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

I'm not going to snore.

[He hasn't noticed his lack of appetite at all. Noticed he isn't hungry, sure. Doesn't have the desire to eat. He ate a bit after Denji and Nayuta left this morning and had lunch, so he doesn't feel like he's running on empty, to the point where he can't ignore it. But he's not pointedly ignoring it, either. Just not noticing it, in favor of a hundred other things.]

[Like the hug Denji gave him.]

[He whips his hands dry over the sink before turning around and looking at him. He sets a hand on his hip and just stares at him for a moment. Trying to remember how this kind of thing began. Usually, it was over drinks - the natural icebreaker. But Denji... No, he never wants to see this kid drunk.]

Your room? Or in here? [And he motions to the futon, still rolled up in the corner with Meowy stretching beside it. Probably liable to look for her spot again.] Whichever you prefer.

[ The scrunch of his mouth betrays the doubt that flickers through Denji's face, but it's just that: a flicker. Any evidence of it scatters at Aki's question, half because his attention has been successfully redirected, occupied by the weirdly casual start of this conversation. And half because he's really not interested in getting brushed off again if he gives further voice to his concern.

His gaze twitches toward the futon. Meowy pays neither of them any mind as she sandwiches herself between the futon and the wall. ]

Uh, does it matter? [ His preference. Something nags at him that it probably should matter, what he wants. But for someone who thinks about sex as often as he does, the act of it, the feeling of it, he's not very rigid in his expectations for the finer details… Things like how he'd want his first time to go, where, and with whom. Hell, that last part's changed over a dozen times since he moved to Tokyo.

Straightening up to his feet, Denji crosses over to his bedroom. May as well check if it's inhabitable enough for what they have in mind. Light streams on from a lamp Denji turns on. The door's left slid wide open, if Aki wants to peer in — he may even already know what it looks like inside from his time cleaning while Denji and Nayuta are at school. ]

I guess this could work.

[ Much like the outer area, there's nothing out of the ordinary in there; it's about as cramped and sardine-like as the rest of the apartment unit. The futon's unmade, there's some clothes strewn about on the ground, which he hurriedly tries to collect in his arms. A combination of both his and Nayuta's knickknacks on a shelf she's decorated with stickers. Boxes stacked in a corner, some belonging to Powy and some to — ah. He looks over his shoulder at Aki. ]

Hey, I've been meaning to tell ya. After your old place got totaled, Powy and I — [ He makes a face for a split second before amending: ] Powy and me managed to pick up some of our old things. So, like, your old stuff, too. It's not much and a lot is kinda wrecked, but if you wanna have a look… We can go through it later?

[Aki follows him into the bedroom, for want of a more private place to do this. He doesn't think Nayuta is going to suddenly come back here, but he's never been the sort of person who enjoys having sex not in a bedroom. Something about the practicality of it. Doing it elsewhere makes it feel like a quickie.]

[He only sort of looked around the room when he was cleaning up, choosing not to touch it for the same reason he never touched Denji and Power's room at his apartment. Aside from quick checks to make sure neither of them were hoarding perishables, he didn't want to clean a private area. It doesn't feel right. So as Denji neatens up and he takes a bit of a better look at things, the offer takes him off guard in a negative way. And not even that this time he used the proper grammar and changed to the wrong one.]

I - No. [Then he stops himself. Unsure why he immediately declined, he shakes his head, pulling the door shut behind himself.] I mean - Later. Fine. Sure.

[There's that weird feeling in his stomach again. Denji has a talent for killing the mood. No wonder he's never had sex. What things did he keep? Fuck, he doesn't care. Doesn't want them. What even survived? No, he doesn't care.]

...Forget about the room. Just - come here, already. [He reaches out for him, attempting to stop him in whatever mess he's trying to stow away. He doesn't care about that right now. Did he have to bring that up? God, he's so stupid. What kinds of old things is he even talking about? His clothes? His sword? His - He doesn't want to know. He doesn't care about that stuff anymore. Aki forcibly abandons all of those thoughts in favor of wrapping his arms around Denji and squeezing him tight, glaring at the wall behind him like it's the plaster's fault for bringing up what he left behind.]

