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

[ His fingers swab inside of him, methodical, intent in the purpose they're serving. Not seeking out a reaction or his pleasure. That's what Denji's sure of, anyway. If their positions were reversed, he's not positive if he'd be able to pull the brakes so easily, assert the same ounce of control. He thinks about the countless times he's stirred one of his digits through a still cooking meal while Aki wasn't looking, popped the taste into his mouth, then curled his fingers back in for another sample. Yeah, he wouldn't be able to — oh.

Denji twitches, lets out a single dry breath when he feels him stroke right past the bump of his prostrate. Shit, it feels like his fingers have a direct string of contact to his spinal nerves from the way one touch is all he needs to spike a shiver through him, multisensational somehow, like it's something he can actually hear echoing in his ears, cutting up roof of his mouth. Is he doing this on purpose, flows to the edge of his mental shoreline for a wishful moment, because if Aki's not toying with him, he really wishes he would. Then, with his hand releasing from him, the thought regretfully ebbs away completely. ]

…Thanks.

[ If he sounds a little breathless, that's definitely Aki's imagination.

Even after Aki tells Denji to enter the tub without him, he stays standing there for a few seconds, blinking and briefly dazed by the vacancy between his legs before he somehow carries himself over to the bath. It's not as hot as it was earlier, which means the temperature is perfect as he submerges himself up to his shoulders, the water sloshing over the edge as Aki accurately predicted. He flicks the lights of the tub on, hoping it might obscure how stupidly turned on he is. He doesn't need Aki making fun of him. Stealing a glance at his turned back to check that he's not making his way over yet, Denji ignores his erection to experimentally press a finger to his hole, which opens up to him without any resistance.

It's not really the same, though, and he'll hastily pull out of himself the moment Aki arrives. ]

[Denji gets to poke around for an extra minute or so as Aki cleans off, finally turning around and surrendering to his half-hard state and hoping Denji will just... think it's what he normally looks like or something. He heads over to the tub and maneuvers to climb in, the sink of his body causing more displaced water to spill over the edge.]

[...This temperature is perfect. He sighs in relief, sinking down to his chest and feeling his muscles relax.]

Larger tubs... really are a luxury.

[Just think if Denji wasn't even here. He could stretch all the way out. As it is, his toes and legs are touching his, both knees bent on the opposite side of the tub.]

[ Denji doesn't watch him dip inside, so fortunately for him, he doesn't actually notice the erection he's wearing. He's slumped forward, the ends of his air floating up on the surface of the bath, as he blows bubbles into the water and attempting to appear casual after fingering himself while Aki was away. ]

Ah, yeah… I feel like I could fit all the dogs in here.

[ It's definitely not big enough for that many animals at once. ]

It'd be nice if we had one like this back home. Then we could soak together every time. [ That doesn't sound weird to say. He's pretty sure, anyway. Even before they had sex, their boundaries were hardly existent. So why does he suddenly feel so shy about where they currently stand right now? What's normal to say, what's normal to expect from each other. Denji doesn't have a clue about those things. ] Like, it'd save time, I mean! Instead of taking turns and waiting…

[ The volume of his words trails off. He falls quiet, looking at the border of their toes, Denji's curling in to meet Aki's. Smiling stupidly to himself, thinking about how just that type of contact felt out of reach but a couple of days ago, and now he's here. Normally, he'd keep talking about nothing to fill the space and the silence, but he's kinda made some big leaps into adulthood lately — and as an almost-adult, obviously, he can appreciate serene moments like these, too, without ruining it. He can do that for Aki. He can shut up. That's what he's always telling him to do, so he'll do him a favor just this once. ]

[All the dogs with all their fur and everything else... No way, could they ever all fit in here. And besides...]

You're supposed to wash dogs outside... With a hose, or something.

[He's not sure why he's gone so quiet all of a sudden, but it's always odd when he does, when it's not from him pouting. Fingers slipping below the surface, Aki pretends to scratch at his leg, instead checking on himself. Yeah, he's mostly soft again thanks to the warm water.]

Denji... Come here.

