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

[Aki slowly curls his fingers around the strands of hair at the base of Denji's nape. His grip tightens as he tugs him away at the same time, the hand around his waist keeping him from moving away despite that. The separation between their lips is only a couple inches but Aki wants to hear him say it, even as he tries to keep kissing at him through each word.]

[He wants to say, No, you wouldn't have. Call him out on lying. Denji wouldn't kill himself for him. He doesn't want to believe that, or even entertain the thought, as tempting as it is. Something tells him it just can't be true.]

You were doing fine without me.

[There's a roll of thunder from a distance as the rain continues pelting them. He doesn't look upset as he says that - if Denji had done something that stupid for his sake, what would that say about himself? That he was so worth two people dying for him over? No, that can't be right. Can Denji really feel that way about him.]

You have that devil. Your own goals. Your own happiness.

[He has to impress this on him, he thinks - that Aki isn't worth such things. That his life isn't meaningful enough for that. He knew he was going to die already - why delay the inevitability? The...]

[He blinks slowly. That's it.]

It's all futile.

[Then he tugs Denji right back in for another kiss. It's futile - which is why he keeps going forward. Constant motion feels better than being stuck in place.]

Wha —

[ What does he know? What the hell does Aki know? The words nearly snarl straight through and out of his whole chest, would, if Aki's lips weren't already screwing his mouth shut, silencing every noise that struggles to be heard, wanting or frustrated. He didn't see what happened after: Power dragging both their bodies into a dumpster, into that rotted hole, where them and all his shredded dreams made the perfect bed to just die in. Quietly and without fight. Doesn't know how close he came to staying in there, how he was forced to go on without either of them, biting at loose threads of what might make him happy. Sex, infamy, movies with both sad and happy endings — hoping any one of those would finally, finally, take, but no, it had to be the sound of a bleating telephone line. The promise that Aki might still be out there.

His hand slaps at Aki's chest, as if to tell him it's all too much. He breaks from him, surfacing for air, Denji's breaths all but vapor steaming his face. A flash of his tongue darts between his lips to swipe up the remnant taste of rainwater and sweat on his mouth. ]

You're… such a prick.

[ Why ask him a question when he's just gonna correct him? Tell him how feels is wrong, just like everyone else. What was the point of asking? Of trying to get through to him? ]

Would you rather hear that I hated you? [ His knees start shoving into him, crowding Aki toward the edge of the rooftop, angry, like he might push him off the edge, make him sink body-first into the pavement. ] That I wish you'd stayed dead?

[Would he? No, Aki thinks. He probably would hate to hear that Denji hated him. That his death was a relief, a thorn removed from his toe. A rock finally pulled from his shoe. But he can also see that Denji hasn't been struggling to live without him. That should be relieving. Is relieving, if he were asked and refused to examine it. Yet... why does it hurt? Even if he makes a disaster of a breakfast every now and then or has to jump to get over a broken step on the rickety apartment stairs, Denji is doing fine. Going to school, killing devils after class. He's doing well. So why can't Aki be fully pleased with it? Why does the feeling of being unnecessary tug at his heart like a finger on a frayed thread, threatening to create a hole in the fabric? It's childish to behave this way - to both want and not want something like this.]

[Aki doesn't look behind himself as Denji brings them to the edge. He can see the lights from police cars still shining around them, reflected in the fog of the sky. He keeps his grip on the back of his head, staring at Denji without trying to get away from the precipice.]

I spent all that time thinking you were.

[Both him and Power, and Angel and everyone else. His neighbors, his coworkers - dead.]

I tried to get away from all of this. I tried to - ...

[His eyes finally soften a little. To throw Denji's words right back into his face would be cruel right now. Aki reaches up with his other hand to find his in turn, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.]

I want you to be independent. But I don't want to leave you again.

[He wants Denji to be free. But he wants him to need him. He wants Denji to care for himself and know how to care for others. But he wants him to care for him most of all. The ache of never being fully wanted or unwanted - to not know if Denji wants him there or not, needs him there or not... It hurts more than knowing he has a time limit. It hurts to be unable to understand where his place is with him. It hurts to no longer have a place to call home. But Gun taught him from a young age - there's no such thing as a permanent home.]

