[ He doesn't want to, he really doesn't want to — but a flash of a wince streaks across his face like a lightning strike that's hit just the right batch of nerves. He blinks at the hand covering his view and realizes it's his own, unconsciously lifted, hanging dumb in the air. Then, guiltily, forces it down with his other hand, rubbing slow along his wrist. All Aki did was raise an arm, prompted by something he told him to do; it's not as if he razed an entire city block to ground zero.
…A huff of a breath. Working the tension out of his jaw with a grind of his teeth, Denji shakes his head before sending Aki a weak look. Quick and meant to be apologetic, but the strain of the day's events just makes him look all the more anemic and sunken. ]
You don't gotta try to make this easier. Or thank me, [ Denji says after a halting silence, his voice thinning towards the end. His hands arrive at the edge of Aki's waist, curling at the inner seam of his shirt hem, the bend of his knuckles barely ghosting up his skin as he pulls the layer up. Barely anything. And yet just the outline of him is too much, too scalding, feels closer than an actual touch, closer than even having Aki inside him. Closer than having his chainsaws vibrating deep in his sloppy entrails. But if he could have his selection of anything to bear, anything at all, he'd still choose this over bearing the loss of him again. He'd choose feeling skewed and nauseous and on the verge of lashing out a second time over going back home to a box of his things with nowhere to put them, no explanation for what any of it means.
But, in the end, that's not his choice to make. In the end, he can only choose what's leftover from all the other paths that have been crossed out for him: a quiet, shatterable sense of nostalgia.
Softly flipping the cotton inside out over his arms, over Aki's head, the shirt comes away. Denji looks up at him, briefly, his own strange memory taking hold. Only his was this morning, and how easily he'd squeezes his palms to his cheeks and kissed him, one-sidedly, no holding back, no need for Aki to return the favor. But his gaze goes back down to the stump where a left arm should be at Aki's side, and his grimace returns.
He hadn't gotten a clear view before, but now. ]
It really is the same spot…
[ Touching it — is a thought Denji skips over as soon as the impulse twitches at his fingertips. He doesn't say any more after that, but maybe it says enough that he looks away with a sharp pinch to his eyes.
Still adamant about undressing Aki without assistance, he tucks his fingers inside the band of his underwear and his pants, bending into a crouch to drag them to his ankles. Once that's done, and his clothes are pooled at his feet, he mumbles to him, ] Uh, you can step out of these now.
[ With that done, on his way back up he wedges the clothes pile into the towel rack hanging close to the bath. He doesn't eyeball Aki's dick, doesn't say anything untoward and sleazy with his usual overt interest. Rather it appears discomfort doubles with them both nude; Denji presses himself to stay in motion, hurrying over to unhook the shower head on slippery feet, heels sliding unevenly as he grips the wall, tests the temperature with a short spray. After contemplatively rubbing the droplets into his fingers, he turns and — hesitates a beat too long on his next, which is stupid. He pulls at Aki's forearm, spritzing the water against his palm. ]
I've been in here too long, so I can't tell — this too hot for you?
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…A huff of a breath. Working the tension out of his jaw with a grind of his teeth, Denji shakes his head before sending Aki a weak look. Quick and meant to be apologetic, but the strain of the day's events just makes him look all the more anemic and sunken. ]
You don't gotta try to make this easier. Or thank me, [ Denji says after a halting silence, his voice thinning towards the end. His hands arrive at the edge of Aki's waist, curling at the inner seam of his shirt hem, the bend of his knuckles barely ghosting up his skin as he pulls the layer up. Barely anything. And yet just the outline of him is too much, too scalding, feels closer than an actual touch, closer than even having Aki inside him. Closer than having his chainsaws vibrating deep in his sloppy entrails. But if he could have his selection of anything to bear, anything at all, he'd still choose this over bearing the loss of him again. He'd choose feeling skewed and nauseous and on the verge of lashing out a second time over going back home to a box of his things with nowhere to put them, no explanation for what any of it means.
But, in the end, that's not his choice to make. In the end, he can only choose what's leftover from all the other paths that have been crossed out for him: a quiet, shatterable sense of nostalgia.
Softly flipping the cotton inside out over his arms, over Aki's head, the shirt comes away. Denji looks up at him, briefly, his own strange memory taking hold. Only his was this morning, and how easily he'd squeezes his palms to his cheeks and kissed him, one-sidedly, no holding back, no need for Aki to return the favor. But his gaze goes back down to the stump where a left arm should be at Aki's side, and his grimace returns.
He hadn't gotten a clear view before, but now. ]
It really is the same spot…
[ Touching it — is a thought Denji skips over as soon as the impulse twitches at his fingertips. He doesn't say any more after that, but maybe it says enough that he looks away with a sharp pinch to his eyes.
Still adamant about undressing Aki without assistance, he tucks his fingers inside the band of his underwear and his pants, bending into a crouch to drag them to his ankles. Once that's done, and his clothes are pooled at his feet, he mumbles to him, ] Uh, you can step out of these now.
[ With that done, on his way back up he wedges the clothes pile into the towel rack hanging close to the bath. He doesn't eyeball Aki's dick, doesn't say anything untoward and sleazy with his usual overt interest. Rather it appears discomfort doubles with them both nude; Denji presses himself to stay in motion, hurrying over to unhook the shower head on slippery feet, heels sliding unevenly as he grips the wall, tests the temperature with a short spray. After contemplatively rubbing the droplets into his fingers, he turns and — hesitates a beat too long on his next, which is stupid. He pulls at Aki's forearm, spritzing the water against his palm. ]
I've been in here too long, so I can't tell — this too hot for you?