rdotdraws
patreon
Attack of the Wolfman
🕑 Added 2021-09-02 20:57:17 +0000 UTCcw for graphic description of an injury, some blood
Dabi knew his crush was stupid and cliche from the beginning. Hawks is a goddamn cheerleader, of all things. According to every book, movie, and even song about high school, that should make him stupid, vain, fake, and shallow. Yet he isn’t. He’s earnest and genuine, the enthusiasm he musters for school sports at least has the decency to appear real, and most of his popularity comes from being actually friendly. His grades aren’t perfection itself but he’s far from a dumb airhead, and his kilowatt smile could blind the unsuspecting.
That, and he’s just absolutely sex on legs. Everyone knows it, and everyone thirsts after him. The skirt thing is only for cheer practice—he says it’s “on principle”, and if the girls have to wear one while they cheer, then so does he. But all it does is show off the pure, hardened muscle of his thighs and calves, the delicate ankles that fit perfectly into his immaculate white trainers, and the plush bounce of his ass as he jumps and tumbles. Those long, strong legs that would perfect for smothering someone’s face, or wrapped tightly around a waist while someone drives their cock inside him relentlessly. He can even hit the goddamn splits, and Dabi has jerked off to the video of him doing just that more times than he’d ever care to admit.
Yes, each and every teasing flip of the skirt has a hundred eyes on him, and that includes resident grouchy goth Touya Todoroki. (Dabi. Seriously. Call him Dabi.)
But he considers his crush superficial, mostly. Like, everyone wants to fuck Hawks’ cute little brains out, and him too. No big deal. He’s got other things on his mind.
Like his burgeoning fascination with the supernatural. At first, it’s just an edgy fun thing to play around with, and Dabi plays around with a lot of edgy fun things, like his asshole dad’s cigarette stash and death metal music and a needle he uses to pierce his own ears.
Ghosts and ghouls and vampires all practically come with goth territory, and it’s not like he believes in any of it. It’s all just conspiracy theory crackpots and folktales, with a few urban legends thrown in for good fun. Something to chill the spine when you’re up late at night, that’s all.
And then the urban legends come home to his own neighborhood. Rumors of mauled pets and farm animals, howling in the distance, strange shapes seen in the woods late at night. Suburbia is bored and people are scared and making up demons to explain away their fears, just like they’ve done for thousands of years. A werewolf, in his hometown? Seriously?
Well, he decides pretty quick that if anyone is going to debunk this so-called ‘werewolf’, it’ll be him. What’s probably going to happen is that he’s going to go camping in the woods out on the edge of town, drink a few stolen beers, maybe livestream the absolute boredom to his friends, and wake up at sunrise with nothing more than a few aches in his back. Maybe then everyone will chill the fuck out.
He ain’t afraid of no ghosts. Nor werewolves. Nor anything. So he packs up the pup tent purchased for the family vacations they never went on, pilfers some snacks and beers from the fridge, fills his car’s tank with gas, and brings a portable charger for his phone.
For the first few hours, it’s exactly like he imagined. The forest grows dark, crickets chirp, he digs a fire pit and lights a fire (what, he’s a responsible camper), and drinks his beer. It’s quiet, it’s...oddly peaceful. More so than sitting through the millionth tense family dinner, that’s for damn sure. He’s thinking maybe he should do this more often, and dozes off to a dying fire while watching a movie on his phone.
He doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up, only that everything is bathed in the silvery light of the full moon, and that the forest has gone completely silent. Every instinct he has tells him this is a bad thing, a terrible thing, a get up and run thing, but he forces himself to be calm. Running blindly into the woods at night and falling down some hill to break his neck at the bottom would be stupid, especially because werewolves aren’t real. Reaching for his flashlight, he stands up and flicks it on, shining the beam across the silent underbrush and the greyish remains of his campfire. Nothing.
Still, it feels like something is watching him.
So he decides to pull the smart move, and leave. Shoving his things in his backpack and making sure the fire is totally doused, he heads back to the car because fuck it. It’s like what, three or four am? He stayed late enough. He has class tomorrow.
This whole thing was stupid anyway.
Then a branch snaps behind him, and he has about 10 seconds of absolute, unbridled terror before a huge body slams him face-first into the ground. Whatever it is feels giant, hot, and confusingly everywhere. A musky smell invades his nose, and the weight of the thing crushes the breath out of him. A snarl makes him give a choked scream in response, and then agony lights through him like fireworks, originating somewhere around his left shoulder. Desperate, he fumbles for the sterling silver necklace he stole from his mom’s jewelry box, and tries to stab whatever the hell it is with the pointy end. Not that he’s particularly thinking it will work, or particularly thinking, period. He also flails at it with the flashlight, hoping to make contact, but before he can get in a good hit, the beast drops him with a yowl. As quickly as it came, the crushing weight on top of him vanishes, crashing into the underbrush.
