windfall | light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

[ Knocking. The roar of ammunition fire in his ears. Blasts of heat and debris sticking to his face, dust crusting in his eyes. A delirious and delicious taste, sweet red like pomegranate, like Aki's skin scraping open in his mouth.

Denji doesn't talk much about what happened that day.

Not unusual, since he doesn't really talk much about any of what transpired prior to meeting Nayuta, either. Or about how sometimes he can still sense, not even hear, but sense a phone ringing in the distance, its pull like a spiral cord that's gone taut, that's trying to make its way back home and if he follows its trail, he might just find someone familiar on the other end of the receiver.

No, he doesn't tell anyone all that, because, see, the last time he did, Kishibe had just hummed and looked at him, the kind of look Denji would get from adults whenever they caught him picking through the dumpster for his next meal: pitying. Then, he'd shook out a flask from the inside of his coat and said, "Sometimes it's better for the line to go dead, kid."

Weird response, right? It'd made Denji go silent, think a bit. And after a while, he hadn't liked that so much, so he'd changed the subject to something inoffensive, like complaining about how much Nayuta's so much better at arcade games than he is, but Kishibe had cut him short at that point to go take a call.

Naturally, Denji had followed.

It's a little sad that a man in his silver years is the only person he can confide in, but Kishibe's not a bad guy — and that's coming from someone who generally hates men. Then again, the guy doesn't show his gaunt face around these parts unless he absolutely has to, which is probably by his own design, so it helps that he's never around long enough for Denji to get sick of seeing him. Up until that conversation, his absence wouldn't have been something Denji paid notice to. It'd usually take weeks and months and Nayuta asking where the funny, drunk geezer who always sneaks her hard candy is for him to see past the everyday chaos of being Tokyo's friendly neighborhood Chainsaw Man.

But as Denji creeped closer, overhearing some words but not registering most of them, a dangerous curiosity brought him to the edge of his hiding spot. What the hell has this dude been up to?

And then he'd froze.

"So the Gun Devil's position has been compromised. Initiate a tactical retreat."

Afterward, he hadn't done anything for a solid week besides go to school, kick some devil ass and stare vacantly at a pair of eggs frying in the pan for dinner each evening. Predictably, Nayuta had rapidly gotten sick of the menu. So before he could make his eighth pair of fried eggs, she'd scaled up his back and twisted his earlobes until he begged for forgiveness.

"Stuuupid! Dummy! Get a hold of yourself!" Nayuta raged on. "No more acting weird, or else I'm putting doggy kibble in your cereal again!"

She was right. He needed to get a hold of himself. Yeah, he was dumb, but that didn't mean he had eggshells for brains. He could still do stuff in his own way.

In the following weeks, Denji spent his time hounding members of the Devil Hunter Club for all and any relevant knowledge pertaining to devils. From rumors about recent devil sightings, to insights into things like the theoretical mechanics behind how long it took for certain types of devils to die in Hell and be reborn, to mathematical equations projecting the survivability rate of fiends based on the velocity and quantity of violence…

Of course, he only understood about three-percent of anything at any given time, but one detail of interest shared by some gloomy, pig-tailed girl stood out to him. According to her, a mysterious amount of devils had been slain in the Kabukicho district, none of which had been reported by either civilian hunters or Public Safety ones.

Anyone with half their wits would be able to easily determine that this wasn't a reasonable lead, but for Denji? He could feel something trilling out to him. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Of course Aki remembers it. He remembers too many details about that trip because it was so unlike any of the others he'd taken up until that point. The first trip he wasn't consumed with regret, obsessed. He tilts his head to look at Denji, not moving to approach him. Not smoking, though.]

It's a nice neighborhood.

[Last time he'd told Denji to shut up. Gotten annoyed at him, then told him about how that trip had been so different. How his and Power's antics had distracted him from his usual gloomy thoughts. It felt like the first time he hadn't thought about Gun in years.]

[But Denji hadn't understood. And he still doesn't understand. On top of that, now Aki doesn't understand him, either.]

Your voice sounds worse. I'll... [Like the smoke from a cigarette, his words trail off in a steady, slow stream. No, he's not going to talk to him about that again.]

...Was it worth it for you, going out?

[He's not asking judgmentally but his tone is hard to read even to his own ears. He's still annoyed he left, but whatever it was for, hopefully it helped him somehow.]

