Chapter Text
The tension snaps the moment Hawks gets his mouth on Satoru.
The ensuing race to tear off clothes and get their hands on each other is frantic and sloppy and really not Hawks’s best work, but whatever, he’s a little too worked up to care and Satoru hardly seems bothered by the lack of foreplay.
It doesn’t really occur to him that he’s forgotten something integral to this process until he’s already inside the other man and wondering why he feels like he’s going to pass out.
Not that sex with Satoru isn’t always a mind blowing prospect in and of itself, but it usually doesn’t make him feel like his mind is actually about to explode.
When he pushes in, he can feel every single inch of Satoru as he shudders around him, a sensation that travels from the tip of his dick all the way to the back of his shoulders. There’s not a single bit of the man that he isn’t intimately aware of. He can feel every hitch of his breath like a trembling touch through his feathers, the frantic beating of his heart a rhythm against his skin, the slide of muscles contracting traveling up and down his wings.
He has to take a moment after he’s fully sheathed inside him, wrestling with the sensory overload.
His wings. How had he forgotten about the two giant appendages literally attached to his body?
There’s a reason he usually dismantles them before sex, and not just because they’re so unwieldly.
He’s hyper aware of everything. The rattling from the nearby air vent, the low hum of electricity from the appliances in the kitchen, the filament buzzing in the light fixtures. But most especially Satoru. The unbearably wet and soft heat of him, snug around him like a glove.
Fucking with his wings on was a profoundly stupid idea. He’ll be shocked if he manages to last more than five minutes like this.
But Satoru had looked up at him with glazed eyes as he’d flicked off a few feathers to divest them of their clothes and before he could dismantle the rest had said, “Keep them on” and Hawks had found the idea of him being into that too hot to resist. And he did seem pretty into it, if the way he kept raising his hands up to brush his fingers through them was any indication.
He decides to test the theory. Hawks leans over the other man, wings trailing across them both. The edge of his primaries graze across the outside of his arms, eliciting a full body shudder from the other man. Hawks bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood as he feels that shudder over every inch of his dick.
Yeah, okay. Neither of them are going to last very long here.
“Hawks,” Satoru whines, “stop teasing me and fuck me properly.”
“You’re such a mouthy thing,” Hawks drawls, pulling out to the tip only to slam back inside, giving him exactly what he wants. “Does everyone know what a brat you are in bed? I heard you’ve got a bit of a reputation, you know.”
He’s found himself thinking about it, now that he’s learned of Ru-kun and all his very publicized exploits. It doesn’t bother him or anything. Considering the way they’d met, he’d already been under the impression Satoru was pretty sexually experienced. But it’s certainly food for thought.
“That’s— ah!” Satoru breaks off into a choked off moan as Hawks starts up a punishing rhythm.
“I don’t mind, but I am curious.” Hawks continues his relentless pace, keeping the angle steady with a bruising grip on Satoru’s hip. “I wonder, does everyone you sleep with feel the urge to turn you on your knees and spank you until you cry? Or is that just me?”
Come to think on it, why hasn’t Hawks done that before? It sounds like something he’d be into. From the way Satoru gasps and clenches around him, he’s pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.
“N—no,” he moans, fingers grasping helplessly at the couch cushions behind his head.
“No?” Hawks croons, stopping his thrusts to pull one of Satoru’s legs over his shoulder, nearly bending him in half.
The new position makes him feel impossibly tight inside, so much so that Hawks has to stop completely so he’s not in danger of coming too soon. Maybe diving head first into filthy dirty talk when he’s already on edge from his wings wasn’t the best idea, but sue him, his brain to mouth filter usually goes right out the window the moment he’s got his dick inside the other man and now is no exception.
“No, I—“ Satoru’s chest heaves with each unsteady gulp of air. He licks his lips. “It’s just you. I haven’t done this with anyone else.”
His brain screeches to a halt.
“You what,” says Hawks, blankly, nearly dropping his leg.
Satoru’s face goes a very telling shade of red.
“I thought you’ve slept with a bunch of people!” Hawks shouts, hysterical. Everyone says so! It’s all over twitter! Even his bandmates joke about it!
“I have! But I never—“ He breaks off, biting his lip. The tips of his ears are cherry red, peeking out from his sweat-slicked hair. “I was always the one doing the fucking, not the other way around.”
Buried balls deep inside him, Hawks finds that very hard to believe.
Or maybe not.
At first blush, Satoru’s personality would have him automatically assuming he would prefer to be on top. But ever since their first time together he’s been vocally enthusiastic about being on the receiving end, even eagerly coaching Hawks on all the best ways to bring him to orgasm.
“Oh,” Hawks says, leaning back a bit. “Are we not in the right spots, then?”
He doesn’t necessarily mind the thought.
But Satoru shakes his head rapidly. “No, we’re good. I prefer it this way.” He says, resolutely, which does bring Hawks some relief.
It’s not that he doesn’t think he’d enjoy it on the receiving end, but rather, he would’ve been very distraught to hear Satoru hadn’t been enjoying it, and he’d been reading him wrong the whole time.
