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

[ …So no fight, after all. Maybe Aki's really that tired, or maybe Denji's always been just a little off-center about the kind of person he is. It wouldn't be the first time he got the facts wrong. Wanted something to be true that wasn't, because it'd be simpler that way, because if Aki were more stubborn, more of an asshole, like how he's known other men to always be, smiles cut from contempt, an easy to pinpoint hatred in their eyes — then he wouldn't wonder why.

Why isn't he mad? Why doesn't he hate him? If he doesn't hate Denji, does he…

Face half-buried in his shoulder now, his own eyes closed, Denji sets his hand lower. Much lower, palm slowly sweeping up and down his navel. ]

…Yeah. I won't beat myself up over it. I'll just beat you off, instead.

[ He says it like it's the only natural course, like it makes sense to him. And it does, really. The only way the thoughts in his head won't boomerang from corner to corner is if he isn't thinking at all. And the easiest way to not think is to do sex stuff.

Forget that not a few seconds ago, he told him to go back to sleep. Technically, he still can if he wants, and if he starts snoring, Denji won't even get mad at him or anything, either. That'd be kinda dickish, knowing what he knows from today. Knowing what he did. ]

Edited 2024-01-24 00:01 (UTC)

[Yeah, yeah. Funny joke. That's all Aki thinks, until he recognizes that the hand sliding down his front isn't simply in search of a way to settle his arm over him, that he's aiming for a specific spot. Aki startles, his hips flinching like he just found out the stove he was leaning on was turned on.] Fuck, Denji -

[He pushes himself up on a hand, turning to stare down at him, eyes pinched with sleep.]

What the hell are you doing...? I just told you, I'm not mad.

[He sounds exhausted, agitated. Because he is. What kind of shit is he thinking, that he can just reach down and give him a handy...?!]

[ Only shifting his position just enough to comfortably meet Aki's bleary gaze, Denji uses the very hand he'd tried to sexually harass him with in his sleep to pat the spot he'd just vacated, trying to persuade him back down. ]

Sure, you're not mad. Whatever you say. [ Even though, to him, he looks pre-tty miffed. Not that it has a single thing to do with his actions from a few seconds ago. ] Then just lemme do something good for you. It doesn't have to be a big deal…

[Why doesn't he believe him...? Did he seem that upset earlier? Is this about last night? What he talked to him about? His eyes clear a little more and Aki raises them to the ceiling, annoyance creeping over him. Doesn't have to be a big deal. Since when? Nothing Denji does is for nothing. Even if it's something that only makes sense to him, it always has some purpose.]

Horny brat. [His hands pin down on either side of him and he leans into the crook of his neck, nipping his skin before pressing his lips into the same spot. If he's not going to believe him, then he has to show him - though there's a petty part of him that also doesn't want to do the things he's told to do by someone like Denji. This is why he's so susceptible to reverse psychology, he supposes.] Everything's a big deal to you.

[ It's not really that he's married to the idea that Aki's upset with him; it's that he can't fathom what him not being upset means. What acceptance looks like, and if it's deserved after today. If it's even that important that Denji doesn't deserve it. God, he may not feel as sick anymore, but his mind's still as bad of a clusterfuck as ever — but he hopped into Aki's bed knowing what he wanted at least. Knowing what he could do.

An odd twinge passes over his features, a stutter to his breathing, like he's enjoying feeling the cut of Aki's teeth edge along the veins in his neck, but doesn't want to. ]

Shut up. [ His hand rises, wrapping around the tube of the other hybrid's neck, trying to push him back as Denji half-lifts himself from the ground by his elbows, their noses brushing in the movement — trying, but from this distance, he can't help himself. He pitches too close for what he expects to be a flicker, quick as the pinch of pain when the tip of an IV first sinks into your arm, but his mouth, dehydrated, a little cracked, lingers lopsidedly against Aki's lips.

Everything's a big deal to you, and this isn't exactly proving him wrong, but trying to swallow the argument before it can form into something that can hurt him is certainly a choice. ]

I was supposed to — to do the work. I wanna be the one the touch you all over.

No.