[ Back then, they hadn't been able to see a single thing out there, the details that make up a life scrubbed from sight, lost behind all that white. A blank canvas, like how the movie screen looks right before something frightful, or dazzling, or mythical takes up the full resolution of what's right in front of you. But in that moment right before the lights dim and the curtains pull back, the beginning is all up to your imagination — yeah, that's how it was.

Back then, sitting across from Aki had reminded him a little of what it felt like sitting next to Makima in the dark and watching her cry. What it felt like to share something with someone. But now…

Denji deflates slightly, thinking it over. Was it worth it to shill out for information that doesn't tell him who in the government Aki reports to, where they're taking him next, where he's been, why. Not even north from south, up from bottom. Essentially, a defunct compass.

Really, thinking about it, how Yoshida smiled all throughout, pretending to be helpful… Ugh! His arms stack on each other atop the rails, a nice cushion for him to press his face into and groan, blocked nasal passages and everything. ]

Who knows…

[ Who knows, but he'll make it worth it. It's why he won't apologize for running out like that. Disobeying him. ]

I guess I'll just find out.

[...That's more ominous than he was expecting. He was just going to see a friend, right? Coupled with the stuff he was saying on the phone, now he's really starting to wonder just who this friend is.]

[Aki stands upright and wraps a hand around Denji's shoulder, tugging him away from the balcony.]

Come on. You sound like you have a plugged nose.

[He pulls at him to come back inside, sliding the door open and making brief, but direct eye contact with the devil. She looks away at the same moment he does, both of them sort of... not quite huffing at each other, but clearly dissatisfied by the other's presence. With a continued tug, he aims to get Denji back to the bedroom and back into bed. He needs to find him actual, decent medicine.]

Denji - You're too young to make any mistakes that matter. [He stands over him, watching him to make sure he doesn't sit up or try and do anything but lay flat in the bed.] You keep saying a bunch of cryptic stuff today. Just focus on getting some rest.

[ Denji's steered back inside and to bed, the silent exchange between Aki and Nayuta occurring without a single ding going off on his radar. He did a lot of thinking on his own today, so this should be okay. Having someone tell him to go to sleep and him being able to agree that, yeah, sleep is exactly how it wants to spend the rest of the night. What'd really be nice, though, is to have a day where nothing happens at all, where he doesn't have to play chicken with Aki and he can commit all his hours to dozing for once. He feels like he had a few days like that before. Except the only reason he was able to do something like that was because Aki was treating him like a kid, wasn't it? Like he is now…

It doesn't sit right with him, but thanks to the cleaning Aki did earlier, the fresh covers are too perfectly warm for him to fight either his own youth or Aki's insistence at the moment. ]

…Yeah, okay.

[ Drowsy, half-lidded eyes follow Aki wherever he flits to when they're inside the bedroom. Sleep may be a skip away, but he can't bring himself to simply fall into it without knowing where Aki will be the whole time. Where he might go. ]

Where are ya sleepin' tonight? Outside?

Outside?

[He repeats it with surprise, almost indignation, but that fades when he watches the way Denji is staring up at him, sleepy and like he's moments away from being taken by it. Going out really was a bad idea. He should have done more to stop him.]

I'll be in the other room. You can wake me up, if you need to.

[Though, until the devil goes to bed, he'll probably spend some time on the balcony. Maybe have a cigarette. Aki squats down and pulls the covers up to his neck him before checking his forehead again with the back of his hand.]

...Just get some sleep. I'll still be here. [Said for both of their benefits.]

[ Despite waffling between wanting to be near him and pushing his presence aside, despite lashing out, doing everything possible that'd make anyone else turn tail, anyone else look back at him and guarantee nothing — Aki says he's still going to be here? With his hand taking his temperature, he must feel the moment Denji's body fully slackens, eyes beating for a moment before sliding shut, like his reassurance brings a relief greater than any kind of over-the-counter drug. And that's how Denji falls asleep: breathing more like the gurgle of a stew reaching boiling point, dull shivers making the covers move every so often, but otherwise, every other part of him at rest.

Aki will still be here. Perhaps not by choice, perhaps because he has nowhere else to go. No one else to go to. But it still makes him feel the slightest bit better, though it doesn't last for long.

