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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. ]
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. ]
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But, damn it, they're not getting anywhere like this.
Denji raises a hand, meaning to push his pistol aside, but — that doesn't happen. His gaze lingers on the string of saliva dribbling from his lips. Glances down art the droplets sticking to the dip trailing down his defined chest. He'd kissed him just that morning, forced it on him, and Aki'd twisted in his mouth into a tired expression, but there's none of that facial control here. He can't even think to close his mouth on his own.
An unsure sound reverberates from the crowded cables making up his neck, dispelled shortly after by a sigh, as he changes course. Lightly passes a thumb over the corner of Aki's mouth, applying a small amount of pressure to dry the area. His nail stretches out the corner of his mouth, kind of how a veterinarian pulls up an animal's lip to check its dental health. The strangeness to how Aki moves and clings to him in this state should be unnerving, scary, bring goosebumps to the back of his arms, but he just can't — can't see him like that, like a terror hiding in his closet. ]
Aki. [ A small portion of his metal face begins to drain away, slipping into the grass, revealing a single brown eye. ] What is it? What do you want from me?
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["It's been awhile. That's all."]
[Those words echo, because they happened before something. Against Denji's thumb, Gun tries to repeat them, coming out as a mumbled garble, barely any clearer than when he said his name. After those words were said, something happened that affected this body. In a positive way - In a way that must have made him stronger. It doesn't sound the same as when the human said it, but he waits for a moment, like the response will come in kind as a result of the stimulus. Pull trigger, fire. Aim, target. That sort of thing.]
[Gun tilts his head, because after a moment of not getting whatever positive stimulus it was he was searching for, he repeats it - then laps the drool clinging to his bottom lip.]
...Bin while. [He leans lower, closer, examining the human eye staring back at him. Like a sniper pressing his gun through the loophole, searching for the best shot.] At's all...
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But he was like that before, too, wasn't he? Always stringently tight-lipped with what he revealed to Denji. Leveraging enough for Aki to give him an idea, a sense of urgency to get him to do what he needed him to, without spilling the beans outright. It never bothered Denji until he met him again. At which point, he could understand the sacrifice that came with silence a little more.
Could know to hate him a little more for it. ]
What's with that…
[ He laughs, confused. Those words, though — Denji recognizes them. Aki said them to him only a couple days ago. It'd been satisfying to get the confession out of him. Relieving that there was a familiar balance of exchange taking place. At the same time, it'd felt — a little cruel. Like he'd forced Aki to say too much. Could this be a similar situation? ]
Are you still lonely? That why you keep hanging on to me? I was only gone for —
[ Pause. Denji doesn't know, he and that Asa Mitaka both passed out after getting belched out. But it couldn't have been that long. Nayuta's still wearing her school uniform.
His mouth purses, releasing an annoyed breath. By now, the shell that makes him Chainsaw Man has withered from his body entirely. What a waste. ]
Whatever. I'm here now, y'know. [ With the same care of someone trying their very best not to spook or rile up a carnivorous, yet curious, predator, he slowly pushes himself up by an elbow. Denji's other arm coils around Aki's back, pulling his face into the crook of his neck, closer, so as to allow his hand to reach the base of where his hair meets his nape, fingernails scraping lightly against his scalp. ] Dumbface.
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[Aki blinks.]
[His fingers in his hair, his voice closer to his ear. Did he just call him a dumbface? No, that doesn't matter. Aki blinks again, faster this time - warding off something embarrassing. He's not going to ruin this moment, he reminds himself. Even if the ground is cold, and unwelcoming, and hard and rough and difficult... Even with all those adjectives and all those truths, with Denji's arm around him, it feels warm.]
[Wasn't that what he was looking for? A way to warm up?]
Ahh... It worries me, when your body's warm, even in the cold...
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[This warmth emanating from him, the smell of something... It's intoxicating, in a way he's never experienced. Like the first hit of a drug, the first swig of a drink. It feels unnatural at first gulp, painful in the back of his throat, bothering his nose or eyes as his mind tells him this is something to reject. But the body accepts it, no, yanks for it - wants more of it. And that, he doesn't recall, but the muscles do, and he opens his mouth a little wider before biting down on Denji's neck, immediately drawing blood.]
[The heat hits his tongue and Gun groans quietly, shuddering as his tongue darts out to lap at it. He doesn't need it, and it's gluttinous to take it as he is now, fully healed and stronger than he was a month prior. But since when has he cared about those kinds of things? Almost like it's egging him on, his body responds with a burst of pleasured joy at the taste and the action, so Gun repeats it, biting down again right next to the first puncture, like a dog experiencing wet food for the first time. Whatever the hell he was subsisting on before, fat chance he'll go back to it now.]