[The short, brief denial comes without a pause. Whatever it is Denji is dealing with, Aki doesn't want to feed into. If it's guilt, or something like that, even though he doesn't know what he would be guilty for. Does he still feel guilty for thinking he killed him? For not finding him for a year? None of that is anything he should still be beating himself up over, so Aki won't lay back and let him feel sorry for himself over something like that.]

[No, if anyone should feel guilty, it's Aki.]

[He pushes at him to lay down again, one hand hard on his shoulder to guide him back into the thin bedding on the floor as the other moves lower.]

I'm not here to make you feel better about yourself. Whatever you're stressed about - Just let it out. [And his hand slips down beneath his boxers, no hesitation at all in the movement.]

[ Aki reverses the situation, pushes him into the futon like he's shoving down a pet who keeps resting its chin on his knee during mealtime. He balks, makes confused, shivery noises as his drawers ease down his thighs, skin smooth like after shedding old molt; he's not fully up yet, but he's probably harder than Aki, at least. A horny brat will always be a horny brat, even if this one was indeed still beating himself up, wasn't trying to use Aki, but he was, he was trying —

Take responsibility comes to mind, but that's not what this was. Responsibility involves clear admission. He hasn't exactly been honest with Aki.

And maybe Denji was too transparent — whenever something stabs or shreds him apart, he's always so messy about it, so incapable of keeping himself strung together. Even as his body sloughs off the pain and pastes itself back into shape, he can never successfully hide that he was still hurt once. The ache can stop battering his nerve endings, but his muscles, his fingers, the different points of his body will still twitch and seize up in the memory. It's the same thing when he knows he's done something wrong. Dug up the garden, as Aki so kindly put it. When he doesn't feel better or worse for it, but he knows he should, he'll feel the guilt gurgitate and grow like vegetation that's been fed too much plant food. ]

Okay. [ Though Aki shook his attempts off before, he tries a second time to slide his hands past the waist of his bottoms. ] Okay, okay… Then, you too.

[As expected, Aki is far from hard, soft in his sweatpants and uninterested in Denji's somewhat careful attempts to bully his way down there. His eyes dart down for a moment when he does so again and he sighs, growing annoyed. He's so...]

[Unwillingly, he's thinking about her. When he told her Makima had saddled him with two devils to house. Back then, they only hooked up once every few weeks. Usually when drunk, usually without discussion. Because it was always an apology. If she was feeling bad or upset about something in the past. If he was stressed about the future. If a mission went bad. She'd do something just like this, crawl into his bed at night and feel him up and jack him off until he woke up, startled, groaned. But it was a mutual thing. And when he told her about Denji and Power, she'd said so casually, "Damn, I've been feeling so off lately, too." That made him realize how much things had just changed much more than the soy sauce stains on the wall and the shit smell from the toilet.]

[Sometimes he just wanted it to be for him. Can he blame Denji for that? Can he ask him for that, too? But he shouldn't.]

You know how to... [He trails off. Isn't sure how to ask this. It still feels weird to ask Denji about anything dirty.] With both of them, together. Do you know how to do that?

[ Curiosity and concern for his own gap in understanding of what Aki's describing join as one in the earnest look that lands upon the space between their legs, where both their dicks lay flaccid. Well, Denji's is beginning to perk just from having some attention on him — which, right now, feels embarrassing. That he's the only one even slightly aroused. Of course, he wants to do something for Aki; it's what he'd claimed he'd wanted from the beginning, and though Aki called him out on that not being all the way true, on being self-centered…

He still really wants to make this work for them both. Something nice to connect them after a day of sweeping things under the rug. Slowly, he begins to nod. ]

Uh, yeah. Think I've seen picture or two of that before…

[ To elaborate: He saw it once in a magazine, still images of two well-built men holding their full-sized erections together from different angles. At the time, he thought it was a really funny way to compare sizes, but now…

Denji brings his palm up this mouth for him to lick, wetting it, so that when he slicks his hand around Aki's head, there's some lubricant to help coax it into a fuller shape. With a soft grunt, his own hips boost up from the sheets a few increments, trying to press what's filled out adjacently to Aki's. ]

Like this…? Or something else?

[The weird way he licks his hand to wet it, it's... It shouldn't be that cute. It shouldn't make his heart jump like that. But it's cute. Kind of gross, but cute. Aki lowers his gaze so he doesn't have to look at him while thinking that.]

...Yeah. Like that.

