[He can't get that stare out of his head. How they both must look like two deer in headlights, unaware of what the hell they're doing, yet he - ]
[And now he's on the floor, surreptitiously thrown from Denji's lap and clattering to the ground with a sudden Oof! Angel reaches down and rubs his ass, raising his head to snap something at him as the buzzing in his ears keeps sounding (wait, since when was there a buzz?) but instead he watches at Denji leaps to his feet and begins cleaning up. Says something insane about a neckrub. Rushes from the room with his bag.]
[Angel looks down at his erection, still tented in his pants.]
[What the fuck.]
[When Denji returns, he's sitting on the edge of the couch, his shirt pulled back on and messily buttoned up and tie loose around his neck. He's trying to fit his wings through his jacket but he's still too oversensitive, even the feeling of the fabric on his chest making his skin tingle, nipples still hard against it and peeking through the thin white cloth. Every shift feels like too much movement. Like when you have a fever and every muscle movement burns. Well, not that he's ever had a fever.]
[Raising his head to look at Denji, he looks dour. Staring at him, knowingly. Completely aware, and more than that - What is it they call this? Blueballed.]
Chainsaw-kun.
[There's a bit of a warning tone to his voice, even if it doesn't carry in his body language. He still looks and feels touchy and anxious, can still vividly imagine the sensation of his tongue on his halo.]
[ Shoulders back. Mouth relaxed in a slight frown. Although a conspicuous redness to Denji's face remains, he seems notably subdued upon returning. Less tense. With a few pats, he dries his hands against his pants, which have mysteriously deflated in the time he's been away. Mysteriously. Ugh. All he wants to do is ignore the presence of the only other person in the room: just fetch him, pay for their time, have him silently trail after him all the way back to wherever they were planning on ending day, he can't even remember.
But then Angel speaks his name — a version of it, at least — like an accusation, and, out of habit, Denji looks up, briefly cringing as soon as his eyes are on him. The lights aren't as dim anymore. In too much detail, he can make out how ruffled his wings look, the feathers spread and puffed in some areas, pressed and scraggly in others. The same can be said for the rest of Angel, but maybe it's not too different from how unseemly he usually looks?
…Maybe, except how could he explain the sweet indents of his nipples still visible through his button-down? The fabric contortion at his fly?
Hurriedly, guiltily, he looks away. ]
Uh, you done in here yet?
[ He's half-inside the doorway, so he casts a glance over his shoulder down the hallway, as if to emphasize an employee could come skulking their way any second to kick them out. Angel is a devil; humans don't generally like those hanging around their place of business — that's the story Denji's going with, anyway. ]
Before we head out, though, you should go… pee. [ He sighs. Finally, a minor acknowledgement. Of what they did and what Denji did. ] It feels better that way. I'll show you where it is.
[Feels better...? Angel stares at him like he's stupid, clearly still frustrated by the whole situation. To get worked up all the way to a point and then surreptitiously tossed aside... He really thinks he can just piss and he'll forget all about it?]
Are you stupid?
[He mutters it under his breath before getting to his feet. It's not really meant for Denji but Angel wouldn't admit it was meant for himself, either. His wing finally shoves through the slit in his jacket and he grunts something - not quite in pain or anything, it's just... weird. His whole body feels weird. Which is weird, because he's used to it not feeling like anything at all.]
[In Denji's pocket, there's a buzz of a text message, sent from Aki - Everything going OK? But Angel either doesn't hear it or doesn't care, stepping forward with the expectation that he'll move out of the way. Show him toward this supposed magical bathroom that will give him a moment to compose himself.]
[Of all people, it had to be the Chainsaw boy who can touch him without any negative effect. There's something cruel about it, namely how he knows neither of them gives a shit about the other. Why he's doing this for him today, why he brought him to the apartment the other day... Surely it's for some reason, but not for Angel. And the same with Angel - He didn't come here for Denji's sake. His own sake, if anything. Making the work day easier to deal with when Aki Hayakawa isn't coming in after an awful evening. Experiencing something new. He knows his reasons, clearly. But his - He can't even begin to guess, but surely they aren't altruistic.]
[ He clams up, backing into the door but not moving into the hallway.
Just which does Angel mean by that question: throwing him off or touching him to begin with? Maybe he's going so far as to dig for something else, an explanation for why he planned this trip. Except that doesn't make sense. Angel asked for it. Told him to make it up to him for what he did the night before, the bite — maybe that's it. But he doesn't know why he did that back then, in front of Aki, either. Where the compulsion came from, knowing it'd make the two of them upset with him.
His phone buzzes, saving Denji from further spiraling. He doesn't go for it immediately, uncomfortable under Angel's observation. He fidgets with the device, flipping and rotating it from corner to corner, clearly itching to take a look — which only lasts a total of two seconds before he gives in entirely. ]
Gimme a sec.
[ He's hoping to concentrate his eyes on something that isn't presently glaring a hole through his head, or asking him things that make his temples tense, frontal cortex throb. But then he sees who the text is from. The veins in his neck are practically bursting with how tight his jaw is clenched. His thumbs tap at the screen. ]
not really
[ Nah, even he can tell that's stupid. Backspace, backspace, backspace. ]
kinda sorta?
[ — ah, crap, he pressed send on that. Damn it, ugh, he should just trash this thing. Don't do it, he chastises himself. Play it cool, dude, play it like a grown-up — like Aki would. That's the smart thing to do. Aki doesn't get into trouble.
Grimacing, he pockets his phone again and strides clean past Angel. Without acknowledging his question, completing his answer, or paying attention to the notes of animated cheer and singing through the windows to the other rooms. Totally stone cold. Right, that's an assholish thing he can imagine that guy doing… Acting all in charge, high and mighty. And stuff.
Denji's walking comes to a sudden stop, rounding a corner at the other end of the hallway. ]
Uh, this is it. The toilet.
[ It's small. Only fits one person at a time, but it's not like there's a line, so it's fine. ]
["Kinda sorta" is an expected answer when it comes to dealing with Angel, and Aki reads into it with that history. Probably Angel complained about the movie and didn't like it and then ate too much and was his usual morose self. Which, considering the look the devil in question is leveling at Denji, isn't exactly far off. It's just that the cause isn't one that would ever cross Aki's mind.]
[He follows him to the bathroom and is told, in no simpler terms, to jack off into the toilet, and Angel's brow finally rises from its glower into a shocked stare. He's been treated all sorts of ways due to his status as a devil in custody by a governmental organization, but not once has anyone from that framework ever told him to masturbate. And definitely not into the plumbing.]
You can't be serious. [Then again, Denji doesn't exactly represent the organization keeping him stuck here, nor does he especially think in the most sane ways. Still, he can't help this frustration, and being a devil isn't one to question his emotions, especially the negative ones. But it unfortunately leads to him speaking without thinking, curtly saying what's immediately on his mind:] Finish what you started.
[...He huffs. Looks away, glaring at the bathroom door. As if he'd ever - The very idea of it is disgusting. Especially when he compares it to... well, how it felt when Denji was touching him a moment ago. The awkward yet high intensity of it, like a bolt of lightning that couldn't fully find the ground. And why the hell does he get to expose that sensation to him and then skip off scot free while Angel deals with the emotional aftermath?]
[ Of course, he flinches at that. Cuts his words at a pivotal joint to avoid reaching for a response that'll make this situation worse. Make Denji come off as even more of an ass.
He's not trying to be heartless. He has one of those, a heart, so he knows how to be a good guy. It's not like he was anticipating Angel to jump and whoop at the suggestion, but he — he figured he'd be just as weirded out by the way things went down in their booth. That he would want to clear his head, get away, move on. It's what Denji's accustomed to at least, how he's noticed most of his colleagues and superiors deal with crap, and how he's mostly learned to follow suit.
But Angel isn't human. He's a captive to Public Safety, sort of in the same way Denji, but not really, given that he spends most of his time tucked inside a cell, doing fuck knows. Maybe that's why he's fine with Denji. Fine with settling for him. ]
You're kidding me, [ Denji squints at the spotted ceiling. Pauses long, in case Angel wants to throw out his punchline. Turns out neither one of them can tell a joke, though. ] Just get in there already — here.
[ Stepping forward, he twists the door handle, watches as it easily drifts inward with a nudge. It's one of those flimsy doors that won't stay open on its own, so he holds it wide for Angel to enter.
Inside his pocket, Denji jiggles his phone, hoping, banking on a timely buzz to shred through this moment. Knock some sense into him. ]
[He's not embarrassed, because - Well, what is there to be embarrassed about? He's the one who said it, and now Denji seems to be accepting it, and now they're moving forward. There's no reason to feel embarrassed, or ashamed, or - or anything. It's all exactly what he asked for and what he wants to know more about. This sensation. This... Weirdness.]
[Denji pushes the door open and motions him inside like a bouncer, leading the way into a dark club. Except this room is uncomfortably bright and the buzz of the fluorescent bulb is the only kind of music aside from the dim hum from the karaoke booths down the hall. Angel still wears a frown as he moves inside, watching Denji carefully, like he expects him to bolt if he takes his eyes off of him. Doing anything inside a bathroom like this isn't exactly his favorite idea, but - but he has no shame. Surely. There's nothing for him to be ashamed of. He's a devil, after all. Why would a devil feel something so human as shame?]
[Standing in the center of the small bathroom, he looks back at Denji over his shoulder.]
You've never done this.
[Said as a statement - He's well aware of his fascination with sex, his desire for it, his need for it. Yet in this moment, he recognizes he rejected it even though Angel wasn't doing anything to stop him. Is it because he has no attraction to him? Is it because he doesn't consider it possible, with a devil? Is it because there's someone else he would prefer?]
[Angel is thinking of those same things. That doing this with a human is ludicrous, even if it's a half-human. That Denji isn't attractive to him. That he would prefer someone else.]
