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

[Why is it so intense with him? Aki can remember this kind of intensity, not long after he lost his virginity. The intense desire to do it again, do it more, do it better. Is that what this is? But then why does he feel it, too? It's like the food thing he told him - Denji isn't plain soba. Far from it. Maybe that's why his hands are running down to grab and fondle his ass when he climbs over him, kissing messily against his haphazard movements. What did he just say...?]

[He thinks he said something. Something like I like you. But Aki knew that. Is that all he means?]

Yeah? [He can feel the dangle of his cord on his chest. If he pulled it, he might just die right here. What would that be like?] Yeah - Obviously. [Since he's basically devouring him right now, tongue halfway down his throat, humping him like a dog in heat. God, it would be so easy to slip right in, watch him ride his cock and bounce on his hips. He bite down on his lower lip and releases it with a tug before moving back in to deepen the kiss again.] But you just want it.

Yeah.

[ He's not disagreeing, because, well, look at him. He's plainly tipsy off helping him orgasm, his ass hoisting up of its own accord, lifting and thrusting back into Aki's kneading palms. Pressing against him like he wants it to hurt. When whatever sounds he makes isn't getting swallowed down Aki's throat like a cartridge sinking into a gun barrel, he's pulling away to smother his lips into his jugular, voice hampered by how his teeth saw back-and-forth against a bulging vein. Denji isn't shy about how much he aches for it; it's all he's been fantasizing about since he can remember — to hold somebody, to be held by somebody. A mutual devouring.

But there's a strange cant to how he words that last part, one that forms a pocket of confusion — doubt — anxiety in Denji's chest. That feeling he gets when he can tell he's missing something important. He'd usually be able to ignore it, carry on doing whatever he pleases, but, face drawn in concentration, his lips worry at his tacky skin, refusing to let up even as a mottled mark flowers and pricks up at Aki's neck. ]

But I want it like — you want it, right?

[As usual, maybe, he misunderstands. Aki believes he understands Denji, can see what it is he wants and what he's asking for. He wants sex, he wants him to fuck him again, pull him down on his length and fill him full. But he adds that confirmation and that picture of Denji cracks a bit. You want it like I want it, right?]

[Aki would say, no. He doesn't want it like Denji wants it. He wants to be the one in control, moving as he pleases, grabbing him tight by the hips and thrusting in. But why does Denji think that's what he wants? Logic tells him he must not be understanding. Instinct tells him Denji is simply wrong.]

[Denji is lonely and childish. A brute and narrow-minded. Wants sex, but more than that, wants connection.]

[How much of that applies to Aki?]

You think you can?

[When he's more sober, less high off this heat, the friction of their bodies, he'd probably look at that question and recognize it as misdirection, a purposeful pull toward what's easier to stomach right now. But in this moment it's something easy to fall back on. Easier to trick him with a treat than with a real conversation, his head tilting back to allow access to his throat. Throwing him a bone. Laying back to avoid a fight. Maybe the old Aki would never do this, sink to this low. Why does it feel like a low with him?]

You can - on top?

[ He can — on top, under him, facing away. It always feels good when it's with Aki, because it's Aki, because he can believe he's doing something that he likes and that he wants and that his neck will readily bow into the crowns of his canines.

Unbidden, an old superstition the farmers and ranchers out in the countryside would tell comes to mind. Something about how a hare will sometimes jump into predator's mouth when there's no way out. Sort of a weird analogy, one he'd always related back to affection, closeness; in his head, it'd always felt like hunting a skittish thing down through a dense forest. But he doesn't think that really applies here, because Aki wants him back. He's half-sure that it's not with the same intensity or all the time, but when he looks straight up at him like this, he can talk himself into thinking that the person he's looking at isn't Chainsaw Man or some brat he got stuck with. It's Denji.

And when he lifts his head to look back down at him, Denji can trust it's not the Gun or the fiend open firing at him, wickedly hot metal converging on flesh. Not a bullet casing of a person holding unignited gunpowder. It's Aki.

Denji nods, earnestly. Slicking a hand up Aki's shaft, he guides him, pacing himself as he drags his hole over his head, rubbing against his rim — knowing full well that he should stretch himself out first, but figuring that it hasn't been that long since they last had sex, so maybe it doesn't really matter, maybe it's all the same. He wasn't good at it the last time, and he still has trouble with the angling, but he's quicker at least with the downward press, groaning with the sink and the ache rooting up his very core as he pulls Aki in to the hilt.

He's so gullible, so stupid, he can't see the difference between a treat and a trick even as it's watching his every move. ]

[He moves on him so eagerly, pulling him inside before Aki can even blink. Is this right...? He doesn't know. Sex has always been a transaction in his life, an excuse to feel good while making the other feel good as an equal trade. After a rough day, decompressing in the arms of another. That's the same right now. It's not about closeness or respect or - love. It's about feeling good. That's all Denji is ever after, of course.]

