[ 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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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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.]