#luka writes

"Don't you look good down there." The permanent grin stitched into the villain's face curved into a sharp smirk — one part cruel, one part pleased. Sinfully familiar turquoise eyes slowly roved down the other's body, pulling with them a heat that seemed to burn through his skin, straight into his veins. And Dabi took his time, taking in every detail of the hero. Of how Hawks, the commissions poster child, was on his knees on sticky tile, in front of him. Taking in the sight of the hero's face, flushed with embarrassment that mixed tantalizingly with the arousal that was tightening the front of those khaki pants. And taking in how — somehow — that damned mask still held true. How Hawks' expression bordered on aloof as he gazed up at Dabi, posture positively relaxed.

Hawks' heart lept in his chest, heat twisted in the pit of his stomach as the other's gaze lingered, a moment too long on the outline of Hawks' arousal, as a boot moved to nudge his legs further apart. If not for his training, he would have been writhing under the weight of the villain's gaze — but he managed to keep that under lock and key, gaze lifting to meet that damned turquoise as a smirk of his own danced across his features.

"Awh, thank you~" His voice was light, bordering on playful, as if the anticipation hadn't been driving him mad.

Two hours — his body wasn't nearly as sore as it could have been. Compared to routes, sitting at attention on his knees was only mildly uncomfortable. The sitting still part was far harder than the position — that, and how Dabi's words were slowly chipping at his resolve. How his voice, rough with smoke and lust, wrapped around each word. How he fluctuated between harsh teasing — near insulting — and coos of praise. How the heat of the villain's tone melded into the moment, the vulnerability, and sent tendrils of need to the pit of his stomach.

Perhaps it was just that — that perfected act — that was getting under Dabi's skin. Perhaps it was his impatience, the goal of waiting for the hero to crack conflicting with his own desire in a volatile cocktail that left his fingers twitching with hostile warmth.

Dabi's boot pressed between the hero's thighs, pulling a near yelp of a gasp from his lips, golden eyes widening before the act snapped back into place — but still his thighs trembled with effort as he forced himself not to press into the pressure, not to seek something after hours of nothing.

The villain's smirk only widened at the reactions — as subtle as they were, they had far from gone unnoticed. His boot pressed firmer beneath him, gaze taking in every little change that twitched briefly across the hero's features.

"I'm tempted t' keep you there all night. You're a good decoration, Birdy." The words were empty — Dabi knew where they would end up by the end of the night — but they still garnered the desired reaction. Still pulled the softest trill of a whine from the hero's throat.

Hawks' cock throbbed, twitching within the confines of his pants, as if seeking the frictionvthat was so temptingly close. His face burned as his flush deepened, as it crept up his ears, breath threatening to catch in his throat with every shift of Dabi's damned boot.

"Is that all I am to you? I'm hurt." The casual tone was strained with the effort it took to sound calm — to mask how much he needed the villain. His gaze never left the other's, almost challenging ( even if he knew better ).

Dabi shifted his boot again, pressing it firm into Hawks' crotch, smirk widening almost painfully as he watched the Hero's resolve begin to crack. "Hardly. You're also a pretty plaything."

The pressure was dizzying, Hawks' hips pressing involuntarily into the other's boot, a low whine forming in his throat before he could stop it. He had been doing an okay job at ignoring exactly how hard he had gotten, how precum was soaking into the front of his boxers, but the press of Dabi's boot snapped everything back to the front of his mind with disorienting speed.

"You— You think I'm pretty? How sweet." The words were meant to be light, teasing, almost a singsong laugh, but they came out in a gasp, voice a slight whine as he struggled to regain his composure.

And god, it was like seeing something divine. Dabi couldn't pry his gaze away from him, mouth dry as he watched how the boy's thighs trembled, how his hips pressed forward with instinctive desperation, how those involuntary whimpers formed in his throat like birdsong.

Dabi had seen beauty before, had felt lust and desire, but the heat that flooded his body watching the hero come undone was addictive, was like a dream that he never wanted to leave.

His own arousal throbbed, hand moved to slowly palm himself as he pressed his boot firmer into the little bird's own, voice breathless when he finally found his words again.

"There, Birdy. It isn't hard to let go, is it?" The breathlessly teasing coo that enveloped his words sent a shiver down Hawks' spine, heat coiling tighter as it pulsed through his veins. "See, good boy…"

And it was that - the praise - that was finally Hawks' undoing. His hips jerked again, a gasp falling from his lips, hands moving from where they had been gripping his own pants to instead fist into the fabric of Dabi's own.

