windfall | unfortunately, like a fool, i said, "it's not like i want to let you go"

unfortunately, like a fool, i said, "it's not like i want to let you go"

( continued from here! )

[ Denji stares up Aki's way, visibly annoyed, as she brooks another crest of colorless smoke invading her senses, slender tendrils ghosting over their heads, nearly transparent in the lamplight. This nicotine-addicted slag. Always with the insults… It means kissing! She kissed them! What other meaning could make out have? Still, she roughly erases what characters she was writing (she'd forgotten midway what the stroke pattern to one kanji was), decorating her report in rubber shavings. ]

I mean, you saw Emi-chan's stuff. A bunch of her dresses and skirts looked kinda itchy, but she had some grown-up outfits in the very, very back!

[ Instead of writing what she took, her pencil draws a series of doodles across the page: some peanut snacks, a bottle of tea looted from the mini fridge, a vial that she kindly labels as pirfume, and then the garment bag. ]

So I took one, since I don't got a whole lotta those. [ Most of her closet is filled with clothes from the secondhand store… and some secondhand straight from Aki's own wardrobe. For example, the tanktop she's wearing under her blouse right now. ] It's gonna make my rack look suuuper sexy on me, and then guys will be linin' up outside our apartment to take me on dates to the zoo and all that!

[ No, Denji doesn't know what the proper attire is for a zoo date. ]

…'course I'm not gonna go, seeing as I'm already taken. But you get the idea. What'd you get?

[ If she's remembering correctly, Aki's hands didn't look as full as her own walking out of the dressing room. Did she not take anything and now she's regretting it? ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...She thinks Aki is prettier than an idol? Aki looks openly shocked when she says that, her eyebrows raised high especially when she asks that question.]

Like...

[Is Denji pretty like an idol? Absolutely not. She has her own kind of charm. A tomboyish girl with a dirty mouth despite how she can speak politely and properly when it benefits her. She's a gutter rat without any actual understanding of human society. But she thinks out for certain things that Aki simply wouldn't - making sure Meowy isn't eating too much table food, refusing to do things if it puts a woman in danger... Okay, maybe they're not exactly for noble reasons, but still.]

[It's almost impossible to answer that question honestly, considering how she's been all night about her alleged date. If she just told her, No, you look like a wet dog most of the time, would she react badly?]

[And why does Aki care that she might?]

You seriously think I'm prettier than her?

[So she dodges the question in favor of the first statement.]

I don't even wear make-up. [Or frilly dresses or whatever.]

[ Aki's evasion wouldn't normally be noteworthy enough to dent her notice, but that's not the case this time, solely because of her own delusion: she'd been expecting to hear surefire agreement. So when she doesn't, and when it occurs to her she isn't going to, Denji purses her lips before pulling her gaze back forward just in time to watch Emi-chan throw up a peace sign with a handsome fan.

Cameras flash. Her posture hunches. Elbow propped up by a knee, her cheek smushes to her palm. If Aki's not going to tell her what she wants to hear, she'll just supply her own answer, damn it. ]

So what? I basically didn't start wearing any 'til tonight and I'm still popular with the dudes.

[ Dudes that blow her up, blow her off, or make her regret kissing anything other than the side of her closed fist… But dudes, either way.

Has Aki ever had to deal with stuff like that?

Somehow, this is the thought that deepens Denji's scowl. ]

Eugh, you actin' all surprised is giving me the creeps! 'course, you're pretty. And I'm sure all sorts of guys have tried to get into your pants because of it. You don't gotta play dumb, y'know.

[Why does she always insist on things that are factually untrue...? The only dudes she's gotten close to are Power who tried to kill her once and that bomb guy who also tried to kill her once. What is her reasoning behind thinking she's popular with men??]

[But despite staring at her with a heavy frown, Aki finally turns her gaze away and back to the TV, trying to ignore the obvious change in Denji's demeanor. She's so annoying...]

I wouldn't call you "pretty."

[A common tactic: begin with an insult so the follow-up complement isn't as special.]

"Cute" - Sure, though.

[ …Okay. ]

You're drunk.

