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

[...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 —

[The clatter of the remote with the sea of fabric spilling off the bed has Aki momentarily stilling as he's caught off guard by the sudden pop of sound from the television cutting off the perfect noises spilling from Denji. His eyes shoot up to the screen, annoyed, reaching for the remote at the same time as Denji does, but then he's yelping for him to shut it off, his voice stuttering, his skin red down his neck and all over his face.]

[Aki raises his brow.]

What? [His hand changes course and snatches Denji's instead, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him back. His other hand goes to his chest and yanks him up on his knees, facing the television screen as the shot changes to a close-up of the man's tongue lapping at her cunt. Her loud moans filling the room as Aki's hand that was holding Denji's wrist moves to his throat, curling around it, ready to grab his chin and keep him looking at the screen if he tries to look away.]

Think I never caught you before...? [He grinds up into him, rolling his hips to dig in further. His free hand slides to Denji's cock and gently strokes him from base to tip.] All those magazines you hoarded, all those women giving blowjobs and bent over desks - [He presses down on his abdomen, trying to feel where his own cock is below the surface.] Don't tell me, you jerked off to those thinking that was you, didn't you? [Usually he wouldn't tease Denji like this. It feels cruel, in a way, to bully him into this line of thought. But he's being cruel right now, isn't he? Just using Denji as he likes, no concern for how he feels about it. Even if this was his idea, the rimming and the hotel. Right, he reminds himself. It's Denji's fault. The man on screen starts pressing his fingers into her, fucking her with harsh thrusts as he sucks on her clit and makes her grab for his hair, moans spilling out around them and echoing from the speakers.] You never were quiet about it. Now I know why - whose dick were you imagining?

[ He hates this, hates him, hates being compared to the very women he’s always wanted to sleep with and earn the approval of — that’s what Denji keeps telling himself as he squirms and pants, tosses his head back to try to wrestle his jaw out from his grip. Anything to not have to think about how Aki’s touch feels like it comes straight from the overflowing mouth of a volcanic eruption, how his tummy is bulging exactly where he’s pressing down. Skin sweaty and sticking to one another, seeking each other out in the most basic of biological reactions. The outline of his cock snaking in and out with each outrageous shift of his hips, hitting him so, so much deeper from this new slope of their bodies, the long slide thick and hard and dirty, like he's trying to make him burst all the way open. Make a new hole inside him to fuck.

He can act like he hates it all he wants, but mostly, he just hates how right Aki is.

The woman on the screen gasps, her back lurching, bowing hard against the mattress with such force he can hear the springs creaking. And without thinking, Denji himself mimics the same action, curving into him so that the center of his spine lines up in a perfect symmetry against the definition of Aki's chest. The man laughs into the pink folds of her skin, flicking up his tongue in quick licks before he rears back, mouth wet and shiny as he says to her, Are you a happy slut?

For a second, he's the one Denji answers. Not Aki. ]

Yes! Yes — hngh, yours, your dick! Your dick, only, only yours!

[ It's hard to tell whether he's being honest, more than one hole of his getting looser when he's being screwed well, or if he's playing to the fantasy they've set up here. His ass cheeks smacking down wetly into Aki's pelvis, the coiling ache in his guts excruciating and exquisite. ]

Always — yours!

[It's even rougher this third time. Denji is stretched out and still raw from their earlier bouts, the rough angles he's held him at, the deep pushes he's forced him to open up for. As he holds him upright and keeps him pointed at the TV, the woman's moans still echoing around them, his answers still have the ability to surprise him. On and on he goes, about being his, being Aki's. He's answering his question, sure, but it doesn't sound like it. It sounds like a greater plea. Aki didn't accept it before, didn't reject him either, but maybe the harsher answer is a lack of one. When he repeats himself that second time, Aki lets out a wet, heavy breath on his neck. His fingers wrap around his jaw and push it further back. Exposing his throat like a submissive pup.]

You're mine?

[His hips still as he asks that, lets the echo of the porn take over the sound of their own sex. The man is running his tongue all up and down her slit while she writhes in ecstacy, eyes rolling, lips curled in pleasure. Aki gently grinds against him, keeping Denji's eyes on the movie even with his head tilted back. The hold on his body is tense and unyielding. The flex of his muscles works to keep him pinned in position, like he could roll him onto his stomach in a moment and hogtie him with a wrap of the sheets. Compared to just a moment ago when his movements were rough enough to bruise his skin, his motions inside of him have slowed, gone soft. Gentle, to allow him the space to answer.]

Is that what you want so bad? You want to be mine?

[ He winces like Aki hissed his words back at him, growled them with all his teeth bared, scratching over the surface of his neck like an axe poised for swinging. Swallowing, goosebumps rise with the flex of his throat, his gaze jerking away from the b-film to hurriedly look at Aki, just as the woman's hips fly up in pleasure, her juices painting the man's face with a squirt, and him continuing to drink and drink. ]

Wha…?! I want you to not stop fucking me, stupid!

[ Why is he asking that? More importantly, why is he slowing down?