[ Automatically, useless appeals shoot up his throat: I can be independent! and If you want to stay, then stay! both race for the finish line. But, darting a look down at Aki's hand on his wrist, he stomps on the brakes. Swerves.

The same way his words wouldn't able to best the thunder crashing high above them, or the rain drumming through the streets with the liveliness of a pair of kids running for some unknown destination, not caring where they end up — it dawns on Denji that the volume of Aki's reality, what he's gone through out there in some semblance of a half-life, the orders and the isolation and the destruction, isn't something he can compete with right now. He could bark all he wants about how they can have both things without trade-offs or hidden terms written in the fine print, without sacrifice, but Aki's not selfish the way he is. He keeps promises that Denji renders null and void within 24 hours; he cares about doing right by others, not hurting anyone, and not hurting Denji. That's the most frustrating part about him.

So what can he do for him?

After a moment, Denji's wrist moves from beneath Aki's fingers, replaced by the shape of his own hand, squeezing down. He interlocks their fingers, like a key pushing through a catch, twisting home. ]

You…

[ It's probably pointless to tell him that, yes, he was going to school as normal, that he had Nayuta and a place to crash, food to eat, that he was doing fine without him. That he could live a full life without him in the picture, maybe, but only because, at one point, Aki had been there. That he'd entered his life a year ago and salvaged it, like he salvaged their breakfast this morning, into something that could be swallowed down, even the too hard, too salty bits. That he'd come and gone, but that he still clung to the weight of his absence and his memory like a buoy in raging waters, a compass to lead him back out of the thicket.

It's pointless, so he tells him something else. ]

You said that you didn't care where we went. That as long as we're together, you'll go with me.

[ A sudden rattling comes from the roof entry, the door opening as the shine of a flashlight finds their faces. "I knew I saw someone near the ledge. Hey! This place is private property — you're trespassing!"

Denji doesn't look at the voice. ]

So come with me, [ he rushes the words out, pulling Aki up to stand on the precipice with him. ] I want you to come with me. Let's both leave, let's both —

[ Jump! ]

[...What?]

[Aki blinks and they're falling. To the side, so it's more like a jump, but a jump preceds the fall in this case. One moment there was a light in his face and Denji was telling him to go with him and now they're falling. His hand still on his neck, like he's holding a dog by the scruff, and he realizes he recognizes this sensation. A fall right before a splat, but the splat didn't work that time, and he knows it won't work this time, either. But Denji - ]

Wait -

[He wraps his arms around him suddenly, yanking him against his chest as he turns his body and expects the impact. It happens not a moment later and a horrible crunch surrounds them, metal breaking metal. His back feels cold. He feels it retreat inward again, sinking back into his skin below his clothes, though the shield only protected him from the initial impact, not the shock to his limbs or the crunch to his back. He cracks open his eyes (when did he close them?) and sees that the bright lights that had been flashing in the fog above are now flashing all around them, the patrol car under them smashed inward and bleeding metal and glass.]

[An officer is rushing over and demanding to know what happened, if they're okay, but Aki only pushes Denji up, grabbing him and yanking him along as he runs. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die yet. He tries to rush off as voices behind them call out to wait, they can help, the devil is dead, they don't need to panic. But Aki just runs. Eyes wide and full of fear. He doesn't want to die. He can't go with Denji - if he goes with him, he's just going to be hunted down, captured, Gun taken from him. No, it's better to be compliant. It's better to do what others tell him to. It's better to obey authority. The result is going to be the same in the end no matter what he does. He's going to die in the end. But he doesn't want to die yet.]

Can't - Have to -

[His body aches from the impact and his back feels like it was snapped in two. He can feel that little bullet burning a hole into his pocket. He knows what he was to do, but not here. He keeps running with faulty, stumbling steps through the evacuated streets in search of somewhere to hide.]

