Written by: Ajaxthegreat
Summary:
"What is wrong with you," Enji says, and it's a low growl now, and Hawks feels his feathers curl a little at the ends in delight.
He shakes his head again, looks up at Enji with an expression that parodies innocence.
"I'm incapable of controlling myself, for starters," he says, trying for a joking sort of tone and missing it by a mile. His voice is shaking with urgency. He speaks so fast that all his words slur together, making him sound drunk and - unhinged. "I'm a disgusting hedonistic whore, and I should be ashamed of myself?"
______________________________
It starts with a shot of tequila.
It's not Hawks's first shot of the night, but it is a noteworthy one for the simple fact that he does not buy it for himself.
The man who did tips his hat - ew - and Hawks feels the shudder of revulsion at that downright embarrassing fashion choice reverberate all the way to the tips of his wings, even as he winks at the man and downs the whole thing.
It takes about 2 minutes after that for him to end up on the stool next to Hawks.
"Hi."
Ugh. His voice is high, reedy, sort of whiny in a way that Hawks can't fucking stand, but he'd spent the entire week on assignment with fucking Endeavor and he needs to get some - energy. Out of his system.
So he smiles, slow in that way that everyone seems to like, lazy in that way that the tabloids always ask for, and says, "Guess I should thank you, huh?"
The man's half-nervous, half-predatory smile widens a little at Hawks's tone of voice.
"I should be thanking you," he says, lowering his voice to something conspiratorial. "You're the one who saved the whole neighborhood today, Mr. Number Two Hero."
"And here I thought I was lying low," Hawks says, tinkling the ice in his glass.
He hadn't.
"Well, you're hard to miss, Hawks," the man says, and again Hawks feels his wings shiver all the way to the tips in disgust, involuntary. "Even in a dive bar like this one."
"Are you asking me what a girl like me's doin' in a place like this?"
The man laughs, too loud and too quickly, almost before Hawks finishes speaking. Ugh.
God, does he really need to get laid this bad? Hawks could probably snap this guy in half, and that is not his thing.
But it's almost last call, and there's no one else here, and Hawks has spent the entire last week in the presence of his childhood hero and the sole star of his adolescent jerk-off fantasies, fighting villains and flooding himself with adrenaline.
So. Yeah. Looks like he's gonna fuck this guy.
And his .... hat.
"Has anyone ever told you," the Hat starts, and Hawks has to physically make a fist to keep from rolling his eyes, "That you are - strikingly beautiful?"
Of course they fucking have. His face is on a billboard fifty feet tall two blocks away, for a cologne advertisement.
Hawks smiles, shakes his head. "Never," he says, all demure and bashful. He might even manage a blush, with the flush of alcohol in his face. Suckers always love that shit.
He bats his eyelashes, just a little. Oh, be gentle, complementary stranger, it's my first time.
It works like a charm. The Hat licks his lips like he's in a very cheap porno, and actually says, "Wanna get out of here?"
Jesus. Fucking embarrassing. Come on, guy.
He makes himself smile again.
"Oh, I really do."
They make it to the alley outside the bar before Hawks shoves the Hat against a big metal dumpster and goes for his belt.
The Hat ruins it immediately, just talking incessantly in halting, painfully embarrassing little phrases like can't believe I'm gonna fuck the winged hero and no one's gonna believe this and wow your wings are so -
"Hawks?"
Hawks stops, freezes, whole body locking up at that voice. He's on his knees, and the Hat's cock is in his hands and halfway to his mouth, and mother fucking Endeavor is standing on the street peering into the alley with a - horribly disapproving look on his face.
"Yes?"
Endeavor takes one huge step toward him, and Hawks feels his wings start to shake a little.
This is - god, this is embarrassing.
"What in the seven fucking hells do you think you're doing?"
Hawks scowls to cover up his shaking. "I thought it was pretty obvio-"
Oh.
But Endeavor isn't talking to him. He's talking to fucking Hat.
Hat stammers.
"Uh- I - um - Mr. Todor- uh, End- um I was just -"
Endeavor takes another step and the alley, previously cold and damp and pretty gross, suddenly raises twenty degrees.