It was pathetic, clinging to the villain's leg as he let himself rut against his boot like a desperate slut, but it was that pathetic, vulnerable loss of control that Dabi was responding to, that pulled more praise from his lips that shot through Hawks like an aphrodisiac.

"Oh good boy—" The praise was almost a moan, Dabi's hand fumbling to unbutton his pants and free his cock, the other tangling promptly into Hawks' hair, angling his head up so he could see the desperation in his eyes now that that damned mask had fallen away. "Fuuck, Hawks…"

The tug to his hair immediately redirected Hawks' gaze, his hips jerking harder, eyes blown wide with submissive desire — even as the moan of his name pulled that smirk back to his lips.

"Mhn— G-Guess you really do think 'm pretty—"

His words were gasps, moans that tried to pretend to be snarky, but the intent came across. Soot-stained fingers tightened in his hair, pulling a pained gasp from his lips as his head was all but wrenched back.

"Watch it, or I'll put that pretty mouth to use, Hero."

And he couldn't help but smirk wider, even as whimpers and moans formed in his throat. He couldn't help but let his mouth lull open, a teasing dare that sent heat straight to the pit of Dabi's stomach.

"You have been over working again." The words were spoken calmly, but you had known him long enough to find the inkling of veiled concern layered under his tone. The heel of his shoes tapped against the tile floors of the hospital as he moved quickly, only allowing for a beat of silence before he was pressing his stethoscope against your chest.

You waited a beat — not wanting to interrupt — before responding to his words, exasperation lacing your voice. "The wanderers—"

Your words were promptly cut off by a sharp gaze from behind his glasses, a 'tsk' as gloved hands slid up your throat, pulling a shiver down your spine, and you barely noticed as cold fingers prodded your lymph nodes.

"Will be dealt with by other hunters. You can not save the world if you do not take care of your body." It wasn't the first time he had said such — perhaps it was a reminder that more hunters needed. But it certainly wasn't something you wanted to hear. Your work was important, dammit—!

Cold hands nipped into the tension in your shoulders with frigid precision, yanking you from your internal argument with a gasp of pain. "You are tense." A single, thin brow arched, his fingers pressing into your shoulder again, as if to punctuate the words.

"No shit—" Your response was all but hissed out, brow furrowing at the ache in your muscles. You hadn't had time to unwind in what felt like months. Sure, there were things you did for 'self care', but it was almost robotic, you barely felt like they made a difference.

It was almost as if he read your mind, with the way his expression shifted — how his eyes darkened with an unspoken idea. One gloved hand rested on your thigh — a soft but pointed touch that, combined with the texture of medical gloves, had your head reeling.

"You have been neglecting your body." The medical observation felt like it was far more than that — but you desperately tried to convince yourself that you were just imagining that.

The hand on your shoulders moved to your chest, tugged two buttons open with a fluid motion, before — as if this were completely routine — he pressed the cold of the stethoscope to your now-bare skin. A gasp fell from your lips at the chill, killing the response that was forming on your tongue.

"Have you been having trouble sleeping?" The normalcy of the question contrasted embarrassingly with the heat that was spreading across your cheeks, and it took you a long moment to catch up.

Your hands softly fisted into the hem of your shirt as you opened your eyes again, trying to hide how quickly your mind had skidded into the gutter. "Yeah, but that isn't anything new."

The stethoscope moved across your chest, somehow still not warming despite the contact to your skin, as he made a sound of acknowledgement. It felt like a long moment, but in reality was only a breath — a beat — before he spoke again.

"Have you had trouble relaxing, or are you simply choosing not to?" The stethoscope fell against his chest, gloved hand moving to slide along the bundle of tense muscle at the nape of your neck, then your shoulder, as if tracking the tense muscles for further documentation.

The smooth, cold medical gloves were tantalizing, scattering your thoughts as you tried to gather them to speak. "Ah— Both? It isn't easy to relax, but I also haven't had time.." You almost felt guilty, admitting that you (in part) were choosing to go against his repeated advice, but you knew better than to lie to Zayne.

You couldn't tell what the vocalization meant to convey, but it wasn't long that you were attempting to muse it over. Cold fingers moved to your back, tracing tense muscles until they reach your waistband.

"I suppose teaching hunters how to relax is not something they prioritize." The words were spoken softly, musing, almost to himself. There was a pause — one where you almost considered asking what he meant by that — before he shifted, standing straight from where he had leaned into your personal space. "Lay back."