[A creature crawls out of the well deep inside of him, brandishing that harsh truth as a whip. The shame hits him in full force then: that there's someone else he would prefer.]
[ Although his discomfort lingers as a knot in his stomach, Angel's words resurrect a few embers of that same singing in his veins as before. In the beginning, his expression is inscrutable, trailing down the devil's shoulders, his wings, but then in landing on Angel's hands, in remembering how small and warm they felt when he held him in place, it warps. Falters. A coin plunking down a well, rippling the stillness of the water. What's he supposed to say to Angel's admission that he's a virgin, and that he knows Denji is, too? How's he supposed to feel? Just because they're alike in inexperience, in social stature, one existence that shouldn't be here to another…
Standing separated from Angel by the sparest degree, off to the side, Denji touches a hand to the sink edge behind him. Either trying to anchor himself from reaching out or keep from wobbling on his feet. ]
Listen, I think, like… Erm, just — this sorta touchy-feely stuff, it's meant for —
[ He struggles with this one, visibly. His mouth freezes open. Closed, then open again. Lovers, he could say, but thinking back on his past relations, he doesn't think Himeno actually even liked him that much compared to who she was really gunning after. Reze? She claimed to be a liar, but told him the truth when she said she wouldn't show to their meeting spot. Makima, well, he still needs to earn the right to ask her out to make things official.
Every time he's thought he was close to finding the girl for him, the greater situation has always spun out of his control. And right now, he feels like he's already in the midst banging around in a washer set to the highest velocity. Dizzy with the memory of Angel's hips dragging against him, the potential to touch him again close at hand, and the possibility that he might really enjoy doing that with another guy. ]
Have you ever had a crush on anyone before?
[ The question crashes out of him with a flip of his stomach. Seemingly without warning, but the truth is, it's what he's been dying to ask ever since Angel readily sat himself in his lap. ]
I heard that touching someone like that feels the best when it's with someone you have a lot of feelings for. And who you know really well. So…
[ Face fully sore from the flush reddening his cheeks, his head ducks. ]
If you think you — l-like me a little, then maybe…
[It's two questions back to back that have Angel staring at Denji in obvious surprise. A crush - He doesn't even know what that would mean for something like him. Do devils have crushes? Probably not, that's not exactly up there on their Maslow's hierarchy of needs. That's the sensible answer, but of course combined with what he was already thinking, the uncomfortable thoughts he was just having, that he wished Denji was someone else - No, he doesn't know. He doesn't know if he'd be able to identify such a feeling. He's a devil. Devils don't do those things.]
[So maybe due to that, the second question almost acts as a salve for how easy it is to answer. Has he ever had a crush? He doesn't know. Does he like Denji in that way?]
I don't.
[Were this another situation, he might call him disgusting or remind him about how he chomped down on his halo the other night or how he constantly behaves in gross, annoying ways. But he's currently propositioning him for - for something. So he can't start insulting him.]
...But I don't think that's right. [The idea that touching someone you like feels the best. He'll slide right along from the comment about his (lack of) feelings for Denji.] Humans are always having sex. They'll even pay money for it. So it can't be something limited only to emotional feelings, I think.
[That, and he's had people think he was attractive before, come onto him before they recognized he was a devil and not simply in costume. Surely they didn't want to get to know him or something like that. But thinking about that does remind him... Didn't he say he had a dream about him in swimwear once? He leans against the wall of the bathroom, a few steps away from Denji, though the small single stalled bathroom doesn't offer much more space than that.]
[ The passage to understanding what Angel's getting at is a short one to traverse; Denji's never been the sort to need much convincing of — anything, really, given the amount of times Power's pulled one over him. But especially sex. Why people have it, pay for it, sell it by the hour. He liked the thought of that candied fantasy Makima told him before, but he gets it: You can hear a story, be touched by its message, and still not be its audience. Not the person who deserves it. ]
Uh… You say 'lotta things I don't get, but I like the look of you, kinda.
[ His bangs tilt into his eyes, brown sweeping across the bathroom floor. Looking sheepish, shame-faced. Proving Angel right in the end — that emotions don't have to play into anything they're after. He doesn't work with Angel in his day to day. They're not buddies. They hardly have anything in common. If not for their obligations to Public Safety, to other people, the two of them would barely have any reason to converse, much less stand in the same vicinity.
All Angel wants from him is a hand. Someone to stand there, like how Meowy claws her nails down a scratching post as an outlet for excess energy.
When he was last in here, he'd put the toilet seat down to be considerate of the next occupant, but now as he moves, he flips it up, careless. Waves Angel over with glancing at him, standing to the side to leave him room to slot in front of the toilet. Finish what you started, he said to him. That's not hard. Denji's done that for himself thousands of times. He's more concerned about whether Angel can aim or not. ]
So what, you just want me to feel you up? Tug on your dick?
[ As soon as the devil gets within proximity, Denji squints at his distance from the toilet, then, with an annoyed sigh, curls a finger through one of his belt loops. Yanks him a step forward. After which, he opens his palm up to Angel, like he's waiting for some change to drop in his hand or something. Of course, what he's expecting is something weightier. ]
Well? If I'm doing this, the least you can do is pull your own fly down.
[Well, that doesn't exactly surprise him, that he doesn't always know what Angel is saying... But the admission that he "likes the look" of Angel isn't expected. Sure, he'd mentioned before that he'd dreamed of him, he remembers that... And the way he'd been grabbing him in that booth, but...]
[This is exactly what he was just talking about, Angel reasons to himself - That humans have attractions to things without it necessarily being emotionally-driven. And in this situation, when Angel is just trying to get this one thing, searching out this one experience that no one else can give him, well, let him call it serendipity, that this can happen.]
[He moves forward slowly when Denji motions him, then stumbles when he's dragged into position by his belt loop.] Hey...! [He steadies himself in front of the toilet, blinking down at it as he comes to a sudden understanding: Denji intended for him to masturbate into this. Truth be told, maybe they have more in common than he wants to admit, because Denji says a lot of things Angel doesn't get, too.]
[He holds his hand out and Angel frowns, lip pressing out into something like a pout. "Tug on his dick" sounds so simple when he says it like that, but isn't that what he wanted before? He undoes his belt and then pulls his pants open, his fingers moving awkwardly about it, like he's unused to the act of undressing.]
I don't know what I want... I've never done anything like this.
[It's a white lie. He understands the notion of masturbation and it feels like he's done something like that before, but he can't remember anything specific. It's like asking if he's ever peed sitting down: probably, though he couldn't name a specific date and time.]
But you do this sort of thing all the time, right? What do you do?
[And he pulls his dick out as he speaks, still half hard but small. Along with not having much physical experience with himself, he has no comparative experience with others. He's seen nude devils and fiends but never considered their private parts. So there's no pride nor shame as he reveals himself, no discomfort aside from the simple discomfort from standing over a toilet and anticipating something that's about to happen. He pushes his pants down an inch to free himself a little more, sliding his briefs down to let his dick fall free, hanging in the air over the bowl.]
I mean, whatever you did before felt good... So just do that.
[ Okay. That Angel yelps, staggers, and fumbles with his slacks, appearing disconcerted by at least some aspect of this thing he's demanding, softens the truth for him: That he's standing there joylessly waiting for, not Denji, but his hand to give him what he's overdue. Which, fine — putting aside the smarting twinge of his bruised feelings for the time being, Denji scoffs at Angel. Pretends as if his cheeks aren't heating as he curiously eyes the roll of Angel's zipper, the stain in his drawers where the plushy tip of his cockhead seeps through. He still remembers how Angel's hips had twitched and chased the play of his fingertips against him, wishing to have his keys pressed, to submit to a sweet song. ]
Yeah, alright. Since you're so clueless.
[ He's one to talk, of course. Everything about this is a huge question mark to him. What do you do when see another guy half-naked, wrinkled shirt hem swaying over his milk-cream thighs and cock drooping in his hands? When Denji jerks off, there's never been anyone else in the room. So he's always had to — oh, that's it. ]
When it's just me… [ He hesitates, then inches behind Angel, sneakers squeaking. They're not as close as when they were in the karaoke room together, but the proximity is still enough for his breaths to brush the curve of his ear. Sensitive to every shiver of his wings shifting the air in the rift between them. ] First things first, I gotta think of someone. 'cause this is stuff that feels better if you're not alone, so like, I gotta — imagine a pretty girl is there with me, I guess. [ Though there have been plenty of times where it hadn't needed to be a girl. Hell, just a while ago, he was beating off to Angel in this very restroom. But he can't confess to that. ] What face she's making. If she's wearing anything sexy, doing something special, saying something nice to me.
[ If Denji knew more about foreplay, or even stopped to think about why it matters to take your time exploring another person, maybe he'd consider touching Angel somewhere else to start them off. His chest again. Maybe harassing the slope of his ass, groping him, digging his nails into that pleasant valley. But the part of him that's still mildly panicked by the situation, still agitated knowing that Angel doesn't care about him, that if he's playing along, he's imagining someone better than him — yeah, that part instead reaches around Angel's waist. He grabs his wrist, tight, not because he's trying to hurt him, but give himself more precision as he clumsily begins guiding the movement of Angel's hand down his shaft. ]
This sorta thing takes concentration, but it's gotta be the right amount, or else, uh… You'll be too stiff. And it won't feel as good.
[The specification of the instruction isn't unwanted, but still surprising. Angel is drawn to the idea of being annoying about this - Does it have to be a girl? Wouldn't it be better to imagine someone naked rather than dressed? - but reason shuts that down quickly. He does understand some ideas about human sexuality, being that he's human-shaped, himself. No other reason, though. Yet when Denji grabs his wrist, pulls him toward his shaft to coax his hand around it, he wants to be obstinant. Wants to insist this is silly, that he doesn't get it. Is this like counting sheep? he could ask stupidly, acting aloof about the idea of fantasization. As if there's nothing an angel has to do with the act of fantasizing, much less a devil.]