"Leave," he says, voice ringing with barely suppressed rage and disgust, and Hawks can't help the twitch of his lips. He ignores the one in his cock.
The Hat's dick is still in his hand, and he almost doesn't want to let it go. It's all so - untoward.
Endeavor looks furious.
The Hat scrambles to put his cock - skinny, pale, thoroughly unimpressive in every way - back in his pants. He has to skirt around Endeavor to get out of the alley; he's so fucking huge he takes up almost the whole width of it.
Hawks stands up, slowly, and folds his arms to hide how hard his hands are shaking. He can't believe he's just been found like this - by him - about to -
And with such a despicable -
Jesus, he's going to need to jerk off eighty goddamn times after this.
Endeavor folds his arms, towers over him. He looks supremely angry. Hawks leans against the alley wall with one shoulder, trying for nonchalant and just waiting to be - reprimanded.
Endeavor still doesn't speak, so Hawks breaks the silence. The alley is stiflingly hot now, humid and close. Hawks can feel sweat on the back of his neck.
"What the hell?" he says, going for his best outraged look. "I was busy."
Endeavor scoffs, dismissive. He's not looking at Hawks now. Is he - uncomfortable?
Oh, hell yeah.
"Who do you think you are, just taking people's dates like that?"
Endeavor's eyes flash at the word dates and he scoffs again.
"Oh, please."
Hawks raises his eyebrows.
Endeavor's flushed, he notices. He might even be a little drunk, too.
"He wasn't worth -" he stops, cuts himself off, and yeah, he's definitely a little drunk. "How dare you behave like this."
Hawks feels the tone in his spine: disapproving, so disapproving. It makes him want to bite his lip and blush.
He's not doing so well at suppressing that particular urge today.
Endeavor takes, impossibly, another step. He's dangerously close. One spark would do it from this distance. If he went up now, he'd take all of Hawks's feathers with him. Maybe his skin, too.
"Do you think this is a game?"
Hawks suppresses a grin at that. Endeavor doesn't miss it.
"Are you aware that you are a public figure now, Hawks?" A vein in his forehead pulses. "You can't just - go around - acting like that -"
"Like what?"
Endeavor looks painfully indignant all the sudden. His eyes go to the dirty, wet patches of fabric over Hawks's knees and his face flushes.
"Like a whore," Endeavor says, and Hawks feels it through every hollow bone in his body.
Without thinking, the tequila he'd had earlier says, "Say that again."
Endeavor looks deliciously indignant. Disgusted. Fascinated, disappointed, riveted all at once.
His tone is absolutely vicious, almost hateful when he says, " Excuse me?"
Hawks can't help it. It's so hot in the alley now, and they're so close together, and he's just drunk enough not to care about the - act - he's been putting up for Endeavor. The one where he pretends he hasn't spent the last ten years coming into his own fist thinking about him, watching him on tv, looking at pictures of him in magazines.
So he looks. Really looks, pointedly, obviously.
Endeavor stiffens immediately, says, "Jesus, Hawks, don't be disgusting."
Hawks feels himself grin and blush even further, wings stretching out behind him like a cat waking from a nap. They tremble a little, though he doesn't think Endeavor knows him enough to know what that means.
"Why not?"
"You're embarrassing yourself," Endeavor says, and Hawks is embarrassing himself, and it makes him flush hot and dizzy.
"Come on," Hawks murmurs, and it's low and urgent and gives everything away, "Don't stop now."
Endeavor does something odd then, halfway between bristling and shuddering, like he's very angry but also -
"I'm a disgrace," Hawks says softly, voice trembling a little, "Right? Right? Come on."
Fucking Christ, he sounds like an addict. He's talking too fast.
"Shut up," Endeavor snaps, vicious, and then looks almost surprised at himself.
"Enji," Hawks says, like a whimper, and he's never said his name before in his life, didn't even whisper it into the dark when he was dreaming about this. It burns him single handedly, just the sound of it. He can feel the reverberation of it all the way to the tips of his wings, the way it bounces off the wet brick of the alley.
Endeavor- Enji, fuck, the thought of it makes him faint - gets closer then, like -
"Shut your mouth-"
Hawks is already nodding, wings shivering with the way Enji's rage makes his voice sound. The way it makes his voice feel, when the vibrations of it hit his feathers. Heavier, somehow.
