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

[ 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.

[ Eyes rolling back, the muscles of his sphincter flex in a silent plea as Aki greases him up with precum or lube, maybe both, who cares, he's unable to tell which is which anymore and too stimulated to care. His entire bottom half, taint to balls to his pathetically weepy dick, could be doused in gasoline for how just the tip of Aki's cock torches everything it touches and circles. It's deplorable how much another man can be so fucking hot, so fucking his in this moment; he’s never been more attracted to Aki than as he swells into him, almost mean in the way he doesn't ease him in, immediately disappearing halfway inside the stretch of Denji's inner walls.

He's tense but working overtime to accept him inside, to weld to the presence of his shape — no, to memorize it, even as his entire frame seizes up, spine arching off the wrinkled bed sheets as Aki leaves pink marks into his chest, his thighs, pressing his legs out as far as he can go. Despite the barrage of sensations, physical and electric, painful and pleasurable, all noise ceases from him like a phone line that's been cut, his mouth twitching agape as he struggles to take one long, stabilizing intake of air. Trying to. But then Aki's hips are hitting flush against his ass cheeks, and that's when he loses it: He doesn’t scream so much as, in a delirium of euphoria, shudder loose a mangled noise from his lungs, tunneled between an animalistic yowl and a moan so primal, so devil-like, it could have been birthed straight from hell's door.

Face screwed up and babbling nonsense curses, Denji whips a hand out behind him, scrabbling for purchase against the edge of the futon, afraid that the next shove might actually send him overboard off the mattress. Plus, it's something helpful to push off of so that he can grind up into Aki's pelvis, the balls of his feet digging brattily into his lower back, urging him. ]

Fuck, yes, I'm open, I'm open, I'm — nngh — [ His other hand splays out square against his abdomen, an approximation of where he can feel Aki reaching. ] A-Again. Do it again… [ Desperately: ] Fuck me, Aki.

Edited (reworded some stuff + realized i forgot to rearrange some of the text orz sorry!) 2023-08-21 03:24 (UTC)

[The sound he makes creates a reaction inside Aki similar to what he felt whe he was a hunter. It's the sign of a weakness exploited, a sneak attack successful, anything working. It immediately makes him want to follow instinct and attack sharper but he holds himself back because it's Denji. Denji, who he beat up within the first hour of meeting him. Denji, who he smacked and shoved and glared at countless times in his life. Denji, who he watched die enough times but never enough to not feel his heart in his throat each time.]

[But then he's begging him and Aki groans, the feeling of his heels digging into his lower back, his hand pressing down right over where he's reached. Aki grabs at Denji's thighs and pushes them both up, forcing him to stretch them up and over himself as he rises up on his knees and slides out of him as a result. There's a sort of violent heat in his eyes as he raises them to look at him. The mix of the sounds he's making, the words he's saying, the voice he's using - it's mixing in a slurry of confusion inside of Aki. He wants to attack as much as he wants to cradle. He wants to hold as much as he wants to punish. And worst of all, he doesn't know which path is right.]

[But he needs to be back in him. Aki thrusts forward to slide back inside and then retreats at the same speed, quick and to the point without being quite so violent as to slap him with his skin. He keeps his hands on his inner thighs and holds them pinned into his stomach as he leans over his body and his tightness converts into how hard he grasps that smooth, soft skin. Like he could just lean down and bite into it. His hips pull back and he repeats that thrust.]

There you go. [Unsure if he's saying it as an answer, a There you go to Denji's request, or a complement, a There you go in how his body responds to him.] You're doing so good - Denji... [He releases his legs with the expectation Denji will keep them up, his hands instead sliding down to his ass to grasp at his cheeks, tug them apart as he begins to thrust in full earnest. Repeated, similar motions that fill and drain him, back and forth, constant in their speed and pressure. He massages the skin of his ass as he moves to press his hole tighter and then looser as he stares down at him, watches his reactions like a hawk, looking for too much pain as well as reveling in the correct amount of it.] Denji - How is it?

[ Somewhere in the frenzy of his limbs contorting to accommodate the addictive friction of their movements, a soreness flaring into his joints and muscles as he deliberately, excruciatingly, beats into his prostate, as if to saw him in two — he realizes something: He's completely at Aki's mercy. Thinking back on it, he's always lived this way, every hand dealt to him an unlucky one, and Denji, never able to decide for himself whether he'd like to fold or raise his bets or leave the playing table altogether. But with Aki, it doesn't feel so bad to be handled and steered, like he understands the helplessness of getting jerked around, to drift through your day with a noose caressing your neck and someone else's hand deciding how much slack to give you, and maybe that's why he's being so nice.

Nice, even now, even as Denji watches a darker compulsion, an ancient one, whet his stare. Even as he exercises restraint. Of course, he recognizes it. He saw the same look on Aki's face when he found him in that seedbed of devils yesterday. Sees it every time he comes home from molting off steel after a fight and has to look into his own reflection.

One caged creature acknowledging another.

From below him, he can't bring himself to say anything about it, can't string the right words together between his blistering breaths as Aki works him in a continuous up-and-down loop of his rolling hips, the clutch of his hole hugging and stretching in tempo to each crushing squeeze of his ass, brutally beckoning, like he's subconsciously trying to milk him for all he's worth. Aki's fault for lathering him in praise so silky, his approval feels no different from if he'd dragged a hand against the skin of his dick.

The real truth is, though, it's not easy for him to get used to relaxing against the pressure throbbing inside him, no matter how constant; sometimes the drop of his weight hits him in a way that makes his whole body tighten and fissure and hiss in reflex to the pain, but then in the next thrust, feel like liquid heaven injecting straight into the knots of his spine, again and again, just like he asked him to. Still, Denji tries his best to keep apace, his legs straining to remain lifted, shaking from the exertion so much that he has to relocate the hand on his stomach to Aki's back shoulder for extra support, nails scraping scarlet trenches into his skin.

When Aki asks him how the sex is, he gives him a feeble look, because isn't it obvious how thoroughly bankrupt of all his senses he is? But then he can only think about earlier, how imploringly he’d asked him if he’d enjoyed himself last night, and he knows he has to say it clear as day: ]

I-I like it! I like — [ His head tosses back, suddenly, from how he can feel their testes rubbing, god, fuck. Denji's hips squirm into the pleasure with another moan, the starter hanging from his chest, jostling, rattling from the vibrations like the tail of a snake. His other hand gropes at the spot, smoothing against the cord, the flesh there sensitive — is Pochita feeling this? Is Pochita lost in the pulsing sensation between their legs, too? ] Everything! Every part of you… feels good. So don't… [ He's not sure how long he's going to make it, honestly. And if that's the case, if he's really going to collapse on Aki's dick soon, he wants to give him permission — ]

Don't hold back.

[It's like giving a cat catnip or a dog a bone straight from the broth. Denji tells him not to hold back and for a moment Aki looks incensed, ready to do exactly that, his body going tense at how Denji tells him he feels. That he feels good. That he likes it. That he likes Aki and what Aki is doing. It goes to his head and fills it like hot gas.]

[Denji can take it, he knows. He'll accept whatever he gives him and be spry and undamaged within a day. Each time he moans it's like he's egging him on to do just that, to really show him how it can be. How harsh things can be and, despite that, how safe and warm and loving it can be. He can feel his nails cutting into his skin and Aki reaches up blindly to grab him, snatching Denji by his wrist and forcing it up and above his head. His other hand presses into the sheets right beside his neck to steady himself.]

I won't.

[The pulse of his hips has a definitely jerk to the end of them as Aki pounds him, slapping his ass over and over with each thrust. He can feel even the minute flinches and spasms inside of Denji like this and each time he rams in as far as he can manage he swears he feels a new muscle respond. Aki leans down into Denji's neck and bites hard at his throat, sucking at the skin as he continues fucking him with a merciless and constant rhythm like a death march. He keeps it up until he can't, his hips stuttering and shaking as he comes down from the roughness but it's not because he's tired. He raises his head to see Denji, still sliding in and out but gentler, more careful, seeing how he is, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand in a mimic of a handhold.]

Again? [He doesn't need the permission but he wants Denji to give it to him anyway. His tone is clipped and tight. Not from anger or frustration. If he doesn't keep a handle on himself, he'll finish right now, before he's gotten Denji to his own limit. He needs to make sure he remembers this.]

[ Ruined is how Denji feels, and why wouldn't he?

Struggling against the vice that fastens him into place, his inner muscles contracting around every fraction of damnably sticky skin he can sleeve around, inside and then vanishing, an onslaught of blows jolting stars into his eyes and keening sounds he didn't think he could make out of his throat — how the fuck is he ever going to have sex with anyone else? If it’s not at least half this good? If it's not Aki's face, gripped by a coiled concentration, mouthing at his jugular? Held captive by his body, thrumming with a pent-up energy that devastates him with each squelch, rippling out into his skin, pushing him nearer and nearer to his peak. The only thing that would make Aki even more perfect is if he ditched the condom.

By the time his thrusts slow, Denji's legs have fully enveloped his waist, locked at the ankles and urging him deeper, if that were even physically possible. Vividly purple, Denji's cock twitches against Aki's stomach. Another form of begging. ]

Hnnngh, ah — gain —

[ Only just barely coming down from overwhelming crash of how fluid his hips are against his, Denji can only squeeze out fragments of an answer, inaudible from the way his groans melt out of him. ]

I'm — I —

[ Almost there. So close. But words fail him, so he gives up on those. Settles for his fingers curling inward, closing around Aki's thumb. His face nosing against the hand Aki's pressing into bedding by his head — tenderly, fondly. Denji's lashes flutter close, briefly.

…Then, jaw widening, his neck lunges for the elastic skin between Aki's thumb and forefinger. Denji's teeth snap, not caring if he breaks through skin or draws blood. He knows from cooking Makima, drenching slabs of her meat in leftover stock as the gas stove heated the wok up, letting the aromatics simmer until something sweet caved from all the raw ingredients of her… He knows that not all acts of love are always understood. That consuming someone, and wanting to be consumed, that violence can feel just as right as holding someone senseless. Hugging them tight, never letting them go.

That's what he wants from Aki. ]

[Aki takes in a breath when Denji tells him to go again, wrapping his fingers around Denji's hand when he grabs hold of him there. He adjusts his knees beside him while sweat drops down his brow and he begins to back up, to resume.]

[And then Denji bites him and Aki almost howls from the mixture of pain, shock, and arousal. His hand snaps up to cling around Denji's mouth, his thumb and fingers encircling his mouth as if to force that bit of skin into his mouth while he holds him down against the mattress. His hips piston violently as he grunts and pants. His whole body is on fire. He hasn't had sex like this in years. Years, since he's felt the burn of pain in the middle of it. A slap to the face. A bite on the shoulder. A tight pinch to skin, a hand over his mouth, around his neck, warning him to keep it down. But he never could. Aki isn't a noisy person and only raises his voice to prove a point at home. Never in public, never so shamefully to draw attention. But during sex it's different and the sounds he makes are as loud as they are primal. It's like allowing an animal off its leash, letting it run rampant yet contained. Clapping your hands and it comes rushing back, holding its neck out for the clip to attach again. But for those brief moments, he ran so hard he kicked up dirt.]

I'm gonna - Fuck, I'm gonna come in you - Fuck - [He hisses from the pain as he continues pounding into Denji, forcing his hand into his mouth and demanding the pain continue. He knows he's wearing a condom but it doesn't matter with what he says because mentally it feels like he's going to fill Denji to the brim anyway. He jerks his hips until suddenly they stutter and flinch and he drops his head to groan into Denji's throat, his lower teeth dragging over his skin as he fills the condom and moans against the heat of his neck. He moans his name, more curses, his hips still moving, trying to edge out that last little bit of pleasure he can hunt down. He wonders why it's so hard to see straight before realizing his eyes have rolled back. His lower back is killing him. It feels like nirvana. He never wants to pull out of him.]

[And for a moment he just lays there, only croaking out a single, groan of a word into the bottom of his jaw: ] Denji...

[ It’s like a domino effect: Aki’s hand pushes into his mouth, a shove so sudden and hard it nearly has him gagging on his tongue, and though Denji’s eyes go wide, red-rimmed and watery again, he acquiesces to the force. He knows what Aki wants, Aki knows what he wants — and this is the culmination of that. His fangs pierce heavier into the skin, sinking until a decadent red guzzles out from the open wound, seeping into his taste buds and down his chin. Cloying, metallic, warm — Aki’s blood tastes the way anyone would expect it to, and yet it's sweeter, richer, than anything he's ever had before. He's never had wine before but he thinks that this is what it'd feel if he took a swig, felt the burn of it sliding all the way into his belly.

Between that and the brutality of Aki's thrusts, matchless in his desperation to feel something, feel at home somewhere, even if it's just inside a boy who smells like wet dog, Denji doesn't stand a chance.

Aki's hips are still ricocheting toward his own release, when his cock grates up against his walls with a singular twist that has Denji's spine leaping fully off the ground in a mix of agony and bliss. Exquisitely throttled and blinded by white hot sparks flying in his eyes, he wants to moan, gasp, screech Aki's name to the point of wretching, but with his palm still partway inside his mouth, he can only cry and snivel into the bloodied obstruction as pale streaks batter his abdomen in short, stunted bursts. He doesn't feel like a person or a devil or a hybrid of either as he shudders, no rhythm to his movements as Denji's ass meets his thrusts, awkwardly, like he hasn't quite committed to whether he's going to thrust into the open air or grind down into him. He just feels like an open nerve succumbing to the peak of his pain and pleasure.

But it seems that it doesn't matter what he does, or what he is or isn't, because Aki's shaking against him all the same. His moans, not unlike the sound of graves and bones and earth shifting below ground, the roar of cartridge after cartridge emptying — but Denji doesn't look away or shut his eyes, just tries to find the music in it, sighing through his nostrils and using his remaining energy to suction his muscles around his softening cock. The last of his thrusts, the growl of his name, tremoring out inside him, sweetening Denji's own aftershocks.

It's quiet after that, save for their messy breaths. He lies there, chest rising and falling, as Aki does the same. The both of them like two puppies exhausted from roughhousing too hard, but that's just what happens when you let dogs run free into the wilderness without supervision.

Mouth opening to remove the sharp edges of his teeth from his hand, now colored in drool and blood, Denji gives the indentations he'd left a conciliatory lick, trying to cool the swollen skin. And because he always has to ruin a nice moment, he rasps out, voice grainy: ] …We should do that again.

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