Hours of tossing and turning pass, fever-induced inflammation causing his muscles to ache, no amount of repositioning able to quell his unconscious fits. He thinks someone forces him to drink water, or maybe it was more of that ginger drink. At one point, someone moves the towel warming his neck to his forehead, too. Unless, maybe, he did that on his own. He could have. He throws the covers off at another point, then whines when he's submerged in cold until small hands throws the blankets back over his form — that would have been Nayuta for sure. He never notices Aki leave or Nayuta settling in, but they both must have entered and exited the bedroom at different intervals.

It's either late night or early morning, time feeling more like a suggestion than a metric, when his fever finally breaks. Whatever it is, it's dark out and there isn't a single squeak coming from the apartment. He squints through the daze of sleep at the ceiling. The first thing he notices is that no one is next to him; the second thing, there aren't any dogs snuffling near his ear, rearranging themselves in their sleep, or licking his face; the third, he really needs to go piss. He turns his head and sees Nayuta's futon separate from Denji's for once, dogs crowded on her side of the room. That explains it.

Stirring from his spot, Denji blindly shuffles out, makes it to the bathroom without issue. Once he's done, he gives his hands a quick rinse, observing the water build between them, then splashing his face. Face still dripping, he sits some of his weight against the sink, collar stretched down to catch up with a friend he hasn't for a while: Pochita. Voice hushed and solemn, not unlike someone sitting in a confessional booth speaking their worst sins to a priest, he briefly goes through the usual pleasantries, then deviates to things like asking if he's getting closer to being happy, to making anyone else happy — as Chainsaw Man or Denji. And he is, isn't he? He has to be…

He flicks the bathroom light off as he comes out, heading back to the bedroom, but stalls at the minute. Reroutes to where Aki's sleeping — he told him that he could wake him up before, but he doesn't really want or need to. All he wants to do is slip under his covers and stay there until light sheathes into the room, and that's precisely what he does. Because he doesn't want to spread his germs to him, he'll be good and not even try to cling to him; he just settles in next to him, side-to-side. It'll be like Denji isn't even there. ]

["You should stay away from him until he's feeling better," he told the devil for some reason. "I don't know if you can get what he has. Since he's not fully human."]

[In response, the devil scoffs at him, not looking away from the cartoon on the TV. "Only stupid people catch colds. I won't get one."]

[For a moment, he thinks about correcting her. No, he could say, stupid people are immune from colds. But she'll turn it on him. Ask how an idiot like Denji got sick. He's repeating the lessons he learned from Power, he realizes, rolling his eyes as he pulls open the balcony door. Going along with what they say when it doesn't matter. And right now, it really doesn't.]

["Aren't you going to make someting?" she asks when he reaches back to shut the door. Aki pauses, looking at her questioningly. "Later. For dinner."]

[...it really does feel like a repeat of that apartment. He glances down at one of the dogs who is sniffing at the balcony door, shaking its head in the breeze and trying to squeeze past Aki to get outside. Aki pushes the door open to allow it. "I'll make something in a few hours. But keep it down for him." She grins like she just tricked him into something but Aki doesn't question it, leaving the door open. At some point, a few more dogs come out and join, panting in the sun and laying in patches of it. It's not big enough for himself and more than two dogs, but each of them seem to try and puddle up in the nice weather. Better than last night, at least.]

[Before dinner he goes in to check on him, but he seems to be fast asleep still and decides to let him stay that way, replacing the rag with a fresh one to keep his head cool. He feeds the devil and she feeds the dogs and takes them out for an evening tinkle, then scribbles about on some form of homework before vanishing into the bedroom with all the animals. Aki finally changes the TV to the news, realizing again - this is just like back then. Waiting until Power and Denji wandered to bed to finally watch the news. There's barely anything of note. Something about a celebrity cheating scandal. He doesn't even know who these actors are. When he finally lays down to sleep, it takes too long and he's restless.]

[That's probably why he wakes up when he hears mumbling. It's coming from the bathroom, he realizes, blinking blearily in the dark as he listens to Denji's faint voice. What is he doing...? Maybe he's talking to the kid? He thinks to sit up but then the door opens and he settles back, eyes closing. Only one set of footsteps, and they stop. Pause. Turn. Maybe he's hungry, Aki thinks tiredly, and considers opening his eyes to tell him there's a plate for him in the fridge. Ginger-baked chicken. Usually he likes chicken. And it'll help him recover. Then the sheet to his bedding is lifted and Aki's eyes blink open, head turning to look at Denji in sleepy surprise.]