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Trust is a terrible thing. Trust always takes him to this place. ]
Nn… No, Aki…
[ It's when the gnawing proceeds that Denji wheezes, the sound wrung out of him as he suddenly wrenches at the back of Aki's head, trying to haul him off. Which is so funny, because he'd normally accept a drink from temptation in an instant. Let the gasoline glide easy to the heat in his belly. Bend into the hunger of Aki's mouth, cast himself into the fire to be forged into whatever's asked of him.
…But, but, but that's not right. He still has a kid needing tending to in a broken down helicopter. They're still running from the clutches of Public Safety. He still doesn't know where they are. Nayuta's still important to him. He has to remember. Has to keep faithful to these realities — that's the only way he can save Aki this time. By not losing focus.
Beginning to crawl out from under him, Denji mumbles, trying to staunch his bleeding with a hand: ] That's enough playin' around. I gotta make sure she's okay.
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Den-ji. [He says the name again, less as a name and more as an order. Stay put, do this. Again he leans in and attempts to wedge himself into his throat, gnawing at the skin before sliding down his bare chest in search of something warmer. He can feel his pulse through his skin and almost see the flow of blood through every artery. Like it could dive right through the dermal layer, Gun drags his tongue along his chest, searching. There's got to be something in here. Something that fixes this.]
[He doesn't notice the erection in his pants, pressed down into Denji's leg as he slides lower on him. Like he's on a scavenger hunt, or following a trail of candy to a witch's house. He's always followed his nose like this, searching out the next little piece of fun and excitement and death. This situation is no different to him.]
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[ What he wants in this second should be obvious, but Denji's never been able to read Aki very well.
It'd taken Denji a long time to understand him just to the extent that he does. Through bickering and skirmishes, forced dinners. Long shifts. Nights of tossing glances through the screen door at his back, usually broad, but narrower against the balcony, the backdrop of a larger than life city. Their patchwork home in the apartment merely a trinket on its shelf. Frequently, he'd ignore the itch to join him, for reasons that hurt his head to think about.
One night, one of Aki's last without a pinch to his forehead, he'd sat with him in front of a window that held nothing yet veiled everything. A blank slate, a field for humans to leave footprints across that wouldn't last, an impression that wouldn't take. He hadn't been able to decode his words at that time, either. His words were straightforward without being straightforward at all, and, in the end, Denji took them as thanks when he should have chosen differently, asked better questions when he had the opening to: Do you really come here every year? What do you pray about for people who are already gone? What's your favorite food? Where's the place you went to school? What kind of uniform did you wear? What kind of offerings do you want me to leave when you're not here anymore? Do you even want me to visit?
Asked for something that'd give him clue how to get through to him now.
Slammed backward into the earth, he groans in pain at first. Then, the thrumming deepens with the realization that there's a trail, gleaming with his blood, flowing down his still developing abdomen. This can't be real — but no, evidence of Aki's arousal strains at his thigh, insistent and impatient, like trying to strike a match at tinder that won't catch flame. Denji tries to bend a knee between them, just to keep him at bay, shit, damn, fuck, he's working fast. ]
Stupid, that's my — ahhh, don't, don't! Not there…
[ Or maybe Denji's too slow. With pupils the size of bullet holes, his breathing runs out ragged. Unwilling heat throbs out from the open wound in his shoulder and the unopen one in his stomach, that buildup of feeling that's hooked on the possibility of being simultaneously torn apart and quenched. He wants to cry, but he swallows it down, along with the need to give in to Aki. Gritting his teeth, he struggles, surges upward again, foot kicking up to strike at his jaw. ]
You… jerk! Snap out of it… Augh, how the hell are you hard from blowing up a building?! What kinda kink is that?!
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[But human happiness is so much more nebulous than that.]
[Watching from within his heart, Gun assumed the human was happy in the past few days, in the same way you assume an ant must be happy while carrying a leaf to its mound. Like he searches for his body, this human he shares a heart with searches for another, and he seemed to have found it. That's why he had to snag this one with him, bring him along and carry him out of that place that had them locked away, stored like a prize in a vault. Gun spent enough time living like that. With freedom, with ease of movement, with the ability to search for himself again, it's surprising that he's finding himself instead drawn to the creature below him. The one that just kicked him in the jaw and sent him rolling backward, collapsing over on his side as he watches through a tilted lens the way he scrambles back and yells something at him.]