[The position is a little uncomfortable. With Denji below him, that means he has to cant his hips up which isn't really fair. He also knows this is going to really hurt his back, so... He backs up and motions Denji to come with him, eventually sitting down and attempting to pull him into his lap. It's a lot closer and a lot more intimate than leaning over him in bed, somehow. He literally had him laying in his lap not twelve hours ago, but somehow this feels like untreaded territory. Maybe because he's not as high over him when seated like this. Even if it's only a few inches.]

Are you stressed out? [It comes out kind of awkward. As if he's digging for another reason for this, something he can accept more than a simple feeling of guilt he doesn't think he should be feeling. But stress - everyone feels stress.]

[ Much better. Denji notches into the new position, sitting in the middle of Aki's lap, legs loosely wrapped around his waist. Naturally, he reaches with both hands to clumsily draw their cocks together again, but he pauses, sensing that Aki wants to — talk?

It feels like ages since Denji's been able to look at him without wanting to look immediately away, but that doesn't seem right; it probably hasn't been that long at all, but it just feels that way due to feeling sick. Feeling far away, in general. No closer to bringing Aki all the way home, nor to being the normal kid he seems so wretchedly to want for Denji. ]

…Probably. [ He brings one of his hands up to Aki's cheek. In the past, Denji's poked at him, stretched the skin of it, tried to upturn the corner of his mouth into a weird smile, but for now, he simply strokes his thumb up against his under eye. He looks a little tired. ] But it doesn't get better, does it? With growing up. [ He gives a wan laugh. More of a huff, really, nothing like the frenetic fit he'd fallen to over their call. ] What a pain in the ass.

[This position is definitely better. Even if it means he has to lift his head to look up at Denji as he strokes his thumb below his eye, he can deal with that. The friction of their cocks sliding together is exactly what he was looking for.]

...In some ways, it does. [This feels like a white lie. It gets worse as you age, he would have said maybe a year ago. But now...] You learn how to deal with it.

[Though Denji doesn't deal with things the same way he does, so maybe he's wrong about that. Aki settles his hand at the small of Denji's back to keep him seated close.]

Just go up and down. Keep it slow. [He's still mostly soft, himself, but doing something like this won't keep him that way for long.]

[ Dealing with it. With things like this, he can only guess he means.

Now that they've fooled around a few times he doesn't have to try hard to imagine Aki seeking refuge, in people. Or in little things, like when he'd see him leaning against the balcony, watching the different parts of the neighborhood wake up, dancing and flitting around like tiny-footed sparrows tapping at a window.

Falling back into what's simple. That's what Denji tries to do now, staring down intently at his hands unhurriedly pumping up and down, lip bitten in keen focus. At first, it just feels like skin buffing and bumping against skin — about as arousing as rubbing their elbows together, but the more he continues dragging his palms between them, the more he feels a quiet friction start to spark. Flint striking tinder, again. Again. Again, until Denji's barely noticed himself begin to pant, eyes glassy and dilated like a dog's in low light. ]

[Aki couldn't say exactly what it is about this that he enjoys. Maybe the sweet, constant friction that he can't fully control when someone else is doing it, the responsiveness of their movements that tells him how much Denji is enjoying it and feeds into his own enjoyment. When he hears the sound of his pants and raises his eyes to see him, the glassy sheen to his expression, he thinks this must be part of it, too. The indecency of it, the rough act of rubbing two dicks together. It feels good. He's hard even before he's panting, his hips flinching lightly toward each stroke, gently jostling Denji where he sits in his lap.]

That's good. Just like that.

[Sometimes Denji likes being told he's done well and other times it seems like he shies away from it like he's aware how much he likes it and shouldn't. Or maybe that's his own projection. He remembers when Himeno called him out on his tail essentially thumping in glee after a good report from Makima. It wasn't even because it was her. The relief of doing something right, of being on the right path... It's an addictive feeling.]

Feels good? [His hand slides up from his lower back to hold onto his shoulder, creep towards his neck and brush over his throat with his thumb. He pushes at his chin so he'll look up, so they can make eye contact. And like he's answering his supposition,] This is one way.

Feels good — you feel — really good, [ he chokes out, voice dry. Not that he can hear himself, the sound of Aki's breathing the loudest thing to him at this very moment.

