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The door shuts behind him and Enji is finally safe from the roaming eyes. It’s been a long day of patrol after a long week of being on patrol after a long month of being on patrol after being discharged from the hospital.
It was one thing to be unapproachable and scary when he was untouchable. It’s quite another to have the fresh reminder of his own vulnerability splashed across his face for everyone to stare at.
Add to that another week of tense and uncomfortable encounters with his children and and ever-mounting scrutiny into top heroes’ lives and it would be a wonderful time to have some alone time.
First thing is to get out of his hero uniform…
The late-afternoon sunlight glances off a yellow visor tossed on the corner of his desk.
His flames pulse, irritated. “Who let you in?”
Keigo stretches indulgently, shifting where he has swiveled Enji’s office chair to straddle it and lean on the headrest with his elbows. His feathers’ ever-present rustling nearly echoes in the large room. Enji can’t believe he didn’t notice the distinctive sound immediately.
“Why would I have to be let in?” He’s far too smug. One corner of his mouth stretches up as he tilts his head, golden eyes too shrewd for his careless demeanor.
A breeze whispers through the cavernous space, disturbing the sterile stillness. There’s an open window in the corner that solves the mystery of how the bird got into his office for the thousandth time.
Keigo’s wings flex, languid, and Enji’s eyes are drawn, as they usually are, to the sleek, red perfection that engulfs the small man.
He might not actually be that small. Enji’s calibration of size understanding has always been a little skewed.
Enji grunts. “I see your feathers are all back.”
One zips out and Keigo catches it between his fingers. He’s inscrutable. Couldn’t Enji be cursed with the persistent company of a hero a little easier to read?
He extinguishes his flames and tosses his gauntlets on the coffee table, annoyed for no real reason.
“You could be anywhere else. Why are you always bothering me?”
Keigo drums his fingers and shrugs, “You’re just so easy to bother. Look at you, practically simmering already Endeavor-san.”
Enji skirts the desk and puts a firm hand on the chair. It dwarfs both of Keigo’s hands.
“Off.”
Keigo pouts, “Or what?”
“I’ll set you on fire.”
Keigo tsks, exaggeratedly disapproving, “Ah that’s not very heroic of you, Endeavor-san. As your brand manager—“
“No.” Enji growls, but Keigo continues on like he wasn’t even interrupted,
“—I think it’s important to control your temper.”
“I wouldn’t have to if I could control you.” Enji grouses.
Keigo’s smile returns, bigger, toothier, with a gleam in his eye that Enji can’t stand, “You’d only have to ask nicely, Number One Hero.”
Enji never quite knows how to handle Keigo like this. The number of people comfortable enough to tease him to his face is one.
This one.
He’s not much for this kind of banter, especially when he’s not actually sure what Keigo is aiming at or what he expects to get out of this. He’s just here, always, prodding him and riling him up and smirking at him like he’s unraveled all his secrets.
It’s enough to want to scorch something.
Instead of combustion he just grunts and shakes the armrest to startle like he would if there were a real bird in his chair.
“I have work to do.”
Keigo clicks his tongue and slowly stands up, wings unfurling and feathers shifting, “It’s evening, Endeavor-san. You’ve been on patrol all day.” And then, softer, “You need to pace yourself.”
Enji yanks the chair out of his grasp, “If you want to sit in the number one seat you can’t pace yourself, Hawks.”
Keigo switches to leaning on the desk. “I don’t have your ambition, Enji.”
Enji’s flames fan out, briefly, before extinguishing in a puff, leaving behind a vacuum that makes them both breathe a little heavier. The madness that Keigo always seems to inspire is clearly present. Enji wills it to go away. It’s always too much, and too confusing.
“I can’t tell if that means you like it or don’t like it when I call you that.” Keigo murmurs.
“You’re pushing it, bird.” Enji draws himself up to loom over tiny Keigo. It’s infuriating, because not only does Keigo not shrink away; he crosses his arms and raises an impudent eyebrow at him.
“Don’t be so easy, Endeavor-san.” He cracks his neck, fluffing up the hairs at his nape, “You should go home.”
Enji’s temper flares again; he brackets Keigo, crowding him back against the fireproof desk, “Don’t tell me what to do, Takami.”
“Oh so you do know my name.” The arch, lilting tone confirms that he’s not intimidated by Enji at all, even leaning up a little closer into his space. This close, the gold in his eyes is like a kaleidoscope, little flecks of different colors flashing. “You think you’re so mysterious but I see you. You’re an older man, Endeavor-san, shouldn’t you be more mellow around young people like me?”
The silence stretches out as Enji tries to think of a response, or move away, but something in those eyes has him good.