"Yes," he says, soft and barely audible, "Like that."
Enji is suddenly so close in Hawks's space that Hawks can't breathe. He's inches away. Hawks can taste his proximity; the air tinged with whiskey and sweat and a smell like a struck match.
"This is disgusting, Hawks, even for you."
Hawks has to stop his eyes from rolling back in his head.
Enji keeps going.
"You and your - constant - lude behavior-"
At this, Hawks draws up short, suddenly unexpectedly confused.
"Constant?"
But he's been so good until now. So careful.
Enji is a huge immovable wall in front of him. He scoffs, and there is such egotistical derision in it that Hawks feels the base of his wings tingle with the blush that rolls all the way down his spine.
"Please, you're always throwing yourself at everyone. At me, even."
Hawks pauses, then leans back against the brick wall and folds his arms, content to play this out. The tequila buzzes pleasantly through his blood.
"Enji," he says, and Enji visibly flinches, "If I threw myself at you, you'd know."
He wants to reach for him but settles for spreading his wings out flat against the brick behind him. He can feel the reverberation of the building's air conditioning through them like this, the buzz of the streetlight, the rise and fall of Enji's breathing. Quicker, now, than it had been before.
"Pull yourself together," Enji says, rough and disapproving.
Hawks shakes his head no. His wings are still spread out behind him like a pinned butterfly.
Enji makes a noise of disgust even as he steps - oh, holy bleeding shit - close enough to cage Hawks in against the wall. His fingers are less than an inch from the edges of Hawks's trembling, outstretched feathers.
Hawks can't help it. He's so on edge, and Enji - Enji, god it feels painfully intimate, that name - is so close, they've never been this close before. So he - fucking - kisses Enji on the mouth.
He reacts immediately, puts his hands - huge, so impossibly huge, he could probably wrap a single hand all the way around Hawks's throat and have his fingers touch - on Hawks's chest and shoves, like he's trying to push him away. Hawks has already got his back mostly to the brick wall, so it doesn't quite work - instead it just jars him violently, making his teeth rattle in his skull.
Enji gives himself away then, because he doesn't back away at all. Not even an inch. His hands are rough, violent, but they don't stop touching him.
"What is wrong with you," Enji says, and it's a low growl now, and Hawks feels his feathers curl a little at the ends in delight.
He shakes his head again, looks up at Enji with an expression that parodies innocence.
"I'm incapable of controlling myself, for starters," he says, trying for a joking sort of tone and missing it by a mile. His voice is shaking with urgency. He speaks so fast that all his words slur together, making him sound drunk and - unhinged. "I'm a disgusting hedonistic whore, and I should be ashamed of myself?"
He shouldn't - this is awful, completely desperate and mortifying behavior -
The intensity with which he wants Enji to tell him that is - frightening, almost.
"Please, Enji," he whispers, wings still trembling behind him. Begging.
Enji is so close Hawks can feel the heat coming off him, so he can feel it when the temperature suddenly spikes drastically when he says Enji's name.
"Pleas-"
He's on him then, though not the way he expects. He presses his whole huge body against Hawks and slams his hand over Hawks's mouth, overwhelming, and inexorably, urgently -
"Shut your mouth," Enji hisses, and Hawks only remains upright because Enji's enormous smothering hand is holding him by the jaw, covering his mouth and nose all at once.
The realization of what exactly is happening sweeps through Hawks's whole body all the way to the tips of his feathers in a hot, dizzy rush. He moans. Or, he tries. His eyes roll back in his head when he can't get the sound out, when it gets trapped in his chest in a bubble of air and makes him feel oddly - full of it, and he can't - breathe, oh Jesus fucking Christ -
Enji's hand is still holding him by the jaw but he shifts it just a little, so that Hawks can take in one huge gasping breath, and he hisses, "Be quiet."
His skin tastes like some chemical that Hawks can't identify, though it feels distinctly... dangerous. Hawks is crushingly aware that his entire face could burn off in an eye blink. Maybe faster.