You obeyed almost instinctively, accustomed to your doctor giving you demands without explanation. His gloved hands slipped across the skin of your thigh, turning your leg as if to examine how the muscles moved. Your breath caught, warmth on your cheeks flooding through your veins even as the chill of his fingers felt like it was spreading ice across your skin.

"What're you—" You felt his hand move between your legs, the backs of his fingers running across your crotch with consistent pressure that pulled a gasp from your lips.

"I am your doctor." His voice was painfully calm, despite how his gaze was trained on your body, examining every inch of it. "It is my job to ensure that you are no longer in pain." He spoke as if it was a given, that the cardiologist would be assisting you in relaxing, but you couldn't bring yourself to point out the irony of the moment.

His gloved fingers hooked under the crotch of your shorts, pressing them aside with little hesitation. Evol-chilled fingers coated with the smooth of those damned gloves slid slowly across your folds, and you couldn't help the soft whine that built in your chest.

"Zayne—"

His gaze lifted, smirk ghosting across his lips as he took in how immediately flushed you were.

"Your body is clearly neglected, Y/N." His words interrupted, voice level and professional — as if he hadn't heard you. His gaze lowered again, fingers dipping to collect lubrication before they slipped to your clit with practiced ease.

The sound that fell past your lips was criminal, heat spread across your face and down your throat, crept through your veins and coiled between your legs, your body immediately reacting to the smooth, lubricated glove as it circled that bundle of nerves. His movements were precise, careful. His free hand moved to hold your thigh, to keep your legs apart.

"If you needed assistance in relaxing, you should have informed your doctor sooner." Scolding, softly and professionally spoken, but you could hear the lust that layered under his tone, tension that coiled around his words, behind the mask of cool professionalism.

Your legs tensed, back arching slightly as you pressed into his hand, your mouth lulled open in a silent gasp as his fingers continued to carefully circle your clit, to carefully coax a far different kind of tension into your limbs.

It was only once he had received that reaction that his hand moved again, allowing his fingers to slowly caress your folds - each touch careful, adoring, as if he were taking in every drip of your beauty. You shifted, cheeks flushing ever brighter as you felt how you had dripped onto the examination table, resisting the urge to press your legs closed at the humiliating way he seemed to study you.

That embarrassment only held your attention for a moment, a breath, before he was slipping gloved fingers inside of you — a motion which pulled a quickly-muffled moan past your lips.

You could have sworn you heard him chuckle when your teeth bit at your lower lip, when one hand flew up to press firmly over your own mouth — and you would have commented, but any comment scattered as his fingers curled inside of you, gloved digits stroking slowly along until they brushed over that spot that made you see sparks.

"Z-Zayne—!" The gasp of his name was graciously muffled by your hand, and this time you know you heard him chuckle — a low, lustful sound that settled into your chest like it lived there.

His fingers slowly worked inside of you, curling and brushing against that bundle of nerves with medical precision, and his gaze finally lifted, moving to study your face, hungerly taking in every inch of your expression.

You opened your mouth to comment, but a shift of his hand so he could press his thumb against your clit promptly had you clamping it closed again, muffling the moan that ripped its way from your throat. Your hips pressed, writhing into his touch, into how his fingers rhythmically pumped inside of you.

It was embarrassingly quick, how soon you felt heat tightening in your stomach, felt your muscles clenching around him, toes curling in your boots as he inched you closer to climax. Your moans fell softly through parted lips, muffled — barely — by your own hands pressed against white-hot skin.

His gaze still trained on your face through it all, watching every expression shift, every twitch, with enamored enjoyment — as if watching your pleasure alone could bring him his own.

The wave that crashed over you was dizzying. Pleasure shot through your veins like fire, your arching and writing into his touch. Gasped moans fell past your lips, and through it all, his gaze never left your own. His smirk, light and subtle, met his eyes with wanton desire, mixing into an expression that was killing you in its own right.

His fingers stilled, but only until your body calmed, muscles relaxing around him again - save for gentle, involuntary twitches. A soft 'hum' was your only warning before they curled inside of you again, pulling a too-loud gasp from your lips.

"I believe more than that is in order for you to properly relax, given how neglected you have been, yes?"

His words still found themselves laced with faux professionalism, but the lascivious tone leached into them, curled its way around every word. Your body shuttered, hips pressing into his hand involuntarily as your response fell past your lips with another moan of pure pleasure.

"Yes— Yes, Doctor Li."