[But he's the one who put him up to this, reason reminds him. He coaxed Denji into this, and he's the one who told him to finish what he started. Fingers twitching and unsteady, he wraps his hand around himself and - strokes. Just once. Following the guiding drag of Denji's hand, he tells himself he's simply playing along, trying to understand this sensation. There are no women for him to think of, thanks to not knowing any to fantasize about (Makima has no sense of allure to him and he's not sure Power can be anything but a destructive, annoying terror... And he doesn't even know who that crybaby human woman is), but when he broadens the approach to think of men, well... Denji is an immediate rejection. He's boorish, odd, and rude. Beam, just as much. Violence - No, he has no sense of connection to the fiend. Kishibe? His lip twitches in slight disgust. Absolutely not, the drunk - Last time Angel saw him he smelled like rotten eggs. Which only leaves...]
[Well. He's seen that human nude before. With his hair down, dripping down his back as he wrapped a bandage around his thigh. Ignoring Angel's comments about exposed skin. Looking at him sidelong over his shoulder when he asked him if it hurt that bad. Then a vague shrug, as if to say, What's it matter. That solitary wrapping covering his skin, shielding it and protecting it - it's not as if he hadn't imagined running his fingers over the layers, feeling the warmth of blood seeping into the gauze.]
[He swallows. Releases his grip on himself before he can allow anything more. Too disturbed by the images his mind supplies.]
Feels... [He mumbles it, shifting his weight between his feet, his free hand grabbing at the waist of his pants. Angel stares down into the toilet bowl, frown deeply etched into his face, just like that rippling scar he saw a few days later still racing over his thigh. Now exposed and vulnerable.] I don't get it.
[ What's he thinking about? His chin nearly brushes against Angel, tilting in, paying more attention to Angel's reaction than the loosening pressure of his hold on his wrist. Past the soft waves of hair curtaining the side profile of his face, Denji can't parse much of his expression. Just that he looks to be genuinely focused, staring down at his cock and barely twitching brow at that initial tug. Did that feel like anything? Nothing? For Denji, learning to touch himself didn't change or save his life — it just gave him an outlet from living, helped him imagine a heat on his skin unlike any other, a scenario in which he could be eye-to-eye with someone and could know this feeling, this body warmth, was something being transmitted both ways. Maybe that's only a piece to sex, but he's been chasing it ever since.
He's only curious about Angel's feelings because it's what he wanted, wasn't it, it's why he's tolerating having Denji cooped up next to him like a tin fish. He doesn't convey a hint of impatience with his poor attempts to tutor him, at least. Which could be a sign that he's taking his advice to heart, or could also mean Denji's the farthest thing from Angel's mind. Forget that he's the one standing closest to him, less than a hair's breadths away. ]
Don't get what?
[ Denji presses, fingers tightening, not allowing Angel's hand to drop after releasing himself. ]
Try again until you do, then. You barely moved. [ His palm slides over his back knuckles, gently trying to steer him back to his cock. ] You sure you're imagining the right person?
[Angel can't lower his hand but he also can't squeeze himself like this. He can't understand this whole thing - this whole situation. A second ago he was so turned on he couldn't even think straight and now he has to imagine a specific person - and when Denji questions if he's thinking of the right person he wants to snap at him. How can he think of anyone? Devil, human, it doesn't matter. They'll die if they were ever in this situation. How can he fantasize about such a thing when the end result is death? How can he picture himself opening up like this to anyone without them dropping dead after foreplay is only chaste touches and kisses?]
[He turns his head, away from where Denji is leaning over his shoulder. Frustrated, annoyed. Pointless, he wants to argue. You wouldn't get it. This boy, he's spent his life being rejected, But Angel has never even been allowed to ask.]
I can't imagine anyone, because they'd just die.
[His blunt, unkind answer is all he says for a moment. Staring at the wall beside the toilet, at the spot where it meets the floor, the moulding peeling at one point, he finally pulls his hand from Denji's grip, attempting to turn the situation - Grab Denji's hand instead, pull it toward him, clumsily drag it into the same position. A moody, petulant demand is next.]
[ His lips tug into a frown as Angel rejects his urging. Increasingly, he wonders — what's the point?
Fed up, he could drop both their hands, clean himself of this confusing venture. He'd lead them out of this back alley place, returning them to the main roads where the traffic lights flicker red, yellow, green, pedestrians wait for their turn to cross, and everything makes the same amount of sense it did before. No more questions. No more mythic stories, just the same boulder they edge forward day in day out. But maybe it's better that way, has Angel ever thought of that? When there's an obstacle so large you can't see over the top, you don't have to anticipate the end to begin with. Angel would head back into Public Safety without looking back at him. He'd take the train in a daze, miss his stop, then have to shamble the long way back. He'd open the door to Power laid up on the couch, balancing the cat on her hands and feet. He'd say, "I'm home." Would Aki be setting up the table as he walked in? Would he ask him how things went? Reach for his head, tell him good job, if Denji told him the partial truth? The whole of it?
No, probably not.
He nearly jerks out of his skin at the sudden pull, Angel's hand small but insistent about wrapping Denji's palm around his cock. His full fist nearly envelops him in a single curl of his fingers. ]
What the — me? Are you crazy?!
[ And yet for his snarling, he doesn't let go. Angel looks put off enough Denji can't tell which he resents more: him, for being the only one who can do this without going cold and limp, or the fact that he has to make the demand. He struggles to react, mouth agape; after a moment, a sharp sound of disdain cuts out of his throat. ]
Just because you can feel it and I can't die, doesn't mean you're gonna get off. You — have to like it.
[ With that hanging in the air, Denji's gaze tilts over Angel's shoulder, expression flurrying with a motley of mixed emotions. He'd tried to remove himself from the equation by just holding on to his wrist, but now that he can't anymore…
Hesitantly, he scoots in. His hand roams, tugging up, burying Angel's head into the curve of his palm. He didn't notice him leaking yet — it'll make things easier if he can work some precome out of him. He knows this because he's great at masturbating. And because he's great at masturbating, he doesn't need to marvel at how hot and firm a cock can get just from fitting through a fist. How another guy's skin feels this silky, this pliable. Doesn't need to at all. ]
[He doesn't get it, at first. Denji shouts at him and groans and sounds utterly annoyed by this whole situation and Angel can't help but think - Me, too. But when he says that, says, "You have to like it," Angel doesn't get it. His fingers curl around him and the head of his cock seats nicely into his palm and it's warm there, like it was before, he remembers. How warm he felt, and how warm Angel felt. So why is it different now compared to then? He was touching him before, had his hands on his shoulders and stroking his back, and that all felt nice. Like when he was brushing out his wings, running through the sensitive areas... That felt nice, too. He was touching him in ways that felt nice, and this should be sorted right alongside those. So why doesn't it feel like anything?]
[Because it wasn't what brought out that feeling. The heat, he remembers suddenly and vividly. The heat that made his body go limp and his brain go white. He hadn't been thinking about Denji being Denji at all during that, didn't care that it was him and, truthfully, barely thought about him at all. Whether that was because it felt so good he didn't have to think or because he couldn't, he doesn't know, but those kinds of things aren't important. It all lines up yet, when Angel opens his mouth, his lips feel dry. Cheeks red.]
[He'd kicked Denji for that the first time. Felt like he was going to die. What if he does it like that again, suddenly and in a way that hurts and stings and feels terrible? Will he up and ditch him, tell him to jerk off on his own again? Ugh, relying on others is such a pain. He huffs out a long breath before pressing himself back into Denji, tilting his head back to look at him, using the angle he's turned at to his advantage so he can stare at him directly. If he asks it nice enough, maybe he'll do it nicely, too.]
Do what you did before.
[...That doesn't sound nice, actually. He quickly flits through a couple memories, trying to rememebr what the nicest way to ask for something is. A hand holding out a plastic-wrapped cone, staring at him expectantly but not releasing it until he says the right word.]
[ Angel doesn't get it, but Denji's starting to. The only meaningful thing he did before was sink into the warm tilts and sharp slants of Angel's back, rub into any crevice he could trace out in his figure, even the feathery tips of his wings a pleasant brush on his skin. Hump him like a dog in heat, biting, kissing his halo… It'd felt good, to forget. Touch and be touched, and really feel his impact. Where they clash is, of course, at Denji's own selfishness, his own stupid longing for something Angel can't yet fathom, that probably isn't for him to offer and Denji to be on the receiving end of. ]
Only since you said please.
[ At his doe-eyed imploring, which he can more or less recognize as a means to an end, one he can't judge him for — there's a mute sigh, Denji's mouth shifting, hiding away inside Angel's wrinkled collar. His weight could frankly bowl him over if he wanted to, but he only crams up into him enough to make his torso hunch, slightly tip him over the toilet. Taking aim for him. Doing the nice thing — he doesn't want to think about what would happen if he left Angel to his own devices for this. He doesn't know what he would resort to, who he would reach his hand out to instead, like before with the human girl. He doesn't want to think about what he'd be missing out on, either, but that's a secret just for Denji. Besides, if Angel's partner, or anyone in Public Safety for that matter, catches wind of their mischief today, he has a feeling he knows who the fall guy is going to be. He'd rather not add an extra foot to his grave. ]
Pay attention. [ Fingers curved into a claw, his touch draws down the length of Angel in a continuous stroke, he ring of his fist presses up his crown, scrunching the wet skin there and squeezing pre out the top — not satisfied until he sees him brimming, the drops pooling together in a thick and mucusy dot that oozes down his sides. Then he lets his palm slip over his sticky top, dragging back down to coat his shaft. ] So you don't gotta ask me to do it for you next time.