A feather whips between them and disturbs a curl of smoke, causing it to split and dissipate.
“You’re sweating, Endeavor-san.” Keigo whispers. “Always demanding I leave you alone—what is it you really want?”
His hand comes up to idly play with the steam that’s rising from Enji. Keigo reaches forward to maybe touch near his jaw—test the heat on his skin—and Enji is suddenly overheated, overexerted, like he’s been battling villains for hours and he reflexively grabs Keigo’s wrist and forces it back down to the side.
“Don’t.”
Keigo looks down at Enji crushing his hand and when his eyes flick back up the impishness is mixed with something a little darker, turning that gold molten.
“Or what?” He whispers this time, no teasing or pouting, “You’ll set me on fire?”
Enji is compelled in closer, leaning down towards this trouble in a fluffy jacket. His rational brain is rapidly shutting down to make room for a new understanding of the frustration Keigo makes him feel.
“I might.”
Keigo closes the gap even more, a single drop of sweat beading from his hairline at their proximity,
“Fire has always been my weakness.”
Enji braces himself for the kiss, but he’s still not ready. It’s been a long time, and Keigo’s lips are smooth and yielding and fit against his like the younger man knows exactly what he needs. Again, it just serves to rile him up more—where does this punk get off, thinking he knows Enji so well? He pushes back, searching out and and taking hold of Keigo’s other wrist, crushing them both to the smaller hero’s sides without any resistance. Keigo is so deliciously malleable against him, feeling pliable but not breakable where his mouth opens for Enji—he might swallow this bird whole—
“Ow—fuck—“ Enji pulls back, hand flying to his face. A red feather blinks past his vision after slicing his check, returning to where it came from, “What the—“
“You singed me.” Keigo’s voice has a tasty little rasp to it already. He holds up his wrists, now bearing long red welts where Enji’s fingers had wrapped too tight. “So aggressive.”
Enji thumbs at the tiny drop of blood the feather drew and displays it to Keigo, “You made me bleed.”
“So we’re even then,” Keigo drawls, and deliberately wraps his own hand around Enji’s to guide the blood-stained digit to his lips. Enji stops breathing as Keigo’s tongue flicks out to collect the blood. “You got a little of me and I got a little of you.”
“Even?” Enji scoffs, “You broke into my office and started all…this.”
Keigo’s eyebrows flick up again. “And you kissed the number two hero back when he kissed you. For shame, Endeavor-san.”
Enji stubbornly turns half-away, fists clenching and unclenching as the desire to reach out and touch-grab-consume—wars with the rational knowledge that he should put a stop to this.
Keigo sighs and his feathers shudder, sliding over each other. His voice is husky and pitched low, “If I made you mad enough, would you do it again?”
Enji’s eyes flick back over to him and then away quickly. Keigo is slipping out of his jacket, leaving it crumpled on the glossy desk.
“Endeavor-san, do you hate me enough to kiss me again?”
Enji groans and turns his back completely, hands tangled in his hair as the phantom touch of Keigo’s lips to his lingers and entices him back.
“Enji, burn me one more time?”
He’s on him in a second, lifting and setting the smaller man on the desk and forcing his way between Keigo’s legs.
“Why are you so…” he trails off and kisses and kisses Keigo, kisses him like he’s wanted to since the first time he saw that smirk directed specifically at him.
He nips at Keigo’s jaw and neck and tries to control himself and keep the heat on low—he doesn’t want to hurt the bird too badly—
“Why didn’t you just say you wanted—“
“I’ve been telling you, and telling you.” Keigo gasps in his ear, “You don’t listen, Endeavor-san.”
“No.” Enji digs his teeth in and Keigo yelps. “No. Say it—say it—“ He rasps into Keigo’s skin.
“Enji.” Keigo murmurs, hands reaching up to track through Enji’s cropped hair. “Enji-san touch me please.”
And that, well, at that he can’t keep the embers back entirely and Keigo’s pant leg catches fire. Enji thinks Keigo might be a little bit nuts because he just giggles while he strips out of them and slips his shirt off. They’ve both been in uniform but Enji loses the patience for undressing and tears his own trying to get it off, swearing, while flames lick out.
“Ah—wait!” Keigo dives for his discarded, lightly smoldering pants, and fishes something out of the pocket.
It’s lube.
The grin on Keigo’s face nearly makes Enji reconsider the whole thing. Until Keigo throws back his head and laughs, unclothed muscles bunching and wings stretched to their full glory.
He’s a vision.
Enji indulges, backing him up against the desk again and seizing Keigo’s thighs, hoisting him up and into Enji’s arms.