What're you doing...? [He rubs at his face, still bleary-eyed.] You don't feel good? [He reaches out to feel for his forehead, but ends up bonking him in the head due to the misjudged distance.] Sit still. [Like it's his fault.]

[ The thwack makes his nose itch, but that's it. No sneeze, no runny sniff. He doesn't swat back or move out of the way. Doesn't recoil from him at all, his entire lower half already wolfed down by the the sheets and sinking deeper still, blankets drawn up over both their shoulders. Denji turns on his side to face him, a plaintive sag to his expression. Remnants from his crying earlier, yeah, but mostly, he's just tired. If Aki happened to, or hell, if he even purposely wanted to chuck his hand in his face again out of nowhere, harder, meaner, Denji would probably let him. Lucid and clear-eyed, waiting for it to happen — except nothing harder than a gentle pat to his forehead ever lands. He lets that happen, too. ]

Nah, I'm better. [ It's up to Aki whether to take his word for it or not. He's cooler, though, if that means anything, his cheeks no longer saturated by a bothersome flush. The hand he reaches toward Aki's face, a parrot to his gesture from just moments ago, is the same temperature as the room they're in. Rugged fingers touch down against the backs of his eyelids, carefully pushing the sheer skin, trying to make them close. You know, in that way soldiers do to their fallen comrades in war movies. ] Go back to sleep.

[ …He'd be surprised if that manages to work on him, stubborn asshole that he is, and regardless of if it does or not, the contact glides down from Aki's eyes. Begins trailing the slope of his nose, just the barest touch of his nails skimming the dip above his mouth, thumb catching his lower lip. Stalling there, grazing his thumb back and forth, like he's dragging the moment out.

Denji doesn't always speak clearly, and several times in the past, Aki's berated him for it in professional settings. But here, he enunciates every syllable of every word: ] I know you don't need to hear this from me. But I don't hate you, either.

[With his hand over his eyes it's easy for Aki to want to slip back into his fitful sleep. They stay closed even when Denji lowers his hand, curls into him, traces his lip. He's expecting him to say something, can feel the atmosphere of Denji preparing something to say. Thankfully he's still awake when he finally does.]

...I know you don't.

[He opens his eyes to look at him, briefly, then closes them again and lays back. Exhales quietly through his nose.]

You're acting like a dog who just dug up a garden.

[Pacing back and forth, anxious, grinning with stress because he knows whatever he did was bad. Is that why he was laughing on the phone...? Like he does a lot, he draws a conclusion about Denji and it's the wrong one.]

I'm not mad at you about the box. Or going out. Or... whatever. So stop beating yourself up over it.

[ …So no fight, after all. Maybe Aki's really that tired, or maybe Denji's always been just a little off-center about the kind of person he is. It wouldn't be the first time he got the facts wrong. Wanted something to be true that wasn't, because it'd be simpler that way, because if Aki were more stubborn, more of an asshole, like how he's known other men to always be, smiles cut from contempt, an easy to pinpoint hatred in their eyes — then he wouldn't wonder why.

Why isn't he mad? Why doesn't he hate him? If he doesn't hate Denji, does he…

Face half-buried in his shoulder now, his own eyes closed, Denji sets his hand lower. Much lower, palm slowly sweeping up and down his navel. ]

…Yeah. I won't beat myself up over it. I'll just beat you off, instead.

[ He says it like it's the only natural course, like it makes sense to him. And it does, really. The only way the thoughts in his head won't boomerang from corner to corner is if he isn't thinking at all. And the easiest way to not think is to do sex stuff.

Forget that not a few seconds ago, he told him to go back to sleep. Technically, he still can if he wants, and if he starts snoring, Denji won't even get mad at him or anything, either. That'd be kinda dickish, knowing what he knows from today. Knowing what he did. ]

Edited 2024-01-24 00:01 (UTC)

[Yeah, yeah. Funny joke. That's all Aki thinks, until he recognizes that the hand sliding down his front isn't simply in search of a way to settle his arm over him, that he's aiming for a specific spot. Aki startles, his hips flinching like he just found out the stove he was leaning on was turned on.] Fuck, Denji -

[He pushes himself up on a hand, turning to stare down at him, eyes pinched with sleep.]

What the hell are you doing...? I just told you, I'm not mad.

[He sounds exhausted, agitated. Because he is. What kind of shit is he thinking, that he can just reach down and give him a handy...?!]