The forest is again silent as he lays there, wondering if he’s still alive. If he moves, will he find out one of his limbs is no longer attached?
Pain swims behind his eyes, but after what feels like hours, he forces himself to sit up. All his limbs are still on, but the bite in his shoulder aches and the acrid stench of coppery blood is everywhere. God, he hopes whatever that thing was, it didn’t have rabies.
It had to have been a wild dog or something. Maybe a small bear, and it got startled when he hit it with the flashlight. That makes sense, and his brain is desperate for sense right now. In his car, he catches a glimpse of his own wild eyes in the rear view mirror, and grips the steering wheel with his good hand while he retches. Nothing comes up but the sun.
As soon as the drugstore opens, he goes in and buys an entire first aid kit, grateful the teller is too bored and stoned to seem to notice or care that he’s actively bleeding.
Back in his car, he pours rubbing alcohol all over his filthy hands and curses to himself as he opens the pack of gauze, and strips off his shirt, now covered in blood and grit. The wound looks horrific, all ripped skin and exposed muscle, and he gags again at the sight as he cleans it out and forces himself to bandage it tight. At least the bleeding had been sluggish, and there wasn’t any debris stuck in it. Maybe he’ll go to the school nurse later, or something. Right now, it feels like his entire head is spinning, and the only thing he knows is that he has to get to class. His parents will only give a shit if the school reports him absent, not if he almost gets his arm torn off by a wild animal. So he slides on the change of clothes he brought on his little camping excursion, parks in the senior lot, and staggers into class.
Literature and history, normally his two favorite classes, seem utterly fucking pointless today. Concentration is impossible, and every time he tries to focus on what the teacher is writing on the board, his ears start to ring again.
Under the bandage, the wound pulses and itches, hot and tense in a way that has him silently gripping his arm again. If the other students notice, Dabi is enough of a freak that they don’t notice anything. Just a weirdo being weird.
By fourth period, sweat is dripping down the side of his face, and he can’t take it anymore. His arm is on fire, and he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. God, it has to be infected, even though he cleaned it out—he should have washed his hands first, or maybe the animal had something on its teeth.
He swallows panicked fantasies about rabies, and stands in the empty boy’s room with his shirt off, unwinding the bandages stained dark by his blood. When he gets to the last pass, he hesitates. Maybe if he doesn’t do this, maybe if he goes home and sleeps it off,
it will all just be a ridiculous nightmare when he wakes up.
His arm throbs, and he allows the bandage to fall away, bloody gauze landing with a splat in the sink.
The wound is gone.
It’s just gone. The gauze in the sink is almost brown with drying blood, but his skin is pale and even, with only a few raised scars here and there to show that anything even happened. No muscle, no torn tissue, not even a scab. Just that faint scarring, and when he splashes cool water across it, the burning subsides.
Sinking to his knees, he tries everything in his power to not curl into a tiny ball and rock back and forth on the tiled floor. Is he losing his mind? But the gauze had still been bloody, and he’d patched that wound this morning.
It should take weeks, no, months to heal from something like that, and his body had patched itself up before lunch. Even when his fingers prod at the site over and over again, there’s nothing but a faint tenderness. No gore, no horror.
He’s wondering if it’s possible to tell that you’ve gone crazy on your own, when the door swings open, and Hawks strolls in.
In an instant, he’s at Dabi’s side, kneeling on the tiled floor in his well-fitted jeans and matching varsity jacket, smelling up close like surprisingly adult aftershave. Dabi wants to bury his face in Hawks’ chest and cry, just hold any real human person and sob.
Instead, he picks up on Hawks shaking him and asking him if he’s okay, and he swallows back the tears. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
”What? No, dude, there’s blood like all in the sink, what happened?” Hawks’ voice is high with his panic, and Dabi swears he can hear the hammering of his heart as he stares into that handsome face.
All at once, a sort of calm rushes across him.
That alone would be frightening too, except it feels like all of the tension is being drained out of him. His shoulders relax, even as Hawks puts a hand on his good shoulder. “I swear, I’m fine. I guess...I must’ve gotten busted up, but it’s not that bad? Maybe it just looked worse than it was.” Turning, he shows Hawks the unbroken skin of his shoulder, the thin little scars, the single smear of blood. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.
