[The more Denji moves, the more it reveals that it's not enough. No amount of his thrusting or shifting or humping is enough. He can't reach the high he's looking for and it's so frustrating, so aggravating, so - depressing. Denji speaking so close to his ear feels like a snake coiling around his throat, tempting him to flinch too hard. Like the last of his hope will be choked if he moves suddenly, quick enough to upset this balance. He clenches his eyes shut. It's a devil, he tells himself. It's a devil. This is a devil.]
[It doesn't matter. The worst kinds of devils are the ones that can scratch at your screws. Strip the threads as they pull at them. Even if they can't dislodge them, the damage is done. Aki exhales a shaky breath as Denji drops down on him again and finally clenches his arms tight around him, trying to force him still.]
No.
[Denji wanted to run away with him, he reminds himself. Denji asked him if they were friends. Denji came home like he said to. He helped him put up his hair. Helped him fold the laundry. Came to Hokkaido with him. Sat with him, staring out at the snowy abyss. It's a devil, he hisses to himself, repeating that word over and over again. Devil, devil, devil - ] Devil.
[Gun can play at him so easily when he's like this. Aki's old methods were about shutting others out, refusing to form connections, keeping his distance. Every time he got close to someone, they ended up dead, anyway. Just push them away first, Gun suggests, rolling the barrel in his hand and wrapping his fingers around the grip. Being alone sucks. Being unloved sucks. But it's all ten times better than being abandoned. Being tossed away. Being left.]
[He feels the cold metal spreading over his face before he can realize what it is, the hammer pulling from the back of his head first and splitting his hair down the center. The muzzle comes next. Carbon steel builds outward behind Denji's head, his chin still settled in his shoulder. He nudges the barrel against the back of his head, groaning when he shifts. The heat of his body feels like dipping into a hot bath after a day in the snow. His arm doesn't turn, just grips him tight. Keeps him right where he is, right where he wants him. Again Aki groans and parts his lips to bite down on Denji's shoulder, gentler than the one that broke skin as he tries to balance the feeling of knowing this won't last with the desire to force it to anyway.]
no subject
[The more Denji moves, the more it reveals that it's not enough. No amount of his thrusting or shifting or humping is enough. He can't reach the high he's looking for and it's so frustrating, so aggravating, so - depressing. Denji speaking so close to his ear feels like a snake coiling around his throat, tempting him to flinch too hard. Like the last of his hope will be choked if he moves suddenly, quick enough to upset this balance. He clenches his eyes shut. It's a devil, he tells himself. It's a devil. This is a devil.]
[It doesn't matter. The worst kinds of devils are the ones that can scratch at your screws. Strip the threads as they pull at them. Even if they can't dislodge them, the damage is done. Aki exhales a shaky breath as Denji drops down on him again and finally clenches his arms tight around him, trying to force him still.]
No.
[Denji wanted to run away with him, he reminds himself. Denji asked him if they were friends. Denji came home like he said to. He helped him put up his hair. Helped him fold the laundry. Came to Hokkaido with him. Sat with him, staring out at the snowy abyss. It's a devil, he hisses to himself, repeating that word over and over again. Devil, devil, devil - ] Devil.
[Gun can play at him so easily when he's like this. Aki's old methods were about shutting others out, refusing to form connections, keeping his distance. Every time he got close to someone, they ended up dead, anyway. Just push them away first, Gun suggests, rolling the barrel in his hand and wrapping his fingers around the grip. Being alone sucks. Being unloved sucks. But it's all ten times better than being abandoned. Being tossed away. Being left.]
[He feels the cold metal spreading over his face before he can realize what it is, the hammer pulling from the back of his head first and splitting his hair down the center. The muzzle comes next. Carbon steel builds outward behind Denji's head, his chin still settled in his shoulder. He nudges the barrel against the back of his head, groaning when he shifts. The heat of his body feels like dipping into a hot bath after a day in the snow. His arm doesn't turn, just grips him tight. Keeps him right where he is, right where he wants him. Again Aki groans and parts his lips to bite down on Denji's shoulder, gentler than the one that broke skin as he tries to balance the feeling of knowing this won't last with the desire to force it to anyway.]