[Angel closes his eyes, expecting the sensation. Waiting for it. But when Denji tells him to pay attention, his eyes blink open, confused. And then he's stroking him again, running up and down his shaft, playing at the head of his cock and making his hips jerk in that sudden, unexpected shock of - sensation. No, not this one. His wings flinch and he starts to shake his head, agitated. That's not what he wanted, he wants to snap, annoyed and frustrated and moody. Forced over the edge of the toilet, he finally sets a hand out to balance himself, grasping the wall to his right as his legs threaten to wobble.]
I don't - I said...
[Do what you did before. Doesn't he know what he means? Does he not recognize how different it was? That this time, it was okay? He wraps his fingers around Denji's wrist to not quite stop him but to try and make it clear that no, this wasn't what he said.]
What you did before. I can't... do that.
[He can figure out masturbation. He can brute force his way through that, if he cared. But this is different - this is something he needs a second fiddle for. As if to put too-fine a point on it, his halo brightens for a moment, as if trying to hide how his cheeks do the same. Or maybe guide his attention.]
Just don't bite, or - whatever you did the other night, just do what you did before. You know...
[Somehow, it feels dirtier to talk about it this way. Like it's something sexual that needs to be covered up, even though it's the thing that makes most people look at him in fear or disgust.]
[ The sharp shake of his feathers stunts Denji's actions, his curled grip on Angel slipping. What am I doing wrong? buzzes to mind like the hot singe of touching your thumb too close to a lighter flame, and he considers chucking the question out there in the open, needs to get it off him, out of him, before it burns too deep.
But then, without prompting, and without putting it into plain terms, he's being told exactly what's wrong — that it isn't what Denji's doing, it's what he isn't. Apparently. At least according to what he's able to decipher from Angel's strained direction, from the light shuddering off his halo like a glittering crown, like a sun he can't escape the shadow of. In reaction, he can only muster a complicated stare, confusion clearly conveyed by the uncertain sound weakly droning from his throat, the notes of his voice filling into the space above Angel's head. ]
…This seriously feel better than having your junk squeezed? Stay still.
[ — said, right as a few of his fingers drum at the rounded top of the disc. Just a few gentle beats, as if it might knock it off-center, but nope, it's still as solid and stable as when he last touched him there. He digs his hand into Angel's shoulder, leveraging his height to keep him bent over the toilet seat, bringing his face closer to the exterior of his halo, his breath fogging up the edges. It's not the type of golden material he can see himself reflected in; if he were to describe it, the substance of Angel's halo has a presence more like light and lightness, and it makes him think that if he kisses it, really kisses the ring like it might kiss him back, he could almost taste the warmth of something unknowable, unreachable, pressing against his lips. So that's what Denji does: slides his mouth along the luster of him. ]
This? [ he asks again, but the question feels posed inward. Not something Angel can answer. ]
[Yes, he thinks about insisting. Yes, it feels a lifetime better than having his junk squeezed. It feels a million times better than the electric, unknown sensation of someone else's skin right against his, the buzz with no release, no spark or visible reaction. But Angel doesn't say anything because not even a syllable can escape his throat when Denji's fingers slip under his halo and tap against it, and then he's being pressed further down and his breath catches at the expectation and this time, thank God, it happens. His lips go against it and the electric spark snaps heavy and sudden through him in a way that has a definitive reaction created from that action. Angel's hand fists against the wall and he nods.]
Uh-huh.
[His voice is shaky and a little - giddy. His skin is molten hot. Like it could melt off his frame and sink into a puddle of magma at his feet. Part of him wishes he had gotten him closer to the mirror over the sink but as they are, standing over the toilet, all he can really see is the offshoot of light coming from his halo's reflection off the metal faucet.]
Like before - In there. [If this is how he's going to "forgive" Denji, then that's fine with him. Devils are all about that give-and-take stuff, always scratching someone's back to later get one in return, offering out some kind of peace offering instead of getting bloody for no reason. That's how devils are, and Angel is a devil, after all, so this is a natural progression. His fist skids against the wall as he tries to find support but there's no bar to hold onto and only the toilet basin in front of him. He can't lean too far forward or Denji can't reach him, and he can't move too much because then he's going to stop and ask what he wants or something. How many times does he have to say what he wants?]
Keep - Keep going. [Any shame or embarrassment is washed out for now. Not that he had any to begin with - Devils don't have that. But he's not thinking about that anymore, now that the first spark of true pleasure is racing through his body in a fervent loop. And how much amperage can be pumped into that, he wonders?]
[ For once… For once, the linchpin determination for Denji to keep going, keep his hands in motion, his thoughts braked, has no link to some command shoved at him. Honest to god curiosity is what propels his tongue to circle the full shape of his halo in one long salivating swish, twisting inside Angel like a key turn. It's just so unheard of. Nobody would willingly offer themselves up as a bone for a mutt to gnaw on, maul to pieces, yet here's his shivering form, barely holding himself up on two feet, leaning into him. Spoiled rotten off of it, looking like he might just disappear inside the sensation any second, the way hard candy melts inside an unquenchable mouth.
It's the most unreserved he's ever seen him. The most animated. ]
You're really warming up. [ Strands of Angel's hair lace and tangle through Denji's fingers, tugging the back of his skull with a jerk, trying to pull his halo closer. If that were possible. ] Look, your dick's almost as red as your head. [ Even with his lips wrapped around the curve of his halo, sucking down on it, light illuminating from inside Denji's cheeks as he rolls his tongue from end to end — Denji can still see him. The pre dribbling from him, looking no better than the drops of toilet water coating the seat from all their sloshing about.
Denji breathes out, shakily. ]
Say, what's it — feel like? When I do this. Is it… good enough for you — to wanna touch me back?
[ The last question emerges from the phosphorescent ring with a point so fine, so quietly earnest, it could have risen from the very dwellings playing host to all of Angel's weapons. Could have taken years off Denji's life just to bring the words out into the open. He briefly pauses to rest his tingling lips against the rim, knowing full well that the only thing Angel wants and expects from him is this alone: to act like tonguing him is his only ministry, his life's vocation.
But Denji's always been terrible at compromising his own wants. He's never even kissed anyone with this kind of fervor before. ]
[Angel's knees wobble and clack against each other, his fist skidding against the wall, a desperate search for something to hold him upright in the midst of this assault on every nerve in his body - and then Denji yanks him back by the hair and Angel tilts his head back, blinking up at the sight above him. Even like this he can only barely see it and the sight should be disturbing all the same. Denji, the chainsaw boy, a pervert and a half breed. His lips around his halo, a symbol both of what he is and what he can do. The end point of all the life he's stolen away over how many years of existence - and he's running his tongue along the lip of it like it's the rim of a soda bottle, fizzling with carbonation. He can't comprehend it.]
[This must be what he's after, he thinks, surprisingly sane for the moment as Denji speaks and gives him that temporary break, enough time for synapses to fire successfully before his thoughts are swallowed away again. That nebulous concept of "sex" that he's always talking about, that thing they experienced in that room just a little while ago. And here he is, giving it to Angel. Just because he asked? He even told him he didn't like him.]
[Then his tongue rolls from side to side along the entire length and Angel chokes, his eyes rolling. He stumbles fully backward into him, grasping wildly for some way to stay upright. There's drool on his lips, a single drop sliding down his chin, but he doesn't have the wherewithal to care. It feels like he's getting his brain blended into a smoothie, fried in that air flyer thing. It feels like he's going to explode. He's going to go insane, here. What the hell did he just say?]
[It's a blessing that he stops for Angel to comprehend the words. What does it feel like - He can't answer that. There isn't a phrase that humans have invented yet to summarize this sensation. Does he want to touch Denji back - That, he doesn't fully understand at first. Denji has nothing even comparable to this, unless his chainsaws are even slightly similar and he's been ejaculating over all his enemies this whole time. But he focused so much on touching Angel's cock, and Angel felt his own erection hard against his ass before, grinding into him for that one brief moment, and is that what he means?]
[He must. Angel bobs his head with a nod. Yeah, sure, he'd say if he had the ability to use his tongue, to form a sound from his throat. He likes the idea of touching something that won't die. He wonders if this halo counts as skin. His wings don't feel anything like this, but what if that human can touch this? What if he could sit over him and drag his fingers along the rim, kiss against the edge and - and tell him to lean against him, and to rub his ass against his clothed front, press against him so he can grind against him, just like the Chainsaw boy had done... Could he do that? Is that even possible? Wouldn't he just die? From one wrong move, wouldn't that kill him?]
[He doesn't know. But right now, no one is dead and his breathing is too heavy, too labored to manage more than another nod. He fumbles to reach behind himself with shaky hands and attempts to guide Denji closer, tugging him against him, guiding his clothed body toward his bare rear. Again he gives a third nod, this time with an aborted, short sound to urge him on. He gets it, right? Just rub against him, just like before. Copy the image now cycling cruelly in his mind.]
[ It had been so hard to get him here, drag Angel from wondrous place to place and convince him to see any meaning in it. And now he just won't stay still. His brows knit — the squirming isn't a bad thing in itself, Denji likes it, Denji's body really likes it. But that wayward instinct vibrating in his palms, threatening to turn the curve of his fingers into claw tips, a weapon he doesn't know how to wield? There's something dark and predatory lurking within arm's reach, throwing him off-balance, when Angel rolls his little ass against him. Denji isn't sure if he wants to take its hand.
Devils by and large prefer human gore and fear as a form of sustenance, sure, that's dummy math. The sun rises in the north and sets south. But they've been equally as known to hunt, corner, cannibalize their own for sport, to say nothing of survival. There's no differentiation when you're trying to assert your existence, be remembered by anyone, anything, with a memory. Even if you love steak, every once in a while you'll get a hearty craving for edamame. Neither he nor Pochita have ever been picky with their food.