He truly cannot believe this is happening. He wants to say, do you have any idea how many times I've pictured you fucking me and he wants to say the first time I ever came I said your name and every time I go out for an anonymous fuck you're the one I'm picturing, but he doesn't say any of those things. His whole body is buzzing with anticipation and adrenaline , and it's fucking intoxicating as shit, and it stops him from considering the how or the why of what is happening between them.
There have been looks, sure. But Hawks is used to being looked at. And Endeavor - Enji - is twice his age, so he'd never thought -
Enji seems to sense this reverie and very effectively snaps him out of it: the hand gets smothering again, pinches over Hawks's nose and mouth so easily and so expertly that there is no doubt in Hawks's mind that Enji has done this before.
Enji's other hand goes to Hawks's belt without even touching the rest of him: no caresses, no teasing touches, no seduction at all. Just Enji's hand clamping too tight over his mouth and his fingers, far too hot, searing right through the leather of the belt until it just falls off.
Hawks whimpers at this. Enji's fingers are so hot that the metal button on Hawks's pants is being heated by proximity, and it bites into the soft skin of his stomach, so hot it almost feels cold. It is almost unbearably painful, despite the fact that it cools very quickly.
Reflexively, his wings pull in around him, close to his body like a coat. A reflex, to protect himself.
Enji shoves them away thoughtlessly, grabbing a handful of twitching red feathers and pushing so they spread out to either side, and hisses, "I said be quiet ."
But Hawks doesn't hear. He can't hear anything.
He's reeling from - Enji's hands -
His wings are sensitive enough to feel the ambient vibrations of the bar inside through the wall, and Enji's just - grabbed them, so thoughtlessly, so dismissively. He can feel Enji's supernaturally hot fingers sliding almost carelessly through his feathers and it feels - it feels disgustingly intimate, he's never even thought to let anyone do something like that before, and the thought of Enji doing it now -
In public, where anyone could see them, with that look on his face, so painfully dismissive -
Hawks crumples instantly. Almost as soon as Enji touches him his knees buckle and a loud, keening whine punches its way out of him, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back, all his bones turned to water, and he's not sure if it feels good or if it hurts, it's just so much -
Enji stops. Narrows his eyes.
Hawks has to put his hands on his knees, looking up up up until he meets Enji's eyes, still panting with - something. His heart is hammering so hard it hurts his chest. Enji's looking at him like he's still trying to figure out what just happened, and then his expression shifts and Hawks feels a jolt of anticipation that is so close to fear it is nearly indistinguishable.
"Really?" Enji breathes, almost to himself, and then he's settling one hand on the back of Hawks's neck. It feels impossibly heavy and hot. Hawks is so hard it's a wonder he's even got enough blood in his brain for conscious thought.
He hauls Hawks by the back of the neck up off the wall, around the big metal dumpster and into the darkest corner of the alley, and then he slams him face first against the brick. Hawks feels his cheekbone bruise instantly, and it might even crack if Enji keeps pushing like this. He wonders how it would feel if it did, how hot and swollen it would be for days, for weeks , and the rush of adrenaline at the thought makes him open his mouth and speak breathlessly.
"You throw your wife around like this? Number One?"
Enji's hand on the back of Hawks's neck gets so hot that Hawks can smell hair burning. He feels like he's melting. Enji is so close behind him, and the brick in front of him is hard and cold and unyielding, and there's nowhere to go and fuck, he's so fucking hard -
"Don't you fucking ever mention my wife again you disgusting fucking animal."
Hawks thinks if his cock gets any harder than this it's going to drill a hole through the brick wall.
"Yeah," he breathes, slurred with pleasure at the derision in Enji's voice, "Yeah, more, come on -"
Enji smells like a brushfire, like open air and out-of-control heat. His fingers thread through Hawks's feathers at the very base of one of his wings and just - stay there. Hawks whimpers helplessly.
"Jesus, look at you," Enji says, and it might have been praise if not for the way he scoffs when he says it. He pinches one feather between his fingers and rubs it, and Hawks -
Hawks can feel every whorl of his fingerprints, every fucking cell in his skin, and the shudder of sensory overload that wracks his body is utterly overwhelming. Entirely.