["...jerk! ...blowing up a buil...."]
[There's an insult in there, Gun understands, anger in the voice being pointed at him. Despite that, the body is clearly elated. Delighted. Just from being in proximity? Just from being nearby, hearing that voice? Touching that skin? Gun crawls onto his knees, picking himself up slowly, his pistol face pointing directly at Denji with a long line of spit dripping from his lips. His erection stands tall in his pants, but that's something else Gun only understands in extremely simple terms. Something he could only see as conquering, taking over, ruling. Destroying. Is that what the human sees when he looks at this Denji? Something to lay claim to? Something with which to mark a victory? Like a dog seeing the color wheel of a mantis shrimp's eyes, it's the limit to his own understanding.]
Den-ji. [He growls the name, moving forward through the dirt, like a machine carrying out a command. He grabs for him, snatching at his shoulder with his hand as the arm made of a rifle pins into the dirt and grass, stabbing the earth to find an anchor point. Gun leans forward to follow the trail of blood, tilting his head to lean into the bite mark and attempt to suck on the wound. This, too, feels good, in a way both of them can understand, in a way that causes the heat in his groin to grow warmer yet. With all the strength of a metal wall, Gun yanks and pulls at Denji, pinning him against himself with all he has - his leg wrapping around him, his nails digging into his back, his teeth scratching over his skin. The closer he is, the better it feels - and isn't that what devils want, when it all comes down to it? That's happiness, isn't it?]
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There’s something he’s after, Denji can tell that much. And sometimes happiness, whether you're human, a devil, or neither, is just bringing that incomprehensible feeling to another being. ]
…Nn, augh, wait, wait, Aki — [ Denji weeps out his name, back bowing outward, trying once again to push up. But not away this time, this attempt mostly to garner his attention. When that doesn't get him anywhere, he slumps. ] Okay. Alright. [ He presses his mouth into the skin of Aki’s ear, nearly has the shell slid between his lips as he whispers to him, the words sticky. No better than a drunken slur. ] N'here… 'yuta… [ A sniff. He throat clicks as he clears the muck backing up against his tonsils. ] Nayuta, she’s gonna —
[ Hear? That hadn’t been Denji's concern this morning, but he'd been confident then. Big-headed and excited by the prospect that Aki was letting him in on a secret, a new experience. This is new, too, technically, but Denji feels smaller. Insignificant. Like a squirming insect tacked to a display case with no way out. ]
She’s not in a good way. If she wakes up, that'll be real bad. Real bad. And I gotta take care of her, gotta be good — so can't we go finda 'nother place?
[ With Aki's nails sewn into his back, crushing him in from all sides, he can barely wriggle, forget about breathe normally. Just speaking is a huge exertion. But it's his only means of leverage right now. That, and his body. ]
C'mon. Aki, it's me. I wanna help you out. [ He feels Aki up with the knob of his knee, at first stuffing it against him, then clumsily tracing the outline of his hard-on through his trousers. Aki may not understand what he wants right now, may only know the fundamentals of desire, but — desire is desire. It's a feeling that can be fed. Denji can teach him this time. ] Les'go somewhere else…
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[It feels - good.]
[His soft, pleading whispers right into the shell of his ear, the whine to his voice, the slight reverberation when he breathes a little loud. The give of his skin, the smell of his blood. Sweat, drool. He's growling, maybe. Some kind of punishing sound, like a threat to keep doing that or else. A childish demand to keep having fun, or an animalistic one demanding you keep petting. It's overstimulating and understimulating at the same thing. And what the hell is he even saying?]
[...mewhere else.]
Some... Else... [He repeats the words, without fully understanding what they mean, just like the ones that triggered this sensation. Echoes and repetition, seeing which words correctly receive the intended response. Gun lets go and there's a moment when he sits up that it might seem like he's intending to go somewhere else, but instead he's ripping his pants off, yanking them off and away to reveal his erection. And it's not just his arm and head that have changed - his cock is larger, darker at the tip, drooling already as he frees it from the confines of the fabric. Now with the agitating feeling let out into the air, he can freely rub it against Denji, sliding the length against his leg and trying to search for the right spot, the perfect location where it feels best. It's not that he has short term memory, more like a one-track mind. He's aware of what he wants and little else. Right now, that's relief, in the form of pleasure. The human inside of him accessed it through this thing below him, so Gun will, as well.]
