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 pushing him harder and harder and Aki wants to grab him and roll him over, shove him down into the bed and show him how to really do it. He can feel how desperate he's getting even before he speaks up and it's good, it's good to feel him get so into it. Forgetting about whatever else. Focusing on this moment, nothing else. Then they part with Denji sitting back and looking down at him, those damn eyes. That damn question. Different shape, same poison. He could punch him, sometimes.]

[Aki doesn't want anything. Ever since he died, he ceased wanting anything. Not freedom, not happiness, not peace. He's smart enough to recognize those are temporary feelings. Fleeting, transient. You can't lean on peace. A bird born in a cage would think flying free is a crime, just like a boy born in a city would think that wilderness must surely be owned. There is no such thing as freedom when you're property to a government. He can't lay back and enjoy anything.]

[Denji can, though.]

Yeah.

[And maybe thanks to the way he was just fucking his hole like that, Aki speaks and it comes out breathy, a little shocked. He couldn't sound honest if he said No right now. Is this like asking for an ice cream flavor you've never had? Taking a sample spoon and testing it out? He has no idea what Denji would be like. Surely no one who he's ever done this with before.]

Yeah - Do it.

[And as much time as he spends convincing himself he doesn't want anything and, even moreso, doesn't need anything, there's a mix of those things in his eyes as he stares up at him. Waiting with bated breath.]

[ For a moment, he's unable to look away from Aki's gaze, the deepest waters he's ever waded. Unable to think with this stupid pressure intensifying behind his eyes, hot enough to blind him, or kill him, who cares which comes first. That person wouldn't be Denji, that's for sure. It's not like he's never heard similar lines before, said in fallacy, like a fictional story someone's only reciting to soothe an anxious child before bed. Too good to be true, but too good to let go of completely — that's what love is to him, the golden city he's been searching for since before his eyes could perceive light, could know that a human being can't live without it.

Maybe what he hears from Aki isn't quite a confession to anything, isn't a surrender or an admission or — or even the truth. What it is, though, is something for Denji to latch on to. And that's what he does. That's what he has a latent talent for.

Giving one last sloppy, long-fingered shove into him, he pulls his hand back, barely casting a glance at the mess before swirling his tongue up the mixed slick filming his own palm, making sure to mine the gaps. Food's food. You don't let it go to waste. Bed sheets rustling, he balances on his knees at the fork between Aki's legs, head in a total as he uses his other hand to stroke himself off; he's slippery and hard again, uselessly so. Well, no, that's not right, there is one use for him, and Denji's grappling for it right now. ]

S-Shit, hold still.

[ Denji's the one that can't keep still, really. His tip touches the rim, squishing against his hole without actually violating it, slipping up and down — not even to tease him; he's just that nerve-wracked, gobsmacked. It's not nearly wide enough as he needs it to be, but it's dripping and Denji's never had much foresight when it comes to these things, anyway, so fuck! Fuck it!

He doesn't think about the angle or that his hand, the one slathered in spit, is bruisingly rucking Aki's thigh up again, nearly lifting his ass off the ground. He only cares about that first shallow push of his hips, slow, because he's only barely in and he already feels so overwhelmed, so swallowed into a stretched out heat he's never experienced before, moving and twitching around him. The take's fall-apart tender and soft, just like the first time he had niku udon, a piece of beef sliding down his throat — but better, the stuff of dreams. Painful, too, because the squeeze is more than he ever expected, but that's fine. That tells him he's awake, that this isn't just imagination, that he really is losing his virginity to Aki a second time. And that's the best part, isn't it? It's Aki, so it's fine, it's fine. He keeps telling himself that, hissing tightly, trying to keep himself from falling forward just like that and senselessly thrusting in like an animal giving in to the compulsion to procreate. He can do this. He can be who Aki needs him to be. ]

Stay — like that. Just like that, [ he gasps, hips withdrawing to push back in, deeper, deeper, picking up where his fingers left off in working him open. ] Oh, fuck, fuck, Aki. Holy shit, I'm fucking you.

[The initial push tells him what he already knew - he should have gotten lube. Denji tears into him and Aki lets his head fall back with a gentle groan, the arch of his back from where he tries to complement the way Denji is holding him up by the thigh painful on top of that. Muscular pain mixed with nerve pain. He presses his palm into the sweaty bedding and forces his eyes open, meeting Denji's bright golden pupils that look blown out like he's drugged. Like he's killing something.]

[Fuck, it feels good. Teeth grit, he can only stare up at him with a pinched expression, clearly in pain but the kind of pain you get after a good fight. To the victor go the spoils, or whatever they say. Who is which, here?]