He hates it a little, that when Aki encourages his neck to open, his chin to lift, he doesn't really need the guidance. Doesn't need the cradling, the swipe of his thumb, not even the blue of his eyes on him. Hates that Aki's voice — the twining notes of what likely is approval, of what may be affection — is enough to turn him into something lesser than a dog. Just a mass that can't stop shaking, just a pair of hips aching to be pressed flush somewhere, just a cock jumping out of alignment from Aki's, suddenly slippery. But he remedies that quickly, brings them back together, cupped hands pulsing down, then up again, harder, trimmed nails on both cocks tracing the route of their veins. Thinking it might lead to the same place. ]

How else? [ Breathless urgency in his tone, like knowing is his only key to turning coal to gold, a silvery bullet to a translucent pearl. Is this how wolves felt when they discovered the moon? One of his hands separates to feel up the glans of their penises, around their meshed heads, red and flexing, mixing their precome together with a swirl of his palm. ] How else — do you deal with it? Show me.

[Should he fuck him? Could he just lift him up and sink into him? No - the devil is in the other room. She'll definitely hear. And the dogs, too. They'll definitely hear. If they aren't already, with Denji talking like that, his hand moving so rapidly over him it makes him want to groan and add his own voice to the mix. He can hear his breath, tight and heavy, wants to lean forward and kiss him to shut him up as much as he wants to keep listening to him beg Aki how to stop stressing over things you can't control.]

...Let go. [He swats Denji's hand away, taking the place of it and stroking them both off together with long, heavy strokes.] Feels good to do it - like this, with your whole palm. [He's made such a mess of them both that the precome covering them is more than enough lubrication, but he still lifts his hand to spit into it, curl it back around and continue stroking.] Get into a good rhythm... Until you're almost there. Til you're close. You're... You probably come fast, don't you.

[He doesn't wait to see if that's true this time. The moment he thinks he sees it, a height in his pleasure on a really good stroke, Aki shifts to only grabbing Denji and clenches tight, tight around the base of his cock. Squeezing in a fierce circle to halt the flow of blood, the flow of anything. Then holds him like that, doesn't let go. Waits to see how he'll react.]

[ Denji's definitely a quickshot by regular standards. Whenever they've had sex, he's always been the first to bliss out. Go numb in the head, overdosed on pleasure, his whole anatomy twitching like he just touched a wet finger to an open electric line. It's probably one of the few moments he doesn't stray, doesn't misbehave too much to go off course — and it's why he's always so careless. Hasty, like if he doesn't take his high immediately, it may not be his to claim ever again. Before Makima, before he knew what a cut of thigh looked like glazed in honey, he did this with food a lot, too. He would forget to savor it. And sometimes he falls back into forgetting.

But Aki's hand, cramped, flexing, too smart and purposeful in his ministrations, the way it feels like he has it viced around both his lungs and not just wasted on his dick, each endless drag tipping Denji's head back, lips yanked apart by a soundless howl — that, he'll remember. That, he'll savor, even as his mind begins to the white-out, hips jolting and stuttering. The excitement of being taken by what could be the very end of him.

…Well, up until it ends instead. Comes to a screeching fucking halt, actually, as Aki cuts his connection to sweet heat off, holds him there. Denji's head nearly flies off his neck from how he whips to look at him, confused, appalled, incensed. ]

I was — What the — Screw you! Why the hell would you do that?!

[Yeah, that was about the reaction he'd expected. Aki barely lets him finish his question, instead leaning down to lock lips with him, kissing him deeply to encourage him to shut up. Deal with it. Quiet down. Just savor the pain and the feeling of being stopped up.]

[When he finally releases him, he strokes up his cock three quick, complete times before clenching around the base again, kissing him all the while as his other hand stays wrapped around his back to keep him held close. He shifts his own hips to rub his cock along Denji's, but the touch is minimal and a tease more than anything. Just something to further torture him with.]

Feel good? [He even sounds kind of dickish asking that. But he's not taking out his frustration on him or anything. Right now, he thinks Denji probably isn't thinking about anything but his desire to come. And isn't that what he asked for?]