“Uh....okay, I’m not gonna pretend like that’s not fucking weird, but...okay. Maybe, uh, splash some water on your face?”
Dabi nods at this suggestion, and allows Hawks to help him stand up. The cold water feels good against his skin, but not as good as the closeness of Hawks’ body. Maybe he’d just needed someone to break him out of the panic spiral.
Maybe Hawks is just really good at talk-downs.
When he pats his face dry with a few paper towels and has thoroughly washed his hands, he looks up to see that Hawks has discarded all of the dirty bandages, and is staring at him with something between awe, horror, and confusion.
Dabi feels nothing but his bizarre peace, and drags himself up to his full height. His arm doesn’t hurt anymore, and he offers Hawks a crooked smile. “Sorry about that. Must’ve been crazy as shit, but I promise I’m fine. You should get back to class, before anyone notices.“
Hawks gapes at him, but then nods, and turns off the faucet on the sink before he leaves. Dabi follows soon after, practically floating on cloud nine. He can’t explain it, but he’s fairly certain he just surpassed “crush”.
Everything is good for a while after that. Great, even. It’s like after his brush with death, he has an entirely new lease on life. The trees seem taller, grass seems greener, all that cliche bullshit. The pizza he drives out to get one lunch time with his saved up money tastes like utter heaven, and he swears he can smell every last note in the aroma of the cheese. The world has become a savoury place, and Dabi is really enjoying being alive. The next few weeks are some of the greatest of his life.
Hawks still gives him a suspicious, bewildered look out of the corner of his eye whenever Dabi sits next to him in earth science (one of two classes they share, and the one where the teacher put him next to a ‘good kid’ to make him behave), and it’s easy to offer him a lazy, hitched smile now.
Hawks corners him in the boy’s locker room before P.E. one day, and Dabi willingly shows him that his shoulder is still completely fine. He promises up and down that he feels fine, and the furrow in Hawks’ brow smooths out faintly. His fingertips press against Dabi’s shoulder, and even when he removes them the ghost of their touch sizzles in Dabi’s mind.
The next time he jerks off, Hawks is the only fantasy in his head. Porn doesn’t do it anymore, but the thought of that pretty, plush little mouth wrapped around him has him cumming all over his fist.
He has one wet dream about the sweet pussy he’s seen in the locker rooms, the dick at the top that begs for a mouth, and wakes up in another puddle of his own cum. Worth it. So utterly worth it, and he chuckles at himself as he loads his sheets into the washer.
Everything is sunshine and daisies until about a month later. For a few days, his good mood is spoiled by a strange irritation he just can’t shake. The sudden sweetness of the world seems...overwhelming, like all the sights and sounds he’s noticing are just too much.
Every afternoon ends with him in his car, pounding ibuprofen and clamping his hands on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths until he can muster the drive home. The only time he feels at peace is when he gets home before the rest of his family, and can walk around the house undisturbed. For reasons he can’t explain, he’s even taken to strolling around the neighborhood to blow off steam before dinner, feeling at peace when there’s only birdsong and the rustle of leaves around.
It all builds to a head one day, one day he doesn’t pay enough attention to. His body feels hot all over again, like an itching, sore fever, and he can’t escape the sensation that he needs to get out of every room he’s in. Even the cafeteria seems claustrophobic, and he storms out on lunch with his misfit buddies.
At home, Natsuo starts a stupid fight over the remote control, and Dabi has to swallow the urge to slam his fist into his brother’s face. Anger wells up inside him until his fingernails prick at his palms, and he storms off to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
At least the upside of his parents not particularly giving a damn is that they don’t bother to reprimand him for this, and he throws himself into bed with a sense of utter relief.
Only to wake up on the ground, in the woods, with Hawks kneeling beside him and looking terrified.
When he tries to sit up, murmuring a curse about the pounding of his head, Hawks actually skitters away from him, nearly landing on his ass in the dirt. Behind him, his car is pulled over to the side of the road, the headlights still on and the door wide open. Music is playing faintly from the fancy stereo, and the seatbelt is hanging limp out of the door. Had Hawks...hit him with the car? What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” Is exactly what he voices as he sits up further, and Hawks’ dinner-plate eyes turn to him.
“Uh, T—Dabi? I’m...pretty fucking sure you’re a werewolf.”
The hell? That’s not a funny joke. His head feels like someone took a baseball bat to it—in fact, his entire body aches. And is dirty.