[ The fall had been the easy part to anticipate. To an extent, he'd imagined them shouldering the pain of the landing together and running hand in hand somewhere, too, but not quite like this. Idiotically, he'd a more juvenile motion picture running in his mental theater, something out of a teen coming-of-age movie where they'd dash in and out of the streets, splashing through puddles all the way, roughed up and in pain but still snickering. Maybe play more tonsil hockey in some out of sight corner once they made their great escape. The patrol car, the way Aki braced himself for the impact in Denji's stead — none of it had gone to plan, and now there's a panic seizing seizing Aki's voice, so real, it's like Denji can feel that very same hand tightening his own throat, shallowing his breaths. ]

Aki — Aki!

[ Denji calls his name again and again, the way someone might try to call out to someone tossing and turning from a bad dream. It's of little use.

Switching tactics, his eyes frantically scan the closest wing of the street, then moving on to the next, searching for a place they both can recuperate. Just for a single second. ]

T-There! C'mon, let's go in there!

[ When he spots a shaded staircase down to some establishment — a shuttered down bar, according to the grayed out signage — Denji takes the lead, fueled by a second wind of adrenaline, and steers them down a back road to duck inside the nook of the space. Though his shoulders crash into the wall and all he wants to do is hand over his knees and catch his breath, he doesn't let go Aki's hand. If anything, his grip strengthens, signaling to Aki to look at him.

Between breaths, he manages: ] Aki. [ He raises their connected hands, the veins of his wrist faced out toward him. ] Drink. [ It's not a suggestion. Aki's in worse shape than he is right now. ]

[Aki follows easily the moment Denji has found a spot to duck into. With the rain still pelting them both, the sudden cover has him realizing just how cold he's gotten - it's late and the weather definitely isn't making things any warmer. He catches his breath, same as Denji, not even realizing he's still holding onto him. When it's risen up by Denji's own movement, Aki looks up and stares at the offered wrist, brows furrowed in confusion. Drink...? From - him?]

[It's a stupid idea, he should say, but reasons it doesn't really matter, that Denji will heal from it in no time. It's stupid to fight this. It's stupid to reject it when he'll need to recover somehow before they go back and looking like a wet dog isn't going to beat the allegations from the devil, anyway. But something deeper is rejecting it. He's not a devil. He doesn't want that. To drink blood - Even to recover so easily, he can't do it. Even though the bite on his hand has already sealed itself up and is little more than a vague bruise now, he still can't stand the idea. But it will work, won't it? a little voice reminds him, and he stares at the veins in Denji's wrist, the blood concealed beneath, a short distance that even his teeth can reach and suck out. He holds onto his hand at an awkward angle, the open wrist still facing him, that close to him. He can just bite down and break straight through. Absorb that little bit of Denji. Come right back, be ready to move again. It's only blood. It's only Denji.]

[Briefly, his eyes widen, as if understanding a long, twisted, stupid joke with a brick of a punchline. Denji's blood.]

[He drops his arm as if throwing it, shaking his head as he steps away from him. What the hell is he doing? What the hell is he thinking?]

Just - Give me a minute.

[He crouches down and leans against the wall, still trying to catch his breath. He's exhausted. He's not thinking straight. That stupid devil - It's fucked up his brain. Like a child pouting, he turns away from Denji. It's embarrassing to think he's seeing him like this. So out of sorts.]

[ Denji stares at Aki's turned form, his frame painfully hunched and the clothes on his back ragged from their drop earlier. His gaze shifts down to his hand, one of his eyebrows ticking higher than the other. Wonders vaguely what it is Aki saw and disliked so much he couldn't bear touching him.

He doesn't hate me, right?

For a split second, that thought fills his mind, making him feel foolish as soon as it does. Like the answer should be obvious; it is in lots of ways. Others, not so much. They're friends, that's what he said last night. And he must like him enough to want to have sex, once, at least. It's just he always does that — that stupid thing where he shoves him away every time he wants to help. Is he really that undependable, even as a blood source?

