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

[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 —

[Denji loses control of himself so much that it isn't even funny. He's like a rubber band, wound back and suddenly snapped in an unexpected direction, wherever the tension led it. But for once, Aki feels like he knew exactly which direction he would snap towards, how his body would quiver and shake and at what moment. He didn't expect the force of the snap, is all.]

[The hit of his heel, the fight for a kiss - Aki leans down into him as he continues stroking him, fisting over his cock with quick, tight strokes that grow even slicker with how sullied with come his hand gets. He can't help it - he's a little proud. Of what - Denji? No, he doesn't think so. No, not about this, exactly. He was a little proud that he held back, but that part is over. It might just be pride in himself, he realizes slowly, grabbing hold of Denji's lower lip between his teeth and nipping at the skin gently. How embarrassing. But it feels good.]

Keep going - That's it. [He intends to keep going, milk him fully dry. See how far his own hand can push him. Is that selfish? Wanting to see his own affect and how far it can push him. How far he can make him go.] Knew you'd like that. You horny brat. [Because he's still hard, he realizes with delay again, still wanting something more out of this. That must be why he feels so selfishly like continuing to shove Denji along.]

[ Signal as spotty as a busted TV set, he's blinking in and out of awareness, crude groans he thinks may be originating from one of the dogs in the bedroom are whistling and thrumming deep from his very own chest. Vaguely, he can feel his come hitting the underside of his chin. That’s new. Shit, he didn’t think he could shoot that far, could keep squirming like this, each pump of Aki's hand proving that no matter how spent he is, how much his cock reddens and twitches in Aki's grip from oversensitivity he's still got seed to spare. And he can feel it: Aki's intent on spreading him out and thin, jam on a bed of toast. Or like those pin-up posters Denji would painstakingly smooth out on the floor, then jerk it to back when they lived together and he knew Aki could hear him. ]

I like it — too much. [ Lip stretching where Aki's nipping him, Denji shifts to lick his tongue up his mouth, tasting salt. The friction's still good, but the acute pulpiness in his limbs, in the weight of himself in Aki's hands, the feeling of being beaten thoroughly — it's all so much better than he could have imagined. ] N'enough… Rgh, please, Aki, more, make me — more — wanna come more —

[ He pleads in what pockets of air he can get in the kiss, his back undulates with abandon, like a strumming bowstring that can't sit still after being flexed and released from its rigid form. ]

[He wants to keep insulting him, dragging him down as he pulls him high at the same time. He's just so pitiful to look at, begging for a little more pleasure, trying to chase his lips and rolling his stomach like Aki is scratching the perfect spot for him. He did fine last time he fucked him with nothing but spit, he reasons, and then immediately decides against it, an iron door slamming shut. Denji came to him, tried to give something to him. But that's not what he wants from him right now. If he's going to give him anything, he wants it to be himself, not his body. And surely he can't get that through the latter.]

Not gonna fuck you.

[It's really like he's edging himself on top of this, refusing to touch himself, focusing solely on Denji and the way he looks so blissed out of his mind. He could feel that, too. Shove his head down on his cock and choke him while he comes down his throat. But no, he insists again. No, he wants Denji, not his body. It's not the same. He can't accomplish it through sex. Can he even accomplish this selfish desire through anything?]

You're making... such a mess. [He swipes two fingers through the come that shot under his chin, feeling the same sticky residue on his front but he only gathers that small string and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and fucking his mouth open. All the while, through every motion, he keeps stroking him. His hand doesn't stop once in its up-down drag.] You're such a nasty brat. You're going to smell like your own dried come when you're done. Look at you... [Because Aki is, his eyes trained on Denji's as he watches him, hooded and dark.] Now, bite.

[ There's no more gas in his tank, the last of his come weeping straight on to Aki's sliding hand; the only thing his strokes are deftly pulling out from him now are strangled whines, like what might be heard from an injured animal on its last legs. Still erect somehow, his cock strains under the perennial pressure wringing him, a good kind of hurt searing into him, wax on flesh. They could keep going. He wants to keep going. Aki's the only one he trusts not to cheat him —

Huh? What'd he say?