[He thinks back, his hands sliding down to hold his hips as he adjusts himself before him, feels the heavy weight of his body seated on him. The flutter of his muscles and the tightness weaved around him. Even without stretching he fits him so well. Yeah, that's where he can start. That's what Denji likes, he's pretty sure.]

You fit me so good.

[He's staring up at him, eyes locked on his. Watching for his reactions, watching to see if this is an improvement. He isn't just taking, he wants to assure himself. This is giving, too.]

Spread your legs open... You take it so well. [Denji likes being praised. It's the easiest way to manipulate him. Tell him he's doing something right and he'll puff up like a peacock. He slides his hand down to his abdomen and feels where he is below the skin, how deep he's sunk. Presses down with the pad of his thumb.] Such a good boy.

[ It doesn't matter how many times Aki says it, the effect is the same: A jolt belts it straight from his spine to his soaked hole. Thighs jumping apart, his hips instinctively rabbit hop, then crash back forward again with a squelch of the come he'd used to grease himself up. ]

A-Ahhh…

[ He garbles out, air staggering out from his chest, drunk and sloppy, as if he'd just gotten punched in the face. Aki's hands on him are steadying, but not enough to stop his heart from quivering like a familiar chord strummed from a harp — Makima used to play this tune like a natural-born musician. Reze, too, once. Denji has always wanted to be good in someone's eyes, something you think twice about before discarding. When you're good, you're allowed certain privileges: adoration, independence, a home to come back to, and someone to welcome you in at the door. And he thinks, for the most part, he's done a good job at being good.

Except when he hasn't. Except when he's been bad.

Aki whispered the same two words to him to earlier, and that'd been easy to accept, a folded up note slipped under the gap of a door. But this? Looking at him head on after what he did? ]

I —

[ Denji's throat moves with the glob of spit he's swallowing. He pulls himself off of him, chin tucked to his chest. ]

Sorry. Can't do it.

[The brief light of thinking he got through in some way, that this night won't end like the previous night, is snuffed out faster than the toe of a shoe crushing a cigarette. Denji pulls off him all at once and his cock limps down, half-hard. Aki watches him pull his chin in tight, avoiding him when he was trying so hard to keep his eyes on him. Something hit him, just then. And he doesn't know what it was. If it's the same thing that brought him here in the first place.]

Denji.

[Coaxing, he reaches for him, slides his hands up his sides and to his shoulders. Tugs him to move over him again.]

You want to be on top?

[Top-top. The thing he asked for once, or assumed he could have, and Aki shot him down like he was asking for candy before dinner. An obvious no. But the situation has changed now. He's trying to make this less about himself. Denji was the one who crawled in here, who fisted his hand around him and started trying to jerk him off. And for what? What was he looking for, in that moment? Whatever it is, Aki can't give it to him if he doesn't tell him what he wants. So maybe offering a higher tier reward will change his tune. Make him forget whatever it is that's made him so guilty. Like he's pacing in front of a mess that he wasn't even around to cause. He told him he would let him get it out of his system. What better way than this?]

Press a finger in. You can do it. [He whispers that to him, heart thrumming loud in his ears. Because it's been awhile since he did this, and he refused to let Denji do it for a specific reason: he's a wildcard. But who better to take that than Aki?]

I thought you didn't trust me.

[ The statement races from him — a hint of accusation bungling its way to the surface for a moment, but its his undisguised confusion that wins out. Aki'd said that his trust in him wasn't what was being questioned, back when Denji first got on his back about giving it a try, but he'd known better deep down. Hadn't taken it to heart, really. Didn't even see it as a slight at the time, because Denji wouldn't trust a guy like him, either. However, now that the opportunity's re-presented itself, he eyes him with a shimmering keenness, like a pickpocket zeroing in on a newly minted fortune he can get away with, simply by brushing his fingers near the right place. ]

I mean — yeah. [ His voice draws soft as he dips back in to give Aki's neck one last suck, his hand rubbing a wet spot at the jut of Aki's hip, thumbing their juices over his fingers until there's an equal spread. A little cold by now, but it should work. Unless he's been taking it up the ass the entire time he's been a military asset, he's probably going to be really tight, right? ] I want to.

[ If that's what Aki wants.

He breathes out slow as he shifts slightly more upright, using one hand to force up Aki's leg into a fold to easily duck a hand under his scrotum, tracing slowly down his taint to find that telltale ring of skin. When he feels the ridges come under his fingertips, Denji pauses — then taps at it, like he's testing for a reaction to see if he's got the right place. And no matter if Aki confirms it to him or not, he'll makes a satisfied noise. Pulling away from his neck to watch Aki's face up close, transfixed, as the point of his first finger pushes aside pinched skin to disappear inside him, joint by joint, until his knuckle hits the rim. ]

More?