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Denji's face lights up, anyway, hearing anything from him. The oppressive tension holding down his body disappears, briefly, and he lets go a breath. Starts to rise up, stalwartly ignoring the urge to rub at the marks etched behind in his skin, because he can't let Aki know that shit hurt, felt like a dozen needles poking around for the worst place to burrow inside. He doesn't want him to feel bad, if that's an emotion he can still connect to.
But then Aki's stripping himself. And then his brain activity's flatlining, like someone's pulled the plug on someone barely hanging on as it is. Denji lays there, a numbness seeped into the very pit of his stomach as he stares blankly at the monstrously hung penis between Aki's naked thighs, fleshy and angry and aching. A hundred steps too far behind to even jerk back or raise his arms to obstruct whatever warpath is about to be sown below his waist. His underwear, laughably thin and drafty standing atop the rooftop not too long ago, feels uncomfortable and constrictive now with Aki's hot tip crimping up and dragging into the fabric, into Denji's much smaller bulge, colorless fluid kissed all over the front. His fist blindly seizes the edge of Aki's shirt, tugging it, trying to rein him. ]
S-Stupid, that's not gonna…
[ Fit. But his lips are quivering at the thought of it. At the mere thought of wrapping his dry and sticky mouth around something like that, only being able to bob down halfway before choking on him. Fuck, that's so wrong. There's something messed up in Denji's head. He shouldn't be this horny, shouldn't be able to look down and see his cock filling in against his underwear, twitching alive. He should be horrified, shocked, panicked, confused, not sensitive and warm just from being subjected to a little rough fumbling around. Wasn't he saying something before? About wanting to be good for Nayuta?
But the hand that's pushing him upright and the hand rolling up Aki's shirt until it's pinned above his chest can't seem to remember. Neither can the boy that's notching close against him, tilting in to suck and gnaw on a nipple, a kittenish tongue flicking up at it. He peers up, hoping one last time to see a flash of Aki that isn't cut from steel and ash. ]
I'll show you where to put that.
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Put 'dat. [He repeats the words with sticky, drool-covered lips, like a wolf leaning over its prey, unable to contain the excitement about the meal he's about to devour. Gun slides his cock along the inseam of his boxers but he can't figure out how to get it to the right place, can't fully grasp why it's only slightly as good as those other times. Denji uses his hand to grab his shirt and his other to lift himself up and something clicks when Gun raises his rifle-arm up, that he's missing something. There's something different about what he has and what the other one has.]
[He licks his lips, the blood from before still permeating his gums, then pulls back from his touch and stretches his arm out. In an instant, his hand slices through the seam of his shoulder, spitting the rifle off in one fell swoop, like filleting away the spine of a fish. The rifle rolls away and blood sprays in one quick splash before slowing to a drip down the side of his body. If it's painful, he doesn't seem to feel it, though, as Gun only makes a briefly consternated expression before a human arm bursts forth from the wound, filling in the skin and stretching taut with thick muscle and dark, almost grey skin. It's cold to the touch and doesn't feel human, but it has more dexterity than a rifle and that's what he's after. That's what he needs right now. Blood still drooling down the side of his body, his hands reach messily together to grab for Denji, aiming to wrap around him and search his body for some kind of relief.]
[The dexterity is barely there with this carbonite hand, but the grip is strong. Leaning forward to exhale hot, bloody- and drool-slick breaths near his ear, he growls out again,] Put.
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[ Fresh blood spritzes all over Denji from the open wound, causing him to turn his face uselessly to the side, squirming, as if he'd been spurted instead by a hose of freezing water. It's not the blood itself that takes him aback; he's hurt Aki before, slit his soft stomach from end to end to peel back the deepest shade of red he's ever seen, watched him come apart like an overstuffed sausage casing. Despised every second of it, despised himself for every second after — but he did it. He did all of it. So no, that's not the reason. Simply put, it's the ease of which he discards a limb that was so essential to Aki, to completing his dream, to being a devil hunter, that when he lived without it those last few months, his presence seemed to flicker in and out. Like what was there walking past him into the kitchen was just a vague imprint, a ghost reliving its rituals until the time came for his form to give away, smoke particles diluting out into the air. Every time he stood too close to the balcony railing, Denji's back would straighten and he'd watch. Wonder.
The shock of seeing it suddenly gone returns him to that place of anxiety. The shock of seeing something like an arm, but not, sprout immediately after sends him somewhere entirely different. But no less perplexing, uncharted.