[That Denji kept any of that - stupid. Again he forcibly abandons those thoughts. But with more force this time.]

[ A yelp he realizes is pointless once it’s already taken shape and risen out of him: ] W-Watch it! You're gonna make me trip!

[ Had Denji been the same malnourished stature and physique as when they first met, Aki might have fully bowled him over using the strength he knocks into him with now. As things stand, Denji holds his ground, footing only minorly slipping back before he adjusts to accommodate the weight of another person leaning heavily into him — not that it puts a stop to his insides flipping and frying with haywire nerves. Suddenly, too keenly aware of what they're about to do in here. A collection of clothes and plushies slip to the floor, limply laying there in the opening between their feet. He squirms around within the snare of his arms, Denji's elbow nudging into his stomach to create room for him to twist around. He's not trying to escape, not really; he just wants to see Aki's face.

Because whatever this is, it feels different from how they embraced each another earlier. Gentleness discarded, like his own body's being clung to in a way that implies it doesn't wholly belong to Denji anymore, that he's sharing ownership with Aki from this point on. ]

…Aki?

[It doesn't feel the same and he doesn't know why. It doesn't feel like when he was held, he recognizes - holding as opposed to being held. Aki loosens his grip and looks down at him, still with a pinched brow that you'd need an iron to smooth out.]

Yeah. Sorry. [His arms slide down as he shakes his head, as if disregarding what he just did.] Come here. Just sit down.

[He takes a seat, himself, crossing his legs as he waits for Denji to do the same, though as he looks up he suddenly asks - ] Have you ever kissed anyone, yourself? [He knows he's been kissed but he doesn't know if he's taken the initiative before. Just like a hug, he thinks, the giving versus receiving is different. He always talks a big game about what he wants to do, but Aki isn't sure he's ever actually tried to achieve any of it beyond dreaming and imagining.]

What? I've kissed girls! A thousand million times, [ he coughs, and that in itself should be an indicator of where his experience sits on that front.

Obediently, Denji joins him on top of the futon, twiddling with the drawstrings of the shorts he changed into earlier. Expression not quite yet easing out from the consternated furrow it'd set into from earlier, from thinking too hard about the very man seated in front of him. He doesn't even know what he was apologizing for. It was just a hug, unexpected, yeah, but…

Whatever, he tries to slough off the feeling that there's something he didn't notice, that maybe he could have if he'd been given an extra second to consider it. Huffing, Denji vigorously scratches a hand through his hair. ]

…I mean, I've thought about it. I just, like, never know when I should go for it. 'cause what if I think it's the right time and that she wants it, but actually she's about to sneeze in my face? Then, I'd just be eating up gunky boogers and stuff. That'd be crappy!

[ He pauses. ]

And, you already know this, but you're the only guy whose ever… Who I've ever… Yeah.

[Aki has no idea who he's trying to fool. He's sure Denji hasn't been any closer to his shallow dream as he was a year ago. He wouldn't be sitting across from Aki if he were.]

I know. [He could tell. But mostly he could just tell he was a virgin. Still, he guesses Denji still finds it different.] Then, just try it. On me. [He thinks it will give him some encouragement, some feeling of confidence doing this. If he's nervous that a girl is going to sneeze when he leans in to kiss her... Well, he still doubts he's had many moments like that, but doesn't that make it even worse for him? He sits still and waits for him to move.]

[ No catch? is what he'd ask if he could stop staring at Aki harder than necessary. He's keen on the idea, to be sure, but his stomach tightens like double-knotted shoelaces — usually, around this point, he'd clam up entirely. However, his jaw slides one way and the next, then at last locks into place. Determined. Okay, yeah. He can do this. His last two brain cells rubbing together is the only thing that manages to get him up and crawling closer on all fours, but, yep, definitely, he can do this.

