Archive of Our Own ^beta

Touya drags himself up the stairs on a chilly winter morning. The coffee he just got from the shop at the end of the street scalds the palm of his hand but he takes a sip anyway, sucking on his tongue as the initial bitterness melts into something enjoyable. 

Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi walks past him just as he makes it to the third floor, offering Touya a brief nod before disappearing on a turn at the end of the hallway. The grave look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed, though, nor does the file he’s holding under his arm.  

Aizawa's slouching on a chair when Touya finally enters the studio, five minutes past their usual time. He knows something’s wrong the moment he’s not immediately given shit for being late. As lazy as Aizawa might seem on the outside, he can get incredibly fussy with punctuality, and he’s made sure to let Touya know every day since the start of this project.

Today, he barely acknowledges Touya’s presence at all. 

“I ran into Detective Tsukauchi in the hallway,” Touya drawls, adventuring closer. He looks over the pictures haphazardly laid out on the desk, then at the evidence board on the wall, the one Aizawa’s intent on setting on fire with his eyes. “What’d I miss?”

Aizawa grunts, jutting his chin in his general direction, “See it for yourself.” 

Touya glances down at the pictures again. 

Red, he notices first, so much red someone could drown in it. Beige floors and scattered feathers, he notices a second later, moving on to the next picture. Hair and a single tooth on the floor, all things someone would expect from a brutal crime scene like this one. 

If he remembers correctly, this would be the fifth murder in the last two weeks. The pictures already pinned to the board beg to prove him right. 

“Security found the body in a warehouse by the harbor,” Aizawa says. He cuts Touya a meaningful look. “A slit throat, deep cuts on the limbs. You know, more of the same. Some Commission low-rank, it was. Male, thirty-two, worked close to a bunch of important files. You can guess the rest.” 

“And I presume we don't know where the murderer ran off to?” 

Aizawa grunts an affirmation. “Detective Tsukauchi's on it but we're gonna need all the help we can get. It's a slippery one, our villain.” 

Touya clicks his tongue, redirecting his gaze towards the board. He notices the new addition to their nameless pile of evidence, then: a feather. 

A red feather hangs from the board in a blood-stained bag, the barbs irregular and clumped. It's not the first one they've managed to get their hands on, but it is the first one Touya sees Aizawa keep, surely because the stem is broken in two and, therefore, it's of no use anymore. 

This villain—Touya is quite acquainted with. It's safe to say that they've been chasing each other's tails for a while now, or more like Touya's been playing his game as a means to finally catch him. 

Blame it on those wings of his, but the bastard's fast. Always one step ahead. Every time Touya believes he's finally gained the upper hand, he's proven wrong. 

He's heard the whispers in the streets, the witnesses’ testimony. An angel of death, they call him. He materialized from the shadows like a ghost one random night and has killed approximately fifty people since, all seemingly allies of the Heroes Public Safety Commission. 

He's unpredictable, dangerous, always breathing down Touya's neck. 

But there’s another, smaller portion of the population that venerates him as a savior. People who’ve lost someone they loved, they call him a hero. 

For the past couple of months, Touya’s been tracking him down. He knows the location of some of his previous hideouts, knows his strengths and weaknesses. He knows more than Detective Tsukauchi and Aizawa ever will. 

If somebody should get to trap him- If somebody should ever get to lay a hand on him, it should be Touya. 

Aizawa heaves a tired sigh. “Don't get too excited, kid. You know what happened the last time you went up against him-” 

“But that's part of the job, ain't it?” Touya cracks a smirk, even though the memories of that night still send a chill down his spine. The look on those eyes, real, if only for a second. “I can take him.” 

An exasperated look falls upon him. 

“I'm not saying you can't. I meant you- we need to be careful, alright?” Aizawa's eyes drift back towards the feather. Next to it is a candid of the last place they saw him, two weeks ago. “Try and focus on his background for now. If we can get some insight on his revenge against the Commission, it might help us put a stop to it.”

Anyone who’s been paying attention knows that the HPSC is the scum of hero society. Always pushing for more, setting new, impossible standards for pro-heroes. There are too many open cases against them, too many assholes working under their thumb, and, as if that wasn’t enough, they somehow remain victorious at the top of the food chain. 

If the guy's at odds with them, Touya can't exactly blame him. Lord knows how hypocritical that would be of him. 

But the problem begins when innocent people get involved. That’s where he draws the line. 

***

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s a quarter to midnight, the digital clock on his desk tells him as much. It also betrays the elephant in the room, a second, very much uninvited presence. 

Touya kicks the door shut behind himself. A ball of orange fire comes to life in the palm of his hand, casting a warm glow over the walls. 

