[ Aki's name continues rolling from his lips, drip by drip, just like the mess of white sleeking from his burning, come-greased asshole, past his taint, down his flushed thighs. He should be thinking about how much of a pain cleaning up is going to be, about how impossible it will be to get home after this, about Nayuta taking shelter from the rainfall somewhere, waiting for him, wondering what’s taking so long. But he isn’t.
How can he when Aki’s hips are a relentless guillotine, slicing through whatever attachment he has to reality, his sanity, with each stinging slap of his balls against his swollen cheeks? Denji’s head is floating summits above all that rubbish, even above the crueler thoughts that’d plagued him this entire evening, too high and weightless and warm from, not his own orgasm, but Aki’s, from being a hole Aki can abuse over and over to bring himself to climax. From being needed and wanted in some way, even if it’s not in a way that’ll last outside these doors. ]
I-I wanna be good — [ For you, he forgets to add in the moment. For only Aki. With Aki's handling, his back curves, Denji's feet rising to his toes to maintain the angle. ] I wanna —
[ Though the ground is soiled with his spend, his hamstrings are sore, his nipples puffy and peaked and rubbed painfully against the wall, he can't imagine feeling more alive, no matter how achingly hard he still is somehow. There's nascent, darker pressure rising in his belly, igniting every fraction of his skin, and he never wants it to end. Never wants to feel relief if it means the crossroads of their bodies will have to break apart, his inner walls will have to stop contracting around his cock.
His back wriggles up against Aki, hips pressing from side to side, jostling the rhythm of their thrusts. He wants to see his face. To look him in the eyes as he says, ] I wanna be yours. Make me yours.
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How can he when Aki’s hips are a relentless guillotine, slicing through whatever attachment he has to reality, his sanity, with each stinging slap of his balls against his swollen cheeks? Denji’s head is floating summits above all that rubbish, even above the crueler thoughts that’d plagued him this entire evening, too high and weightless and warm from, not his own orgasm, but Aki’s, from being a hole Aki can abuse over and over to bring himself to climax. From being needed and wanted in some way, even if it’s not in a way that’ll last outside these doors. ]
I-I wanna be good — [ For you, he forgets to add in the moment. For only Aki. With Aki's handling, his back curves, Denji's feet rising to his toes to maintain the angle. ] I wanna —
[ Though the ground is soiled with his spend, his hamstrings are sore, his nipples puffy and peaked and rubbed painfully against the wall, he can't imagine feeling more alive, no matter how achingly hard he still is somehow. There's nascent, darker pressure rising in his belly, igniting every fraction of his skin, and he never wants it to end. Never wants to feel relief if it means the crossroads of their bodies will have to break apart, his inner walls will have to stop contracting around his cock.
His back wriggles up against Aki, hips pressing from side to side, jostling the rhythm of their thrusts. He wants to see his face. To look him in the eyes as he says, ] I wanna be yours. Make me yours.