Trying to ignore their knees bumping together, Denji's hand hovering in the air for a moment, suspended by uncertainty, until he settles on placing it atop Aki's thigh. For leverage, he tells himself. Close enough that he can feel Aki's breath dusting his cheeks, he starts to lean in, only to stop a hair's width away. His brows furrow, struck by a sudden thought that has him rearing back, just a flick. ]

The second I hear you laugh at me, I'm pinching your nuts.

[ With an ego as fragile as Denji's, the threat is important to mention. And then, chin tilting, he plunges forward. His mouth's slightly parted as he presses into Aki, a pulse of movement that's quick and curious and untrained in the way he misjudges the distance, aching to learn. He tries hard to readjust, tip his head back to keep the edges of his teeth from grating up against Aki's. ]

[The threat almost stirs a laugh from Aki, but he holds it back. He didn't expect it. After how eagerly he went down on him last night - Really, a kiss is what he's going to be nervous about messing up?]

[But he doesn't laugh, instead blinking at the suddeness of his motion, the way he pushes into him as opposed to meeting him right there. Aki leans back with it at first before slowly, almost gently correcting him, parting his own lips so he can feel the way they meet his when at an angle as opposed to straight on. He raises a hand to set on his shoulder and hold him at the right distance, then slides that hand up to his neck and presses at his chin with his thumb. Again, a small bit of guidance in where he tilts him so he won't hit him with his teeth.]

Good. [He kisses around the word, his voice lower. It does feel nice to do this, he thinks. No one has kissed him in ages. The same as the hugging. Doing it both ways highlights the differences.] Open your mouth, a little more. [And unless he fights him on it, Aki gently coaxes at him with his tongue, slipping past his lips and toward his own so he can show him how to use that, too. Hopefully without any direct bites to it just yet.]

[ The blowjob, this kiss — he'd been just as nervous the evening prior, trying to overcompensate for his lack of expertise with a reckless enthusiasm. Force is always a foolproof plan whenever he runs into an obstacle, a tricky devil; it can do wonderful things, like mask how much he has no idea what he's doing at all. But Aki's already knows that about Denji, which makes tripping up feel less all-or-nothing. Fighting's not really the same song and dance as kissing, and with Aki's coaching, he's coming to terms with that fact: Each time it's signaled to him to slow, slant in one direction, meet him halfway at another, Denji complies with skillful precision. Taking direction is probably the one thing he's very, very good at when he wants to be.

He invites his tongue in with little resistance, a pleased sound emitting from him, the hand resting at Aki's thigh riding up under his shirt, gripping his hip. The raspberry is long gone by now, but the tang of nicotine is a harder flavor to shake, sweeping up against the roof of his mouth. Funny, he thought he'd hate the taste more. Always disliked the powdery scent coming off Aki's clothes when he came in from a smoke. This, though, this almost makes him want to try lighting up those cigs he's always reselling. Testing the waters, Denji's own tongue flexes up against the underside of his, not overly pushy about commanding the space between their mouths, but intrigued. Pliant and moving in tandem whenever Aki leads, then darting out into what hidden corners he hasn't yet charted when he's given the leeway to. ]

I thought — [ He doesn't want to breathe unless its the air straight out of Aki's back throat, but he has to break away at some point, his lips plush and bruising, but still wanting more as he smears kisses up against Aki's jaw. ] Mm, I thought you quit…?

[At first, Aki isn't sure what he means. What did he quit? But it hits him a moment later as he slips his other hand behind Denji's back, shifting a little on his hips to make room.]

More or less. [He tugs at him then, aiming to pull him closer and toward his lap. Denji isn't that much smaller than him but he thinks the added height will help with his confidence. Not that it seems like he especially needs it - the longer he kisses him, especially with him tracing them along his jaw, the more surprised he is at how fast he learns. Well, he's always been that sort of kid. Someone quick to pick up on things and put them to use. He was always annoyingly observant in that way.]

Up here. Come here. [He unfolds his legs to allow him more room without threatening his blood circulation.] Keep going, just like that. [And once he's close enough, he combs his fingers into Denji's hair and pulls him back to his lips.]