“You know, I think some information is missing here,” Hawks hums, one gloved hand on his chin as he inspects the evidence board. He’s sitting on Aizawa’s chair with his profile towards the door. Wings draped over the backrest, brushing the floor, and a visor holding back his hair. A smile dances on his lips when he tilts his head to meet Touya’s eyes. In the shadows, Touya can’t quite see it, but he knows it’s true. “Don’t you?”

The fire in his hand burns hotter, brighter, and there it is, that smile. It tugs at the healed scar on Hawks’ left cheek, the tender, new skin a shade lighter than the rest of his face. Touya takes pride in it. 

It’s not the only scar that marres Hawks’ face, though: another, crooked and quivering as if it had been made by a kindergartener with a knife, cuts right through his left eye. That one looks like it must’ve hurt even more. 

“If I were you, I’d be careful with that thing. I’m highly flammable.” Hawks points at the fire, seeming genuinely worried for a second. Never mind that everything in this room would burst into flames if Touya were to attack him. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

Touya clenches his jaw. He adventures further into the studio, eyes glued to Hawks’ stupid mug. There are, at least, seven feet between them. 

Hawks glitches from how fast he moves to close the distance. The momentum sends the chair barreling into a wall, and, in a similar manner, Touya’s back hits the door. His gasp is unseemly loud in the quiet darkness.

He feels more than sees Hawks’ frame, the warmth of both their bodies pooling in the almost null space between them. Hawks’ breath tickles his neck but Touya can’t bring himself to use his quirk. If he did, chances are he’s not coming out unscathed from this.

So, he keeps his hands to himself, his fire at the ready under his skin. 

“Back off,” he spits out, trying to become one with the door at this point. 

“Call off the investigation,” Hawks’ low voice mutters in his ear.

Touya's eyes flicker towards the evidence board (or where he knows the board to be, at least), and a chuckle makes it past his lips before he can think to catch himself. “You gotta be kidding-”

Hawks leans back but keeps his hands on the wall on each side of Touya's head, never going too far, lest his prey could fly away. The shadows hug his frame like lifelong friends, rendering him inscrutable for anyone who would dare try and read him. 

“Don’t be cynical, it’s an honest request. I'm not interested in hurting you or your cop friends.” Hawks cocks his head. The moonlight peering right through the curtains makes it possible for Touya to see it, the haughtiness. He scoffs. There’s a smile in Hawks’ voice, and a gloved finger on Touya’s quivering navel, digging into his flesh, when he speaks again, “Don’t force my hand, hero.”

Touya breathes out quietly, though he’s positive Hawks can sense it: the pitter-patter of his heart; the fever-high temperature pouring out of him in waves; the way his lungs can’t seem to hold in enough air. 

Instant shame slithers down his back. 

How quickly could the finger on his stomach be replaced with a knife? In less than a heartbeat, most likely. 

Not because he’s disinterested, Hawks wouldn’t kill him. Not because they have this little cat and mouse game, Hawks wouldn’t leave Touya’s guts on the floor for the rats to feed on. If anything, it might be just that what finishes him—the blurred lines, this unspoken, rotten attraction. 

Touya squares up his shoulders, his chest brushing against Hawks’. They're close enough for Touya to smell the blood on him, and it works to clear the fog off his brain.

“You can't blackmail me. I'm not dropping this investigation for your sake,” he seethes. The gall on this guy. Touya’s jaw strains from how hard he’s grinding his teeth. “Now, back. Off.”

If Hawks is making any kind of face at him, Touya’s none the wiser. 

A beat of nothing passes by, and yet, somehow, the turmoil inside Touya’s chest takes its time to simmer down. He listens to Hawks breathe and wonders what he must see in Touya that makes him hesitate to pull back, despite Touya’s fire being less than a call away, lethal and aching to consume. 

Eventually, Hawks sighs and drops the finger that he was still digging into Touya’s stomach, a far, far cry from the feathers on his back. He steps away, his boots not making a single sound. Touya’s fire roars to life a second later, something yellow and controlled at the tip of his fingers that’s meant to guide, not hurt, and that allows him to see Keigo—and any upcoming attack—again.

“Alright,” Hawks says lightly. He’s not angry, only mildly annoyed. “Didn’t expect that to work, anyway.”

Touya scowls, fire wavering, “Then why-”

“A warning.” Hawks turns around, folding his wings close to his back. Without really meaning to, Touya follows the movement with his eyes. He can’t help but stare as the primaries flutter and cross, only to uncross a second later when Hawks perches on the windowsill. His wings spread again, mighty, readying to take flight, and his good eye peers over one of them, sharp as a hawks’. “You should think about it, Nova.”

