[ Denji's gasps eject in short lurches from his mouth, like the teeth marks left on the hollow of his neck, or each goading touch frictioning between his legs, carries the weight of a tidal wave, drowning him, pushing his head well below water. That might explain why his own needy little noises sound almost distant to his ears, muffled, bogged down by — what? That stupid devil gas, maybe. Telling him that this, this gratification, this juncture of want and need, doesn’t have to belong to Denji. This could belong to anyone, could have, if he hadn't been the one to survive Makima's gambit. The same way that Tokyo doesn't need Chainsaw Man, Aki doesn't really need him. Denji called him wrong earlier but who was he fooling? Any warm body could have landed the finishing blow on that devil, and that's what happened. It stands to reason any warm body could be close to him, too. Keep him company just as fine.
Denji’s been on his own before; he knows how loneliness behaves, even if his is a different breed from whatever has ownership over Aki. He imagines it must be a kind of saber-toothed devil snapping at his heels, if it’s enough to make him settle for someone like Denji, whose head and whose heart were pieced together all faulty. It makes him feel criminal when Aki rushes to undo his trousers, kinda as if he should confess to being a defective product. Cheap. That there's still time to get his refund and find something better than whatever he has to offer. Or high-tail it altogether.
But his selfishness ekes out. If he thinks of this as just another thing he's getting away with scot-free, then…
Between the two of them they're able to get Denji's trousers dropping to his ankles. The silhouette of his cock shows tightly through his underwear. He can't stop himself from tugging his boxers, too, down — not all the way, though, his impatience once again showing itself by leaving the lightweight material canopying just between his thighs before he's already palming his drooling head with one hand. Uses the other to trail up the shadow of Aki's shaft through his pants to his fastenings, fingers fighting through the button, next the zipper. ]
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Denji’s been on his own before; he knows how loneliness behaves, even if his is a different breed from whatever has ownership over Aki. He imagines it must be a kind of saber-toothed devil snapping at his heels, if it’s enough to make him settle for someone like Denji, whose head and whose heart were pieced together all faulty. It makes him feel criminal when Aki rushes to undo his trousers, kinda as if he should confess to being a defective product. Cheap. That there's still time to get his refund and find something better than whatever he has to offer. Or high-tail it altogether.
But his selfishness ekes out. If he thinks of this as just another thing he's getting away with scot-free, then…
Between the two of them they're able to get Denji's trousers dropping to his ankles. The silhouette of his cock shows tightly through his underwear. He can't stop himself from tugging his boxers, too, down — not all the way, though, his impatience once again showing itself by leaving the lightweight material canopying just between his thighs before he's already palming his drooling head with one hand. Uses the other to trail up the shadow of Aki's shaft through his pants to his fastenings, fingers fighting through the button, next the zipper. ]
H-Help me pull this down — hurry —