[ A noise startles out of Denji as he's urged in, his knees transferring to either side of his legs, straddling him — he can tell the new positioning is for his benefit, but knowing that doesn't help to contain the ruddy wash of color burning up his collarbone, the pits of his throat. He can feel the squish of both their thighs, muscled and warm through their clothes, flushed together, too. And that's, well, a little unbearable. But still, he does as he's told, suckling a line up the cut of his jaw until the pressure against the back of his head insists him back toward his mouth. ]

Thought you tasted good. [ He mutters from the corner of his mouth, the words muffled as he teeths at Aki's underlip, light and tentative, not sure how much of a bite to apply. ] Different from your come.

[... How nice to hear, that he tastes better than semen. Aki nearly rolls his eyes but he doesn't want to scare him off. Not when he's closer than he's gotten before.]

You're just tasting dinner. [So what if he had like three bites total, it's still there. His teeth aren't biting as harsh as he feared so he allows that to continue while reaching down to find the edge of his shirt. He starts to work it up, but he'll stop if Denji fights him on it.] Here - Pull your arms forward.

[Successful or not, he goes for his own shirt next. It's too hot in here. Summer nights in Tokyo are awful sometimes. His chest is unscarred. Any of his earlier injuries and burns and marks of healed skin that Denji had seen before, back when they were living together, are gone. He's gotten stronger since he last saw him - a little firmer in his core, more strength there than his arms now. But otherwise, he feels the same. No plug or trigger or anything marking his chest to show a devil lives inside of it.]

[ He was trying to be flattering, give him some credit…

Denji remembers he was shirtless yesterday, too, but it was dimmer back then, harder to make out the edges and planes of Aki's chest. He's not sure what to think of the stretches of skin, which in the past housed darkened scar tissue and jagged lines — the parts of himself Aki willingly desecrated, peeled and fed to a hungrier animal than any devil, his ambition — all of it being gone. Maybe it's not his place to mourn what Aki will never have again, but his throat swallows down heavy all the same, something inflamed inside his lungs, stinging. He doesn't know why. He has all the same parts, the same inhuman mechanisms now. This way Aki will never die again. So why…

Mutely, he reaches over to palm the ridges of his ribs, the place where he'd thrown himself in the path of Kobeni's knife for Denji. Stupid jerk. His hand moves up, ghosting over a nipple, the dip in his clavicle. He'll probably never understand him, even if they live the same life, even if they have sex. His thumb pads over the protrusion of his Adam's apple, the ripe fruit he'd sunk his teeth into when they fought, chewing through bone and cartilage, drinking in wet flesh and protein. ]

You…

[ Denji's body has developed, baby fat starting to chisel out from from his face. He's put on mass, his build now more sinewy, but there's an incomplete quality to him, like there's still room for him to change. To grow up. But it doesn't feel that way to him, all of a sudden, because sitting here in Aki's lap, blinking down at him, looking like he might cry at any second, he feels more like a kid than ever.

He really does have a talent for killing the mood. ]

Edited 2023-08-18 20:39 (UTC)

[Is he... about to cry?]

[Aki blinks in shock, staring up at Denji with an almost nervous look. Why? What did he do? Is he just excited? Overwhelmed? He reaches to where his hand is on his throat and brings it up to his lips to kiss his fingers, the nerves melting to something like concern or maybe it's only a questioning stare.]

It's okay. [He wraps his other arm around his back and smooths it over his bare skin. He can feel the outline of his spine.] You're doing good. It's alright. [He drags his lips over his fingers, still looking at him, almost watching him to make sure he doesn't actually start crying, then leans forward to kiss his cheeks next, traveling down from them to his jaw and his throat and then back up to right beside his ear, muttering between a few brushes of his lips.] Just relax. It's just me.