And, like that, he’s gone. 

Touya glares after him. However, his attention is quickly drawn to a piece of paper that twirls like a leaf in the air and lands where Hawks had been standing seconds prior. 

He rushes towards it, picking it up off the floor. Lotus , it reads in bold, black letters. Spa & Massage. We care about your pleasure. Under that, a phone number and an address. 

Touya frowns, turning it over. His fire reflects off the plastic paper. On the back of the card, a pink lotus flower sticks out like a sore thumb. Touya tries to recall where he’d seen the same logo, but comes up empty. Fukuoka’s not really his domain.

Turning it over again, he reads the number and the address a second time, then a third and a fourth, and a plan begins to take shape in his head.

***

At first glance, and to Touya’s surprise, the spa's not sketchy at all. It takes him little to no time to find it, a square building with white walls and the same lotus flower from the card on a glass door. Not a place he’d expect to find a villain at, but he supposes that’s the whole point.

The bell above the door tinkles as Touya pushes and walks in. He’s immediately swarmed by the sweet, floral scent of chamomile and calendula, and the tune of what might as well be one of those ten hour guided meditation videos playing in the background. 

It’s relatively late, and the lounge is empty with the exception of another girl and Touya himself. 

He’d chosen to change into his civilian clothes before boarding the train, but his face seems to be fucking everywhere nowadays. Not that he hates it– He actually enjoys the attention when he’s not stressed out of his mind, or on a mission, like now. 

If he has to sign yet another napkin, he’s  going to lose his mind. And that would be quite an Endeavor-thing to do, so. 

“Sir, how can I help you?” The voice is feminine, unfamiliar. The girl can’t be older than twenty, petite and with a flower dress that, Touya will guess, has something to do with her quirk. Her pink eyes bulge out as he turns around, hands flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, my god, you-“

He smiles, tight-lipped, “Touya’s fine.”

She falters, seemingly reeling herself in despite all the things Touya knows she wants to say. He hears it every day, about how he’s so perfect and kind and how they’re all so thankful for his hard work. 

If they only knew.

“Touya-san, then,” she says, somewhat flustered. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Actually, I-”

“Lily!” That’s another voice, masculine, pitched higher and lighter but still recognizable. Touya bites back a smirk and turns to meet Hawks’ mask of passive compliance. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

Lily, apparently, only hesitates for a second or two. Touya would bet she’s aware of Hawks’ secret identity. Then she nods, and Touya’s free to follow Hawks’ lead. 

To say that Hawks gives him the cold shoulder would be an understatement. He guides Touya across a wide hallway—caesar walls and doors, a wine red carpet and that damn music pouring from every fucking room they pass—and doesn’t address him once, walking with cotton steps a few feet ahead. 

He’s dressed in an all-black uniform with the spa’s name embroidered on the chest pocket, so, if Touya had any doubts about him working here, that alone confirms it. His wings, reduced to a tinier, less heavy version, flutter sporadically, the only sign that he’s breathing at all. 

Hawks turns left and pulls him into a sunlit room with two massage tables and enough body oil bottles to supply an army of body builders. Contrary to what Touya’s expecting, a feather doesn’t come for his neck as soon as the door closes, though Hawks’ glare could make anyone drop dead in a heartbeat. 

For a moment, that’s all they do: assess each other, wait with hackles raised.  

The seconds tick by, and Touya grins. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Keigo.”

Keigo’s eyes bulge out before they drop to the plaque on the left side of his chest, “Damn it.”

Touya’s grin widens.

“You dropped this.” 

Keigo catches the card between his index and middle finger without looking away, which- Impressive, honestly. 

He sighs, pocketing the card before turning towards the shelves of body oil. “Take off your shirt and lay down on your stomach.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me . ” 

Touya balks, “I didn't come here for a massage-!”

“Then why?” Keigo growls, and Touya knows it's taking a lot from him not to make a scene. The walls are not thin, but a screaming match would alert anyone nearby, especially in a place as calm and quiet as this. 

Touya crosses his arms. “What makes a criminal want to work in a place like this? I'm curious.”

Keigo's wings bristle, feathers sharpening and softening again as he takes a deep breath. He's still glaring when he faces Touya again. “I'll answer your questions, hero, but only if you do as I say.” 

“I'm not letting you give me a massage, are you nuts?” 

Keigo shrugs. “Then I guess you'll have to leave without your answers.” 