[This is for him, he tells himself. Him bringing up doing this back home, the lie about it saving time... He's not so stupid. He still remembers how he asked if he could sleep beside him just that previous night, how he attached himself to his body and clung to him until he fell asleep. This is the same thing, he tells himself - it's just for Denji, not for himself. He doesn't mind either way. If he does want to lay against him or not. It's not that big of a deal either way. But he spreads his legs apart, giving him the space if he wants it.]

[But only if he wants it.]

[ He figured that, since Aki was behaving differently, he was in one of his moods — brooding, like when he caught him just staring out into the unending flurry of snowflakes during their trip, the view as entrancing as white static playing on a television set. Just like that time, Denji could be quiet when he wanted to be, when Aki needed him to be. But being beckoned over…

His gaze lifts, as if he's surprised to hear him call his name. But he isn't. How can he pretend this isn't something he'd been hoping for? If he were to compare the phrases, "he wants it" and "he wants Aki", he wouldn't be able to find a single difference between the two.

Water splashes as he partially rises from the tub, reorienting himself to easily scoot into the space and rest his back against him. Powy and he used to do this a lot. It wasn't something he would get all weak-kneed over — by then, skinship with her had lost most of its luster. Had become a fact of life, something as habitual as looking both ways before crossing the street or scanning your metro pass at the turnstile.

This, though. The crown of his head nuzzles upward against Aki's jaw. He likes this. ]

…I've been wondering. Do you still feel alone? Even when you're with me?

[He hasn't had a lot of times like this with Denji, where they're this close to one another. Skin to skin. With his heart still pumping hard, the fresh flesh from the meat chunk dissolving into his body, it should be like molten iron hitting a hot stove, steaming yet fluid, he thinks. It should feel good. But it's not that it feels good, not exactly. It just feels warm. Even compared to when they slept next to one another, this sensation, of having Denji rub his head against him like a puppy scenting its owner, feels much warmer.]

Alone...?

[In this moment, no, he doesn't really feel alone. In a cosmic sense he still feels lonely, he knows, the sensation that this will eventually end and he'll go back to what he was doing. The lonely feeling of the unknowable future. But alone, right now?]

No.

[He adjusts his arms to settle around his shoulders as he leans back into the slope of the tub. The water still feels pleasantly warm, not burning to the touch.]

I think... That devil before had something to do with the feeling of failure. Or of something not being worth it, like it's futile. That sensation of being between a rock and a hard place, where nothing you do gets you anywhere.

[He never was good at naming devils. He never really had to worry about that sort of thing. Killing them was his job, not understanding them. But look where that got him.]

I think I've always felt that, though, in some ways, deep down. The fear that nothing I do will amount to anything. But - for that brief moment, when all I could think about was that feeling, I think I accepted it a little more than I had before. And instead I just thought about eating char siu together.

[With Denji. That's the difference, he thinks. The nihilism of enjoying the present moment with the people you're with. When he's alone, what is there to enjoy? So no, he thinks - he doesn't feel alone.]

[ Talking this close to his ear, he can actually feel there's no hard edge to Aki's voice, no tension stiffening the lines of his chest against his back as he puts down each word, gravity pulling the breath of every one into Denji's skin. The weight of it. Really, he wouldn't have pushed if he'd just left his answer at a solitary No. But Aki speaks with this awareness of his own feelings and what external influences have on him that Denji himself hasn't yet quite learned, and truthfully, it's nice. Being let in. Like he's peeking his head inside an older sibling's previously locked room and no one's telling him to get out. ]

You accepted it… [ That none of it mattered? The leaving someday, the government secrets, the gun flesh. ] Was that part of what made you change halfway through like that earlier? Acceptance?

[ Fingers draw aimless circles against Aki's inner wrist, the left one, the one he said he still didn't work so well when he asked Denji to tie up his hair. His thumb sliding over each bump of his veins, reminding him of the devil's vulnerable roots hidden beneath a layer cement. He's never heard the word futile before (or detritus, which still sounds a little made up in his head), but from his description, that sounds like a good name for something so annoying. Something so grounded in his everyday struggles.

Because he thinks he felt something like that, too, kinda. Like a — a rat trying to get through a tunnel that keeps getting smaller and smaller. And if he wanted to make it to the end, he'd have to turn into something that could fit. Like, who knows, an ant. But if he did that, then the path ahead would switch up — like, suddenly the floor would be turning to lava. And, in the end, no matter what he did, no matter the parts of himself he had to discard just to make it through, there would always be something about him that would be wrong. Inadequate.