[ That's the second time she's accused Aki of intoxication, but what else is she supposed to say? What can Denji even get away with saying without revealing the complicated mix of emotions that illuminates her face in an overly bright red. The way her nose wrinkles, thankfully, just makes her seem irritated. ]

I still don't get it. What's the difference — between me and Emi-chan? You and me?

I'm not drunk.

[That gets snapped this time, Aki clearly annoyed by the repeated insistence. She's only had two beers, what kind of constitution does Denji think she has?! She leans back to look at her, frustration obvious as she keeps picking at this topic. What is up with her? Has no one ever called her cute in her life? Does she even recognize how annoying she is right now? The answer to both is probably a resounding No but even knowing that, Aki is getting sick of her bullshit.]

Cuteness is different, it's... It's more about... [Ugh, this is so stupid. She drags her eyes away from Denji, back to the screen. She's on stage now, a far shot as she does some kind of dance, but the music is covered by the news anchors talking.] Someone being pretty is conventionally attractive. Someone on a magazine, or whatever. But cuteness...

[She frowns. Taps the edge of her beer can, half empty. One and a half drinks, then.]

Cuteness, it's like... Haven't you ever heard anyone say that something's so cute, they want to gobble it up?

[She squeezes the can slightly, the aluminum creaking under her grip.]

You kind of want to bite it or squeeze it, because it's so cute... Not that you want to hurt it - But you need some kind of outlet for that. Someone being pretty, you don't feel that.

[And she takes a drink. Like that just so succinctly explained everything.]

What the — you wanna eat me?!

[ Perhaps Aki should choose her words more wisely next time, because Denji's face twists in distress, like the impact of her explanation has made a permanent fissure in her skull. It's not as if she doesn't know what cute things are, what it's like to find things cute and have these weird impulses associated with the feeling — Pochita's existence was basically that to Denji. So, yeah. That's all fine and dandy to her. The problem has to do with the lack of distinction — isn't this too similar to how someone would treat a kid's plush? A housepet? She's not imagining things here, right?

Well, either way, the inside of her senpai's mind sure is a scary place…

And yet, in spite of her knee-jerk impressions, skepticism over her supposed sobriety, and the gnawing sense she should be leaning away from the other women — or, at least, serving her a glass of tap water to balance out the alcohol — Denji continues prodding the bear. ]

…For the record, I'm not lettin' you beat me up or whatever it is you wanna do to me. And I'll let all the weird, not-drunk stuff you said slide if you just — just get into the nitty-gritty! Like, what about me's cute? So that I know what I needa fix or whatever.

[Ugh, she's so needy. And of course she immediately assumes Aki is being literal with the eating thing. Surely she understands the concept, right?! Aki wants to get up and go back to her room and ignore all of this, doesn't want to get into it, doesn't want to care but - but does she seriously not get it?! Is she this stupid...?]

You don't need to fix anything. Why would you need to fix it? Being cute is good - There's nothing to fix, you dumbass.

[Her temper is wearing thin, helped along by the rest of the beer. Something inside her tells her to crush the can and really give Denji the sign to get out of here before she says something actually stupid, but...]

...Your eyes, those are cute.

[She turns to look at her, still frowning, speaking like she's naming negatives instead of offering complements.]

You can get all wide-eyed sometimes, and that's cute. To some people. And your mannerisms - Some people would call those cute, too. The way you walk, or the way you move around. It's not pretty, but it's cute.

[She scoffs, as if suddenly realizing what she's saying. Why does she have to do this? It's not like she'll care about her opinions on this, anyway. Because Aki's opinion is, simply, that nothing needs fixing.]

It's not bad, to be cute instead of pretty. Some people prefer that.

[ Every bullet in Aki's armory of compliments bombards her like projectiles from a cannon. Her eyes bulge, fully round — of course, until Aki points out that's apparently a cute, charming (she never said that), and alluring (also, never came close to saying that) quality hers. Then, she squints them. Leaves her jaw dropped open, though, and it remains unhinged that way the entire time she's being told off, soft noises crackling from a soundbox that's usually so glib and unrestrained.

She is being told off, isn't she? At least, that's what she believes is happening here. Thinks. Can only assume. There's just, there's no way her hardass coworker would seriously care about her enough to pay that much attention to how she walks, or take record of all these details she, herself, has never thought twice about… Like, that'd be so weird.

