[ His head lolls to the side, allowing Aki more access to the cords of muscles in his neck as their rocking simmers down to a loose humping, then comes to a halt altogether with that final thrust — full up and sensitive to physical contact, but unwilling to extricate himself, Denji leans into the door with a sigh, his sticky forehead knocking into frame. He should be satisfied with this, his back to his heaving chest, the two of them shaded in a comfortable darkness save for the little square of light coming from the entryway, car headlights refracting through every so often. If he looked at his reflection through shelved bottles of wine, the glassware, he'd be able to see every place that Aki's touched on his body is visibly marked, a gnash of rosy and darkening skin; Aki took what he wanted, he knows, so why does it feel like he left Denji's heart untouched? And that in itself being so scathing?
His answer, his lack of one, makes Denji feel…
For a moment, there's only the steadying of their breaths. At one time, that was the single most thing Denji wanted, the focal point of his dreams, his nightmares, and his regrets: to hear Aki breathe again. To feel it. To tell Aki everything he thought there would be more time to say back then, to say sorry and mean it, really mean it, to show him how much better he's gotten at being a more complete person. He's not sure if he's achieved all of that yet, but he has a sneaking suspicion that regardless of if he did, it'd still be no closer to enough. There would always be something left to say or do differently.
Denji's hand drops between their legs, carefully wrapped around Aki's shaft to inch him out, his semen oozing out with the absence of something to plug his hole, trickling down his leg, joining the streaks he himself left behind. He turns to face him, swaying slightly on his feet, but managing to stabilize himself by pressing his back up against the door again. He doesn't let go of Aki's dick.
By now, Aki is probably as tender as he is, he thinks. Silently, his hand drags against his skin, giving one jerk upwards. ]
Can we — again?
[ This isn't the same breathless jest Denji said last night. He's begging. If this night ends, then who knows what will happen tomorrow? Between them when they're able to think straight again. Or whatever else. ]
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His answer, his lack of one, makes Denji feel…
For a moment, there's only the steadying of their breaths. At one time, that was the single most thing Denji wanted, the focal point of his dreams, his nightmares, and his regrets: to hear Aki breathe again. To feel it. To tell Aki everything he thought there would be more time to say back then, to say sorry and mean it, really mean it, to show him how much better he's gotten at being a more complete person. He's not sure if he's achieved all of that yet, but he has a sneaking suspicion that regardless of if he did, it'd still be no closer to enough. There would always be something left to say or do differently.
Denji's hand drops between their legs, carefully wrapped around Aki's shaft to inch him out, his semen oozing out with the absence of something to plug his hole, trickling down his leg, joining the streaks he himself left behind. He turns to face him, swaying slightly on his feet, but managing to stabilize himself by pressing his back up against the door again. He doesn't let go of Aki's dick.
By now, Aki is probably as tender as he is, he thinks. Silently, his hand drags against his skin, giving one jerk upwards. ]
Can we — again?
[ This isn't the same breathless jest Denji said last night. He's begging. If this night ends, then who knows what will happen tomorrow? Between them when they're able to think straight again. Or whatever else. ]