Maybe that's part of what has his transplanted heart thumping like the wing-beat of a morning bird.
Certainly that's why Denji's breath itches from inside his throat, his handle on Angel's scalp slinking closer to his nape, squeezing him at the hump of his vertebrae. With just enough intention and pressure to displace him from the toilet, he forcibly steers them — straight into the wall, rough, clumsy, stars in his eyes. At least he's got wits available to keep the cleft of Angel's ass anchored to him, rubbed up around his tented crotch while he slides him forward, staggers them both over the side of the sink at a heavy slant.
The mirror's spread as wide as a fancy television screen. If Denji were to tilt his half-lidded gaze just a bit, he'd catch a glimpse of his reflection: gnawing at Angel's neck, swirling a tongue behind the shell of his ear on his way back to revisit his halo with his mouth. The thing baptized in his slobber. But he doesn't want to see it, refuses to look. Tells himself he's satisfied alone off of just feeling it from Angel's every shiver and gasp. Feel that, for his meager understanding of intimacy, he still managed to turn him into this, still managed to teach him something all on his own. Even if the lesson is incomplete. ]
Nnnngh — ugh, hah —
[ Sounds torch his throat, a familiar need flaming his bloodstream. He massages into one of his butt cheeks, the wattage of his brain dimmed, perfectly stupid with easily Angel absorbs the contact of skin to skin, the soft remold and cling of his body to his touch. He could seriously just…
The slap rings loud. Looks loud, too, by the red welting from the imprint of his hand. Did he just do that?
Denji does it again. Harder. Holy freakin' cow sweeps through his mind, but he can't even take a second to look surprised at himself. And he is. He definitely is. It's just he's too hopped up on the motion of his hips, selfishly carrying on humping Angel's backside in spite of the spanking.
Would he be gentler with someone else? Would he know how? Would someone else want that from Denji, ever? Want him pressed to the sink, legs spread in an upside down victory sign. Feeding him a mean hand, then nursing the pain away with a merciful one; atonement, then grace. Who could be on the other side of something like that — that person, too, Denji can't bear to look in the face of. ]
[This all started because of a single kernel of popcorn. Or maybe it was before that - From that night when that human was crying and he reached out to Angel to solve the issue. What if he had said no? If he'd told Denji to deal with this himself, that crying is a human function similar to laughter, to your heart racing. He remembers when Makima brought him here that he had wondered if every day would blend into each other. Killing his own kind, chewing on their remains to satiate some sort of empty feeling inside of him. Using their corpses to feel a sensation that was otherwise forbidden.]
[Then he jumped out that window. Had pants wrapped around his neck. Helped disguise a human as another to buy alcohol - Played card games, told stories. All of those experiences are firsts when he's only used to repetition. Nightmares, killing, eating. Walking, working, sighing. The few firsts he has had are things like touching the hand of someone for so brief a moment that he doesn't even remember what his skin felt like. Just what the lifespan felt like when it spread through his core.]
[When Denji releases his halo, it should mean that he can think a little clearer, but in truth his brain is too far gone for that. He pulls him into the side of the sink and Angel gratefully grabs the edge of it, now fully pushing himself back against Denji, recognizing that the friction is making him act more - touchy. Violent, even. Running his mouth and tongue along different parts, and that, too, feels different from skin on skin. He shivers when it curls around his ear and his grip on his nape makes his hair stand on end and listening to Denji get off, it's actually good. It actually feels really good. It doesn't matter that it's someone he doesn't like - he was right. Humans will pay for sex with strangers, just like how this is a trade. Right? They're both getting something out of -]
Ah!
[Angel's head jolts back, shock and pain in his voice when Denji hits him. He blinks rapidly and for the first time sees himself in the mirror, how Denji stands behind him, the way his body shakes and jerks with each forward push of his hips. The next hit comes and he's not at all prepared for it.]
Ow, oww...
[He hangs his head down into the basin, fingers slipping against cold porcelain as his legs buckle and shiver. His own movements, temporarily paused thanks to the shock of each smack, shakily regain their flow as Angel raises his head again to try and look at him in the mirror, tries to make eye contact even though he isn't looking at him at all. Is just watching him, hovering over him like a vulture watching a rat writhe in its death throes.]
Take - Take off your pants... Hurry up.
[He has the nerve to sound annoyed about this, despite everything that's happened, despite how much more mussed his hair is than usual, how his red face nearly matches the color of his eyes, how his bottom lip is equally blood red from the tension of his teeth. Like he's annoyed Denji got to the bureau late today and they're only just now able to get down to business.]
[He doesn't entirely understand what he's asking for - Just that Denji is getting too into this, too violent, too rough. And this might egg that on more.]
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[And now he's on the floor, surreptitiously thrown from Denji's lap and clattering to the ground with a sudden Oof! Angel reaches down and rubs his ass, raising his head to snap something at him as the buzzing in his ears keeps sounding (wait, since when was there a buzz?) but instead he watches at Denji leaps to his feet and begins cleaning up. Says something insane about a neckrub. Rushes from the room with his bag.]
[Angel looks down at his erection, still tented in his pants.]
[What the fuck.]
[When Denji returns, he's sitting on the edge of the couch, his shirt pulled back on and messily buttoned up and tie loose around his neck. He's trying to fit his wings through his jacket but he's still too oversensitive, even the feeling of the fabric on his chest making his skin tingle, nipples still hard against it and peeking through the thin white cloth. Every shift feels like too much movement. Like when you have a fever and every muscle movement burns. Well, not that he's ever had a fever.]
[Raising his head to look at Denji, he looks dour. Staring at him, knowingly. Completely aware, and more than that - What is it they call this? Blueballed.]
Chainsaw-kun.
[There's a bit of a warning tone to his voice, even if it doesn't carry in his body language. He still looks and feels touchy and anxious, can still vividly imagine the sensation of his tongue on his halo.]
no subject
But then Angel speaks his name — a version of it, at least — like an accusation, and, out of habit, Denji looks up, briefly cringing as soon as his eyes are on him. The lights aren't as dim anymore. In too much detail, he can make out how ruffled his wings look, the feathers spread and puffed in some areas, pressed and scraggly in others. The same can be said for the rest of Angel, but maybe it's not too different from how unseemly he usually looks?
…Maybe, except how could he explain the sweet indents of his nipples still visible through his button-down? The fabric contortion at his fly?
Hurriedly, guiltily, he looks away. ]
Uh, you done in here yet?
[ He's half-inside the doorway, so he casts a glance over his shoulder down the hallway, as if to emphasize an employee could come skulking their way any second to kick them out. Angel is a devil; humans don't generally like those hanging around their place of business — that's the story Denji's going with, anyway. ]
Before we head out, though, you should go… pee. [ He sighs. Finally, a minor acknowledgement. Of what they did and what Denji did. ] It feels better that way. I'll show you where it is.
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Are you stupid?
[He mutters it under his breath before getting to his feet. It's not really meant for Denji but Angel wouldn't admit it was meant for himself, either. His wing finally shoves through the slit in his jacket and he grunts something - not quite in pain or anything, it's just... weird. His whole body feels weird. Which is weird, because he's used to it not feeling like anything at all.]
[In Denji's pocket, there's a buzz of a text message, sent from Aki - Everything going OK? But Angel either doesn't hear it or doesn't care, stepping forward with the expectation that he'll move out of the way. Show him toward this supposed magical bathroom that will give him a moment to compose himself.]
[Of all people, it had to be the Chainsaw boy who can touch him without any negative effect. There's something cruel about it, namely how he knows neither of them gives a shit about the other. Why he's doing this for him today, why he brought him to the apartment the other day... Surely it's for some reason, but not for Angel. And the same with Angel - He didn't come here for Denji's sake. His own sake, if anything. Making the work day easier to deal with when Aki Hayakawa isn't coming in after an awful evening. Experiencing something new. He knows his reasons, clearly. But his - He can't even begin to guess, but surely they aren't altruistic.]
Why did you do that?
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[ He clams up, backing into the door but not moving into the hallway.
Just which does Angel mean by that question: throwing him off or touching him to begin with? Maybe he's going so far as to dig for something else, an explanation for why he planned this trip. Except that doesn't make sense. Angel asked for it. Told him to make it up to him for what he did the night before, the bite — maybe that's it. But he doesn't know why he did that back then, in front of Aki, either. Where the compulsion came from, knowing it'd make the two of them upset with him.
His phone buzzes, saving Denji from further spiraling. He doesn't go for it immediately, uncomfortable under Angel's observation. He fidgets with the device, flipping and rotating it from corner to corner, clearly itching to take a look — which only lasts a total of two seconds before he gives in entirely. ]
Gimme a sec.
[ He's hoping to concentrate his eyes on something that isn't presently glaring a hole through his head, or asking him things that make his temples tense, frontal cortex throb. But then he sees who the text is from. The veins in his neck are practically bursting with how tight his jaw is clenched. His thumbs tap at the screen. ]
not really
[ Nah, even he can tell that's stupid. Backspace, backspace, backspace. ]
kinda sorta?
[ — ah, crap, he pressed send on that. Damn it, ugh, he should just trash this thing. Don't do it, he chastises himself. Play it cool, dude, play it like a grown-up — like Aki would. That's the smart thing to do. Aki doesn't get into trouble.
Grimacing, he pockets his phone again and strides clean past Angel. Without acknowledging his question, completing his answer, or paying attention to the notes of animated cheer and singing through the windows to the other rooms. Totally stone cold. Right, that's an assholish thing he can imagine that guy doing… Acting all in charge, high and mighty. And stuff.
Denji's walking comes to a sudden stop, rounding a corner at the other end of the hallway. ]
Uh, this is it. The toilet.
[ It's small. Only fits one person at a time, but it's not like there's a line, so it's fine. ]
You can go jerk off or something in there.