So what kind of creep does that make Denji? For her ears to tingle like she just swallowed a whole bunch of those pea-like spices Aki sometimes uses when making curry, for her stomach to lurch in excitement and panic rolled into one bottomless pit, just from being yelled at. Ugh, she feels gross. Sticky, her whole chest gunked in a sweet residue. Like the warm current that seizes someone when they hear song on the radio they know they're going to put on loop for the next hour, the next day, the next rest of their lives.

So this is what an idol fan must feel like.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Denji fully turns her body toward her, close enough to smell the tang of cheap booze on her breath. She moves on all fours, pitching over Aki's legs, a hand braced fast against a squishy thigh so she doesn't have to worry about slamming into the table in the rush — ]

Actually.

[ There's a snap and hiss from the third beer can she opens. It's warm, probably gone flat from being out too long. She nudges it toward Aki. ]

I prefer it when you drink. It's cute. 'cause your face gets red like spicy ramen soup and — and your eyes look like you can barely make them stay open. [ Look! Denji knows how to pay compliments, too! ] So, um, you should keep sayin' nice stuff about me.

[The way Denji is staring at her is nervewracking. Like an animal that's about to attack, about to hiss and snarl and yowl at her for something or other. She's trying to be nice, here - Why is Denji scowling at her like that, her jaw dropped and eyes squinted like she's trying to find the most choice word to use to tell her off?]

[But that word never comes, since she's climbing over Aki instead. Aki leans back in shock, the crack of the beer can drawing her eyes before she remembers to look at the girl attacking her right now. Attacking her, she assumed, but no, she's just telling her...]

I'm not - I'm not even drunk right now...!

[Her face might be as red as spicy ramen, but it's certainly not (just) from beer. Seriously, what is going on with her tonight? She briefly looks at the beer, how Denji nudges it at her. Is her aim really just to get her to say nice things...? But why does she have to do that in this position?!]

Do you think telling me I look like a dope when drunk is a similar complement? You're such a brat... [She leans back a little further, dropping down onto her elbows to avoid being face-to-face with her.] Are you that desperate for someone to call you cute that you'll settle on...

[But they're close like this. A lot closer than usual. And Denji is right up against her, in her face, even as she's leaned back to try and avoid her heavy stare. Waiting. All she's missing is the wagging tail.]

...Your lips.

[And then there's a pause, like she's not sure what else to add to that.]

Those are cute, too.

[ Throughout the name-calling and degradation chucked her way, she re-seats herself. Presses apart Aki's legs to make room for her butt to wiggle and squish in, feet sliding widely outward on either side of Aki, thus drawing her knees into a little shrine for her thighs to meet. She only seems to acknowledge what she says at the very end, once she's comfortable and once Aki's done as requested — it's at that point, a pang of sweetness swells and swims deep in her belly, shooting up like a molten eruption to her cheeks.

Her lashes lower. She holds the beer can by the ridge between her knees, tapping the side against her leg, not careful at all how it swishes about, droplets wetting its body. ]

If you really think that…

[ She fiddles with the can again, twisting it round and round. She peers back up at Aki, repaying the intent in her gaze with her own. ]

D'zzat mean you like me?

[ The like between two girls versus that of a girl and a boy. That should look different, mean different things, lead to different outcomes. But it's weird, right now she can't help but think — that Aki's pink lips are way too shiny from taking her last sip earlier. She should probably wipe that off with something. ]

Even if I look like shit? And my face is yucky looking? Or my undies have holes in 'em, or if…

[ The list disintegrates in silence, not because she's run the gamut of what could be wrong with a half-devil being like her; there's simply too much. She thinks of what it was like, to stand on the moving car as Reze told her with the utmost sincerity that he liked her, and Aki growled at her to not to be so gullible. Don't believe the enemy. ]

You gotta kill me someday.

[Like her...?]

[As a human being - Maybe? Denji's kind of nasty and uncouth and annoying but it's not like she hates her. And it sure doesn't help when she starts listing her downsides, putting herself down like she usually does. It's weird, for someone so full of herself, that she's so content to repeat whatever cruelties others have told her. Aki pulls herself upright, reaching to take the can away from her - until she suddenly finishes with that line.]

Kill you?