[ He's not going to cry, fuck, fuck, that'd be so…

His breathing shakes, water pricking at the inner corners of his eyes. He wants desperately to turn the other direction, to be unmade, unseen, unraveled from Aki's arms because how shameful is this sight? A stupid boy who finally gets what he wants and doesn't know what to do with it, doesn't know where to look. He shivers against the fluttering sensations Aki holds to his skin, peppered in like a promise, like the one they made at the station, and he feels childish for thinking of it that way, but it's a thought that soothes him. No one's ever cradled him like this before, not in his memory. Only Makima came close, her head ever faithfully pressed to his chest, seeking to comfort herself rather than to comfort him — and it's not as if he can even blame her for it when, like Denji, she must have understood the nirvana of what it felt like to have someone finally within reach after so long. To keep within reach.

Overwhelmed is the right word for it but it's not one that lives in his vocabulary. He just knows it's — too much, not enough. He doesn't want Aki to go anywhere anymore.

It's just me, Aki whispers to him. You don't understand, he wants to say back. That's the whole problem.

Denji doesn't say that, though, instead both of his hands cup the sides of Aki's cheeks, and his face twists to press his mouth to his again, this time without prompting or guidance. The tip of his tongue lapping at the entrance to his mouth, begging for entry, begging to be buried inside. Whether the slickness of his face is from sweat or something else, he can't tell. He doesn't care. He's tired of thinking. ]

[He's never made someone cry during sex. Scratch that - they haven't even gotten to sex. But Denji isn't crying because of this, he knows. But if he thinks about it too closely, he might start, as well.]

[Aki can feel his heart thumping hard at the rush of emotion in front of him. The way Denji suddenly grabs his face and resumes kissing him, like doing so with enough ferocity will let him forget everything else. It worked for Aki in some cases, years ago. The high of arousal is a good cure for a lot of things. It just doesn't last long enough to ever be a full heal.]

[He opens his mouth for him and the hand on his spine slides back up to the back of his hair, fingering through it as he meets his tongue with his own. They should get started, he thinks. He really doesn't want to cry during this.]

Lay down. [It's a little muffled as he doesn't attempt to stop kissing him to say that and leans to help bring Denji down and onto the futon, urging him to lay flat so he can straddle his body, run his fingers down his arms and sides, up and over his chest, avoiding the start cord since he has no idea how it feels to him. If touching that would make him yelp or get a chainsaw to the face. So he just touches the rest of him, exploring him physically while continuing their kiss and humming into it like the positive sounds will convince the both of them that it's all fine now. Not to worry. It'll be fine.]

[ Thankfully, only a few tears trickle down, bottled by the distraction of Aki's mouth and his voice and his hands. Yeah, they'll be fine.

Denji makes to brace up against his elbows, scared that the contact of their lips will end with the change in positioning, but relents to falling into the fluffy comforter after feeling Aki press him down. The strands of his hair fanning out behind him as each touch, ticklish and feathery, sends an electric charge through every nerve in his system, building up into something tight and molten in the depths of his belly. He has an idea, a hope, of where they'll be going with this soon. His fingertips trail from Aki's face, down the curve of his neck, down even further to his chest, pausing to knead the firm skin there.

The subsequent thought hits him fast and uninvited, and he hates it immediately: He used to really be into tits before he felt Power up. God, he misses her.

If he's able to think that, then they're not doing enough. Running on pure instinct and adrenaline, Denji gives his nipples an experimental flick, uncertain of how sensitive Aki might be there, but deciding to pinch and tease them between his fingers, rolling them into swollen circles, anyway. ]

[The sound from Aki might sound negative to anyone who doesn't know what the sounds of his displeasure actually sound like. He huffs, a brief exhale through his nose when Deni tweaks his nipples, but there's a flicker to his brow and it doesn't go further than that. Not at first, anyway. As he continues, rolling them around and suqeezing and pinching them into harder numbs, his kiss goes deeper, his hands grow tougher, and he finally pulls away with a second huff, his face red. Somehow this feels more embarrassing than crying in front of him. He should have expected the guy who yells the word "tits" randomly to be like this about chests of all kinds.]

Pull your pants down. [He moves away from him and rummages to grab the conveinece store bag, hesitating over the cigarettes he'd thrown in there upon giving up on his attempt. He grabs the lubricant and a condom, returning to Denji with both while on his knees.] You need to relax for this. Just do like I tell you to. Okay?

