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

[Gun grapples blindly toward his keepsake when he starts to dislodge himself, like he's dropped his wallet and isn't sure where it went. Control says something and he recognizes, somewhat, that she's not something he wants to kill right now, though he couldn't explain why if asked. Not that that's anything new. But then the other one says something to him again, that name. Oh, of course - a name. He knows his name.]

Den-ji.

[Gurgled out like blood caked in his throat, though it's not from lack of effort. He used a lot of gunpowder just now, a lot of his power. So now, what's this one saying? He feels his human arm get squeezed and reaches out to grab at Denji's elbow, snatching it like swatting a fly - or, more accurately to his mood, like grabbing the tail of a cat that sways near your face.]

Denji.

[He wasn't listening to whatever they were saying, but he stares toward Denji without caring at that, a weird smile on his face, full of teeth and predatory. It's not a threatening smile, because you don't threaten your dinner plate as you sit down with a knife and fork to eat from it. There's no malice or hatred in the expression, even as his grip gets rougher and more exacting, fingers digging into his elbow to keep him right where he is.]

[He brought him and Control up here, sure, but beyond that, it's clear there was no further planning or coordination with his actions. Just a desire to be out and free.]

[ Denji doesn't flinch under the point of the open muzzle projecting from Aki's forehead, or the unnaturally broad grin that takes his name captive and rips it down to rigid bone with each mutilated pronunciation. Distantly, someone else is shouting for him. Ordering him to listen. It doesn't strike the same chord. Jab brambles into the muscles of his throat, make it hard to swallow, impossible to breathe. Doesn't sting his eyes the same way.

When Aki says his name, it never sounds like he's asking him for anything. He really wishes he would learn to say things clearly. ]

Yeah. Den-ji.

[ He grins back at Aki, bitterly. Endlessly bitter — like the gusting wind scalping all the feeling from his back, like taking a swig from barley tea and tasting only a mouthful of toasted grain, none of the warmth. Aki can crush his elbow, break down the cartilage, rend it from the joint. If that's what he wants, Denji wants it too.

Turn back, he'd cried, begged, bled for until he'd been blown unrecognizable and dismembered all throughout the precise streets Aki introduced him to. Walked with him on day-offs. Taught him the short-cuts to get back home, where to discard the recycling, who lives next door. Gave him a key to use to let himself in whenever he wanted. God, what if he'd said something else instead? Found a path forward that didn't involve committing the worst offense imaginable or fleeing from the crime scene. Didn't succumb to instinct. Would it have made a difference?

Maybe not then. But what about now? ]

Denji won't turn his back on you, [ he says, echoing all the learned gentleness and resolve he can summon to his voice. His stupid freaking voice, made nasally by how desperately he wants this one thing to be true. His grin bails down into a reedier smile, his back knuckle scrubbing at the droplets sloping down from the cut on his cheek. He doesn't notice how the red staining his hand is watered down by something else.

He wrenches at his starter cord.

A mechanical purr explodes out from his chest, trilling his veins, heat and steel stealing away his senses. Overriding the pain that always follows with the usual burst of energy and strength that deforms his body, unforms his identity, all in the name of a serrated likeness. It's the correct amount of force he needs to dislodge from Aki for a moment. Blood — his blood — spits to the ground. Listing to the side, Denji's naked heel digs into the concrete, as he tackles into Aki's waist, trying to throw him over a shoulder and drag him inside the helicopter, come hell or high water — both of which seem to be what's on their tails as Public Safety hunters finally clamber up the broken opening to the rooftop, beginning to arrange into formation. ]

Move, Nayuta!

[ Obviously, he's never so much as flown on an airplane, let alone piloted an aircraft. But it can't be that hard. In spite of the widespread look of disapproval on Nayuta's face, she starts to push the door shut with every ounce of her grade schooler strength. He shoves Aki into the back as he climbs into the pilot's seat and wraps his hands around what looks like… a joystick? Hey, he has one of those at home.

As Denji messes with the helicopter panels and controls, the aircraft propellers start to spin — without lifting them. Or lift them, before then landing right back down on the helipad. Give him a bit. ]

[He changes before his eyes and - maybe this is something he should recognize. Gun thinks he remembers this creature. This devil before him. That he's seen him before. Felt him before. Fought him before. He could kill him - Of course, he can kill anything that has a heartbeat. January, February, March - ]

[The devil snags him around the waist and he's being dragged into the helicopter. Tumbling around in the rear of it, he pulls himself up and shakes his head as the rifle arm clangs loudly on the wall beside the door. He tries to wave it like he hit his funny bone, swinging it as it clatters against the metal roof. The doors to the top of the building's roof, meanwhile, slam open, and there's little pause before people in uniform are pouring out. The one in front, he's so normal-looking, it's almost disturbing. But like Denji said, Gun can't really see. All he can do is kill.]

[There's no fanfare or hesitation, no pause or consideration for what he does. He raises the rifle, aiming it out the door of the helicopter, and fires. The men are splattered in seconds, their hearts bursting from the gunfire, as the man in front shields his face. But he's unscathed. Gun lowers the rifle, cocking his head to the side. Curious.]

["My birthday's October 10th," the man says, voice grim and hard, like he's gritting his teeth. "Mirror," he orders before Gun can aim again, and the ground opens below them, revealing a large glass surface that reflects the sky above the helicopter. The hunter turns his fist and the mirror turns with it, beginning to scoop them like they're fish in a net. Gun fires, barely raises his arm to do so, and sends a spiderweb of cracks through the surface of the mirror, making it shudder before it shatters, quaking and falling over the helicopter and smashing them inside. The helicopter goes into free fall - then promptly lands on hard grass, listing to the side against a sea of trees. Gun lowers his rifle, turning his head to look around briefly.]