[She pulls the can away and sets it on the table, setting her legs open on either side of her to allow Denji to sit between them. Is this about the "'til death do us part" thing Makima said awhile ago? Has she been thinking Aki is going to be the one to kill her if she steps out of line or something?]

I wasn't planning on it. You'll probably live a lot longer than I will, anyway.

[ Like still snow that hasn't before been tracked through, unfamiliar with what it hasn't been robbed of yet, Denji considers the remaining tenure to Aki's life with deathly blankness. How long has it been since she stood outside that hospital room? Last thought about what it'd feel like when Aki's neck, warm and pulsing with blood, finally hits the chopping block? They've known each other an extra few months since then; Aki's seen her cut her teeth into devil guts too many times to count, Denji's watched her burn through smoking alternatives after quitting cold turkey. And in that time…

Surely, something's changed. Must have if she's here sitting in the woman's lap, willingly. She just isn't certain if it matters. ]

Probably. [ Heels digging into the curve of Aki's hips, Denji drags herself forward, nearly putting them chest to chest, breath to breath. Has to tip her chin up to look at her, just like that time they were lost in the shafts of that stupid hotel. Just like it, but not quite there. They could be closer. ] You sure don't look that bothered by it.

[ One hand slowly sneaks up her side, rucks up Aki's shirt, the folds pressed into her armpit. Her palm grips against a clean line of slightly raise skin, the darkened scar meant for Denji — though, with her abilities, a thing like this never would have left a mark. ]

That's right, you didn't even look that scared when you got this. That was always weird to me.

[She's way too close. If the tables were turned, Denji would be scrambling backwards and yelling something about how this is too close. But Aki won't be so uncouth, so - lame.]

[At least, until her hand is skimming up the inside of her shirt and her brows raise as high as he hairline. She thinks she's going to go even farther for a moment, all the way up her top, but then she stops on the scar, still dark and thick with a keloid. She feels her hair stand on end at how - sensitive it is. Not the scar itself. That's long since healed. But the touch... Why is she touching her like this?]

Did you want me to look scared?

[It's not like Denji ever looks particularly scared during anything that happens to them, either. Though, Denji doesn't have as much to worry about. Still.]

I was afraid, then. But... [She sighs, pulling herself upright at last and setting her legs down. She pushes Denji back with the motion, trying to find a way to sit so she isn't half bent over, but if she's going to insist on this position, she won't dislodge her completely, pressing her legs between hers so that she can sit over her lap.] There. I wasn't afraid of dying, or anything. I was more worried about getting out of there - I wouldn't have let myself die to some stupid knife.

[Talk about a stupid way to go. She reaches up to raise her shirt a little more, letting her stomach show along with the thin, light scars that cover it in random places. Marks that are mostly healed, but still leftover from other fights. Fights where it wasn't about protecting someone, specifically, just herself.]

I've dealt with worse than some screaming guy waving around a knife.

I didn't want that…

[ But I just wanted to know when you decided you liked me 'nuff to keep me around for your Gun-hunting plans isn't something she can very well admit.

Denji starts to huff as her hands are forced to retract, but mention of Aki's realer concerns back then, her other scars, helps to fight her annoyance down and adjust to the new design of their limbs with little pushback, all things considered. Arms hugged around the underside of her legs, she leans to get a better look. In this case, "worse" looks like a whole constellation of impressions strewn across Aki's rib cage, canvasing her toned stomach. A few are paler, more faded, as if they could have been from a time beyond Aki's career as a devil hunter. But she knows in other places outside of her view, has seen flashes on her the woman's arms, down her muscled back, there are probably fresher ones, the skin angrily pulled tight and flush. Like it could burst red once more with the slightest puncture of even the dullest edge.

Her nails crescent into her thighs.

It doesn't make sense how much Denji wants to reach out again, rub her thumb against the softly textured outline of any one of them. Except unlike the mark she'd touched, none of these are hers to claim blame for. If she were in a museum or art gallery, she wouldn't exert half as much respect. ]

Ah, so, which one… was the worst?

[ Hurt the worst, healed the worst, whichever. She'll leave it up to Aki's interpretation. ]

The worst...?