However, if Aki wanted to touch someone like that, someone like him, then… ]

…I'd still get char siu with you after this, y'know. I'd still… [ Run away with you, he nearly says. Doesn't, though. Choosing instead to raise his wrist to his mouth, pressing a kiss near the joint. Lingering there, as if he wants the feeling to wear down into Aki's bones — then making a soft sound against his skin, faintly intrigued by the elevated pulse. ]

Are you nervous?

[Was that what made him change...? Probably not. More like his ability to trust Denji in that moment - but he doesn't want to admit that when he's lifting his hand from the water, bringing it to his lips and pressing the artery right against them. It feels overly intimate, like when he kissed the barrel. Something he doesn't think he can get used to. And then Denji hums like that, asks if he's nervous, and he realizes it's still pounding like he ran a marathon and only just stopped. He just can't get him to relax.]

It's... No. I'm not nervous. [He turns his chin to press against the side of his head, casting his glance elsewhere.] I... swallowed it. [Ugh. It feels embarrassing to admit. Like he should be shamed for it.] The chunk. So it's...

[There's a brief pause. He stares hard at the opposite wall, lit up by the color shifting from the water, reflection shifting each time one of them moves a little bit. He's not still hard, is he? Surely that went down enough.]

...We can still get char siu. [Like Denji, he doesn't bring up the idea of running away. Char siu is one thing; running away is a different story.]

[ …So that's how he healed. He chose Gun, after all — even though he gave him what he could, even though he offered more — how could Denji be so stupid? How could Aki? Aki, the guy who is always preaching against thoughtless risk, always playing by someone else's rules — ]

You're being serious.

[ Denji drops his wrist, closing a hand against Aki's thigh, squeezing as if he's trying to smother the instinct to blurt something out of irritation, as he shifts to look at him flat in the eyes. Aki's the lecturer, though, the one who knows every rigid system and procedure in the book by heart, not him. He should know that he's taking a leap here, so Denji won't waste his breath reminding him. ]

Well, how does it feel? [ Brown eyes freeze for a moment as he resettles, flick down, then back up again. God, he wishes they were still talking about char siu. ] Besides, uh, the hard-on.

[...He's really that upset about it, huh. Aki barely moves as Denji throws him that look, the frustrated stare like he just betrayed him. Somehow, it feels like he did.]

I can't explain it - It just... [He trails off when Denji calls him on being half-hard, his eyes darting away with more shame at that than the admission for what he ate.] ...It's blood flow. My heart has been beating harder since I - So, some of it went down there. That's all it is.

[He's telling himself that and mostly believing it. He just came in him twice, for crying out loud. How could his body be ready again already after that?]

I felt like I had to. Like I'd - lose it if I didn't. [Beat.] Lose the chunk, not - not myself. [He shouldn't be this embarrassed with Denji, of all people. He should be able to defend himself. But when is the last time Denji gave him a look like that where Aki actually felt he deserved it? This might be the first and only time.]

[ Physical conflict is where Denji knows himself best. Screaming, burrowing his way through the bellies of devils like a tapeworm, running on their bloody sewage for motor oil — there is where he feels most attuned to his sensations, his feelings, his perceptions of the world. To his judgment. Here, half-turned in Aki's lap, he feels awkward, a freshwater fish swimming in seawater. Wet from head to toe, but he's not sure if it's the sweat or the bath. Angry, but unsure if he's entitled to it. He nearly asks why he didn't just give him the bullet if he was afraid of losing it, but the answer is obvious: he didn't trust him. Which, fine. He knows Aki thinks he's irresponsible. And it isn't as if Aki lied to him…

He was just selfish for once, and Denji's always telling him to do selfish things. So why can't he shake off his disappointment? The effects of that stupid plant should be on its way out, so this rotten, wretched coldness crawling up this back, that's his, that's all Denji. Agitated, he pushes his hair out of his face, the water slicking it back and dripping down the bridge of his nose. ]

Alright. [ And because he has to say it again, almost to psyche himself up: ] Ugh, alright! I kinda wanna punch you.