The decision’s simple, really. Touya could walk out empty-handed or risk his life—and his dignity—for the sake of this investigation. That's what he tells himself, anyway: it's all for the investigation and his colleagues’ necks, nothing more. 

It has nothing to do with satiating his own curiosity, not at all. 

He'd done his research on Keigo but the bastard's an anomaly. Like he'd sprung out of the earth one day and gone on a killing spree. Logically, if he's got some kind of revenge against the HPSC, there must be a file, a document, a picture, something that can give Touya some clues as to why. 

But there is nothing. Less than. And so Touya ended up here, hungry, willing to play by the rules of a criminal’s game. 

“How long do we have?” he mutters, taking off his shirt. 

“An hour tops.” Keigo's self-satisfied smile grates on his nerves. Touya grinds his teeth, and sits on the table without further ado. He wonders if he looks as stupid as he feels. “You want to do this sitting down, then? Let me tell you, the experience's better if you-” 

“Just fucking get on with it,” Touya seethes. Fuck this guy. And fuck his traitorous body for heating up in a moment like this. If he's blushing, he swears to god-

The first touch of Keigo's hands on his shoulders is, for lack of a better word, fucking freezing. Touya nearly jumps out of his skin. He one hundred percent jumps off the table, though, whirling around to shoot Keigo a scandalized look. 

“What?” Keigo blinks at him, and for a second there he looks nothing like the person that crowded Touya against the door last night. His hands are coated with oil, cold, cold oil. 

Touya grumbles, returning to his previous position. This time, when Keigo's hands settle gently on his nude shoulders, he doesn't startle as much. 

His heart still skips a beat, though, the damned backstabber. 

For a couple of blissful minutes, there’s peace. Not for Touya’s mind, though, that surely won't stop screeching any time soon. But Keigo's quiet, at least for the time being, and that's more than Touya could ask for in a situation like this. 

Keigo's hands follow the line of his shoulders, thumbs stroking the sides of Touya’s neck with just enough pressure for him to feel the tension seeping out of his muscles. They trail down his nape and divert to follow the shape of his trapezius with unprecedented expertise, the rest of Keigo’s fingers joining in until it’s both his hands splayed out over Touya’s scapulas.

The oil’s surprisingly soothing on his old scars, now slightly warmer with some help of Touya’s own quirk and Keigo’s ministrations. The fact that Keigo’s touching them so freely probably shouldn’t make him as nervous as it does, but- Fuck, if Touya could help it, he would. 

It’s strange, the desire to shy away and to give in at the same time. He wishes he could say it’s a first, but that’d be a lie. 

“You’re tense,” Keigo mutters. His lips are nowhere close to Touya’s throat but they might as well have with the way he feels Keigo’s husky voice as his own. Touya gulps, trying to get rid of the strange feeling. A smooth hand travels down his spine, encouraging him to straighten up. “And this posture will hurt your back in the long run. Believe me, I would know.”

Touya doesn't mention that this is his first time having a massage of any kind, or that he's been so busy lately, chasing around a certain bird's trail, that the thought of ever relaxing again was almost laughable. 

Keigo's hands return to his shoulders, kneading the muscles at the sides of his back on their way up. They frame Touya’s waist and his ribcage in passing, and it feels a little unnecessary but he can't really think to complain when the whole room is spinning.

Again, Keigo soothes the knots. Touya would never admit to the way he positively melts under his touch but, the thing is, he doesn't have to: the stuttering in his breathing is hint enough, and so is the rush of hot blood beneath his skin, Keigo's hands rendering it a burning red. 

It stings but his body surrenders to the treatment, simultaneously becoming heavier and lighter at Keigo’s will. A squeeze of fingers behind his neck, the almost imperceptible brush of a hand in his hair—Touya shivers and holds his breath, terrified of the kind of sounds that could slip out. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t have the guts to show up,” Keigo mutters eventually, the frailest hint of a smile shining through the frustration in his voice. “It was an accident, y’know? The card. But once I realized it was missing, well.”

Touya scoffs, “You couldn’t have gotten a weirder job, huh?”

“Wait till you find out what a ‘happy ending’ massage is.”

“You actually give those?” Though Touya has a hard time believing it, the silence that follows is answer enough. He tilts his head back, incredulous, only to meet Keigo’s helpless, golden eyes. “Liar.”

Keigo’s smirk widens, sharp canines peeking through. “You interested?”

Touys looks forward again. Scoffs. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

Keigo hums, like he’s actually entertaining the idea. “Well, I’ve been told I’m really good with my-”

“You got allies here, don’t you?” 

Maybe Touya's thinking about it, too. 

The happy ending massage, that is. 