[It's not like she keeps a catalogue of her scars. She's been lucky in some respects - She has no scars that are visible to most people, only herself when she bathes and a couple that are lower on her legs that are faintly visible if she wears a skirt or shorts. So Aki doesn't tend to think about them very often. Out of sight, out of mind. Being asked which one was the worst, even now... She isn't sure.]

...Well, maybe...

[Her hand reaches up, eyes raising to the ceiling with it. Pausing, maybe hesitating, before she lowers the collar of her shirt, tugging it downward so that Denji can see between her breasts without actually revealing them. There's only a small point there, a divot in her skin that's miscolored and darker than the surrounding vista.]

This was the one that scared me the most, when it happened - I thought I'd actually die. And it was just a house centipede fiend.

[But maybe because it was "just" a fiend, Aki had let her guard down. Allowed herself to be stabbed like that with one of its long arms. It's a little shameful to look back on, that it had gone through the one part of her uniform that isn't reinforced: the white shirt.]

It missed anything important, and it didn't even hurt that much. But it was probably the worst, I think.

[ From the jump, Denji doesn't realize what she's looking at. Her mouth broadens into a too cheeky smile, even as a flush ropes around her neck, probably about to say something dicey like, "You flashin' me again already?" Until she's hit with that backstory, and then her expression quickly dims with discomfort, mouth half-slack in her inability to react.

To mumble something other than: ] Oh…

[ She grimaces. She never would have guessed or been able to pick apart that prick dotting Aki's chest from the rest of the (admittedly, weirdly, pleasant to look at) scenery, either, nor imagine something so small able to incur the kind of fear that could single-handedly birth a devil. Or give strength to an existing one. Once upon a time, death used to be something that simply awaited her arrival. Doesn't matter if it was a car accident, a permanent plunge off a pier, or a sickness — it was a bridge to be crossed, a point to drop off from.

Now it's just a door with a hidden doorman that turns her away again and again.

But Denji thinks back on when she died that first time, that last real one. She remembers the surprise, how much it hurt. How much it didn't, her whole body supercharged with red hot energy. Running for her life, what was left of it — which, at that point, really only amounted to the small, injured dog hugged to her heart. Thinking that if she could make it to any exit, that would be enough. Maybe they would bleed out together. Maybe they would find safety. She didn't know what that looked like that, it wasn't something she could conjure in her dreams before, why would now be any different; she could only think that she wasn't ready to find out, either way. ]

I think I get it… Why it's the worst. 'cause you thought it'd be the one you wouldn't come back from. That would change everything, right?

[ Her chin wobbles against a kneecap, thinking. ]

Hey, can I touch it?

[Aki doesn't quite think it would "change everything" so much as "end everything." Which... Maybe ending is a state of change, but it still doesn't sound right. That Denji, of all people, is able to understand it is a little odd to her, but... There must have been some point that she wasn't like this, right? Some point where she was a normal human kid, being gross and nasty without a devil for a heart. For some reason, it makes her sad to imagine.]

[She blinks out of it a moment later, surprised by the request.] What? [The mark? Aki seems hesitant, but not so much because of the intimate location. More because - Why does Denji care this much? Hasn't she seen her body before? Her back, at least? She knows she has a flurry of marks all over herself, lighter ones and larger ones, so why does she suddenly care now?]

[That this might be some form of compassion or pity or anything like that... Aki doesn't think so. Doesn't want to think so. It's probaby something only Denji can understand. And she doesn't seem like she's being horny about it. So Aki nods.]

I guess. [And she hooks her finger on the collar of her shirt, keeping it pulled down to reveal the small scar. That's all she wants, right? Her scar.]

[ Why is she here, why is she shifting in, why is she pressing into the pale plummet between Aki's breasts, dead center, sliding south to that darkened score in her skin? Why's she so nervous?

To begin with, does it have to matter that much?

Her fingers recoil into a tucked fist immediately after touching down on the scar, briefly stricken by how warm her skin is. Warmer than how her hands felt before. She avoids eye contact, lips pressed tight. After a strained second, she seems to vault over whatever mental block was in her way and reaches over again, pairing her middle and index fingers together to tentatively settle at the spot. It really is barely there. Gently rubbing in a circle, as Aki did earlier to blend away her blemishes, proving that these things could be hidden. That fear is something that could be shed, too. ]

Da-dan… Death — go away! Pain — no more!