"You can't even stand," Enji says, and he sounds like he's going to laugh. The thought that he might wipes every hope of coherent thought straight from Hawks's brain like a fucking etch a sketch. He draws his fingers very slowly through Hawks's feathers, one hand still on the back of his neck. "You crumple like this for everyone? Pathetic."
Hawks is drooling onto the brick wall, cheek smashed against it. He shudders so hard he cuts his face on it, the feeling of Enji's fingers sinking into his feathers like that absolutely fucking incomprehensible.
He's never, ever, ever felt this before. He feels like his entire body is on fire, he feels like he's on ecstasy. Every time Enji so much as breathes on his wings he feels it all the way inside himself, all the way to his toes and the base of his spine, and Enji takes a look at Hawks's face and laughs.
"Enji -"
It's hardly even his voice that comes out. It's so high, blatantly, pornographically breathless. "Enji, Enji, please, fuck, fucking please-"
Enji pins him harder against the wall with the hand at his neck, and then runs his other hand all the way down one wing from the base all the way to the tip. The feeling of it is -
"You beg like the cheapest whore I've ever seen, boy."
Jesus motherfucking suffering Christ.
Hawks can't move his head anymore but he tries, he tries desperately to nod, over and over again. He's so dizzy.
"Yeah," he pants, and the wing that Enji had his hand on shudders hard, feathers stretching almost painfully in Enji's direction, "Yeah, yeah, God fuckin' yeah I am, fuck - please, just - Enji-"
His whispering keeps peaking into these little squeaks of desperation, so that he sounds like he's going to cry, and this whole fucking thing is going to ruin other sex for him for the rest of his life.
He stammers for a full five seconds before he finally gets out, "P-p-pocket, in my - there's -"
Enji's huge fucking hand is already rooting around in there, and he comes out with not just a portable little packet but an actual entire bottle of lube, and he holds it up very close to Hawks's face like he's disciplining an unruly dog.
"What are you expecting me to do with this?"
His voice doesn't even sound winded, like he could truly care less about this whole thing, like pinning his twenty four year old partner to a dirty alley wall and - berating him while he pants and whines and begs for more is just - a chore, like doing his fucking taxes or -
"Fuck, fuck me, please, please fuck me, I've always -"
Hawks cuts himself off with enormous difficulty. He's just come dangerously close to admitting how badly he's always wanted this f rom Enji, and that is, he's pretty sure, a supremely unwise decision.
"Stop talking, boy, you're just embarrassing yourself."
Fuck.
The way he says -
The way he says boy gives him away, Hawks thinks once the pink hazey fog of pleasure clears enough to think at all. It's just a little breathless, like he gets a tiny little rush every time he says it.
Hawks keeps talking despite Enji's - suggestion. Or because of it.
"Fucking fuck me, Enji, please. Please."
His pants are gone, somehow. He doesn't really know where they went, or when they went. But all the sudden his whole naked ass is just -
And his cock presses painfully against the brick wall, and even Hawks can't handle quite that much, so he reaches one hand down to -
Enji grabs his wrist in one huge, crushing hand. Hawks can feel the bones creak. His cock twitches against the brick and he winces even as the rest of him blushes.
So soft it might actually have been gentle if not for the grip on Hawks's wrist and the fingers digging into the back of his neck, Enji murmurs, "Don't."
Then he lets go, pulls at Hawks's hips and spreads a hand out flat against the small of Hawks's back, forces him to just bend over all the way, so blatant it's - yeah, embarrassing, and yeah, Enji knows - and Hawks is so dizzy with the whole thing that he stumbles, forearms braced against the brick. His wings fling themselves straight out to catch him, giving him balance, spread as wide as they can go.
"Stay," Enji says, short like he's talking to a dog, and he kicks Hawks's legs apart and Hawks has to stop himself from moaning so loud someone calls the cops.
His fingers are fucking huge, so when the first two push inside him all at once it hurts a little, even with the lube, and again Hawks feels his wings react automatically, an involuntary reflex to pull close to him and protect.
One of Enji's hands is busy, but the other one shoots out and grabs the base of Hawks's left wing so fast he doesn't even feel it happening. His fingers curl around the feathers and close hard around the muscle and almost-bone of it, the thick of it, the easiest part to -
"I said stay."