Denji stares at him in bleary-eyed confusion, the feeling slowly tipping into outrage by the way his face is tellingly cringed, a weak protest one foot out the front entrance before Aki's plugged his wet digits down his windpipe, silencing whatever he's got to say. His first instinct isn't to recoil, isn't to cry out, no, it's to melt around his fingers, punctuated by the sound of a heady moan. Tears instantly pilled at the corners of his eyes, unfalling, blinked away as he pitches slowly downward until his lips touch his knuckles, then pulling back. In the same indulgent sweep, the tip of his tongue teases the slit between his fingers, gathering — what is this? It's rich and viscous, is this spunk? His spunk? Oh, who cares — the semen, letting a puddle collect on his tongue and each drop slide against his tonsils. Down his throat.

And when Aki tells him to bite? He doesn't wait to be coddled, doesn't teethe and test how much force to apply. His own hands twist around Aki's wrist before he can think twice, nails digging as his head bobs down once again, and his incisors stab through succulent skin, iron and come mixing into a sweet and savory bloody mary in his mouth, not for the first time. But he drinks it in like it is, like he's never been fed a single day in his life, like his taste buds have yet to discover water, so this, whatever Aki has for him, whatever he wants to ply him with, will do as suitable substitution for proper nutrition. ]

[He's so noisy that Aki thinks that devil is going to wake up any moment now. But the thought comes and goes like a breath of wind, quick and painless. He presses his fingers down Denji's throat and imagines for a sweet second that it's his own cock, choking him until he can't breathe, overflowing his mouth with his come. And then he bites, and Aki hisses with pure pleasure, leaning his head down into his shoulder as his hand mercilessly beats him off. Doesn't matter that nothing else comes out - he just wants to touch.]

[It feels so good and he doesn't think anyone's explanation as to why would be satisfying. It's just incredible. Like a hot shower that burns when it hits your skin, a massage that nearly pulls your bones from their sockets. It feels great. Intense heat followed by a rush of cool, his body trying furtively to cool itself down from the volcanic high. When he finally leans back to look at him, watch the way his blood coats his lips like some macabre makeup, it's only then that he finally lets go of Denji's cock and reaches up to grasp for one of his hands.]

Here.

[He drags it down to his own, squeezes his fingers around his shaft and pushes up into it to instruct him. His own hand is sticky with come but it's alright - Now Denji's is similarly messy and it'll surely get messier soon.]

[ The whip-pulse of Aki’s hand on him rages in his ears like the din of an izakaya at peak hours, drowning out everything in his head. Not just his own wrecked groans, but things like how much he cares about Nayuta waking up. Whether his neighbors hate him, whether the landlord knocks on his door at the morning with an eviction notice in hand. Addict's thinking, he knows. Pleasure blooming in the sting. To hurt and be hurt and to keep going whatever the cost. That Denji can lose himself freely and feel good about it, that he doesn't even need to be slobbering over cock to have Aki heaving close, breathing in the same pain Denji's inflicting on him. Aki could have sheathed a dagger through his front teeth, and he’d still be suckling on it like a mother’s tit, if it gave them what they both wanted.

Denji almost resists when Aki pries a hand away, cheeks suctioned tight around the raw puncture marks in his fingers in case he might wrench his mouth off next, heedless of the saliva seeping from the corner of his lips, looking as if they share a wound. Like if Aki really wants to be rid of him, he better be ready for Denji to swallow down the skin and meat off his bones, too. Take something to remember him by.

But then his hand is back around the length of him, and he barely even needs Aki's instruction to keep going, twisting up — starting slow, just like he asked him to do earlier, but continuous, head to root. ]

That still how you like it?

[ He asks it like any other question, but there's almost a flicker of a taunt in his brown gaze, rising up to meet his. ]

[It feels good, immediately. The slow rub is perfect, even moreso when combined with the sting from his fingers, the drizzle of blood lapped by his tongue. Aki leans his head down with a groan, resting his chin on Denji's shoulder, his hips shifting towards Denji's tugs to urge him a little faster.]

Just like that. Good.