…Well, after he failed to come home on time today, he's pretty sure he knows what that answer is. ]

Alright.

[ He suffers the rejection quietly, giving Aki's shoulder a light pat as he steps past him. There's a door at the very bottom of the stairs. The handle meets resistance when he wriggles it, prompting him to pause and glance behind him to make sure his companion's still preoccupied. Then, he brute forces the lock. The door swings in. ]

Hoooh — lucky us! Looks like some idiot left their place open 'fore they got evacuated.

[Slowly his breath is coming back to him, his pulse calming from its rush. He exhales slowly and pushes his hair out of his face as he tries to center himself. It's still burning a hole in his pocket. He could - ]

[Aki startles when Denji kicks in the door, but his shoulders drop when he sees what he's done. Breaking and entering twice in one day, if they count being on a private property roof... Ugh. Aki climbs back to his feet and shakes his head at him.]

Right.

[He looks behind himself, up at the rushing rain. Getting home when they're both messed up is probably stupid. Especially when he doesn't know how long the effects from that devil are going to last. He logically knows that's why his thoughts are so jumbled but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier to dismiss them. Internally he's still swaying between a desire to surrender himself to his fate and a need to take what he wants since he'll be made to do that eventually anyway. Governance versus hubris.]

...Come on. Let's at least dry off. [He moves forward, looking around once they're inside the evacuated bar for something to wipe his face of grime with.]

[ He should feel more himself after damaging law enforcement property and fleeing the scene of the crime, in the midst of a storm no less, but somehow being in a place utterly devoid of noise and clamor only sets his spine on edge. Now there's nothing in the background to white-out his thoughts, keep them from echoing like the grave, all-encompassing toll of church bells.

Denji steps further in — ]

Ah.

[ Then, as if remembering something, his sneakers squeak as he turns right back around and takes his place back at his side. Hooks Aki's upper arm over his shoulder and, regardless of whether he objects to the assistance, trudges them both over to one of the seats at the polished bar top. Denji's not very gentle; Aki's body is still a furnace to him, enticing to stick close while their clothes are soaked clean through with water, freezing him down to the marrow the more the fabric clings to his skin. But he does what he can.

Really, almost makes him laugh at how reminiscent this is when he helped him limp back to Makima's office after that first fistfight. Two dogs, two wounded prides. A classic example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. ]

Easy does it…

[ He doesn't move immediately away, instead finally tipping his head back to absorb the interior of the bar with an appreciative hum. ]

Fancy. But I don't think they have char siu in here. Sorry.

[He wants to push him off but the physical contact... It's so warm and soft even when it shouldn't be. Aki feels achy and tired and cold and the way Denji wraps his arm around him feels enough like a hug that he can lie to himself that's all it is. He walks upright enough to slump into the seat, reaching to grab a napkin from the dispenser on the bar top. He wipes at his forehead as Denji makes his commentary.]

It's not an izakaya. [It doesn't reek of smoke enough for that. There's probably not much more than nuts and edamame here. Either way...] Let's just wait out the rain and then head back. Don't ransack the place.

[He pauses, wiping the napkin over his eyes.]

...That devil. I'm sure she's fine. We can look for her once the rain lets up.

Okay.

[ Denji agrees, though internally he's less accepting of the decision. He doesn't occupy the seat next to his, opting to remain standing as the corners of his mouth curve downward. Still seeming unconvinced that just sitting here is the best course of action. Is Aki gonna be able to get around like this? Drying off isn't going to do anything for his injuries, but he's refused to drink his blood, refused to let him dig around to even conjure up a first aid kit… ]

If it hurts, if the pain is, like… If it's unbearable — you'd tell me, wouldn't you? [ He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, the fabric riding up as he gathers it all up into one scrunch to wring a mess of water onto the floor. ] You can tell me that stuff.

[Does he really seem that bad? It's honestly embarrassing for Denji to see him hurt in any way, but even moreso when he's trying to help him at the same time. To be doted on... He's never liked that.]

I'm alright.