[ She mumbles an incomprehensible series of words, then darts in to push her lips against the small depression. It's chaste and short, hardly a countable measurement of time, before she jerks herself back. Red in the face as she forces herself to explain. ]

Um, I knew a nice lady who used to do that whenever she saw I had a new scab or somethin'. [ Chant a spell and then kiss the boo-boo away, that's what she did. She was one the prostitutes that frequented the hideout the yakuza would use from time to time. Would shoo her off whenever it got too late at night. ] I used 'ta think she was just trying to steal 'em from me, but she said that it's no good for girls to get hurt. That I gotta take care of myself, so that when I get older I'll find a guy who'll wanna take care of me, too.

[ Had her cards come crashing down differently, Denji would have carried her scars the same way. They would have kept her company like this, maybe she wouldn't remember how she received every one, wouldn't want to, but they'd be a part of her. Probably, she'd have more of them than Aki by the time she grew as old as her.

Maybe the lady's trick meant nothing, but it used to make the sting of her scrapes taste sweeter whenever she'd suck on them. ]

…When I gave my eye away, I used to feel it hurting a lot, even though it wasn't there anymore. I can't remember if scars are the same way, but y'know, just in case.

[She expected a poke, or something. A brief prod of her finger into the center of Aki's skin, over a mark she no longer shivers when she sees. There's no pain associated with it anymore, the memory nothing more than a lesson to her current and future self to guard against going easy - against letting said guard down.]

[But her guard is down, in this moment. She's had two beers and they're not talking about anything actually serious. Denji's already seen her tit today and she isn't thinking anything else about it. So when Denji suddenly leans down and plants a kiss against that speck, it's hard to say which of them has turned a brighter shade of red.]

[Even as she explains herself, talks about her eye (she gave away an eye?!) and its phantom pain... It's not the same, Aki thinks she would explain if her mind was operating properly. This kind of thing, it shouldn't fluster her so much. Himeno did way worse things to her boobs before she finally let him have sex with her. This - it's a chaste, purposeful kiss, meant nonsexually and for a silly, childish reason.]

[So why did her lips feel like that?]

...You don't think I take care of you?

[It comes out unbidden and unplanned and even Aki hears how pouty that sounds, moody and selfish. It's not even the point of what Denji was saying but somehow that's the first point she feels needs to be addressed. That Aki totally takes care of her.]

I mean - If you're going to do that to any of them... It should probably be this one.

[She lifts the hem of her shirt, revealing the still-red, puckered scar from Kobeni's knife. Even if it's healed and recovered, the wound is still fresh enough to be bright with blood near the surface.]

Or are you going to do that for every single one?

[ What did she just say? The edges of Denji's eyes expand, about to take Aki's question as an accusation or a preempt to a scolding. In other words, an attack to take the defensive approach to. She's too slow to cover her ass, though, because suddenly her roommate's saying this and doing that, and it's like she's being ambushed from every direction in the cruelest kind of guerilla warfare imaginable.

Aki pins half her shirt up, nearly revealing the shapely curve of her breast; just a moment ago, it was Denji's hand there sliding up her side, touching that old wound, so what's with the white noise jamming any attempt she makes to think? Is this just Aki's way of making a fool of her again?

Finally, she can't take it any more. ]

But you just said…!

[ Her brow flickers, hesitation delaying the finishing of the thought. That was the worst one — but then, the one she's showing her right now is the also the one Denji's directly responsible for. The new skin, tender and sensitive, as thin as the plastic film they place over a plate of leftovers to keep it from going bad. Back then, she told her that her repayment would be in the form of dealing with Eternity, letting herself maw and be mawed by that coward devil.

She's not sure if Aki ever confirmed that it was enough. She just figured her debt was resolved…

Seeming to come to some kind of conclusion on her own, Denji gulps and makes a pulled back expression, like a puppy whose ears are nearly sunken to her head, who knows she's on the verge of being shamed and punished. Directed to her crate for the night. This time, when her mouth intersects with Aki's scar, her lips slightly part and pucker around the skin, pulling a gentle fold of it into her mouth without meaning to. It's salt that prickles her taste buds — also a hint of something chemical. Could be from her body lotion? Whatever it is, it smells better than it permeates her tongue. Maybe that's why Denji's nose nudges up into her armpit and she takes the huge breath that she does before pulling off from her.