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[He follows him to the bathroom and is told, in no simpler terms, to jack off into the toilet, and Angel's brow finally rises from its glower into a shocked stare. He's been treated all sorts of ways due to his status as a devil in custody by a governmental organization, but not once has anyone from that framework ever told him to masturbate. And definitely not into the plumbing.]
You can't be serious. [Then again, Denji doesn't exactly represent the organization keeping him stuck here, nor does he especially think in the most sane ways. Still, he can't help this frustration, and being a devil isn't one to question his emotions, especially the negative ones. But it unfortunately leads to him speaking without thinking, curtly saying what's immediately on his mind:] Finish what you started.
[...He huffs. Looks away, glaring at the bathroom door. As if he'd ever - The very idea of it is disgusting. Especially when he compares it to... well, how it felt when Denji was touching him a moment ago. The awkward yet high intensity of it, like a bolt of lightning that couldn't fully find the ground. And why the hell does he get to expose that sensation to him and then skip off scot free while Angel deals with the emotional aftermath?]
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[ Of course, he flinches at that. Cuts his words at a pivotal joint to avoid reaching for a response that'll make this situation worse. Make Denji come off as even more of an ass.
He's not trying to be heartless. He has one of those, a heart, so he knows how to be a good guy. It's not like he was anticipating Angel to jump and whoop at the suggestion, but he — he figured he'd be just as weirded out by the way things went down in their booth. That he would want to clear his head, get away, move on. It's what Denji's accustomed to at least, how he's noticed most of his colleagues and superiors deal with crap, and how he's mostly learned to follow suit.
But Angel isn't human. He's a captive to Public Safety, sort of in the same way Denji, but not really, given that he spends most of his time tucked inside a cell, doing fuck knows. Maybe that's why he's fine with Denji. Fine with settling for him. ]
You're kidding me, [ Denji squints at the spotted ceiling. Pauses long, in case Angel wants to throw out his punchline. Turns out neither one of them can tell a joke, though. ] Just get in there already — here.
[ Stepping forward, he twists the door handle, watches as it easily drifts inward with a nudge. It's one of those flimsy doors that won't stay open on its own, so he holds it wide for Angel to enter.
Inside his pocket, Denji jiggles his phone, hoping, banking on a timely buzz to shred through this moment. Knock some sense into him. ]
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[Denji pushes the door open and motions him inside like a bouncer, leading the way into a dark club. Except this room is uncomfortably bright and the buzz of the fluorescent bulb is the only kind of music aside from the dim hum from the karaoke booths down the hall. Angel still wears a frown as he moves inside, watching Denji carefully, like he expects him to bolt if he takes his eyes off of him. Doing anything inside a bathroom like this isn't exactly his favorite idea, but - but he has no shame. Surely. There's nothing for him to be ashamed of. He's a devil, after all. Why would a devil feel something so human as shame?]
[Standing in the center of the small bathroom, he looks back at Denji over his shoulder.]
You've never done this.
[Said as a statement - He's well aware of his fascination with sex, his desire for it, his need for it. Yet in this moment, he recognizes he rejected it even though Angel wasn't doing anything to stop him. Is it because he has no attraction to him? Is it because he doesn't consider it possible, with a devil? Is it because there's someone else he would prefer?]
[Angel is thinking of those same things. That doing this with a human is ludicrous, even if it's a half-human. That Denji isn't attractive to him. That he would prefer someone else.]
[A creature crawls out of the well deep inside of him, brandishing that harsh truth as a whip. The shame hits him in full force then: that there's someone else he would prefer.]
...Neither have I.
[That's leagues easier to admit.]
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Standing separated from Angel by the sparest degree, off to the side, Denji touches a hand to the sink edge behind him. Either trying to anchor himself from reaching out or keep from wobbling on his feet. ]
Listen, I think, like… Erm, just — this sorta touchy-feely stuff, it's meant for —
[ He struggles with this one, visibly. His mouth freezes open. Closed, then open again. Lovers, he could say, but thinking back on his past relations, he doesn't think Himeno actually even liked him that much compared to who she was really gunning after. Reze? She claimed to be a liar, but told him the truth when she said she wouldn't show to their meeting spot. Makima, well, he still needs to earn the right to ask her out to make things official.
Every time he's thought he was close to finding the girl for him, the greater situation has always spun out of his control. And right now, he feels like he's already in the midst banging around in a washer set to the highest velocity. Dizzy with the memory of Angel's hips dragging against him, the potential to touch him again close at hand, and the possibility that he might really enjoy doing that with another guy. ]
Have you ever had a crush on anyone before?
[ The question crashes out of him with a flip of his stomach. Seemingly without warning, but the truth is, it's what he's been dying to ask ever since Angel readily sat himself in his lap. ]
I heard that touching someone like that feels the best when it's with someone you have a lot of feelings for. And who you know really well. So…
[ Face fully sore from the flush reddening his cheeks, his head ducks. ]
If you think you — l-like me a little, then maybe…
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[...Does he like him?]
[It's two questions back to back that have Angel staring at Denji in obvious surprise. A crush - He doesn't even know what that would mean for something like him. Do devils have crushes? Probably not, that's not exactly up there on their Maslow's hierarchy of needs. That's the sensible answer, but of course combined with what he was already thinking, the uncomfortable thoughts he was just having, that he wished Denji was someone else - No, he doesn't know. He doesn't know if he'd be able to identify such a feeling. He's a devil. Devils don't do those things.]
[So maybe due to that, the second question almost acts as a salve for how easy it is to answer. Has he ever had a crush? He doesn't know. Does he like Denji in that way?]
I don't.
[Were this another situation, he might call him disgusting or remind him about how he chomped down on his halo the other night or how he constantly behaves in gross, annoying ways. But he's currently propositioning him for - for something. So he can't start insulting him.]
...But I don't think that's right. [The idea that touching someone you like feels the best. He'll slide right along from the comment about his (lack of) feelings for Denji.] Humans are always having sex. They'll even pay money for it. So it can't be something limited only to emotional feelings, I think.
[That, and he's had people think he was attractive before, come onto him before they recognized he was a devil and not simply in costume. Surely they didn't want to get to know him or something like that. But thinking about that does remind him... Didn't he say he had a dream about him in swimwear once? He leans against the wall of the bathroom, a few steps away from Denji, though the small single stalled bathroom doesn't offer much more space than that.]
Do you like me like that?
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Uh… You say 'lotta things I don't get, but I like the look of you, kinda.
[ His bangs tilt into his eyes, brown sweeping across the bathroom floor. Looking sheepish, shame-faced. Proving Angel right in the end — that emotions don't have to play into anything they're after. He doesn't work with Angel in his day to day. They're not buddies. They hardly have anything in common. If not for their obligations to Public Safety, to other people, the two of them would barely have any reason to converse, much less stand in the same vicinity.
All Angel wants from him is a hand. Someone to stand there, like how Meowy claws her nails down a scratching post as an outlet for excess energy.
When he was last in here, he'd put the toilet seat down to be considerate of the next occupant, but now as he moves, he flips it up, careless. Waves Angel over with glancing at him, standing to the side to leave him room to slot in front of the toilet. Finish what you started, he said to him. That's not hard. Denji's done that for himself thousands of times. He's more concerned about whether Angel can aim or not. ]
So what, you just want me to feel you up? Tug on your dick?
[ As soon as the devil gets within proximity, Denji squints at his distance from the toilet, then, with an annoyed sigh, curls a finger through one of his belt loops. Yanks him a step forward. After which, he opens his palm up to Angel, like he's waiting for some change to drop in his hand or something. Of course, what he's expecting is something weightier. ]
Well? If I'm doing this, the least you can do is pull your own fly down.
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[This is exactly what he was just talking about, Angel reasons to himself - That humans have attractions to things without it necessarily being emotionally-driven. And in this situation, when Angel is just trying to get this one thing, searching out this one experience that no one else can give him, well, let him call it serendipity, that this can happen.]
[He moves forward slowly when Denji motions him, then stumbles when he's dragged into position by his belt loop.] Hey...! [He steadies himself in front of the toilet, blinking down at it as he comes to a sudden understanding: Denji intended for him to masturbate into this. Truth be told, maybe they have more in common than he wants to admit, because Denji says a lot of things Angel doesn't get, too.]
[He holds his hand out and Angel frowns, lip pressing out into something like a pout. "Tug on his dick" sounds so simple when he says it like that, but isn't that what he wanted before? He undoes his belt and then pulls his pants open, his fingers moving awkwardly about it, like he's unused to the act of undressing.]
I don't know what I want... I've never done anything like this.
[It's a white lie. He understands the notion of masturbation and it feels like he's done something like that before, but he can't remember anything specific. It's like asking if he's ever peed sitting down: probably, though he couldn't name a specific date and time.]
But you do this sort of thing all the time, right? What do you do?
[And he pulls his dick out as he speaks, still half hard but small. Along with not having much physical experience with himself, he has no comparative experience with others. He's seen nude devils and fiends but never considered their private parts. So there's no pride nor shame as he reveals himself, no discomfort aside from the simple discomfort from standing over a toilet and anticipating something that's about to happen. He pushes his pants down an inch to free himself a little more, sliding his briefs down to let his dick fall free, hanging in the air over the bowl.]
I mean, whatever you did before felt good... So just do that.
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Yeah, alright. Since you're so clueless.