“You and your schemes—it’s bad form to plot against me, hero.”
Keigo tosses the lube aside and stray feathers guide it safely onto the desk, “Well I had to be prepared because I knew you wouldn’t be—so busy pretending this isn’t what you wanted from me.”
Enji groans and mouths at Keigo’s collarbones. Keigo’s eyes flutter shut and he tilts his head back and away to give him better access.
“How were you so sure?” Enji nips at Keigo’s nipple just to hear the “ah!” he makes from being caught off guard.
“I told you; I see you.” He slits his eyes at Enji and his thighs part more to let him closer. “And I want you.”
They kiss again, more teeth and tongue than anything else. Each touch feels like maybe Keigo is the one with Hellfire quirk, the way Enji burns with each fingertip and is reminded how long he’d gone without. How long he’d been denying himself.
How good it feels.
His hands wander and find Keigo’s slim waist to hold him still and ravish him. He earns his first real moan from that; a throaty entreaty to keep going, more come on, more—
“You like that?” Enji hisses in his ear and tightens his grip, “Like how small you are to me, little birdie?”
There’s a telling spot of color on Keigo’s cheeks and Enji can’t help but to scoop him up, holding him flush hip to hip. Keigo is only surprised for a second, arms coming up to hang onto Enji’s neck and ankles hooking around his back. He’s broken out in a full-body sweat, skin pink and flushed from their touching.
Enji jerks his chin to Keigo’s wings. “Cool us off, little bird.”
Keigo shakes his head furiously, slippery fingers gripping tighter to Enji’s neck and pulling himself impossibly closer, “I like it—like the heat. Want it.”
Enji rotates then and walks Keigo over to the discarded chair. He nudges it right up against the window and, with a little maneuvering, dumps Keigo on his knees, hands bracing himself on the chair back, trapped between Enji and the plate glass staring out at the city.
“Wha—“
“Well since you want to be in my seat so badly...” Enji hums, “...you can get fucked there too.”
A couple feathers zoom away and come back with the lube, dropping it into Enji’s hand.
“What are you waiting for?”
Enji eyes the slim young man and his own equipment. “I’ll hurt you like this.”
Keigo makes a displeased, impatient noise, “Why do you think,” he pants, “I came to you if not to get hurt?”
Enji drizzles lube directly onto Keigo’s skin. His wings flap near Enji’s head, acting like a fan—a very sharp fan. He leans away enough to not add more scars to his face.
Keigo arches his back, purposely provocative, “Enji-san hurt me a little, please?”
Enji drops the lube and uses his thumbs to spread Keigo’s cheeks. He rubs over Keigo’s hole and revels in the choked-off gasp he gets in response.
Apparently the best way to get Keigo to shut up is for Enji to put his hands on him.
“C’mon do something already.” Keigo hisses, rocking back on the chair and making the joints creak in time with the restless beats of his wings against the glass, the floor, the chair.
Instead of answering Enji gathers lube on his fingers and shoves two of them inside roughly.
Keigo pushes back on them immediately, “Don’t make me beg for it, number one—show me why it’s you.”
Enji reaches over and grabs a wing and yanks to make Keigo hold still. He doesn’t expect the whine and abortive little pants of breath that follow.
“What if I want to hear the birdie beg? Or do you need a reminder who broke into who’s office bringing lube and sass?”
Keigo’s shoulders hunch and a few feathers become agitated, zipping around the room like Keigo isn’t focused enough to control them.
“Hmm?” Enji insists, pulling back just a little bit more to see the way it makes Keigo shake. He’s immensely enjoying finally having the upper hand as he twists and scissors his fingers inside to open Keigo up.
“P-please?” Keigo almost whispers, breath fogging the glass in front of him, “Please, Enji-san.”
“That’s not bad.” Enji adds another finger, working quicker now because his own arousal has started to become rather heated and he needs to get his cock inside Keigo before he bursts into flames from pent-up need.
“More,” Keigo insists, twisting to look back until their eyes meet, “I want it. Now.”
“Mouthy.” Enji tugs on the wing one last time before releasing and removing his fingers. But he does slick himself up and line himself up so who’s really the whipped one here?
It’s still an anxiety-inducing visual. But beyond that, there’s a nervous need to…
“Keigo.”
Keigo stiffens at his name.
“The fire, I—I don’t know—“
“Shut the fuck up and fuck me. If we burn, we burn.”
Enji shuts up and fucks him.
He nearly ignites just from the push in, the feeling of Keigo so tight and wet around him. The stinging of nicks on his arms and chest from Keigo’s errant wing beats and loose feathers. Keigo is overheated, but nothing compared to Enji—only keeping from sizzling by the knowledge he doesn’t want to hurt the other hero more than was always going to happen when the two of them collided.