Perspiration drips from his brow, stinging the inner corner of his eye — jolts him back to the present. He endures Aki's suffocating, mismatched hands grabbing him, lust-stoked breaths burning his temple, the best he can, sore knees digging into the grass to keep from being toppled over once again. He feels — confused, still grappling with everything, his spine simultaneously overheated and icy-cold. Sick with the stimulation. ]
N-No. Down, boy, [ he says, unconsciously treating Aki like one of his dogs when they decide to get too rowdy. ] No put, not yet. First…
[ Wedging an arm between them, his palm sheathes over the top of Aki's flushed head, rubbing it, spreading the sticky residue that's already there across the hood of his glans. He keeps the contact up, but does no more than that, warily observing Aki. Wresting himself away isn't an option, not without pulling his cord, risking bodily harm to the one person he's tired of seeing cry. It was always going to end in Denji giving Aki what he wants. ]
Good, right?
[ His wrist twists fast in a wrenching motion at that singular point, only pumping down his head the barest increment to reveal the sheen of his cock. He squeezes as he drags up, the rim of his forefinger and thumb biting in to really make his glans bulge out, even more of his pre to bubble from that tiny opening. ]
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[His hips jolt forward, following the notes of pleasure already playing. He groans quietly and turns his head, ducks it down, tries to visually see what's happening but his sight isn't good at this sort of distance, at something that he can't pinpoint directly. The sensation is crawling up his spine and he can feel something dripping from his cock but can't really put two and two together yet. That it's not simply the desire for more contact he's after but a specific kind of contact. Not a hug, but a stroke. Not a stroke, but a plunge. His mind is spinning.]
Den - ji - [He repeats his name again, like it will urge him further on. The human hand moves down to yank off the fabric constricting his legs, kicking and pushing at it where it gets caught around his ankles. Instinct tells him to pin, to rub, to rut. Urge him further on - Forget that, he wants to take it for himself. That's how he's supposed to be. Enough of this waiting for orders, waiting for command. He wants to take it for himself. He grapples with his carbonite arm in search of Denji's elbow, yanking it down, coaxing him onward. Thanks to the pistol coming out of his face he can't actually kiss (and probably wouldn't understand the idea of it) but his lips are still dripping with drool and blood and he wants some more. As his hips rut forward, one hand gripped around Denji's elbow, he leans into his neck and growls as he sucks at his skin, teasing at the marrow hidden right below. Not biting this time, just suckling, like when you enjoy the chicken skin before ripping into the flesh.]
[The more dexterous human arm gropes and fondles around in its attempt to find something else. This can't be the peak, he knows. There must be something else, and that's why his nails drag down his back and press into his spine. Like he can press one of his vertibrae like a button and out will pop the right prescription, the correct answer for this craving. His cockhead presses up against Denji's stomach as he pushes his back inward and he recognizes that as pleasurable, too, grinding against the skin with little worry for Denji's comfort in this.]
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The mercilessly close press of their cocks together takes him back to the dark of that morning, how he'd tried to slip in and make it up to Aki just like this. For all the things he did and failed to do. In a way, he's still there, still trapped in that mindset that he's sorry that he couldn't keep Aki from straying into this guise. Couldn't protect him. The way Aki is now is something Denji has to take accountability for — possibly all his life. That's fine. That's expected.
Denji momentarily pushes a rift between them. He drags his underwear off, kicking it aside so that it lands with the rest of Aki's clothes. His penis has thickened up, stands at attention, but it's nowhere near the fullness and girth as what Aki pressed into him just now.
Panting heavily, Denji takes his face in hand, angling it up from his shoulder to deposit a kiss to his cheek, sinful for how chaste it is. He has to tilt his own head to achieve this, to establish a connection with him that isn't just that of a vulture and the bleeding remains he's decided to feed from. ]
Just wait. Getting to it.
[ His mouth roots itself to the drooling wet corner of Aki's lips, licks up the blood and slobber pouring from his chin until he's spotless again. He pauses once he's done, hanging back uncertainly, before then extending his neck to kiss the black pistol topping his forehead, tip of his tongue edging the chamber. Reaching the opening of his barrel, he pokes inside the inner ridges of the gun, a lattice of spit covering the hole, strung to his teeth as he inches away. Staring up at Aki with a look that borders on bashful.
Swallowing down his embarrassment, he shoves his gaze downward, hands wrapped around Aki's erection again, one stacked on top of the other, this time pulsing all the way down to wear his shaft meets his nut sack, his fingernail nudged against a hard vein, following its track from end to end. ]
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[Denji leans back and stares up at him and Gun tilts his head, trying to see him through the narrow sights. Maybe this is a signal he should say something, maybe there's something he's meant to do, but all he can really feel is the leftover warmth from Denji's lips on his skin, the exposed part he shares with the human, the part that came from him that seems to impart so much importance to the thing seated in his circle.]