[ Only shifting his position just enough to comfortably meet Aki's bleary gaze, Denji uses the very hand he'd tried to sexually harass him with in his sleep to pat the spot he'd just vacated, trying to persuade him back down. ]

Sure, you're not mad. Whatever you say. [ Even though, to him, he looks pre-tty miffed. Not that it has a single thing to do with his actions from a few seconds ago. ] Then just lemme do something good for you. It doesn't have to be a big deal…

[Why doesn't he believe him...? Did he seem that upset earlier? Is this about last night? What he talked to him about? His eyes clear a little more and Aki raises them to the ceiling, annoyance creeping over him. Doesn't have to be a big deal. Since when? Nothing Denji does is for nothing. Even if it's something that only makes sense to him, it always has some purpose.]

Horny brat. [His hands pin down on either side of him and he leans into the crook of his neck, nipping his skin before pressing his lips into the same spot. If he's not going to believe him, then he has to show him - though there's a petty part of him that also doesn't want to do the things he's told to do by someone like Denji. This is why he's so susceptible to reverse psychology, he supposes.] Everything's a big deal to you.

[ It's not really that he's married to the idea that Aki's upset with him; it's that he can't fathom what him not being upset means. What acceptance looks like, and if it's deserved after today. If it's even that important that Denji doesn't deserve it. God, he may not feel as sick anymore, but his mind's still as bad of a clusterfuck as ever — but he hopped into Aki's bed knowing what he wanted at least. Knowing what he could do.

An odd twinge passes over his features, a stutter to his breathing, like he's enjoying feeling the cut of Aki's teeth edge along the veins in his neck, but doesn't want to. ]

Shut up. [ His hand rises, wrapping around the tube of the other hybrid's neck, trying to push him back as Denji half-lifts himself from the ground by his elbows, their noses brushing in the movement — trying, but from this distance, he can't help himself. He pitches too close for what he expects to be a flicker, quick as the pinch of pain when the tip of an IV first sinks into your arm, but his mouth, dehydrated, a little cracked, lingers lopsidedly against Aki's lips.

Everything's a big deal to you, and this isn't exactly proving him wrong, but trying to swallow the argument before it can form into something that can hurt him is certainly a choice. ]

I was supposed to — to do the work. I wanna be the one the touch you all over.

No.

[The short, brief denial comes without a pause. Whatever it is Denji is dealing with, Aki doesn't want to feed into. If it's guilt, or something like that, even though he doesn't know what he would be guilty for. Does he still feel guilty for thinking he killed him? For not finding him for a year? None of that is anything he should still be beating himself up over, so Aki won't lay back and let him feel sorry for himself over something like that.]

[No, if anyone should feel guilty, it's Aki.]

[He pushes at him to lay down again, one hand hard on his shoulder to guide him back into the thin bedding on the floor as the other moves lower.]

I'm not here to make you feel better about yourself. Whatever you're stressed about - Just let it out. [And his hand slips down beneath his boxers, no hesitation at all in the movement.]

[ Aki reverses the situation, pushes him into the futon like he's shoving down a pet who keeps resting its chin on his knee during mealtime. He balks, makes confused, shivery noises as his drawers ease down his thighs, skin smooth like after shedding old molt; he's not fully up yet, but he's probably harder than Aki, at least. A horny brat will always be a horny brat, even if this one was indeed still beating himself up, wasn't trying to use Aki, but he was, he was trying —

Take responsibility comes to mind, but that's not what this was. Responsibility involves clear admission. He hasn't exactly been honest with Aki.

And maybe Denji was too transparent — whenever something stabs or shreds him apart, he's always so messy about it, so incapable of keeping himself strung together. Even as his body sloughs off the pain and pastes itself back into shape, he can never successfully hide that he was still hurt once. The ache can stop battering his nerve endings, but his muscles, his fingers, the different points of his body will still twitch and seize up in the memory. It's the same thing when he knows he's done something wrong. Dug up the garden, as Aki so kindly put it. When he doesn't feel better or worse for it, but he knows he should, he'll feel the guilt gurgitate and grow like vegetation that's been fed too much plant food. ]

Okay. [ Though Aki shook his attempts off before, he tries a second time to slide his hands past the waist of his bottoms. ] Okay, okay… Then, you too.

[As expected, Aki is far from hard, soft in his sweatpants and uninterested in Denji's somewhat careful attempts to bully his way down there. His eyes dart down for a moment when he does so again and he sighs, growing annoyed. He's so...]