[ It's only a moment that Aki pulls away to ask that question, barely putting any distance between them, but that he can do that, that any thought besides seeing this through doesn't immediately slip past his mental ducts into nothingness — it drives him up the wall. So though Aki swatted one of his hands away, he holds them both in his other hand, mimicking his grip with his full palm, jerking slow when he quickens, upping his tempo when he's taking his sweet time, all as his mouth smashes back into Aki's, a muddled mantra of — ] The worst, you're the worst — [ dribbling from his lips. Nearly drives him to push and shove his way onto his knees, over Aki's thighs, the wetted tip of his cock rocked down right where he should always be, not in another city, not in someone else's hands, not being so close yet so far.

But no, Nayuta's shuffling out of the bedroom. He can't do that.

…Wait a minute. His gaze darts, seeing the door begin to slide on its tracks.

In a flash, Denji's throwing the covers over their heads, pressing Aki down on his side to make it look as if they're just sleeping facing each other. Nayuta's going to like that, but it's better than the alternative. ]

[It's really not what he's expecting, to be suddenly tackled down. Maybe he's losing his edge. He didn't even hear the devil come out of that room, but once he's laid down next to Denji with the covers over them both, there isn't much it can be but that. He hears her footsteps cross the little hallway and the sound of the bathroom door open, then close.]

[...He really does think about her a lot, doesn't he. Aki wonders if he would do the same were it Power. Well, Power would probably tackle the sheets, so it's a little different.]

[He loosened his grasp on his cock when he was pulled down and now that they seem to be in the clear, Aki raises his head just a bit up to see out the edge of the sheets, spotting the sliver of light coming from the bottom of the doorway. He strokes him once, a full up-down movement from base to head, then repeats it a little faster, a bit more - until the toilet flushes and there's the sound of running water and he clamps down again as he leans in to cover Denji's mouth with a kiss. Shut him up and try to swallow his scream.]

[ And swallow his scream, he does, the crushing squeeze keeping his release at bay, a building sensation so torturous it's like feeling the cut of a sharpened blade coast his spine. Or like being at the tipping point of an edge, then being yanked back from it. His hand jerks, finally releasing from the point where their bodies meet entirely, to drag his nails through Aki's scalp, anchoring him there as he gasps and judders into his touch, his mouth. Fuck, his cock is molten in Aki's hands, pulsing and pleading, knowing this feels good, but knowing that it could feel even better with a little mercy.

After Nayuta's steps have retreated back into the bedroom, Denji groans, pulling away, but not without taking Aki's lower lip with him, the pink skin stretching out before snapping back into place. ]

Jerk. Does — that feel good for you? [ He sounds annoyed, and really, he is. But also he wants to make sure of something. ] Taking control? Almost getting me in trouble?

[ Because Denji likes it, hips rutting forward to slide his cock from inside Aki's uncompromising grip, to feel their ridges grind together in a dangerous fever. See if he'll give an inch. See if Denji can take it farther than that. He likes it a lot when he's being led around like a horse on a racetrack, running in circles for other peoples' entertainment — but it's something he's been trying very hard to talk himself out of enjoying, thoughtlessly. So having Aki do this, not seeing him openly react to his attempts to make this something for him, too…

He needs to know. ]

[...Is Denji asking him if he's a control freak?]

[Aki shifts below the covers, the rub and drag of Denji's cock over his own too exciting, yet he pulls back as if he doesn't want it. He wants to deny that's what this is about, but he's not stupid. It's not about getting him in trouble. It's toeing the line, maybe - it's pulling him to the edge of ruining something and then sweeping him right back to safety by his own hand. That's definitely something a control freak would want to feel. And with Denji, it's just so easy. He's so easy to herd and guide and walk right to where he wants him. Comes when his name is called, sits, rolls over. And looks so damn pleased the whole time.]

Something like that.

[His grip loosens and he immediately strokes him rough and hard, intending to let him go all the way over now. He's led him around the track enough, he can go wild if he wants now. Command, reward. Positive reinforcement. Whatever.]

Feels good to hold back... Just a little bit.

[He can remember the first time someone did it to him. Was that when he started to get off on it? No - Maybe he was always this way, and that just told him what the secret ingredient was. He doesn't think Denji is anything like that, though. Maybe his polar opposite. But maybe that, in turn, makes them too similar.]

When you call me names... That's when you're getting the most into it.