Maybe he wants to find out if Keigo's touch feels as good from his waist down, and isn't that a dangerous thought?

After a long pause, Keigo sighs heavily and rounds the table, but the ghost of his hands hovers over Touya’s back like a summer breeze, fresh and soothing. 

He dries them off of the body oil on his uniform’s shirt, not keeping enough of a distance between himself and Touya to be considered safe. 

Touya has to slightly crane his neck to look him in the eye. 

Keigo licks his lips, and- Yeah, Touya's staring at his mouth now. 

“If I said no,” Keigo starts slowly, stone-faced, “would you believe me?”

“Would you be telling the truth?” Touya fires back without missing a beat. 

No . Keigo looks at him over the slope of his crooked nose and Touya can't find a good reason to believe him. 

Above anything else, Keigo's always been a liar. 

“Why did you come here?” A step closer is taken, another line is crossed.  “You want to stop me?”

Does he? 

Touya frowns. 

Originally, yes. That’s what he’s strived for for half of his life: he wants to stop the bloodshed. He wants to fix the chaos. 

But he thinks about the other side of the coin, the people who see Keigo as something more than his crimes. His allies and those families he’s helped get the justice the legal system never did, they know his reasons. They understand. 

And, for once, Touya wants that too. He says as much.

Keigo's eyes are the color of whisky, one lighter than the other. Like a kaleidoscope of sorts, specks of gold shift inside them, turning away only to meet in the middle again and again. 

Touya fears he could get drunk on them, if he stares for too long.

It's little more than a whisper, when Keigo finds his voice again. “It is never just that with you heroes, is it?” 

“You killed an innocent man,” Touya laughs, searching for regret in those bourbon eyes, the shame- “It would be more than fair if I locked you up and called it a day.”

What he gets in response is a raised eyebrow. 

“What’s taking you so long, then?”

“I-” Touya stammers, lips parted around the shape of words he knows but that won’t come out.

Keigo clicks his tongue. Another step forwards and he slots himself between Touya's legs, glaring down at him with all the rage of someone who's walked through hell and made it back alive. 

Touya can almost see his reflection in the flames, the heat licking at his old scars. Is it Keigo's, or his? 

“That's the first thing you need to know. None of the people I've taken down are innocent. Neither are you, nor me, and certainly not that scum-” Touya doesn't mean to flinch but, the second Keigo attempts to touch his cheek, he does. The hand stills mere inches away and falls to Keigo’s side again, seemingly lifeless. The flames reel themselves in, and all that's left behind is a sad smile, crooked and jagged. “Some people don't deserve redemption and, believe me, the Commission heads that fuckin’ list.”

And, strangely, Touya agrees. 

In the worst of cases, darkness creeps in and carves a home for itself. It sticks around, poisoning one's mind until there's no going back. Villains like All For One have caused too much damage, destroyed too many lives, to be granted something as merciful as forgiveness.

But wouldn’t it be cheap to cast everyone as inherently evil? Wouldn’t that be falling down the same narrative he’s been trying to rebuild all these years? Black and white, the good and the bad- What about the outcast, the gray?

It’s with a heavy heart that he takes Keigo’s hand and brings it to his chest. “Explain it to me,” he whispers, looking his enemy in the eyes. He's now close enough to see the fear. “All your reasons, I want to-” 

Keigo moves, and Touya has no time to soften the blow. It’s meant to bruise. It’s meant to shut him up. Lips crack and teeth clash, and in the back of his throat Touya whimpers, trying to make sense of what’s going on. 

“I’m not a charity case,” Keigo says, his voice raw, drawing back just enough to speak. “I’m not a good person, you get that, right? I’m-”

Unpredictable, dangerous.

Touya curls his hand behind Keigo's neck, fingers glazing over the healed burn, and pulls him in. The speech is cut short, all the self-deprecating words turned to ashes by Touya’s tongue. He swallows Keigo's surprised moan, and the next one—a sigh, warm against his lips. 

“I don’t see a charity case,” Touya says, hushed. He opens his eyes, drinking in Keigo’s bewildered state. “You could use some kindness, birdie.”

“Kindness ,” he spits. “I don’t-“ He meets Touya’s eyes and whatever he sees there makes him release a shuddering breath. “You always have to be a hero, don’t you?”

Touya shrugs, tucking a piece of wild, blond hair behind Keigo's ear. His thumb lingers on a ruby piercing. “That's debatable.”

Keigo scoffs, as if it were hard for him to picture Touya as anything but Nova the Pro-hero. 

He didn't meet Touya in the streets or in prison, way back when he walked a fragile line between dead and alive, bordering insanity. So, for now, Touya doesn't mention all the ways he could've been worse. All the ways he was. 