[Unwillingly, he's thinking about her. When he told her Makima had saddled him with two devils to house. Back then, they only hooked up once every few weeks. Usually when drunk, usually without discussion. Because it was always an apology. If she was feeling bad or upset about something in the past. If he was stressed about the future. If a mission went bad. She'd do something just like this, crawl into his bed at night and feel him up and jack him off until he woke up, startled, groaned. But it was a mutual thing. And when he told her about Denji and Power, she'd said so casually, "Damn, I've been feeling so off lately, too." That made him realize how much things had just changed much more than the soy sauce stains on the wall and the shit smell from the toilet.]

[Sometimes he just wanted it to be for him. Can he blame Denji for that? Can he ask him for that, too? But he shouldn't.]

You know how to... [He trails off. Isn't sure how to ask this. It still feels weird to ask Denji about anything dirty.] With both of them, together. Do you know how to do that?

[ Curiosity and concern for his own gap in understanding of what Aki's describing join as one in the earnest look that lands upon the space between their legs, where both their dicks lay flaccid. Well, Denji's is beginning to perk just from having some attention on him — which, right now, feels embarrassing. That he's the only one even slightly aroused. Of course, he wants to do something for Aki; it's what he'd claimed he'd wanted from the beginning, and though Aki called him out on that not being all the way true, on being self-centered…

He still really wants to make this work for them both. Something nice to connect them after a day of sweeping things under the rug. Slowly, he begins to nod. ]

Uh, yeah. Think I've seen picture or two of that before…

[ To elaborate: He saw it once in a magazine, still images of two well-built men holding their full-sized erections together from different angles. At the time, he thought it was a really funny way to compare sizes, but now…

Denji brings his palm up this mouth for him to lick, wetting it, so that when he slicks his hand around Aki's head, there's some lubricant to help coax it into a fuller shape. With a soft grunt, his own hips boost up from the sheets a few increments, trying to press what's filled out adjacently to Aki's. ]

Like this…? Or something else?

[The weird way he licks his hand to wet it, it's... It shouldn't be that cute. It shouldn't make his heart jump like that. But it's cute. Kind of gross, but cute. Aki lowers his gaze so he doesn't have to look at him while thinking that.]

...Yeah. Like that.

[The position is a little uncomfortable. With Denji below him, that means he has to cant his hips up which isn't really fair. He also knows this is going to really hurt his back, so... He backs up and motions Denji to come with him, eventually sitting down and attempting to pull him into his lap. It's a lot closer and a lot more intimate than leaning over him in bed, somehow. He literally had him laying in his lap not twelve hours ago, but somehow this feels like untreaded territory. Maybe because he's not as high over him when seated like this. Even if it's only a few inches.]

Are you stressed out? [It comes out kind of awkward. As if he's digging for another reason for this, something he can accept more than a simple feeling of guilt he doesn't think he should be feeling. But stress - everyone feels stress.]

[ Much better. Denji notches into the new position, sitting in the middle of Aki's lap, legs loosely wrapped around his waist. Naturally, he reaches with both hands to clumsily draw their cocks together again, but he pauses, sensing that Aki wants to — talk?

It feels like ages since Denji's been able to look at him without wanting to look immediately away, but that doesn't seem right; it probably hasn't been that long at all, but it just feels that way due to feeling sick. Feeling far away, in general. No closer to bringing Aki all the way home, nor to being the normal kid he seems so wretchedly to want for Denji. ]

…Probably. [ He brings one of his hands up to Aki's cheek. In the past, Denji's poked at him, stretched the skin of it, tried to upturn the corner of his mouth into a weird smile, but for now, he simply strokes his thumb up against his under eye. He looks a little tired. ] But it doesn't get better, does it? With growing up. [ He gives a wan laugh. More of a huff, really, nothing like the frenetic fit he'd fallen to over their call. ] What a pain in the ass.

[This position is definitely better. Even if it means he has to lift his head to look up at Denji as he strokes his thumb below his eye, he can deal with that. The friction of their cocks sliding together is exactly what he was looking for.]

...In some ways, it does. [This feels like a white lie. It gets worse as you age, he would have said maybe a year ago. But now...] You learn how to deal with it.

[Though Denji doesn't deal with things the same way he does, so maybe he's wrong about that. Aki settles his hand at the small of Denji's back to keep him seated close.]