“You prefer it, huh?” Hawks repeats, with a lopsided smile. He reaches back up to fit Satoru’s legs snugly over his shoulder, from where they had fallen off a bit.
“Yeah,” Satoru breathes. “I do.”
Hawks presses forward again, until he has Satoru once again almost bent in half, knee pressed into his chest. The motion has him sinking even deeper inside of the other man, pulling a whimper from the back of Satoru’s throat.
“But only with me?” He doesn’t bother to keep the smug possessiveness out of his voice.
Satoru doesn’t answer verbally, wrapping his arms around Hawks’s neck and nodding against his shoulder.
“Huh,” says Hawks, voice hitching. “So are you— ha— just as mouthy on top as you are on the bottom?”
“I don’t really—“ Satoru cuts off with a stutter, as Hawks pulls out in a long, slow slide. “That’s… I don’t know. Not really? It’s— ah— different on top y’know?”
“So you’ve fucked all these people, but you’re only this loud and bratty with me?” He asks, gently starting up a shallow rhythm. Satoru clings to him, hands scratching at his back as he nods again.
Hawks chuckles breathlessly. “That’s really cute, y’know. Kinda unbearably cute, actually.”
“Hawks,” he gasps, helplessly, writhing against him.
He’s a little shocked Satoru hasn’t fired back at him yet, shoving at him and demanding he stop messing with him and pick up the pace. Satoru’s not the type to just lay there and let Hawks have his wicked way with him, but he’s being unusually docile right now.
It’s something of a treat for Hawks, when he gets like this. He deeply enjoys their usual bouts of explosive sex, but something about the novelty of a shockingly submissive Satoru always gets him going. He doesn’t know how he ever manages to bring it out, if it’s just some kind of industriousness on his part, plain luck, or the alignment of Satoru’s libido and the stars, but whatever the case it’s an opportunity he doesn’t want to waste.
“Satoru,” he purrs against the man’s ear. “You’re being awfully quiet right now! Are you feeling shy after confessing you were a virgin when we first met?”
Satoru scoffs. “I wasn’t a virgin,” he denies, sounding rather petulant as his nails bite into Hawks’s back.
“Maybe,” Hawks concedes, because he doesn’t really care about the semantics. “But you did just tell me I’m the only one who’s ever been inside you, and that’s all I really care about.”
The ear in front of him goes bright red again as Satoru mutters something uncharitable under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “dumb possessive bird” which only makes Hawks laugh aloud.
“Oh please, as if you’re not into that.” Hawks replies, rolling his hips in a long, surging movement that has arousal pooling low and heavy in his gut.
He braces a hand against the arm rest above Satoru’s head, finding a better position for the slow but deep angle he knows Satoru really likes when he’s in this kind of mood. Unexpectedly, Satoru doesn’t respond to his taunt, growing oddly quiet again. When Hawks pulls back a bit he sees a flush spread over his cheeks, lashes low against those sparkling eyes, pupils blown. He’s biting at his lip too, bottling up these needy little sounds Hawks might have missed if his wings hadn’t been assembled.
Oh, he’s really into this, Hawks thinks, watching it all with a lustful gaze.
There’s something about seeing this normally cool and confident man all pliant and needy beneath him that’s just so unbearably sexy it triggers his raptor hindbrain and sends him into overdrive. He keeps switching from seeing him as a mate he wants to satisfy, and as prey he wants to force to submit. He wants to mark him up and claim him, make sure everyone knows who he belongs to.
“Y’know, I love it when you’re all loud and sexy in bed,” he says, breathlessly. “But when you get all cute and quiet like this… it really makes me want to ruin you.”
He doesn't just want him to submit. He wants him in tears. The more animalistic side of him that he usually keeps in check is tearing at the seams of his willpower and he’s honestly a little shocked by how viscerally he’s reacting to Satoru’s behavior. This seems like something about himself he really ought to figure out, but probably not when he’s fucking into the man with reckless abandon. For now he’s just going to blame it on the sensory overload of keeping his wings active kicking his instincts into overdrive.
“Hawks,” Satoru whimpers, plaintively, flinging a hand over his eyes.
Hawks catches it in the air and pins it to the armrest above the other man, in a grip that probably borders on bruising. Satoru hisses in disapproval at the rough treatment, but the way he tightens around his cock is telling.
“No hiding,” Hawks says, voice low. He always wants to see those beautiful eyes of his, and now is no exception.
Satoru lets out a helpless, needy whine in protest, but otherwise doesn’t move to throw him off. And he could, in an instant, if he really wanted to. That he doesn’t is just further encouragement to Hawks to keep roughing him up a little. That this is what Satoru wants, even if he’s being too adorably shy to say it.
He tightens his grip on Satoru’s leg and adjusts his angle for a more ruthless fucking, keen on pulling more of those sweet little noises out of him. His back is definitely going to hate him in the morning, but it’s worth it to watch Satoru’s face get all flushed and sweaty, silky hair sticking to his forehead as his eyes glaze over with every thrust. If Hawks hadn’t been staring down at him with an obsessive fervor, he would’ve missed what happened next.
He has one hand on Satoru’s knee, and the other crawling back from where he’d been pinning Satoru’s hand to the couch to catch his other leg before it falls too far off his shoulder. He’s not quite quick enough, and on the next thrust Satoru’s foot flails out and catches against his wings. It’s a shock to the system for both of them, apparently. Satoru’s entire expression seizes up like Hawks had just electrocuted him, which is sort of similar to how Hawks himself is feeling. But that’s a given for Hawks, with his wings naturally being so sensitive. But for Satoru? That’s… interesting.
It’s there and gone in an instant, but he’s so focused on the white-haired man there’s no way he’d miss it.
He grinds to a halt, sheathed to the hilt inside the other man, and slowly detaches a feather off his wing.
He’s not entirely sure what he expects to happen, when he drags that feather across the arch of Satoru’s foot.
But Satoru coming explosively and without warning between them was definitely not it.
Hawks honestly isn’t even sure who is more shocked by it. He’s struck dumb by the whole thing. Satoru coming violently all over them both, completely untouched, with Hawks’s dick buried deep inside him, is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. He says that basically every time he fucks Satoru, but he especially means it now.
It’s really no surprise he only manages a few more stuttering thrusts before he’s coming as well, spilling deep in the other man.
They’re both panting and out of breath by the end of it, and Satoru’s eyes are still very wide and shell-shocked and even a bit teary as he stares up at him. There’s a lurid red mark in the shape of Hawks’s mouth at the base of his neck, in the same spot as the mark Hawks had left during the infamous Kamino Incident. He’s covered in his own spend, his chest heaving and his heart racing in his ribs like a rabbit’s, and the skin there is still a little red and swollen from when Hawks had lavished it with his attention earlier. Hawks is still buried deep inside him, where he’s wet and slick with Hawks’s come and Hawks can feel every tiny tremble of his muscles as he clings to him and—
Hawks disperses all his feathers in an abrupt flurry of red. The overwhelming sensations cut out in a burst of pressure, and he no longer feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. Actually he feels wrung out and exhausted, like he’s just been surprised with the orgasm of his life, which isn’t really all that far off.
He pulls out of Satoru once he summons up enough energy to get his limbs working again, to the vocal displeasure of the other man. Satoru mewls in protest, clinging tighter to his shoulders when Hawks makes a move to get up.
Hawks chuckles and kisses the tip of his nose, feeling a little charmed.
It’s another couple minutes before Satoru finally comes out of his own daze, and by then Hawks has put his feathers to work zipping off in search of a towel or two. The couch is a lost cause; he’s pretty sure these stains are going to need a professional cleaner. But at the very least he can clean them both up. They may or may not have also traumatized the cat, wherever the hell it is, but that’s not Hawks’s problem.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Satoru groans, one arm flung above his head as he flexes his toes in the air like they’ve personally offended him.
Hawks laughs as he towels them off. “Me neither, to be honest.” He admits. “… Did I take it too far?”
“Not at all,” Satoru replies, roughly, leaning up to snag his mouth in a filthy kiss.
“Really? I didn’t think you’d be into that,” Hawks chuckles as he pulls away.
Sartoru’s ears turn a bit pink. “That’s— uh… that was unexpected even for me, to be honest. I didn’t… not like it?”
Hawks considers. That’s a pretty fair summation of his own thoughts on the whole thing. He grins widely. “Should we try it again to gather more evidence, then?”
Satoru’s lashes lower as he returns the grin with a low, sultry smile of his own. “I’m game if you are.”
~
They’re both feeling rather lazy and satiated within the next twenty minutes, utterly filthy and spent on the poor stained remains of what was once Satoru’s immaculate taupe colored living room couch. Then Satoru finally seems to return to reality and realizes the state of his couch, and the look he gives Hawks could kill a lesser man.
“I just bought this couch,” he says, in a quietly threatening tone that Hawks is sure has sent many a terrified drug kingpin to an early grave. “Imported directly from Italy. It’s hand-stitched.”
Somehow, Hawks just manages to find it rather charming and adorable. Probably because it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s sporting multiple love bites over his neck and chest, hair all rucked up from Hawks’s hands, naked and sprawled contentedly over Hawks.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Hawks consoles him, running his hands through that silky hair. “Maybe a more kid, cat, and sex appropriate one. How about it?”
Satoru grumbles unintelligibly in response, burying his face into Hawks’s collar. Then he jumps up like a spring, eyes wide in horror.
“Oh god,” he says. “Kids. My sister is bringing Eri home in thirty minutes.”
And then they’re both scrambling off the couch in sheer terror, desperately rooting about for their clothes and any salvageable couch cushions. Despite the utter chaos of the scene, Hawks can’t say he regrets it all that much.
He’s pretty sure every day with Satoru, Eri, and the dreaded Meow-san is going to be utterly full of chaos.
He doesn’t think he’d want it any other way.