[ He gulps, he shudders, and he feels that ledge curling under his toes, the thrill of your body tilting forward into something dark and long and poised for freefall, except Aki's hips recoil. Denji's gaze shines unfocusedly as he watches him, listening; This is what happens in a black hole, he thinks. To be compressed and stretched to your limit, thinned out, easy to twine around a finger like piano wire when you saw into someone's neck, a slow smothering that sinks and pulls. Gives space for air to infiltrate. Sweeps that away, too.

Horse. Carrot. Racetrack.

Aki could ask him for anything. Anything, at all. And here is, asking him to hold back — or at least, that's Denji's misunderstanding as his pace amps up, a shock that reverberates from his groin up to the back of his eyes, the color of them fluid and turpentine, a spark right before it catches fire. Suddenly lit, dangerous. Denji thrashes next to him, bucking up as his head turns to the side like he can't control himself, teeth tearing into the sheets beside his head. Threads scratchily coming as undone as his sanity. ]

Fuck, ah — no! No! Aki —

[ Feels good. Feels like being grinded into dust or iron or salt, the fundamental particles of the world, piling high all in the soft pit of Aki's hand. Denji's just something warm for him to crush. Something sweaty and writhing to hold after a year of loneliness — in this midst of this, it occurs to Denji that while this is good, an even better reward would be if Aki could always be lonely. Could always want him like this. And maybe if he do as he says, tries to hold back, endure, that's what he'll get. ]

Wish… you could meet yourself, [ Denji says, dry and throaty, cock as hot as fresh tire marks skidding from a driveway, expanded red and bruising. But not pulsing, not all the way lost to pleasure, and that's good. He's doing good. ] So you'd know exactly how much you suck right now.

[He keeps waiting for it to hit, waiting to watch him lose control, but as he strokes Denji through the height of his frenzy, watching him tearing away at the sheets below him, Aki's eyes widen slowly with recognition. Is he not going to until he says he can?]

[...God, he really wants to fuck him. Watch him come on his dick alone. Sloppy and tongue lolling and eyes rolled... ]

[He sits up on one hand, watching Denji from above as his hand continues stroking him off, close over him as he yanks at his cock and watches every twitch of every muscle as he edges himself. Holds it all back. He can't help the ghost of a smile over his lips, the slight sheen in his eyes that says something like... he's impressed.]

Didn't think you could. [And he leans down to murmur close to his lips,] Good boy.

[And then he lifts his chin back up, like he's inviting him forward, but he also makes sure to audibly tell him,] Come.

[ If Denji had any cognizance leftover, he'd wonder at it: how he could possibly go this distance without collapsing inward, without mindlessly fuck his cock into Aki's long fingers, and, hey, isn't it funny how familiar this position is, just like that night where Aki'd yanked his pants over his knees and Denji'd offered to swallow his cock down his throat in return. But no, he traded in being able to think around the part where Aki had wickedly commandeered everything, and he'd let him. Was it due to him anticipating something positive in return? Partially. The inkling had seeded, sprouted in his mind the moment his back hit the ground, but that wasn't all. It was because Denji had realized this was one way, too. To making them both happy.

Dogs are so capable of being domesticated for a number of reasons, most of them having to do with breeding, with the fact that their motivations are so easily determined. What's often overlooked, though, is their attachment to others. A glimpse at a small and curved sliver of a smile, not even showing teeth, will get even the boniest of tails swaying back-and-forth.

Or maybe that's just Denji.

Good boy kisses his lips, just a breath carrying words, but it soaks straight through his chest like a spongy cake bathing in sweet rum. He knows he's close, he knows he's hit his upper limit, but it's what Aki says next that makes his heel slam into the back of Aki's knee, back arched.

Pinks of his gums shining with spit fully visible from how yawned open his mouth is, Denji's body gives a single short jolt, then spasms as if he were having a seizure, every one of his limbs flailing, his hole clenching and unclenching around nothing, as he loses all sense of control under Aki. He pushes up, tries to kiss him, really he does, but his orgasm pulses out in waves, like a shock from an electric collar that keeps sending his aim askew, and he can only crash his lips into Aki's bottom one as light flashes in his vision. The sensation of thick come sludging down his stomach and his half-rolled up shirt in a slew of squirts, torrid and dirty. ]

Mmph — Aki —

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