Hawks stays, spread open in a hundred ways, and feels his whole body clench and shudder in response. Enji's fingers inside him twitch. The ones wrapped around the base of his wing flex a little, squeeze the muscle there, like a test.
When Hawks doesn't react, Enji does something else, something that shoots an awareness of sensation straight through his entire body all the way to the inside of his fucking bones, and Hawks makes a short, ragged sort of sound.
"It's the feathers, then," Enji says, almost to himself. Almost absently, he adds another finger inside Hawks. He can't even breathe now. Jesus.
Hawks can't help the way he gasps, "Enji," tone almost - surprised. He feels so completely, utterly open that it breaks everything in him.
"I told you to be quiet and I won't tell you again." Enji sort of wiggles his fingers where three of them are disappearing inside Hawks's asshole and adds, "You are terrible at following direction."
He barely manages to breathe, "Yes."
"Terrible. Awful, desperate slut."
"Fuck-"
"Embarrassment of a boy, indecent degenerate alleyfucker, you'd do this if I were just a stranger off the street, wouldn't you-"
This one he punctuates with a cruel twist of his fingers, a curling motion that rubs almost uncomfortably hard against Hawk's prostate and makes him make an entirely new sound, something like a wild animal.
"Yes, Enji."
"We ought to do something about that."
"Yes, Enji."
"Spread your legs wider. Come on - better."
That one word, that one single word in that offhand, flippant sort of tone, it undoes Hawks entirely. His thin control disappears immediately and he starts gasping in perfect time with the deep, unrelenting pressure of Enji's fingers, drooling against the brick wall and letting these high, sing-song little whines escape, unable to even keep his tongue inside his mouth.
It's like a switch being flipped. He can't even beg Enji to fuck him anymore.
Enji seems to notice, and he stills his fingers - so deep Hawks feels like if he looked down at his own stomach he'd be able to see them - and makes a huff almost like a laugh. He pulls his fingers almost all the way out.
Then Enji sighs deeply, like he's sinking into a warm bath, and his fingers sink in again all at once. Hawks feels like the whole world can see inside him, he's spread open so wide.
"This is the whore I expected," Enji murmurs, voice suddenly so blindingly hot Hawks can feel it on his skin, vibrating through every one of his feathers. "So eager, so easy, just look-" he eases in a fourth huge, fucking impossibly huge finger, and Hawks makes a long, high haaa sound, and Enji almost coos when he says, still pushing relentlessly inside, "Look at that."
His tone is completely different now: still cruel, but with this strange, intoxicating veneer of gentleness, like he's proud of -
Hawks doesn't even finish the thought before the orgasm starts building in him, inevitable as a speeding fucking train.
Enji tuts, Jesus Christ who is he now - and takes all four fingers out. He shoves Hawks flat up against the wall again, and the jolt of the cold wet brick scraping painfully against his cock is enough to stop his orgasm instantly. It had been so much closer than he'd thought, and he sobs without even realizing it.
"Not before I get to have you."
Hawks cannot respond. His whole entire awareness, his whole entire existence is narrowed to desperately, anxiously waiting for Enji's cock.
Ah. There it is.
Finally, finally, finally -
It is ridiculously huge, impossibly, and Hawks whines so loud it actually echoes through the alley, "It's not gonna fit -"
"Yes, it is."
Hawks breathes, "I can't-"
Enji just keeps fucking feeding his cock into him, and Hawks has never been this split open in his entire life, and Enji coos again in that voice and says, "You can, you can take it, go on, take it all, there's a good whore, just a little more-"
Hawks is sobbing all the sudden, tone of Enji's voice and that relentless push in, in, in shredding his whole sense of self until he's babbling blindly, drooling all over himself and the brick wall and moaning and begging and crying into the night air-
"Yes, yes, fuck, fuck, yeah, yeah, Jesus, fuck, it's - I -"
And Enji's still pushing inside him somehow, which is impossible, he's already so far inside, there's no way there can possibly be more to take, and his voice is searing, scorching, breathless and almost silent as he murmurs into the rumpled, ruffled feathers at Hawks's back, "Come on, just - a little bit m- you can take it, just - that's right, open up - all of it, just like -"
And everything is one red, singing, throbbing haze of overwhelming pleasure, and Enji sounds so pleased with him, and so Hawks cannot control himself when he whimpers, drooling all over the brick wall and his own face, "Fuck, fuck, Daddy."