"Pulling off", but she doesn't even really get but a few centimeters away. ]

If I do this to your other ones… uh, is that considered collecting interest?

[Her lips just shouldn't feel like that. It wouldn't matter if Denji refused, in truth - Aki would have pulled her shirt down and gone on with her night. Finished her beer, got up and pissed, went to bed. It wouldn't have mattered. But she doesn't refuse and her lips feel like that. The light press, a ghost of moisture, of pressure. It shouldn't feel like that. The hair on the nape of her neck stands high and she feels goosebumps sprout up her arms, amplified when she feels and hears the way Denji takes in her scent as she sits back - but only so far.]

[Collecting interest, huh? Is that how she'd convince herself? It's not quite what she was thinking, making her do this, but it's funny that Denji is also trying to convince herself of the acceptability of this situation. If they keep lying to one another about the reason for doing this, does that make it okay? That sort of thing. She wants to milk it for all it's worth, because it's not common that she sees Denji like this. Docile. Appeasing. Cowed. Her ears pinned to her head, whale eyes filled with nerves as she keeps a look out for a dirty left hook. It shouldn't make her feel so...]

Something like that.

[She doesn't lower her shirt, instead cinching it up higher to reveal the rest of her stomach, toned and flat and carefully chiseled near the center. She doesn't have nearly as many scars here as she does over her arms, on the underside of her legs - but right now she doesn't want Denji to move on to those spots. She wants her here, where the skin is unused to being touched and thus sensitive to every press.]

Go on. [How this turned from a childish game into something like this, she doesn't know. But Aki doesn't question the path she's on very often, just accepts it and keeps her course steady. So long as she's not walking into a volcano, she can always find her way through.]

[ The leash Aki guides her by is barely discernible from a thread ready to snap at any second. Solely effective because the separate forces on either end are somehow working together to preserve an impossible tightrope. Really, it's like pouring into a water pitcher that's drooling at the opportunity to overflow; all it'd take to reach that tipping point is for one person to tug too hard, another to resist too fast. Two dogs playing a game of chicken. What could go wrong?

Staring ahead at the naked skin in front of her, Denji's teeth stretches and wears at the bottom of her chapped mouth — it's sick how captivating it is, watching each breath rise from Aki in full, the flex of finely honed muscle moving and tensing like some dormant animal waiting to strike. It makes her abdomen clench, her guts knot. This doesn't feel real. It doesn't matter. She should go to bed. She doesn't want to, doesn't want to care or reconsider when she could touch her lips to hot oil and taste the instant her tongue burns instead. ]

Looks just like milk bread… Mmm.

[ Aki's stomach is strong, but it dips under the burden of her hungry mouth, still human and still soft at the end of it all, no matter how much she trains or nurtures her body. How much of herself she disposes to the next devil she contracts with. Hand holding her hip, Denji drags kisses down a smooth and flat midsection that may be empty now, but who can say what the terrain will look like in a year? Two years? Not that it's any of her business what happens — but now that she's here, bruising her lips against her skin, it's got her thinking: If someone were to cut Aki open again, maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing. If it gave her an excuse to do this a second time.

At her bellybutton, Denji pauses. Then, hazarding a look upward, she licks her lips before pressing into the small crevice — she doesn't know much about childbirth, but she knows that all babies used to be connected to their mommies at this place once. So surely there's a scar inside here, too. Just really far in, beyond what the eye can see. Her mouth parts, aligning with the edges to the opening, and she flicks her tongue inside, lapping at the interior lining. ]

[Aki has similar thoughts: If, the next mission they have, a devil were to slice her down the middle, would it be so awful, if it means pulling Denji down to the floor and pinning her under her legs, pushing her nose into the injury like shoving a naughty dog into the mess it's made? Even if it's not her fault, even if Aki takes responsibility for all the things that have happened to her body, it's a tempting idea, to let someone else take responsibility, and thus heal them. How, instead of looking at them in the shower as she scrubs her body, she could trace them in the bath and remember what Denji's lips felt like in that particular moment.]