[Whether or not he would tell Denji if he wasn't - that, he bypasses. The real issue is that he thinks he knows what would actually fix his aching back that wouldn't involve drinking Denji's blood, but between the two, he feels equally uneasy in how much he both wants and doesn't want them. He reaches down into his pocket, the fabric damp and hard to fit his hand into, but eventually pulls out the small chunk of Gun flesh, holding it in his palm. Staring at it for a long moment.]

I feel like if I eat it, I'll be fine again.

[He doesn't understand why. But that's what his mind is telling him.]

[ A layer of stunned silence sits there with them as dense as a washed out rain cloud, growing denser by the second, just waiting to pop.

…Huh? Um, what did he just say?

Without preamble, a shrill and disbelieving laugh jerks out of him as he shifts his weight to lean against the bar top, invade Aki's field of vision. As if to say, Don't look at that thing. Look at me. Look at me, Aki. He hasn't felt a surge of alarm like this since Makima gave him a sudden call and told him he had a visitor on the way. ]

Yeah, right. Dude, that's — that's not a funny joke. There's… no way that'd work.

[ But it would. He knows it would, that's part of what makes Gun flesh such a highly sought after global commodity. It's why Japan wants it, it's why countries halfway across the world want it, and it's why Gun itself wants it. International treaties have been born and burned for lesser scraps than what he holds now.

Denji's hand comes to land over Aki's open one, meaning to cover the disfigured bullet, like hiding the silver nugget will immediately dissuade him from the idea. ]

Put that thing away, Aki. [ He isn't even thinking anymore as he speaks, just saying whatever words first form in his mind. ] I'd taste way better. Promise.

[Of all the people to act like he's insane for thinking this - Really, Denji is going to respond like he just said something crazy? Denji sets his hand over his and Aki clamps down on the chunk, as if he's suddenly afraid he's going to snag it away from him.]

It's not about... [...He's not moody that he rejected his blood, is he? Aki slides his arm off the bar top, still cupping the flesh in his hand like it's in danger of shattering if he dropped it.] I can't explain it.

[It feels instinctual. Like a dog shaking off water or being wary of a striped snake. What else is he supposed to do with this? He raises his eyes to look at Denji, the look of disbelief in his expression. Is it that shocking to him that he would think this?]

I don't think I can bite your arm. [A muttered admission. He was given blood transfusions whenever he needed them until now, never a blood bag to guzzle down like devils. The idea of biting into Denji's arm... It's as unnatural to him as the idea of eating this chunk of Gun feels natural. Well, if he thinks of it that way, maybe he really does sound insane.]

[ What? There something wrong with his arm? If that's all the problem is, he could just cut his finger or something, easy-peasy, in that case… But it doesn't feel like that sort of counter would earn him anything from Aki other than a flat stare or a shake of his head, if that. Geez, why does he always have to be so complicated?!

He wasn't going to steal the bullet, but the way he so covetously withdraws it back from Denji's reach is almost a compelling enough reason for him to try. As if to actively hold himself back from giving chase, he crosses his arms, nails indenting his skin. ]

I dunno. I just have a bad feeling. [ While Denji's been known to be a hypocrite on certain fronts, the idea of Aki putting something strange in his mouth like Gun flesh isn't one of them. Not when he's personally swallowed down worse things for worse reasons. No, his primary concern lies in: ] …How do you know you won't, like, change?

[Aki doesn't want to answer that question. He has no way to prove that he won't change, that this won't be the tipping point between himself and Gun, that it won't be just enough for him to take over, or the last little vestige of power that will turn Aki from 50% human to 49%. There's no way to tell. Gun doesn't tell him anything. But holding the little dollop in his hand feels like holding a piece of luxurious cake, oozing with icing and springy like a sponge. Melt-in-your-mouth good.]

[And even beyond how much he craves it - What is he going to do with it if he doesn't?]

You're here, at least. [He turns his palm over to reveal it again, like a magician uncupping the shell hiding the rubber ball.] If something happens, you can...