[ To the point. Just as to the point as the way his fingers suddenly run down Aki's shaft, squeezing around his balls. Petulant. Rolling in his palm like a lucky pair of dice. ]

But I won't. So make it up to me instead.

[His frustration is almost tangible in how heavy it is, but it seems like he at least accepts it - until he reaches down and starts squeezing him like a stress ball. Aki flinches and nearly pulls away from him. Is this his idea of punching him??]

Make it up to you - How? [He reaches down to try and dislodge his hand.] Don't squeeze me like that, you brat. [Does he want to crush his balls as payback? ...They'll probably grow back, given how it felt when he swallowed that chunk. Like he'd re-append anything that fell off for the next month.] Like I said, it's just - it's just blood flow.

Squeeze like how, then?

[ This is his idea of punching him without punching him, yeah. He doesn't exactly fight his efforts to unhand him, but Denji does briefly apply a fraction more of pressure to the pair, tickling his rounded nails against his skin before letting go. He wouldn't actually crush his nuts with his bare hands. Kick them? Hell yeah, that's way more satisfying. ]

We're both dudes. I know about blood flow as much as you do. [ Probably less, actually, but that's not the point here! ] When didja eat the bullet? Was it back at the bar? You're tellin' me you've just been running around all wooded up this entire time? You're such a perv. [ And yet he's pushing his face into the upper arm of that pervert, mumbling more insults into the crook of the limb. Going from pinching his nuts to using him as a cover to hide himself inside. He really doesn't know what he wants from Aki. ] Sicko. Freak.

[ An abrupt pause, like he's wallowing in indecision, then, at last, another mumble: ] Have you ever… put your tongue up someone's butt before?

[Denji really is upset with him, huh. Aki shifts uncomfortably, an annoyed grunt as he starts pelting him with insults all while pushing in closer. He doesn't want to admit he got aroused from the simple act of cleaning him out, because how stupid is that? When he's quiet for a moment he thinks that he's going to maybe give up and give his balls a chance to relax, but no. He's asking about rimming instead.]

Put my... No. [He forces his hand in between where he has his face shoved into his arm, trying to press him back.] ...I know how to eat someone out, though, so it's probably the same idea. [He assumes it can't be that much different from oral, but he doesn't actually have any gauge for whether that's true. Just that Himeno would nearly scream with pleasure if he even poked her taint while down there.] Is that how you want me to make it up to you?

[ Denji tilts back, giving full view of the lurid red that toasts his face. Ahhh, what kind of question is that?! It took him a lot of courage just to ask a question gauging Aki's experience and competency doing stuff like that! That should be hint enough, right…?

But the antiquated part of his brain that bothers thinking through things jump starts for a moment. If he takes into consideration how he felt earlier with the thick of Aki's fingers bent inside him, his dick says yes, a non-negotiable and resounding yes. His head, however, is telling him maybe he should think this through a little more, that when people confess to keeping important things from him, he should be hemming care into his decision for what it takes to recoup that trust.

What to do, what to do — ]

I mean, yeah, that's basically what I want! Don't make me say it twice! Or I'll squeeze your nuts again…

[ But of course. This does not bode well. ]

Wait, you're not into that, are you?

[With his face this red and his voice so eager yet jumpy, like a kid trying not to give away how much he wants something, Aki thinks - with almost too much pain - that Denji is too fucking cute. He's like a cartoon character, simple-minded and stupid and always saying exactly what he wants. Even when he doesn't intend to.]

[But that thought is just as soon cancelled out when Denji asks if he actually enjoys ball-busting and Aki finally reaches down to snag his wrist away before he gets any more ideas.]

No, you idiot. Don't do that.

[He's been kicked in the nuts more than enough by him that he's not eager to see how good his hand is at the act, too. His other hand reaches around and he presses suddenly against his hole, one finger priming the muscle for entry.]

You need to be cleaner than you are, if you want me to do that. Spread your legs open. [No, this isn't an excuse to finger him again. Not at all.]

But I thought —

[ — you cleaned me out earlier? slides to mind, and distantly, he thinks he finishes speaking the rest of the thought, but no other words ever join them. Why becomes abundantly clear by the barest leak of a sigh that worms out of him, equal parts accidental and incidental.

