[ Eager to please, eager to do something right, he yields to Aki's insistent hands like a dog called to heel, could even be talked out of his entire suit of skin if that's what he wanted. His clothes? A trifle.
There's a roughness, unsteadiness, to the way he handles him, and Denji thinks he likes that, too, equally as much as he liked his gentler instruction — as if this hollow fervor is something they can share and play in. A leash going both ways, each end running in diametric directions until the knot at the center either pops loose or has to be sawed in half. Still damp, his shirt leaves behind a dewy residue when Aki strips him of it, making the air even crisper when it hits his torso, his goosing skin. Denji sucks in a breath and half-expects to see white misting from his face when he breathes it all out. That's how cold it feels without Aki on him. Inside of him.
Holy crap, he's so stupid horny. He slips his fingertips under Aki's shirt, dragging the cottony hem up in a single fluid whisk, but not even waiting for it to be all the way off until his mouth is hot against his chest, teething one of his nipples to hardness. Tongue teasing up the side of the sensitive nub, he mumbles, ] You wanna — uh, here…?
[ He feels silly just asking.
Of course he knows the answer to that — that they're going to fuck in a random bar they broke into — but Denji's never known how to keep his trap shut, at the best or worst of times. Especially when he's nervous. And Aki's really good at making him nervous. The better question would be how they're going to do this here. If Aki wants to bend him over the stool, using his blood as lubricant, and blow his back out the way, or if they both climb on top of the counter, that might work — ]
no subject
There's a roughness, unsteadiness, to the way he handles him, and Denji thinks he likes that, too, equally as much as he liked his gentler instruction — as if this hollow fervor is something they can share and play in. A leash going both ways, each end running in diametric directions until the knot at the center either pops loose or has to be sawed in half. Still damp, his shirt leaves behind a dewy residue when Aki strips him of it, making the air even crisper when it hits his torso, his goosing skin. Denji sucks in a breath and half-expects to see white misting from his face when he breathes it all out. That's how cold it feels without Aki on him. Inside of him.
Holy crap, he's so stupid horny. He slips his fingertips under Aki's shirt, dragging the cottony hem up in a single fluid whisk, but not even waiting for it to be all the way off until his mouth is hot against his chest, teething one of his nipples to hardness. Tongue teasing up the side of the sensitive nub, he mumbles, ] You wanna — uh, here…?
[ He feels silly just asking.
Of course he knows the answer to that — that they're going to fuck in a random bar they broke into — but Denji's never known how to keep his trap shut, at the best or worst of times. Especially when he's nervous. And Aki's really good at making him nervous. The better question would be how they're going to do this here. If Aki wants to bend him over the stool, using his blood as lubricant, and blow his back out the way, or if they both climb on top of the counter, that might work — ]