[Or tongue. She slides her tongue into her belly button and Aki nearly responds with violence, has the brief instinct to yank her back by the hair and sneer in her face, insult her, call her disgusting. Don't touch there, there's nothing there. It shouldn't feel like anything. But none of this should feel like anything and yet it does, and with Denji already at the crest of her hips, it's all too tempting to edge her further along.]

You know there's more.

[Spoken as fact. At some point she's leaned back and down onto her elbows, gazing at Denji over the rise of her chest, down the slope of her stomach. She pushes herself up off one elbow to reach down and snag the edge of her pants, tugging it down - but leaving her panties in place, just revealing the skin down her hips and thighs. On the inside of the left one is an inch-long scar, curving right along the bone, like someone attempted to slice along the top of her femur and dislodge her leg from the rest of her body. Unsuccessful, obviously, but the mark remains, and Aki stares at Denji, daring her. Or maybe ordering her, is more like it, since this isn't exactly a dare she'll trade for a truth instead.]

[ Ever since Power was appointed as her buddy, they don't work the field as much together unless it's a riskier assignment calling for the involvement of the whole team. It's a waste of manpower, otherwise, is how Aki explained it to her once, seeming rather annoyed that she didn't already understand something so simple. Tokyo's a sprawling place; people would die in droves if they didn't spread out the oversight of each case and neighborhood between pairs across the special divisions. Whatever, it wasn't like she missed having Aki's rule-abiding presence looming behind her shoulder. Her jerking Denji back by the collar every time she steps out of line. Her…

If not for Emi-chan requesting her bodyguards be able to blend in, which would have been difficult to achieve with Angel's appearance and Power's everything, she would have forgotten how much that look could seriously piss her off. That dark, pointed one that Denji can never refute nor refuse, that already seems to know that she's helpless to do anything but act as ordered. Heel. Bark. Bite.

Her cheek brushes against the open plane of her belly as she pulls away, the warm glaze of spit that dribbles between her mouth and Aki's well-formed core cools in seconds. Denji doesn't think anything of how she must look, her thoughts tarrying on how she'd almost felt her flinching, sucking her stomach in when she'd breached that hollow spot — but then Aki's nudging her toward the next course in this experience. Denji doesn't keep her waiting long. She inhales as her mouth skims the rest of her navel, the waist of her underwear, could hook her teeth through the trim and rip it down, really, really breathe her in — if she wanted to. She doesn't, of course. ]

They really got ya good. Must'a hurt.

[ Said, almost admiring whoever the perpetrator was. The scar's somewhat distended, fitting underneath her thumbnail as she strokes up and down the path it wraps across her thighbone — she only does this for a moment, her lips lowering to where the scar begins, following that same trail. Denji slides down its length, slow and generous with the amount time she spends at each interval she kisses into the long-healed lesion, one hand slid up her ass, the other tilting the hind of her leg to grant her easier access. ]

Mm, you said there was more. Where else?

[She's right there. It would take no effort at all. To simply slide her underwear aside, grab the back of Denji's head and shove her face into her pussy, tell her to lick just like she did a moment ago in her navel. Because what's most shameful about this is that she can feel herself getting wet, can feel the telltale sensation of warmth in her loins that tells her she's excited, aroused by the sight below her, the way Denji lays her lips on her skin and travels the marks on her body. She wants to roll her over, pin her down onto the floor and sit on her face, watch her struggle to breathe while she tries to do everything right. Always looking for a sign that she's doing it right.]

[She's dizzy. With the combination of arousal and booze, she feels like she could do it. Coax Denji onward, point her to where she wants her next. How this started - from a simple question of scars and marks, what hurt the most, what scared her the most - now it's about what's most exciting, what spot brought her the most pleasure, the most heat. Grabbing the wheel and spinning completely around, a full one-eighty turn. Normally she's a safe driver.]

Yeah.

[Aki reaches down. She places her hand on the back of Denji's head, sliding her fingers through her hair, stroking it back into a position she can hold it, can better steer.]

There's more than just scars and marks to a body, Denji.

[Because Denji has none and Aki has enough. If she wants to learn what makes them different - this won't do that, but she'll take any excuse right now, tugging her toward the crotch of her panties, pressing her nose into it. On contact her hips rock upward, gentle, pressing the slight wet spot into her face. Her hand stays tight, guiding. It's guiding.]

Here, too.

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