[If he's trying to taunt him, to mock him for this, it goes over his head as the pleasure builds. It's good. The combination of pain and pleasure - it's always been good. A slap across the cheek at the height of orgasm. The rush of striking the killing blow, wounds seeping blood and limbs screaming in pain as things go still. It's always been that combination for him, an ebb and flow, push and pull. Can't have one without the other.]

Keep going. I told you to bite.

[At first, it really was all about Denji. So what does it say about him that now he wants it to be all about himself? Maybe he really is selfish. Maybe he really can't handle being given something - he always has to take it for himself, instead.]

[ A fleeting thought commutes through his brain, temptation's whisper: It'd be so easy to go even slower, to stop altogether. Throw someone else for a loop for once instead of the other way around. But the thought leaves as quickly as it forms. Denji's no good at playing coy — or at least, he needs more practice at it before he can start playing games like that. For right now, with his teeth stained with red, sinking wet fissures and cracks between Aki's finger joints, enough to feel the creak of cartilage, blood swimming down the lifelines in his palm, all he cares about is giving him what he wants. To feel like he's able to provide something, and be needed and desired for it. Maybe something else, someday.

Denji's breath speeds up with his pace, his stomach flexing as his hand squeezes down and up Aki in a rough drag, as if he can imagine the friction and filth sliding in an endless heat as though it were humming through his own dick. He wants him. He wants him to feel good so bad, feel so good it aches in his spine for longer than they'll be apart. A memory laced so tight around his neck, he feels it like the leather-burn of a harness. ]

What about this?

[ The words fight for audibility against the swathe of squelches between their abdomens and the slurp of Denji's mouth, but he doesn't wait to hear for acknowledgement, reaching under Aki to caress his testicles, lightly massaging and pinching the skin to create a contrast in sensation. ]

[It's hard to make out what he's saying when he has his fingers in his throat and he can feel the very edge of his orgasm. Aki wouldn't last long, anyway, the sweet sensation constant and wonderful and perfect, the pain in his fingers aching and burning and stinging with Denji's spit, but the moment he goes for his balls, he's done for. Aki jerks hard at the touch. He didn't expect it at all. Didn't think he would even try it. But it barely takes a brush for his whole body to jut forward in eager acceptance of the touch and Aki groans quietly in his neck, against his ear, tilting his head up and back. Good, good, he would groan if he had the ability to speak. But instead he ruts forward and presses down on Denji's abdomen with his cock, streaking his stomach with come as he finishes. His thumb digs into his chin as he chokes out a sound like a final breath.]

[Damn it, he can't let him get to his this easily.]

Fuck, Denji, fuck. [His head is dizzy from being woken, from sleeping fitfully, from - everything. The smell of Denji laying under him, the way his fingers feel, how his tongue feels pressing against his wounds. The slight suction of his lips. The way his throat pulses when he swallows. Aki pulls the fingers from his mouth and instead presses them into the side of his face to forcibly turn his head, meet his lips with his own. A messy, hurried kiss to keep him from saying anything else.]

[ He keeps pulling and playing with his nuts all the way through his release, like trying to wring out the good pulp and juice from a citrus fruit. His leg's carelessly thrown over Aki's to hold them that much closer during it, so close their cocks are trapped flush between them and his come can't land anywhere else but his bare stomach. So close they can only collide into each other, his fingers so far inside his mouth, the back of his throat convulses around the wide stretch of the appendages. It's funny, Aki told him before that he wasn't needy, but he what else could he be called when he can't even handle the thought, the notion, of sharing Aki's come with the bed sheets.

He doesn't want to think about what he's going to do, sharing him with an institution he can't understand. Good thing he doesn't have to right now.

Not only does his name sound like a death rattle from Aki's lips, it tastes what he imagines one would, too. Metallic and overbearing and airless — what it must feel like to enjoy something for the last time, or know that any time can be the very last. Without waiting for invitation, Denji's tongue rushes heavily into his, as if to say, Here. Taste this. It's you and it's me, together. Isn't it good? Because that's what the kiss is to him, not just prolonging their contact to one another, but a breaking off a piece from your favorite meal to add to someone else's dish. ]

Like you, I like you —

[ Strands of his hair wound around his fingers, Denji's knee nudges into his side at first, then jams demandingly to get him to bend as he clambers on top of Aki like an overeager dog trying to drag someone down to his level, to forget the snow and Gun, and come play out here in the mud with him instead. ]

[Why is it so intense with him? Aki can remember this kind of intensity, not long after he lost his virginity. The intense desire to do it again, do it more, do it better. Is that what this is? But then why does he feel it, too? It's like the food thing he told him - Denji isn't plain soba. Far from it. Maybe that's why his hands are running down to grab and fondle his ass when he climbs over him, kissing messily against his haphazard movements. What did he just say...?]

[He thinks he said something. Something like I like you. But Aki knew that. Is that all he means?]

Yeah? [He can feel the dangle of his cord on his chest. If he pulled it, he might just die right here. What would that be like?] Yeah - Obviously. [Since he's basically devouring him right now, tongue halfway down his throat, humping him like a dog in heat. God, it would be so easy to slip right in, watch him ride his cock and bounce on his hips. He bite down on his lower lip and releases it with a tug before moving back in to deepen the kiss again.] But you just want it.

Yeah.

[ He's not disagreeing, because, well, look at him. He's plainly tipsy off helping him orgasm, his ass hoisting up of its own accord, lifting and thrusting back into Aki's kneading palms. Pressing against him like he wants it to hurt. When whatever sounds he makes isn't getting swallowed down Aki's throat like a cartridge sinking into a gun barrel, he's pulling away to smother his lips into his jugular, voice hampered by how his teeth saw back-and-forth against a bulging vein. Denji isn't shy about how much he aches for it; it's all he's been fantasizing about since he can remember — to hold somebody, to be held by somebody. A mutual devouring.

But there's a strange cant to how he words that last part, one that forms a pocket of confusion — doubt — anxiety in Denji's chest. That feeling he gets when he can tell he's missing something important. He'd usually be able to ignore it, carry on doing whatever he pleases, but, face drawn in concentration, his lips worry at his tacky skin, refusing to let up even as a mottled mark flowers and pricks up at Aki's neck. ]

But I want it like — you want it, right?

[As usual, maybe, he misunderstands. Aki believes he understands Denji, can see what it is he wants and what he's asking for. He wants sex, he wants him to fuck him again, pull him down on his length and fill him full. But he adds that confirmation and that picture of Denji cracks a bit. You want it like I want it, right?]

[Aki would say, no. He doesn't want it like Denji wants it. He wants to be the one in control, moving as he pleases, grabbing him tight by the hips and thrusting in. But why does Denji think that's what he wants? Logic tells him he must not be understanding. Instinct tells him Denji is simply wrong.]

[Denji is lonely and childish. A brute and narrow-minded. Wants sex, but more than that, wants connection.]

[How much of that applies to Aki?]

You think you can?

[When he's more sober, less high off this heat, the friction of their bodies, he'd probably look at that question and recognize it as misdirection, a purposeful pull toward what's easier to stomach right now. But in this moment it's something easy to fall back on. Easier to trick him with a treat than with a real conversation, his head tilting back to allow access to his throat. Throwing him a bone. Laying back to avoid a fight. Maybe the old Aki would never do this, sink to this low. Why does it feel like a low with him?]

You can - on top?

[ He can — on top, under him, facing away. It always feels good when it's with Aki, because it's Aki, because he can believe he's doing something that he likes and that he wants and that his neck will readily bow into the crowns of his canines.

Unbidden, an old superstition the farmers and ranchers out in the countryside would tell comes to mind. Something about how a hare will sometimes jump into predator's mouth when there's no way out. Sort of a weird analogy, one he'd always related back to affection, closeness; in his head, it'd always felt like hunting a skittish thing down through a dense forest. But he doesn't think that really applies here, because Aki wants him back. He's half-sure that it's not with the same intensity or all the time, but when he looks straight up at him like this, he can talk himself into thinking that the person he's looking at isn't Chainsaw Man or some brat he got stuck with. It's Denji.

And when he lifts his head to look back down at him, Denji can trust it's not the Gun or the fiend open firing at him, wickedly hot metal converging on flesh. Not a bullet casing of a person holding unignited gunpowder. It's Aki.

Denji nods, earnestly. Slicking a hand up Aki's shaft, he guides him, pacing himself as he drags his hole over his head, rubbing against his rim — knowing full well that he should stretch himself out first, but figuring that it hasn't been that long since they last had sex, so maybe it doesn't really matter, maybe it's all the same. He wasn't good at it the last time, and he still has trouble with the angling, but he's quicker at least with the downward press, groaning with the sink and the ache rooting up his very core as he pulls Aki in to the hilt.

He's so gullible, so stupid, he can't see the difference between a treat and a trick even as it's watching his every move. ]

[He moves on him so eagerly, pulling him inside before Aki can even blink. Is this right...? He doesn't know. Sex has always been a transaction in his life, an excuse to feel good while making the other feel good as an equal trade. After a rough day, decompressing in the arms of another. That's the same right now. It's not about closeness or respect or - love. It's about feeling good. That's all Denji is ever after, of course.]

[He thinks back, his hands sliding down to hold his hips as he adjusts himself before him, feels the heavy weight of his body seated on him. The flutter of his muscles and the tightness weaved around him. Even without stretching he fits him so well. Yeah, that's where he can start. That's what Denji likes, he's pretty sure.]

You fit me so good.

[He's staring up at him, eyes locked on his. Watching for his reactions, watching to see if this is an improvement. He isn't just taking, he wants to assure himself. This is giving, too.]

Spread your legs open... You take it so well. [Denji likes being praised. It's the easiest way to manipulate him. Tell him he's doing something right and he'll puff up like a peacock. He slides his hand down to his abdomen and feels where he is below the skin, how deep he's sunk. Presses down with the pad of his thumb.] Such a good boy.

[ It doesn't matter how many times Aki says it, the effect is the same: A jolt belts it straight from his spine to his soaked hole. Thighs jumping apart, his hips instinctively rabbit hop, then crash back forward again with a squelch of the come he'd used to grease himself up. ]

A-Ahhh…

[ He garbles out, air staggering out from his chest, drunk and sloppy, as if he'd just gotten punched in the face. Aki's hands on him are steadying, but not enough to stop his heart from quivering like a familiar chord strummed from a harp — Makima used to play this tune like a natural-born musician. Reze, too, once. Denji has always wanted to be good in someone's eyes, something you think twice about before discarding. When you're good, you're allowed certain privileges: adoration, independence, a home to come back to, and someone to welcome you in at the door. And he thinks, for the most part, he's done a good job at being good.

Except when he hasn't. Except when he's been bad.

Aki whispered the same two words to him to earlier, and that'd been easy to accept, a folded up note slipped under the gap of a door. But this? Looking at him head on after what he did? ]

I —

[ Denji's throat moves with the glob of spit he's swallowing. He pulls himself off of him, chin tucked to his chest. ]

Sorry. Can't do it.

[The brief light of thinking he got through in some way, that this night won't end like the previous night, is snuffed out faster than the toe of a shoe crushing a cigarette. Denji pulls off him all at once and his cock limps down, half-hard. Aki watches him pull his chin in tight, avoiding him when he was trying so hard to keep his eyes on him. Something hit him, just then. And he doesn't know what it was. If it's the same thing that brought him here in the first place.]

Denji.

[Coaxing, he reaches for him, slides his hands up his sides and to his shoulders. Tugs him to move over him again.]

You want to be on top?

[Top-top. The thing he asked for once, or assumed he could have, and Aki shot him down like he was asking for candy before dinner. An obvious no. But the situation has changed now. He's trying to make this less about himself. Denji was the one who crawled in here, who fisted his hand around him and started trying to jerk him off. And for what? What was he looking for, in that moment? Whatever it is, Aki can't give it to him if he doesn't tell him what he wants. So maybe offering a higher tier reward will change his tune. Make him forget whatever it is that's made him so guilty. Like he's pacing in front of a mess that he wasn't even around to cause. He told him he would let him get it out of his system. What better way than this?]

Press a finger in. You can do it. [He whispers that to him, heart thrumming loud in his ears. Because it's been awhile since he did this, and he refused to let Denji do it for a specific reason: he's a wildcard. But who better to take that than Aki?]

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