He feels pained, empty without the sweet simmer in his guts, like someone's turned the stove temperature low right before its reached its boiling point. But above all that, he feels like he's in trouble. Did he say something wrong? Denji doesn't fight back or kick his hips down to pressure Aki into moving, into pushing his limits, though he sorely wants to; instead, his body stiffens. His brows squish together, the way a hound might fold its ears back, tail tucked between its legs. Like he's guilty of something, but he doesn't know what.

Would it be so bad to be Aki's? No, probably not. He doesn't even really know what that means, fully, to be someone's; he likes Aki, if that's good enough to past muster. He wants to be near him, embrace him, to curl his fist into his silky hairs and live the rest of his life with the curled tip of his tongue shoved inside him, and to want to be held and contorted and molded into whatever image of him Aki wants in return. He wants to make him feel better. He wants to help him forget the sad things. He wants to need him. Need him within arm's reach, to need see him right there at the break of each dawn and beg to kiss his shitty morning breath.

But he realizes something else he doesn't know, just one of many in the list: what Aki wants. He backpedals. ]

If you hate it, I didn't mean it! I'll take it back right now, just… keep going…

[He'll take it back? The surprise is visible on Aki's expression at that, that Denji would just as easily say something like that just before and now be so willing to take it back. All in the name of Aki continuing. They're just using one another - Aki knows that and is well aware that he's using Denji to cope with the loneliness he's experienced. But if that was all this was, it would be easy. He could keep fucking Denji just like this and come inside him and they could roll over and go to sleep.]

[But nothing is ever easy with Denji.]

You're such - a whiny ingrate.

[Using his knees, Aki turns Denji to the side and pushes him into the bed, its sheets half stripped and giving little cushioning to buffer the way he shoves his head into the mattress. His hips roll back before fucking forward to fill him again, bullying him hard against the side of the bed before retreating and repeating the motion, over and over. He huffs with each thrust forward and the hand that was holding his head up is now pinning him down by the back of his neck. The porn is forgotten. Aki wasn't watching it at any point, anyway.]

You piss me off - so much. [Each slam of his hips breaks him open just that much wider, the sweet suction of his body that keeps teasing him towards completion. God, how he loves feeling Denji below him. How he loves the warmth of his body, how he moves against him even without meaning to. The caress of his muscles, of his skin. He could turn him around and wrap him in a hug, gentle and warm, thank him.]

[...But then that wouldn't be using him, and right now he's supposed to just be using him. Like Denji is using him. It's just like before, he realizes, where he wanted nothing more than to hear Denji say his name. What did he have to do to get that out of him?]

You'll just say anything you can to make me fuck you - You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, you selfish little -

[His voice is tense, pulled taut like a bow string, jerking through each word like they're thrusts in and of themselves.]

You want me to call you a slut? Is that what you want?

[(He was kind of watching the porn.)]

What the hell —

[ Disorientation strikes him faster than his head strikes the naked mattress, forehead bouncing up from the recoil for a moment until his face is being driven into the comforter again. The way a child might try to hammer in the wrong puzzle piece into the spot they think it should fit. Resisting the chokehold he has on him, Denji tenses the muscles in his neck, shoving back, gasping for a breath that isn't obstructed by the bed quilts. Before he's dunked back down. He barely comprehends what’s happening. Or why, why he is so angry, what did he do to upset him, and lastly how can he make it up to him? ]

A — [ ki, the last syllable of his name gets asphyxiated into the wet mark his hostaged mouth has made into the mattress, Denji's bruised knees scrabbling over the edge of the bed, then crumpling completely, once he tastes the full-scale of him blunting, scorching, his insides like greased lightning. It feels good; it feels bad; it feels wrong. Every other thrust has him ricocheting between these clashing thoughts, one eye rolled back and the other squeezed shut, like the pleasure is being shot up his veins and he's overdosing on it. He wants Aki, he wants to be battered by him and he wants to be bettered for it, but he wants to seek refuge in him, too.

But there's nowhere like that in sight, nowhere to hide. Not from the head of Aki's cock grinding so deep it might just create a womb inside of him — which is, God, it doesn't even make sense, does it? He doesn't care, not while his own arousal is building up throughout all this, the swell of his dick leaking precome against the bed, like some kind of open wound. Wanting to twitch and throb, but being unable to when he's sandwiched so uncomfortably into the covers.

It always comes back to one thing: What does Denji want? Does he want this? Does he want to be called a slut, a no-good, too happy to be used dumping ground for Aki to unload all his come into? ]

No, no, nonono… [ Denji tries to shake his head back-and-forth, teardrops budding from the corners of his eyes the more he struggles to breathe, to answer him back. ] Want… Wanna — see your face!

[His face. He wants to see Aki's face. He won't even say his name, but he wants to see his face.]

[It should annoy him. Of the few one night stands he's had, they were mostly like this. From behind, no emotion, no connection. Just a need to get off and a mutual understanding that this was all it was. But Denji makes everything so personal, and of course it speaks to something in Aki. Of course he craves that personal connection. To be told that your partner wants to see your face - Even this morning, he asked for a kiss, didn't he?]