He does want to hear those pretty noises again, though. He doesn’t have to debate long before his hands are gripping both wings this time, using them as handles to gain leverage and rock deeper and deeper inside the younger man. The chair squeaks back and forth, grating up against the plate window—wouldn’t that be something, if he were to fuck the city’s darling second ranked hero right through this glass and horrify the street below them?
Instead he focuses on the drag of his cock and the sounds he’s punching out of the younger man and the pretty flush to Keigo’s skin after being pressed against Enji for so long.
Keigo is writhing, no amount of yanking on his wings can keep him still at this point. The slap of Enji’s hips against his ass echoes through the office.
“Gonna—‘M gonna—“
“Not on my chair you’re not—“
“Fuck your chair—“ Keigo spits and whines at the resulting yank on his wings to pull him up and back, unable to steady himself and only able to dangle from Enji’s fingers tangled in his wings and shaky knees on the slippery leather. His loose feathers are swirling around the two of them, forming almost a vortex of the sharp red feathers.
Their reflection is obscene; Keigo’s eyes meet Enji’s in the glass and he moans, broken and low, and cums all over Enji’s chair.
He would be more upset if not for the way Keigo looks when he cums, breathing hard and face creased with euphoria—golden eyes as heated as anything Hellfire has ever produced. Enji rides him through it, sharp feathers cutting into his fingers as his rhythm gets more erratic and he bounces a limp Keigo on his cock to desperately chase his own release.
There’s a sizzling rising from where he’s holding the feathers, hands heating up too much to not burn. Keigo hisses and Enji sees a lick of flame from his shoulder in his reflection before he pulls out, pitching Keigo to the side and finishing on the chair as well, eyes squeezed shut and tongues of fire licking out from his head and shoulders.
He staggers into the window, legs suddenly feeling sluggish and like jelly on the comedown. Keigo is still slumped in a heap, half on the chair and half slipping onto the floor, a few blackened feathers near the base of his wings and several angry red marks the stark evidence of what they just did.
It’s been too long since he’s done this; he’ll have to work on his control all over again to be safe for a partner.
If Keigo would even want to do it again.
The winged hero stirs weakly, chuckling. “I think your chair looks better like that.”
Enji is hit with a wave of his Keigo-annoyance and grabs him by the hair to push his face into the mess. “Clean that up.”
Keigo dutifully laps up his own cum but balks at Enji’s, “S’too hot.” He slurs, feathers twitching and re-settling themselves.
“I’m out of practice. Sue me.” Enji huffs, using his ripped uniform to half-heartedly clean it up. “You owe me a new chair.”
“You owe me a new ass.” Keigo deadpans, searching around for his clothes. He picks up his ruined pants and sighs, “And…maybe some borrowed clothes?”
They tidy up in relative silence. Enji retrieves a simple black t-shirt and slacks for Keigo to don, a little embarassed because it’s going to be laughably obvious he’s not wearing his own clothes.
But Keigo doesn’t seem perturbed.
He doesn’t miss a beat before tearing two huge holes in the back of the shirt and maneuvering his wings to be comfortable. Enji pulls on his own clothes and awkwardly settles on his couch. Keigo looks very soft in his clothes.
Very soft.
“So you’ll…go home?”
Keigo smiles at Enji’s tone, comes over and kisses him. He pulls back and smoothes out the furrow in Enji’s brow.
“You’re thinking too hard. Quit.”
Enji catches his hand when he goes to pull back. In a contrast to all that heat in the beginning; when Keigo isn’t near him now he feels cold. It feels so clinical; the aftermath of the hookup.
Keigo lets him hold his hand for all of ten seconds before running his mouth,
“So I take this to mean you want to blow my back out again later?”
Enji nearly chokes on an inhale and shoves him away, tension dissipating,
“Ass.”
Keigo pecks his lips again and steps back, slotting his visor into place. He taps the toe of his boot against the floor with a little wince as he slips on his rumpled jacket.
“The burns are going to sting for a while when I’m flying.”
Enji frowns again, remembering the welts from his fingers, “I’m sorry.”
Keigo shakes his head, “Don’t be.” He gestures to Enji’s chest and arms where the feathers sliced him dozens of tiny little nicks. “You got a little bit of me; I got a little bit of you.”
He’s smirking that smirk again and strolls over to the window he’d left ajar. He ducks out the window and falls, nonchalant, until a gust of wind catches his wings and lifts him off and away across the city.
Enji watches him fly away. He rubs one of the little feather cuts across his knuckles.
Until next time, little bird.