[Hmm. But why?]
[And then he's touching his dick again and the thoughts go out the window again. He doesn't care. That's not what he's searching for right now. This might not be a part of himself, might not house a fragment of himself, a chunk of his body he's lost, but it's something else that he needs to have. Gun thrusts toward the touch, selfish and taking, not even considering offering the same thing in return. His hands resume their exploration, searching, knowing there's something in here for him to take, but when he grabs the meat of Denji's ass and isn't met with soft cotton he has a feeling like, I know this. For some reason, he knows he wants this part. Or the one before wanted this part. He fumbles and fondles as Denji continues to stroke him, his erection only getting harder and thicker, precome drooling down his shaft and following each push-pull of Denji's hands.]
[It's getting annoying, he thinks, licking his lips. Cocking the gun, releasing the safety. Decocking, replacing it. Over and over, with each tug, that's what it feels like. Gun grunts something low and begins to push forward, aiming to push Denji down on the ground, push him over and move over him, grab him like he had him before. His metallic fingers wrap around his shoulder and push, trying to roll him to expose his ass, bring it closer to his leaking cock, which he tries to blindly press against the softer skin and stroke through the meat of. Because this - This feels more familiar. This is what he's aiming at. This is where he's trying to get to. For what - He doesn't care. Just that it's what he wants.]
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Despite this, Denji assumes he was well on his way. Until Aki capsizes him. ]
Hey!
[ Genuine surprise widens his eyes, chin scraping against the gritty soil to turn, gawk at him with his ass raised in the air. Sun dapples against Aki's half-obscured face. The other hybrid can't see it, but that's all Denji does, his chest thumping. They've only fucked in private corners and crannies; when it's dark, he can close his eyes and not think so hard about what's going where, imagine what Aki must have a front row view of. It's different in broad daylight. Too much detail to take in. Maybe that's why he tries to scramble forward on his knees, panicked as a mouse with its tail caught under a cat's paw. ]
You don't even know where you're putting that! You need me to show you —
[ In the middle of his sentence, he gasps, eyes crossing, disturbed by the cock pushing into his perineum, so close to his puckered rim, to where he could vanish inside completely. Shivering, his forehead hits the ground, grated in like he has a foot sitting at the base of his neck, but he's bending into it. ]
No — no. [ They don't even have any lube. Denji made sure Aki was wet, but he's… ] Fingers, use your fingers beforeee… [ Denji whimpers, fingertips twitching toward his asshole, intending to stretch himself out. ]
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[When he moves back again, fumbling around blindly with his cock, it's only natural that he follows where Denji's fingers are going. He slides down between his cheeks and over his hole, brushing against his hand and then humming a curious, almost metallic sound when the head of his cock finds the edge of his hole, just barely stretched by probably no more than a single joint. And maybe devils don't have anything to truly call "nature" when it comes to this, but maybe he can rely on that human's nature for the moment in telling him that this is the right path. He shifts himself against it and his cock slides up the edge of Denji's hole, not pushing in at all. Gun reaches back to grapple for the spot, blindly feeling and searching, equally like a drunk fiddling with a bottle opener and a pervert with a bra strap: sloppy and desperate. He finally pushes his thumbs in on either side, pulling him apart like there's something he could see past the stretch, could peer through to the other side, just enough room for himself to begin to slip into - but even once he does it's not wide enough, it's too small and too tight and he thinks, maybe this isn't right? No, it has to be, he decides, and pushes forward roughly, forcibly slamming the rest of the head of his cock into his ass.]
[Gun's hands slide down Denji's hips and to his thighs, grasping him with cold, wet fingers as he feels around like he can find whatever it is that's blocking him from pushing in more - unable to recognize it's simply the limits of "nature," the result of shoving a ten foot-wide square peg into a one foot-wide round hole. He gurgles something with clenched teeth. Not exactly annoyed as curious. He pulls back just a bit, the head of his cock tugging cruelly at the ring of muscle sealing him inside, then juts forward again. Another inch pushes in and he hums a delighted growl of a noise: the recognition of progress.]
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Dirt mingles on his palate, his face rolling on its side into the ground, a tiny huff here and there parting from his lips. But he's managing. This is fine. He can live through this — was Denji's original thought. But if he thought the first thrust was bad, the second tug and push is outright intolerable. The stretch — it should feel good to be full of Aki, thick with him, and in a way it does, but it burns, it burns so bad he can taste acid coming up his throat. His head hangs down, limp, which is a mistake, because the viewpoint affords him a sight that shoves him to the precipice of derangement.
Aki isn't even halfway inside. ]
Aki, I can't, stop — stop it! Stop!
[ Denji shouts, seizes up, his cock shuddering with a single bob, then spurts out a heavy drizzle of hot come onto the earth under him. His head's confused, but his body's still reacting the same, may even be more oversensitive than usual. Fuck, he can't tell whether the wetness thinly streaming into his mouth, past the edge of his chin, is sweat, tears, drool, snot — it doesn't really matter. It all hurts the same, like being seared on a grill and split into easy to chew pieces for the party platter. ]
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[This is what he missed out on, then? This is completely different than anything he's ever experienced. He's a devil meant to destroy, to conquer, and to terrify. Below him, all three of those things appear to be happening, but in a process he's never before seen. Never before attempted - never before could attempt. But now...]
[He grins. Can't help it, the delight at this. The delight that he's doing something that feels so natural and correct. Denji isn't trying to get away anymore and that means Gun can grab hold of him and keep him in place as he pulls back again, turns his hips a bit, tries to find the right angle... and then his cock falls out, not held in thanks to the stretch. One hand lets go of his target and grabs his dick, stroking it up and down just like he rememebrs Denji doing, the same sensation yet different since this hand is cold and metal. He leans forward to again feel around for his hole, searching for the right angle, searching based on touch instead of sight, and when he finally finds it and it sucks his cock in just that small bit, he doesn't hesitate. He slams forward and nearly fits his entire length into him in one go.]
[How did the human inside him manage this so easily, he has to wonder, because this truly does feel like shooting tank ammunition through a yet-to-bloom flower. But that's just fine, because that's part of his duty. Shoot, destroy, conquer. Gun tugs back and brings Denji with that tug, not fully understanding the movement at first, but when he finally begins to feel the kind of pleasure he was searching for, he grins with an exhaled sound, a laugh by any other being. It's disturbingly tight and feels too much like shoving a fist through a honey hive, destroying the whole thing in the process, but even if it breaks, he'll still get something sweet out of it.]
DEN-JI, [he sings loudly, pleased with himself for figuring this out. Too happy that he's discovered how to use this body in a new, destructive way.]
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Is it over? Is whatever that's possessing Aki right now satiated? A shard of hope muscles itself through the blankness miring his head, surfacing above the the sheer amount of sensation wracking his body, but the thought is far too premature. It doesn't stand a chance versus the warm press of him hooking back in. He has enough time to suck another breath in, but not enough to truly brace for what comes next — the plunge of his rock-hard cock sinking into his depths isn't unlike stabbing a fork, no, a lightning rod into an outlet, the electricity cooking, sizzling, every nerve in his body. Aki's thighs slap against the back of his legs, Denji's head swaying along with the painful grind, the sound of his voice chiming, his hands scrunching at his sides, using him, dragging him down, deep, deeper. Cockhead jammed into his prostrate, Denji cries and cries, feeling something give — mentally, yes, but at his rim, too. Something breaking, thin rivulets of blood coating Aki's cock, frothing with each thrust inside Denji.
He's been cut up, forced to starve, forced to eat, forced to be consumed, digested, thrown away. Denji knows from experience that cruelty, human or devil, has no known bounds. That so long as humans live, and that devils take their strength from humans, the possibilities of hurting one another are endless. But this — why does this feel so bad? Why does it feel like there's a foot on chest, a second one on his throat, and he's running out of oxygen the longer Aki keeps fucking him into the ground?
…It's because of that, isn't it? Because Aki is someone he… ]
A-ki, [ he rasps, the last syllable of his name rising. Denji can't see or make out anything that isn't purely squelch and slick pumping in his guts, his walls constricting around him. Because, somehow, even though he wants him to stop, to slow and be gentle with him, he still doesn't want to let go. ]
I — [ His teeth chatters, stained with dirty brown specks. He isn't even capable of pushing himself up, his cheek dragging back and forth, drool pooling down the corner of his mouth. Vision blurred. ] Love you. Love you, Aki. So please…
[ Does he mean it? Does he understand it? Does he have the capacity for it? He doesn't know, he's not sure, but that's an excuse, isn't it? Everything, excuses. Everything, his fault. He's risking lying to Aki, and for what? To save his own ass? Does he deserve to say something that should mean so much, but is so utterly worthless coming from him? No. But he's Denji. He's selfish. Always, always. Fucking selfish. What he has isn't enough for anyone. Not Makima. Not the world. Not enough to save Power, bring Aki's dead friends back, or to compel him to live his life with him and Nayuta in this nonsense city, or want him, just him.