[How long has it been since someone woke him up with a pleading whine for a good morning kiss?]

[When he slides out, it's like rushing head-first into a blizzard, barrelling outside from the tight warmth as he presses Denji the rest of the way up onto the bed. He grabs him by the shoulder to turn him over and hooks his leg up to pump straight back in, a brief bump of his cock against Denji's, a misstep in an otherwise fluid motion as he sinks back into him. He wraps his arms around his shoulders once he's inside and smashes his lips into his, kissing openly and desperately as he humps forward like a jackrabbit. Fill, pull, fill, pull. His tongue slides out to bully his way into Denji's mouth. He said he wanted to see him, but Aki doesn't care. Surely he can see him plenty like this.]

[ He’s witnessed Aki frenzied, desperate, enraged, been on the receiving end of the latter heat too many times to not have each twist in his expression carved into the marrow of his memory. But in what glimpses he manages to see of his face in the turbulence, Denji's not sure what he's looking at. And Aki doesn't give his thoughts the time to percolate, occupy his mind long enough for him to figure it out, before he's back on him again, wrenching him apart, as if he's going to gate him out the very next second. As if he isn't spread wide for him, his eyes fluttering closed with a tight whimper as their cocks stroke past each other and he's sleeved inside him again.

Denji's core shakes with the heavy thrusts strangling out more airless babbling into the kiss, the headboard of the mattress pumping back against the wall, shuddering, his toes pinched and bobbing in the air. He sucks down on Aki's tongue, not caring that the muscle was teasing and penetrating him not too long ago; the inside of his mouth is cloyingly warm, viscous and something he could get hooked on, if he weren't already, like the fruit preserves Aki would always used to buy him.

His eyes slit open and, fuck, the only thing he can see are his lashes, curled and dark. It almost feels cruel, but he must have done something to only be punished with this much. Must have, and yet it doesn't feel fair at all when Aki, jerk that he is, has been so rude to him, yelling at Denji about his wants, then not sharing any of his own. A burst of indignation igniting to life for a flickering moment, impelling him to launch his weight up, palms shoving Aki bodily onto his back, the two of them still connected by their lips, by the clap of their hips. Still moving, still thundering, like a storm trying to wring out the last of its rain.

Slumped over so that they're chest-to-chest, the stiff peaks of his nipples rubbing against his sweat-slicked skin, Denji suckles and gasps into Aki's open mouth, careless with the bite of his teeth. Careless, as well, with how he lines up their bodies, crudely drills his hole down, ignoring the sting, ignoring the squelch, just hoping it'll bring him closer to what he really wants. Who he really wants. ]

Aki. [ He barely pulls away to say his name, a quiet puff of sound, as Denji holds his face in place between his hands, trying to forcibly take what he asked for. The next moment, his expression scrunches, slackening as he loses himself to deep drowning of his orgasm, his salty release dirtying the narrow space between their abdomens. ] Aki.

[Aki is aware that Denji is tough, can defend himself, can put up a fair fight. But he also hasn't seen him in over a year and the change in his physique from someone whose ribs were visible when he stretched after a shower to now, where he can easily topple Aki onto his back and get over him... He's shocked enough that he doesn't put up any fight, only shifting his hands from where they were holding him to wrapping around him, keeping him close, as if he might dare to back off after doing so.]

[But of course he doesn't, of course he's slamming hard onto him and their bodies keep sliding against one another and Aki groans into his mouth, nails digging into his bare back, the force of his movements knocking him off kilter. He was the one taking charge of this and to have that suddenly yanked away is - it's confusing. He wants to grab him and turn him back over, wrestle him onto his stomach and pin him by the nape of his neck. Hold him prone until he gives and lets him do what he wants. What he wants?]

[And Denji says his name, right against his lips, and suddenly his eyes fly open as he watches him orgasm, the flicker in his brows and the way his lips move as he says his name once more. His heart is racing again like he just swallowed that chunk, like it's suddenly coarsing through his blood again. He feels the wet release of him on his stomach down between their bodies and he grasps him tight around the back to keep Denji tugged close, his hips jutting up and into him as he tries to keep him from getting up, leaving him, ending this. His breath hitches - ] Denji.

[When he comes inside him, he holds still, one hand grasping his hip as if he's afraid he'll pull off and leave him shooting his seed into the air, against his thighs and onto the bedding. The other stays tight on his back, almost a hug if it wasn't so forceful and clawing, and Aki groans as his head jerks back while he finishes with a final duo of thrusts up into him, shuddering before leaning up to try and find Denji's lips once more, furtive kisses spilling out of him. He shouldn't care this much about this. It's just sex. That's what he told Denji. It shouldn't mean anything. But why can't he shake this fear that everything he gets ahold of is going to be swiped away if he doesn't consume it before they can?]

[He doesn't want to have Denji. Doesn't want Denji to be his. Nothing he owns stays his for long anymore. But like that chunk of metal, maybe if he can keep him close, consume him in a way - can he be allowed to accept it, then?]

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