[He really shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. Aki's never been the sort of person who wants to own something. He's too solitary for that, too much of a loner. He's never kept a pet, never been obsessive about items, never minded if he lost something because nothing was important enough to miss. Then Denji was shoved into his arms. Power next. Suddenly he understood what it actually meant to be lonely as opposed to being a loner.]
[He parts his lips and hesitates for just a moment. No, he thinks, Denji doesn't belong to me. Denji is his own person. Denji has lived this long by himself - He can survive on his own. But that's not the point. It's not about surviving, or thriving. It's about something much deeper and sinister than that. Shamefully so. He wants Denji to rely on him. He wants him to wander up to him with a bruise on his knee and ask for help despite being fully capable of bandaging it by himself. He wants him to ask himself how Aki will react to anything he does. He wants...]
[He wants Denji to love him, he realizes with a sickening punch to the gut. He wants Denji to actually love him, and to feel that love without seeing any strings attached. Not because he's his. Can he trust him to do that? His mind automatically answers, No.]
[Aki bites down in his throat, forcing blood from the wound and thrusting up into him at the same time. There's no real pleasure to be gotten from this anymore. Aki is spent, overstimulated, mind spinning. He can feel the way Denji presses against him, how good that should feel, the addiction of the consistent inconsistency, how every movement is different from the last. He sucks hard at his neck and drinks his blood deeper. Too sweet to simply let it drip down his skin.]
You're so...
[He sags forward, pressing Denji against the door as he exhales against his skin, his knees knocking into the door and keeping Denji pinned between himself and the wood. Not thrusting so much as pushing himself all the way in and holding himself as deep as he can. As close as he can get when he doesn't believe a word out of Denji's mouth. It would be too good to be true if he could.]
Fuck, I can't stand you sometimes. [And again he laps at the blood on his neck like it's a tonic.]
no subject
[He really shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. Aki's never been the sort of person who wants to own something. He's too solitary for that, too much of a loner. He's never kept a pet, never been obsessive about items, never minded if he lost something because nothing was important enough to miss. Then Denji was shoved into his arms. Power next. Suddenly he understood what it actually meant to be lonely as opposed to being a loner.]
[He parts his lips and hesitates for just a moment. No, he thinks, Denji doesn't belong to me. Denji is his own person. Denji has lived this long by himself - He can survive on his own. But that's not the point. It's not about surviving, or thriving. It's about something much deeper and sinister than that. Shamefully so. He wants Denji to rely on him. He wants him to wander up to him with a bruise on his knee and ask for help despite being fully capable of bandaging it by himself. He wants him to ask himself how Aki will react to anything he does. He wants...]
[He wants Denji to love him, he realizes with a sickening punch to the gut. He wants Denji to actually love him, and to feel that love without seeing any strings attached. Not because he's his. Can he trust him to do that? His mind automatically answers, No.]
[Aki bites down in his throat, forcing blood from the wound and thrusting up into him at the same time. There's no real pleasure to be gotten from this anymore. Aki is spent, overstimulated, mind spinning. He can feel the way Denji presses against him, how good that should feel, the addiction of the consistent inconsistency, how every movement is different from the last. He sucks hard at his neck and drinks his blood deeper. Too sweet to simply let it drip down his skin.]
You're so...
[He sags forward, pressing Denji against the door as he exhales against his skin, his knees knocking into the door and keeping Denji pinned between himself and the wood. Not thrusting so much as pushing himself all the way in and holding himself as deep as he can. As close as he can get when he doesn't believe a word out of Denji's mouth. It would be too good to be true if he could.]
Fuck, I can't stand you sometimes. [And again he laps at the blood on his neck like it's a tonic.]