[But saying that seems to immediately talk him out of it. Aki sets his jaw, grimacing at his own words. He can, what, kill Aki again? What kind of selfish shit is he saying? After Denji just told him how much he missed him. This, too, feels like an inevitability. This chunk will eventually be absorbed within him. But what can he do in between now and then?]

...Come here, Denji. [He's being so wishy-washy about this whole thing. That devil sent his head into a spin cycle. Too many things he should and shouldn't do, even more things he wants to and doesn't want to do. With his empty hand, he reaches out to him and turns in the stool so he can approach him head-on.]

[ If something happens, you can…

The implication isn't lost on him but he wishes it were. Denji shifts his weight away from him, without sharpness of acidity. A line drawn in the sand.

It could very well be that Denji's paranoia is unfounded, that nothing will happen besides Aki's cell regeneration getting a much needed boost and him having to concede to being the overly cautious one for once. He knows it's not like him to be so against a little trial and error when throwing reason to the wind is his whole modus operandi; hell, he's used an entire woman before as the star ingredient for over a month's worth of meal prep, uncaring of what it might do to his bowel movements or the innocent lives bearing her injuries. But when it comes to Aki, things are a different — he can't really put a pin as to how, it could be that he just feels extra stupid talking to him. Not that Aki makes him feel that way, but more like… like he wishes he were older and knew more about what the smart thing to do would be. To make him feel better. But since he doesn't, he has to overcompensate somehow.

Ahhh, what a shitty feeling. If Aki's just going to do it anyway, no matter what he says, he'd almost rather he get it over with…

When he hears his name being called, Denji's brown gaze flicks his way. He doesn't move. He imagines himself telling Aki: No. I won't just listen and do whatever you tell me to 'cause you think you know better than I do. I'm over crap like that. You can chow on your sketchy bullet all you want but leave me out of it!

…But his lips purse together. One of his hands uncrosses, the roughened pads of his fingers touching down to Aki's palm, slightly tracing the folds. ]

What is it?

[ It's weird how only once they're back in contact with one another does Denji realize he's shivering; he's cold. ]

Edited 2023-09-17 03:18 (UTC)

[Aki is cold, too. He can feel it permeating through his body, and just like before, the direct contact to Denji teases warmth. Maybe it's because that's what he craves, too, but if that's the case, why is the craving to eat this stupid chunk of metallic flesh even stronger? Why would he want Gun in his mouth more than someone like Denji? He can't let that become fact. No matter what that devil did to him, whatever its spores did to his brain, it will pass and he'll come out of it eventually. In the meantime, he has to stay sane. So he takes a breath.]

Sorry, for this.

[He slides his hand beneath his touch, wrapping his fingers around his wrist with the little bullet still in his palm, then brings him up to his mouth. He parts his lips and pulls Denji's hand in close, only the briefest pause of hesitation, then finally closes his eyes tightly shut and bites down between his index and thumb - the same spot Denji bit him the night before, teeth sinking into his flesh and breaking through to warm blood.]

[He doesn't want it to feel like anything. It shouldn't have any sensation to it unlike licking a wound inside your mouth, the metallic tinge of iron and copper and whatever else. But he didn't expect it to be warm like this. He didn't expect it to flow out of him like this, bubbling from the punctures like a shaken can of soda. Aki squeezes his eyes shut tight, unwilling to see himself in Denji's eyes like this. It's so shameful, he thinks. It's what devils do. What Denji does. He shouldn't need this. But if he has to choose, then he can at least fool himself into thinking that he isn't literally turning into more of a devil by doing this, as opposed to eating that little jelly bean of flesh in between his palm and Denji's wrist. At least this way he's only healing his body and not making Denji back away from him again.]

[ Sorry for what — the bullet or the bite?

Though the gnarled veins of the Gun flesh are something he wants to instantly recoil from, the sensation too alien to enjoy pressed to his wrist, no different from the bony legs of a tarantula brushing against the hairs of his arm, Denji stays still. Forgiving the touch.

Because Aki’s lips open, and with them so, too, does Denji’s scope of view, his pupils widened and dilated, as if his body latently knows he wouldn’t be able to stand missing the flash of his canines, the impression his teeth makes into the webbing between his fingers. His skin breaks easy, buttery, like peeling the skin from an apple, like it was made for Aki to bite clean through it all this time. There's pain, of course, but that's nothing Denji pays any mind to — in fact, he forgets about himself completely. Doesn't even notice his own breathing fluctuate, the way he gravitates closer, leans his weight in, not to apply pressure or choke Aki the way he'd done to him last night. But just to get a clearer look. ]

See? Not so bad. [ A perversely satisfied flush freshens his face, a tingling numbness tiding through him, head to toe. Red dribbles out from his wound, a vivid stain splashing Aki's mouth, his every nerve giddy from the sight. ] You… You're kinda pretty. Anyone ever tell you that? [ He doesn't say it flirtatiously — rather, with the kind of shyness a school boy would slipping a letter of confession into someone's locker for the first time. God, he's glad Aki can't speak back right now. His hand flexes, squeezing out more blood for him to drink up. ] Here, have some more.

[The sensation is so strange. He's never drank blood like this. He's watched it, plenty of times. Watched Denji and Power drink from bags of the stuff after rougher fights. Watched Angel suck from them like little juice pouches, taking dainty sucks to waste time in between tasks. He never imagined himself doing this. Didn't imagine that it might actually feel good, or feel like anything other than how it feels to drink water when you're thirsty. But it's different from that. It's even better than that. Like ice water during a heat wave, or hot coffee on an early, cold morning. Denji flexes his fingers to coax more blood from the wound and Aki sucks it down followed with a heavy exhale, pupils dilating as his wounds slowly mend and heal. His back feels lighter, his legs no longer so aching. The crink in his neck from how he landed on the car slowly ironing out. He keeps drinking.]

[He thinks Denji said something to him but he wasn't really paying any attention. Can't pay any attention - Who even cares, honestly? This is more than enough. He doesn't need anything else but this. This constant warmth. Denji's warmth, running over his tongue and down his throat, through his own blood and mixing and coiling with it. It's better than that hug, better than the kiss. He feels truly connected to him like this, truly in sync. As long as his teeth stay anchored into his skin, blood flowing from his wound to his lips, Denji can't leave him. Aki can't be pulled away. Everything is fine like this - And because of that, the spark of pain in his heart when he realizes with sudden clarity that it will end eventually has his jaw clenching a little harder, teeth nearly meeting one another in the break of his skin.]

[When he finally pulls back, there's a warm drip of blood rolling down his chin. He looks and feels like he just downed an impressive number of shots. His eyes rise up to Denji, looking no better but no worse either. The loss of their brief connection, one that lasted barely a minute, feels like a dry cord that snapped and fell away. All that's left is the pain of rope burn.]

Denji...

[He reaches for him, searches for his other arm to tug him close and bring him down for a kiss, blood still coating his lips.]

[ Denji's established his repute as a hopeless glutton for a reason. Give him a full table arrangement of whatever food fare you can scrounge up — takeout, homemade, gourmet — and he'll never cease to have the appetite to solicit more, as if stockpiling meals will keep his stomach from contracting around empty air ever again. But delusionally, for the first time, he thinks he could sustain himself on just this memory of Aki peering up at him, drunkenly, after giving into a greater thirst, a greater need, for him and him alone, for the rest of his days. Could fool himself into pretending this would be enough for him, that he could jerk off into the toilet to the enticing sheen of his blue eyes and be okay with that. ]

Aki —

[ His thoughts go dark, senseless. He doesn't think.