It's just a finger, not even inside him yet, but the promise that arrives with the wet edge of Aki's nail licking at his entrance, prodding, coaxing him back open, feels like tossing kindling into a smoking pit. And his back jumps as if he's being roasted right over it, the bathwater lurching with the suddenness of his twitching. With a dazed nod, he rearranges himself so that, with his back still facing Aki, he's bent over on his knees and his ass raised slightly. It's impossible to tell whether the flush catching fire down his neck is from the glow of the bath lights or pure exhilaration. Blood flow is what Denji would tell him if he asks about it, either way. ]

You… [ His face turns over his shoulder. The line of his brow is creased. ] You really don't feel anything else different after eating it?

[At this angle, he could just lean forward and slip himself into him, tongue him until Denji drowns in the water when his arms fail him. But before his imagination can take him too far, he looks up, momentarily distracted by what he says as his finger presses fully in.]

...No. Not different, exactly.

[It's more nebulous than simply feeling "different." It's like he was walking around for hours with only one sock on and he finally found the lone sock's twin. Pulling it on, slipping his foot into his shoe, standing up - the sudden presence of something that had been missing, something being made right. But he can't explain that to Denji. He barely wants to accept it for himself.]

[After fingering him with the warm water, his other hand gliding down his thighs before gently massaging himself (making sure he didn't bruise anything, if Denji asks), he pushes at him to get out of the tub, to grab a towel so he won't track water.] Get up on the bed - spread your legs open. [No, he's not eager. No, his heart isn't rushing at the image of Denji's thighs spasming, the clench of him on his tongue. He climbs out as well to follow him, if he moves. Otherwise, he waits for him to get going.]

[ Aki’s answer is burdened with the type of vagueness that should naturally prompt an elaboration, and when nothing comes slipping out, it piques something in him. If concern and curiosity bore a child, that’d be what the feeling squirreled in his expression is, perking his lips to ask a question that predictably only manifests in an arpeggio of ah, ah, ah, mmm! Tip of his nose nearly touching the face of the water, seeing stars swimming in the bath with them, Denji remembers, oh, that's right, his fingers are plugged inside of him. And Aki is much too skilled in enforcing their presence there, tracing out the outline for another shape to take its place, surely aware of how easily played Denji is by their nasty crook, of how he can't dream of doing anything but dance to his tune.

Denji scrambles out of the bath and ties around his waist a towel, but it hardly matters, since he tracks water out in his careless race for the bed. Sliding against the wet tile, bumping into every corner he possibly can on his way out.

He's still got questions. He still can't completely wrap his head around what Aki's thinking. But those are hurdles he can ignore — for now. At least while he's trying to figure out if Aki meant that he wanted him to actually get up and stand on the bed or lay on it, like a dumbass.

To hell with it, Denji thinks, as he sets himself against the edge of the bed, still dripping and wearing the towel, a leg hanging off the side while the other is folded up. Lips sucked thin and one eye closed in utter focus, he has two fingers knuckled inside, squirming as he feels out his own ridges, to make sure he stays opened for Aki. He doesn't even notice him exit the bathroom. ]

[If he wasn't still turned on from doing this, the little noises Denji makes certainly give him the extra push to make it aggravating. He doesn't bother with wrapping a towel around himself, only wiping his body down briefly before following Denji to the bed and watching in surprise at the way he fingers himself against the edge. Dropping his towel on the bed, he tugs off Denji's and pulls at his hand next, his other hand going to his waist and guiding him gently against the edge, pushing him to lean on his hands and bend over further.]

Get down on your knees. [He doesn't mind not doing this straight on the bed, if that's not what he wants. No, actually, telling Denji to get onto his knees has been something he's dreamt of for... who knows, actually. The frustration of watching him make an idiot of himself, the desire to bring him over his lap and slap the shit out of him. Put him on his knees and shove himself down his throat. Fuck. He strokes himself gently as he lowers onto his as well, kneading his skin and stroking his ass to pull the muscle apart and expose the tight ring.]

You ready? [Not that he waits for an answer. He leans forward without pause and runs his tongue over his hole, toying at the muscle, teasing it without pressing in. He presses a few kisses along his skin, over his perenium, both hands grasped into the meat of his ass, still kneading like dough under his fingers as he essentially plays with him without fully pressing anyting in.]