[ He's one to talk, of course. Everything about this is a huge question mark to him. What do you do when see another guy half-naked, wrinkled shirt hem swaying over his milk-cream thighs and cock drooping in his hands? When Denji jerks off, there's never been anyone else in the room. So he's always had to — oh, that's it. ]
When it's just me… [ He hesitates, then inches behind Angel, sneakers squeaking. They're not as close as when they were in the karaoke room together, but the proximity is still enough for his breaths to brush the curve of his ear. Sensitive to every shiver of his wings shifting the air in the rift between them. ] First things first, I gotta think of someone. 'cause this is stuff that feels better if you're not alone, so like, I gotta — imagine a pretty girl is there with me, I guess. [ Though there have been plenty of times where it hadn't needed to be a girl. Hell, just a while ago, he was beating off to Angel in this very restroom. But he can't confess to that. ] What face she's making. If she's wearing anything sexy, doing something special, saying something nice to me.
[ If Denji knew more about foreplay, or even stopped to think about why it matters to take your time exploring another person, maybe he'd consider touching Angel somewhere else to start them off. His chest again. Maybe harassing the slope of his ass, groping him, digging his nails into that pleasant valley. But the part of him that's still mildly panicked by the situation, still agitated knowing that Angel doesn't care about him, that if he's playing along, he's imagining someone better than him — yeah, that part instead reaches around Angel's waist. He grabs his wrist, tight, not because he's trying to hurt him, but give himself more precision as he clumsily begins guiding the movement of Angel's hand down his shaft. ]
This sorta thing takes concentration, but it's gotta be the right amount, or else, uh… You'll be too stiff. And it won't feel as good.
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[But he's the one who put him up to this, reason reminds him. He coaxed Denji into this, and he's the one who told him to finish what he started. Fingers twitching and unsteady, he wraps his hand around himself and - strokes. Just once. Following the guiding drag of Denji's hand, he tells himself he's simply playing along, trying to understand this sensation. There are no women for him to think of, thanks to not knowing any to fantasize about (Makima has no sense of allure to him and he's not sure Power can be anything but a destructive, annoying terror... And he doesn't even know who that crybaby human woman is), but when he broadens the approach to think of men, well... Denji is an immediate rejection. He's boorish, odd, and rude. Beam, just as much. Violence - No, he has no sense of connection to the fiend. Kishibe? His lip twitches in slight disgust. Absolutely not, the drunk - Last time Angel saw him he smelled like rotten eggs. Which only leaves...]
[Well. He's seen that human nude before. With his hair down, dripping down his back as he wrapped a bandage around his thigh. Ignoring Angel's comments about exposed skin. Looking at him sidelong over his shoulder when he asked him if it hurt that bad. Then a vague shrug, as if to say, What's it matter. That solitary wrapping covering his skin, shielding it and protecting it - it's not as if he hadn't imagined running his fingers over the layers, feeling the warmth of blood seeping into the gauze.]
[He swallows. Releases his grip on himself before he can allow anything more. Too disturbed by the images his mind supplies.]
Feels... [He mumbles it, shifting his weight between his feet, his free hand grabbing at the waist of his pants. Angel stares down into the toilet bowl, frown deeply etched into his face, just like that rippling scar he saw a few days later still racing over his thigh. Now exposed and vulnerable.] I don't get it.
[He should have just imagined Spider.]
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He's only curious about Angel's feelings because it's what he wanted, wasn't it, it's why he's tolerating having Denji cooped up next to him like a tin fish. He doesn't convey a hint of impatience with his poor attempts to tutor him, at least. Which could be a sign that he's taking his advice to heart, or could also mean Denji's the farthest thing from Angel's mind. Forget that he's the one standing closest to him, less than a hair's breadths away. ]
Don't get what?
[ Denji presses, fingers tightening, not allowing Angel's hand to drop after releasing himself. ]
Try again until you do, then. You barely moved. [ His palm slides over his back knuckles, gently trying to steer him back to his cock. ] You sure you're imagining the right person?
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[He turns his head, away from where Denji is leaning over his shoulder. Frustrated, annoyed. Pointless, he wants to argue. You wouldn't get it. This boy, he's spent his life being rejected, But Angel has never even been allowed to ask.]
I can't imagine anyone, because they'd just die.
[His blunt, unkind answer is all he says for a moment. Staring at the wall beside the toilet, at the spot where it meets the floor, the moulding peeling at one point, he finally pulls his hand from Denji's grip, attempting to turn the situation - Grab Denji's hand instead, pull it toward him, clumsily drag it into the same position. A moody, petulant demand is next.]
You do it.
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[ His lips tug into a frown as Angel rejects his urging. Increasingly, he wonders — what's the point?
Fed up, he could drop both their hands, clean himself of this confusing venture. He'd lead them out of this back alley place, returning them to the main roads where the traffic lights flicker red, yellow, green, pedestrians wait for their turn to cross, and everything makes the same amount of sense it did before. No more questions. No more mythic stories, just the same boulder they edge forward day in day out. But maybe it's better that way, has Angel ever thought of that? When there's an obstacle so large you can't see over the top, you don't have to anticipate the end to begin with. Angel would head back into Public Safety without looking back at him. He'd take the train in a daze, miss his stop, then have to shamble the long way back. He'd open the door to Power laid up on the couch, balancing the cat on her hands and feet. He'd say, "I'm home." Would Aki be setting up the table as he walked in? Would he ask him how things went? Reach for his head, tell him good job, if Denji told him the partial truth? The whole of it?
No, probably not.
He nearly jerks out of his skin at the sudden pull, Angel's hand small but insistent about wrapping Denji's palm around his cock. His full fist nearly envelops him in a single curl of his fingers. ]
What the — me? Are you crazy?!
[ And yet for his snarling, he doesn't let go. Angel looks put off enough Denji can't tell which he resents more: him, for being the only one who can do this without going cold and limp, or the fact that he has to make the demand. He struggles to react, mouth agape; after a moment, a sharp sound of disdain cuts out of his throat. ]
Just because you can feel it and I can't die, doesn't mean you're gonna get off. You — have to like it.
[ With that hanging in the air, Denji's gaze tilts over Angel's shoulder, expression flurrying with a motley of mixed emotions. He'd tried to remove himself from the equation by just holding on to his wrist, but now that he can't anymore…
Hesitantly, he scoots in. His hand roams, tugging up, burying Angel's head into the curve of his palm. He didn't notice him leaking yet — it'll make things easier if he can work some precome out of him. He knows this because he's great at masturbating. And because he's great at masturbating, he doesn't need to marvel at how hot and firm a cock can get just from fitting through a fist. How another guy's skin feels this silky, this pliable. Doesn't need to at all. ]
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[Because it wasn't what brought out that feeling. The heat, he remembers suddenly and vividly. The heat that made his body go limp and his brain go white. He hadn't been thinking about Denji being Denji at all during that, didn't care that it was him and, truthfully, barely thought about him at all. Whether that was because it felt so good he didn't have to think or because he couldn't, he doesn't know, but those kinds of things aren't important. It all lines up yet, when Angel opens his mouth, his lips feel dry. Cheeks red.]
[He'd kicked Denji for that the first time. Felt like he was going to die. What if he does it like that again, suddenly and in a way that hurts and stings and feels terrible? Will he up and ditch him, tell him to jerk off on his own again? Ugh, relying on others is such a pain. He huffs out a long breath before pressing himself back into Denji, tilting his head back to look at him, using the angle he's turned at to his advantage so he can stare at him directly. If he asks it nice enough, maybe he'll do it nicely, too.]
Do what you did before.
[...That doesn't sound nice, actually. He quickly flits through a couple memories, trying to rememebr what the nicest way to ask for something is. A hand holding out a plastic-wrapped cone, staring at him expectantly but not releasing it until he says the right word.]
...Please?
[Something like that.]
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Only since you said please.
[ At his doe-eyed imploring, which he can more or less recognize as a means to an end, one he can't judge him for — there's a mute sigh, Denji's mouth shifting, hiding away inside Angel's wrinkled collar. His weight could frankly bowl him over if he wanted to, but he only crams up into him enough to make his torso hunch, slightly tip him over the toilet. Taking aim for him. Doing the nice thing — he doesn't want to think about what would happen if he left Angel to his own devices for this. He doesn't know what he would resort to, who he would reach his hand out to instead, like before with the human girl. He doesn't want to think about what he'd be missing out on, either, but that's a secret just for Denji. Besides, if Angel's partner, or anyone in Public Safety for that matter, catches wind of their mischief today, he has a feeling he knows who the fall guy is going to be. He'd rather not add an extra foot to his grave. ]
Pay attention. [ Fingers curved into a claw, his touch draws down the length of Angel in a continuous stroke, he ring of his fist presses up his crown, scrunching the wet skin there and squeezing pre out the top — not satisfied until he sees him brimming, the drops pooling together in a thick and mucusy dot that oozes down his sides. Then he lets his palm slip over his sticky top, dragging back down to coat his shaft. ] So you don't gotta ask me to do it for you next time.
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I don't - I said...
[Do what you did before. Doesn't he know what he means? Does he not recognize how different it was? That this time, it was okay? He wraps his fingers around Denji's wrist to not quite stop him but to try and make it clear that no, this wasn't what he said.]
What you did before. I can't... do that.
[He can figure out masturbation. He can brute force his way through that, if he cared. But this is different - this is something he needs a second fiddle for. As if to put too-fine a point on it, his halo brightens for a moment, as if trying to hide how his cheeks do the same. Or maybe guide his attention.]
Just don't bite, or - whatever you did the other night, just do what you did before. You know...
[Somehow, it feels dirtier to talk about it this way. Like it's something sexual that needs to be covered up, even though it's the thing that makes most people look at him in fear or disgust.]
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But then, without prompting, and without putting it into plain terms, he's being told exactly what's wrong — that it isn't what Denji's doing, it's what he isn't. Apparently. At least according to what he's able to decipher from Angel's strained direction, from the light shuddering off his halo like a glittering crown, like a sun he can't escape the shadow of. In reaction, he can only muster a complicated stare, confusion clearly conveyed by the uncertain sound weakly droning from his throat, the notes of his voice filling into the space above Angel's head. ]
…This seriously feel better than having your junk squeezed? Stay still.
[ — said, right as a few of his fingers drum at the rounded top of the disc. Just a few gentle beats, as if it might knock it off-center, but nope, it's still as solid and stable as when he last touched him there. He digs his hand into Angel's shoulder, leveraging his height to keep him bent over the toilet seat, bringing his face closer to the exterior of his halo, his breath fogging up the edges. It's not the type of golden material he can see himself reflected in; if he were to describe it, the substance of Angel's halo has a presence more like light and lightness, and it makes him think that if he kisses it, really kisses the ring like it might kiss him back, he could almost taste the warmth of something unknowable, unreachable, pressing against his lips. So that's what Denji does: slides his mouth along the luster of him. ]
This? [ he asks again, but the question feels posed inward. Not something Angel can answer. ]
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Uh-huh.
[His voice is shaky and a little - giddy. His skin is molten hot. Like it could melt off his frame and sink into a puddle of magma at his feet. Part of him wishes he had gotten him closer to the mirror over the sink but as they are, standing over the toilet, all he can really see is the offshoot of light coming from his halo's reflection off the metal faucet.]
Like before - In there. [If this is how he's going to "forgive" Denji, then that's fine with him. Devils are all about that give-and-take stuff, always scratching someone's back to later get one in return, offering out some kind of peace offering instead of getting bloody for no reason. That's how devils are, and Angel is a devil, after all, so this is a natural progression. His fist skids against the wall as he tries to find support but there's no bar to hold onto and only the toilet basin in front of him. He can't lean too far forward or Denji can't reach him, and he can't move too much because then he's going to stop and ask what he wants or something. How many times does he have to say what he wants?]
Keep - Keep going. [Any shame or embarrassment is washed out for now. Not that he had any to begin with - Devils don't have that. But he's not thinking about that anymore, now that the first spark of true pleasure is racing through his body in a fervent loop. And how much amperage can be pumped into that, he wonders?]
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It's the most unreserved he's ever seen him. The most animated. ]
You're really warming up. [ Strands of Angel's hair lace and tangle through Denji's fingers, tugging the back of his skull with a jerk, trying to pull his halo closer. If that were possible. ] Look, your dick's almost as red as your head. [ Even with his lips wrapped around the curve of his halo, sucking down on it, light illuminating from inside Denji's cheeks as he rolls his tongue from end to end — Denji can still see him. The pre dribbling from him, looking no better than the drops of toilet water coating the seat from all their sloshing about.
Denji breathes out, shakily. ]
Say, what's it — feel like? When I do this. Is it… good enough for you — to wanna touch me back?
[ The last question emerges from the phosphorescent ring with a point so fine, so quietly earnest, it could have risen from the very dwellings playing host to all of Angel's weapons. Could have taken years off Denji's life just to bring the words out into the open. He briefly pauses to rest his tingling lips against the rim, knowing full well that the only thing Angel wants and expects from him is this alone: to act like tonguing him is his only ministry, his life's vocation.
But Denji's always been terrible at compromising his own wants. He's never even kissed anyone with this kind of fervor before. ]
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[This must be what he's after, he thinks, surprisingly sane for the moment as Denji speaks and gives him that temporary break, enough time for synapses to fire successfully before his thoughts are swallowed away again. That nebulous concept of "sex" that he's always talking about, that thing they experienced in that room just a little while ago. And here he is, giving it to Angel. Just because he asked? He even told him he didn't like him.]
[Then his tongue rolls from side to side along the entire length and Angel chokes, his eyes rolling. He stumbles fully backward into him, grasping wildly for some way to stay upright. There's drool on his lips, a single drop sliding down his chin, but he doesn't have the wherewithal to care. It feels like he's getting his brain blended into a smoothie, fried in that air flyer thing. It feels like he's going to explode. He's going to go insane, here. What the hell did he just say?]
[It's a blessing that he stops for Angel to comprehend the words. What does it feel like - He can't answer that. There isn't a phrase that humans have invented yet to summarize this sensation. Does he want to touch Denji back - That, he doesn't fully understand at first. Denji has nothing even comparable to this, unless his chainsaws are even slightly similar and he's been ejaculating over all his enemies this whole time. But he focused so much on touching Angel's cock, and Angel felt his own erection hard against his ass before, grinding into him for that one brief moment, and is that what he means?]
[He must. Angel bobs his head with a nod. Yeah, sure, he'd say if he had the ability to use his tongue, to form a sound from his throat. He likes the idea of touching something that won't die. He wonders if this halo counts as skin. His wings don't feel anything like this, but what if that human can touch this? What if he could sit over him and drag his fingers along the rim, kiss against the edge and - and tell him to lean against him, and to rub his ass against his clothed front, press against him so he can grind against him, just like the Chainsaw boy had done... Could he do that? Is that even possible? Wouldn't he just die? From one wrong move, wouldn't that kill him?]
[He doesn't know. But right now, no one is dead and his breathing is too heavy, too labored to manage more than another nod. He fumbles to reach behind himself with shaky hands and attempts to guide Denji closer, tugging him against him, guiding his clothed body toward his bare rear. Again he gives a third nod, this time with an aborted, short sound to urge him on. He gets it, right? Just rub against him, just like before. Copy the image now cycling cruelly in his mind.]
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Devils by and large prefer human gore and fear as a form of sustenance, sure, that's dummy math. The sun rises in the north and sets south. But they've been equally as known to hunt, corner, cannibalize their own for sport, to say nothing of survival. There's no differentiation when you're trying to assert your existence, be remembered by anyone, anything, with a memory. Even if you love steak, every once in a while you'll get a hearty craving for edamame. Neither he nor Pochita have ever been picky with their food.
Maybe that's part of what has his transplanted heart thumping like the wing-beat of a morning bird.
Certainly that's why Denji's breath itches from inside his throat, his handle on Angel's scalp slinking closer to his nape, squeezing him at the hump of his vertebrae. With just enough intention and pressure to displace him from the toilet, he forcibly steers them — straight into the wall, rough, clumsy, stars in his eyes. At least he's got wits available to keep the cleft of Angel's ass anchored to him, rubbed up around his tented crotch while he slides him forward, staggers them both over the side of the sink at a heavy slant.
The mirror's spread as wide as a fancy television screen. If Denji were to tilt his half-lidded gaze just a bit, he'd catch a glimpse of his reflection: gnawing at Angel's neck, swirling a tongue behind the shell of his ear on his way back to revisit his halo with his mouth. The thing baptized in his slobber. But he doesn't want to see it, refuses to look. Tells himself he's satisfied alone off of just feeling it from Angel's every shiver and gasp. Feel that, for his meager understanding of intimacy, he still managed to turn him into this, still managed to teach him something all on his own. Even if the lesson is incomplete. ]
Nnnngh — ugh, hah —
[ Sounds torch his throat, a familiar need flaming his bloodstream. He massages into one of his butt cheeks, the wattage of his brain dimmed, perfectly stupid with easily Angel absorbs the contact of skin to skin, the soft remold and cling of his body to his touch. He could seriously just…
The slap rings loud. Looks loud, too, by the red welting from the imprint of his hand. Did he just do that?
Denji does it again. Harder. Holy freakin' cow sweeps through his mind, but he can't even take a second to look surprised at himself. And he is. He definitely is. It's just he's too hopped up on the motion of his hips, selfishly carrying on humping Angel's backside in spite of the spanking.
Would he be gentler with someone else? Would he know how? Would someone else want that from Denji, ever? Want him pressed to the sink, legs spread in an upside down victory sign. Feeding him a mean hand, then nursing the pain away with a merciful one; atonement, then grace. Who could be on the other side of something like that — that person, too, Denji can't bear to look in the face of. ]
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[Then he jumped out that window. Had pants wrapped around his neck. Helped disguise a human as another to buy alcohol - Played card games, told stories. All of those experiences are firsts when he's only used to repetition. Nightmares, killing, eating. Walking, working, sighing. The few firsts he has had are things like touching the hand of someone for so brief a moment that he doesn't even remember what his skin felt like. Just what the lifespan felt like when it spread through his core.]
[When Denji releases his halo, it should mean that he can think a little clearer, but in truth his brain is too far gone for that. He pulls him into the side of the sink and Angel gratefully grabs the edge of it, now fully pushing himself back against Denji, recognizing that the friction is making him act more - touchy. Violent, even. Running his mouth and tongue along different parts, and that, too, feels different from skin on skin. He shivers when it curls around his ear and his grip on his nape makes his hair stand on end and listening to Denji get off, it's actually good. It actually feels really good. It doesn't matter that it's someone he doesn't like - he was right. Humans will pay for sex with strangers, just like how this is a trade. Right? They're both getting something out of -]
Ah!
[Angel's head jolts back, shock and pain in his voice when Denji hits him. He blinks rapidly and for the first time sees himself in the mirror, how Denji stands behind him, the way his body shakes and jerks with each forward push of his hips. The next hit comes and he's not at all prepared for it.]
Ow, oww...
[He hangs his head down into the basin, fingers slipping against cold porcelain as his legs buckle and shiver. His own movements, temporarily paused thanks to the shock of each smack, shakily regain their flow as Angel raises his head again to try and look at him in the mirror, tries to make eye contact even though he isn't looking at him at all. Is just watching him, hovering over him like a vulture watching a rat writhe in its death throes.]
Take - Take off your pants... Hurry up.
[He has the nerve to sound annoyed about this, despite everything that's happened, despite how much more mussed his hair is than usual, how his red face nearly matches the color of his eyes, how his bottom lip is equally blood red from the tension of his teeth. Like he's annoyed Denji got to the bureau late today and they're only just now able to get down to business.]
[He doesn't entirely understand what he's asking for - Just that Denji is getting too into this, too violent, too rough. And this might egg that on more.]