The high-chair tips on its feet, legs screeching against the floor from how eagerly Denji ducks in. Nearly climbs onto the seat, not even to kiss him but to lap at the trickle moving down his chin, suckling up his skin to clean the slide of red left behind and make his way back to Aki's lips, licking his mouth full-on, like a sorry mutt who's gone his whole life without a drop of water in his bowl. He grips down the edge of the chair with his uninjured hand to force the landing steady, the one swelling with bite marks coming up to fist Aki's shirt collar — the tight curl of his fingers prickle with pain, prolonging it, like he can still feel his teeth sinking through his flesh. Then, Denji angles his face to kiss him, his tongue nudging at his lower lip for deeper entry — as if he knows this is something he can reliably do, reliably give away, with confidence. ]

[It's a strange sensation to have himself cleaned up like this, less of a wiping sensation and more of a desperate lapping. It's cruel, in a way, because Denji is almost more concerned with his skin than his lips and Aki keeps tilting to try and guide him where he wants but the moment he finally gets there and prods to enter, Aki lets him in with no hesitation. He can actually smell the blood on his hand grasping at his collar but he tries to ignore it, his own hands grasping to wrap around Denji's body and tug him in close.]

[Sitting on a stool like this means he can't really drag him down on top of him without threatening the legs to give out or the whole thing to topple. But right now he really, really wants this. More than he did the night before. The hint of his blood was like torture, like a tease of what he could get if he could go that far with him. Why does he want that so badly? Why does he feel so empty inside, cramming things down his gullet until it fills the space? He's never been like this before, even after he lost everything, even after he gained more than he expected he never looked back and saw this. Why does it feel like Denji holds what he needs and he'll never be able to get it from him?]

[He pulls his head back to catch his breath, having just kissed him for so long and so roughly that his lips feel tingly and sore. Aki stares at Denji, separated by just a breath of space, then pulls his hands around his waist, grabbing at the cold and wet edge of his shirt and working to tug it off. He has exactly what he wants and needs, Aki thinks. Like a drunk man digging in a cooler for the last beer, he pulls and yanks to get the shirt over Denji's head so he can feel his skin directly.]

[ Eager to please, eager to do something right, he yields to Aki's insistent hands like a dog called to heel, could even be talked out of his entire suit of skin if that's what he wanted. His clothes? A trifle.

There's a roughness, unsteadiness, to the way he handles him, and Denji thinks he likes that, too, equally as much as he liked his gentler instruction — as if this hollow fervor is something they can share and play in. A leash going both ways, each end running in diametric directions until the knot at the center either pops loose or has to be sawed in half. Still damp, his shirt leaves behind a dewy residue when Aki strips him of it, making the air even crisper when it hits his torso, his goosing skin. Denji sucks in a breath and half-expects to see white misting from his face when he breathes it all out. That's how cold it feels without Aki on him. Inside of him.

Holy crap, he's so stupid horny. He slips his fingertips under Aki's shirt, dragging the cottony hem up in a single fluid whisk, but not even waiting for it to be all the way off until his mouth is hot against his chest, teething one of his nipples to hardness. Tongue teasing up the side of the sensitive nub, he mumbles, ] You wanna — uh, here…?

[ He feels silly just asking.

Of course he knows the answer to that — that they're going to fuck in a random bar they broke into — but Denji's never known how to keep his trap shut, at the best or worst of times. Especially when he's nervous. And Aki's really good at making him nervous. The better question would be how they're going to do this here. If Aki wants to bend him over the stool, using his blood as lubricant, and blow his back out the way, or if they both climb on top of the counter, that might work — ]

[Feeling Denji's tongue on his mouth is one thing. It's another to feel it on his chest, like a hot iron spreading molten oil over his body. He wants to grab him right now and pin him to the floor, yank his pants off - ]

[And then he asks that, and Aki falters for a moment. Does he... not? He stares down at Denji in somewhat confused silence, no idea how to respond to the clarification. In the chair? In the bar? ...At all?]

[He sets his jaw.]

You always kill the mood.

[He stands with that statement, grabbing Denji by the hip to force him against the doorway leading into the small kitchen area. All the walls are lined with picture frames and menu boards so those won't do. The door, however, is simple stained wood and will work just fine. Pushing Denji up against it, he meets his lips again to resume the kiss, hard and rough, like a small punishment for asking a stupid question. Of course they're doing it here. Does Denji really think Aki could get home as turned on as he is right now?]

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