[He doesn't say a word about the fact that he's already half hard. Of course Denji would have good fingers.]

[ Dazed and turned on out of his mind by the subtle shifts in his reaction, a need being nurtured, Denji can only numbly nod along to the slew of directives Aki pitches his way. He wipes at his eyes first, trying to prevent another embarrassment from happening a second time, the back of his hand coming away wet. It's a miracle snot didn't drip from his nose. Then, he starts to shimmy his shorts down and his underwear along with it. His clothes land somewhere in a rumpled heap somewhere out of sight, leaving him fully nude and his half-standing erection fully visible. ]

R-Relax? [ He mumbles, still nasally from crying, but an edge of trepidation managing to stow away in the stutter of his voice. Goosebumps surfacing along his legs as he watches Aki take point. ] What're you gonna do?

[Aki begins to wonder if Denji has ever consumed gay porn before. Probably not. He just seems to find whatever's available and usually that's the magazines, based on what he would find stuffed in the edges of his bed on laundry day. He stays knelt next to him and sets a hand on his knee.]

Fingering. [He says it like it's obvious. It kind of is. But Denji... Well. He can see the streaks of wet on his face now and it causes Aki to soften.] It helps you loosen up. So it won't hurt. You just need to relax. Got it?

[He pours some lube into his hand, rubbing it over his fingers and bringing them down to his entrance.] Spread your legs open. Here. [And he leans down to continue kissing him while he begins the act of opening him up, one finger at a time. It seems like that helps him.]

[ He'll only own up to it under specific circumstances but Denji's definitely flipped through a few gay magazines before, at least since Aki's been gone, probably more lifestyle than fetish. Maybe gotten his hands on an actual sex tape or two at some flea market since he's still not old enough to get away with renting anything. Anyway, he's well-informed enough to be able to do the following: understand one guy is usually sticking their dick into the other guy, have wet dreams about someone tonguing his asshole, and to instantly gulp down what feels like a puddle of his saliva when Aki explains he's going to open him up.

He knew what Aki was about to do. He just wanted to hear it from his own mouth. ]

A — ki, [ Denji squeals messily into the kiss, dick slapping up against his stomach, vainly attempting to avoid overly squirming. Nearly bites down into Aki's tongue — or maybe he really did bite down? He can't tell, wouldn't have noticed, too focused, too aroused by the agonizing stretch of his insides, the rhythmic suction and release. It's not really Aki's fault that he reacts this way, either; he'd felt him rub into his puckered hole, had tried to relax through the initial strain and fitting of his oiled fingers all the way down to that first knuckle, but goddamn. And then he'd felt the tip of a second finger wedge itself in and…

Fuck it all, it feels good. Pleasure may not be a cure-all for the sunken feeling in his chest, but he'll take any placebo right now.

His hands reach blindly for Aki's pants, his knees bending up so that he can try to toe the annoying fabric down by his belt to his knees, inexorable in his want, heady with impatience to touch him, too, to have his thickening cock in his hands. ]

[Aki goes about the process excruciatingly slow. He massages the insides of Denji's body with just one finger to start, feeling the way he shifts and flinches below him and taking it as a sign that he's doing this correctly and not that he needs to hurry. The sharps of Denji's teeth are met with Aki reaching up to hold him down by the shoulder, forcing him flat on the bedding so he can more easily pull back if he starts biting too rough. But a few bites - that's more than fine. He just doesn't want to lose his tongue.]

There you go. [It's the same process with the second and third fingers, slowly opening him up until he can effortlessly pump all three of them back and forth, in an out, while helping to pull his pants down at Denji's insistence. He only removes his fingers to finish that, tugging off both his pants and underwear to toss aside and sit up and over him.]

[He just takes him in for a moment. Stares down at him without much of an expression, not excited or annoyed or disgusted or aroused. Inside, it's all different. He's nervous. He wants to do this right. Last night, it was easy. He's touched himself enough times in his life to feel confident getting Denji off with his hand, but this is different. You can't really have sex with yourself to practice, and Aki hasn't done this in over a year. He takes a breath and settles between his legs, only letting his stare linger for a few silent moments, then begins to roll the condom onto himself.]