[...Doesn't trust him? Well... To be honest, he kind of doesn't. Kind of expects him to jackrabbit inside him for a minute, bust his load, and then pull out. But did he say that much out loud?]

[He's trying to remember when Denji seems to forego the issue, himself, dropping down and sucking on his neck, and it's that motion that makes him wonder if he has a hickey. If he can even have a hickey. Can Denji...? He doesn't know. Maybe not after what he told him to do. He gives him a nod when he sits up, then another with a furrowed brow when he taps on him like that. Exactly what did he think it would do, open like an automatic door?]

[But even though it's been awhile - going on two years, he thinks - the sensation is oddly familiar. Not like riding a bike, or anything so coded in his muscle memory, but more like tasting something he hasn't had in years. The recipe didn't change, but maybe the chef did. Or something like that. And this chef is staring at him with those big, brown eyes.]

Yeah.

[Who did he last do it with...? Himeno, probably, since she would finger him when sucking him off. But who before that? Another dead person, he assumes. Someone long gone who Denji wouldn't even know. Couldn't even say Oh, that guy, if Aki brought him up. Who else remembers them? As his thoughts go toward that dark space he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to rid them, forget about them. At least for now.]

Hook them up. Like I did. [It probably looks like he's grimacing. He's not, but he does his best to open his eyes again, stare back at Denji without looking totally miserable. Now he's the one killing the mood.]

[ Abruptly, two more fingers pile inside of Aki, joining the one he already has opening him — hooked and pushing in, far as he can go.

In the same movement, he pulls his face away, leaving behind a mark at his neck, one that'll have paled out of existence by morning. But it's fine. What matters is getting a better angle, a better look at what he's got to work with, which he quickly realizes isn't anything new. Just skin: warm and moist as it rings around his clustered digits, welcoming him in, despite the fit; it shouldn't make his head spin the way it does, but it's — so weird and soft, softer than he ever imagined. It's almost as if he's feeling up the vulnerable underside of a dog's belly. ]

Stretchy…

[ It isn't long until his fingertips pass over a squishy bulb, a dead ringer for the one Aki always hits inside of him. Merciless. Mean. Leaning forward, Denji squeezes his other hand tight around his thigh, forcing it up against his stomach. His thinking is that by spreading him wide, he'll have easier access to the thing. And he does, because shortly after, his fingers are lifting, wriggling against his walls, massaging hard into his prostate. ]

Aki?

[ He looks up, bright-eyed, hoping to see him dumbed out the way Denji always is when he feels too good, but that pained expression… His hand slows. What's he thinking about? Is it how bad he's doing? Or is it that it's him and not someone else? Confusion scrawled all over his expression, his voice rises again, questioningly. ]

What's wrong? I did it like you told me to.

[Immediately being jabbed with three fingers is painful, but Aki doesn't voice this or tell him to stop. It's the good kind of pain. He knows it is. He can't see Denji backing up to look at him but he can imagine it and the brief sensatin of shame coupled with frustration at these stupid memories keeps his eyes shut. At least, until he starts jabbing at his prostate.]

[His muscles spasm under the attack, breath catching, but he can't focus on it. Can't clear his mind enough for that. "Aw, there you go. That's where you like it." Her fucking voice is in his ear, her eye, her smirk. The thicker fingers of a man, the difference in pressure. Chewing into his forearm to try and keep his voice down. The part he was never good at. He only realizes how badly he's cringing, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight, when Denji says his name.]

[His eyes blink open and one stupid, pointless tear runs down the side of his face, but when he blinks again they're gone and he's staring up at Denji, confused, questioning - worried. If not for Aki, then for himself. It hits him then, that this isn't fair to him. That he must have denied him this for a more subconscious reason.]

No - It's good.

[It obviously isn't. It is and it isn't. Is he just not ready for this? Is this what happens to someone who doesn't try to recover normally? How is he meant to recover from all of this normally? What would be left if he was able to move on from them? Gun squeezes the pistol in his grip, shows him where to put his fingers. Just go it alone.]

...I told you. It's been awhile. [Ignoring that. Ignoring anything to do with that.] Just keep going, that - felt good. [It did, kind of, but he sounds about as convincing as a mother praising her son's crayon-made family portrait. Encouragement based on something other than truth.]