Keigo looks at him through golden eyelashes, somewhat skeptical, somewhat hungry. Touya understands the feeling. It's the same he's been dealing with for the past couple of months.

It's the same he feels now, holding Keigo's gaze in this spacious room, where blood-stained hands handled him with utmost care. Where he'd let those same hands touch him again. 

“What are we doing?” Keigo sighs. He locks his fingers behind Touya’s neck; and he does lean closer, but looks down, always on the run. “Kinda stupid, ain’t it?

Touya hums, tilting his head to, once again, try and catch his gaze. Pulled by an invisible string, Keigo sways closer. Their noses brush and breaths intermingle, warm, closer, inescapable.

“Thought I heard something about a happy ending?” Touya whispers, feeling the softness of Keigo's lips against his own, the curve of his lithe waist beneath his hands. 

Keigo chuckles, “You move fast.”

“Or maybe you’re too slow, birdie.”

A kiss, chaste. 

“You think you’re so cool, huh.” Touya smirks, a hair away from touching his lips again. Keigo huffs, but his tongue is silver when he touches Touya's chest and whispers in return, “Lay down for me, will ya’?”

And how is Touya supposed to say no this time? 

Keigo slips through his fingers like water, giving Touya some room to take off his pants. A second later he's there again, his hands on Touya's jaw and their mouths colliding like polar-opposite magnets. Keigo pushes him down on the table, wings fanning out and folding as he straddles Touya's hips. 

Two feathers sweep the pants off the floor and drop them on the other table, while a third one offers Keigo the forgotten bottle of body oil. 

Drip, drip, drip, it falls down on Touya's chest, followed by Keigo’s wandering hands. Hands on his pecs, his collarbone and shoulders, and South again, fingers bumping into Touya’s exposed nipples. 

He moans into another kiss, caught off guard. His nails dig into Keigo’s thighs, chasing the electricity when the touch lingers for a second too long. 

Then it's gone, trailing down Touya’s stomach. Like a two-lane freeway, Keigo's hands part, each one going to one side of Touya's waist. They stroke and squeeze him just right, turning him into putty faster than he's comfortable admitting– And he should be ashamed, probably, of how quick his body's to react to Keigo; and he would be, if Keigo wasn't grinding on him as though he needed him just as bad. 

He traces the dip right at the middle of Touya's solar plexus, pressing down and stealing Touya's breath right from deep within his ribcage. There's no way Keigo can't feel his heart pounding from the inside, in the palm of his hand. 

“Who’s moving too fast now?” Touya chokes out, thumbs hooked on the loops of black pants.

Keigo’s teeth clink around one of his many ear piercings. “I’m only matching your speed, hero.”

He kisses the side of Touya's jaw and traces a path down his neck. Wet and sticking to his skin like peaches. Keigo's hands migrate again, always on the move; they sneak under Touya’s arms and sweep along his back, mimicking the way Keigo had handled him earlier. 

Those passing moments have nothing on this. A new intent lies in every graze of Keigo’s lips, every tender brush of his fingers. He wants to make Touya feel good. 

Or, hell, maybe he planned this. Maybe this is all just another achievement crossed off his list, another step closer to the goal– Whatever ‘the goal’ may be. 

Touya should've asked, probably. They should've had a proper conversation before things could escalate, he's well aware. 

But-

“Can I touch you?” Keigo whispers low in his ear, fingers slipping under the hem of Touya's boxers. Whatever resolution he’d mustered crumbles into dust. He nods, one hand closing on blond hair while Keigo pulls him flush with his hips, moaning against his jaw. 

Wings ripple on Keigo’s back like red flags. Touya ignores them all for the sake of feeling cold hands return to his nipples, thumbs rolling the silver barbells until he’s arching into the touch, lips parting to demand more.

His underwear’s gone from one moment to another. Somehow. Keigo leans back on his knees, taking a moment to appraise the mess he’s made of Touya in such little time. The shiny coat of body oil, glinting off the metal on his chest. His half-hard cock, nestled in the crook of Keigo’s thigh. 

Keigo’s not any less affected—his hair wild, his face flushed—, but at least his uniform allows him to keep the illusion of modesty. 

Though the bulge in his pants throbs against the underside of Touya’s nude cock, he ignores it for now. 

It’s a challenge to look at him in the position Touya finds himself in, unwrapped on the table like a take-out meal. The longer Keigo stares, his hands frozen on Touya’s chest, the warmer Touya feels. 

“You’re tense,” Keigo says, this time with a little taunting smile at the corner of his mouth. An oiled hand skids down Touya’s stomach. “First time?”