[ It happens too fast.

One second, he's glancing up at Aki, and the next, he's being arranged — his guidance doesn't feel forceful or like Denji's testing his patience, just the kind of urging that hints at an enthusiasm he wasn't entirely expecting from him. This was supposed to be his payback, teaching him a sorta lesson while also feeling good, but, of course, Denji's no good at discipline. No good at self-discipline, either. The combination of Aki's ready mouth, the heavy bob of his flushed cock, and Get down on your knees is so below the belt, it could knock him straight out of the ring. He drops to his knees as if Aki found him on the street and paid him to, the sharps of his teeth still biting down at his lip, which is mostly healed, yet scabbed from earlier; he doesn't really care if he draws blood again, because then it might give him an excuse to plead for Aki to put his tongue somewhere else later.

Gulping deep, he clings to the curtains of the bed at first, unused to this positioning, but seeing that it doesn't give Aki the access he needs, he gives up. Allows his full upper torso to sink into the plush carpeting while his ass sticks in the air, quivering like he's got an invisible tail that can't keep itself from wagging. When his tongue doesn't breach the entrance of his hole, merely wetting the outside, Denji whines with each fluttering touch that isn't Aki's tongue fucking his depths. ]

Nngh, Aki, deeper… [ He tries to thrust his hips backwards into his mouth, his cock and balls swinging with each imperfect angle, the stretched rim of his hole clenching and unclenching with the kneading of his hands. ] Want you to touch me deeper.

[When Denji leans down into the rug, it really does give him the perfect angle. Aki keeps kissing and running his tongue over his skin, really letting himself revel in the way he squirms under him, enough that he could feel his tail tickling his nose if it was there. He starts begging and he really, really wants to force more of that out of him. Wants to feel him get as desperate and as heated as Aki feels. How did this come on so fast...? He already fucked him twice, he shouldn't feel this horny. What the hell did that meat chunk do?]

Don't be so whiny. [He pulls back, pressing his thumbs on either side of his hole and tugging. He leaves him exposed like that for a moment, watching how his cock swings below his legs, already hard, and imagines simply reaching down and jacking him off. Making him kick his leg like a dog desperately trying to hump the air. But he finally leans in and presses his tongue against him and slides it inside, curling the tip and pressing it against the walls of his hole. He hasn't done this in years - never with a guy. But the method is similar enough to what he's done that he doesn't think about it, using his hands to continue to knead and play at his skin as he fucks his tongue into Denji and laps at the muscle, teases the too-tight ring. When he slides out it's only to lean back and spit at the puckered opening to give himself more lubricant before he slides right back in, almost greedy in the way he digs into him.]

[This was Denji's idea, sure, seemed to be his way of punishing Aki for doing something he was so clearly uncomfortable with him doing. But right now, Aki isn't sure Denji could be enjoying this more than him.]

But I want you, [ Denji whines, immediately after he’s told not to, his voice brokenly hiccuping as his hips jump and jerk like the uneven planks of a bridge strung together by frayed rope. One misstep could cost him, and that's why, every so often, he twitches away. When it starts to feel too good. When his eyes begin to to glaze, fogging up from his arousal, the mix of textures inside of him; it's funny, because he has a tongue, too, duh, but he'd never noticed how the top was rougher than the underside until now, until he had one swiveling between his walls, licking his hole clean, top to bottom, like a damn plate. He doesn't even notice the puddle of saliva pooling from his own mouth and into the bristles of the carpet, too preoccupied by the one between his legs, slipping down his balls.

Then, Aki spits into him, and Denji moans so horrendously into the ground, the tenants in the room below them can probably hear, probably feel the vibrations running down their walls. Because, hell, he sure can.

Fuck! He can't tell if those are stars in his eyes or hearts anymore. He thought he liked the way Aki's callouses caught inside him, something nice and stiff to hold him over while waiting for his cock to take its place — but this. This. His hand snakes down, the edge of his thumb squeezing in at his slicked hole, trying to stretch himself even farther apart for Aki to fit his tongue farther inside. Nearly convinced that if he could shove Aki's face as far up his crack as he can, he might actually be able to meet God for a few seconds. ]

You, you, you — shit! [ A sudden pause before Denji tightens up, rocking back hard against Aki's nose, unable to fight the full-body tremor yanked down his spine. ] Your tongue. S'good. So good. Like I can — feel you all the way up my throat.