[ When it hurts, when the flight from heaven nose-dives into a purgatorial anguish so hot and searing he can imagine his cerebral cortex sizzling like pancake batter from receiving too much sensory input, that always feels good to Denji. Because it works the same way as pleasure, darking out his thoughts until all that's left is blankness. The total absorption of light; a protective barrier. That's half the joy of becoming Chainsaw Man, all the cognition in his already clunky head simplified into ignition. Gears, cogs, and pumping metal. He has no one else to think about, just himself.

By association, it should feel good to be able to give that to Aki. To help him be just as selfish. It should be a green flag that he can feel the clench set in around his fingers, the good shake. So why doesn't it? Why does he feel scummy and awful and responsible for the teardrop streaking down his face?

Why does it feel like he should stop? ]

Okay.

[ But he doesn't. He only knows how to follow after someone else's lead, opening the doors Pochita warns him against looking inside. Hurt the people who invite him in. Overstay his welcome.

Maintaining the same speed, Denji considers reducing his fingers down to two, but he opts for adjusting his wrist to keep away from Aki's prostrate instead. The hand crushed around his thigh then slides slow, down to take in the length of him, lightly stroking up and down, trying to temper out the ache with something that he's more certain feels better, at least. It's probably too soon to be touching his cock again, but what are his other options? He doesn't know how to make Aki feel good any more than he knows how to make him happy. ]

[It's too sudden, too much touch, when Denji starts stroking up his length and releasing his thigh. He reaches down all too quickly and grabs him by the wrist, halting him immediately, though the fingers inside him aren't an issue right now. No, it's that Denji is overthinking this. He isn't supposed to be the one thinking. He's infamous for not thinking. If he's thinking, he'll ask questions. So Aki reaches for him to drag him back over, coax him close. Kissing is safer.]

Just like that. [Another repeated praise. Hollow, but it's there. He bends his leg at the knee and spreads it out more, allowing him to press in as far as he likes.] Just been awhile. Takes a minute. [He shifts his hips to guide him toward his prostate again, unsure if he's simply missing it or avoiding it, and his other hand pulls him around the neck to keep him close. He doesn't want him to back up, ask more questions. He just wants him to do it.]

[Little sounds of pleasure curl from his lips if he does it like he's guiding him. But otherwise he's trying to stay neutral. No grimaces, no groans. Keep him on the right track.]

[ Dirt in the dustpan. That's how simple he should be to sweep up, outmaneuver. Anything can be a meal for Denji, whether its a wonton shell without any filling or empty-calorie words Aki doesn't mean — that's part of how Makima got to him. Don't think, just do; don't pause at the door, don't check the peephole for who's standing on the other side, just open it. Not that Aki's at that level, it's just ever since that day, and all the days after, the one thing Denji's wanted to do is make it up to him and Power. He doesn't think he's even gotten close.

His heady breaths shudder into the kiss, like he's imagining his own hole getting fucked open right now. Fueled by the mirror fantasy of Aki beating into his prostrate, Denji pounds his fingers in, palm slapping into his ass cheeks, can feel it ripple out in his skin. Presses in so roughly he could leave a permanent dent inside him. God, he hopes so. ]

Want you bad. Want you — right now.

[ For a moment, his face draws back, and Denji unwittingly does what Aki doesn't want him to do. He asks a question. ]

You want me, too, right?

[ It may be worded differently from his question earlier, but he's essentially asking the same thing. What do you want, Aki? ]

[He's pushing him harder and harder and Aki wants to grab him and roll him over, shove him down into the bed and show him how to really do it. He can feel how desperate he's getting even before he speaks up and it's good, it's good to feel him get so into it. Forgetting about whatever else. Focusing on this moment, nothing else. Then they part with Denji sitting back and looking down at him, those damn eyes. That damn question. Different shape, same poison. He could punch him, sometimes.]

[Aki doesn't want anything. Ever since he died, he ceased wanting anything. Not freedom, not happiness, not peace. He's smart enough to recognize those are temporary feelings. Fleeting, transient. You can't lean on peace. A bird born in a cage would think flying free is a crime, just like a boy born in a city would think that wilderness must surely be owned. There is no such thing as freedom when you're property to a government. He can't lay back and enjoy anything.]

[Denji can, though.]

Yeah.

[And maybe thanks to the way he was just fucking his hole like that, Aki speaks and it comes out breathy, a little shocked. He couldn't sound honest if he said No right now. Is this like asking for an ice cream flavor you've never had? Taking a sample spoon and testing it out? He has no idea what Denji would be like. Surely no one who he's ever done this with before.]

Yeah - Do it.

[And as much time as he spends convincing himself he doesn't want anything and, even moreso, doesn't need anything, there's a mix of those things in his eyes as he stares up at him. Waiting with bated breath.]

[ For a moment, he's unable to look away from Aki's gaze, the deepest waters he's ever waded. Unable to think with this stupid pressure intensifying behind his eyes, hot enough to blind him, or kill him, who cares which comes first. That person wouldn't be Denji, that's for sure. It's not like he's never heard similar lines before, said in fallacy, like a fictional story someone's only reciting to soothe an anxious child before bed. Too good to be true, but too good to let go of completely — that's what love is to him, the golden city he's been searching for since before his eyes could perceive light, could know that a human being can't live without it.

Maybe what he hears from Aki isn't quite a confession to anything, isn't a surrender or an admission or — or even the truth. What it is, though, is something for Denji to latch on to. And that's what he does. That's what he has a latent talent for.

Giving one last sloppy, long-fingered shove into him, he pulls his hand back, barely casting a glance at the mess before swirling his tongue up the mixed slick filming his own palm, making sure to mine the gaps. Food's food. You don't let it go to waste. Bed sheets rustling, he balances on his knees at the fork between Aki's legs, head in a total as he uses his other hand to stroke himself off; he's slippery and hard again, uselessly so. Well, no, that's not right, there is one use for him, and Denji's grappling for it right now. ]

S-Shit, hold still.

[ Denji's the one that can't keep still, really. His tip touches the rim, squishing against his hole without actually violating it, slipping up and down — not even to tease him; he's just that nerve-wracked, gobsmacked. It's not nearly wide enough as he needs it to be, but it's dripping and Denji's never had much foresight when it comes to these things, anyway, so fuck! Fuck it!

He doesn't think about the angle or that his hand, the one slathered in spit, is bruisingly rucking Aki's thigh up again, nearly lifting his ass off the ground. He only cares about that first shallow push of his hips, slow, because he's only barely in and he already feels so overwhelmed, so swallowed into a stretched out heat he's never experienced before, moving and twitching around him. The take's fall-apart tender and soft, just like the first time he had niku udon, a piece of beef sliding down his throat — but better, the stuff of dreams. Painful, too, because the squeeze is more than he ever expected, but that's fine. That tells him he's awake, that this isn't just imagination, that he really is losing his virginity to Aki a second time. And that's the best part, isn't it? It's Aki, so it's fine, it's fine. He keeps telling himself that, hissing tightly, trying to keep himself from falling forward just like that and senselessly thrusting in like an animal giving in to the compulsion to procreate. He can do this. He can be who Aki needs him to be. ]

Stay — like that. Just like that, [ he gasps, hips withdrawing to push back in, deeper, deeper, picking up where his fingers left off in working him open. ] Oh, fuck, fuck, Aki. Holy shit, I'm fucking you.

[The initial push tells him what he already knew - he should have gotten lube. Denji tears into him and Aki lets his head fall back with a gentle groan, the arch of his back from where he tries to complement the way Denji is holding him up by the thigh painful on top of that. Muscular pain mixed with nerve pain. He presses his palm into the sweaty bedding and forces his eyes open, meeting Denji's bright golden pupils that look blown out like he's drugged. Like he's killing something.]

[Fuck, it feels good. Teeth grit, he can only stare up at him with a pinched expression, clearly in pain but the kind of pain you get after a good fight. To the victor go the spoils, or whatever they say. Who is which, here?]

Good... Just like that. [No notes, no readjustments so he hits the right spot. He wants to see how he does this, his first time. When he brushes over the tangle of nerves right below his dick, brief enough that it makes his hips bounce and cock jerk, his eyes flutter closed as he lets out a long sigh.] Keep your voice down.

[Like it even matters at this point.]

[ How is he supposed to keep it down when everything else is rushing him in all directions, amplified, like one of those surround sound systems in a movie theater? Each muscle flex, each breath Aki chokes on, so coarse and undignified and different from his usual temperament, is something he can feel reverberating straight down the length of his cock. Making him swell that much harder.

The joints of his knuckles are rigid, white as stone, as he presses his other hand into the center of Aki's stomach, for leverage at first, as he swings his hips down with his entire body weight to finally bottom out, but a spark of surprise flashes in his eyes. He slows his thrusts, watching in fascination as toned skin bulges and ripples beneath his palm, like how the foliage shimmers when a camouflaged animal slithers into hiding. In, out, then back in again. ]

Woah, I'm… moving inside of you.

[ Fuck, no wonder Aki likes topping so much — it doesn't make sense how good this feels. To see his own impact, to know that with a little shift of his angling, he can get him aching for him, craving to be filled and defiled by him like it's something he can live off of. Ration his meals to make it last longer.

If Denji buries himself far enough into him, maybe he could make a nice grave to die happy in.

Still pounding into him, Denji bites back his moan — trying to be quiet, not just because Aki asked him to, but because he wants to be able to hear every priceless hitch in his voice — by shoving his mouth into the side of Aki's leg. And finding a soft, clear spot to sink his teeth into. ]

[It was so easy to accept Denji was a devil, back then, and part of that was his teeth that looked like they belonged on a beast rather than a boy. Feeling them sink into the soft flesh of his thigh, his muscle mass gives way within seconds and blood drips from the wound and Aki watches in shock, the little roll of blood that escapes the edges of his lips, slides down his leg toward his crotch. And then Denji thrusts forward again and he feels his head fill with cotton, eyes rolling as the pain shoots through every nerve in search of his brain.]

[He's quiet, if only by necessity, aware that even if Denji is going to blabber things about how his dick is currently so far up Aki's ass that he can feel him in his guts, he can at least keep his moans low. But it's nearly as painful to be quiet as it is to be bitten, his hand finally releasing the sheets to clamp over his mouth, then his eyes, unwilling to look at Denji above him right now. Feeling it is more than enough, the repetetive thrusts inside him, the way he can feel the strength of his jaw on his thigh, each individual tooth sinking into the meat of his skin. The feeling of every inch of his dick, the pressure too much and yet he's seriously craving it. Seriously wants to wrap his other leg around his back and keep him pulled close, as deep as he can physically go and then an inch more. Wants to feel him in the base of his stomach, in the bottom of his lungs. His teeth are bared as his hips jerk forward when Denji thrusts in just the perfect, perfect angle inside him three times in a row and he finally lets a heavy, gutteral growl out. An angry sound to anyone who doesn't know what he actually sounds like when he's angry. But he can't waste a single braincell worrying if Denji is aware of that. His head is nearly empty.]

[Fuck, he missed this. Just letting go, giving up the reins and letting someone else do the heavy lifting. He's meeting each of Denji's movements as best as he can now, thrusting down onto him, clenching around him when he pulls back as his own cock leaks pre down his shaft and onto his hip. The hand that isn't covering his eyes is yanking hard at the bedding below him, the heel of the leg Denji isn't gnawing on pressed down deep in the sheets until it can't slide but it's the way his fingers twitch on his face that really give it away. The way his stomach clenches and unclenches, biceps flexing and flinching as Denji keeps fucking him. How good he feels right now.]

...Don't you dare stop, 'til I say.

[In case he thinks he's in charge right now. The one thing he was never able to give up.]

[ Aki can close a hand around his own moans all he wants, shroud away the desire taking up the whole circumference of his eyes from him like it'll make a difference. Refuse Denji the satisfaction of a job well done, fine — but what he can't do is snuff out the greed coiled in his growl, his voice choking on it, like it's all twined in his organs and nerves, and it's strangling him from the inside-out. Demanding release, the way smoke does if you hold it locked in your lungs for too long. Something closely related to laughter wetly dribbles from the mouth sucking sweetly at Aki's thigh, the tang of copper still coating his lips, freely roaming down his jaw. The entire concept of stopping is too funny. Does Aki even know who he is? Him, the perpetual motion machine.

Emboldened, he briefly empties out of his ass in full, then with his next thrust, rocks back into his hole, thick and severe, and grinding exactly where he's starting to learn he can feel him quiver and tighten around him the best. He muffles a harrowed groan into his warm flesh, eyes fluttering and straining, but not wanting to miss a single moment of this. The cling of him so good it makes his knees buckle and ache, so deep he might just break past his prostate and shatter the edge of his spine. So right that the brightness in his gaze, if Aki's eyes are open enough to see it, could be mistaken as love, adoration.

All Denji is sure of is that this should serve as a good reminder of who's here with him. Who's pinning him down, fucking him through and thorough.

His hand slides up pillowy skin, edge of his nail approaching the wound, pushing inside the same opening as one of his canine's, widening the breakage until he's made another hole that's all his. Blood weeps from the wound, and he watches it puddle between their legs alongside the sheen of Aki's own slick. Has to exert self-restraint to keep from following the lustrous trail downward, lapping it away, feeling up every last sweaty pore with the desperate tip of his tongue. He can't. He has other plans, ones that involve him finally letting his leg drop away, revealing a flushed, moist-mouthed face that drops half-forward, his hand relocating, scaling up the hard bones protruding from his neck, up his open mouth, up the creases in his face, the furrow persistently biting into his brow until he's tucked Aki's wrist away from his eyes. The touch gentle, in contrast to everything else.

His other hand, drops in the opposite direction. Squeezing, at the base of his dick. A pressure that should feel familiar to him; it's about the same amount Aki applied to his earlier. ]

So who's — the horny brat — now?

[Aki could just flip him over and spank him. Strike him until Denji is sobbing so loud the whole apartment complex wakes up. He could grab him by the neck and push his face into the sheets, into the pre-come tricking down his thigh and onto the bed. Push his nose into it. Make him apologize over and over again for being smarmy and making snide comments and tell him to clean up his face, that he's covered in blood and looks like a fucked-up brat. There's the spark in Aki's eye that shows that exact thought process, a heat of indignation at his comment and how smug he looks and sounds in combination to it.]

[But then his cock slides back in deep, just as the grip goes tight around him. It's like a one-two punch, a deep press in his gut and a rough squeeze right at his base. His lips part but no noise comes out, the flame in his eyes extinguished into cold blue all at once. An extremely obvious reaction - Denji is doing exactly what he likes.]

[His leg aches, stings, the broken skin unable to mend itself yet, not while everything in him both conscious and buried is focused entirely on what Denji is doing. He's getting better and better, because Denji was always pretty quick to pick up on things like this, and each thrust feels better and better, his own reactions flagging and coming too early. Like he's excited for it, reaching for him too quickly and squeezing around him too suddenly so Denji has to press through an even tighter hold. All while he's kept him clamped down beneath his grip, his hand shaking and flinching below his comparably gentle hold.]

Fucking brat.

[There's as much bite to it as a tamed dog, nipping to play with no intention to hurt. His whole body shudders, gaze locked on Denji.]

'Course you want to come first. Still a horny - fucking brat.

[ He may be bitching him out, but his syrupy insides tell a different story. Everything about him, the chain reaction of his muscles firming up around Denji, sticky and snug, slurping him in close like he's trying to sponge off as much mind-melting pleasure from this as he can just supports all that he already suspected. Who knew greedy, pushy Aki could be so cute getting off on the struggle and the sabotage? The fact that he isn't making this easy, that he's making his bones hurt and his dick bloat a pretty color.

It's definitely going to Denji's head, but can you blame him? He's lasting longer than he thought he would, powered by the sheer magnitude of how good it feels to be holding the other end of the leash for once. Being the one to vine his fingers around Aki's wrist, to abruptly yank his arm forward, the strength of the pull bringing his whole body slamming back down against Denji's hips, in and out, mean and constant. Releasing him at the root of his cook, letting the pressure rebuild, and then white-knuckling him again. There's probably a part of him that can't help copying Aki, mimicking the things he does, like a second kind of proximity. Understanding. It's like once the initial shock of being at the helm, sticking your head into a pitcher of honey wanes, you can really enjoy the sugar drooling down your face, taking over your thoughts. Sneaking down valves and openings you never knew existed.

It's cloying. Claustrophobic. Denji can't get enough of it. ]

'm just fixing a plumbing problem is all.

[ Denji shoves forward again, Aki's arm sandwiched between them as he leans over farther this time to suck a nipple between his teeth. Feeling an adorable swell press into his tongue. ]

You like it, though. You want me. [ He said so. Looked him dead in the eyes, and Denji had felt the words as if it were a bullet sanding through skin and skull, lodging straight into the part of his brain sensitive to self-control, blowing it up like a shrapnel burst. ] Want me to fuck you, like this. [ Another grind of his hips, a complete and pulsing set, timed to each ground out snarl wrecking his airways. ] This. [ His swollen areola pops out from his mouth as he shifts upright again, the hand still viced around Aki's cock pumping him now. Slow and steady, like he could stop again at any second. ] And like that.

[It would be easy to pull him right back down. Cut him down at the ankles, make him drop to his knees and come back to Earth. Because Denji is so annoying when he gets haughty. Full of himself for no real reason. Thinking he has more power than he does. A kid with car keys for the first time, feeling the adrenaline of hitting the gas. Aki could strangle him for it.]

[But there's another side to it, and it's thanks to how the rest of the day had gone. Coming home with him doe-eyed and sickly. The way he'd grabbed onto his wrist when he spoke to his handler, unwilling to step away from him but all too quickly wanting to escape for that phone call. And then the phone call he gave Aki, apologizing for something nebulous and unclear, laughing into the receiver so shakily even Aki could feel the vibration. A dog who'd dug up a garden. What had gotten him so moody? Whatever it is, it's clear the thought is long gone. The way he's bragging now as he pulls in and out, yanks Aki forward into each blow, is miles more preferable. What he wouldn't give to hear that pride all the time, if it meant not hearing that trickling, breathy laugh.]

[There's a growing sense of... affection, he realizes. When Denji tugs on his nipple with his teeth, sucks at it and watches for the way Aki's brows flinch and his fingers spasm. How he keeps repeating himself, how proud he is. How he knows what affect he's having and how eager he is to see it play out. He wants to respond - Yes, yes - but no words form in his throat. He wants to experience it without egging him on, see how far he'll go. If he'll take what Aki is giving him and not realize the medicine he's snuck in. The little redemption he's trying to offer in this. Redemption for what? Aki doesn't know, but he doesn't care, either. It's not like Denji has the ability to make anything in his life worse.]