Touya gives him a dirty look. “First time getting fondled by the enemy? I try not to make a habit out of it.” 

“Good.” Keigo doesn’t ask what makes him so special, or if this changes anything for Touya. In fact, neither of them says much after that. It’s hard to do so with another tongue in your mouth. 

Keigo doesn’t say anything but Touya feels the pleased smirk against his lips, the satisfaction that comes with being someone’s exception. There’s greediness in the way his wings curl over both of them, possessive, not unlike a wild animal protecting that which is his. 

Even more oil lands on Touya’s navel, pooling at the base of his cock and trickling between his legs. Over his taint. Onto the table. He groans when Keigo’s hand wraps around his shaft, gentle yet confident, and starts pumping him to full mast.

Slowly, he squeezes Touya from root to tip and vice-versa, the pad of Keigo’s thumb fitting just right under the gland. Touya can feel himself leak, precum mixing with the body oil making the slide downright heavenly. 

Keigo pulls back, kneeling on the table between Touya’s legs. Wings carefully folded to balance himself. Not once does he look away, nor does he stop stroking Touya with languid motions. His blown-out pupils follow every twitch of Touya’s face, the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the dent where his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

His left hand joins the right one between Touya’s thighs, eyes dropping to it. It starts with the brush of a finger on his taint. Then, the faintest pressure.

A broken moan escapes from Touya’s chest, lashes fluttering shut as his entire body sags, boneless. Keigo’s ‘There you go, beautiful’ is not smug for once. He almost sounds relieved– Or pleased. 

“How far d’you wanna go?” He whispers, leaning in to kiss Touya’s knee. 

All things considered, it’s not a hard decision to make. It only takes a flick of Keigo’s wrist for Touya to know he wants it all. 

Somehow, Keigo already knows the answer. He rolls his eyes and hops off the table, already reaching for the button in his pants. “Can you lay on your side?”

Touya only does so after Keigo’s clothes have touched the floor. He’s not particularly long, but he’s girthy and heavy. His cock bobs when it springs out, precum sticking to the floor. He looks at Touya like he knows what’s going through his dirty little mind.

And, fuck, maybe Touya’s in too deep already. Suddenly, the realization that he's doing all of this for someone who threatened to kill him twenty-four hours ago dawns on him. 

But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is that he’s enjoying it. 

Keigo’s warm, lubricated hands on him quickly make the thoughts vanish. The path they tread is unknown but it works to coerce the tension out of Touya’s muscles, climbing his thigh and across the curve of his waist, over the old scars on his left hip. 

They don't hesitate to go further this time, lower, and Touya’s heart skips a beat. Through the shame painting him scarlet, he holds himself open, baring himself before Keigo’s entranced gaze. 

Goosebumps break underneath his touch as he skims over the hill of Touya’s butt and between his cheeks. 

A finger teases him, feather-light, drawing tight circles around his fluttering rim to get him to ease up. It tickles but in a way that makes his dick thrum, funny enough. 

“You’re so pink here.” Keigo looms over him, one knee propped on the table. His mouth is slightly open, as if in awe, and his eyes won’t stray from that sole point of contact. Mortified, Touya’s about to tell him to shut it but Keigo’s finger—index, probably—presses in right on that second, a little firmer, and Touya moans instead. Keigo’s lips twitch upwards, “And sensitive, I see.”

The thick finger wiggles its way under his skin, inside him, and Touya’s complaints die on his tongue. He’s aware that a single knuckle’s not a lot but his body reacts wonderfully to it, despite months of no action whatsoever.

It’s the way Keigo takes the reins so effortlessly that drives him crazy. He keeps Touya hooked with fleeting, gentle touches on his thighs while another knuckle goes in, and another; and he opens Touya up without a rush, despite the clock ticking away in the back. In and out until he deems it safe to slide in a second finger, a feather pouring more oil on them. 

Touya does feel the stretch, then, a subtle burn around the edges. Though he seethes, the pain’s minimal. It’s sweet. Keigo makes sure of it, keeping him wet and comfortable. The pads of his fingers massage Touya’s inner walls, dragging oh so delicately against them whenever they pull out.

“How’s that?” he asks, breathless, his voice huskier than Touya’s ever heard it. Good, Touya wants to say, keep going, but all it comes out is a quivering hum. 

Keigo climbs over him, supporting his weight with both knees and a hand on the table. He doesn't seem to have a problem with it, the muscles of his shoulders and arms flexing to get him to Touya’s level. 

His fingers don’t stop moving even as he busies himself kissing Touya again. They retract, and Touya can’t see them from this angle but he does feel them sliding in deep and curling against that tender spot inside him.

They tease him, rolling with slight pressure over his prostate, until his dick’s twitching and drooling against his navel. Begging for some, any form release. 

Keigo’s lips muffle his sounds. All Touya can really hear is the thumping of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears. 

He reaches for Keigo’s cock, enveloping the engorged head with his hand, and strokes him slowly, matching the pace with that of Keigo’s fingers. 

Keigo draws back, his moan the hottest thing ever pressed to Touya’s mouth. “Can I-?” Put it in? Fuck you? Tear you apart?

“Yes,” Touya breathes, looking down between their bodies. “Fuck, yes-”

With his fingers out of the way, Keigo allows Touya to guide him towards his entrance. It’s a tight fit, what with Touya’s body still putting up a fight. He manages to take an inch of Keigo’s gland, shuddering out what little air remained in his lungs.

“Shit, it won’t fit-” Keigo says, bordering on desperate. 

“I can take it, c’mon,” Touya rushes out, hoping it will encourage him to treat him a little rougher. He’s not going to break, god dammit. 

Keigo grunts, nodding hastily. He pulls out, spreads Touya like a book, and tries again. Keeps him in place with an open hand on his waist and slides halfway in without further warning, forcing Touya’s body to respond to his commands. 

Then there’s no looking back. Keigo fucks him on the upper half of his cock until Touya’s hole gives out, blotchy around the edges as it struggles to take the girth after being empty for so long.

Touya clings to him, fingers digging into the baby feathers at the base of Keigo’s wings, and finds, with Keigo’s sweaty forehead against his and his body on top, that he never stood a chance. 

Keigo’s breath intermingles with his, quickening as his thrusts do the same. Beads of sweat roll down the bridge of his nose, becoming one with the thin, shiny coat around Touya’s neck. 

Their bodies shake with pent up desire, finally giving in to instinct. Human nature. Two celestial bodies colliding. 

Touya looks into Keigo’s eyes and sees himself. He understands, finally, why he couldn’t have stayed away if he tried. He would’ve chased those answers till the end of the world. Would’ve gone mad with the obsession to catch him, to possess him, some way, somehow.

Like this, right now, coming apart deep inside Touya, or cremated by his fire. But he would’ve gotten him. He has. 

***

“Hey, you sure about this?” 

A hand on his brings Touya to a stop at the end of the stairs. He turns around, facing Keigo’s concerned eyes. 

His hair’s partially hidden under a well worn cap, his wings safely tucked under an oversized hoodie. He looks tiny like this, almost harmless. 

“Getting cold feet, birdie?” Touya smirks, a sad attempt at lightening the mood. 

The night after their little moment at the spa, Keigo sat him down and told him everything. How he’d managed to flee the Commission’s training regime before his official debut. Every horrible thing they put him through in the name of the ‘greater good’. The countless children stuck in that ‘pro-hero factory’—his words—, being fed the same abusive ideology he almost succumbs to. 

He’d swore he’ll take them down no matter what, even if it costs his own life. 

For the past two weeks, they’ve been working in tandem to outline a plan that would allow them to dismantle the Commission once and for all. 

There have been some arguments, for sure. It’s hard for Keigo to let go of the mentality he’s grown into all these years, and Touya doesn’t blame him. But if they want this to work, they need something more solid.  

That leads them to this crucial moment. 

Keigo’s mouth twists sourly. He doesn’t voice his thoughts but Touya knows what anxiety looks like. 

He steps closer, encouraging Keigo to meet his eyes with a gentle tap on the cap’s visor. He gets a glare for his troubles. “I know we’re not built on mutual trust,” he says, low enough in case the walls are listening in, “but have a little faith in me, yes? If someone can understand, it’s him.”

“Eraserhead never liked me very much, y’know.”

“He takes his job very seriously.”

“Does he, now?” Keigo drawls, scowling at the floor. 

Touya clicks his tongue. “Just let me do the talking.” Keigo hums. Crosses his arms. He’s not convinced, Touya can tell. “Or, you can walk out. It’s your decision.”

The cogs turn and turn inside that brilliant head of his. Finally, Keigo settles on a tired sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his sleepless nights. 

“Is it really, when the other option is going back to being hunted for sport?” 

Touya throws an arm over his hunched shoulders, pulling him in to kiss the top of his covered head. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers. 

“If it backfires, I’m blaming it on you.”

“You can punch me a few times if it makes you feel better.”

Keigo chuckles, shoving him away. “Let’s do it, then.”

So, with a last encouraging smile over his shoulder, Touya opens the door.