[Denji's reactions only push Aki onward. He lowers one hand to wrap it around his thigh when he jerks away once, an attempt to keep him anchored in place. Eventually he's rocking into him and not away, babbling nonsense and even trying to finger himself from Aki's perspective, and combined with the way he can feel his muscles twitch and flinch inside him from the push of his tongue he can't figure out why he's still doing this. Not when he's imagining biting right into his asscheek and tearing a chunk of his flesh out, using his blood as lube. No, he can't let himself get this crazed. Not when he knows the cure.]

[He pulls back from his ass and, half for good measure and half because the way Denji reacted was so addictive, so - loud, Aki spits on him again, then raises himself up onto his knees and presses his cock against his hole, stroking himself, rubbing against the drool of his own spit and teasing the muscle like a drunkard fiddling with fitting a key into a lock. He doesn't want to make sure Denji is ready for this change in action, pushing in with a fluid motion, then immediately pumping in rough and constant. He slaps his hips with his own as he fucks him, both hands holding his thighs and staring down at him from above. The sight he sees is too good to look away from. The drool under his face. The long expanse of his nude body. The way his hair shines while still damp. And his neck. His neck, slightly hidden by his wet hair and the angle he's bent over at. Only a peek of his throat visible, but Aki can imagine his hand reaching down and wrapping around it, choking him into the floor, holding him down as he fucks into him, feels his apple bob and air trap in his gut as he struggles under him. He could kill him and rev his engine and he'd come right back. He could kill him and keep going and fuck him back to life. He - ]

[Aki snaps to awareness, eyes widening, and he winds back to slap him hard on the ass. Silently scolds himself, then forgives himself. It was Denji who dared to put that idea in his mind, after all.]

[ He’s so accustomed to Aki taking care of him.

Not always nicely, but his intentions are, anyway, every time he tries to whittle away at Denji's disinterest, to talk him into caring about whatever lies ahead, whatever happens to himself, that when he demeans him with the fluency and ease of someone who’s always thinking about it in the back of his mind, Denji writhes. He sobs into the carpet as Aki pulls away, shoots a frothy glob of spit into his waiting hole, still glistening from the number his tongue did on him. Gags on nothing but the sheer force of what feels like his internal organs being punched in when Aki's cock slides home, and rears back, and slams so hard into him again he swears his face makes a permanent indent into the ground. And even though he immediately labors to pull himself up, thrashing like a prey animal with its leg caught into the steel jaws of a bear trap, he's meeting Aki thrust for thrust. He's getting off on all of it.

Because if there’s one person who deserves to spit on him, treat him like a chew toy that’s only going to be discarded the next morning, it's Aki.

They've fucked three times in one night now — four, if they count in the last twenty-four hours — but Denji's insides continue to drag and swallow him in with a vice-grip. His fists seek out the tucked bedding in hopes of finding better leverage, but each time he starts to gain some ground, his prostrate throbs from Aki hitting him at just the right angle and Denji's face drops straight back to the ground with a winded groan. The rhythm Aki sets sending vibrations up his entire body, seamless and single-minded like a train running its course down the track, starting from his thighs, up his spine, and ending at the base of his skull. Fuck, fuck him, Aki has to know what he's doing to him, there's no way he doesn't.

The very last time this happens, the sheets avalanche to the carpet with him, bringing the remote to the television tumbling down. The screen flashes on, suddenly, and Denji's gaze whips up, distracted for a moment. What he sees is the last viewed channel by the previous guests — it's porn, of course. Normally, he'd be all for watching it, taking peeks at Aki for his reaction, but it's weird to him having sex at the same time, especially when he's seeing himself reflected in the eyes of the woman on the screen getting her cunt eaten out, screaming yes, that's it, right there, more.

By now, Denji is dunked red from head to toe, but in his mortification, he skin darkens into what may potentially be a newly identified shade. He hand lashes out, scrambling to reach for the remote. ]

T-Time out! Turn this crap off —

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