Oh, and is naked.
Jolting, Dabi moves to cover himself with his hands, realizes there is definitely not enough hand for this situation, and glares at Hawks. Did he do something? And if so, what the fuck was it? Before he can voice any of these questions, Hawks starts to explain.
“Shit—I, uh, I saw you, in the woods—I mean, I was driving to cheer practice because it starts before school at like 6:30 and I wasn’t really paying attention until I saw something running through the trees. It came out, and at first I was like “is that a bear” because it was huge, and up on two legs, but then I realized it didn’t have any hair and bears totally have fur and I was wondering what the fuck was going on and then it just passed out beside the road and the sun was coming up and I saw it was you and stopped.”
The whole story comes out as one giant, panicked run-on sentence, and Dabi has to blink a few times to process the words. “Bwuh?” is the most elegant response he can muster.
“You were like, eight feet tall, and kinda running half up and half on your hands, Dabi. And you were like—your face was all...wrong, and your eyes were yellow, and you had big teeth—“ It sounds like a description out of a cheesy horror movie, except he’s still sitting naked in the woods, and when he looks at his fingernails, it seems like there’s blood underneath.
Dabi swallows, and they sit there for a few more moments before Hawks shakily stands, and jerks a thumb towards his car. “Do you want—we should go. Before someone sees.” Numb, Dabi stands and moves to get in the passenger side of Hawks car.
It sounds like the start to a bad joke—a cheerleader and a naked goth are driving along together—but the pop music bumping gently out of the speaker is weirdly reassuring, and Dabi shivers until Hawks puts the heat on.
They drive, and he’s not entirely sure that either of them know where they’re headed, until he scrubs a hand over his face. “The fuck? How the hell did I—why am I a werewolf?” He asks of no one in particular, and Hawks slows the car at a stop sign. There’s no one out at this hour, but he still reaches in the back until he finds a towel crammed into a duffle bag, and throws it on Dabi’s lap. “I mean, you did go out hunting for a werewolf in the woods on the last full moon,” he says as he puts the car into gear and drives down another random street.
Now it’s Dabi’s turn to be puzzled.
“How’d you know about that?”
Hawks’ teeth sink into his lower lip, and Dabi can see the rosy blush blossoming under his freckles. He looks so lovely, even when embarrassed. “I watched your stream.”
That hits Dabi like another kick in the head.
He didn’t think Hawk’s awareness of his existence really extended much beyond earth science, and the passing familiarity he seemed to maintain with the entire student body. “You watched my stream?” Maybe like twenty people total tuned in for that. He wasn’t exactly Mr Popular.
“I mean, yeah. You’re pretty funny, and sorta hot, and it’s like even more low-budget Ghost Hunters. I just thought it was stupid fun; I didn’t even pay attention to it until I found you in the bathroom.” Dabi doesn’t know where to begin with that, and turns the radio off.
“What do I do?” He asks numbly, after a few minutes. They’re still driving nonsense circles around the neighborhood.
“Uh, first you tell me where you live so you can shower and get some clothes and I can make up an excuse about hitting a deer on my way to practice,” Hawks says.
“Then I guess you learn to control your inner wolf so you don’t snap and eat anybody? I mean, that’s what they do on TV.” Dabi wants to argue that he doesn’t even know if this even can be controlled, that the whole thing is fucking nuts and he never asked for any of this.
Instead, he tells Hawks how to get him home, accepts his help with sneaking in through his bedroom window, and plugs his phone number into his contacts.
And that’s how Hawks starts helping Dabi with his furry little problem.
At first, there’s a lot of chaining him to radiators and tying him to trees, but over time, his control improves. He finds that if he doesn’t fight it so hard, if he lets the wolf out, he can maintain his own consciousness better than having it taken over.
And he gets to know Hawks better. What kind of music he likes, that they both love old horror movies and putting candy in their popcorn. Dabi pierces Hawks’ ears for him, and actually does a stellar job of it. They become friends, and it’s great.
Even when Hawks ties him up.
The months go by and his control improves until one night, one glorious full moon night, Hawks is late. The sun is down and the moon is rising, and Dabi feels the wolf surge and howl inside of him. Wanting to be let out to run freely, to stalk and hunt and give in to every last delicious instinct. He’s about to wonder if he could try running in the woods, now that he’s fairly certain he won’ eat anyone, when sensitive ears pick up the sound of a car pulling into the drive. Familiar trainers on the ground, and a pounding heartbeat.