[The slow strokes are too much in combination with everything else and Aki can feel it building, a rolling pleasure that threatens to mount, but he knows Denji and knows he's going to revel in stopping it. A groan rumbles from his throat as his eyes flit shut and his chin stretches back, baring his throat, teeth grit past tight lips. Fuck, it feels good. The push-pull, the way he can feel the slap of his thighs against his own. The uncomfortable stretch of his legs. The tear in his flesh still oozing blood and stinging in the air. His lips finally part as he feels it crest, knows it's going to come. Eyes snap open, look to Denji. See what he'll do. See if he has the nerve - the balls - to clamp down again.]

[ Back in his rickety, two-by-four shed, Denji had dreamed of something better for himself. Never knew what any of that would really feel or look like, so he only spoke aloud the stuff that made sense: a girl to hug, udon boiled in a cozy kitchen. But in private, he'd hoped that it would mean having a headache, or a rattly cough, or a hand striking his face on a bad collection day, and not swallowing it down. Not convincing himself to think of it as another flavorless bread roll to bite his teeth into, to chew up and soften into a mealy consistency, to feel it sprinkling in his empty stomach like compost to nurture an equally empty life.

Being with Aki, though, he thinks — it looks like this. Tastes like ginger freshening his tongue, shivers down his tensed back like sweat cooling burned skin. Feels a little like forgiveness, which doesn't sit immediately right, because he hasn't fought tooth and nail for it yet, hasn't lost his life to earn the warmth of someone's full acceptance. Let alone Aki's. But, obviously, he wants it. Is still going to take it from the open hand that offers, sucking under his nails to make sure he's got every last bit.

That's what he planned to do by straining against him, as if their bodies could be any more flush, tongue painting a hot smear from his chest to his jaw as he licks up him, balls deep inside that quivering clutch of his, filling his cheeks out with every lurid lurch. By doing what Aki was daring him to do, expecting him to. Gasping as his overheated insides catch and clench around him, Denji's own pleasure running its course, sprinting for that familiar peak, he starts to administer additional strength to his fist to cut off Aki's supply to that precious friction cooking between their groins, making his hips struggle in rhythm with his — until he's glancing up and then their gazes are colliding, and just like that, he's taken back to just a few nights ago. Those blue eyes, fixed in place, yet entirely unsteady, sapped of the life he should have had.

And it reminds Denji: He's so tired of taking things away from him.

In a sudden change of mind, he loosens his hold, his other hand reaching to tuck Aki's hair back behind his ear — and still thrusting into him, rushed and driven, Denji jerks his cock with such a jarring roughness, it's clear what he's after. The curve of him sleeks through the crazed slide of his grip, not stopping, not violently squeezing. But taking him to the finish line, whether he wants to or not. ]

[Denji clamps down and, breath catching, Aki revels in it for the moment. The sensation of reaching that peak before being forcibly pulled back down. Stumbling over a cliff's edge and then being yanked away from the abyss. The sweet thing about this, to him, has always been not knowing when the final push is going to be, leaving it up to someone else to decide when he actually gets to fall. It's nice, sometimes, to cede just enough control and trust that, at some point, it will all be worthwhile, he'll finally jump right off that edge and land somewhere safe and sweet. So when Denji squeezes around him as his hips struggle to maintain their rhythm, Aki barely notices his struggle. He feels almost high in that brief moment, frustration mixed with relief, that it's not quite over yet, and that it's stupid-ass Denji who gets to choose when it does end.]

[But trust stupid-ass Denji to decide to end it mere seconds later.]

[Aki chokes on his own spit when he starts yanking at him, so rough and sudden it's almost too much, almost impossible for him to reach that peak before the crash of his hips provides just the right amount of pressure to force him over. By choice or by force, it doesn't matter, since it's happening, and Aki groans and thrashes his head to the side, spilling into Denji's iron grip before bucking his hips in a quick and instinctual rush toward making sure it lasts just as long as he likes it to, not giving him the chance to yank out, to pull away, to ruin it. His lips part in a sudden gasp and he turns his head the other way. Eyes still clenched shut. Savoring. Fuck, that feels good.]

[Body shivery and sensitive, he reaches up and roughly yanks at Denji to lean down, crashing their lips together. He bites at his tongue and then at his lips before his touch goes softer. Not quite a punishment, more like when a dog is too rough with a chew toy before settling to just protect it, guard it. He tugs at the arm pinned above him to try and wrap both around his neck.]

[Dumbass doesn't know the first thing about this, he thinks to himself, despite everything, despite how hard he just came. Oh, well. What else is new?]

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