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How the number two pro hero in the nation, the winged hero Hawks, ended up bent over the knee of the S-class villain Dabi in some shitty, broken-down old hotel room remained a mystery to even him. And to be quite frank, he really didn't give a single fuck.
The villain's palm struck him again, right in the same spot it had been for the last ten minutes. Was it ten minutes? He wasn't even keeping track. He'd come twice already just from humping the man's leg while bent over, earning him more spanks than usual.
"Mark me! Please! Burn! Please, please, pleaseplease aaaaggghhhhnnnnn..."
He wasn't making any sense, he knew that, but he knew exactly what he was trying to ask.
"What's that, little birdie? Speak up. Use your big boy words."
Dabi's callused fingertips smoothed over his hole, pressing but not yet entering, drawing another high-pitched whine out of Hawks.
*SMACK*
"I said speak, bitch."
"Burn, mmm, burn me, please, mmm, please..."
Tears were streaming down his face, creating new tracks over old, dried ones.
"Burn you? You want me to burn you, baby?"
"Your hand, o-on my... please... please."
Dabi's lips curved into a sort of unnatural, sinister smirk.
"Oh, is that what you want? Please what, birdie?"
"P-please, sir," he whimpered out, before feeling a glowing, flaming hand connect with the sensitive skin of his ass, staying there for far longer than usual.
Hawks let out a scream, his body instinctively squirming to get away from the heat, but Dabi's strong hands kept him still. His feathers—splayed across the side of the room, dropped for the night—started trembling, ready to fly into action.
When Dabi finally lifted his hand, it was to uncover a deep, sick-looking, purpling burn mark right across Hawks' left ass cheek, the flesh still smoking.
Hawks came for a third time, right before passing out in Dabi's arms.
And if the Hero Commission asked him why he insisted on standing instead of sitting for every meeting for the next few months? Well, they could fuck right off.