Denji... [He leans over him, brushing his lips against his cheek and along his jaw.] Don't scream if it hurts. [It's supposed to be a joke. Kind of. Or at least a less direct way of warning him. He's not massive, he's average if anything, but still. He remembers his first time with a guy. Remembers choking on his own tongue from him not prepping Aki enough. Denji deserves a gentler hand. He brushes his nose against him.] Are you ready?

[ Being as virginal as they come, you’d think Denji would act more reserved, more bashful about so readily spreading his legs apart for Aki, taking in each push of his fingers thumping inside him, slicking his hole for the entry, the veined curvature, of something much better. But no, not at all, he doesn’t gag or stifle his cries for more, more, please more, writhing while his leg kicks into the air like a shameless dog who's getting his favorite spot itched just right. He's wanted this. Intercourse, yes, but intercourse with Aki, too. It's an older want than he cares to admit, one that goes as far back to those nights in their old place he'd spend hovering outside the bathroom, palming himself as Aki splashed in the tub, thinking he could just wash these weird one-off episodes of wanton desire off by the next day.

A quivery whine sounds out of Denji when Aki empties him of his calloused fingers, his head heated and swimming. If he'd kept going, he probably could have orgasmed from getting finger-fucked into oblivion alone — but that would have been too bad, he thinks, as his glassy gaze sinks down to where he watches the thin latex roll down Aki's erection. Confusion lights up in his eyes the longer he's stared at, the interminable silence a lifetime sentence, a punishment, and Denji is on the verge of anchoring himself closer, asking him what's wrong, just as Aki bows forward.

His consideration is sweet. So sweet his insides ache all the more for it, so sweet Denji might cry again. ]

…Uh-huh. [ Denji faintly nods — not for lack of eagerness. He's lightheaded, only has the wherewithal to bend his neck forward to sneak a quick press of his bruised mouth to the corner of Aki's lips. His hips strain in the very same lift to bring his anus closer to the head of his cock, which might be average, but it's fat and fleshy with everything he wants right at this moment. He runs his hand against the length of Aki's shaft, trying to entice him to line himself up. ]

I want — I need — [ The words slur around his mouth, garbled from the amount of built up spit yarning his tongue. He can't even complete the sentence before another impatient whine erupts from him: ] Aki.

[The desire to do this rough gnaws at him like a hound on his ankles. Every whine and begging sound from Denji makes Aki somehow harder than he was, sweat beading on his brow as he feels his hands try and coax him forward, the lift of his legs bringing his hole even closer, tempting him, guiding him. Aki inhales deep. Lets it out in a fog as he nuzzles Denji's neck like he's looking for a vein.]

Whiny. [He wraps his hands around his thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them as he holds him apart. His knees move up beneath him as he releases one to line himself up, pressing the head of his cock against him, rubbing the ring of muscle almost like a tease but he's just trying to lubricate the rim. That's what he would tell him if Denji asked. When he finally does press forward, he does it in a single, fluid motion, not fast but not slow, simply sliding in from head to base, filling him in a solid shift.]

[And then he groans, dipping his head lower, dragging his teeth over his collarbone. His hand moves back to his other thigh and he forces Denji's legs open wider so he can somehow fit even more of himself in. Because it's so fucking good. It's better than he imagined. Better than those nights where he was so frustrated about everything, so overwhelmed with his life that he jerked off to the idea of spanking Denji until he cried, hitting him for all the annoying shit he pulls, then turning him over and fucking his reddened ass. It's ten - no, a hundred times better than that scenario. He's never fucked a virgin. It's like he's drowning in how soft, tight, and perfect he is. He groans again as he shifts his hips and presses inside to the hilt.]

Good boy - Good... [The praise rumbles from the back of his throat as his nails dig sharp moons into his skin. He presses them further up, reveling in how he can move Denji's body.] Good, fuck, you feel so good. Open up for me.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject