding a second finger and then quickly a third. “Hm, hot. I can see what makes you popular with your clients,” commented Dabi.
“Shut up and put on a condom,” was the reply his dealer got, and Dabi snorted and put down the joint in the ashtray on the bed after struggling a little to reach it. He then opened one of the little foil packets and pulled out the rubber to roll it over his hardened length. As soon as he had done that, Tomura pulled his fingers back to lift himself with his knees and then lowered himself on the other’s erection, guiding it to his entrance with his hand and taking him in full in one go by pushing his hips down.
“Hnnh fuck.” Dabi cursed at the sensation of his tight walls taking him in but immediately began pushing his hips up to him. Tomura grabbed onto the other’s shoulders to support himself as he also started to rock his hips skillfully. They quickly found the perfect rhythm; the sound of skin against skin and their regular panting filled the room quickly. He felt Dabi’s hand slide under his shirt and move up to land on his chest, teasing and pinching his nipples between rubbing his thumbs into them. Dabi's second hand had already found its way to wrap around Tomura's cock and pump it in the perfect rhythm matching the motions of their hips.
“Ah... Dabi, yes…” Finally, something that felt good. Tomura had sex with so many people, but hardly ever it made him feel anything other than disgust. He wouldn’t ever admit that out loud, but Dabi was a good lay. Every time they fucked, he actually enjoyed it. Maybe that’s why he found himself in this situation with his dealer a lot.
“So how’s this for a distraction? Is it working?” breathlessly asked Dabi and twisted his hand around his length to get him to respond with a hitched moan.
“It's working all right...” Tomura admitted, followed by a low moan when Dabi pressed his lips to his neck, kissing then sucking on it. Tomura wrapped his arm around his head to keep him there, yearning for more of that sweet sensation of his lips against his sensitive skin, then pulled Dabi's hair when his dealer put more force into his thrusts as they met his, hitting that sweet spot exactly right. Dabi must have noticed that he found a good spot, too, because now, every time he drove his hips up, he made sure to meet that same spot again. It made Tomura feel like he was slipping out of his mind to make space for only ecstasy in his consciousness. He tilted his head back, allowing all his lewd sounds to flow freely. They continued this perfect rhythm for a while, and it didn't get tiring.
Somehow, there was something soothing about Dabi's music in the background, the smell of weed in the air, and the fan in the corner blowing cool air at them, as it was such a familiar setting they were in. Before he knew it, Tomura had found himself a place "like home" whenever he was with Dabi here. Maybe because it was so different to do this with Dabi here than with his clients in cars or shabby motels, this was him actually having a good time, enjoying the other's touch, his lips on his skin, feeling him inside him, and rocking him into pleasure he'd never experience with anyone who paid him to do it. It even made him forget about wanting to shoot up when he found himself controlled by the euphoria only Dabi could ignite in him. "Hm, you're so fucking good," praised Dabi against his skin, his voice hoarse and sounding so hot, adding to his already overbearing pleasure.
Tomura's back arched, and his legs started shaking at the repeated hitting of his most sensitive spot by the other's fair size. "A-ah.. fuck Dabi... I'm close..." And within the next few thrust, he suddenly found himself jerking uncontrollably; both arms wrapped tightly around Dabi to hold onto and keep himself steady. Their chests now pressed snuggly together, damp shirt on damp shirt as he rode himself into his eventual climax.
It was perfect timing too, or maybe it was because his walls tightened around the other’s cock that Dabi followed quickly after, most evident by how his body trembled under his as well and by how he groaned his name, “Ah Shigaraki...” Dabi sank his teeth into the smaller’s neck to suppress the latter half of his moans, which added to Tomura’s ecstasy as he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of his hot breath and his teeth leaving imprints on his skin.
Both of them had to catch their breaths. Tomura remained like this for a while, arms still around the older one, clinging to him as his body softly shivered from the climax. And so did Dabi’s, whose chest was rising and falling fast. “That was dope,” was his dealer's breathless comment. The smaller man grumbled and peeled away from Dabi before getting off his lap, feeling the other's now-flaccid cock sliding out of him with too much ease. Wordlessly, he walked over and picked up his pants from the floor to slip them back on. “Yo, no comment at all?” complained his lay, who'd pulled off the condom to carelessly throw it in the trash and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table to wipe his hand clean of the mess he'd made on him.
“What do you wanna hear?” Tomura asked who used the hair tie on his wrist to pull his hair into a lazy ponytail because he felt hot and his hair was sticking to his neck.
“Something like ‘yeah, it was great, thanks Dabi for dicking me down good,’” his neighbor replied while zipping his pants back up.
“Yeah, I’ll pass on that,” Tomura replied and checked the time. It was still only half-past noon. Dabi said he’d get his supply late afternoon, and now that the excitement had worn off, he started to feel his craving return threefold. “Fuck… “ he cursed.
“What now?”
“Still a few hours. Now what? Maybe I should risk cotton fever,” he pondered. He still had a bunch of used cotton in his bathroom trash can. He’d definitely be able to get enough out of these to prepare himself one injection to carry him through the rest of the afternoon.
“Or maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Well, if you weren’t such a useless dealer, I wouldn’t have to consider!” Tomura snapped back. His fuse was already short, to begin with, but it got worse when he was in withdrawal. Then he could become really fucking pissy.
“Or, you know, maybe just fucking stop?” responded Dabi.
“You’re my dealer. Shouldn’t you encourage me to use instead?” the addict furrowed his brows.
“Yeah, fuck me for giving a shit. Maybe I don’t particularly get off on watching you kill yourself.” Dabi got up and grabbed both Tomura's wrists to pull his arms up. “Look how fucked up this is. This is getting way out of hand. I've never seen someone get this extreme.” He referred to the track marks all over his arms. Yeah, they were bad. But Tomura was also bruising easily, making it look worse than it was. At least that's what he told himself whenever he would catch a glimpse of himself and see how damaged he looked.
The junkie pulled his wrists out of his grip. “Why do you fucking care?” he hissed.
“Because I care! I’d prefer not to find you dead in a ditch after being robbed, beaten, or fucking raped because you’re out there fucking shady people to fund your addiction. As much of a bitch as you are, I still want to keep you around, breathing, preferably!”
“Well, then you’re alone with that because maybe I don’t particularly care about being around anymore!” With these words, Tomura forcefully pushed Dabi. For some reason, he got worked up. It wasn’t that he thought about wanting to die a whole lot. Maybe he was acting out because it's been too long since he last shot up. He was about to push the other again because his first push didn’t do enough damage, but Dabi caught his arms and instead pulled him into an embrace which caused Tomura to freeze, mostly from bewilderment caused by his action.
“Let’s stop this,” Dabi quietly mumbled, and Tomura could feel the other’s hand in his hair as he stroked it as one would to a feral cat to make it calm down. This wasn't the first time Dabi held him like that. The worst part was that this cheap trick also helped to tame him because he had instantly relaxed. “I’ll help you get through it but let’s try and get this shit out of your system, for real this time.”
Another withdrawal? After the nightmare a couple of days ago? Tomura wasn't strong enough for that. He'd proven that over and over with every time he tried. “I can’t fucking do it…” he now quietly mumbled in response.
“Yeah, you can. You never tried with someone’s help, right?”
Tomura bit his lip. For some reason, he felt it quivering as though he was about to cry. He grabbed the other’s shirt to bunch it up in his fist and felt his arm shake. “Why'd you want to help me…?”
Dabi let go of him to grab his face instead and make him look at him. Tomura was once again caught off guard by the other’s action when his friend pressed his lips to his in a short kiss. Sure, they had done more than that, but they never kissed. Kissing was for lovers. That's what Tomura thought anyway. And he and Dabi they were just... he wasn't even sure anymore. Lines have been blurring since long ago. Dabi then sighed and gave his answer, “Because I can’t ignore a cry for help when it’s so blatant… How will I ever live knowing I let you die when I could've saved you?”