There is the smell of burning hair, and burning feathers, and the smell of a spark in the middle of the night, and then Enji is crushing Hawks's whole body to him and fucking the life out of him, bending him however he wants and just holding him there like he weighs nothing, like he's a toy to play with -
And his hands are so hot where they grip Hawks's hips, his arms, his shoulders, where they push at the small of his back and grab at the flesh of his thighs and spread him wide open to just look at, that Hawks feels soft, tingling pink welts raising in all the places Enji is holding him, touching him, fucking him.
And every time Hawks opens his mouth and whines, high and embarrassing and needy and slutty as fuck, and every time he says, Yes, just like that, Daddy and harder, faster, please, please, Daddy, every time Enji's hands get just a little hotter.
By the end of it Hawks is screaming into the too-quiet night, thanking Enji over and over, begging him to stop, begging him for more, babbling filthy, disgusting nonsense about how he can see Enji's cock inside him from the outside, grabbing Enji's too-hot hand and pressing it to his own stomach, low, and begging him to fuck him until he can feel himself doing it, all the while whining Daddy, yes, Daddy please -
Hawks comes first. It's startling. He'd somehow almost forgotten that he wanted to, and so when it just starts barreling through him he gasps, a huge shocked gulp of air and Enji knows, he knows instantly, wraps one hot hand - not too hot, now, and the fact that he's taken care not to really hurt him makes it come even faster - around Hawks's cock and -
He doesn't even have to do anything but hold it, because the sight of it - Hawks isn't small, he isn't big but he isn't small, but Enji's hand is so fucking huge that it envelops Hawks's entire cock all at once - the sight of that has him coming so hard he screams himself hoarse, so hard his toes curl and the arches of his feet cramp, so hard his wings curl in on himself and tremble violently even as the rest of him locks up with it and he just. Sobs.
Enji's following him almost immediately, hands too-hot again, searing two enormous handprints around Hawks's waist that almost touch at the edges, teeth sinking into Hawks's shoulder and a low, rumbling curse shaking through his body.
They stand there for a minute, panting in silence, and then Hawks's legs just give out all at once.
Enji catches him.
In the morning, when Hawks wakes up sore as hell and covered in little pink welts and wearing an enormous soft shirt that isn't his (with two ragged ugly holes ripped in the back for his wings, shockingly considerate), when he cracks open one eye to find an empty bed flooded in brilliant mid-morning sunlight that also isn't his and a scrawled note on the dresser that reads locking the doorknob behind you is fine, he means to just slink out the front door and never mention it again.
It's Saturday. They don't have patrol, so he has no idea where Enji's gone, but - it doesn't matter. He's - on his way out.
Except that when he gets up, stretches, savors all the ways he hurts and notes all the ways he very much doesn't hurt, pads pantsless into the little kitchen of an apartment that has a lot of natural light and no wife, helps himself to a chug of orange juice from the fridge and then a handful of dry cereal and then a shower, he steps out of the bathroom to find Enji.
"You're still here," Enji says, and his tone is impossible to read. Hawks's stomach drops. He's still wearing Enji's shirt, and since his hair and his feathers are still damp it's obvious that he's put it back on after showering.
"Uh, yeah," Hawks says, voice rough from sleep. Enji is standing in the kitchen, holding himself so awkwardly it looks like he's never been in his own house before.
Hawks adds, "Sorry. I'll - "
And at the same time Enji says, "You can-"
They both stop. There is an analog clock over the refrigerator, ticking very softly.
Enji holds up a plastic bag. It looks comically small in his hand.
"Food," he says intelligently. Hawks can't suppress a little half smile, and then the word sinks in.
"You-"
"Stay?" Enji says, and it's completely different than the way he spoke to him the night before.
Hawks feels an itch between his shoulder blades, right where Enji ripped the holes in his own shirt for Hawks's wings to fit through.
"Yeah," he says, and his chest does something odd and hard to identify. "You got eggs?"
https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980415