Hawks bursts into the room, out of breath and doubling over. “Shit—I’m sorry, practice ran late and I just couldn’t get them to let me go. Dabi, are you okay—?”
He’s still wearing his cheerleading outfit. The golden fabric dances around the tops of his thighs, and there’s the scent of sweat and exertion pouring off him.
Dabi is across the room in seconds, boxing Hawks in against the wall. A faint gasp sounds, but he doesn’t care—not when there’s moonlight burning sweetly into his back, and Hawks’ skirt has started to ride up.
“Missed you,” he grates, even as his voice sounds nothing like the one that belongs in his throat.
“You—uh, talking is good! Talking is progress!” Hawks’ voice is high with his nervousness, and Dabi can’t figure out why. He has to know by now that Dabi would rather die than hurt him.
Please him, a voice in his head whispers, and Dabi obeys without question. His nose buries in the junction of Hawks’ neck even as he squeals, gulping in lungful after lungful of his intoxicating scent. Musk and spice and cinnamon, his cologne and his sweat.
In his mouth, teeth sharpen to fangs, and Hawks sinks further below him as his bones stretch out, giving him his unnatural height. All the better to hold him, to protect him. Groaning, Dabi’s hands stray up the outside of Hawks’ thighs, even as fists ball against his shoulders.
Normally, Hawks is the strong one. With his broad shoulders, his athletic build; he might be shorter, but he could bench-press Dabi’s skinny ass any day.
Now, Dabi is literally towering over him, and he won’t deny that his cock hardens at Hawks’ shocked gasp.
The moon at his back is like a burn and a balm both, and when claws slip from the tips of his fingers, he only presses them gently into the giving fat of Hawks’ thighs. That simple little stretch of skin, plump and ready where it emerges from the shorts Hawks wears under
his skirt, would drive a normal man wild. Dabi, already wild, growls out a bone-shaking sound as he presses his claws in just a little deeper, testing it.
A new scent blossoms out of Hawks then, sweet as a summer’s night. Warm and ripe, impossibly so, and it shoots down his spine and right into his cock. Wanting. That’s the only way to describe it, the scent of primal need and hunger that claws at the gut in a different way.
He realizes he’s scenting the wetness dripping out of Hawks’ sex, and shreds the front of his little cheer outfit with a flick of his claws. Hawks struggles then, scared of the wolf, even if the gesture hardly grazed his skin.
“What are you doing?” His words ring with fear, and Dabi’s eyes narrow. No, never fear. Not for his beloved.
“Touching you. You want it.” The words are an assertion, rather than a question, and Hawks’ eyes shine with a tangle of lust and apprehension as he looks up from under his lovely lashes.
“No, I—“
“Don’t bullshit. I can smell it. Smell that wet, peachy, juicy little pussy you’ve got under this skirt. Can smell it ready for me.”
The scent of lust doubles at that, and Dabi growls in frustration at being made to wait. There should be no waiting, there should only be tasting and touching and pleasuring. But he refuses to hurt Hawks, either, so he stills.
“Say it. Say you want this.”
There’s a pause, filled only with the jackhammering of Hawks’ heartbeat, and then his hands come up to cup either side of Dabi’s face. Like he’s trying to be tender with the beast. “I do,” he murmurs, and the genuineness in the words makes Dabi’s heart soar.
“I always—always wanted you,” he admits.
It’s more than permission enough, and Dabi loosens his grip on his control. Pink nipples beckon him through shredded fabric and he suckles them furiously, groaning when Hawks’ hands sink into his hair.
Delicious. Maddening. Tanned skin is supple under his tongue and the honeyed voice in his ear was a spur he’d never needed. Between his legs his neglected cock is throbbing painfully, but he pays it no mind. Not when he can taste perfect flesh and feel Hawks’ nipples harden under his teeth.
Instinct rules every action, and when he’s had enough of Hawks’ chest, it’s the simplest thing in the world to grip the globes of his ass in either palm, lifting him up and holding him against the wall, face wedged between his thighs.
Beneath his skirt, the seat of Hawks’ shorts have gone dark with slick, and Dabi doesn’t even hesitate to take the soaked fabric between his teeth, relishing at the ease with which it tears open.