His crusty lashes squeeze shut, picking up dust and tears. Maybe if Denji could really die, really give him everything, it'd be a different story.
Like the body of a snake, slithering, wriggling in a stacked pile, his intestines almost move within his stomach, excited, restless, like they might just shoot out from his belly button at any second. ]
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[He could keep going for eternity. He'll never run out of ammunition, not with something like this. His cock flinches and twitches with delight and the ultimate spray of carnage is so close, he can taste it. Drool coats his lips like a starving dog. Yes, he thinks, even if he isn't whole right now, even if he isn't as strong as he should be - right now he's strong and right now he's in the perfect place: the pit of destruction, the pit of ruin and death. It's perfect. He never wants to leave it.]
[Except there's that little voice, far in the back, getting louder and pulling his attention to the sounds he was just celebrating over. The sound of teeth clicking against each other over and over, the thick and harsh sound of words struggling to form. The shadow of the human inside this body that was gone for awhile, now that his target was safe. It crawls forward out of him like coming out of a fort of pillows and blankets, observing the mess left in the wake of the snowstorm overnight that he was so warm in spite of, was protected from: piles of fresh powder covering everything, from roofs to toys to cars to windows. Everything is gone and yet it all is there, simply destroyed beneath it, frozen in hard, stagnant ice. Except he can see something in the blinding white and recognizes it's something that wasn't supposed to stay out for so long, something he thought was safe in the fort. Gun's motions stop and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out - only an echo in his mind.]
["How come you're crying? I've never..."]
[Gun lurches backwards, startled and gagging like he was just grabbed by the collar, yanked by the leash. His throat feels hot and like he's being suffocated, like hot lead is being forced down his windpipe and he can't breathe. Someone is stomping on him, shoving him aside, kicking and fighting and yanking him until he finally pops free from Denji, falling backwards on his ass before he rolls over to try and get to his feet. Retreat, his instinct says, retreat, but his body has other ideas, the right hand lurching upward and pointing its finger at him, thumb up, gun cocked. A threat or an order, he doesn't know, and doesn't have time to decide before it fires and he splatters backwards, clattering to the ground in a splash of blood. His body crumples and he gags before finally falling flat. Slowly, but gradually, the pistol protruding from his head and the carbonite arm he replaced the rifle with begin to fade into mud and gunk, sinking into the earth below him and leaving a human in its wake.]
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[Laying on a carpet of dirt, blood, and gore, Aki opens his eyes slowly, staring up in bleary-eyed confusion at the canopy of trees.]
[This is definitely not Public Safety.]
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He can close his eyes. He can, so he does.
He gulps down the build-up of saliva in his mouth and even tries to arch for him, because he can take this. He can, so he does. He takes this Aki. He loves this Aki. Loves Aki. Loves that his stomach and his heart feels like they're being ground together, pumping in unison, like they'll drop out at any second with the pull back of Aki's hips. If not this thrust, the next one, the next one after. He'll sit, stay, and wait for it if Aki wants him to; Denji knows that good things come to those who know their place. His is right here.
It's only as he's coming to terms with this, a weak groan strains from his throat, dull and stupefied, as he's shoved forward by the force of Aki flying away from him, fast as a ricocheting silver bullet. Denji drops fully on his side, another wounded groan rumbling out. Though the sex had felt more like a glock feeling around in him, cocked and scorching his insides, his abdomen still flares out and shudders from the emptiness, the soreness, the void Aki leaves behind. He misses him. Denji's neck manages to incline just in time to catch the feud between Aki and his metal prosthetic — it feels like a scene from a dream or a one-man stage performance. Whatever attempts at calling out to him end only in voice giving out to fit of wheezes midway, so he can only helplessly watch as something, someone, apparently comes out on top of the struggle, and the carbon parts discharge from Aki's body.
He's tired, wants nothing more than let his head fall into the dirt, but an anxious thought chews at his spine. Drags him stumbling up on his palms and knees, then to his feet. His hand's a sorry filler for actual gauze and bandages, but he uses it to cover his bloody shoulder whilst standing over him. Brown and red spots littering his body, eyes red-rimmed.
He doesn't say anything or reach for him. Doesn't ask if he's okay — he notices his eyes are open, his chest is moving. That's all Denji needs before his ass hits the dirt, legs stretched out in front of him as he stares vacantly outward. ]
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