[Then he starts climbing out, prepared to begin walking. Not that he has a destination in mind. But he's never been the sort to enjoy sitting still. He reaches out blindly to search for Denji again, that thing he's supposed to keep ahold of. Still unsure why - Just sure that it's important enough to warrant the effort. No indigestion for him, thanks.]

[ He can't contain the indignant bellow that flies out when, at last, he'd actually managed prolonged lift-off from the roof — just to witness his efforts swallowed up by a flying saucer thing that transports them to a foreign set of coordinates full of little else other than tall pines and oaks. The fall had levitated him from his seat, then thrown him into the side of the cockpit, cracking his skull into the side window without breaking the glass. But by the time they're landed, he's already struggling back to his feet. Pitching left and right on his way to arrive at the side of the little girl laying limp in the seat aisle, no longer tethered to Aki by a chain. ]

Nayuta. Get up, get up…

[ Denji's seen enough dead people strewn about the city — most of the time from devil attacks, other times his own blunders — to know that Nayuta's breathing. Her eyes may be closed and she may not be responding and there's blood trickling from her hairline, but her brow's furrowed. Her body's warm. The weightless spinning in his head starts to calm. She'll be okay; she has to be.

About to scoop her up, he makes another alarmed noise when he feels his arm yanked back by a death grip. His first reaction is to swing out a bladed arm, kick his blistered feet, push his heels in. ]

A-Aki?! Not so hard — a-and, hey, not so fast! Where d'you think you're goin'? I gotta take her with us!

[ But when he realizes it's Aki that has his him cuffed, he quells the compulsion to fight back. Lets himself get dragged bodily out into the open wilderness, though he's certainly not thrilled about it. Denji tries a different tactic: hastily trying to move ahead of Aki, he steps in his path and places a hand on his rifle-arm. ]

Aki, Aki, listen to me. We can go, but she comes with us. Okay?

[At this point, he doesn't know where they're going. One second, they were on top of the trees; the next, they're alone in the woods, the snow melted and fading into dark ice below their feet. Aki shivers and shakes his head, reaching for Denji's hand with the intent to bring him to safety. Right, safety - That's where they need to go.]

[But then Denji is rushing in front of him and trying to tell him something, looking upset. Did the fall stare him? is his first thought, followed by, He's not gonna cry, right? Aki stops in his tracks when he grabs at his arm, saying something important. He can see his mouth moving but his voice sounds too far away to make it out properly. What's he trying to say...?]

Don't be scared - We'll get back before dinner. It's okay. [And he opens his arms, expectant, before stepping them forward with the intent to wrap them around him, pat his back. There, there.]

[The arms of Gun rise up like he's going to follow suit, like he, too, is about to hug Denji... But instead, he misjudges the distance and barrels into him, tackling him like a wide receiver and sending them both clattering to the hard ground.]

Denji. [He mutters it, staring down at him with his lips parted, teeth visible. Hard, white, neat, and perfect. Contrasted with the sharp fangs staring him back. His hand is pressed into the dirt beside Denji's head. The large chainsaw protruding from his front parallel to the pistol pointing down from his.]

[What is this Denji, and why does he need it? Why does it feel so important to him? Gun's never cradled anything, never held anything to his chest - never cherised anything. So why this? Why this half-devil, one who he knows he fought before? What is it that the human inside him craves so badly about him? He doesn't care, yet he can't ignore it. Like a tether keeping him leashed to a doghouse - He can pace as much as he wants, but at the end of the day, he can only stray so far.]

Denji. [A fleck of drool slides from his open mouth, dropping down onto Denji's front. He keeps calling him that name. Too bad it's not one he recognizes.]

[ For being pile-drove into the ground, it's only a weak grunt that blows through the rows of needles he calls a mouth, simmering Aki's face in the heat off his breath. Denji's lucky he withdrew the chainsaws from his arms in his earlier attempt to take over the helicopter. Or else their positioning, this gridlock of what can and can't be communicated between them, would be made pricklier with added weapons in the mix. He wouldn't want Aki to mistake him for a threat, even worse if he were to hurt him.

But, damn it, they're not getting anywhere like this.

Denji raises a hand, meaning to push his pistol aside, but — that doesn't happen. His gaze lingers on the string of saliva dribbling from his lips. Glances down art the droplets sticking to the dip trailing down his defined chest. He'd kissed him just that morning, forced it on him, and Aki'd twisted in his mouth into a tired expression, but there's none of that facial control here. He can't even think to close his mouth on his own.

An unsure sound reverberates from the crowded cables making up his neck, dispelled shortly after by a sigh, as he changes course. Lightly passes a thumb over the corner of Aki's mouth, applying a small amount of pressure to dry the area. His nail stretches out the corner of his mouth, kind of how a veterinarian pulls up an animal's lip to check its dental health. The strangeness to how Aki moves and clings to him in this state should be unnerving, scary, bring goosebumps to the back of his arms, but he just can't — can't see him like that, like a terror hiding in his closet. ]

Aki. [ A small portion of his metal face begins to drain away, slipping into the grass, revealing a single brown eye. ] What is it? What do you want from me?

[That word - He knows that word. Want. Is he being asked what he wants, then? In exchange for what? He can't make a contract in this form. His thumb pushes into the side of his mouth and tugs his lip, and Gun can't see it coming this close. He can stare forward, through his sights, and through them he sees an eye looking up at him, surrounded by metal. It's not a demand, it's not a quid pro quo. But everything is quid pro quo. Including asking what he wants.]

["It's been awhile. That's all."]

[Those words echo, because they happened before something. Against Denji's thumb, Gun tries to repeat them, coming out as a mumbled garble, barely any clearer than when he said his name. After those words were said, something happened that affected this body. In a positive way - In a way that must have made him stronger. It doesn't sound the same as when the human said it, but he waits for a moment, like the response will come in kind as a result of the stimulus. Pull trigger, fire. Aim, target. That sort of thing.]

[Gun tilts his head, because after a moment of not getting whatever positive stimulus it was he was searching for, he repeats it - then laps the drool clinging to his bottom lip.]

...Bin while. [He leans lower, closer, examining the human eye staring back at him. Like a sniper pressing his gun through the loophole, searching for the best shot.] At's all...

[ This proximity, Denji can see his mouth open and close in extreme detail. Drool gathering again in the spot he just licked clean. In spite of that, his lips dusty, dehydrated, and quivering unskillfully over what appears to be an effort to speak. Here he is, a man that could burst his head full with lead, spew lumps of bone and brain matter all over this idyllic woodland, and he can barely get out a few simple words.

But he was like that before, too, wasn't he? Always stringently tight-lipped with what he revealed to Denji. Leveraging enough for Aki to give him an idea, a sense of urgency to get him to do what he needed him to, without spilling the beans outright. It never bothered Denji until he met him again. At which point, he could understand the sacrifice that came with silence a little more.

Could know to hate him a little more for it. ]

What's with that…

[ He laughs, confused. Those words, though — Denji recognizes them. Aki said them to him only a couple days ago. It'd been satisfying to get the confession out of him. Relieving that there was a familiar balance of exchange taking place. At the same time, it'd felt — a little cruel. Like he'd forced Aki to say too much. Could this be a similar situation? ]

Are you still lonely? That why you keep hanging on to me? I was only gone for —

[ Pause. Denji doesn't know, he and that Asa Mitaka both passed out after getting belched out. But it couldn't have been that long. Nayuta's still wearing her school uniform.

His mouth purses, releasing an annoyed breath. By now, the shell that makes him Chainsaw Man has withered from his body entirely. What a waste. ]

Whatever. I'm here now, y'know. [ With the same care of someone trying their very best not to spook or rile up a carnivorous, yet curious, predator, he slowly pushes himself up by an elbow. Denji's other arm coils around Aki's back, pulling his face into the crook of his neck, closer, so as to allow his hand to reach the base of where his hair meets his nape, fingernails scraping lightly against his scalp. ] Dumbface.

[Straddled atop Denji's body, it's obvious how much smaller he is. He's skinny, little, pint-sized - would fit in the palm of Aki's hand. He's momentarily worried about why he's on the ground, how they ended up falling over after Aki was sure he was trying to bring him home. They fell somehow, right? He's not sure. But before he can ask if Denji's okay, poke and prod him for injuries, Denji is sitting up, his arm going around him.]

[Aki blinks.]

[His fingers in his hair, his voice closer to his ear. Did he just call him a dumbface? No, that doesn't matter. Aki blinks again, faster this time - warding off something embarrassing. He's not going to ruin this moment, he reminds himself. Even if the ground is cold, and unwelcoming, and hard and rough and difficult... Even with all those adjectives and all those truths, with Denji's arm around him, it feels warm.]

[Wasn't that what he was looking for? A way to warm up?]

Ahh... It worries me, when your body's warm, even in the cold...

[Gun is still as the arm goes around him, unrecognizing. He doesn't know the meaning of it, but this must have been why he was searching out this thing in particular - This is why he blew through that building, why he felt he had to find the human laying below him. Wait, human? Wasn't he a devil a moment ago? Oh, he doesn't care about that.]

[This warmth emanating from him, the smell of something... It's intoxicating, in a way he's never experienced. Like the first hit of a drug, the first swig of a drink. It feels unnatural at first gulp, painful in the back of his throat, bothering his nose or eyes as his mind tells him this is something to reject. But the body accepts it, no, yanks for it - wants more of it. And that, he doesn't recall, but the muscles do, and he opens his mouth a little wider before biting down on Denji's neck, immediately drawing blood.]

[The heat hits his tongue and Gun groans quietly, shuddering as his tongue darts out to lap at it. He doesn't need it, and it's gluttinous to take it as he is now, fully healed and stronger than he was a month prior. But since when has he cared about those kinds of things? Almost like it's egging him on, his body responds with a burst of pleasured joy at the taste and the action, so Gun repeats it, biting down again right next to the first puncture, like a dog experiencing wet food for the first time. Whatever the hell he was subsisting on before, fat chance he'll go back to it now.]

Edited 2024-10-01 01:45 (UTC)

[ The first bite doesn't evoke any semblance of a notion that he should stop this, set some distance between them, wag a finger in his face like he would to a misbehaving pet that keeps chewing on the furniture — the Aki he knows would hate that, surely pummel him down more than a few pegs just to teach him a lesson. Except this isn't the Aki he knows. Isn't his Aki. His frame's the same, he can feel a heart somewhere in there, running like a gunner. But this Aki smells too much like a freshly smoking glock, Denji's head wedged right there in the barrel, awaiting his turn. Through the pain numbing his shoulder, a hint of a wince passing over his brow, Denji fingers the ends of Aki's hair. Not really sure why.

Trust is a terrible thing. Trust always takes him to this place. ]

Nn… No, Aki…

[ It's when the gnawing proceeds that Denji wheezes, the sound wrung out of him as he suddenly wrenches at the back of Aki's head, trying to haul him off. Which is so funny, because he'd normally accept a drink from temptation in an instant. Let the gasoline glide easy to the heat in his belly. Bend into the hunger of Aki's mouth, cast himself into the fire to be forged into whatever's asked of him.

…But, but, but that's not right. He still has a kid needing tending to in a broken down helicopter. They're still running from the clutches of Public Safety. He still doesn't know where they are. Nayuta's still important to him. He has to remember. Has to keep faithful to these realities — that's the only way he can save Aki this time. By not losing focus.

Beginning to crawl out from under him, Denji mumbles, trying to staunch his bleeding with a hand: ] That's enough playin' around. I gotta make sure she's okay.

[Pulled back and away, Gun hovers right above Denji, staring down at him with a long line of drool sliding down his chin, tinted red with blood. He says something to him, but more importantly, begins to move away. Gun grabs at him again, attempting to force him back beneath him. He snags Denji's free hand and presses it down into the dirt as a low noise similar to a growl comes from his throat. Kind of like a dog, not yet ready to give up his toy. Not ready to finish playtime. He hasn't gotten what he wants out of this. He still feels pent up, full of something unknowable. Something that was managed before all of this, was sated and warm and cared for. Right now, however, it's growing cold. Just as soon as he thought he'd caught a spark, it's threatening to smoulder into nothing but cold embers. Gun won't stand for that.]

Den-ji. [He says the name again, less as a name and more as an order. Stay put, do this. Again he leans in and attempts to wedge himself into his throat, gnawing at the skin before sliding down his bare chest in search of something warmer. He can feel his pulse through his skin and almost see the flow of blood through every artery. Like it could dive right through the dermal layer, Gun drags his tongue along his chest, searching. There's got to be something in here. Something that fixes this.]

[He doesn't notice the erection in his pants, pressed down into Denji's leg as he slides lower on him. Like he's on a scavenger hunt, or following a trail of candy to a witch's house. He's always followed his nose like this, searching out the next little piece of fun and excitement and death. This situation is no different to him.]

What're you — Aki!

[ What he wants in this second should be obvious, but Denji's never been able to read Aki very well.

It'd taken Denji a long time to understand him just to the extent that he does. Through bickering and skirmishes, forced dinners. Long shifts. Nights of tossing glances through the screen door at his back, usually broad, but narrower against the balcony, the backdrop of a larger than life city. Their patchwork home in the apartment merely a trinket on its shelf. Frequently, he'd ignore the itch to join him, for reasons that hurt his head to think about.

One night, one of Aki's last without a pinch to his forehead, he'd sat with him in front of a window that held nothing yet veiled everything. A blank slate, a field for humans to leave footprints across that wouldn't last, an impression that wouldn't take. He hadn't been able to decode his words at that time, either. His words were straightforward without being straightforward at all, and, in the end, Denji took them as thanks when he should have chosen differently, asked better questions when he had the opening to: Do you really come here every year? What do you pray about for people who are already gone? What's your favorite food? Where's the place you went to school? What kind of uniform did you wear? What kind of offerings do you want me to leave when you're not here anymore? Do you even want me to visit?

Asked for something that'd give him clue how to get through to him now.

Slammed backward into the earth, he groans in pain at first. Then, the thrumming deepens with the realization that there's a trail, gleaming with his blood, flowing down his still developing abdomen. This can't be real — but no, evidence of Aki's arousal strains at his thigh, insistent and impatient, like trying to strike a match at tinder that won't catch flame. Denji tries to bend a knee between them, just to keep him at bay, shit, damn, fuck, he's working fast. ]

Stupid, that's my — ahhh, don't, don't! Not there…

[ Or maybe Denji's too slow. With pupils the size of bullet holes, his breathing runs out ragged. Unwilling heat throbs out from the open wound in his shoulder and the unopen one in his stomach, that buildup of feeling that's hooked on the possibility of being simultaneously torn apart and quenched. He wants to cry, but he swallows it down, along with the need to give in to Aki. Gritting his teeth, he struggles, surges upward again, foot kicking up to strike at his jaw. ]

You… jerk! Snap out of it… Augh, how the hell are you hard from blowing up a building?! What kinda kink is that?!

[In the year or so since he's inhabited a human body, Gun has never once cared for how it functions. He understands rudimentary basics - food fuels it, sleep recovers it. Devil logic works the same on it, too. Blood, his own body - he can recover with those things, too. He's still fueled by his own desires, his own needs and wants, and the main one is to be whole again. To cause destruction is a devil's reason for existence, but with how weak he is shackled to this human, he can only do so much. Reassembling himself, locating the small bits of his body that have scattered across the world... That's key to what a human may refer to as "happiness." A devil's happiness.]

[But human happiness is so much more nebulous than that.]

[Watching from within his heart, Gun assumed the human was happy in the past few days, in the same way you assume an ant must be happy while carrying a leaf to its mound. Like he searches for his body, this human he shares a heart with searches for another, and he seemed to have found it. That's why he had to snag this one with him, bring him along and carry him out of that place that had them locked away, stored like a prize in a vault. Gun spent enough time living like that. With freedom, with ease of movement, with the ability to search for himself again, it's surprising that he's finding himself instead drawn to the creature below him. The one that just kicked him in the jaw and sent him rolling backward, collapsing over on his side as he watches through a tilted lens the way he scrambles back and yells something at him.]

["...jerk! ...blowing up a buil...."]

[There's an insult in there, Gun understands, anger in the voice being pointed at him. Despite that, the body is clearly elated. Delighted. Just from being in proximity? Just from being nearby, hearing that voice? Touching that skin? Gun crawls onto his knees, picking himself up slowly, his pistol face pointing directly at Denji with a long line of spit dripping from his lips. His erection stands tall in his pants, but that's something else Gun only understands in extremely simple terms. Something he could only see as conquering, taking over, ruling. Destroying. Is that what the human sees when he looks at this Denji? Something to lay claim to? Something with which to mark a victory? Like a dog seeing the color wheel of a mantis shrimp's eyes, it's the limit to his own understanding.]

Den-ji. [He growls the name, moving forward through the dirt, like a machine carrying out a command. He grabs for him, snatching at his shoulder with his hand as the arm made of a rifle pins into the dirt and grass, stabbing the earth to find an anchor point. Gun leans forward to follow the trail of blood, tilting his head to lean into the bite mark and attempt to suck on the wound. This, too, feels good, in a way both of them can understand, in a way that causes the heat in his groin to grow warmer yet. With all the strength of a metal wall, Gun yanks and pulls at Denji, pinning him against himself with all he has - his leg wrapping around him, his nails digging into his back, his teeth scratching over his skin. The closer he is, the better it feels - and isn't that what devils want, when it all comes down to it? That's happiness, isn't it?]

[ Human happiness is strange because sometimes, the most happiness you can get out of anyone is just an animal who can’t love you back. Who watches you go about your day and somehow intuits that it needs you. That it’s inextricably linked to you. Depends on you for food and shelter and protection — the basic essentials for survival. Denji’s been both: person, with his hand outstretched; creature, with its belly to the ground. Ears flicked back. Tail on high alert. That’s probably why even though he initially spares no effort against Aki plunging him back into the ground, the slaps to Aki’s chest weakens with each hit. Seduced by the blood beading partway down his torso now, yes, but the tight hug in his underwear is certainly also half at fault. Bulging out, peeking up through his waistband. He can feel Aki's erection straining at him, damning him with each shift and rub of his hips, and…

There’s something he’s after, Denji can tell that much. And sometimes happiness, whether you're human, a devil, or neither, is just bringing that incomprehensible feeling to another being. ]

…Nn, augh, wait, wait, Aki — [ Denji weeps out his name, back bowing outward, trying once again to push up. But not away this time, this attempt mostly to garner his attention. When that doesn't get him anywhere, he slumps. ] Okay. Alright. [ He presses his mouth into the skin of Aki’s ear, nearly has the shell slid between his lips as he whispers to him, the words sticky. No better than a drunken slur. ] N'here… 'yuta… [ A sniff. He throat clicks as he clears the muck backing up against his tonsils. ] Nayuta, she’s gonna —

[ Hear? That hadn’t been Denji's concern this morning, but he'd been confident then. Big-headed and excited by the prospect that Aki was letting him in on a secret, a new experience. This is new, too, technically, but Denji feels smaller. Insignificant. Like a squirming insect tacked to a display case with no way out. ]

She’s not in a good way. If she wakes up, that'll be real bad. Real bad. And I gotta take care of her, gotta be good — so can't we go finda 'nother place?

[ With Aki's nails sewn into his back, crushing him in from all sides, he can barely wriggle, forget about breathe normally. Just speaking is a huge exertion. But it's his only means of leverage right now. That, and his body. ]

C'mon. Aki, it's me. I wanna help you out. [ He feels Aki up with the knob of his knee, at first stuffing it against him, then clumsily tracing the outline of his hard-on through his trousers. Aki may not understand what he wants right now, may only know the fundamentals of desire, but — desire is desire. It's a feeling that can be fed. Denji can teach him this time. ] Les'go somewhere else…

[Denji moves against him and it's as if something clicks. The hammer finds its resting spot, maybe the finger slides perfectly into place. Trigger safety be damned. The best place your index finger feels is right against the smooth curve of metal, right where you can feel the slight give of the mechanics that tells you just a centimeter more, just a millimeter more and things will start. Gun feels the way Denji's knee traces his erection through his pants and his jaw falls open, shocked.]

[It feels - good.]

[His soft, pleading whispers right into the shell of his ear, the whine to his voice, the slight reverberation when he breathes a little loud. The give of his skin, the smell of his blood. Sweat, drool. He's growling, maybe. Some kind of punishing sound, like a threat to keep doing that or else. A childish demand to keep having fun, or an animalistic one demanding you keep petting. It's overstimulating and understimulating at the same thing. And what the hell is he even saying?]

[...mewhere else.]

Some... Else... [He repeats the words, without fully understanding what they mean, just like the ones that triggered this sensation. Echoes and repetition, seeing which words correctly receive the intended response. Gun lets go and there's a moment when he sits up that it might seem like he's intending to go somewhere else, but instead he's ripping his pants off, yanking them off and away to reveal his erection. And it's not just his arm and head that have changed - his cock is larger, darker at the tip, drooling already as he frees it from the confines of the fabric. Now with the agitating feeling let out into the air, he can freely rub it against Denji, sliding the length against his leg and trying to search for the right spot, the perfect location where it feels best. It's not that he has short term memory, more like a one-track mind. He's aware of what he wants and little else. Right now, that's relief, in the form of pleasure. The human inside of him accessed it through this thing below him, so Gun will, as well.]

[ There are some animals and many more devils that use mimicry to deceive their food, or as a means of camouflage, or any other physiological reason that has nothing to do with true human understanding. Denji knows the possibility's there, that whatever hint of his former superior that he thinks he's seeing could justifiably be his own self-delusion. That at this very moment, he's just building a door from the ground up to shut away what he already knows: Denji can say Aki's name all he wants, but he's not going to dip his chin, turn his gaze on him, and wryly answer back the way he always does.

Denji's face lights up, anyway, hearing anything from him. The oppressive tension holding down his body disappears, briefly, and he lets go a breath. Starts to rise up, stalwartly ignoring the urge to rub at the marks etched behind in his skin, because he can't let Aki know that shit hurt, felt like a dozen needles poking around for the worst place to burrow inside. He doesn't want him to feel bad, if that's an emotion he can still connect to.

But then Aki's stripping himself. And then his brain activity's flatlining, like someone's pulled the plug on someone barely hanging on as it is. Denji lays there, a numbness seeped into the very pit of his stomach as he stares blankly at the monstrously hung penis between Aki's naked thighs, fleshy and angry and aching. A hundred steps too far behind to even jerk back or raise his arms to obstruct whatever warpath is about to be sown below his waist. His underwear, laughably thin and drafty standing atop the rooftop not too long ago, feels uncomfortable and constrictive now with Aki's hot tip crimping up and dragging into the fabric, into Denji's much smaller bulge, colorless fluid kissed all over the front. His fist blindly seizes the edge of Aki's shirt, tugging it, trying to rein him. ]

S-Stupid, that's not gonna…

[ Fit. But his lips are quivering at the thought of it. At the mere thought of wrapping his dry and sticky mouth around something like that, only being able to bob down halfway before choking on him. Fuck, that's so wrong. There's something messed up in Denji's head. He shouldn't be this horny, shouldn't be able to look down and see his cock filling in against his underwear, twitching alive. He should be horrified, shocked, panicked, confused, not sensitive and warm just from being subjected to a little rough fumbling around. Wasn't he saying something before? About wanting to be good for Nayuta?

But the hand that's pushing him upright and the hand rolling up Aki's shirt until it's pinned above his chest can't seem to remember. Neither can the boy that's notching close against him, tilting in to suck and gnaw on a nipple, a kittenish tongue flicking up at it. He peers up, hoping one last time to see a flash of Aki that isn't cut from steel and ash. ]

I'll show you where to put that.

[His shirt is pulled up and Denji moves in close, meaning Gun can't see him anymore. He can see forward and he can see right up close but right now he's in his blindspot, leaned in and pushing the shirt up and over his chest and suddenly there's a warm, wet sensation there and he openly groans - more like a growl than anything, pleased and contented by the sudden new sensation. Without being able to see, it's like it came from nowhere and everywhere at once. It's not like he's ever examined this body that closely before, after all. It has two legs and it moves forward - that's as much as he needs to know.]

Put 'dat. [He repeats the words with sticky, drool-covered lips, like a wolf leaning over its prey, unable to contain the excitement about the meal he's about to devour. Gun slides his cock along the inseam of his boxers but he can't figure out how to get it to the right place, can't fully grasp why it's only slightly as good as those other times. Denji uses his hand to grab his shirt and his other to lift himself up and something clicks when Gun raises his rifle-arm up, that he's missing something. There's something different about what he has and what the other one has.]

[He licks his lips, the blood from before still permeating his gums, then pulls back from his touch and stretches his arm out. In an instant, his hand slices through the seam of his shoulder, spitting the rifle off in one fell swoop, like filleting away the spine of a fish. The rifle rolls away and blood sprays in one quick splash before slowing to a drip down the side of his body. If it's painful, he doesn't seem to feel it, though, as Gun only makes a briefly consternated expression before a human arm bursts forth from the wound, filling in the skin and stretching taut with thick muscle and dark, almost grey skin. It's cold to the touch and doesn't feel human, but it has more dexterity than a rifle and that's what he's after. That's what he needs right now. Blood still drooling down the side of his body, his hands reach messily together to grab for Denji, aiming to wrap around him and search his body for some kind of relief.]

[The dexterity is barely there with this carbonite hand, but the grip is strong. Leaning forward to exhale hot, bloody- and drool-slick breaths near his ear, he growls out again,] Put.

Eugh, you — that's your arm —

[ Fresh blood spritzes all over Denji from the open wound, causing him to turn his face uselessly to the side, squirming, as if he'd been spurted instead by a hose of freezing water. It's not the blood itself that takes him aback; he's hurt Aki before, slit his soft stomach from end to end to peel back the deepest shade of red he's ever seen, watched him come apart like an overstuffed sausage casing. Despised every second of it, despised himself for every second after — but he did it. He did all of it. So no, that's not the reason. Simply put, it's the ease of which he discards a limb that was so essential to Aki, to completing his dream, to being a devil hunter, that when he lived without it those last few months, his presence seemed to flicker in and out. Like what was there walking past him into the kitchen was just a vague imprint, a ghost reliving its rituals until the time came for his form to give away, smoke particles diluting out into the air. Every time he stood too close to the balcony railing, Denji's back would straighten and he'd watch. Wonder.

The shock of seeing it suddenly gone returns him to that place of anxiety. The shock of seeing something like an arm, but not, sprout immediately after sends him somewhere entirely different. But no less perplexing, uncharted.

Perspiration drips from his brow, stinging the inner corner of his eye — jolts him back to the present. He endures Aki's suffocating, mismatched hands grabbing him, lust-stoked breaths burning his temple, the best he can, sore knees digging into the grass to keep from being toppled over once again. He feels — confused, still grappling with everything, his spine simultaneously overheated and icy-cold. Sick with the stimulation. ]

N-No. Down, boy, [ he says, unconsciously treating Aki like one of his dogs when they decide to get too rowdy. ] No put, not yet. First…

[ Wedging an arm between them, his palm sheathes over the top of Aki's flushed head, rubbing it, spreading the sticky residue that's already there across the hood of his glans. He keeps the contact up, but does no more than that, warily observing Aki. Wresting himself away isn't an option, not without pulling his cord, risking bodily harm to the one person he's tired of seeing cry. It was always going to end in Denji giving Aki what he wants. ]

Good, right?

[ His wrist twists fast in a wrenching motion at that singular point, only pumping down his head the barest increment to reveal the sheen of his cock. He squeezes as he drags up, the rim of his forefinger and thumb biting in to really make his glans bulge out, even more of his pre to bubble from that tiny opening. ]

[There's such a stark difference between wanting something and getting something. The sudden spark of heat and pleasure from that simple touch makes Gun's jaw crack, his bones snapping against each other as he clicks them together. It's as good as smelling something freshly baked, just newly pulled from the oven, left to cool on the top of the stove. Warm and inviting. But he wants to chow down.]

[His hips jolt forward, following the notes of pleasure already playing. He groans quietly and turns his head, ducks it down, tries to visually see what's happening but his sight isn't good at this sort of distance, at something that he can't pinpoint directly. The sensation is crawling up his spine and he can feel something dripping from his cock but can't really put two and two together yet. That it's not simply the desire for more contact he's after but a specific kind of contact. Not a hug, but a stroke. Not a stroke, but a plunge. His mind is spinning.]

Den - ji - [He repeats his name again, like it will urge him further on. The human hand moves down to yank off the fabric constricting his legs, kicking and pushing at it where it gets caught around his ankles. Instinct tells him to pin, to rub, to rut. Urge him further on - Forget that, he wants to take it for himself. That's how he's supposed to be. Enough of this waiting for orders, waiting for command. He wants to take it for himself. He grapples with his carbonite arm in search of Denji's elbow, yanking it down, coaxing him onward. Thanks to the pistol coming out of his face he can't actually kiss (and probably wouldn't understand the idea of it) but his lips are still dripping with drool and blood and he wants some more. As his hips rut forward, one hand gripped around Denji's elbow, he leans into his neck and growls as he sucks at his skin, teasing at the marrow hidden right below. Not biting this time, just suckling, like when you enjoy the chicken skin before ripping into the flesh.]

[The more dexterous human arm gropes and fondles around in its attempt to find something else. This can't be the peak, he knows. There must be something else, and that's why his nails drag down his back and press into his spine. Like he can press one of his vertibrae like a button and out will pop the right prescription, the correct answer for this craving. His cockhead presses up against Denji's stomach as he pushes his back inward and he recognizes that as pleasurable, too, grinding against the skin with little worry for Denji's comfort in this.]

[ A series of grunts rattles from him in reaction to feeling the length of Aki against his abdomen, airflow stuttering, struggling to imagine him sinking that deep inside. Hitting a whole new core. Instantly, his grunting morphs into a loud groan, underwear riding low on his hips as he bumps and crams his groin up against him. All at once, back to front, it feels like Aki's hold on him is pushing and pulling his skin. Stretching him apart in search for an entrance or a good, pliant spot to create one of his own. One that'll take his shape, be his keeper, but what he doesn't know in this state is that Denji would do that anyway, for any reason, even without the force attached to Aki's voice.

The mercilessly close press of their cocks together takes him back to the dark of that morning, how he'd tried to slip in and make it up to Aki just like this. For all the things he did and failed to do. In a way, he's still there, still trapped in that mindset that he's sorry that he couldn't keep Aki from straying into this guise. Couldn't protect him. The way Aki is now is something Denji has to take accountability for — possibly all his life. That's fine. That's expected.

Denji momentarily pushes a rift between them. He drags his underwear off, kicking it aside so that it lands with the rest of Aki's clothes. His penis has thickened up, stands at attention, but it's nowhere near the fullness and girth as what Aki pressed into him just now.

Panting heavily, Denji takes his face in hand, angling it up from his shoulder to deposit a kiss to his cheek, sinful for how chaste it is. He has to tilt his own head to achieve this, to establish a connection with him that isn't just that of a vulture and the bleeding remains he's decided to feed from. ]

Just wait. Getting to it.

[ His mouth roots itself to the drooling wet corner of Aki's lips, licks up the blood and slobber pouring from his chin until he's spotless again. He pauses once he's done, hanging back uncertainly, before then extending his neck to kiss the black pistol topping his forehead, tip of his tongue edging the chamber. Reaching the opening of his barrel, he pokes inside the inner ridges of the gun, a lattice of spit covering the hole, strung to his teeth as he inches away. Staring up at Aki with a look that borders on bashful.

Swallowing down his embarrassment, he shoves his gaze downward, hands wrapped around Aki's erection again, one stacked on top of the other, this time pulsing all the way down to wear his shaft meets his nut sack, his fingernail nudged against a hard vein, following its track from end to end. ]

[There's no real feeling to the touch when Denji's lips go over the pistol, kissing along the shaft and into the muzzle. It's way too close to see, so Gun can only feel, and even then it feels more like he's kissing him over a thick fleece than anything else, the metal cold and unfeeling - to an extent. He still knows he's there. He still knows this is something, that this isn't an outright attack. No, definitely not an attack. Even if he's taking his blood. (That was his to begin with.)]

[Denji leans back and stares up at him and Gun tilts his head, trying to see him through the narrow sights. Maybe this is a signal he should say something, maybe there's something he's meant to do, but all he can really feel is the leftover warmth from Denji's lips on his skin, the exposed part he shares with the human, the part that came from him that seems to impart so much importance to the thing seated in his circle.]

[Hmm. But why?]

[And then he's touching his dick again and the thoughts go out the window again. He doesn't care. That's not what he's searching for right now. This might not be a part of himself, might not house a fragment of himself, a chunk of his body he's lost, but it's something else that he needs to have. Gun thrusts toward the touch, selfish and taking, not even considering offering the same thing in return. His hands resume their exploration, searching, knowing there's something in here for him to take, but when he grabs the meat of Denji's ass and isn't met with soft cotton he has a feeling like, I know this. For some reason, he knows he wants this part. Or the one before wanted this part. He fumbles and fondles as Denji continues to stroke him, his erection only getting harder and thicker, precome drooling down his shaft and following each push-pull of Denji's hands.]

[It's getting annoying, he thinks, licking his lips. Cocking the gun, releasing the safety. Decocking, replacing it. Over and over, with each tug, that's what it feels like. Gun grunts something low and begins to push forward, aiming to push Denji down on the ground, push him over and move over him, grab him like he had him before. His metallic fingers wrap around his shoulder and push, trying to roll him to expose his ass, bring it closer to his leaking cock, which he tries to blindly press against the softer skin and stroke through the meat of. Because this - This feels more familiar. This is what he's aiming at. This is where he's trying to get to. For what - He doesn't care. Just that it's what he wants.]

[ This was his naive thinking: He was going to get him off. The constant chafing of skin on skin contact would dole out enough pleasure to fulfill his urges, goad him into discharging a messy round or two into his hand. Then that'd make him easier to take, if not subdue him entirely, his own hard-on be damned. Aki's just a lot more — substantial than what he's used to. The usual thickness of his dick steals his breath and flames up his guts as is, plugs right in like a fire iron poking a burning pit, but what's grasped between his hands right now is so much bigger. It glowers with heat. It's weighty to the point that even with two hands caging him, his flesh ekes through no matter what, red hot and slippery. Giving no quarter.

Despite this, Denji assumes he was well on his way. Until Aki capsizes him. ]

Hey!

[ Genuine surprise widens his eyes, chin scraping against the gritty soil to turn, gawk at him with his ass raised in the air. Sun dapples against Aki's half-obscured face. The other hybrid can't see it, but that's all Denji does, his chest thumping. They've only fucked in private corners and crannies; when it's dark, he can close his eyes and not think so hard about what's going where, imagine what Aki must have a front row view of. It's different in broad daylight. Too much detail to take in. Maybe that's why he tries to scramble forward on his knees, panicked as a mouse with its tail caught under a cat's paw. ]

You don't even know where you're putting that! You need me to show you —

[ In the middle of his sentence, he gasps, eyes crossing, disturbed by the cock pushing into his perineum, so close to his puckered rim, to where he could vanish inside completely. Shivering, his forehead hits the ground, grated in like he has a foot sitting at the base of his neck, but he's bending into it. ]

No — no. [ They don't even have any lube. Denji made sure Aki was wet, but he's… ] Fingers, use your fingers beforeee… [ Denji whimpers, fingertips twitching toward his asshole, intending to stretch himself out. ]

[He tries to immediately scramble away but Gun snags Denji by the hips, dragging him back to himself when his cock seems to brush up against the spot that makes him fold over, sink down and gasp like that. The sound is good, he thinks, for some reason. He feels good when he hears that sound, and even better when he keeps talking and his voice sounds like that. It has him openly grinning, amused and excited. Like all the work he did to bring him here was worth it. Like he didn't do this because of the whole ownership thing or whatever, but because he was planning on getting this, instead. Obviously that was his plan.]

[When he moves back again, fumbling around blindly with his cock, it's only natural that he follows where Denji's fingers are going. He slides down between his cheeks and over his hole, brushing against his hand and then humming a curious, almost metallic sound when the head of his cock finds the edge of his hole, just barely stretched by probably no more than a single joint. And maybe devils don't have anything to truly call "nature" when it comes to this, but maybe he can rely on that human's nature for the moment in telling him that this is the right path. He shifts himself against it and his cock slides up the edge of Denji's hole, not pushing in at all. Gun reaches back to grapple for the spot, blindly feeling and searching, equally like a drunk fiddling with a bottle opener and a pervert with a bra strap: sloppy and desperate. He finally pushes his thumbs in on either side, pulling him apart like there's something he could see past the stretch, could peer through to the other side, just enough room for himself to begin to slip into - but even once he does it's not wide enough, it's too small and too tight and he thinks, maybe this isn't right? No, it has to be, he decides, and pushes forward roughly, forcibly slamming the rest of the head of his cock into his ass.]

[Gun's hands slide down Denji's hips and to his thighs, grasping him with cold, wet fingers as he feels around like he can find whatever it is that's blocking him from pushing in more - unable to recognize it's simply the limits of "nature," the result of shoving a ten foot-wide square peg into a one foot-wide round hole. He gurgles something with clenched teeth. Not exactly annoyed as curious. He pulls back just a bit, the head of his cock tugging cruelly at the ring of muscle sealing him inside, then juts forward again. Another inch pushes in and he hums a delighted growl of a noise: the recognition of progress.]

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