“God, Dabi, fuck—“ Hawks is calling his name, fingers yanking his hair as
Dabi falls on his cunt like a starving man. Oh, he’d love to unwind him slowly, torture and tease, but the wolf is roaring in his mind and he licks at the gathered wetness madly. Honey and fucking cream. He scents the sweet cunt, then forces the delicate folds apart with his tongue, sucking the soft flesh until Hawks’ thighs are shaking under his grasp. The hard dick at the top presses into his lip again and again until he wraps his tongue around it, snarling fiercely as he licks and tastes it. Pleasure like he’s never known, and he’s only grinding his cock agains the wall. More wetness gushes out against his chin and he groans his approval into Hawks’ pussy, then draws back to lick the taste from his lips, a strand of saliva connecting them.
“Put—god, put your tongue in me. Please, Dabi, fuck my pussy with your tongue—“
There’s no need to tell him twice. His eyes roll back in his head as he shoves his tongue in, feeling those walls gripping him like a damn vise. They spasm, milking his mouth, and he presses his lips against Hawks in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.
All at once, Hawks’ thighs tense hard on his shoulders, spine bowing hard as he starts to cum in a wet rush. His cunt massages Dabi’s tongue, gripping it frantically as he grinds his cock against Dabi’s upper lip. It pulses, hungrily, and Dabi snarls again as his fangs press against soft flesh and Hawks shakes around him. He wants to lick the orgasm out of him, but the voice of instinct tells him Hawks will need his slick.
Because now, nothing stands in the way of claiming him totally.
Hawks slumps against the wall, still twitching weakly, and Dabi draws his tongue free with only a hint of reluctance. His own cock is swollen and almost painful in his need, and he doesn’t have the care to do more than set Hawks down on the floor, hands and knees. Not exactly romantic, but thoughts are starting to become few and far between.
Take. Mate. Claim. His mind chants them over and over like a mantra, and he flips the cheery skirt up over Hawks’ hips, knocking his thighs wide with his legs. He’s towering over him now, and leans forward onto one hand placed near Hawks’ shoulder, crowding him up underneath his body. One touch of the fattened head of his cock to the heated folds of Hawks’ cunt has his lips drawing back over his teeth, and it takes everything not to just drive in with all his force. To take.
Instead, he forces himself to lean back, admiring how thick and dark his cock looks against the glistening of Hawks’ sex, framed by damp golden curls. The entrance to his personal heaven. “Please me so well. Will fill you. Mate you.”
There was no time for Hawks to respond before Dabi started feeding him his cock, inch by inch, until he screamed weakly with his pleasure. Hawks’ pussy is tiny, and he feels it split and spread around his length, opening up just for him. Sweet, tight, perfect heat. He groans aloud as he grinds against the base, rutting his hips into that plush ass.
To his surprise, Hawks reaches back and grabs his hip with one hand, his blunt nails raking lines of faint pain against the skin. Growling his approval, Dabi pulls back and thrusts in, the noise of their wetness loud in the air. Hawks keens, and Dabi does it again.
His free hand circles under Hawks’ belly, prodding into the spot where his cock has started to stretch him, pushing through muscle and skin until Hawks can do nothing but feel it. “Going to cum inside you here. Fill you. Mark you. Mine.” The last word sounds barely human, but Hawks whimpers for it.
His mind is gone but for instinct, and Hawks must be feeling it too, because suddenly his face turns away and he offers his neck to the beast at his back. Dabi can do nothing but accept, muffling his howl of approval by sinking his fangs into the offered flesh.
Hawks screams in pain, and then screams because he’s cumming so hard he squirts onto the floor beneath them. The violence of the orgasm is stunning, earth-shaking, and his entire body convulses underneath Dabi’s. His back arches hard and he writhes, mindless, thoughtless, delighted. Dabi plunges hard between his thighs, and there’s nothing but the moonlight and the wetness and the sound of his mate’s pleasure. Nothing else. When he cums, it feels like his entire body empties itself inside, snarling as he pumps shot after shot into the waiting, aching cunt underneath him. As promised, he fills him, more and more until it drips out around the thick plug of his shaft, and even when the last of his pleasure is wrung out, he continues to thrust lazily just to enjoy the feeling. Only when Hawks collapses, spent, does he slowly pull himself out and lay him down on the floor. His skirt half-covers his ass, but the inside of his thighs are red and bruised, and his folds slowly leak thick trails of cum.
Never has there been so beautiful a sight.
Dabi has him again that night, and once more just before dawn. The wolf takes its mate, over and over again. And when the sun rises, he finds his body free of aches and pains, though he has to carry Hawks to the bathtub and clean off his sore, abused body.
There’s lots of kissing and praise, and in the end, Hawks decides to count the entire thing as a win for Dabi’s control. And not just because he ended up cumming twelve times.