Good... Just like that. [No notes, no readjustments so he hits the right spot. He wants to see how he does this, his first time. When he brushes over the tangle of nerves right below his dick, brief enough that it makes his hips bounce and cock jerk, his eyes flutter closed as he lets out a long sigh.] Keep your voice down.

[Like it even matters at this point.]

[ How is he supposed to keep it down when everything else is rushing him in all directions, amplified, like one of those surround sound systems in a movie theater? Each muscle flex, each breath Aki chokes on, so coarse and undignified and different from his usual temperament, is something he can feel reverberating straight down the length of his cock. Making him swell that much harder.

The joints of his knuckles are rigid, white as stone, as he presses his other hand into the center of Aki's stomach, for leverage at first, as he swings his hips down with his entire body weight to finally bottom out, but a spark of surprise flashes in his eyes. He slows his thrusts, watching in fascination as toned skin bulges and ripples beneath his palm, like how the foliage shimmers when a camouflaged animal slithers into hiding. In, out, then back in again. ]

Woah, I'm… moving inside of you.

[ Fuck, no wonder Aki likes topping so much — it doesn't make sense how good this feels. To see his own impact, to know that with a little shift of his angling, he can get him aching for him, craving to be filled and defiled by him like it's something he can live off of. Ration his meals to make it last longer.

If Denji buries himself far enough into him, maybe he could make a nice grave to die happy in.

Still pounding into him, Denji bites back his moan — trying to be quiet, not just because Aki asked him to, but because he wants to be able to hear every priceless hitch in his voice — by shoving his mouth into the side of Aki's leg. And finding a soft, clear spot to sink his teeth into. ]

[It was so easy to accept Denji was a devil, back then, and part of that was his teeth that looked like they belonged on a beast rather than a boy. Feeling them sink into the soft flesh of his thigh, his muscle mass gives way within seconds and blood drips from the wound and Aki watches in shock, the little roll of blood that escapes the edges of his lips, slides down his leg toward his crotch. And then Denji thrusts forward again and he feels his head fill with cotton, eyes rolling as the pain shoots through every nerve in search of his brain.]

[He's quiet, if only by necessity, aware that even if Denji is going to blabber things about how his dick is currently so far up Aki's ass that he can feel him in his guts, he can at least keep his moans low. But it's nearly as painful to be quiet as it is to be bitten, his hand finally releasing the sheets to clamp over his mouth, then his eyes, unwilling to look at Denji above him right now. Feeling it is more than enough, the repetetive thrusts inside him, the way he can feel the strength of his jaw on his thigh, each individual tooth sinking into the meat of his skin. The feeling of every inch of his dick, the pressure too much and yet he's seriously craving it. Seriously wants to wrap his other leg around his back and keep him pulled close, as deep as he can physically go and then an inch more. Wants to feel him in the base of his stomach, in the bottom of his lungs. His teeth are bared as his hips jerk forward when Denji thrusts in just the perfect, perfect angle inside him three times in a row and he finally lets a heavy, gutteral growl out. An angry sound to anyone who doesn't know what he actually sounds like when he's angry. But he can't waste a single braincell worrying if Denji is aware of that. His head is nearly empty.]

[Fuck, he missed this. Just letting go, giving up the reins and letting someone else do the heavy lifting. He's meeting each of Denji's movements as best as he can now, thrusting down onto him, clenching around him when he pulls back as his own cock leaks pre down his shaft and onto his hip. The hand that isn't covering his eyes is yanking hard at the bedding below him, the heel of the leg Denji isn't gnawing on pressed down deep in the sheets until it can't slide but it's the way his fingers twitch on his face that really give it away. The way his stomach clenches and unclenches, biceps flexing and flinching as Denji keeps fucking him. How good he feels right now.]

...Don't you dare stop, 'til I say.

[In case he thinks he's in charge right now. The one thing he was never able to give up.]

[ Aki can close a hand around his own moans all he wants, shroud away the desire taking up the whole circumference of his eyes from him like it'll make a difference. Refuse Denji the satisfaction of a job well done, fine — but what he can't do is snuff out the greed coiled in his growl, his voice choking on it, like it's all twined in his organs and nerves, and it's strangling him from the inside-out. Demanding release, the way smoke does if you hold it locked in your lungs for too long. Something closely related to laughter wetly dribbles from the mouth sucking sweetly at Aki's thigh, the tang of copper still coating his lips, freely roaming down his jaw. The entire concept of stopping is too funny. Does Aki even know who he is? Him, the perpetual motion machine.

Emboldened, he briefly empties out of his ass in full, then with his next thrust, rocks back into his hole, thick and severe, and grinding exactly where he's starting to learn he can feel him quiver and tighten around him the best. He muffles a harrowed groan into his warm flesh, eyes fluttering and straining, but not wanting to miss a single moment of this. The cling of him so good it makes his knees buckle and ache, so deep he might just break past his prostate and shatter the edge of his spine. So right that the brightness in his gaze, if Aki's eyes are open enough to see it, could be mistaken as love, adoration.

All Denji is sure of is that this should serve as a good reminder of who's here with him. Who's pinning him down, fucking him through and thorough.

His hand slides up pillowy skin, edge of his nail approaching the wound, pushing inside the same opening as one of his canine's, widening the breakage until he's made another hole that's all his. Blood weeps from the wound, and he watches it puddle between their legs alongside the sheen of Aki's own slick. Has to exert self-restraint to keep from following the lustrous trail downward, lapping it away, feeling up every last sweaty pore with the desperate tip of his tongue. He can't. He has other plans, ones that involve him finally letting his leg drop away, revealing a flushed, moist-mouthed face that drops half-forward, his hand relocating, scaling up the hard bones protruding from his neck, up his open mouth, up the creases in his face, the furrow persistently biting into his brow until he's tucked Aki's wrist away from his eyes. The touch gentle, in contrast to everything else.

His other hand, drops in the opposite direction. Squeezing, at the base of his dick. A pressure that should feel familiar to him; it's about the same amount Aki applied to his earlier. ]

So who's — the horny brat — now?

[Aki could just flip him over and spank him. Strike him until Denji is sobbing so loud the whole apartment complex wakes up. He could grab him by the neck and push his face into the sheets, into the pre-come tricking down his thigh and onto the bed. Push his nose into it. Make him apologize over and over again for being smarmy and making snide comments and tell him to clean up his face, that he's covered in blood and looks like a fucked-up brat. There's the spark in Aki's eye that shows that exact thought process, a heat of indignation at his comment and how smug he looks and sounds in combination to it.]

[But then his cock slides back in deep, just as the grip goes tight around him. It's like a one-two punch, a deep press in his gut and a rough squeeze right at his base. His lips part but no noise comes out, the flame in his eyes extinguished into cold blue all at once. An extremely obvious reaction - Denji is doing exactly what he likes.]

[His leg aches, stings, the broken skin unable to mend itself yet, not while everything in him both conscious and buried is focused entirely on what Denji is doing. He's getting better and better, because Denji was always pretty quick to pick up on things like this, and each thrust feels better and better, his own reactions flagging and coming too early. Like he's excited for it, reaching for him too quickly and squeezing around him too suddenly so Denji has to press through an even tighter hold. All while he's kept him clamped down beneath his grip, his hand shaking and flinching below his comparably gentle hold.]

Fucking brat.

[There's as much bite to it as a tamed dog, nipping to play with no intention to hurt. His whole body shudders, gaze locked on Denji.]

'Course you want to come first. Still a horny - fucking brat.

[ He may be bitching him out, but his syrupy insides tell a different story. Everything about him, the chain reaction of his muscles firming up around Denji, sticky and snug, slurping him in close like he's trying to sponge off as much mind-melting pleasure from this as he can just supports all that he already suspected. Who knew greedy, pushy Aki could be so cute getting off on the struggle and the sabotage? The fact that he isn't making this easy, that he's making his bones hurt and his dick bloat a pretty color.

It's definitely going to Denji's head, but can you blame him? He's lasting longer than he thought he would, powered by the sheer magnitude of how good it feels to be holding the other end of the leash for once. Being the one to vine his fingers around Aki's wrist, to abruptly yank his arm forward, the strength of the pull bringing his whole body slamming back down against Denji's hips, in and out, mean and constant. Releasing him at the root of his cook, letting the pressure rebuild, and then white-knuckling him again. There's probably a part of him that can't help copying Aki, mimicking the things he does, like a second kind of proximity. Understanding. It's like once the initial shock of being at the helm, sticking your head into a pitcher of honey wanes, you can really enjoy the sugar drooling down your face, taking over your thoughts. Sneaking down valves and openings you never knew existed.

It's cloying. Claustrophobic. Denji can't get enough of it. ]

'm just fixing a plumbing problem is all.

[ Denji shoves forward again, Aki's arm sandwiched between them as he leans over farther this time to suck a nipple between his teeth. Feeling an adorable swell press into his tongue. ]

You like it, though. You want me. [ He said so. Looked him dead in the eyes, and Denji had felt the words as if it were a bullet sanding through skin and skull, lodging straight into the part of his brain sensitive to self-control, blowing it up like a shrapnel burst. ] Want me to fuck you, like this. [ Another grind of his hips, a complete and pulsing set, timed to each ground out snarl wrecking his airways. ] This. [ His swollen areola pops out from his mouth as he shifts upright again, the hand still viced around Aki's cock pumping him now. Slow and steady, like he could stop again at any second. ] And like that.

[It would be easy to pull him right back down. Cut him down at the ankles, make him drop to his knees and come back to Earth. Because Denji is so annoying when he gets haughty. Full of himself for no real reason. Thinking he has more power than he does. A kid with car keys for the first time, feeling the adrenaline of hitting the gas. Aki could strangle him for it.]

[But there's another side to it, and it's thanks to how the rest of the day had gone. Coming home with him doe-eyed and sickly. The way he'd grabbed onto his wrist when he spoke to his handler, unwilling to step away from him but all too quickly wanting to escape for that phone call. And then the phone call he gave Aki, apologizing for something nebulous and unclear, laughing into the receiver so shakily even Aki could feel the vibration. A dog who'd dug up a garden. What had gotten him so moody? Whatever it is, it's clear the thought is long gone. The way he's bragging now as he pulls in and out, yanks Aki forward into each blow, is miles more preferable. What he wouldn't give to hear that pride all the time, if it meant not hearing that trickling, breathy laugh.]

[There's a growing sense of... affection, he realizes. When Denji tugs on his nipple with his teeth, sucks at it and watches for the way Aki's brows flinch and his fingers spasm. How he keeps repeating himself, how proud he is. How he knows what affect he's having and how eager he is to see it play out. He wants to respond - Yes, yes - but no words form in his throat. He wants to experience it without egging him on, see how far he'll go. If he'll take what Aki is giving him and not realize the medicine he's snuck in. The little redemption he's trying to offer in this. Redemption for what? Aki doesn't know, but he doesn't care, either. It's not like Denji has the ability to make anything in his life worse.]

[The slow strokes are too much in combination with everything else and Aki can feel it building, a rolling pleasure that threatens to mount, but he knows Denji and knows he's going to revel in stopping it. A groan rumbles from his throat as his eyes flit shut and his chin stretches back, baring his throat, teeth grit past tight lips. Fuck, it feels good. The push-pull, the way he can feel the slap of his thighs against his own. The uncomfortable stretch of his legs. The tear in his flesh still oozing blood and stinging in the air. His lips finally part as he feels it crest, knows it's going to come. Eyes snap open, look to Denji. See what he'll do. See if he has the nerve - the balls - to clamp down again.]

[ Back in his rickety, two-by-four shed, Denji had dreamed of something better for himself. Never knew what any of that would really feel or look like, so he only spoke aloud the stuff that made sense: a girl to hug, udon boiled in a cozy kitchen. But in private, he'd hoped that it would mean having a headache, or a rattly cough, or a hand striking his face on a bad collection day, and not swallowing it down. Not convincing himself to think of it as another flavorless bread roll to bite his teeth into, to chew up and soften into a mealy consistency, to feel it sprinkling in his empty stomach like compost to nurture an equally empty life.

Being with Aki, though, he thinks — it looks like this. Tastes like ginger freshening his tongue, shivers down his tensed back like sweat cooling burned skin. Feels a little like forgiveness, which doesn't sit immediately right, because he hasn't fought tooth and nail for it yet, hasn't lost his life to earn the warmth of someone's full acceptance. Let alone Aki's. But, obviously, he wants it. Is still going to take it from the open hand that offers, sucking under his nails to make sure he's got every last bit.

That's what he planned to do by straining against him, as if their bodies could be any more flush, tongue painting a hot smear from his chest to his jaw as he licks up him, balls deep inside that quivering clutch of his, filling his cheeks out with every lurid lurch. By doing what Aki was daring him to do, expecting him to. Gasping as his overheated insides catch and clench around him, Denji's own pleasure running its course, sprinting for that familiar peak, he starts to administer additional strength to his fist to cut off Aki's supply to that precious friction cooking between their groins, making his hips struggle in rhythm with his — until he's glancing up and then their gazes are colliding, and just like that, he's taken back to just a few nights ago. Those blue eyes, fixed in place, yet entirely unsteady, sapped of the life he should have had.

And it reminds Denji: He's so tired of taking things away from him.

In a sudden change of mind, he loosens his hold, his other hand reaching to tuck Aki's hair back behind his ear — and still thrusting into him, rushed and driven, Denji jerks his cock with such a jarring roughness, it's clear what he's after. The curve of him sleeks through the crazed slide of his grip, not stopping, not violently squeezing. But taking him to the finish line, whether he wants to or not. ]

[Denji clamps down and, breath catching, Aki revels in it for the moment. The sensation of reaching that peak before being forcibly pulled back down. Stumbling over a cliff's edge and then being yanked away from the abyss. The sweet thing about this, to him, has always been not knowing when the final push is going to be, leaving it up to someone else to decide when he actually gets to fall. It's nice, sometimes, to cede just enough control and trust that, at some point, it will all be worthwhile, he'll finally jump right off that edge and land somewhere safe and sweet. So when Denji squeezes around him as his hips struggle to maintain their rhythm, Aki barely notices his struggle. He feels almost high in that brief moment, frustration mixed with relief, that it's not quite over yet, and that it's stupid-ass Denji who gets to choose when it does end.]

[But trust stupid-ass Denji to decide to end it mere seconds later.]

[Aki chokes on his own spit when he starts yanking at him, so rough and sudden it's almost too much, almost impossible for him to reach that peak before the crash of his hips provides just the right amount of pressure to force him over. By choice or by force, it doesn't matter, since it's happening, and Aki groans and thrashes his head to the side, spilling into Denji's iron grip before bucking his hips in a quick and instinctual rush toward making sure it lasts just as long as he likes it to, not giving him the chance to yank out, to pull away, to ruin it. His lips part in a sudden gasp and he turns his head the other way. Eyes still clenched shut. Savoring. Fuck, that feels good.]

[Body shivery and sensitive, he reaches up and roughly yanks at Denji to lean down, crashing their lips together. He bites at his tongue and then at his lips before his touch goes softer. Not quite a punishment, more like when a dog is too rough with a chew toy before settling to just protect it, guard it. He tugs at the arm pinned above him to try and wrap both around his neck.]

[Dumbass doesn't know the first thing about this, he thinks to himself, despite everything, despite how hard he just came. Oh, well. What else is new?]

[ Majority of his decisions are sporadic like this. Off-the-cuff, only trace amounts of rhyme and barely any notes of reason. The payoff is rarely ever worth it.

Except when it is.

Except when it's Aki running ragged on his cock, his eyes pulled up to some higher plane or orbit, like he's free-falling and can't control the reel of his body any better than he can control the flinch and trembling of his hips slamming down, forcing him in and out, just a dildo suctioned in place for him to get off with. Not a nice thought about himself, but Denji doesn't hate it. Can't, seeing how gratifying it is for them both, fucked into dumbness — or maybe that's just him, hard to tell with his eyes briefly shut tight, teeth grinding into his lips, the sting helping him stay sane enough to avoid burying his face into his collar and losing his load right there, to keep going, keep rocking Aki harsh into their sweat-stained mattress, giving him something to work off of, a high enough ledge to take a blind leap from.

The second he senses Aki throbbing in his hand, his eyes burst open to catch that first spill of hot seed erupting, frosting over his knuckles — and that's when Denji really drags his hand from base to tip with intent to bruise, his strokes successive and ceaseless, like draining sugary sap from wood. He doesn't care how painted in come they are, the questions Nayuta might ask in the morning. It feels good; it feels like being alive after brushing elbows with Death, a sickle's edge grazing a kiss across your throat before immediately retreating. A strangled cry arches out of him just as Aki hauls him down, both his arms curled close around his shoulders, and yeah — yeah, Denji knows he's well on his way, too.

Groaning into his mouth, into the cherry twist of their tongues, his thrusts are a series of fluttery movements — but the jackrabbit is more like a jackhammer in this case. His hands swim up Aki’s neck, Denji’s dirtiest one leaving a noticeable come trail greasing the side of his face before encasing around his throat completely, to keep him braced back into the futon.

Denji bucks into him, fluid and continuous, hands flexing like a cat just stretching its claws out without any intention to scratch, pushing enough at his skin, the protrusion of vein, to simply hold him back if he tries to press forward. It's almost funny, considering the desperate whines and pants flooding the room. As if he's got everything to lose, as if he's the one begging for release again and Aki's still got his hand mangled around something sensitive to the touch. ]

Aki… [ Said between kisses, his lips shiny and red, like he's fresh from biting into a juicy fruit. ] Aki, can I — can I stop?

[ Because that's what Aki ordered before. Don't you dare stop, 'til I say. He can't stop until he says so, and for all the crap Denji gave him just moments ago, he still wants whatever Aki wants. ]

[He kind of doesn't want him to. The complete connection, the weaker yet constant thrusts, they keep rolling Aki through different, smaller little aftershocks, like two plates vibrating against each other and birthing constant miniature earthquakes. One will end and the next one will peak, followed by the next. His cock isn't even getting that friction anymore but it doesn't matter. What Denji's doing inside him is more than enough.]

[But even as he thinks he could let this continue forever, until they're both dust and sand, the sensation begins to fade. His body tires, overstimulated and uncomfortable. His kisses slow, longer instead of rougher, sucking at Denji's bottom lip as he tries to let the white color wash away into shades again. Was it always this dark in this room...? He barely noticed it before, only now when he's trying to really look at him, pulled back as much as he can with the way he's clinging to him.]

Stop, now.

[His legs lay flat around him, flexed out with his knees nearly touching the ground. He can feel blood sticky down the edge of his leg and - come. He can feel come slipping out of him, Denji's, from each time he rocked against him after he orgasmed. His stomach feels sore and his arms ache. From what, he isn't sure. But the sweet, sweet pull and exhaustion in the rest of his body, covering him from head to toe... That makes it feel worth it. The way his head is still sparking from each of those smaller orgasms. God, he could go again.]

Pull out, slow. [These sheets are already ruined. May as well use them as a towel for now.]

[ It's like the pressure of the full breadth of an ocean breaking atop his shoulders when Denji's orgasm finally builds to that high point, so high he can nearly feel the scrape of the sky under his fingernails when he digs into Aki's skin, then the feeling bursts altogether, all at once — inside of him. Quickly, his body tires, but he doesn't stop pulsing his hips, doesn't stop gasping his way through it, until Aki's finally given him the okay, after which his traction tapers out. His shoves rendered down to nudges, stretched out muscle chafing against muscle. Soiled and spent. Denji's pretty sure he likes them both like that, though. ]

Yeah…

[ Pulling back from his kisses, Denji delicately adjusts his hips so that his cock unfills from Aki, white draining from his hole in slips down the curve of ass and thigh without something to keep his come plugged. For a single moment, he looks down at them both as if grading his craftwork. At one time, or perhaps any other time besides this one, Aki may have suffered more of his swagger and conceit in the aftermath. Because, really, what a sight for sore eyes seeing the person once considered Public Safety's cream of the crop like this, so liberal in his mess…

But no, Denji doesn't tease, doesn't say anything about it. He bunches up some of the bedding to dab at the trickles of lukewarm semen and blood, feeling very fluid himself. Unsteady, his brain matter one dangerous slosh away from spilling all over the place. He tries to keep at cleaning Aki up, but the exertion doesn't last a few minutes before Denji's dropping to lay by Aki's side, an arm thrown over his eyes, looking as if he could drift off in their grime just like this. ]

Aki.

[ His wrist lifts, revealing a half-opened eye. His brows slightly furrow, and there's a noticeable flicker in his gaze, like he's considering asking something, but deciding against it. He smiles at him, crookedly. ]

Not too shabby, right?

[Not too shabby... There are worse things to say after sex, Aki decides.]

[He can already feel that bit of skin pulling itself together, slowly healing. It'll still be raw and red by the morning but no longer open. Maybe by noon, it'll be healed. For now, he reaches up to wrap his arm around Denji, tugging him into his chest and sliding his other beneath him so he won't simply roll away.]

[His mind is too exhausted, body wiped out by how much more that had ended up becoming. He'd come in here for... What was it, again? He just woke up to his presence, like a phone call in the middle of the night, eyes snapping open on the first ring. But what had he come here for? Why did he start going at him, again?]

[Something is eating at him, and he still doesn't know what. He never knew Denji had the ability to maintain a guilty conscience. He can't remember any time that anything stuck with him. That anything that happened in the past weighed him down enough for it to be this visible. Even with the squabbles they had the year before, before all this happened... Even when they got back from Hell, Denji was the only one who seemed unchanged. Still eating anything that fell onto the floor, still cheery and blunt and unassuming. When did the kid who eats everything begin to be the one fed on from the inside out...?]

You did well.

[He strokes his hair lightly, fingering through the mess. The mess... He's such a mess right now. That devil is going to wake up and smell them and know exactly what happened. Maybe he can manage to wake up in a couple hours and hobble to the bath before she gets up.]

[He sighs and presses his nose to the crown of his head, takes in a slow breath. He smells different now. Less like the outdoors. More like the city. His voice is a mutter.]

Better than expected... I'll teach you more.

[ Microorganisms, aquatic plant forms, nano fish hatchlings. An ecosystem needs a feeding ground to be able to maintain its existence, and Denji's weakness is that he's always lived in the the lowest hutch of the food chain. Always made himself vulnerable to larger predators, people looking to use his heart as a stepping stone, his guise as a scapegoat. His ribs, a ladder up. This place has an avaricious appetite and everything about his normal life, not just the guilt from his most recent wrongs, gnaws at his heels, his wafer-thin defenses.

But for a moment, nosing his face into the side of his neck, their mingled sweat flushing out the scent of unlit diesel and industrial fumes for Denji, the smell of Aki stronger than the city's — whether he realizes it or not, he can feel safe from his troubles. From himself, and from what he's already done. From what's to come.

Throat sore from all the noise he's been making tonight, a light cough runs out from him. It's not as sickly as he sounded earlier, but in case Aki gets all up into arms about it, Denji's face lifts to briefly press his lips to the underside of his chin. ]

A'right… I like learning from you. Whatcha think about creampies next?

[ It's a joke.

Half a joke.

…Maybe a quarter of a joke. ]

But if you've got somethin' else in line, that's fine. 'm not picky.

[ His hand stretches up, rubbing along at the center of Aki's brow, that, when isn't occupied by a tense crease, bears the barrelled burden of something worse. He doesn't want to think about Gun, or the piece of flesh Aki swallowed earlier without consulting him, but it's obvious what's on his mind as his thumb repeatedly smooths over the space. Again, his expression wavers, like he's going blue in the face from the effort of keeping his mouth shut when he isn't used to it. ]

[...Does Denji know he basically just creampied him? Maybe it's not really enough to fully leak out, but still. Aki's pretty sure he could creampie him. Maybe if they went two rounds? ...He'll think about that much later.]

[But his pressure against the center of his brow is, at once, stressful and relaxing. The constant kneading feels good but Aki is vaguely aware there's something beneath the action, some reason that he's doing this. The same as the sex, as crawling into bed with him. He's compensating. And for what? Denji is as quick to roll over and show his belly as any other bottom-feeder, so what would he compensate for that isn't his lack of a love life?]

[Eyes slipping open, he stares down at him. His expression like he's holding his breath below constant waves smashing into him. Mouth clenched tight and pressure on his forehead. Hell, his forehead looks more wrinkled than Aki's.]

Don't look at me like...

[He trails off, frowning. Then reaches for him, arms sliding down, hands searching for his hips. He tries to drag him on top of himself, laying flat on his back to give Denji the space to lay on his body, sink his weight onto him and feel the blood coarsing through his veins, pumped by his heart. Doesn't he feel that? He's sick of the way Denji looks at him like he'll vanish, like he needs to steal one last look. Wrapping his arms around his back, he attempts to hold him in place, frowning down at him before setting his head back down. The shit he has to put up with.]

[ Ear to his chest, Denji hears it: Thump, murmurs that important artery. Thump. Thump. And like this, Aki says enough. Says what he needs to in a way that an idiot like Denji can't mistranslate. Didn't he taste it earlier, too? That warm blood traveling where it needs to go, making a sudden pit stop, snagged and glimmering between his jaws. Which had been okay, he thinks. A bit of Aki's life force for him to borrow, to hold inside of him until that also goes away one day.

…Augh, this is depressing. He just had great sex! So why is it that he can't get his own head screwed straight?

Gaze scrunched close, he buries his face between his pecs, and pulls him in just as closely, arms fastened as tight around Aki's waist as a jammed seat belt trying to keep someone from going flying through the windshield. Feeling the waves again, but trying hard not to get dragged under. ]

You said you'd come to understand me, whatever happens.

[ His husky voice trickles out, tight and crackling around the edges. A sound not unlike wood snapping under the heat of a fire. ]

I wanna understand you, too. She used to tell me that all this would feel better and easier, the more you know the other person. [ Makima. At the time, it'd been advice regarding intimacy and getting closer to someone. But maybe it'll help with these other, more complicated emotions. With saving him from a different kind of hell, or with letting go of him — whichever of the two comes first. ] So teach me that first. And then the creampies can come next.

[Connection, then creampies. At least his priorities are in order for once.]

[Perhaps foolishly, Aki thinks there isn't much to him to understand. He's always been an honest person, to a fault in some cases. He doesn't spare words to spare feelings, usually has a stick up his ass. Denji has seen him at his best and at his worst. Has seen him drunk on the floor and standing over a dozen devil corpses. What is it about him that he doesn't understand yet? Are they that different from one another that he's so alien in comparison? Maybe so - considering how alien Denji feels in comparison to himself.]

Fine. But sleep, before any of that.

[And he'll let him stay on his chest, if he wants, smushed between his pecs that have grown more defined, muscles sharper, body stronger. The only real change outwardly is that his exterior has grown hard and solid, no longer punctured by small wounds and scars leftover. He'd be lying if he said he preferred what it was like before, aching muscles and weary bones... But at least that was normal. At least that was human.]

[He wakes up at some point to the sound of a dog barking outside, snapping at something that passed by its vision at the wrong moment. The apartment is still dark but a glance at the clock beneath the TV tells him it's just after 5. His thighs feel sticky and painful and cramped. Reaching down, he shoves at Denji to push him off if need be, then pushes himself to his knees on the bare floor so he can snag the sheets out from below him. He takes that with him to the bathroom, closing the door behind hismelf and turning on the shower.]

[ Sleep usually takes him quick and clean as a kind kill, a skewer sweeping through his frontal cortex and every waking thought in the way of his slumber. Just not tonight. Outside of that morning tread back home and his brief meet-up with Yoshida, the hours of his day have already been depleted by recovering from his illness and resting up. Sure, his "rest" was more like a fevered half-consciousness, Denji constantly shifting and tangoing with his bed sheets, but it's all the same. Falling asleep like this won't be simple.

Unfortunately, there isn't anything else to do, but to try. Whether it's because he's that tired or because he's making an effort not to move too far from him, he stays situated atop Aki as time wheels forward. Denji's face turned out sideways, his breathing comfortable and constantly rolling, the warmth from the other hybrid's chest caressing his cheek. Not awake, not asleep, not thinking about anything in particular — aside, of course, from a passing moment he considers teething at one of his nipples, but that'd make him mad, so he doesn't — that's how Denji spends the next few hours.

Eventually, his consciousness does begin to converge on that familiarly blank slate that comes with actual sleep, but as swiftly as he'd touched the surface of that well, he's removed from it — shoved from it, really. Feeling his head gently slide, then land on what could only be the futon's pillow, his eyes squint open just as a chill films over his skin. He crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing against his goosebumps as he watches Aki retreat into the bathroom, taking all the sheets with him. ]

Aki, it's cold…

[ Denji, having crawled after him on his hands and knees, whines at him through the door, his voice trying to reach him over the cascade of the shower head. ]

[The sound of Denji's whiny voice somehow makes it through the spray of the shower and Aki pauses, frowning. It's not that cold, is it? Maybe he only thinks that because he's under the heat of the water. Setting the nozzle down, he moves over to the door and pulls it open, pushing the sheets out of the way with it as he stares down at him, body dripping wet.]

You want to wash up? [The whole point was to clean up before the devil could smell it on them and attack Aki again, so maybe spraying Denji down will help with that. He motions for him to come in.] Just keep it down. I don't want to deal with that kid.

[ Door open, a burst of humidity and soap breathes into his face, the pleasant combination all but beckoning him to run headlong inside. What Denji does is close enough: He blankly stares upward, like a dog caught with its snout halfway nosed under the door gap, then boosts himself to his feet, wedging his way past with a double tap at Aki's waist to get him to make room.

Invitation accepted — yeah, he wants to wash up. The less grimy he feels, the less likely he'll have to explain all the nitty-gritty of what they've been up to. ]

Give it a few more days. [ He reaches out to adjust the water's temperature. He kinda likes it when the heat stings at first. ] You'll warm up to her, just like ya did me.

[ Except that took months of cohabiting, at least. And even after this long (or short, depending on how you look at it) knowing each other, they still regularly butt heads. But Denji's optimistic. ]

You weren't outright attacking me.

[But enough about that. It's too early for that kind of thing. Sliding aside to allow Denji in, he shuts the door once he's fiddling with the tap and squats down to sit on the stool again, motioning Denji over to join him. On the floor, his lap... He doesn't really mind right now. Sat down, his leg injury on the inside of his thigh is more obvious, but overnight it's sealed up around halfway, looking more like a slice than a bite. He picks up the soap.]

Sit back. [Sudsing his hands, he reaches out to begin running them over Denji's body.]

[ It's too early for this kind of thing, yet he keeps cluelessly jabbering on, not a hint of drowsiness in his voice. He's too wired. Doesn't even acknowledge the hands cleaning off his sides. ]

She's got way too many issues to name, [ Denji continues, settling in on top of one of Aki's knees, his own knee bouncing like jelly on a moving platter. His movements run into the leg he'd his mark on every so often, until he realizes what he's doing, and he noticeably adjusts his position to turn toward Aki to avoid irritating the wound. No matter how much it's shrunk. ]

But you had your reasons back then, too, didn'tcha? [ He poaches a puff of foam with his finger, blowing it into Aki's face. ] That time I kicked your ass after you kicked mine?

[He's so active for this early. Aki remembers him as someone sleepy and slow to start in the morning, crawling out of bed and wandering in a daze from the bathroom to the table... Did he just not sleep much last night? His eyes dart down to watch him knock against his thigh until he pulls away, then settles his foot flat to give him a steady spot to perch.]

Don't remind me. [If anything, those kicks had only solidified his dislike of Denji. It was hard to get much worse from where he was to start with, even after he found out he was partially a devil.] You were a punk who got dropped in my lap with no warning, of course I couldn't stand you. [His hands pause, suddenly, looking at their situation right now. A punk, in his lap. But at least he got a warning this time. He resumes running them down his arms, then to his chest to slide over his skin.] But you're feeding her bad habits. At least I put my foot down with you.

Edited 2024-04-24 02:59 (UTC)

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