Just go up and down. Keep it slow. [He's still mostly soft, himself, but doing something like this won't keep him that way for long.]

[ Dealing with it. With things like this, he can only guess he means.

Now that they've fooled around a few times he doesn't have to try hard to imagine Aki seeking refuge, in people. Or in little things, like when he'd see him leaning against the balcony, watching the different parts of the neighborhood wake up, dancing and flitting around like tiny-footed sparrows tapping at a window.

Falling back into what's simple. That's what Denji tries to do now, staring down intently at his hands unhurriedly pumping up and down, lip bitten in keen focus. At first, it just feels like skin buffing and bumping against skin — about as arousing as rubbing their elbows together, but the more he continues dragging his palms between them, the more he feels a quiet friction start to spark. Flint striking tinder, again. Again. Again, until Denji's barely noticed himself begin to pant, eyes glassy and dilated like a dog's in low light. ]

[Aki couldn't say exactly what it is about this that he enjoys. Maybe the sweet, constant friction that he can't fully control when someone else is doing it, the responsiveness of their movements that tells him how much Denji is enjoying it and feeds into his own enjoyment. When he hears the sound of his pants and raises his eyes to see him, the glassy sheen to his expression, he thinks this must be part of it, too. The indecency of it, the rough act of rubbing two dicks together. It feels good. He's hard even before he's panting, his hips flinching lightly toward each stroke, gently jostling Denji where he sits in his lap.]

That's good. Just like that.

[Sometimes Denji likes being told he's done well and other times it seems like he shies away from it like he's aware how much he likes it and shouldn't. Or maybe that's his own projection. He remembers when Himeno called him out on his tail essentially thumping in glee after a good report from Makima. It wasn't even because it was her. The relief of doing something right, of being on the right path... It's an addictive feeling.]

Feels good? [His hand slides up from his lower back to hold onto his shoulder, creep towards his neck and brush over his throat with his thumb. He pushes at his chin so he'll look up, so they can make eye contact. And like he's answering his supposition,] This is one way.

Feels good — you feel — really good, [ he chokes out, voice dry. Not that he can hear himself, the sound of Aki's breathing the loudest thing to him at this very moment.

He hates it a little, that when Aki encourages his neck to open, his chin to lift, he doesn't really need the guidance. Doesn't need the cradling, the swipe of his thumb, not even the blue of his eyes on him. Hates that Aki's voice — the twining notes of what likely is approval, of what may be affection — is enough to turn him into something lesser than a dog. Just a mass that can't stop shaking, just a pair of hips aching to be pressed flush somewhere, just a cock jumping out of alignment from Aki's, suddenly slippery. But he remedies that quickly, brings them back together, cupped hands pulsing down, then up again, harder, trimmed nails on both cocks tracing the route of their veins. Thinking it might lead to the same place. ]

How else? [ Breathless urgency in his tone, like knowing is his only key to turning coal to gold, a silvery bullet to a translucent pearl. Is this how wolves felt when they discovered the moon? One of his hands separates to feel up the glans of their penises, around their meshed heads, red and flexing, mixing their precome together with a swirl of his palm. ] How else — do you deal with it? Show me.

[Should he fuck him? Could he just lift him up and sink into him? No - the devil is in the other room. She'll definitely hear. And the dogs, too. They'll definitely hear. If they aren't already, with Denji talking like that, his hand moving so rapidly over him it makes him want to groan and add his own voice to the mix. He can hear his breath, tight and heavy, wants to lean forward and kiss him to shut him up as much as he wants to keep listening to him beg Aki how to stop stressing over things you can't control.]

...Let go. [He swats Denji's hand away, taking the place of it and stroking them both off together with long, heavy strokes.] Feels good to do it - like this, with your whole palm. [He's made such a mess of them both that the precome covering them is more than enough lubrication, but he still lifts his hand to spit into it, curl it back around and continue stroking.] Get into a good rhythm... Until you're almost there. Til you're close. You're... You probably come fast, don't you.

[He doesn't wait to see if that's true this time. The moment he thinks he sees it, a height in his pleasure on a really good stroke, Aki shifts to only grabbing Denji and clenches tight, tight around the base of his cock. Squeezing in a fierce circle to halt the flow of blood, the flow of anything. Then holds him like that, doesn't let go. Waits to see how he'll react.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject