Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Aki is home. Denji can't tell how long it has been, not for sure anyway, but he knows that months dragged on, months that he had to spend without guidance, without his Aki. He reeks of rubbing alcohol, gunmetal, and other things he can't place, but still finds horrible. Whatever they did to him at that place, he's back to normal. As normal as someone with a gun lodged into their skull can be. Yeah. He still has to get used to that. However, Denji has far more to get used to than just the glaring, outright obvious differences.

Power is out of the picture after having retreated to her room, exhausted from shedding happy tears over Aki's return. Denji and him are in the living room, alone. There's tension, the good, sexy kind. They haven't seen each other in a long time, so there's a lot to catch up on, in several ways. The TV is only there as background noise. They're sitting close to one another, with Denji trying to nudge his way into Aki's personal space in the hopes of provoking something– really just anything. The arm around his shoulders is a good start, he'd say, but much else hasn't happened. The firearm sticking out of Aki's forehead is a stark contrast to what he's used to, still startling him ever so slightly when his boyfriend turns his head to face him, the barrel brushing over the crown of his head. He can feel its heat on his scalp. Aki's heartbeat. 

Only a few stretches of distance between their lips now. The lack of eyes makes it hard to interpret the fiend's expression correctly, so he can't tell why Aki stalls. Denji isn't a patient one, having gone so long without sweet affection that he's starved for it. Fingers along his boyfriend's jaw, down to his chin. Thumb on his lower lip. He's so close to that kiss that he very much craves and deserves (he did a superb job taking care of everything these past months), but then, something happens. Something that has never happened before. Aki flinches away from him. Distance, not just between their faces, but their bodies as well. It leaves him dumbfounded, looking at the other with wide eyes. What's wrong? He wants to ask that outloud, but finds himself unable.

Aki is pale. Ghostly pale. He can tell that Denji is expecting– well, anything, really. A reason for his behavior, an explanation, anything of that kind. And he shall receive that, albeit he can't make sense of it. Aki's lips part with a little inhale as he tries to find the proper words for whatever he's about to say. He waits. The blackened barrel sways before his face. "My mouth is… Gross.", Aki tells him without anything else, as a standalone statement that he should know how to work with. Denji needs to repeat it in his head. His mouth is gross. What does that even mean? He could never find it gross, not even after three cigarettes. It seems ridiculous. "Uh…", he croaks, his brain automatically filling in a space that didn't exist before, until he manages to voice his one selfish, selfish thought, "So…Ya don't wanna kiss?"

The response comes quicker than anticipated and it hurts. "No.", Aki says, quickly adding what seems like an afterthought to the teen, "Sorry." It stings like all hell. Right there in Denji's chest. Aki doesn't want to kiss him for some non-reason. He doesn't get it. He's not mad, just… Confused and hurt. Wet heat in his eyes. Just a little, perhaps enough to make them shiny. "Oh.", is all he can manage, followed by a little 'okay' as his voice dies. His throat closes up. He can't tell what Aki is thinking, if he's even thinking something at all, but it speaks volumes to him when the fiend gets up and heads to his room. 

He just leaves him there. Fuck.  

Denji keeps cycling through a set of three questions that he'd like answers to. Did he do something wrong? Does Aki not like him anymore? Are they going to break up? Nothing else is on his mind as he stares at the ceiling of his room, deadpan expression as tears spill endlessly. It's the first time in ages that he's crying because of Aki and not for Aki. This sucks complete and utter ass. He knows it's late and that he's got a shift with Power tomorrow, but he just needs to get out of his room. It's a chore to get out of bed and clean his face with tissues from the various boxes around his room. To say that he's shaken would be an understatement; his bones feel soft, his joints unwilling to support his weight, so he drags his feet as he slinks out of his room. 

It's dark, but he can still see a familiar silhouette standing in the kitchen. Denji's eyes glaze over. A reaction he never thought possible when it comes to Aki, but here he is, unable to keep himself from frowning. Okay, maybe he is mad, but he has all the right to be. Teeth grind. The figure flinches– at the sound? Of his teeth? He doesn't get how Aki could've heard that, but he doesn't get a chance to think. Wet gurgling. A frighteningly familiar sound. The Gun Fiend growled like that. The hair on his nape stands at attention. His cord itches, but he forces the urge to pull it aside. Not here. Not at the apartment. He dares to take a step forward, causing the floorboards to creak. It's so fucking dark, save for the light of the skyline. Cold sweat builds.

"A-Aki…?", he asks quietly, on edge. Another step. He can tell that the fiend is hunched over, clutching onto something while holding it over the sink. He would've taken another step, had it not been for Aki speaking to him. "I'm hungry...", the fiend groans, low and throaty. Something crinkles. Packaging? "Please don't look.", comes the gurgled plea. More crinkling. Plastic tears. Slurping. Groaning. More gurgling. Denji can smell blood. Aki got into the blood packets that they keep for emergencies and to save a trip to the hospital. No matter how much the Public Safety Bureau could preserve of the original Aki, he's a fiend now. Fiends feed on humans and their blood, much like Devils do. 

The other just told him not to look, but he can't help it. What he sees only confuses and frightens him further. Denji stares, wide-eyed. Aki is clutching onto a blood packet with both hands, so desperately as if his life depended on some unfortunate donor's blood, but that's not what scares him. His mouth is hanging open, his maw of needles glistening in the faint light, making way for something that punctured the plastic and– Denji flinches when Aki moves suddenly. Barrel pointed at him. The thing swirls along his jaw, leaving a bloody trail of spit, before it withdraws, finding its home between sharp teeth. The fiend swallows loudly. Goosebumps. All over. The worst fucking kind. Denji's breath speeds. "You don't ever listen, do you.", the fiend gurgles. He can't say anything to defend himself. A gust of air rushes past him. The silhouette of his boyfriend is gone. Denji hears a door close in the hall. The Gun Devil can move across the globe within the fraction of a second, so it doesn't come as a surprise that Aki can move incredibly fast as well. 

But that aside… What the fuck was that? Denji can't think. He should just go back to bed, actually. Chances are that this was just a weird dream. Yeah, that's it. A dream. 

Aki doesn't leave his room. Denji is standing in front of the door, contemplating. He wants to see him, even if he hurt him that night. His mouth is gross, he said. He keeps repeating it in his head. Really, what does that mean? He doesn't get it. Not even after seeing… Whatever he saw. Whatever Aki was doing. He shudders. It wasn't a dream. Oh, god, it wasn't a dream. Denji's head sinks, along with his heart. Something is wrong with Aki, but instead of talking to him about it, he chooses to hide. He loves him, but right now, he wishes he didn't. It's what keeps him glued to his current spot. He's worried, hurt, unwilling to back down, even if the latter might not be the best approach.

"I can smell you, Denji.", the Gun Fiend states with a voice gravelly and coarse like sandpaper. It makes him shiver. As much as he hates him right now, he loves his new voice. The growling, the gurgling. All those non-human, fucked up sounds that would send anyone with too little resolve running. However, Denji doesn't have it in him to really think about that further. Instead, anger boils in his stomach. Why isn't he talking to him? He doesn't fucking get it. "You're bein' a giant asshole, y'know that?", he grunts, teeth gritting. He hopes that the fiend can hear and that the sound makes his ears hurt. "Shut the fuck up.", Aki growls in response. Denji can hear him hiss. Something hits the door. A pillow. It really fucking stings. God. This is the worst. "Fuck you.", the teen spits on impulse, little angry tears already making their way down his face that he frantically tries to wipe away. "Fuck off.", the fiend growls again. That's what does it. 

Denji sobs. More tears. He doesn't try to hide anything about his crying, giving Aki a nice earful of what he's doing to him. He doesn't get it. He doesn't get Aki. What could be so horrible that he isn't talking about it, not even with him? When he turns around and looks down the hall, he sees Power peeking at him with big, worried doe eyes, hiding behind the corner. She hates it when they fight. 

It says a lot that she's giving more of a shit about his crying than Aki. 

A particularly dreary evening. Power left Denji to fume on his own in the living room, with the TV as white noise. It doesn't help. He's about to burst. It won't take much more. And it is at that moment, at his most emotionally charged, that he can hear hesitant footsteps in the hallway, floorboards creaking. Unsure shuffling. Right on fucking time. Aki dares to peer into the living room, although he likely would've been able to sense the hostility from a mile away. Anger takes root where butterflies would have fluttered about. 

"Fuck you.", Denji spits. It breaks out of him without any warning, just like that. It makes the fiend flinch, cling to the corner. Good. He's not just mad, he's pissed after Aki's recent stunt. His boyfriend can be an asshole at times, he's used to that, but this time, he has had enough. Denji's tolerant of many things, shrugs a lot off - like, yes, sure, take your alone time and act like I'm bothering you by being worried - but he's sick of it. It shouldn't be that he is the one getting hurt when he's just trying to help and talk things out. 

Red heat rises into his face, albeit not from that delicious shame that Aki likes so much, no, Denji is fucking livid. "What the fuck is wrong with you?", the teen hisses, pronouncing every syllable, every letter, so clear and with such force that even Aki crumbles. The gun barrel sways. Aki can't even look at him, chooses to focus on something off to the side instead. Denji isn't having it. "Look at me.", he demands. The fiend flinches again. One hand fidgets with the other. He pales. "Aki.", he presses on for the desired reaction. He's downright delighted to find that the stern tone works. Kinda reminds him of the early days when he had just moved in; Aki spoke to him in a similar manner.

Cue a deep, shaken breath. The barrel of the Colt is pointed at him after what feels like an eternity. Aki is shaking. Fuck, he feels bad now. "I-I'm sorry, I don't know w-what's gotten into me.", the fiend states, his voice no more than a pitiful murmur. Cold sweat beads on his forehead, Denji can tell. "I'm– I don't know.", Aki concedes verbally, giving him an imploring look that can be interpreted as such even with the lack of eyes. A deep breath on Denji's end, as a means to keep his composure. Aki is in a bad spot; yelling at him won't do any good. 

His jaw clenches, temples burning from how hard he's doing it. The fiend shrinks further. It makes Denji sigh. He kinda reminds him of a dog that shat on the rug and is doing his best to worm his way out of punishment. Hand brought up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jus'–", Denji begins, but trails off. Another sigh. "–talk to me, okay?", he continues, trying his hardest not to sound pissed or anything of that caliber so he doesn't make it worse. It's hard. Very hard. "'m not askin' fo' much here.", the teen can't help but add, because the sentence seethed on his tongue. 

"I know.", comes the pitiful mumble. Aki seems willing to leave the threshold of the hallway, albeit he stops himself, giving Denji an uncertain look. "Can I…?", he asks, quiet and meek in ways he hadn't heard him speak before. He's not doing well at all. Denji finds himself at a strange crossroad of feelings: he feels bad, of course he does, because Aki is feeling awful, but– he was doing his best. He knows that his boyfriend doesn't like to be prodded and pushed, but it's hard for him to actually respect that when Aki is in obvious distress about something, refusing to elaborate. God, this is messy. However, even he, a pea-brained shithead in uniform who has little idea of pretty much anything going on in the world, knows that this could've been avoided if Aki just fucking spoke to him. 

Denji doesn't reply, only scoots over to make way and give distance for when Aki sits down beside him. The fiend struggles, torn between taking root in the corridor and moving, but he eventually decides to come over, albeit with great hesitation and dragged feet. Aki settles at his side, although with a respectful arm's reach of space between them. Having a gun barrel pointed at him during a conversation is still something he has to get used to, if he's honest, but he pushes that thought aside for now and another pushes itself to the forefront of his mind:  What the fuck is his problem? Why is his mouth gross? He can't believe he's still thinking about that. His mouth is gross.

"Now talk.", Denji throws at Aki, deadpan and unintentionally stern. He wants an explanation, details, any-fucking-thing that would make his boyfriend's behaviour plausible. "I-I, um…", comes stammering. Useless words to fill in deafening, suffocating silence. "I don't know how to, uh, say this…", Aki concedes once more. "Say it how it is.", the teen throws in, doing his utmost to sound nice but failing miserably. The young man seems well aware of how thin the ice has gotten, treading carefully. There is a certain weariness about the fiend when he lifts a hand to - presumably - rub his forehead, only to find gunmetal at his fingertips. He recoils– at himself. 

"This isn't my body anymore.", Aki begins suddenly, as if brought back by his own touch just now, "I– I was told I-I'd… Grow into it, but..." Words don't come to him as easily now. "It's… It's hard.", Aki laments under his breath. Denji is sure he can hear tears, even if he can't see them. "I-it's gross.", he adds, his voice no more than a little hiss. Denji still doesn't get it– admittedly, he has the emotional intelligence of a piece of toast. "Is this 'cuz you're a fiend now, or–", Denji ask as he gestures loosely at Aki, trailing off on purpose– to elicit a response. Ooohh, social smarts. It makes the other ponder for a moment. Then, a shrug. "Yeah.", comes the response, voice breaking.

Okay, maybe Denji understands when he thinks about it some more. Aki was known as the local Devil hater numero uno before a mutt and a fiend moved in with him and stuff happened, so he can't actually imagine how horrifying and awful it must be to turn into what you hate so viscerally. And with that taken into account, Aki somehow managed to strike gold with the worst case scenarios, too. However, to Denji, Aki is still Aki, Gun Fiend or not– and Denji loves Aki. "Well– then show me.", the teen states, no context given. To be fair, he expects rejection right out of the gate, but that's just what he learned in life: no expectations ever. Makes the surprises all the more pleasant, especially at this current moment.

"Show you… What?", Aki asks, uncertainty bleeding through again. He brushes a few strands of hair over his barrel, after they've been awkwardly sitting on top of it for a while. Denji briefly wonders if it tickles, but doesn't chase the thought. There's other things on his mind right now. Things he's gotta lay it on thick for. Autopilot time. He scoots closer, even more pleasantly surprised when Aki doesn't withdraw. For the first time in days, they're close. Really close. Denji puts himself into the line of fire. Hot gunmetal pokes between his bangs, the muzzle pressed straight to his forehead. "What's so gross 'bout ya.", he tells Aki oh-so-tenderly, preparing for the absolute deathblow, "'cuz I don't see it."

Aki is at a loss by the looks of it. The Colt has a pulse, Denji finds. It thumps hard and fast. Well, figures; it is connected to Aki with veins and blood vessels and all that stuff. Pale skin reddens on the fiends end as the realization of what Denji just said sets in. Got him. Hook, line, sinker. He tilts his head ever slightly. The barrel slides along his temple, pressing it close with one of his hands. He can't help but caress the jagged stretches of it, feeling every little vein that protrudes from what would be inorganic material in a human's eyes, if it wasn't for the fact that Devils don't play by human rules. Aki's shoulders sink. He shivers. 

Lips part, just enough for Denji to see the stakes of ivory that found their place in his mouth. They're sharp and pointy, just like his own when he turns. A finger traces an invisible line over the Colt until it reaches the root of it where metal meets flesh, brushing over leathery, discolored skin. It feels weird to just… Touch Aki where his eyes were. Likely because his brain fills in the gaps, desperately trying to make sense of something that isn't natural. Though, he can't think about this further, because his gentle touching makes Aki squirm; a fact that deserves his undivided attention. 

"Th-that feels good...", Aki sighs, pushing back against his touch. God, god, god. It's apparent that he hasn't had sex in a while, because this is turning him on. A lot. Like, the 'my dick has a heartbeat' kind of turned on as blood rushes southward. God, he's awful. Not him getting viscerally horny after a long anticipated heart to heart. Denji goes for the gold. He closes the distance between their lips– or rather, he wants to do that, but he finds himself kissing one of Aki's knuckles, because the motherfucker put one of his hands over his mouth. The teen can't help but scoff. "S-sorry…", Aki murmurs, the red hue on his cheeks darkening. Ah, right– his mouth is gross. How could he forget? Frustration furrows Denji's brows. So, so close. He isn't a guy of patience, so he's searching for anything that might turn the tides in his favor, picking the first thing his brain throws at him: "If ya don' let me kiss ya, I'll give ya a gun job.", Denji states with overwhelming confidence. 

Before Aki can ask what the fuck he's on about or react in any way in general, his fingers are back on the barrel. Stroking, tracing veins. The fiend's hand drops into his lap, lips still parted. He chooses not to dive in for a kiss, and instead focuses on the Colt in all its hot, throbbing glory. He briefly wonders if this can be compared to giving Aki a boner as he notices that the veins are protruding more and he actually sees the bigger ones twitch. Shoulders tense. The Gun Fiend gurgles. Loudly. Denji can't suppress a triumphant grin, now switching to using his lips. They brush over the side of the barrel while he inches towards the business end of the Colt. Aki watches him intently, doing his utmost to suppress any more unsavory sounds, albeit to no avail. Faced with the muzzle, Denji does something few of sound mind would do: he drags his tongue over it, lets it dip into the barrel. The reaction is visceral. Shivering, twitching, veins pumping more blood into the pistol. "Dennnnnn–jiiiii–", Aki growls, drawn out and throaty. Drool glistens in the pale light emitted by the TV. 

The teen doesn't let the scary noise deter him. He laps at the muzzle again, tastes steel, gunpowder and Aki. It's a new combination, but he can dig it. It's a little hard for him to accurately translate the things he'd do during a blow job and use it on the pistol, but he has a thought that doesn't leave him. The muzzle seems sensitive, much like the tip of Aki's cock and if the opening is like the slit, then– Denji doesn't care to finish. It is without further ado that he starts tonguing the hole that a death-bringing bullet would emerge from. No second thoughts, either. It's still Aki. Just Aki. The fiend starts to pant, loud and heaving. Good.  

However, he ditches that quickly, and instead goes with the next thought. Aki likes having the underside of his dick licked, specficially a spot close to the tip. His tongue aligns accordingly, presses against heated metal. A particularly large vein throbs under his touch, so he swirls around it, covers it in saliva. Suddenly, hands on his shoulders. Aki topples and pins him. Another growl. Drool overflows, drips from the friend's maw as needles part and make way for the reason why his boyfriend thinks that his mouth is gross. 

Long, pointed, red, with a hole running through muscle like a piece of tubing. What Denji saw that night, what Aki used to puncture the pack with and sucked blood through like a straw– it was his tongue. His fucking tongue. It lolls from the fiend's maw with a barrage of spit, dripping on Denji's chest. The tip is black and shiny, like the metal of his barrel. The edges are sharp. It reminds him of a needle but much, much bigger. Aki is practically holding him at gunpoint as the appendage starts to swirl over his skin, somewhere on his neck. Feeling his pulse, looking for his jugular. The realization hits quickly. Aki wants blood.

Another gurgle, nostrils flare, when the fiend finds the large vein nestled between the stringy muscle and sinew of Denji's throat. On a whim, he dares to move, pulls the collar of his shirt down to reveal more stretches of skin, specifically his shoulder to get the fiend to look elsewhere, since letting him go for the jugular would make a giant mess. It draws attention, as intended, and the slick muscle moves to his trapezius and feels around anew. It's slimy with phlegm and drool, but there's a rough patch somewhere on it, catching on the pale blonde hair that covers him. This is fucked up beyond words. Denji isn't thinking, he's just carnally, mindlessly turned on. Aki starts to babble, equally mindless. He catches lisped fragments of 'sorrysorrysorrysorry' and 'I'm so gross', although he still doesn't get it. He could never find Aki gross. 

A grunt. More drool. The Colt lowers, slides along the side of his face as the fiend dives. Snorting. Pressure against a spot above his collarbone, but that's all he feels: pressure. However, he soon finds that there's more to it than just that. Warmth spills. Something wiggles under his skin. Holy fuck. This doesn't feel real. Another gurgle. Slurping sets in. Moaning. It starts to sting like all hell, makes Denji claw into Aki's shoulder. He dares to look, his field of view partially obstructed by the pistol, but god, what he sees– it is beyond human comprehension… Good thing that Denji isn't human anymore.  

The black tip of the needle burrowed into his flesh, bulging under his skin as Aki drinks from a particularly tasty blood vessel, in case the steady gurgling and groaning are anything to go by. Looking at the spectacle makes him light-headed, but he can't not watch as the fiend's tongue contracts, siphoning his blood down his throat. It works itself a little deeper between the fibers of his muscles. It must be sharp to a nigh unimaginable degree, because Denji doesn't feel the digging and cutting itself and rather just the aftermath, the pain that follows when he starts bleeding. Speaking of which, he can already tell that the area around the wound will be black and blue by the time Aki is done. 

A last slurp follows and the hellishly twisted parody of a tongue withdraws, leaving behind a clean, circular hole. That would leave a pretty cool scar if he still could be scarred. Shame. The muscle coils, giving him a last showcase of those sharp edges and pointed end, before returning to its home nestled between ivory. The fiend pulls away and just one look tells Denji that he didn't want this to happen, even though this is one the best fucking things that ever happened to him. It was hot. Really hot. Fuck. Maybe he's a bit fucked up. 

Before the puncture wound can start to bleed freely, Aki presses his thumb on it. Yowch. "Sh-shit.", Denji hisses. That burns. A whole fucking lot. "S-sorry.", Aki whimpers, apparently approaching a downward spiral based on the desperate words that follow, "I told you, I told you, I told you it's gross. Wh-why couldn't you listen to me?" The fiend is about to flee the scene by the looks of it, already crawling off of him, so he sits up with him and takes a firm hold of his arm. He goes muzzle to forehead. The Colt thrums against his skin, probably vitalized by the blood the fiend just had. They should be careful with that, lest the bureau decides to bleed Aki like Power. 

Considering Aki's distress, he has to play his cards right. He does what he does best: laying it on as thick as he possibly can, to a degree that only Aki could ever bear. "Wouldya believe me if I told ya that 'm jus'–", Denji begins, but cuts himself off because he has to take a big breath (he's sure he didn't breathe entire time that his boyfriend was feeding from him), continuing once there's enough oxygen in his bloodstream, "–Really turned on?" His words stump his boyfriend. The muzzle leaves his forehead, turned to the side. At first, Denji can't help but clamor for a reaction. What if he fucked it up? Oh, god, what if he's making him uncomfortable? However, before he can continue to despair about this internal dilemma, he notices the dark red spreading over Aki's face.

"F-from… That?", the fiend croaks. "Yeah.", Denji responds with embarrassing quickness. Silence. The other is pondering so hard that one can see the cogs turning. Gotta be something life-changing. "S-so… Y-you don't mind?", Aki asks sheepishly. Now Denji is stumped. This was about him all along? It puts furrows into his brows. This, he doesn't get. "Respectfully, I jus' let ya drink my blood without puttin' up a fight.", he states, downright deadpan. Of course he doesn't mind. Sure, it's different from what he's used to, but it's Aki. His Aki. His, his, his, with all the weird shit that the Gun Devil made of him. Cue a defeated huff as a realization hits on Aki's end. "Y-yeah.", he murmurs, "You're right."

Cue a sigh. Denji pulls Aki into a hug for being the big, stupid, emotionally constipated oaf that he is. It comes close to breaking his heart when his boyfriend practically curls into him after denying himself the affection he craved. Fingers weave into black strands. Aki's hair has gotten longer and he doesn't tie it up into that dumb (read as: cute) knot anymore, mostly because he can't; the hammer of his Colt stems from the back of his head, at the exact spot where his signature topknot would've been. Denji isn't complaining; he looks hot with his hair down. He sets that thought aside for another time and instead focuses on the fairly big step that just took together. If that's what letting your boyfriend drink your blood with his weird mosquito straw tongue can be called. "You coulda jus' talked to me 'bout this.", Denji states for the nth time. Aki just makes a little growly noise in response. The fiends chin digs into his shoulder– thankfully on the side without the mosquito bite. "I'd never find ya gross, no matter what, ya hear?", he pushes further, parting their embrace to make Aki look at him. 

His boyfriend just listens. The barrel lowers ever slightly. There are more words burning on his tongue, things he thinks that the other should hear. "You're still you.", Denji tells him, doing his best to avoid his usual slurring of words, hands on Aki's shoulders to give his following more weight. "And I love you.", he chokes forth, the proclamation of love almost getting stuck in his throat; it's closing up. He hasn't had the opportunity to tell him that in a long time. He loves him. Dearly. "And I love you for you, even if you're gonna be sticking your tongue bits into me once in a while.", he adds, even if it sounds weird. He really doesn't care. It is how it is. Aki breaks his stoic silence and exhales a suppressed laugh through his nostrils. "We're both freaks.", Aki states. He doesn't get it– until he does. 

His boyfriend gets close. Really close. The type of close that makes his ears burn in bright red. Chest to chest, Aki's breath against his ear. "You taste good, y'know that?", the fiend rasps. Wetness, coiling around the shell of his ear. His tongue. It makes Denji throb. God. Why is this so sexy? He's right, they are freaks. He shivers when the slick muscle slithers along cartilage. It stings. Aki is cutting him, scratching the skin and likely drawing blood. The suspicion is confirmed when the appendage withdraws together with the fiend and he can see streaks of red on it, before it disappears between fangs. Denji can't think. He can only look at the other with big doe eyes, bottom lip quivering as he tries to form words. "M-my other shoulder.", he manages to say, pulling down his shirt to reveal pale, unmarked flesh. The sight makes the fiend growl, bare his needled maw in sheer excitement. Fuck, that's hot. 

Denji prepares for a sudden puncture, maybe even a full-fledged bite, but no such thing. Instead, Aki recoils. A downright harrowing sound follows, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Distress. Cold sweat runs down the sides of the fiend's face. "St-stop.", Aki manages to say, "We sh-shouldn't." Ah. Progress undone, just like that. Maybe that was a little too much.  "Th-this is so gross, I-I'm–", the fiend continues, although cut off by a gut-wrenching sob, fighting to finish his sentence, "–treating you like a piece of meat, Denji."

The distress goes right over the teen's head. All he can focus on is what is said and oh– oh, Aki shouldn't say such things; it's all he can think about now. If it's him, he'd gladly be no more than a piece of meat to tear apart– to fuck. Yeah. He'd love to be the Gun Fiend's fuckmeat for the rest of eternity and longer. God. The shade of red in his face burns so intensely that he gets light-headed. The worst part is that his blood is being divided between his incessant blushing and his raging boner; none of it reaches his brain. Denji is without nuance and finesse, so he dives further, throwing caution into the wind and risking that Aki shuts himself off again. "I like it.", he says, his voice no more as a needy sigh as he closes in anew and his boyfriend permits it all the same. Barrel against his temple. Denji leans forth, head tilted. Their noses touch. A breath hitches in the fiend's throat. 

Thick silence. Denji holds the tension between them for a few moments, allowing the other to accept that he's in his space for good, before his fingers hook into the collar of his shirt to reveal his unharmed shoulder again. Aki swallows loudly. He can picture the piercing stare, feels it on his skin. Nostrils flare. His self control is amazing, but he knows how to remedy that. "Ya said I taste good, right?", the teen asks, ever so sweetly. Aki's shoulders tense, so does his jaw. "Dennnnnnjiiiiii–", he gurgles and growls as a warning, chest beginning to heave. He's reeling. Barely holding on. Teeth find Denji's lower lip. "Don'tcha want more of me?", he asks again, chewing on his lip. The fiend's temples bulge from how hard he's gritting his teeth. Just a bit more and he'll lose his composure. "'s fine. It doesn't really hurt.", Denji whispers and pulls away, brings distance between their bodies. His chin lowers, throwing the fiend a half-lidded look through pale lashes. Aki starts shaking. Thick drool seeps from the corner of his mouth. So, so close. "I wanna be a part of ya.", he pushes further. 

Aki's maw parts. Steam hisses. More sweat. Lips curl, fangs are bared alongside the hellish needle. His back collides with the floor, pinned by the entire weight of the fiend. It stings where he's held down; that's gonna bruise for sure. Spit is spread over his skin, the rough patch on Aki's tongue seeking, prodding, and finding. The puncture is sudden and violent, the muscle thrashing as it forces a path through Denji's flesh. The fiend pants loudly, saliva dripping from his teeth. His skin bulges and rises where the needle pokes around for his bloodstream. It slips somewhere between his collar bones and slides along his ribs, making sure not to delve too deep, lest it pierces a lung. Denji lied. It hurts. He likes it, though. 

The Gun Fiend keeps feeding on him until capillaries burst, blood vessels hemorrhage, torn muscle fibers sting, blossoms of black and blue bloom in pale fields. He doesn't want to know how much damage this would do to a simple human. Again, good thing that Denji isn't human anymore. Hot breath fans over his skin. The fiend gives a wet gurgle, blood rising from his belly after definitely overeating, as his needle withdraws. It's dark red, dripping, when Denji sees it. He shudders, too weak to press the hole shut himself this time, so Aki does it for him again. The needle sways, just above his mouth. A string of bloody drool dangles, so Denji opens his mouth, catching it just in time. He can see the fleshy tubing contract, the hole in the front closing, followed by a low sound from deep within Aki's throat; he just swallowed whatever was still in there. 

"And you're sure about this?", his boyfriend dares to ask under his breath. God, he can't believe him. "Ya could eat me 'nd I wouldn't care...", Denji slurs, beads of cold sweat rolling down his temples and seeping into his hair. 

The fiend only gnashes his teeth in response, as if the thought excites him.

Chapter Text

Buttons click, the TV flickers. Darkness, save for pale light, and silence, aside from quiet 16-bit sound effects. Denji hasn't had time to play video games in ages, so he's catching up on that. He came to love Sonic 3, so that's what he's playing right now– albeit for the twelfth time or so. It's one of his favorite games, next to all the gory and violent ones he plays with Power. It's the kind of mental stimulation he can't get from reading, but needs on occasion. He's absorbed in it, spaced out and focused at the same time. But even like this, Denji is a mutt with sharp senses, shaped by his environment. There aren't any sounds beyond him and the TV with the console, but there is something. A premonition of sorts. A presence, even. Hairs on his nape rise, goosebumps all over his back. He pauses the game and he twists around to check if there is something to his delusions, and yes, there is. 

Aki, standing by the corner. Looking at him. Looming. Stalking Denji like prey. His boyfriend has become acquainted with the taste of blood and the idea of feeding from others over the last few weeks. He's always hungry, but prefers to feast on him, out of all people. Only him. He tastes good, he tells him time and time again. Saying it, to admit something like that, still causes shame and distress. Figures, Denji supposes. Aki's new existence is one of blood, foreign urges, and gunmetal. Heat burns on his nape, lips parting as he tries to think straight. The Gun Fiend has a presence like none other. The mutt shivers under his nonexistent gaze, the imposing stare of blue eyes replaced by the Colt's barrel. It works better than a particularly mean stare would. 

Nervously, he clears his throat, before he speaks. "I thought ya went to bed…", he murmurs, knowing that Aki will still hear. His senses are something else; he can hear a needle drop. "I can't sleep.", the fiend responds. A low rumble sounds. He can't tell if it was the other's stomach or a growl. A gust of air. Aki is looming over him. Barrel pointed down. It happens so quickly that Denji has no time to startle, not to mention react in any other way. He can only look up at him with big eyes. Saliva is already wetting the corners of the fiend's mouth. Ah. He's hungry. However, no matter how much the ache in his stomach, the dryness of his throat plagues him, he waits. Aki waits for permission. Sweat forms on the teen's temples. The fiend's nostrils flare. God. There is something about how feral he's gotten after silently accepting that this is what he is now. "Y-ya can… Um, yanno– do ya thing.", Denji stutters and stumbles over words, but how can he not when the thing that is his boyfriend is practically drooling above him, itching for his blood? 

It comes as no surprise that Aki jumps at the green light given, dropping to his knees behind him. The full length of his needle swirls over the skin of Denji's nape, sampling his cold sweat. It leaves little cuts, red lines carved into his skin, that sting when they start to bleed. Sometimes, Aki doesn't puncture him, mostly when his hunger doesn't warrant the full works, and instead just cuts him to lap up the blood that spills. It's definitely messier than sucking it out of him, but… He likes it. He's weird. A shiver chases through him when Aki starts to sample the red beads forming at the cuts, suckling on the lines with perverted fervor. 

Denji wanted to return to playing his game and maybe beat another act or two, but holy shit, he's eating shit left and right. More cuts in his skin. It still fascinates him just how sharp the edges of Aki's tongue are, like a double-edged blade made from the finest steel. A gurgle against his skin. The rough patch on the muscle scrapes over a deeper cut, irritating his flesh into shedding more precious blood. Perhaps rough is the wrong word– it's textured, but in a weird way. And flexible. He can feel the bumps on it work against his open tissue. It isn't the first time that he imagines them on something else. God, that would feel amazing.  

"Put that thing away.", comes the full-fledged, downright threatening growl. It's sudden. Denji freezes. He can feel his cunt clench against his will. It makes him wet. Very wet. He swallows the spit in his mouth. "Now.", the fiend gurgles right against his ear. That's different. Aki has a tendency to order people around, but never in such a forceful tone. Denji drops the controller and lets it hit the floor with loud clattering, holds his hands up. God. God, he's so fucked. The mood is right. It hasn't been in months, but now it's there, ever present. His breathing grows heavy. More sweat. The stench of fear and arousal does something for the Gun Fiend. Denji finds himself dragged across the floor, caged in a corner underneath a feral beast. His beloved beast of flesh and steel. Aki's expression is marred by a snarl, countless more teeth bared while the centerpiece, his needle, sways like a viper about to strike. 

Then, distance. Aki recoils with a sob, chest heaving. The bloodlust still terrifies his boyfriend. It gets bad rather often, making him unfit for many things. Going outside is a challenge, but Denji can't help but think how hot it is. He's unpredictable. Aki could kill him and he wouldn't care. Another sob. "S-sorry.", the fiend whimpers, high-pitched and distraught, "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry–" He likes his shame. What they're doing feels gross and forbidden because of it, but in a sexy way. It turns him on beyond words. Denji is an awful person. However, his worry gets the better of him. "Wh-what's gotten into ya…?", he asks, sitting up. The cuts on his back sting badly. Cue a snarl from the beast, teeth clenched. A puff of steam is exhaled through the gaps between them, causing an unholy hiss to ring through the air. "I-I want to– b-bite you.", Aki manages to say, a growl interrupting him. Saliva spills, drips on the floor. "B-but the– the eating type of b-biting.", he forces himself to elaborate, despair clearly audible in his tone. Oh. Oh, fuck. "I-I'm– I can't– resist.", Aki chokes forth. God. This is doing all the wrong things for him. 

"Hey, hold on, 's okay.", Denji does his best to comfort, closing the distance and cradling his boyfriend's head as he holds it close to his shoulder, "I told ya it's fine." Another harrowing sob. Aki is shaking again. Fingers claw into his shirt. Shaken breaths. It takes him several moments, many trembling inhales and exhales until he can form words with his fucked up tongue. "What if I kill you, Denji?", Aki asks under his breath. Ah. He figured that would be an issue or something like it. Denji likes to despair about things much like Aki, but all the big 'what if's' don't come to mind– for a very simple reason.  

"Ya can't.", he replies. Mutts like him are unkillable, much like cockroaches. Immortal, even. He could get crushed, torn apart, dismembered, eaten, only for Pochita to put him back together. "You can't kill me.", he says again, this time clear, articulate. He forces Aki to look at him, giving a half-lidded look through pale lashes. He can't be killed, but he wants to have the fiend try. Mutilate, marr, mangle his frail body. Fuck him to death. God, he wants it so bad, but he doesn't know how to say it without making Aki freak out more. 

The Gun Fiend splits their embrace, the barrel swaying quickly as he shakes whatever is going through his head right now. "I-I've– I've been thinking horrible, awful things about you.", Aki laments, grimaces as he weaves a hand into his hair and pulls on it, likely in a desperate attempt to make himself think straight. Horrible, awful things, he says. Denji's imagination is running amok. Is he thinking about the same brand of horrible and awful as Denji? That would be too good to be true, actually. He has to ask. "I wanna hear examples.", he states, without shame and without any hesitation. 

Aki flinches, grimaces again. The Colt sways to the side. "D-Denji, I can't– s-say those things.", Aki says. This would have deterred him, had it not been for the very obvious red tint of Aki's ears and nape. The teen hikes his shirt up, pulls it so high that he reveals his stomach, chest, his erect nipples, the bruises of past feedings that he kept Pochita from healing, because he likes them so much, the pale silhouettes of his collarbones. The barrel points at him again. A lone drop of drool slips from parted lips. "Then show me.", Denji coaxes. 

Cue a low growl. God, and what a growl it is. His back collides with the ground. Aki pins him. Hard. Leaves his fingerprints in Denji's flesh. Forever his. A hot breath fans across his skin, stakes of ivory bared right in his face. The needle is dragged across his cheek, the tip leaving a streak that sheds red. An excited gurgle breaks out of the fiend's throat while he examines Denji's with his tongue, feeling around for his pulse, likely itching to taste it. Fingers curl into blonde locks. Harsh pulling, forcing the teen's head back. His throat is laid bare now. Denji can't help but moan, thighs pressing together.

The muzzle of the Colt presses against the floor as Aki buries his nose in a space he can't quite pinpoint and inhales loudly, snorting and all. He's scenting him. Not only has his hearing gotten better, but his sense of smell did too. He noticed that Aki likes it when he doesn't shower as often, albeit too uptight and ashamed to admit. Wet heat against the side of his neck. Drool runs downward. The fiend's cold nose pokes forth into the hairline behind his ear, teeth grazing him. Gurgling and groaning. More sniffing. God, he's gross, too.  

"Ya gettin' somethin' from this?", Denji asks with an amused huff. A raspy hum follows. He'll take that as a yes.The fiend starts to pant again, albeit not fast, but in slow, heaving breaths. A harsh shiver on the teen's end. He's so fucking wet that he must be soaking through his underwear. God, the fiend can probably smell that. Maybe that's why he's breathing so hard. Fuck. A whimper breaks out of Denji. He can't tell if it's fear or lust at this point. Likely both. The grip in his hair tightens, forces his spinal cord to straighten and makes it pop at his neck. The sniffing comes to a halt. More saliva flows. Teeth gnash, grind together, clicking. Denji gasps when a crucial realization hits. He's going to– he doesn't get to finish the thought. 

The viper strikes at last, burrowing deep into the meat of his shoulder. He cringes, back arching as his thighs cramp, legs propping up. Aki never goes all the way in, just with the tip and perhaps an inch after that, never more. But right now, Denji can feel him poke around in his upper arm, his fangs hovering over the flesh of his trapezius. Then, the Gun Fiend's maw clamps shut. The teen almost screams. Aki's needle pierces muscle, sinew, quite literally strikes a nerve on its search for blood. The happy gurgling and growling that follow, soon joined by slurping, tells him that he found something. 

The searing pain makes his arm spasm, fingers shaking and knuckles turning white as he claws into the back of Aki's shirt with his other arm. Snot and saliva flows, his chest heaving. It hurts like all hell. His cock throbs like it has never before. However, the pain gets worse when the fiend's tongue scrapes along his humerus– and cuts into the bone, worming its way to the marrow. The thing isn't only sharp, but also hard and strong as fuck. He can feel every little movement, every miniscule cut made. Aki is hollowing him out. The trauma done to his flesh is made obvious by the dark bruises appearing along the thick welt of the fiend's tongue under his skin. 

Denji presses his legs together. It hurts– so good. A mewl fights its way out of his throat. He feels too much at once– too much pain, too much pleasure. His body can't bear it. Aki's maw clenches harder around his shoulder and all those little teeth punch deeper holes into him. It's what ends him. That searing hot, delicious pain. Whimpering, then crying. Tears flow. His back arches, his breath speeds. Hissing– wait, hissing…? By the time he notices the increasing wetness in his pants, it's too late. He's full on pissing himself. Shit. Denji sobs and whines, head thrown back. The white-hot pain is eclipsed by tension in his midriff, tension that he doesn't remember holding nor notice building. Another whimper, then the teen moans, loud and wanton. Eyes roll back, gasping, breaths hitching against his will; he's cumming.  

His cramping legs press together, making his wet clothes squelch between his thighs. The high lasts and lasts. Nostrils flare, snot bubbles blown, while he fights with the screams of fucked up pleasure in his throat, so the neighbors don't think he's getting shanked. Well, it's not far from the truth– even if consensual. A last weak moan falls from his lips. He writhes in the puddle of his filth as the wetness crawls up through the back of his shirt. Gross. Gross, gross, gross. He likes it– being filthy and gross. The fiend is still carving a path into his bone, leaving blemishes and marks where no other even will, sampling marrow. A particularly loud gurgle sounds. Denji can feel him withdraw from the narrow threshold of his humerus, only to stab into the muscle of his upper arm. Swallowing, wet and throaty. His arm is blooming in red and blue, aches horribly. 

He doesn't know where and when, but the pain stops. All there is, is a warm buzz engulfing him. Sweet bliss. It might be the blood loss– yeah, it's the blood loss. It feels good, though. Light-headed to the point of dipping in and out of consciousness, the fiend on top and still holding him with an iron grasp, his hand being unable to claw into the other's shirt much longer and thus losing its grip, hitting the floor with a dull thud. He's felt this way before time and time again, but in less pleasant circumstances; Denji imagines that this is what dying feels like. It's a high like no other when his brain does its utmost to keep him from suffering any further, perhaps to give him the last bit of strength to run and drag himself into a corner to pass in peace. 

The needle withdraws with obscene squelching as it glides through his flesh, leaving behind an aching nothingness where the appendage once was. Denji gives a shuddering breath, head lolling to the side when the fiend finally unhands his hair. More drool spills from his mouth, jaw hanging slack. He's beyond limp. A sorry sight. He's pretty sure that the aftereffects of their fucked up mating game would be severe if he was a mere human. Punctured nerves, severed sinew (would at least explain why he can't move his arm and why it tingles so awfully), torn up blood vessels– that can't be healthy. Denji lies there, in his puddle of slowly cooling piss, looking less like himself and more like someone you'd find in the aftermath of a snuff film. 

That realization hits and it is none too kind to the fiend atop of him. "F-fuck.", Aki squeaks, paling to the point of being as white as a sheet, "I'm– o-oh, god–" He starts to shake, gasping and sobbing, at the same time trying to keep it down. "'m fine.", Denji slurs himself back into existence, a string of saliva flowing from the corner of his mouth, "Jus' a li'l… F-fucked up." The thumbs up isn't particularly convincing, even with his un-fucked arm. He doesn't know what it would feel like to move the other one, after Aki must've cut through many parts of him that he can't even say the name of and slurped his bone marrow straight from the source. "Was… It good…?", he manages to ask, his strength threatening to leave him. 

The fun, warm buzz is gone. He's cold now. Very cold. His eyes roll. A breath heaves in his lungs. He's so, so, so dizzy. His field of view is obscured by his lashes as his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Denji doesn't get a reply from Aki. Instead, one of the fiend's fingers hooks into his cord and pulls, albeit not all the way. His engine doesn't roar. It stutters and purrs in his chest; a misfire. However, a misfire is enough to bring his senses back to him– all at once, violently. His eyes fly open, pupils constricted to tiny dots. Wounds close up in an instant and bruises disappear. The teen's limp frame jolts to life, stirring in the vile mixture of piss, blood, and drool under his ass.

Aki looks down at him. Worry is written all over what's left of his visage. "Th-that was sc-scary.", the fiend whines, cradling his face and wiping away dried tears, snot, and the like. "I liked it…", Denji tells him straight up, perhaps hoping to prevent a breakdown. It's not a lie; he really did. Even if he made a giant mess because of it. 

His boyfriend shoots him a disappointed look. Wow, he can tell that much, even without eyes!

Before Aki turned into a fiend, he would be clingy and affectionate when he felt a certain type of way, always at Denji's side, always close. It's the polar opposite now, Denji can't help but notice. When Aki wants him now, he stalks. Stares awfully long, lingers in the furthest spot away from him. The fiend has been practicing restraint since what happened last time, albeit Denji keeps reassuring him that he was okay, that he liked it, that he'd let him do it again; the teen knows that it's a matter of time until he can bear his urges no more. 

Denji is in the living room, two in the morning, trying to play video games in peace. Aki has been staring at him. Déjà vu. This time, he fights the need to turn around and look at the fiend, as if it would prolong things, perhaps equivalent to playing hard to get. It's difficult. Really difficult. Especially when he can hear Aki breathe behind him, loud and heaving. He's not really focused on his game this time, only pretends that he is. Every rough exhale that borders on a growl causes goosebumps to rise on his back and arms. Aki has been doing the most to be 'normal', but what is that getting him, really? It's just making things worse. 

Gurgling somewhere behind him. A hiss. The teen swallows. God, this is fucked up, but he loves it. He feels like prey. Floorboards creak. He's getting closer. Fuck. "Dennnnnnn–jiiiiiiiiiiiii…", Aki warbles, low and droning. A shiver chases through him. God, he has no right to be that hot. He's already throbbing and nothing happened yet. Denji shifts in his spot, hips pushed downward for some pressure on the right spots and god, he can't help but bite his lip. Aki needs to fuck him already. 

Another gurgle. Slobbering. Drool hits the floor. God. Floorboards creak. He's closing in. Another heaving breath that sounds more like a gravelly growl. Not looking is getting harder and harder. He wants to be ravaged and fucked into a miserable pile of limbs and viscera, but he wants to make Aki work for it more. Yes, this is nothing more than ass-backwards courting. And he loves it. His boyfriend is a sucker for being in control, but Denji has long taken to showing him that that isn't always the case. Although he has to admit that Aki's methods of reestablishing his position are low as fuck. Little does he know just how low the fiend will go to get a rise out of him. 

Yet another gurgle. More steps taken. The breathing is close now. Denji shivers. "I want to know what the inside of your pussy feels like on my tongue.", comes the sudden throaty growl. He clenches against the floor. Holy fuck. Well, that gave his dick a heartbeat. Shaken breaths heave in his chest when Denji finally turns around, his face deep red and beads of sweat forming, staring into the visage of his beast, an unhinged grin distorting usually stoic features. "Got you.", Aki grunts. God. This asshole. Denji accepts defeat. 

He can't say for sure what happens next, but he's dragged over the floor. Plastic clatters on the floor when the dropped controller is kicked aside during a brief struggle and Denji squeaks, because Aki's grasp leaves red marks on his forearms. The fiend growls, his maw parting to make way for his needle to curl at the corner of his mouth. Thick spit flows, drips on Denji's chest and seeps through his shirt. It's fucked up, but the feeding became a part of their routine. They made it a trust building exercise, so to speak, albeit in the most twisted way imaginable. The floor is hard and cold, he notices as Aki shifts his weight and pushes him further into it. Fingers claw into his skull, yank on his hair. He moans, because it feels good in the worst way. Wet heat against his neck, the needle crawling over his skin on the search for his pulse. Aki favors his shoulders, his arms, and his thighs when it comes to feeding. 

Denji expects, maybe even wishes for the searing heat that each puncture brings with itself, but no such thing. The muscle strokes him, samples his sweat, coils behind his ear and goes as far as dipping into it, forcing a shiver out of him. He misses the sting; it's not cutting him for some reason. His fingers curl into Aki's sweatshirt, heat rising into his face and shoulders. He shouldn't ask why it's not doing what it seems to be supposed to. It's good like this. But Denji is a blabbermouth with too many things on his mind that need to be uttered, lest his skull bursts. "'s not sharp…?", he manages to sigh, eyes rolling as the tongue lolls over his Adam's apple, spreading drool across his heated skin, and it slithers over his jaw, the rough patch scraping him. God, this shouldn't feel as good as it does.

Aki withdraws with a slurp, the muscle retreating into his maw, save for the tip, held between his lips. It takes him a moment or two to realize that the fiend is showing it to him. The needle's edges are curled and tucked, the hole closed up. It's what it looks like at rest, he presumes, and how Aki keeps it from cutting up his mouth. "Do you want it to be?", the fiend asks, a low rumble thrumming deep within his chest. A breath hitches in Denji's throat. Yes! Yes, he does. He wants Aki to taste him. He's just that fucked up. The teen can only nod in response. The fiend gurgles at that. His head is wrenched into position again and the heat is back on his skin, this time with the familiar sting of little red lines being carved into his flesh. God, yes.  

A loud sigh breaks out of him when Aki suckles on one of the deeper cuts in the crook of his neck. Fuck, that's good. It comes as no surprise that Denji sticks a hand down his own shorts while the fiend is doing his thing, rubbing and stroking himself though his underwear at his leisure. Teeth puncture his skin, just the points of them. A moan breaks out of him. It's not a bite to hold him down for feeding, but rather a love bite. He always found his needle to be sharp as hell, but it's downright crude compared to his fangs. He can't even feel them when they press into the flesh of his shoulder. Aki leaves little holes wherever he goes, sucks on them for a taste. Blood spills, mixes with fat globs of drool. 

The teen can only rub himself faster after another bite, this time a little firmer, deeper. A whine bleeds from his throat. The grip in his hair loosens. The fiend travels downward, yanks his shirt off of him. Cue delighted growling, like an idling engine. Aki likes the sight of untouched skin. Sticky wetness against his chest. The glide is too easy, he finds, only to realize that the sharp edges are tucked again. He's not going to complain though, because the other takes a liking to slobbering on his nipples and swirling his tongue around them. His underwear is getting damp. A particularly firm stroke of his hand makes him whine again, head thrown back. 

It draws the Gun Fiend's attention. A cold grasp on Denji's wrist distracts him from his almost furious masturbating, panting a little as he gives his boyfriend an offended look. He was just getting into it. A pout forms. Then, Colt to his forehead, tongue slinking out to drag across his cheek in a languid stroke, before it withdraws. "Let me do the work.", Aki rasps at him, a string of saliva slipping from his maw and hanging between two fangs in his lower jaw. Okay. Okay, pout gone. Denji might just melt, actually. A groan of lustful defeat follows. He shakes the clammy grip off his wrist and pulls away, albeit the cold fingers are back in their spot quickly. The fiend guides his hand to his face. Cue a snort. Nostrils flare. The muscle coils around his digits, tasting the little bit of dampness that managed to seep through his underwear. He can't help but shiver anew. Fuck. 

Blood seeps from his shoulder, only to be lapped up by Aki who decides to feed on his open wounds some more, swirling his tongue over Denji's skin and swallowing greedily. The pistol pokes and prods him while this is happening, but he's gotten used to having a gun pointed at him when he's with Aki. He can't help but put his hand on it when his boyfriend buries his face in the crook of his neck for a whiff of his sweat, fingers tracing the topside of it until they weave into hair. Aki shivers, growls. The veins under his touch twitch. And then, something catches him off guard. Lips on his, the Colt slotted against his temple. Butterflies galore. They haven't kissed in so, so, so long. Hands frame Aki's face right away, holding him in place. Lips smack. Denji parts his for more to happen and he ends up pleasantly surprised; Aki accepts. 

The needle is in his mouth, edges tucked. It's so much firmer than a normal tongue and slick. Denji can taste his blood on it. It really turns him on– god, he's got issues. Spit mixes and spills. Aki is drooling so much. Fingers comb through black hair anew. The fiend shifts. Leg between his thighs, pressed flush against his crotch. Cue a moan tumbling from the teen's lips. It's sudden when they part, but he appreciates the room to swallow the abundance of spit in his mouth. The fiend gurgles happily as he pushes himself into the crook of his neck again, as if he'd crawl in there if he could. "You smell so good.", Aki gives a gravelly rasp, followed by a loud inhale and a particularly unflattering snort. His boyfriend is more beast than human. It's hot. Hotter than he can describe. Eventually, the fiend can stop basking in his stench, travels down his body and leaving little red marks along the way, on his chest, his tummy. Fibers crack and likely tear as well when his shorts and underwear are pulled off roughly. 

Aki's lip curls. Nostrils flare. Saliva drips, hangs in a fat string from his chin. He smells even better down there, Denji thinks to himself. That assumption turns out to be right, since Aki goes for a nosedive into the coarse hair covering his mound, the Colt wedged snugly into the space where his hips end and his thigh begins. He feels bad; his boyfriend always has to hold his head at such awkward angles for things like this. The other doesn't seem to mind, but still. However, his pity is cut short. He feels it. The needle, slithering between his folds. A shudder first, then a gasp when he can feel it toy with his hole, tracing the rim of it before dipping in. Well, that's an understatement. It's not just dipping, it's going right in. His mouth falls open in a silent moan. He can feel Aki poke around, pushing and rubbing against his insides and– 

"O-oh, fuck.", Denji moans out loud, fingers clawing into the black mop between his legs. His knees rise, thighs twitching. Bright red shoots into his face, eyes squeezing shut. He can feel the fiend's tongue rub over something deep within and man , it feels better than it should. He clenches around it, bottom lip caught between teeth. The wiggling and swirling of Aki mapping out his insides is going to drive him insane, he's sure of it. He pulls on the black strands between his digits, albeit not too hard. However, it's enough to garner a low gurgle in response. He expects more, maybe something different, but then, the tongue slinks out of him. Oh, fuck off. Denji whines in frustration, only for the sound to bleed into a drawn-out moan when Aki gives him not only something different, but also something way better. 

Aki is dragging his rough patch over his cock– the rough patch that isn't really rough. It's bumpy and a little firmer in comparison to the rest of his tongue. He hates his brain for trying to map out the exact feel to it while it's being rubbed all over his dick, because that's making it hard to enjoy. Though, the teen soon ends up entirely thoughtless when his boyfriend manages to figure things out, starting to work his shaft with an actual method to it. The wet heat crawls downward, focuses on his tip. He jolts, pushing Aki's head a little bit further down. Swirling, thick saliva spread across sensitive flesh. His toes curl. A moan gets caught in his throat. He always does his best to keep quiet (that's a lie), especially when they're fucking in the living room, but it's hard this time. Very. Aki laps at his hood, the skin pulled back with each little drag of his tongue. He draws a line up his shaft, only to slink back down and make his legs quiver when licking the tip again. It can't get any better than this, right? 

Though equipped with sharp teeth, the fiend is delicate when he takes him into his mouth, lips tucked over his teeth and his tongue pressed against him. Slurping sets in. The bumps downright massage his cock with each suckle, little twitches and movements from the muscle adding to the whole thing. Cue a long sigh from Denji, eyes rolling as he runs his fingers through Aki's hair. Yeup, this is the life– getting his dick sucked by his fiend boyfriend and his weird tongue bits. However, he doesn't know what ideas have been brewing in Aki's thick skull. It's sudden when a low rumble starts to thrum in the fiend's throat but, oh, god– his jaw falls slack, face distorted in pleasure. A whimper manages to fight its way out of him. It's like his mouth is vibrating from the sound he's making. Holy fuck.  

It gets to him, drives him up and down the wall with embarrassing efficiency. The back of Denji's head hits the floor with a dull thud as his spine arches against his will, mouth clamped shut with a hand as he desperately tries not to scream in sheer pleasure. Thighs spasm, his arm cramps as he yanks on Aki's hair, and he's about to start writhing in his spot, but the fiend holds him down by the hips with a grip that makes red bloom on his skin. A shriek is muffled by his palm when warmth coils way faster than anticipated. He barely notices the pressure in his abdomen, only aware of it when it's already too late. A particularly hard suck is what does him in. Tension. Liquid heat in his belly. He's so, so close. Then, wet hissing. Fuck. Whimpering breaks out of him when warmth floods him in waves, makes him twitch and jolt as he threatens to seep into the cracks between the floorboards. 

His spit-covered palm is removed from his mouth, making way for frantic panting and drool. Cue various slurping and sucking noises. It's only then that he realizes that Aki is still going. His thighs clamp around the other's head, not giving a shit that the Colt is poking into soft fatty bits. "St-stop–", he manages to grit forth, pulling on the fiend's hair. Aki heeds, but once there's no warm mouth around his cock anymore, he can't help but cringe at the cold air. Aki makes a weird noise, somewhere between cackle and growl, as he sits up– with the mess on full display. Excess dripping off his chin, too runny to be drool, a giant-fucking-stain in the front of his grey sweatshirt, all while giving Denji a shit-eating grin. 

"Sooooo messy.", the fiend mocks with a rasp, licking his lips. "Fuckyou.", Denji spits back quickly, the insult a jumbled mess between gritted teeth. All it does is make Aki purr at him, bringing their cheeks together in a gentle nuzzle. He folds. Immediately. The pout that was threatening to form withers. Arms around the fiend's neck. He squeezes, making all the pinholes in his shoulder ache. Flakes of dried blood on his skin. Their love is different now, but some little things do remain the same. 

They part. His hands find Aki's face, feels all those wonderful blemishes and long healed scars, delighted at the fact that they're still in their respective spots. The barrel of the Colt throbs against the side of his head. They're close. As close as they physically can be to resting forehead to forehead. He inches forward, so close that their skin barely brushes together. Aki doesn't give him the satisfaction of kissing him first as it seems. Luckily, Denji has no qualms closing the distance. A featherlight peck, sweet and tender. No teeth, no tongues. He pulls away after that one chaste kiss. 

Heat surges in his belly, desire churning up his insides. Denji wants to fuck, but the mood hasn't been right on Aki's end in ages. All they do is make out, but the moment Denji tries to touch Aki or, god forbid, give him head back, his boyfriend gets him to shift focus. There's something else he isn't telling him, but it hasn't been apparent enough for Denji to work up the courage and ask. "Breed me.", he whispers against Aki's lips, quite unchaste, unable to keep his request to himself any longer. A low growl rises into the fiend's throat, coming from deep within his chest. A warning perhaps. Denji doesn't care. "Please.", comes the soft murmur as a follow-up, clawing at the cracks in the fiend's badly maintained composure. And indeed, his plea makes something break in Aki. 

A bruising grip on his arm. The side of his face makes contact with the floorboards, suddenly spun on his fours, pushed down. Hellish gurgling and growling. Strong grip on his head, nearly crushing his skull. It borders on reflex that he angles his hips just right, arching his back for the fiend. Another growl, harsh like the purr of Denji's engine, but metallic like the clinking of empty bullet casings. Fumbling, fabric shoved out of the way with frustrated grumbling. He expects to be stretched, but even anticipation couldn't have prepared him for the moment it happens and it's not fingers. Aki is fucking him– raw, without a condom, unsafe. It feels different, not just because there's no latex between them, but his brain doesn't get to pinpoint each and every detail about the shape of Aki's cock, because the fiend starts fucking him with reckless abandon. His head is still pressed flush against the floor, the other using it for leverage with his full weight. The Gun Fiend is foaming at the mouth while hammering into him, teeth bared into an unhinged snarl. 

Denji doesn't even have time to moan between each hard thrust, skin squeaking as it is pushed along polished wood. The stretch is going to kill him. Aki feels bigger. A particularly hard thrust makes him break his silence, cry out in sweet pleasure when the seemingly new cock that's breaking him in hits nerves nestled deep within his cunt. He doesn't know what it is, but it feels– pointed. It makes him change the angle of his hips, suddenly hooked on the tingles that reach all the way to his fingertips each time the fiend hits home. Aki's fingers are getting clammy against his scalp. Foamy spit hits his back, fat strings of drool dangling from the beast's jowls. Denji can barely process how much Aki at his most disgusting and unhinged turns him on. It does something unspeakable to his libido– and he wants his fiend to do unspeakable things to him in turn. 

Each impact of their hips comes with disgustingly wet squelching and a growl from the Gun Fiend, carving a path for himself through already pliant insides. He doesn't resist, but the grip on his skull remains. Aki could just crush his head like this. He can feel him tremble, likely struggling to keep his strength at bay. A shudder shakes him when he imagines it– his brains splattered across the floor while Aki keeps breeding his headless, limp body, because it's no more than a warm, wet hole for him to use until he defiles Denji's remains with his cum. It would be without consequence; that's the fun part. Aki would just rev his engine and they could do it again, again, and again. Denji knows that he's fucked up, but came to terms with the fact that he likes being mangled with love and affection. 

Something changes. Aki's growling starts to sound different. Lower, more strained. There's something hard prodding the rim of his hole when the fiend thrusts in, no longer as nice and deep as before. He can barely keep his hips up at this point, numb and sore to the point of being unable to feel his pelvis, so Aki is hooking his other arm around his midriff to hold him where he needs him to be. His eyes roll and flutter against his will when that hard thing pushes into him– or Aki is attempting to push it into him, rather. It's really thick. Maybe a little too thick for him. Denji whimpers when the fiend keeps pushing and pushing forward, hellbent on stuffing him. "A-Agi–", he manages to slur  tears pricking his eyes. It's starting to hurt and not in the way he likes. Aki comes to a halt, his manic grin fading fast. Heated skin pales. A disgusting squelch sounds, their fucked up unity broken. Denji wants to say something, but doesn't get to do so. 

Gust of air, something zipping by. A door closes. Water hits the tiles in the washroom. It takes him several seconds to realize that Aki left him. Ah. It costs Denji strength to sit up, a string of spit stretching between his mouth and the floor. His chest heaves as his lungs do their utmost to feed his systems oxygen. That was– mind-blowing. They've never had sex like that before. Both hands are brought up to his face, rubbing at it. They drop after a while. His bones feel floppy. An exasperated giggle follows as he looks down himself. He's smeared in blood that dripped from his shoulder, covered in bruises and pinholes, wet with Aki's drool. He's high on his ruined climax and woozy from blood loss– his new favorite combination as of recent. 

Denji can barely stand. His pelvis was fucking pulverized based on the ache that shoots through him with every little twitch of his muscles. His own spend starts to ooze out of him, thick and white, clumping his bush together. Wow– it only gets like that when he's really horny; whatever they were doing was doing it for him. God. He sways on his way to the washroom, has to hold onto the corner that Aki likes to stalk him from because he would've fallen otherwise. Suddenly, he's tired. Really tired. A yawn fights itself out of his throat. However, the fatigue doesn't last long. He realizes that his boyfriend left him and is isolating himself. Not good. 

"Aki…?", Denji asks, knocking on the door to the washroom. He isn't prepared for what follows. "Go away.", Aki replies, his tone somber, yet firm, "It's for the best." Oh. Anxiety settles in Denji's midriff. He's putting up walls again. Walls he spent so much time tearing down. "'m… Okay.", the teen tries to reassure, resting against the closed door because standing is getting hard. His legs are shaking. "Nothin' happened.", he adds, his voice no more than a soft whisper; Aki's hearing is good enough for him to have heard that. 

"Please leave me alone.", comes the crushingly firm response. Denji flinches, backs away from the washroom. Not this again. Tears burn in his eyes anew, getting to roll over still red cheeks this time. This sucks. This fucking sucks. Aki was doing so well. They were doing so well. "B-but– I need to shower, too…", Denji whimpers, utterly heartbroken. They could just do that together, have done that quite often in the past, but his boyfriend refused all offers, even when he was fine. This is fucking awful. 

No response follows. The water is still running, but the fiend doesn't speak. 

"A-Aki?", Denji asks again, desperate. 

All for naught. 

Chapter Text

Almost four weeks since that night. Things went to shit. His boyfriend has been avoiding him like the plague, only coming out at night and disappearing when Denji dared to set foot out of his room while Aki was awake. It fucking sucks. They didn't speak much, but one thing the other chose to impart, make him painfully aware of: they fucked without a condom. It didn't take much more for him to understand the implications. 

Denji is the same brand of ghostly pale that Aki always turns, standing in the bathroom. His hands shake as he holds onto a truly accursed thing, one he had never thought he'd ever have to use: a pregnancy test. In the flesh. His hands are clammy. Cold sweat is gathering on his temples. It doesn't feel real. He can barely look at himself in the bathroom mirror. The teen doesn't react when Power opens the door, peering in. Her curiosity has been killing her ever since he returned from the pharmacy. Aki said that the result would be most accurate after three or four weeks. Those weeks, they really, really sucked, especially because Aki left him alone with the possibility that he might– yeah. He doesn't want to think about it. 

Denji spent more than one night awake and crying over it. The fiend gets close, nostrils flaring. She recoils. "Ew, the stick smells like urine!", Power exclaims, her face scrunching. Usually, he would've laughed. She really doesn't know jack shit about humans. However, even if grossed out, she has this thing about her where she needs to have whatever someone else is focused on at that present moment; he can see the grabby hands from a mile away. "It smells like that 'cuz I peed on it. Stop tryna steal it.", Denji tells her, "'s important, Powy." 

What he says confuses her. Cue a head tilt, cute enough to lift his spirits a little. "Why would you urinate on a stick of plastic… Especially if it's so important…?", Power asks. "It's–", he begins, fighting with his words as he tries to translate them into the Power equivalent of things, "I-I, uh– it's to check if I'm, um–" Denji has to concede; there's no other word for it that he knows. He takes a deep breath, a shudder making the hair on his nape rise, and tries again, "If I'm pregnant." He speaks it into existence with disgust and fear. 

Power looks at him with big eyes. "... A-are you?", she asks, great hesitation in her tone. God. What is he supposed to say to that? He doesn't know, so Denji shrugs, jaw clenching. He can't tell yet. Power seems horrified on his behalf, doesn't know what to do with herself. "C-can I hug you?", she asks carefully. Her thoughtfulness moves him, but– "Not right now.", he has to reply. And that's that. She leaves him alone with a defeated little 'okay', slinking away and returning to her room. Denji puts the cursed object aside to splash his face with water. He feels like he might throw up any second. A deep, shaken breath. Cold sweat on his back. He takes the plastic stick and the packaging it came in, leaves the bathroom. 

His legs shake as he makes his way to Aki's room, sitting down in front of the closed door with his legs pulled close to his chest. "Aki, 'm s-scared.", he whispers, knowing that the fiend is sitting on the other side. "I'm sorry.", comes the truly pathetic excuse of an apology. It makes Denji's blood boil. Sorry for what? The fact that this happened in the first place or that he didn't think of comforting his own fucking boyfriend? He's about to grit his teeth, but stops in his tracks when his gaze falls on the test at his feet. Something appeared. "Wait, I… I think it's done.", he murmurs. A breath hitches in Aki's throat. "How many bars…", comes the half-finished sentence, dread audible in Aki's voice. "O-only one.", he replies, shaking.  A resounding sigh of relief from the other side of the door. He checks the manual-looking thing from the packaging again, just to be sure. Negative. It's fucking negative. Thank god. Denji is so happy he could cry. 

However, said happiness doesn't last. Aki isn't with him to share that relief, sitting behind a locked door like a coward. For what? Denji thinks he should be the one to isolate himself, to sulk and stress about things. It's not that adults don't get to throw tantrums, but it's his turn. He has done his best to empathize, to understand Aki, give him what he needs, yet it's not enough. Turning into a fiend– he can't imagine that to be a nice or particularly fun existence, but they've been working with it. Denji let him feed and for what? All to be locked out for a fucking month, while he had to struggle with a potential nightmare in the making on his own. No hugs, no kisses, no comforting words. But Denji doesn't know what he expected from a possessed dead guy. Maybe Aki's empathy died that day or it died at that facility owned by the bureau after all the medication they exposed him to, just to make him normal. Well, it didn't fucking work. And Denji likes it. It's their new normal. Aki has to come to terms with it. 

It gets him to think. Aki's body is dead. Technically. Kinda. Makima said he wasn't braindead after the Gun Devil put a bullet through his skull, but that doesn't change that fiends are cold, dead puppet bodies, used by the devil they were overtaken by. "Y'know, think 'bout it for a second–", Denji begins suddenly, breaking a moment of silence that he wasn't aware of in the first place. He's sick of Aki being a fucking pussy, so he won't sugarcoat his findings. "You're a walkin', talkin', possessed corpse.", he spits forth with contempt in his voice, "We don' have to worry 'bout me gettin' knocked up." That's the fun part. He'd be excited for all the unprotected sex they could finally have if he wasn't talking sense into Aki. What he says strikes a nerve, isn't taken kindly. "Wh-what the fuck is wrong with you?", the fiend asks in all seriousness by the sound of it, following up with a growl, "Don't say that shit to me." He doesn't want to hear it. Of course. The truth sucks, Denji knows that, but it is what it is. 

"Sulkin' won't make ya human again.", he goes on, trying to force the fiend to swallow that bitter pill. Throat cleared, he does his best to speak as clearly as possible, no slurring, no usual mannerisms. "You need to accept that this is what you are now.", Denji grits forth, practically forcing the pill down Aki's throat with his bare hands. Nothing will be like it was before. It just is that way now. Locking himself away and denying himself the blood that he needs to function won't change that. His lower jaw begins to tremble, teeth chattering. "This shit wit' the hidin' and throwin' hissy fits is killin' me, okay?", Denji whimpers, grimacing at the gaping hole that opens up in his chest. His throat closes up, forcing him to swallow. "It sucks when ya keep pushin' me away when I-I'm'–" Cue a gut-wrenching sob. No tears, but he frantically wipes at his face anyway. "–I'm tryin' to get on wit' life wit' ya…" 

It's silent after that. For a long time. Denji doesn't expect what he receives in return for his love and care. "You don't get it.", Aki spits in anger, venomous down to every word, every sound his tongue and lips form. That stings. "I'm a fucking freak of nature, Denji.", Aki reminds him, as if he wasn't aware. He isn't stupid. Fuck, that hurts too. "I'll never be able to just– get on with life.", the fiend adds, melodramatic as can be. He can get on with life if he stops being a little bitch. It doesn't faze him. "I do get it, 'cuz I'm a freak of nature, too.", he responds with a sniffle, "It's not jus' hard for ya." Another long pause. It scares him. Turns out he's right to be scared.

"You just want to fuck, don't you?", Aki asks, almost tender, yet packing the bite force of the Gun Devil itself, "It's all you want. You don't really care." Denji feels as if the world around him stops. His heart sinks. His stomach folds in on itself. Breathing gets harder, to the point where every breath burns in his lungs. The sting in his chest worsens immensely. Enough to make tears shoot into his eyes. That's not true. He shakes his head, even if Aki can't see it from his fortress. Why would he say something like that? "I jus' want ya to be okay.", he squeaks in desperation, tears falling. "Please come out. O-or let me in.", Denji sobs, somehow managing to swallow the unbearable pain in his chest. No response. He won't let himself be ignored this time, though. He's sick of it. 

It's not hard for him to find something that would lure Aki out of his den. He hasn't eaten. Not human food nor blood. He must be starving, he's sure of it. Sharp fangs find the delicate skin of his own wrist, tear into it. He flinches at the sting, holding his bleeding wrist out and allowing the blood to drip on the floor, right by the crack under Aki's door. Sniffing sets in. Gurgling. Denji can't tell if that was the fiend's stomach. Heavy breathing. "Dennnnnnnnnn-jiiiiiiiiii …", Aki growls, followed by more gurgling that sounds more liquid-y than usual. Cue a snort, a hiss. A dull thud against the door. The door handle starts to shake. Squeaking. Skin on polished wood. He's struggling to open it, until he manages, opening by a crack. Denji can smell old sweat. Musk. Aki hasn't showered in a while. Fingers snake along the gap, crawl out to dig into the door. The Colt creeps out, pushing itself forth, followed by the rest of Aki, kneeling, disheveled. His lips are parted, saliva dripping freely. His nonexistent gaze is cast downward– at the little puddle of blood. 

"Denji.", the fiend heaves again, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. His needle is already lolling from his maw, strings of thick saliva dangling from it. "Denji.", Aki repeats, mindless, "D-Den–jiiiiiiiii–" His strength leaves him. He drops forward, onto his fours. His tongue swirls through the sizeable puddle, the hole of its tubing spasming, desperately sucking at capillaries that don't exist. Aki's nostrils flare, his head lolls, his spine limp. He gurgles and groans, mouth agape like a fish out of water. It's been so long since he last fed on Denji. Well, fiends gotta eat, too. It's natural, even if they're far from being a natural phenomenon. 

The blood is lapped up quickly, even with a method that is more than just ineffective. However, Denji doesn't dare to extend his wrist another time; Aki would bite, probably hard enough to break his arm. "Dennnnjiii…", the fiend sighs. He reaches out. Denji doesn't budge. Fingers claw into his shirt. Eyes widen. He doesn't get to react. By the time there's a window of opportunity to do so, Aki has already dragged him into his room, his back squeaking against the wooden floor. He crawls away from him out of reflex, further into his room, a horrified gasp breaking out of him. 

"Deeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnjiiiiiiiiiiii–", comes the beckoning growl as the fiend pushes the door shut, manages to lock it with trembling, jittery fingers. Aki is foaming at the mouth. It's pink with fresh blood. Dripping from his jowls like he's rabid. Whatever sentience he had just now, it's gone, replaced by blood lust. His teeth are bared in the usual unhinged fashion, but there's something off about it. His face is twisting in pain. Another loud growl, this time definitely from Aki's stomach. The fiend cringes, claws into his clothes as he begins to slowly stumble over. He really starved himself. Denji forces himself to remain calm. It's just Aki, driven by hunger. Just him, irrational and wild, with a loaded gun forced through his skull. Thanks a lot, brain.  

"Den… Ji…", the Gun Fiend moans, stopping in his tracks. His expression twists further as he clutches onto his stomach. Another harrowing growl of the fiend's guts. His head lolls, tips back. Denji can't help but flinch when Aki collapses into a miserable pile of limbs. Another groan of his name leaves split lips, albeit too quiet for the teen to catch. More drool spills as the beast's maw falls open, crawling closer and closer. Like a zombie, but worse. 

Aki needs to eat. Desperately. Hunger is driving him to the brink of insanity, if he hasn't already passed that threshold. To think that the scent of blood is all it took to whittle down his composure– Denji can hardly imagine the pain he's in. What Aki said before is forgotten; he'll get mad about that later. Shirt pulled over his head. Exposed skin. Aki's upper lip curls in feral excitement. Snorting, sniffing. The needle flicks out to wet cracked lips. More drool. However, the fiend stops in his tracks. Denji is staring down the barrel of his Colt, looking for answers he won't find in there. Aki's arms can hardly keep his weight up, elbows trembling. Why isn't he moving? Heavy breathing turns into labored heaving. He's deteriorating fast. Then, it hits him. Aki is hesitating for some reason. "I-it's okay.", Denji murmurs with haste, trying to reassure, "You're okay, come here." The fiend budges at that, sluggish and slow. "Look, 's all yours.", he adds, his head tilted to give better access to Aki's favorite biting spot: the crook of his neck. 

Denji expects to be pounced on, but his boyfriend is too weak for even that. A shaky hand settles on his other shoulder. The fiend's maw widens, sharp teeth put on display with the swaying needle between them. A gurgle, straight from Aki's stomach. He latches onto him– yet, he doesn't draw blood. His teeth feel pointy against his skin, but that's all. Aki is uselessly gumming on his shoulder. He's too weak to even bite him. Fuck. The needle is swirling over his flesh, he can feel its sharp edges, but they seem to have dulled. It tries to bore into his flesh, to no avail. Denji reaches for it, fingers wedged between the frighteningly pointy fangs of a starving fiend, puts pressure on it even if he can feel its cut on the pads of his fingers, and forces the needle into his shoulder. A hiss passes through clenched teeth. It burns more than usual. It manages the rest on its own, working itself through his flesh, in between muscle fibers. Slurping sets in. Saliva hits Denji's shoulder. Aki sinks against him, so he decides that it's for the best to lie down. 

After the first few sips of blood, the maw of needles clamps down. He flinches, sucks in a sharp breath. More gurgling, the kind he recognizes as the happy, content type. Fingers weave between black locks, gently caressing the other's scalp, playing with the little hairs on his nape, dancing around the Colt's hammer stemming from the back of the fiend's head. Denji lets him feed for a long time. He doesn't know for how long, but long enough to make him feel lightheaded, the peaks of his body growing cold and stiff. Aki swallows with greed, right by his ear. Denji is pale, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll into the back of his head uncontrollably; he's on the verge of passing out. The fiend is still drinking. A drawn-out breath makes the teen's chest heave, struggling against Aki's weight. He can't take it much longer. The room starts spinning. Just a little. Enough to throw him off. He winces when he feels the needle stir in his flesh, withdrawing. The teeth follow its example. Lips quickly take their place before blood can spill. Aki suckles on the pinholes in his skin, giving little hums and content sighs as he gulps every drop as if it is his last.

Denji lets him, playing with his hair and slurring the occasional weak 'you're okay'. He can't do much more. Gray matter sloshes around in his skull, utterly useless because that's all it does. He briefly wonders if Aki would drink that, too. Brain slurry. His leftovers. His lips part, making way for drool. His eyes cross when fatigue takes over for a moment, making the room turn and twist and split in ways impossible. Wet heat against pinhole wounds. Aki is licking him clean after his meal. The Colt pokes, brushes against him. It's warm, revitalized. Good. He's glad. A finger that isn't his hooks into the cord of his engine, pulls weakly for the desired misfire. Pochita flutters within his chest. Warmth floods him, color returning onto his face. Wounds close, bruises disappear. His head clears in an instant. Denji gasps and clutches onto his boyfriend out of reflex. 

Aki makes an unflattering 'urp' sound when he lets himself sink, resting on the floor for the most part, but making sure to drape an arm and a leg over Denji. Perfect setting for a nap, actually. Unfortunately, he remembers what Aki accused him of. That awful sting returns in an instant. It hurts. A lot. "I don' want ya just for dick...", Denji murmurs, tiny and broken. Tears burn in his eyes again. "I'unno what made ya think that.", he states, burying his face in the crook of the other's neck and nuzzling him. "I-I don't know why I said that either, I–", Aki begins to speak, his voice wavering, "I didn't m-mean it." The fiend huddles closer, as if trying to crawl into his body. His barrel presses against Denji's skin, the muzzle definitely leaving indents. "I-I'm sorry.", he downright pleads, as desperate as the teen was before. "I thought I made it clear that I jus'– love all of ya.", he goes on, a somber gaze cast at the ceiling. He feels lost, if he's honest. That really, really hurt him, to the point where he doesn't know what to do with himself. "I'm sorry.", Aki repeats weakly, sniffling and trembling as he cries without tears. 

It's rare that Denji is the one to bring distance between them. A change that Aki protests with pathetic whimpering and sniveling, begging for forgiveness and atonement, expression twisting in anguish, but he's having none of that. He shoves him off, forces him to sit up as he does the same. Aki whines, lower lip trembling so hard that he can hear his teeth chatter, when they face one another. Moment of truth. There are things that they need to talk about again, whether Aki likes it or not. A long sigh makes his chest rise, then fall slowly. Again, moment of truth, he repeats to himself. "I– I can't do this shit anymore, okay?", is what Denji starts with, because he can't stop it from breaking out of him. No reaction, so he just continues. "Balls to the wall, you're talking t' me and we're lookin' for ways t' work this out permanently o-or– or we are over." It makes Aki wince, giving a sob. He expects further verbal protest, but no such thing.

It feels shitty to threaten him with something that he's been scared of this entire time, but Denji is tired. Tired of running after Aki, tired of being at the receiving end of up-lifting and lovely accusations like 'you only want me for sex', tired of sleeping in front of closed doors. Aki seems in need of a reality check as well and Denji is going to deliver if he absolutely has to. "Why were ya hidin' from me again?", Denji asks with the necessary calm, yet incredibly firm to show that he's done playing these games. The Colt lowers at his words. Aki reminds him of a sniveling, mangy dog that did something he shouldn't have. Oh, déjà vu. Nothing follows in response. 

Denji gives a deep sigh. "We are not leaving this room 'till I know what's goin' on.", he tells him, giving him a truly devastating stare. The fiend shrinks under it. A sniffle, features pulled into a pained grimace as a sob builds in his throat and breaks out of him. Denji doesn't push and, in turn, is rewarded for once. "Th-that night. I-I started hurting you… Wi-with my–", Aki begins but doesn't dare finish. Denji completely forgot about that. His dick is different. He has a hunch as to where this is going. "I– It's gr-gross.", the fiend whimpers, red shame rising into his face with hands folding in his lap and covering himself up as if he wasn't wearing anything in the first place. Oh. His dick is gross. Denji must give him a look that says more than words ever could, because Aki continues, unprompted, "Even w-worse than my mouth."

The teen goes head-in-hands at that. He can hear the fiend whimper again, a sound so small and tiny still somehow managing to get on his nerves. He's doing his best to avoid invalidating Aki and his feelings, because surely, he has his reasons to act like this, but holy shit, his patience is worn thinner than the ice his boyfriend has been moving on. Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths. Deep-fucking-breaths. "Are you… Fucking kidding me?", he grunts, the word 'fucking' coming out especially forced and with gritted teeth. It's almost like there is nothing Denji can do to make Aki comfortable or help him get used to his new circumstances. The fiend stammers something unintelligible in response, fumbling and trying to string words together. 

He silences the fiend with a gesture of his hand. Aki shrinks further in his spot. "I'm not mad.", Denji tells him, although the veins protruding on his temples and the fact that he has to consciously suppress a nasty snarl tell a different tale, and even repeats it to make it more believable, "I'm. Not. Mad." Another deep breath. "But would it have killed ya to say somethin' earlier?", the teen asks, unable to keep the snarl from curling his lips, baring his teeth. He isn't just mad, no, livid doesn't cut it either like last time. Denji is burning with rage. He understands Aki, even if he can't begin to fathom what he feels, and he'll say that again, again and again, but his patience has its limits. 

Aki doesn't even dare to stammer this time, so Denji gives him time to think good and hard about his reply. He throws him a look with his chin tilted downward, eyes peering through thick lashes. Not in the sexy way, though. In a way that makes it obvious that a misstep beyond this point will send him out of that door permanently. And his boyfriend treads carefully. It's almost as if he attempts to give puppy eyes without eyes, his Colt lowered in addition. It's silent then. For a long time. Denji can see cogs turning, thoughts racing. He stares intently. The fiend shakes ever subtly. "I don't kn-know what to say.", Aki states, chewing on his bottom lip. A pause. "S-so you don't k-kill me.", his boyfriend adds. Denji ignores it entirely. "How do ya feel right now?", he asks, feigning tenderness and compassion. Well, that's not entirely true; he does care. A lot. Which makes this so much worse.

The fiend considers the question carefully, choosing his reply in an equal manner. "... Like an asshole.", he eventually responds. "Good.", Denji fires back, teeth bared, "Good. Go on." Aki fidgets with the cord of his sweatpants. He can't look at him. He grants him a moment to distract himself. "A-and stupid.", the fiend adds, starting to resemble a kicked puppy. "Why's that?", Denji coaxes right away, bittersweet. They're quickly approaching the topic of admitting to faults and missteps, something his boyfriend has never been good at. Aki seems to grow increasingly aware of that and sniffles, bottom lip trembling in distress again. “D-Denji, please–", he laments with a heavy heart. He can almost hear a desperate 'anything but that' burn on his tongue. Aki is reaching his breaking point. Good. However, perhaps he's getting there too fast, because he starts to whine incoherently again, sniveling and groveling as he begs and apologizes, just wants to go back to how things were four weeks ago. 

Anger boils over. Flat palm against polished wood, slammed into it. That isn't the point of this. The fiend flinches, his incessant lamenting and whining and bitching cut off by his own sob. Denji's expression twists into something horrible. Youthful features beyond pained and marred by unspeakable rage. "You never think about me or how I feel.", Denji spits his accusation with all the compressed anger he can express without smashing the sparse furniture in Aki's room to bits and pieces. It's true. Sometimes it does seem like it. He's sure that he doesn't do it on purpose, making it all the more important to tell him how he feels about his behavior. "Th-that's not true.", Aki comes to his own defense, throat closing up, based on the sound of his voice. 

It makes Denji's eyes glaze over. "Act like it, then.", the teen replies with a certain coldness to his tone, completely jaded, sick of excuses, sick of forcing Aki to open up, sick of getting hurt for nothing. Getting the cold shoulder stumps the fiend, backing him into another corner. The fact that he doesn't start to cry 'woe is me' again instills Denji with hope, though. It's silent then. He allows it, gives the fiend the time to gather his wits– and a few moments for himself to calm down. When Aki begins to speak, his voice is tiny and broken. "I-it's hard…", he whines, fingers clawing into his own thighs, "It st-still feels like this isn't m-my body, it's c-confusing and scary a-and I don't like it–" He almost sounds like a bratty, tantrum-throwing child at that last part, but Denji quickly banishes that comparison; he shouldn't think of him that way. 

"I jus' want you to be okay.", Denji states, breaking the silence that fell between them, "It sucks to see you like this all the time." It seems to bridge the gap he created between them. Tension falls off Aki's shoulders at that, as if reassured that Denji still loves him– well, of course he does. He wouldn't have gotten mad if he didn't. "It's s-scary.", Aki repeats with a sniffle, wiping imaginary tears. "... What is?", Denji has to ask. Aki did just refer to the whole fiend thing as scary, but the way he said it just now– he seems to speak about something else in specific. His boyfriend visibly tenses up. Wrong question, apparently.  

The barrel sways, averts to the side. "I…", Aki starts suddenly, but trails off in the same manner. What he is about to say seems to cost him enough strength to move mountains. "I still have those h-horrible thoughts a-about you…", the fiend tells him. Pause. Denji looks at him with furrowed brows, as if he just said something unspeakable. He doesn't get him. His boyfriend catches on quickly. "I-I know you said it's o-okay, but–", Aki begins to babble in desperation again, manages to stop himself only to lower his voice to a shaken whisper, "–I-I think it g-got worse ever s-since I– y-you know." Ah. 

"How much worse are we talkin'?", Denji can't help but ask; he can't imagine it, if he's quite honest. "Oh, god, I-I can't t-talk about that.", Aki responds, grimacing as red shoots into his face, paints his skin in a healthy color. Well, that would've been too easy, but he guessed as much. What they were doing is pretty bad by human standards already– or what Denji let him do, rather. Aki was feeding on him. On the regular. Almost daily. Stalking him like prey and striking. Be it his blood, stretches of skin, taut muscles from his arm, the fat of his thigh, fragments of bones and their marrow– Denji gave it up for him. What for, asks that little voice of doubt in the back of his mind, what for, if he isn't given anything in return? "I don't like th-thinking about y-you like that.", the Gun Fiend states, faint voice in all its broken glory. Head in hands, fingers clawing into greasy black. "I c-can't talk about it.", he repeats, desperation bleeding through again. 

They're moving in circles now. Denji decides that pulling the 'then show me' move from last time isn't going to work. Lips purse in thought. Maybe a light-hearted approach would help. "Can I guess?", he asks, tries to mask the growing impatience in his midst. "Th-this isn't a game.", Aki responds right away, something in his expression changing for the worse. Wrong approach. It's frustrating beyond words. He has already been playing a guessing game: what makes Aki not isolate himself? Answer: few things that he can't name yet. He sighs. Hands rub at his eyes, fingers splaying across his face. Deep breaths. This doesn't suck as much anymore, but it still plain sucks. It's hard for both of them, but how they feel isn't mutually exclusive. Both have the right to feel the way they do, but being mindful of one another is really, really fucking hard, especially when they're both so volatile. Denji barely knows how to handle himself, not to mention Aki. 

"Where do ya wanna go from here?", the teen asks, hands dropping back into his lap. It kinda feels like they already broke up without saying the words and are now working through the aftermath. The thought brings that awful sinking feeling back to his midriff. It sucks. It's all he can say about it, really. And the worst part of it all is that his question makes Aki think. For a long time, at that. Paranoia sets in. He fucked it up, didn't he? However, before he can really delve into the string of thoughts that his mind begins to weave into some accursed construct, Aki begins to speak, "I-I–" Pause. Lower lip trembling. "I want to try again.", Aki says, before adding the nth plea today, "Please." He's asking for a second chance. "I want this to work, but–", the fiend doesn't dare finish the sentence. It's hard. Yeah, he gets that. Denji appreciates that he tries in the first place, even if there are missteps and relapses. It's part of the progress. 

"D-Denji…?", Aki asks, downright fearful after the lack of a response. He spaced out. It's hard to pinpoint how he feels, but he knows that he's exhausted. "Sorry, 'm really tired.", he sighs, hands on his face again, rubbing away the tears that started to burn in his eyes with new ferocity. At the end of the day, Denji is still just a kid dealing with adult things. Sometimes, when he's alone and vulnerable to his own shitbrain, he wonders if he bit off more than he could chew with Aki. Not just him, the Gun Fiend, but him, the human, as well. "Is it okay if I hug you?", the fiend interrupts his plummeting train of thought with a question so sweet that he might just cry again. Denji dares to make one-sided eye contact, giving him an opportunity to get a good look at bloodshot, drained, shiny brown doe eyes. Then, he nods, but doesn't budge. 

There's obvious hesitation when Aki gets close. It seems like he doesn't know how to approach him anymore, as if he would shatter from a touch in the wrong places. Awkward moments of being held at gunpoint follow until the fiend gathers enough courage to just go for it. Arms around him, a palm on the back of his head pushing his face into the embrace. Denji follows suit, fingers clawing into the back of the other's shirt. Aki smells, he realizes. Too stressed to shower, unable to bother. But like this, with his face buried in his shoulder, Denji can't help but inhale deeply, because it's the best Aki has ever smelled. 

Rank with old sweat, no soap to cover up his natural musk– and there's something ever slightly sweet, just barely noticeable to him. It's what he assumes to be what Power described as signaling before. However, there's more to the whole thing than just the mating type of signaling. It comforts him, like the scent of fresh laundry or cigarettes. Aki smells like home. He could just fall asleep in his arms right then and there, but he supposes that he should keep his distance for now; sleeping in the same room, in the same bed is out of the question. 

When they part, Denji leaves. No more tears, no more pleading. He assumes that the fiend will be fine. Yeah. That's all it is. An assumption. Aki doesn't sit with him and Power at dinner. He's gotten used to that, though. Just like a human should consume five meals a day, the Gun Fiend needs several liters of blood and some protein to thrive. He lets him know when it's time to feed. 

Aki hides behind his door, staring through a gap just wide enough for his face. Just looking into the hall for a long time. He's stalking. The mutt can see the shine of teeth and saliva when he dares to check on him. It gives him the looming sense of dread a prey animal must feel before a predator strikes. His instincts are correct, as he'll find. That night, Aki hollows him out. Takes the marrow of his femur and chews milky thigh meat to fatty pieces, the needle wiggling through chunks as it saps blood, showing him the things he cannot possibly put into words. 

This is his new love language… Their new love language. Aki will have to come to terms with that eventually. 

Denji's lonely again. At least it's a mutual, pre-discussed thing this time. They sleep in their respective rooms, give each other space. The only time they get together is when Aki is hungry. The teen has been using this as a tether, the one thing that still binds them together, and as an excuse to let Aki touch him. He savors it. It's not healthy, he knows that, but if this is all he can get right now, it'll do. 

The clock strikes eleven at night. Denji is still up, while Power went to sleep. They have an unspoken agreement by now. He's watching TV. Or pretending to watch TV. It's the only thing that illuminates the apartment at this time of night. Denji can't see it, but he knows, down the hall, a horrifying shadow looms. Some things won't change. Floorboards creak. Gurgling, followed by a deep inhale, only to be followed up by more harrowing sounds. Dragging steps. The hairs on his nape rise to the occasion. A loud, heaving exhale, lungs rattling. Pitter-patter on polished wood. The fiend is drooling. There are only few nights where Aki doesn't seek him out, where he doesn't need that last snack to make it through the night without tossing and turning. 

Denji pretends he isn't there. Aki likes that; it makes him feel like he's hunting. He would rather die than admit that, though. To feel things beyond one's control is part of the human condition, some might say, albeit not to this degree. The lead that punched a hole through Aki's skull and paved a way for the remnants of the Gun Devil to take root– it also allowed other things to thrive in that space it created. This is what has been scaring Aki– well, it's not much more than an assumption. Denji hasn't managed to tickle it out of him, but it's getting more and more obvious the longer he observes the fiend: Aki has urges, instincts rewired. He's territorial, nocturnal, a greedy carnivore.  

Something akin to a prey drive sits where his humanity once was. It would be an issue, considering how efficient of a killer the Gun Devil is, if it weren't for the simple fact that the Gun Fiend's predator-prey system is extremely limited, to the point of near non-existence. Aki's prey lives in the same apartment, goes to work nearly every day, sleeps only a few meters away from him, but most importantly– his prey is immortal. Denji thought it to be one of fate's sick jokes when he realized it: Aki preys on him, and him only.  

Another growl, maw snapping. Cold sweat builds on the teen's forehead. One of the floorboards he's sitting on is pushed down by additional weight. It creaks, drawn-out and loud. A low rumble sounds. Kneecaps meet wood with a thud. Shuffling follows. A snarl, then a bark. It makes him react, whip his head around with wide eyes. Aki just fucking barked. The fiend makes quick work of his prey, thanks to that moment of confusion, toppling him and sinking his teeth into his shoulder. He doesn't even need to use force; Denji never resists, but that doesn't ruin their little game, apparently. The maw of nails engulfs the favored portion of his flesh, the initial sting of the bite soon followed by a familiar burn, something digging around under his skin. It still makes him wince. Aki gurgles happily as he starts to siphon blood down his throat, breaking into an equally content rumble; he purrs, too. 

Denji gives a shaken sigh, tries to steady his breathing. He lost count of how many times the fiend took him this way, but it stays unnerving– his brain hates that his heart is hopelessly addicted to being preyed upon. The sound of Aki's loud swallowing drones in his ears, every little contraction of his throat drawing more of his blood. It doesn't take long for his progress to slow, the sting intensifying as the needle pokes around in empty blood vessels in an attempt to irritate his flesh into bleeding more. There's something else that he does to make his frail self let more blood. 

The bite in Denji's shoulder loosens, only for Aki to move his lower jaw as if to grind his teeth, widening the little pin holes that each individual needle left. Hands shoot up, fingers curling into black locks at their roots. Denji moans, red heat rising up into his face. Aki responds in kind with a low growl. His lower back arches off the floor, naked heels squeaking on the floor as his legs prop up involuntarily from tension pulling his sinew taut. It feels good. Too good. 

The teen mewls as his lovely beast is turning his shoulder into mincemeat, shredding skin and muscle fibers with the unrelenting grind of his maw. He pulls harder on Aki's hair. Thighs press together. It shouldn't feel good. He knows that. Every surviving brain cell is screaming, only to be drowned out by the overwhelming dopamine rush that follows in response to being mauled. Denji wants to touch himself. Sometimes, he just does. Aki doesn't care, too busy tearing him apart. A loud snort next to his ear. He's starting to smell. Getting wet while the fiend is feeding isn't an uncommon thing for him, and he isn't above openly admitting such. It's hot beyond words. It just is. 

Usually, Aki takes his time, gives him another bite, so Denji is all the more surprised when he can feel the needle retract and the Gun Fiend's maw releases his chewed up shoulder. Blood stains the fabric of his shirt. The arm belonging to the affected sinew and muscles is numb, prickly. Fat globs of bloody drool drip from Aki's agape maw, huffing and panting in beastly excitement. Denji's arms drop, damp with sweat and floppy. Long fingernails claw into his scalp, wrenching his head into the desired position by his hair. 

The fiend noses at the hairline behind his ear, loud and unabashed sniffing and snorting downright assaulting his hearing. Aki groans, low and drawn-out. He likes it when he makes noise, savoring every groan and gasp when they have sex (god, it's been weeks), but this is different. The throaty sound bleeds into a growl, all gnashing teeth and expression warped into a snarl. It makes Denji shudder, a little gasp turned into a mess of staccato and air getting stuck in his windpipe. Hot lips press to his neck, focused on a spot next to his earlobe. 

That alone causes him to shudder again, only for his mouth to fall open in a silent moan when Aki's tongue is dragged against the back of his ear, the dulled tip fondling his earlobe. The peaks of his body are redder than overripe apples, tingling in misplaced arousal. It's moments like this where Denji realizes that he's pent up. What starts out as a little spark, just a little fun pressure in his abdomen, turns into an oil fire in his chest, the sheer inhuman urge to be taken and fucked until there is nothing of him left. It's too early, though. They don't kiss, they barely hug, they don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. Aki needs him, though.  

However, they skip a few steps on the road to recovery and self acceptance when the fiend is hungry. Slender fingers snake under his shirt, hike it up until his chest is exposed and fabric bunches up at his neck. A loud gurgle thrums in Aki's throat after he pulls away, the Colt looming over Denji while the fiend just looks at the exposed skin. His lips are stained red, parted, giving him a look at dirtied needles. He just wants to kiss him. The teen's cord ever slightly jumps with each strong heartbeat. The excruciating ache in his shoulder is forgotten when he realizes that Aki isn't focused on his untouched skin, but rather him. Aki is looking at him, chewing on his bottom lip. 

He's thinking about it, too– kissing. Neither of them dare to take the first step, though. The hand that pushed his shirt up brushes over his chest, down to his cord. A half-hearted tug causes the misfire that pieces Denji back together, all sensation returning to his arm. Aki's touch lingers. He traces the shallow valley between his pecs. His engine jolts in his chest. The fiend hasn't dared to touch him like this ever since that night. They haven't been this intimate in ages. 

Much to his disdain, Aki pulls away all too soon, sitting up. Denji follows suit quickly, straightening his shirt. His curiosity is about to kill him; something feels odd tonight. Not in a bad way, though. No impending sense of doom, no anxiety. Something is just ever so slightly different, just enough for him to notice. Speaking of noticing things, Denji finds his breath catching in his throat when he looks at Aki. He stopped imagining Aki's eyes where they once were, long lashes fluttering at him, stern blue attempting to make him yield with angry stares that mean nothing, even if their loss still pains him. This is Aki now. 

Aki, with a droplet of blood running from the corner of his mouth, doomed to hang from his chin, long black hair cascading down his shoulders, bangs parted where the Colt breaches his forehead. He hasn't cut his hair in a long time. He doesn't need to, considering he's still suspended from active duty at the bureau, but he looks… Good like this, Denji realizes. More than that, actually. It stumps him. Aki is still so pretty, even if possessed and dead, but pretty doesn't cut it anymore. He stares, god, how he stares. Whereas Aki, the human, was just pretty, this Aki, the Gun Fiend, has something ethereal to him, with silky black flowing over his shoulders, shiny metal pulsing where skin once was. The pale light of the TV as backdrop doesn't help his case at all; he doesn't know how to act.  

It's sudden when Aki begins to speak. "...Can we talk?", he asks and, before a sense of dread can take root in Denji's midst, adds quickly, "It's nothing bad, I promise." It takes him an entire moment to even realize that the inexplicably beautiful thing in front of his ugly, greasy mug acknowledges his existence. "S-sure.", he stammers, following it up with a more steadfast reply, "Shoot." A pause follows. Aki averts his unseen gaze to the side, bottom lip getting chewed on in thought again. A long lock of hair falls from his shoulder to the front. Denji can't help but stare at it as he fights the urge to brush it behind Aki's ear. Gah. "I…" Cue an awkward, yet still incredibly cute chuckle. God almighty. He can't believe that this is the same guy that fucking barked at him and almost bit a chunk out of his shoulder not even twenty minutes ago. "I don't know how to say this, actually.", Aki concedes, diverting his attention back to him. Red streaks his cheekbones. 

Okay. It's gotta be something embarrassing. Maybe that's good. "Out wit' it.", Denji pushes gently, interest piqued. The fiend has to look away again, rubbing the back of his neck. "I– I-it's weird.", Aki tells him. That's fine, he likes weird. Obviously. The teen keeps his mouth shut, because it seems like the other is slowly working up the courage to speak the unspeakable into existence. Aki clears his throat in a little growl and finally laps up that stray droplet of blood, the black tip of his needle flicking out to capture it. The Colt sways, its barrel first averted, then pointed at him again. Lips part with a little inhale, only for Aki to halt again, thinking. 

Denji is close to interrupting him, but he's real fucking glad that he didn't open his stupid mouth, because the fiend begins to speak then: "I want you to bite me back.", Aki states, his voice low, coarse, throaty. O-oh. Oh, fuck. A lump quickly grows in his throat, makes it hard to swallow. Denji does his utmost to keep his composure, but lord knows he's freaking out internally. "R-right now?", he asks, breathless and eyes wide. The Colt moves again as Aki looks down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands. "Yeah.", comes the confirmation that throws him for a loop. "Li-like, the– t-the eatin' type of b-bitin'?", Denji questions, stumbling over his own words and stalling for some unknown reason. This feels too good to be true, perhaps. It's never that easy. 

But it is, Denji finds. The fiend doesn't respond to that, doesn't mention his embarrassing fumbling. All he does is take off his hole-ridden sweatshirt. Denji gets the same brand of blood rush that Aki must feel when he sees bare, untouched skin. He stares a hole through his shoulder in particular. Saliva is gathering in his mouth. His gaze flicks from that wonderful trapezius to the expressionless face of the fiend. Aki brushes his hair over his other shoulder, completely exposing the shoulder of Denji's affection. It's a pretty shoulder. 

He once loved burying his face there, crying into it when he needed to, just resting his chin on it. To think that Aki is letting him sink his teeth into that spot now– it feels filthy. As if he's about to defile something holy. The fiend even tilts his head to the other side slowly, for emphasis, to lure him in, to drive him batshit crazy. It's the first time that Denji feels an overwhelming urge to lunge. He doesn't. He forces it down into the depths from whence it came. There's hesitation when he scoots closer. Aki tenses, preparing for the ferocity of his bite, but there are other things on his mind. 

Denji's gaze lies on the patch of leathery skin where Aki's eyes once were, brown peering into pitch-black nothingness that used to be blue. He leans forth. Forehead to muzzle. The fiend is quiet. His breathing is shallow, as though each breath would get stuck in his constricting throat if it wasn't. Denji can see the every slightest quiver make his bottom lip twitch. They haven't been this close in what feels like forever. Aki kept to himself ever since that night. Denji didn't push him, stopped trying to enter his space forcibly. Hunger is what bound them together. He gives them a few moments more of this silent closeness, almost closing his eyes to feel Aki's system work, hear the blood course through his barrel, but he decides against it. Another time. The Gun Fiend asked something of him. He moves slowly, deliberate as he lets his temple run along the pistol's barrel, albeit making sure not to get too close to Aki's face; it's too early for kissing, perhaps. He doesn't want to overstep any boundaries.

Closing in. His heart might jump out of his chest. The fiend smells good. Sweaty. It doesn't surprise him that he tastes salt when he drags his tongue over the stretch of skin that he's about to bite into. Goosebumps sprout under the wet heat of his saliva. Aki sighs, brings him close. Chest to chest. He's sitting in Aki's lap. The teen does his best to ignore the tender ache in his abdomen. More drool is spread. His lips part and make way for his own maw of daggers, glistening with spit. Moment of truth. He finds a good spot. Aki gasps when he lets his teeth rest against his skin, only giving him the slightest bit of pressure. He increases it gradually, until he can taste it– Aki's blood. 

It used to be sweet like condensed milk when he was only human. It still is in a way, but there's more to it that he can't explain. The taste drives him to clamp down all the way. Aki shivers. A hand weaves into short blonde locks, silently telling him to keep his head there. He lets go, swallows whatever blood he managed to get from that. Red pools in the dip above Aki's collarbone, but before it can overflow, Denji starts to slurp it up, dragging his tongue over the small valley, before latching onto the bleeding wound and sucking. Gentle warmth runs down his throat. It's unlike any of the human blood he's ever had. He's used to it being cold, seeing how he only ever gets to drink it from a sterile plastic bag, left behind by an anonymous donor. It's different when the person is still alive. Tastier. 

Denji swallows with greed, eyes half-lidded as he suckles. Aki breathes next to his ear, strained. He bites down another time, drawing more blood. Another sigh follows, lungs rattling. "D-Denji…", the fiend murmurs softly. He expects something to follow, in vain; it was nothing more than a meaningless whisper of his name. Teeth sink into tender flesh once more. He chews, tears muscle fibers, just like Aki does. The fingers in his hair begin to pull when he grinds his jaw, loosening irritated and bleeding tissue, until it gives way. He creates a shallow dip of red, exposed flesh where blood gathers. Denji chews. It's Aki. Aki is in his mouth. His taste coats his tongue. He chews and grinds, then swallows. It can't be compared to any meat he's ever eaten. It's good. Perhaps too good. Makes him want more. He washes it down with gulps of blood and drags his tongue over the empty dip in the fiend's flesh. Aki's teeth grit next to his ear. 

His mouth is smeared with red when he pulls away, almost reminiscent of lipstick. Pupils are blown wide in forbidden ecstasy. Blood spills from Aki's shoulder, runs down his chest. The fiend wants to reach for his shirt, likely to wipe the blood away and perhaps staunch the bleeding with fabric, but Denji is faster. He drags his bloodied tongue over Aki's pec, following a streak back up to the wound. Once there, he sucks on it again, making Aki hiss in pain. He wants to bite him more. The urge to do so forces itself into the spotlight, to the forefront of his mind. A snarl curls his lips. Drool spills. Denji topples Aki for a change. Black locks splay across the floor of dark polished wood. A tatter of spit saliva seeps from the fiend's mouth. The mutt strikes, latches on with such force that one might think he's never going to let go. Aki moans.  

Denji crushes ligaments, makes blood vessels burst with the sheer force of his bite, red and blue blossoming where his daggers penetrate Aki. A leg hooks around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back. Fingernails rake over his back. His head jerks, teeth tearing through flesh. Compressed ligaments rip with a harrowing snap. He chews, swallows with haste. Another bite. The fiend keens, clammy fingers trembling as he claws into the back of his shirt hard enough to make his knuckles go white. Red spills on the floor, seeps into cracks in the wood. 

The mutt tears, rips, and bites until he gnaws on the collarbone in his wake, just about ready to break it. Aki simply lets him, moaning and whimpering incoherent things to him . The last shred of humanity inside of him manages to make him stop. He pulls away and sits up, straddling Aki, who lies limp below him and lets his arms hit the ground. The fiend's chest is heaving, sweat gathering in the little divots and dips of his body. Denji tries not to stare at the gaping wound he left, lest it makes him want to bite again. 

There are no eyes to properly determine Aki's demeanor and his state (aside from the obvious, openly bleeding injury in his shoulder with exposed bone), but the fact that Denji can feel something hot and hard against his ass tells him that he's okay– perhaps not mentally or physically, but okay enough for their standards. Yeah, okay. They're okay. Denji dares to push his ass against the tent in Aki's sweatpants, immediately garnering a weak, yet obviously threatening growl. Instead of reacting like he would've before, without blood and mincemeat sloshing around in his guts, Denji growls back, even bares his bloodied daggers. The reaction seems to stump the fiend, who only responds with a muted snarl of his own, but doesn't actually try to shove him off. He dares to test the waters. He scoots a little further down Aki's body, until he feels him between his thighs, against his crotch. Another roll of his hips. Just to test the waters some more, y'know? The Gun Fiend gives a little gasp. Denji feels him twitch, so he does it again. A whine follows. It makes him smirk, lick his lips. He tastes blood. He wants more of it. 

It happens against his will that he lies back on top of Aki, latching onto his wound and sucking, nipping, lapping whatever spot of naked flesh he can get his greedy mouth on. It's sudden when the fiend finds the strength to move, even the arm with a severely injured shoulder. Hands on Denji's hips, squeezing. Teeth sink back into Aki's wound, which garners a firmer squeeze. He pulls the skin off the edge, slurping the strip of dripping tissue with heated fervor, before indulging in the flesh of the other's shoulder again. He gets closer to his neck, bites down. 

Aki's cock jolts against his crotch. Denji, caught in his newfound blood rush, wonders if this could make him cum, albeit only briefly. Sinew snaps under the pressure of his bite, causing the fiend's head to drop to the side because there is nothing that could hold the tension. He strips the collarbone clean, the bone a stark contrast amidst bleeding flesh and connective tissue. Perhaps Makima was right; he's a dog. A dirty stray, gnawing on Aki's collarbone, because he likes the way it feels under the touch of his tongue, in his mouth.

However, he soon has to face the facts: as tasty as this is, his body has limitations. He manages to lap some more blood off the floor, sucking it out of locks of black hair, before he has to sit up anew, putting his weight on Aki's throbbing cock on purpose. Denji is full, but in a way that he feels like he won't need to eat for the next few weeks. Too high on fiend blood, he doesn't panic when Aki starts to heave in a not-so-fun way, like a death rattle in the making. Fingers wrap around the Colt, jerking the fiend's head into the right position for what his sick brain is cooking up, muzzle pointed at the ceiling. Denji, bloodied and gross, grins in a far too dopey way for the situation, leaning forth to hold himself at gunpoint. Daggers dig into his own tongue. Blood fills his mouth. The thumb of his other hand hooks into the corner of Aki's lips, parting them. 

Then, he spits. Denji spits his blood into the fiend's mouth. The little blotch is swallowed with greed, so he goes from spitting to a steady trickle, from his mouth straight to Aki's. It doesn't take much for the other to be able to keep his lips parted on his own. There's something obscene about watching the bright red, fresh blood, diluted with spit, slide over the needle, disappearing in the darkness of Aki's throat. It goes over his head entirely that the blood mends his shoulder. The wound was fun while it lasted. 

When they part, both painfully aroused and stained with drying blood, the Gun Fiend can't bring himself to look at him, blushing in furious red and apologizing, almost crying, only for the teen to reassure that he's fine, that they're fine. Denji wonders why Aki is still so ashamed over what he is, what he feels, when they're obviously the same. 

The greedy, scraggly mutt feels no shame over mauling his fiend. He'd do it again, now that he's gotten a taste. 

Chapter Text

The hunt changes. The Gun Fiend still stalks him, now every evening. Staring. Wanting. Some nights, it's the same as it was before. Aki feeds on Denji and sucks him dry. Other times, their mating game is different. And when it's different, it makes the mutt feel like they're bonding again. It starts with Aki biting him, but barely hard enough to leave indents in his skin, which is a feat, considering how sharp his needles are. It's less of a bite and more of his new way of asking for permission. A love bite, maybe, that leaves no trace. Aki does it when he just wants to be in his space, lap at his skin and nose along his hairline in peace. Usually, nothing comes of this, but sometimes, something happens. Something so beautiful, yet fucked up, that Denji has no words for it. 

The sound of rain and distant thunder. It's soothing, matches the atmosphere. Denji likes the scent of the rainy season, but all he can smell is Aki. He's in his nose, on his tongue, in his ears. Comforting weight on him, the warmth of skin combined with the slight dampness of sweat, that pushes his back into layers of fluffy towels on Aki's bed. Fingers weave into long strands of black. Denji loves combing through his hair, twirling the split ends around his digits. Needles burrow into his skin, followed by the needle shortly after. He would've moaned, but he cannot; his mouth is busy. 

The Gun Fiend purrs, like a rusty old motor coming back to life after someone turned the key in his ignition. Denji suckles on a shallow bite in the fiend's shoulder, while the fiend siphons his blood in turn. It's intimate, but in a way that they weren't before. Fitting for Aki's new life. They're naked, save for their underwear. When the teen isn't playing with the other's hair, he runs his fingers along his arms, draws shapes on his back, traces the shallow valley of his spine. The fiend cradles him in his arms, gently squeezes him on the occasion, brushes over his cheek with his knuckles. 

This isn't violent or sexual like their other feedings. It's tender and soft. They aren't drinking out of hunger, but rather as a means to bond. To be a part of one another. He makes another cut with jagged teeth to draw more blood, giving a soft hum when it fills his mouth; he must've found a blood vessel or a particularly juicy vein. Sweetness on his tongue, crawling down the back of his throat. Denji knows what the taste reminds him of now– molten chocolate. Warm. Viscous. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Just right. 

He swallows, the roll of his tongue against the roof of his mouth slow and languid. He wants to savor every little drop of it– of Aki. The stinging in his shoulder is a given. It only worsens when the fiend pokes around for more of his essence. However, Denji quickly realizes that he isn't looking for more capillaries to rupture. The needle loosens its sharp edges and withdraws. Aki sucks on the circular hole it leaves behind, grinding the bumpy patch of his tongue against irritated skin. It doesn't hurt, per se, it's just– itchy in a really weird way. If he kept drinking, he would feel selfish, so Denji stops as well, but not without licking his love bites clean first. 

He's happy and full, threatening to seep between the fibers of the towels that he's resting on. A content sigh falls from his lips as he shimmies in his spot, making himself more comfortable. The Colt brushes along the side of his head when Aki withdraws. It's warm and pulsing with life. He dares to bring a hand up to it, stroking its side and tracing the large veins that marr otherwise smooth metal. It's new that Aki just lets him touch it without shuddering in discomfort. The fiend parts them further, until the side of the muzzle rests against Denji's temple. 

Facing one another, their lips still wet with each other's blood. He'd love to mix their shades of red. Lighting strikes, followed by droning thunder. Neither of them flinch, don't even look outside. The rain picks up, but they don't notice; they're hung up on one another. A lock of hair slips from Aki's shoulder when he shifts on top of Denji. It tickles as it rests against the skin of his chest. Tempting. He was hesitant to do it before, but now– something just grips him. 

The pads of his fingers tingle when they make contact with Aki's face. He traces the edge where discolored, thick leather borders on tender skin. Heat sprouts under his touch, followed by inevitable redness. Slow and gentle, he tucks the stray lock behind the fiend's ear, which causes him to tilt his head just slightly, as if offering that area to him. His fingers trace the rim of the cartilage down to his earlobe, drawing a line from it along the entire length of his jawline, all the way to his chin. Denji tilts the fiend's head upward just a little, brushes over his lower lip with his thumb. Staring at his lips with intent. 

Aki swallows loudly. The tips of his ears light up in red too. So cute. How can he find someone who tears him apart on the regular cute? The mutt concludes that he's insane. He removes his hand, lets it drop into fluffy towels. Denji shifts, gets a little more comfortable, arms rising up to rest beside his head with palms facing up. Wholly offering himself to Aki. Lashes fluttering. Denji can see the veins twitch on the Colt as the fiend's heartbeat quickens. A knowing, lopsided grin makes one corner of his mouth curl. The red hue on Aki's face is nigh indistinguishable from the spilled blood they drank. 

Not a word is said. They don't speak, because words would ruin this. The fiend's thumb brushes across his bottom lip in return, stroking outward and slowly returning towards the middle of it. Denji can't help himself. He purses his lips against the pad of Aki's thumb, before closing them around it– and sucking. A little growl wells up in the back of the Gun Fiend's throat; he can hear it, loud and clear. The digit is pulled from his mouth. Aki just goes for it, makes their lips clash. Denji tastes himself on him, wet copper assaulting his senses, but he doesn't care. 

His hands fly up, roam aimlessly across Aki's scalp, fingers tangling between black locks. He can't tell how long it has really been since they last kissed; he lost track. But Denji finds that it feels a little like his first kiss with Aki: intense and life-changing. Lips smack. The fiend makes a rumbly noise against his mouth. Needles pull at his bottom lip. He isn't one to deny such a sweet plea for permission to enter. The moment Denji lets his jaw fall slack, Aki is there, his dulled needle pushing into his mouth. It's hard and still a bit pointy. It borders on instinct that he closes his lips around it and sucks on the black portion of it, feeling the muscle contract out of reflex as Aki moans at the sensation. 

He continues to wear that smug expression when the fiend dives back into his mouth, but it slowly fades as the tongue is pushed further and further and further into his mouth and past his uvula– down his throat. Denji swallows around it, makes sure that he can feel every little muscle contract. His own tongue can only press against the underside of Aki's uselessly while he can feel him poke around, the appendage making a bulge form where it goes down his esophagus. Saliva spills from his lower lip, the need to gag settling in the back of his throat. His eyes are watering. 

Denji whimpers, when he feels Aki move somewhere too far down, unable to suppress an obscenely loud gag. It makes the fiend withdraw, albeit only reluctantly. Lips on his again, the needle poking around in his mouth anew, swirling around his tongue, rubbing against it. A sigh fights itself out of his throat. Oxygen flees his lungs as Aki keeps claiming him and leaves no room for him to breathe, to the point where he gets light-headed. Lashes flutter. Fingers pull on black strands. Denji whines. Only then, the fiend lets him go, lips and tongue withdrawing– from his mouth, at least. 

The wet heat finds the side of his neck next as he pants, desperately trying to heave air into his system. Aki shifts on top of him, reaching down to readjust the teen's legs and guiding them around his waist. Dark marks are sucked into tender flesh. A shudder chases through his frame, a mewl tumbling from split lips. Another thunderclap; they didn't care before, and it somehow manages to faze them even less this time. Gentle kisses against his jawline follow when the fiend has momentarily had enough of littering his neck with hickies. Firm muscle slithers against his jaw bone, trails downward over his Adam's apple, while warm hands brush over his chest, up and down, then groping whatever's there and playing with his nipples. Denji can't keep a moan at bay. 

He managed to be a decent mutt throughout their feeding, not thinking about what might come of the fact that they're both pretty much naked while eating one another romantically, but now the dam breaks; he's getting wet. A line of kisses down his neck, across his collarbone, between his pecks, causes goosebumps to rise. The Colt's heated steel pokes him, which has become a rarity; the fiend has gotten a hang of how he has to tilt his head so he doesn't prod Denji by accident– shame. He liked it. The weight and pulsing heat to it, its texture, the fact that he could just blow him to bloody pieces if he wanted to. 

Aki's black mop trails down further, latches into one of his stiff nipples and flicks his tongue against it, whilst pinching the other. The teen murmurs something under his breath, but not even he himself knows what came out of his mouth. The peaks of his body tingle in arousal, painted in dark red and with sweat dampening the skin there. Denji hasn't given a shit about the fabled mood for ages, so he can't tell if this might actually lead to something, but it's not like he's thinking at all right now to begin with. Another moan follows when the bumpy patch of Aki's tongue rubs against his nipple, while the rest of it coils on his skin, spreading saliva. Suction. Denji moans again, eyes rolling back. However, just as he really gets into it, the fiend stops suckling on his nipple and goes further down, wet lips brushing over his abdomen. Aki shifts in the mattress, scoots downward. The bed creaks. Denji can't think. He loves watching the fiend go down on him, place kisses on the way, sampling sweat that gathered in a divot or a fold with his tongue, nosing against his skin. 

Cue an unbecoming snort. Nostrils flare. Aki's upper lip curls. The cold tip of his nose makes Denji shiver when it is buried in his groin. A hand returns to fist into black locks. Pecks against his inner thigh. More goosebumps. And more slick. He can feel himself getting wetter and wetter by this point. The fact that a finger starts to rub over the dark spot in his underwear doesn't help his case. The fabric feels tight on his skin, definitely aided by the fact that this is one of those rare times where he isn't wearing loose shorts, but rather form-fitting ones. They're gray, too, making every little bit of dampness extremely noticeable. 

Aki seems to like that, because he keeps rubbing him through the thin layer, albeit only with a single finger. All it does is frustrate Denji. He's barely able to keep a growl down; Aki likes to take his time, although no longer to tease him, but rather because he just likes to experience Denji with his sharpened senses. He shouldn't be selfish, even if it's hard. Heat against clothed folds when Aki mouths at his shame, gently rubbing circles with his thumbs into his thighs. He pulls on his hair a little harder. He might go insane at this rate. 

A little sound wells up in the back of the Gun Fiend's throat when he loses patience with himself, apparently, and starts to fumble with fabric, practically tearing Denji's shorts off of him and flinging them halfway across the room. Anticipation boils in his gut, makes it do somersaults. The muzzle of the pistol presses into the soft fat of his belly as Aki noses at dark blonde curls, fingertips tracing his groin on either side of his folds. Then, thumbs spread him. Denji can't help the full-body shudder that chases up and down his spine when the fiend's tongue lolls from his maw and slides between the spread folds of his cunt. So much for 'this isn't sexual'. But Denji doesn't dare complain; he's getting his pussy ate.

Teeth find his lower lip, biting down. Aki is slow and deliberate in his ways while dragging the entire length of his tongue over sensitive flesh– but then comes the bumpy patch. Denji feels it. Going between his small labia, just grinding on the skin there. A very enthusiastic moan of 'oh, fuck yeah' breaks out of him before he goes back to chewing the everloving hell out of his bottom lip, head dropping into the pillows. Sweat spills from his temples and seeps into his hair. Aki has him writhing on the towels. He doesn't complain when the slimy length seems to withdraw, too caught up in just how fucking good it is to feel it slide over engorged tissue. If there's one good thing about the new Aki, it's his supposedly gross mouth. When the attention shifts to his clit, Denji forces tension into his limp spine to raise his head; he's gotta watch. 

It should fill him with a certain sense of doom to see something that's usually sharp and used to drink his blood so close to his dick, but instead, Denji can feel himself throb, watching the fiend tongue him, seeing the black needle flicked against sensitive flesh before twirling around it and then flicking again. His grip in Aki's scalp grows firmer and his second hand joins the fray to hold his hair back. It doesn't take long for a knot to form at his midst, just about ready to burst. A whine breaks out of his throat and he has to throw his head back, only for it to roll forward again. He would've made eye contact now, but he can only look at Aki's blindfold, hoping that he sees his glassy gaze and pleasure-struck expression. 

A quick show of teeth makes him think that it worked. Aki tends to snarl when he's excited. The tongue on his clit disappears completely, and he mourns its loss, but the fiend seems willing to replace it– had it not been for the Colt. It pushes harder into the meat of Denji's abdomen as he tries to lean in, just get his head closer to his cunt. Cue an angered scoff, followed by the head tilt necessary for this, the pistol resting over the dip between the teen's thigh and hip. "Sorry about that.", Aki murmurs, licking his lips. "I-I ain't complainin', yanno…", Denji manages to stammer back, brushing hair behind the other's ear. Then, heat around his cock. Aki's lips around it. Slurping. The best kind.  "O-oh, fuck–", the teen sighs, fingers of both hands clawing into the fiend's hair now. His knees rise to the occasion, thighs tensing. Denji moans freely, soft little ones sometimes interrupted by louder keens with a higher pitch. Aki alternates between licking and sucking, a mixture of slick and saliva gathering in the cleft of Denji's ass. 

Toes curl and bunch up the towels under them. Fingers pull on black hair. His chest heaves with each groan that tumbles from his lips. They start to get drawn-out and whiny. The pace of his breathing picks up, slowly going from deep breaths to shallow panting. His head is thrown back again, eyes fluttering shut. A warm buzz engulfs him, forcing moans out of him in staccato, hacked off bits of what they used to be. A particularly hard suck makes his thighs spasm. His fingers and forearms begin to cramp, so he pulls them out of Aki's hair. 

However, he doesn't know what to do with them after that. With a mind of their own, they choose the next best thing: clawing into the towels. Clammy warmth along the sides of his body, leaving tingles wherever it goes. Aki's hands. Aki is touching him. Fingers splaying over his skin, caressing him, making him feel good in every conceivable way. His grip loosens on its own. He goes for Aki's hands. They tangle, with Denji pushing himself into the gaps between the fiend's phalanxes. He squeezes, the sweat of their palms mixing. 

Between wet slurping and soft cries of pleasure, the sound of the sheer everlasting rain and occasional thunder is still prevalent in the background, but the lovers have more important things to attend to than the awful weather. Aki is only sucking his cock now, no longer flicking his tongue against or licking it; he's actively trying to get him off. And it's working. Denji's back arches, knuckles turning white as he squeezes the fiend's hands, unable to appreciate the fact that he gently squeezes back. His breaths come in shallow, strained huffs. Eyes screwed shut and mouth agape, he practically melts in pleasure, loudly moaning for Aki. The knot in his abdomen tightens a last time before it bursts. Its impact rips through Denji, sets him ablaze instantly, like a flame to gasoline. The fire comes in waves, crawling over the insides of his thighs, up to his chest, all the way into his finger tips. His moans are broken and shrill, slowly tapering out into little whines. The burn lasts and lasts, has him shaking and frantically squeezing Aki's hands, until the fire in his groin fades into nothingness. 

His back holds its arch for merely a second longer, until he falls limp, sweat beading off his shoulders. The fiend pulls away with a wet pop, untangles their sweaty hands. Denji is too busy trying to catch his breath to look at him. His entire body is just– pudding. His bones are just there for show, uselessly sloshing around in a warm mass of silly putty. He's a mess. God. Stuck in a warm haze, he lies there, gaze cast at the ceiling, and forgets everything around him. Momentarily, at least. The bed frame creaks, bringing him back to reality. Aki shifts after seemingly having wiped his face with a towel and is now scooting to the edge of the bed. Wait– he isn't going to leave, right? Denji is fully conscious, his strength returning right away. He sits up, but doesn't dare to get close to Aki. "H-hey… Wh-what 'bout you?", he asks carefully. Yeah, what about Aki? What about Aki and his scary, gross fiend dick? He remembers that whole altercation now. And the claim that was made that afternoon, even if Aki profusely apologized for it. He tries not to get mad again. 

The Gun Fiend's shoulders visibly tense in response to his question. Elbows dig into thighs, hands brought up to rub at Aki's face. Oh. Not good. The rain is louder than ever now, filling the silence that falls between them. "I don't think that's–", the fiend begins, but doesn't finish the sentence, before doubling down, "We shouldn't, okay?" It makes Denji frown. He's done playing this game. "Why not?", the teen asks in return. The Colt bobs, turns to flash its side to him. The thunderstorm makes for bad lighting, but he can still see the muted shine of its barrel. "You know why.", Aki tells him with a show of needles, meant to intimidate. Denji calls bullshit. A sigh causes his chest to heave. He expects the fiend to leave at any moment, but he's gotten used to that, be it for better or for worse. "Is it the violent sex thoughts or ya gross dick?", he asks, flat-out and unabashed– classic Denji.  

A sigh. He fully expected Aki to get up after that, but no such thing. He's rubbing and pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly in thought. "Both.", the fiend croaks. Oh, they're getting somewhere this time. Denji's brows rise out of sheer interest. He sees an opening right there and he'd be damned if he didn't try to poke around in it. On his fours, he crawls over to the edge of the bed and plops himself down next to Aki, who immediately brings some distance between them. He looks over, stares. Red paints his face. The sheer fucking tent in Aki's underwear. Okay. He needs that in his mouth right now. It's been, what, half a fucking year since Aki's last blowjob? 

A million things buzz around in his skull, so Denji has no issue ending the rain-filled silence. "Is it gross 'cuz of what it looks like or is it, like, slimy?", he begins right away, likely giving the fiend whiplash from how fast the Colt is pulled to the side, pointing at him. The teen doesn't stop there. "Is it bumpy like ya tongue bits or somethin'?", he asks again, because Aki isn't replying, silently glowing in the brightest and prettiest shade of red that a fiend can blush in, and then quickly throws in another question that's been burning on his tongue, "Can I see? " 

Aki fumbles at that, fidgets with his hands in utter desperation. His shoulders are turning red too. God, how cute. "Denji, I–", he begins to stammer, his voice seemingly about to leave him. It's scratchy and faint and the fiend doesn't dare to clear his throat for some reason, until it gets so bad that he has to. Lungs rattle, Adam's apple bobbing. "A-are you s-sure?", he asks. The teen can't help but roll his eyes. "God , are ya kiddin' me?", he groans, "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't." Then, he leans in close, close to Aki's ear. "Wanna know somethin'? I don't jus' wanna look at it–", he speaks to the fiend with his voice lowered, no more than a raspy whisper. "I wanna touch it too.", he tells him. Aki shivers. Cue a deep, shaky breath. Fingers run through black locks, perhaps in an attempt to soothe himself. "O-okay.", Aki concedes, but just when Denji is about to rejoice, he continues, "B-but i-it's really weird. Like, not… Not human."  

Oh. That's a kink he didn't know he had. Nice. "That jus' makes me wanna see it even more.", Denji states with a cackle. "O-oh.", Aki squeaks. The sound is silenced prematurely by Denji's lips, giving the fiend a firm peck. It lasts a while, lips smacking and soft hums from either side, but neither is willing to deepen the kiss. It's good the way it is. The teen breaks their embrace soon, only for Aki to chase his lips for another kiss. He pulls away again, which earns him an impatient, mean growl. Pretty feisty for someone who can't talk about his dick without stuttering. He doesn't say that though, god forbid. He likes his head on his shoulders, thanks a lot. After the third time, Aki finally permits the parting. They crawl back on the bed together, sit down. Aki across from Denji. God. His eyes are practically glued to the fiend's bulge. Sure, he has obviously seen Aki pop countless boners before, even while they didn't have sex, but it's been literal ages since he last witnessed one in the flesh and got to touch it. 

Teeth find his bottom lip as he scoots closer, a hand on Aki's knee, tracing an invisible line inward. The fiend sucks in a sharp breath, shifts uncomfortably. "We do this– u-under one condition.", the fiend tells him, doing his utmost to sound firm. Denji's gaze flicks upward, fixated on where the other's eyes would've been. Cue an awkward pause with the teen waiting patiently, while the fiend seems unable to word his conditions. "N-no sex.", he states, "I don't… I-I don't feel ready for that yet." Yeah, he can live with that. "Aight, pussy's off limits. Got that.", Denji responds, rolling his shoulders, "Hands and mouth okay wit' ya?" Aki sputters at that, his blush burning with new intensity. He'll just take that as a yes. "D-don't say that.", Aki scoffs with a frown, "A-and the lights– they stay off." Boo. He'll still take it, though. "Deal.", he responds again, all too quickly, even if that's two conditions. 

Moment of truth for Aki. Denji leans in for another kiss, hoping to soothe the fiend and loosen some of the tension in his shoulders. It's slow and tender, has Aki sighing blissfully into the teen's mouth. Ah– he missed kissing too. Cute. Their lips part. Denji mouths along his jawline, down his neck, trails kisses along his collarbone. The urge to bite breaks forth. He lingers. It's just a split second, but during that split second he fights with that little voice in his head, telling him to sink his teeth into Aki again. He refuses– and moves on. Astonishing self control for a puppy.  

Distance between them. Denji's attention returns to the star of the encounter: the fiend's boner. It rests snug against Aki's groin. There's a few things he can tell are different, even while his cock is still clothed. The tip is pointy. His underwear also seems… A little wetter than it would've been back when he was still just human. He reaches out, dares to trace the length of it, feeling it twitch under the lightest of touches. Once at the tip, he takes it between his fingers and gives gentle pressure. It's hard. Not like rock-hard but metal-hard. Like his needle. And warm. Oh. 

Denji's gaze flicks up, giving Aki a befuddled, yet intrigued look. He's trying to decide if he likes what he feels. Teeth find his lip as he concentrates on the things at hand, doing his damnedest to create a mental image to ease some of the anxiety that's starting to form on his end. What if he doesn't like Aki's new dick? The thought seems blasphemous to him, because it's Aki and he loves everything about Aki, even the ugly, dark parts of him, but– what if? His hand goes down to the shaft again. He takes the leap of faith and wraps his fingers around it, holds it upright. Denji pumps his wrist, just slightly, just a little, but it's still enough to make Aki grunt and– there's something. He squeezes out of curiosity. Eyes widen. Ridges. Barely there, but he can feel them. What the fuck. His very obvious bewilderment doesn't go past Aki. 

"Is e-everything alright?", the fiend asks, every tiny bit of insecurity on display; Denji has to handle him with care now– if only he was good at being cautious and not completely tone-deaf. "Y-yeah, totally.", he replies and that alone makes Aki flinch, but he decides to dig an even deeper grave, "Jus'– like ya said, 's weird. Not scary, but weird." Cue an exasperated sigh, lips pressed together into a tight line afterwards. "Told you.", Aki says, his tone heavy and downright somber, "You can st–" You can stop now. Denji cuts him off right there. 

"Not in a million years.", he says, steadfast. It stumps the fiend, hopefully silencing him for the duration of the hand job at the very least. What he feels doesn't deter him, no matter how weird he thinks it to be. The oily slick that wets the fabric of Aki's underwear makes his palm slide along his clothed shaft with ease and, because he's not a sadist in the bedroom, he gives him a few good pumps while leaning in for another kiss. Soft grunts fall against his lips. Drool sticks to them, so he can't help but lick them when he pulls away. Aki is still glowing in that bright blush of his, face, neck, shoulders, all burning in carmine by this point. 

"I'm making a mess–", he can hear the fiend murmur under his breath when one of the strokes of his hand makes a slick, squelch-y sound. Denji doesn't respond, only gives a smug little grin that says 'I love that' while rubbing him some more, eventually letting his palm go all the way down to the base. There's something hot, pulsing under his grip. It's thick and hard– and round. Before he can really register what he's touching, Aki bucks into his touch against his will with a really weird gurgle noise that he hasn't made before. The fiend quickly corrects himself by fumbling for the teen's wrist and taking it off of his dick with a firm grasp. Denji stares at his own hand, shiny with… Yeah, what even is that? Precum or some sorta fiend dick musk he isn't aware of? He kinda wants to lick it… But Aki would freak out. 

"Aight, I need to see what you're packin' 'cuz this is gettin' ridiculous.", the teen says in all seriousness. It makes Aki shrink before him, letting go of his wrist to cover himself– with a pout. He's fucking pouting. It's barely there, but he can see it, even in shitty lighting. "I told you it's weird.", the fiend huffs. This fucking guy. "No shit.", Denji says with a roll of his eyes before hitting Aki with a verbal sucked punch, "Ya wanna get off or nah?" Seething red against pale skin. The Gun Fiend has to look away, sharp teeth tearing into his own bottom lip. "Y-yeah.", he eventually admits, "I'm j-just– thinking. A lot." Ah. How insightful. "'bout what?", Denji asks, unsuspecting and unable to learn from past experiences. The Colt holds him at gunpoint again. Needles shine in the dark, albeit only for a moment. Cue a frustrated gurgle, the fiend's tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "About what?", he repeats himself, clearer this time and with a bit of firmness to it. 

"Thin ice, Denji.", Aki says with a lingering rumble in his voice. Oh. Oh, he got him cornered now. In a sexy way, at that. "Why's that?", Denji asks yet again, playing dumb. Leaning in again. Real close. Lips almost touching Aki's, but being just ever slightly askew, because he may not be a sadist, but he's a massive fucking asshole at heart. "Wanna play a game of 'jus' the tip'?“, Denji rasps and he can feel the sheer heat radiating off Aki's face. He knows what he said before, that he doesn't feel ready for penetrative sex yet, and Denji respects that. He's just teasing him; if something happens because of that, it's a plus. "Is that what you're thinkin' 'bout? How much ya wanna fuck me?", comes the low whisper, fingers finding the fiend's jaw line. No verbal response. Another low growl wells up in Aki's mouth instead. Throaty and bassy. A warning. One that Denji pays no mind to on purpose, because he's a little shit. He wants to drive the fiend insane, if he's quite honest. 

They're still close, neither of them backing away. The air is thick. Denji's lips part to make way for his tongue. He drags it across Aki's cheek, the entire breadth of it. Needles bared. Another loud growl, but no actual reaction follows. Bummer. "'cuz I've been thinkin' 'bout it.", Denji hums against wet skin, slowly inching his way into Aki's lap. As if acting on instinct, the fiend's hands end up at his hips, finally no longer covering himself. Hard heat against his inner thigh, throbbing. He's throbbing with his fucking heartbeat. Christ. Something breaks inside of Denji. 

Wild fumbling on both ends ensues. They're both struggling with the same task: getting those disgustingly soaked shorts off Aki in the dark, while entirely unwilling to do something about their position. A resounding thud at the other end of the room tells him that Aki managed to take them off and flung them away. Cue another growl, followed by a hiss. Lethal maw opening. Needles dig into Denji's shoulder without a warning, making him squeal in pleasure-pain. Eager slurping and sucking follows. He doesn't even care about the needle burning under his skin. 

Fingers find Aki's new length, running along it freely, from the pointed and flared tip all the way down to the thick growth at the base. It's slick, so slick that his hand slips when he tries to give it a squeeze. It does feel like metal. At least the tip does. The rest of it feels like skin, albeit very firm. There are veins, like the ones growing along his Colt and they pulse and twitch. He trails down again, down to the root, feels it up. Denji found it to be completely round at first, but upon further inspection he realizes that it's kinda parted in the middle, most of its mass split between each side of the base. He can't imagine how that would feel inside of him, but just thinking about it– he can't help but clench around nothing. His palm wraps around it. The contact itself garners a gurgle, but squeezing it– 

Aki withdraws, teeth and needle gone in an instant, allowing blood to flow freely. An even stranger gurgle-groan follows. Hm. Interesting. Kinda reminds him of the noises he made that night. The fiend halts for a few moments, before very audibly licking blood off the wound in his shoulder, slobbering over his skin and giving little coos and purring sounds. Heh. Cute. Denji squeezes again, caresses the bulb with the heel of his palm and thumb. Aki's head drops, chin digging into his injured shoulder. It doesn't hurt, instead causing a pang of pleasure to shoot through him, going straight to his dick. A choked sound follows when he continues to knead the fiend's cock, liking the way the tissue further fills with blood under his touch. However, a pathetic whimper makes him halt. "H-holy shit, st-stop–", Aki whines, taking hold of his wrist again, "Th-that'll make m-me cum." He says it like busting a nut is a felony now, his voice lowering as the sentence progresses. It causes confusion on Denji's end. Isn't that the whole point? 

The teen manages to suppress a confused reaction and decides to use Aki's words to his advantage. He can't suppress a giddy grin as he holds the fiend close, leaning in to huff against his ear, "Don't ya wanna cum?" Tongue against cartilage. He drags the muscle over his ear, lets the tip dip into it. Aki makes a sound that can't be accurately described with human words. It sounds like a growl, but metallic, like something rattling around inside of a rusty oil drum. He knows that sound. Aki also sounded like that when he took him. The noise fades into a little whine, which ends with the fiend rutting into his hand in desperation. 

"Please.", Aki pleads against his ear, his voice a mere afterimage of what it usually is. God. Denji isn't strong enough of a man to resist much longer. However, the other isn't done talking yet. "B-but– um– n-not like this.", he adds, muttering under his breath. Not like this, he says, whimpering like he's about to break into tears from how desperate and pent up he is. The teen sucks in a sharp breath at that, blushing profusely. Yup, Denji is a weak, lustful excuse of a guy– wait, that's kinda what guys are in general. "How do ya wanna cum, hm?", the teen rasps into his ear, letting go of his cock so he doesn't blow his load from his touch alone, and is sure to add, "Ya can have me in any way ya want." His words must be utterly devastating. Aki's breath gets stuck in his throat several times as he seems to ponder, wagering his options and breathing heavily at the sheer amount of possibilities at hand. 

A heated exhale, followed by a mumble. "Th-thighs.", Aki manages to murmur, strained and hoarse. He clears his throat, speaks again and clarifies, "With y-your thighs." Breathless. Drool trickles on his shoulder. "Please.", is added with firmness, as if this is a last ditch effort to save his own skin. Wow. What he says and the way he says it makes Denji's cock throb. Plain and simple. He's so fucking wet that his arousal must be running down his leg. This is the first time he sees Aki this desperate for something in general. He could get used to it. Maybe he is a sadist deep down and the fiend is bringing out the worst in him. Denji pulls back. Their lips clash. Blood between them. Another rattling growl from the Gun Fiend. This kiss can hardly be described as such, defined by teeth and bloodied tongues, with the needle ending up somewhere in Denji's throat again and holes torn into Aki's lips. When they part, it's abrupt, because the teen is sure that they could've kept going another hour or two like this; he doesn't want to torture the fiend any longer. Aki protests their kiss ending prematurely with a gurgle, but doesn't try to draw him into another one this time. So far so good. 

Distance between them. It's quite cozy in Aki's lap with his cock twitching against his leg, but Denji remembers that one night that made the fiend hate himself and his new body even more– and it's giving him ideas. Aki wanted Denji on his fours. Under him. Bent over. Presenting, offering himself. The Colt is pointed at him, shaking with anticipation. He holds the tension, gives a half-lidded stare through pale lashes in return. Fangs are bared. Foamy drool forms at the corners of Aki's mouth. His chest begins to heave. Loud, labored breathing. Just a little more he decides. Not a word is said during their lustful staring contest, because this particular encounter doesn't need any more talking past this point. It's slow and deliberate when he moves, scooting away from the reeling fiend. Their one-sided eye contact remains when Denji presents himself on a silver platter, elbows braced against the towels, knees apart, back arched. 

The sparse light seems to hit the silhouette of his body just right, because Aki rattles loudly. Denji dares to blink. Heat against him, a hand pressing the side of his face into the towels with a firm grip on his scalp. The fiend skipped the lunging and just rushed him. Their hips are slotted together. Aki throbs hot and hard between his legs, against his mound. He can feel his cock jump with every heartbeat. Holy fuck. Strings of fat drool hit his back, stray locks of hair fall forth and tickle his skin as the fiend starts to rut. It's messy and off beat, Aki's oils sticking to his skin and clumping his pubes together– as if he wasn't wet enough. In fact, he's getting even wetter from this. The Gun Fiend is mounting him. Like some fucking animal. Growling and panting. And he's letting it happen. However, he can hear some frustration in the feral sounds that Aki is making. The heat of his cock presses up against his groin, on the desperate search for friction, followed by a disappointed groan when rubbing himself against the slick skin there doesn't yield results. Denji would've cackled if he wasn't so fucking turned on. 

He shows mercy. Shuffling against fluffy towels, trying to get Aki to move away for one second so he can close his legs. The fiend, stubborn as ever, even when losing his mind from sheer urges, doesn't budge. Instead, an aggressive gurgle follows at that. The pressure on his skull increases. Denji shudders. He's thinking about it again. Aki, killing and using him. Until there's nothing left. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hunched over him, Aki growls so low and throaty that the teen can feel his bones resonate with the sound. Stiff heat continues to poke and prod him, rubbing up against his own cock during particularly heated thrusts. Another low rattle of lungs. Their hips rest flush together. Denji can feel Aki's dick flare, engorge with blood further. Holy. Shit. The sensation makes him shiver. He tries to shift again, wiggle his legs between the fiend's, so that he can make his knees touch. Aki gives another scary growl, but this time Denji just acts. More shuffling, fumbling. The fact that the fiend keeps humping him like some stray in rut doesn't make it easy, but he manages to get his legs into prime position. 

Plush fat encases Aki's cock. Another metallic growl at that, followed by a throaty groan. The oily precum (he doesn't even know if it's pre or something like pussy juice, doesn't matter) and his own slick make for an easy slide, which the fiend really seems to enjoy, if his labored breathing and the slow drag of his hips are anything to go by. More drool spills on his back when Aki's maw of needles opens to make way for loud and unashamed panting as he breeds the teen's thighs. Since Denji isn't getting his brains fucked out this time around, he gets to enjoy the fiend's desperation to its fullest extend. Aki's tongue lolls from his mouth as his pace quickens again. Wet squelching, skin on skin, more drool. 

Denji can't help but give a little moan, staring at the fiend over his shoulder while the iron grip on his skull tightens anew. Hips snap forward, hard enough to make it hurt. Aki's panting gets rougher, the insides of his throat likely raw and irritated. He arches his back a little further, which earns a delighted grunt, the fiend hunching over him more in turn. His thrusts speed again, to the point of reckless abandon. Denji is imagining what it would be like if Aki was actually fucking him right now; it gets him wet beyond words. It'd be fun if it made him cry. 

Suddenly, the Gun Fiend halts, sheathed between the teen's thighs all the way, save for his thick knot. He needs the quick break as it seems, wheezing and sweating profusely. Feeling the growth against him, Denji groans at the sensation of it, pulsing and twitching to the tune of Aki's heart. It's so hot and hard, too. Aki huffs, white-hot steam hissing from his gullet, before he continues to fuck the tight squeeze between Denji's thighs and somehow manages to go even harder than before. His hips start to stutter, thrusts off-beat and hasty, and his growling and rattling turns strained. The knot presses against the crack between his thighs with each pump, Aki making a point to push firmly, as if trying to force it in. Knuckles tighten in blonde hair. The fiend wrenches his head forward, exposing his nape, and latches onto the sweat-clad skin there in a hold barely hard enough to pierce his flesh. It's not a bite to feed or even to kill– it's for holding him in his place. Fuck. He's breeding him. With his maw secured on Denji, both of Aki's hands brace against the bed. The fiend is trembling harshly, sweat beading and dripping. He's gotta be close. No doubt about it. 

A few more hard thrusts. Aki's balls slap against the back of his thighs with each of them. With a particularly forceful jut of his hips, the fiend fully sheathes himself between his legs. Right away, Denji can feel it– the knot is getting bigger, further filling with blood. It's so hot that it might as well start sizzling wherever it touches him. Engorged flesh throbs harder and harder, to the point where it jolts between the plush meat of his thighs. Heated breaths against his skin as nostrils undoubtedly flare. Aki starts to whine. Loud and downright tormented. The bite on his nape tightens, causing his brows to furrow. A last jolt of the fiend's cock. Then, there it is. Wet heat between his legs. Aki's entire body is as taut as a drawn bowstring, breaths halting and catching in his throat. Denji can't help but gasp, because it just keeps going and going, until the fiend's spend spills, running down his legs. The fiend continues to throb, even when he eventually stops cumming, albeit no longer as hard. Wow. What the fuck. The Gun Fiend's cum– It's sticky and hot between his thighs. 

"C-can I move?", Denji dares to croak under his breath. Aki doesn't respond, only bites him harder, making him cringe. That's a no. They stay connected. The fiend's body heaves on top of his, drenching both of them in sweat. It's only then that Denji realizes that, god, Aki fucking reeks of overbearingly sweet musk, which just confuses the hell out of him, because why on god's green earth is it sweet? Not even strawberry-shortcake-sweet but sugar-water-sweet, to the point where Denji can taste him on his tongue with every inhale. However, even with his thoughts focused entirely elsewhere, he becomes acutely aware of the throbbing between his legs intensifying again. Then, quicker than before, another spill of wet heat. The fiend shudders, heaving loudly through his nose. Holy shit– multiple orgasms? 

A whimper breaks out of Aki's throat as he continues to jolt among tender fat, making Denji close his legs tighter. Not much. Just a little. However, sometimes a little can be a lot. The fiend growls and bucks into his heat, sac hitting his thigh with a meaty 'whap'. It makes him shiver. If they were doing doggy normally, Denji would've reached between his legs to cradle Aki's balls right about now. The other already loved that as a human, so he can hardly imagine what he'd do as a fiend, especially when he seems to be so much more sensitive and feral about sex. The second orgasm ends sooner this time, but it's still a lot, he has to note, because it starts to soil the towels around his knees, pooling where they dig into the fabric. 

He tries to rouse anew, in an attempt to get Aki off of him, but to no avail. Again, the vice on his nape tightens. Blood spills. A moan breaks out of Denji, not just from the delicious pain of the bite, but also because Aki shifts, so that his knot is pushing between his folds, pulsing against his shame. Oh, fuck. He can't help but quiver against the thick bulb, clenching desperately and in a feeble attempt to make Aki at least put it in to dump a load in him. Much to his disdain, the fiend is more interested in breeding his non-existent thigh gap and groin than, well, him. However, being stuck like this makes him think– not with his brain, though. Stuck is the keyword, actually. Heat rises up Denji's nape and it's not the fiend's saliva or his breath, but instead a crucial realization: Aki is going to get stuck in his pussy when they fuck. His skin is seething hot, just thinking about it. He needs that. Pussy is off limits, they said– well, fuck that. Aki is living in a dead body that can't reproduce. Denji needs to be used.  

"Aki–", is all he sighs, before shuffling with his legs again, spreading them as far as he can. Strings of cum and slick stretch between his thighs. The fiend laments the loss of pressure on his cock. It throbs uselessly against him, jolting up against his folds. Aki doesn't let go of his scruff, keeps him caged under him. His hips set back. The fact that he's rock-fucking-solid is perfect for lining himself up without the use of his hands. Denji's breath halts in his throat when he realizes. Aki pushes into him with a wet squelch and starts humping him like he did before, uncoordinated and lust-driven. The teen's mouth falls open in a silent moan as the fiend punches all air out of his lungs with each and every thrust. 

Loud, heaving pants against his nape, blood slowly drying on the sides of his neck. His eyes roll involuntarily, hands taking fistfuls of fabric. Aki keeps going harder and faster, his knot pressing up against his cunt. Growling ensues. Denji offers himself, arches his back so much that he can feel every single muscle in his lower back scream and protest, but he doesn't care. The heat of a sweat-slicked palm snakes down his body. Aki's hand. Going between his legs. He cries out when the fiend starts rubbing him in the same manner that he fucks him– hard, fast, dirty. 

His orgasm is the same as well. It's sudden when the pressure in his abdomen comes and goes, spreading out into the peaks of his body as he squirts from the Gun Fiend's rough breeding, only adding to the mess. A few more thrusts and Aki halts. Denji is panting loudly too now, shaking and tears overflowing. Jesus Christ. That was something. The worst part is that they could've had this all along. What the fuck. How dare Aki withhold something like this? However, he doesn't get much time to think or be personally offended, because he can feel the telltale throb of another orgasm inside of his cunt. 

The fiend's cock flares, filling with more blood. It jolts. Then, seething heat. Deep inside. A harsh shudder from Denji. He clenches, tries to milk Aki for all he's worth, only to realize that the knot isn't even in, uselessly pressing against the rim of his hole. For fuck's sake. Well, no matter. He still got Aki to cum inside. Needles withdraw from his nape. A last rattling growl follows, long and drawn-out, as if the fiend is letting the neighborhood know that his bitch has been bred and claimed. Oh, he loves that thought, actually. The flow of heat stops, but Aki still isn't pulling out. More twitching inside of him. Saliva hits his back for the nth time, the pitter-patter of it joining the sound of the still on-going summer shower outside. Another rush of heat. Denji feels pressure. Aki is filling him up. 

And then, it's over. The Gun Fiend pulls out with a disgustingly wet squelch. Denji trembles. He doesn't dare move, but a reflexive clench of his cunt makes the mess inside of him overflow. Seething, downright burning heat spills out of his used hole, trickling over his cock. Fuck, that shouldn't feel good but it does. If only 'lights off' wasn't a condition; he would've loved to see Aki seep out of him in fat, sticky strings. His lungs flutter as he does his utmost to get oxygen back into his system. Blood sticks to his skin. The pin pricks that Aki's various mouthparts left behind sting with fresh, salty sweat running over the little wounds, but it does nothing to dull that tingly post-orgasm buzz. They really did it. Aki fucked him. The bed frame creaks when the fiend lets himself drop into the mattress next to Denji. He's still heaving, desperately trying to catch his breath. When the teen looks over, he can see Aki's maw, the needle lolled from it, as he rattles and grunts. Sweat glistens in sparse lighting. They're both all fucked up. Good. However, considering this, Denji doesn't expect it when Aki starts to speak all of a sudden. 

"Y-you said it yourself–", the Gun Fiend rasps at him, a hand brought up to brush sweat-drenched locks of black hair out of his face. He doesn't even realize that he's talking to him at first, cum-brained as he is. "What?", is all the teen can manage. What is about to follow causes tension. Not the fun, sexy type. "I'm dead, right?", Aki says, just like that. The words that likely would've caused a breakdown simply fall from his lips, as if it's nothing special. "E-even though I don't feel dead– b-but my body is.", Aki continues, "My body is dead." He says all that with such clarity– the kind of clarity and self-awareness that the teen would've loved to see a few weeks ago. Better late than never. "Yeah...", Denji replies, albeit with hesitation, already preparing himself to comfort Aki if necessary. No such thing, though. The Gun Fiend shoots upright, mechanical and rigid. "So nothing is going to happen?", Aki asks, Colt pointed at him, "I can just–?" Oh, this is about– oh. Realization strikes. Seething red skin. On both ends. His boyfriend doesn't finish the sentence. He seems out of it, crazed. Likely recalling what Denji tried to force into his thick skull a while ago. Fuck, that's hot. 

It's sudden when a loud gurgle follows and Denji finds himself beneath Aki, the muzzle of his Colt flush against his forehead after he was flipped onto his back. Drool seeps from the fiend's lower lip, his jaw having fallen slack in heated pants. Then, they clash. Head tilt and all. Aki is drooling into his mouth, mapping out the insides of it, the dulled needle poking around in his cheeks, as if to commit them to memory. A gruff mantra of 'minemineminemine' breaks out of Aki, more growled than spoken words. The fiend practically folds him in half, knees pressed into the bed. Denji's flexible. He always liked that. When the kiss breaks, Aki starts to slobber over his neck, sampling his sweat and catching flakes of dried blood on his tongue. It forces a shiver out of Denji. Rattling sets in. Nostrils flare. The needle withdraws, followed by the fiend gently nibbling on his jawline, causing him to tip his head back. It's just cute little love bites, teeth barely grazing his skin. Then, he feels it. Aki's cock. Just before he enters him again. 

He's sore, so there's some pain weighing into his cry of pleasure, eyes squeezing shut when the fiend starts to fuck him hard and deep. Each snap of the other's hips drives him closer to insanity. He just wants to be a hole, used at convenience. Aki, the human, would've never admitted or indulged in the fantasy, even if it was clearly floating around in his mind, but Aki, the Gun Fiend– that's a different story. The fiend takes what he wants, when he wants. Denji wouldn't have it any other way. Short nails rake over Aki's back, leaving red streaks on sweaty flesh. The familiar sting of the needle. In his neck. Followed by teeth. He can hear and feel the sinew of his neck snap under the pressure of the fiend's needled maw. Eyes roll, tears fall. Aki is ripping into him. It feels too fucking good. Raw and visceral. The Gun Fiend dumps another load into his used cunt with a gravelly moan. Denji feels the sheer volume of it seep out, running down the cleft of his ass and over the back of it. 

Blood splatters. Shreds of torn flesh, of skin are scattered as the fiend tears him apart and asunder. This isn't a bite of love, but rather of hunger; Aki is eating him, ripping him to pieces like a beast would. No other way of putting it. The Gun Fiend strips Denji's shoulder down to the bones in a haze, making a mess so grand that a few towels wouldn't be able to catch it as he gnaws on his arm and breaks the bone with the sheer force of his maw. A misfire is all it takes to have Denji back, fully conscious, in a mess of his own blood and the fiend's spend. 

The teen is out of breath, shaking from what just happened to him, adrenaline still coursing through his body. It's a buzz like no other. It makes him crave more– harder stuff to scratch that itch in the back of his head. Obviously, Denji is more than just into it, but when Aki looks at him as he lies under him, eyes wide and smeared in blood, something breaks. He shies away. Red all over, even down his upper arms. There's shame, an abundance of apologies, but it subsides faster than it did before. His boyfriend doesn't cry anymore, either.

Aki is coming to terms with himself and the things that the stray bullet in his skull makes him do.

Chapter Text

Aki doesn't hide from him anymore. No more closed doors, no more yelling. Full disclosure about everything. Their new circumstances are still strange to both of them, but at the very least, they're getting used to it. A return to normalcy… Somewhat. The fiend has yet to be approved for active duty by the Public Safety Bureau, due to– well, tendencies. Denji figured that the only reason why they didn't euthanize him on the spot during his last check up is that Aki is still relatively stable for a growling, cannibalistic mess of a fiend, that he finds outlets that aren't eating people– even if that last part is a little white lie. There's no reason for concern, after all; the only thing that he preys on cannot die and it's been established that this prey likes being preyed upon. A perfect match. 

"Please.", comes the heaving plea right by Denji's ear. Wet heat is already slithering over his bare shoulder blade. He doesn't react, simply keeps button-mashing on his controller. Once more, déjà vu. It's dark, the TV is the only source of light, Denji is playing video games, Aki is itching to feed. However, things are a little different. Ever since coming to terms with his new sense of self, the Gun Fiend has developed an awful temper and acts like an untrained mutt at best, biting Denji without permission and growling if denied. It's not something that Aki seems to do of his own volition, seeing how the fiend begins to grovel like a beaten stray once he realizes what he's doing. 

So, Denji lets him know that he doesn't agree with his behavior; he finds it funny that he is the one keeping Aki in check now. Oh, how the tables have turned. Arms around his torso, feeling him up. Craving him. The new Aki clearly lacks discipline, Denji cannot help but notice, so he's currently trying to help the fiend regain some of that. And just like Power, the Gun Fiend is food motivated, albeit that's not what Denji uses as a reward for when Aki is doing a good job. The needle swirls against his trapezius. He is sampling his sweat out of sheer desperation for a taste. "Please.", Aki sighs another time, but Denji remains steadfast. "Not yet.", is all he has to offer, followed by a firm order, that leaves no room for disobedience, "Stop touchin' me." 

Hands off him. A frustrated growl sounds. Floorboards creak as Aki begins to pace, his steps fading in and out, reappearing somewhere else at the apartment as the fiend zips around like a caged insect. This goes on for about twenty minutes, allowing the teen to beat a few levels of his game in peace, until the fiend decides that he's not being convincing enough. "I'm starving. Please.", he groans upon his return to the living room, standing in some corner that Denji can't quite pinpoint. Aki's words only cause him to roll his eyes with a click of his tongue. He knows damn well he isn't starving. Knees on wooden flooring, close to him. Rough panting. Saliva dripping. The fiend stays quiet otherwise. No pleading, no growling. He's getting better. However, Denji doesn't pay attention to him just yet and instead continues to test his resolve. 

About thirty minutes pass in silence, only to be broken by another plea, ever soft and sweet. "Please.", Aki whispers, barely loud enough for Denji to register. He's sitting at the table now, likely clawing into the edge of it. The teen has to fight with his own impulses at this point– and he loses. "'Please' what?", he asks for clarification, pausing his game and putting his controller aside. Aki shudders audibly, muscles contracting so harshly that it pushes a breath out of him. Shuffling behind him. The fiend scoots to his side, Colt nudging his shoulder. Asking for permission. 

Denji turns in his spot to face the fiend. He doesn't say anything. A maw of ivory needles opens, but not to strike, rather to form words. "I want–", Aki begins but stops himself, adjusts his wording, "Can… Can I– y-you know." Even after everything the fiend has done to his body, mutilating him and eating his leftovers, he still cannot openly say that he wants to suck his blood. Typical. But he pays it no mind. It's enough. Denji reaches out, fingertips drawing a line along Aki's barrel towards his face, before brushing back to the muzzle with his knuckles. The fiend makes an excited little purr-y noise, kinda like Nyako's welcoming trill when they get home from work. Fuck. Fuck, that's cute. 

So goddamn fucking cute that Denji can't help but pull him into a hug. Aki savors it, buries his face in his shoulder as much as the pistol's barrel lets him. Considering the aforementioned temper, Denji should be wary of getting too close to the fiend, especially when sometimes his scent is enough to set him off, but the teen finds that he holds up– without biting. His hunger seems forgotten. At least until a harrowing gurgle of his stomach rips through the silence, making him flinch and pull away. The Colt sways from side to side as Aki sinks in on himself in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with himself.

"C-Can I–?", he asks again after finding his voice between self-doubt and shame. It's mean, Denji knows, but he can't help but revel in the fact that he - yes, he, the mutt from the street - is being asked for permission for something so grand and, frankly, filthy. Aki is asking him if he can feast off of him. It brings him a high that not even a proposal would be able to overshadow. He doesn't give the word right away, holds the tension. The fiend's bottom lip quivers just for a mere moment. Nostrils flare. Cue a loud exhale. Still nothing. Aki's temples bulge as he grits his teeth. Then, he decides, he's played hard to get for long enough. 

Denji pulls his shirt over his head, revealing untouched skin, even after the sting of countless needles tore him apart time and time again. Aki stiffens, sucks in a sharp breath. "Yeah, you can.", the teen eventually says. It's enough to make sweat form on the Gun Fiend's temples, tremors wracking through him. "J-just blood.", Aki stammers, continues, " Only blood." It's not another permission thing. He's reassuring himself. That he won't eat him, just drink his blood. "Just blood.", Denji echoes and it's all that the fiend needs. He doesn't lunge, just leans in. The cold tip of his nose brushes against him. Lips against the column of his neck follow, red marks sucked into the side of it. The wet heat of the fiend's mouth trails downward, into the crook of his neck. He laps at his skin again, dragging his tongue over his favorite spot. His lips close on a small patch of skin. 

Then, that familiar sting follows. Something digs around under his skin, albeit not as much as it did before. Seems like Aki memorized this specific part of his blood circulation, knows exactly what blood vessels he has to puncture to get what he wants. Another cut is made. Bruises bloom. When Denji takes off the rose-colored glasses, he has to admit that it hurts a lot, but it's a burden he'll bear for Aki. Cue a content gurgle rising from the fiend's throat as he drinks, savoring every last drop that he's granted. Fingers weave into black locks. He still didn't get a haircut, simply because he can't go into public with a gun forced through his skull– and because he doesn't trust Power or Denji with scissors anywhere near his hair. Understandable .

A last big gulp. Then, the familiar tearing sensation, caused by the needle pulling out of his punctured flesh, follows. Right away, Aki squeezes the hole he left shut with a thumb, licking his lips before he swallows the last bit of blood in his mouth. Based on the glob of drool spilling from the corner of his lips, he craves more than what he was already given, but practices restraint. Again, Denji holds tension, gives an expectant look to see if Aki can withstand it. It doesn't come as a surprise that the fiend seems at least a hundred times more stable and reasonable with blood in his tummy, so he finally lets him off the hook. "Good job.", Denji tells him, patting his knee. "I'm doing the bare minimum.", Aki replies with a certain bitterness in his voice. "Nothin' wrong wit' that.", he's quick to retort, not allowing any type of nonsense about not doing enough to sprout in Aki's mind. He's sure that many others wouldn't have gotten this far. 

"Can we–", Aki begins, but doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence, only for him to just go for it, albeit not without a heavy blush settling in his cheekbones, "–go to bed now?" The teen can't help but grin, making the fiend avert his gaze in shame and embarrassment again. Aki wants his reward. Denji has been rewarding him with sex. Of course they've been fucking normally (finally) as well, but a majority of their sexual encounters take place due to good behavior. Perhaps not the best course of actions, but it works. "For what?", Denji asks, playing dumb on purpose. Just to make him say what he wants out loud. However, his shtick seems to piss Aki off enough for him to overcome the embarrassment that he feels. The fiend is close, head tilted and lips almost touching, when he rasps, "I want to fuck you."

Oh, he loves the sound of that. Makes him shiver every fucking time. Training time is over, so Aki gurgles in earnest now, lips parted to make way for teeth to be bared, for drool to drip. Gonna lunge, gonna strike?, he wants to egg the fiend on, but chooses against it; it's Aki's reward, so he gets to do things at his pace. Denji closes the miniscule distance between their lips, rough hands brought up to cradle a wonderfully soft face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as they kiss. The fiend pushes forward, so he gives way. Naked skin against polished wood when he lies down, lets Aki rob his breath with hungry pecks. Gentle nipping on his lower lip. He doesn't even need to think about opening his mouth; it just happens. 

When there's tongue, he can't suppress a gasp. Drooling ensues on both ends. Denji doesn't know what it is, but the fiend's slobber is so much thicker than his own. It's noticeable when he feels it on his tongue, swallows it. Their kiss breaks sooner than anticipated, only for Aki to latch onto his neck, nipping at the skin and letting his teeth graze it. Goosebumps spread. Knee between his legs. A breathy moan trickles from his mouth, followed by an airy giggle when the length of Aki's needle slithers over his neck. "N-not here.", Denji says, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. He's actually trying to be considerate of Power, after she witnessed most, if not all, of their nightly trysts. Even though the Almighty Blood Fiend has proclaimed that she doesn't care for their mating games (yeah, because she likes to eavesdrop and watch, the fucking freak), he wants to keep the disturbances to a minimum. 

Slobbering across his chest, around pert nipples, needle tangling with his cord. Another shudder. "H-hey, I'm serious, Aki…", he complains weakly, hand wrapping around the barrel of the Colt in a firm grasp. It distracts the fiend from the seemingly very important task of slathering his torso in drool, giving a little grunt as he pulls the pistol out of Denji's sweaty grip. The teen gives a pout as he wipes the already drying fiend residue (eugh, yuck!) off of himself with his discarded shirt. "Sorry…", Aki mumbles as he pulls away, sitting back on his heels, "Couldn't help myself."

Denji gives a miffed little scoff while he sits up as well, still wiping himself down with his now soiled shirt. Although the fiend was just told off and apologized for his sheer neediness, Aki is already back on his bullshit. Distance closed, hands trailing over his spit-wetted pecs, fingers toying with his cord. Something is different. Aki is touchy. It makes him think. Aki. Is. Touchy. In a way that Aki, the human, used to be. A thought forces itself back into the forefront of his mind: the infamous mood. They have been having sex like they did before, although the fiend is still not giving him everything– namely his knot. Aki hasn't knotted Denji yet, even though they came close to it on a few occasions, only for his boyfriend to pull out prematurely. Maybe there's a correlation. Maybe tonight is the night.

"Touchy.", is all the teen says with a mild quirk of his brow. Aki makes a low sound, caught between one of his signature gurgles and a rattly, metallic rumble. "I like you.", the fiend purrs, leaning in real close with his hands still on Denji's chest. Their lips almost touch. So close, albeit Aki doesn't dare to close the distance between them for some reason. He decides to be a little shit about it. A grin spreads across his visage. "Well, I'd fuckin' hope so.", Denji states with a cackle, ultimately pushing Aki away and denying him the kiss he seemed to want so desperately, yet couldn't gather the courage to take, "C'mon. Your room. Now."

To say that Aki is miffed would be an understatement. The fiend gives a mean snarl, but without the growl that usually would've followed, it's only half as intimidating. In spite of the silent protest, he does as he's told– and disappears within the blink of an eye, leaving Denji, half-naked and full of slobber, to his own devices. The only trace of his existence is the sound of the door to his room opening. He still can't get over how fast he is. Good thing that, despite everything, his human mindset is still present and he has no desire to just… Go out there and kill people. Aki will eat no other than Denji. It's fucked up that it makes him feel special and loved in ways that no human could ever love him. 

He uses his already disgustingly sticky shirt to wipe himself down some more, before dumping it in the hamper inside the laundry room on his way to Aki. The door is wide open. Though usually illuminated by the skyline, Aki's room is dark. Very dark. A lump forms in his throat, which he forces himself to swallow around. It's just his instincts going haywire; no sane individual would follow a reeling, snarling thing back to its nest. However, Denji isn't sane nor is Aki some thing; that's his Aki. Floorboards creak under his weight as he sets foot over the threshold of the fiend's den and enters. The Gun Fiend is nowhere to be found. A few more steps in. A rush of air behind him. Door closed and locked. All before Denji can react. By the time he can, there are shallow breaths fanning over his nape, searing body heat against his back.

Cue a low gurgle, followed by something that can only be described as a hyena cackle. "G– ot– y– ou–", Aki rasps. Oh. Fuck. Goosebumps galore. The teen stands frozen like a deer in the headlights. Hands on him. One on his chest, caressing the skin there, while its counterpart trails downward and flirts with the pale inklings of his happy trail. Palm flat against his stomach. Aki's pinkie, barely the tip of it, breaches the waistband of his pants. Teeth dig into his nape. A gasp breaks out of his throat and he can't help but push against the fiend, engulfed by heat; he's running hot. In heat. Fuck. He sucks in a sharp breath when Aki returns the favor and pushes back. Throbbing against him. He's already hard. Denji can't suppress a giddy grin when he presses his ass to the bulge in the fiend's sweats, making him growl in perverted fervor. 

Hand down his pants, straight into his underwear. They have no time to waste. Aki starts to stroke him hard and fast, fingers occasionally dipping between his folds to gather slick and spread it on Denji's dick. A string of moans tumbles from his lips. The bite on his scruff tightens. He doesn't expect it when two of his boyfriend's fingers dip into him. It borders on reflex when he spreads his legs a little, just to give Aki better access to his cunt. A shudder chases down his spine when the fiend pushes deeper, up to the last knuckle. Then, he starts to pump his wrist, making Denji's legs tremble. He underestimates just how wet their shtick with the feeding makes him; he's fucking soaked and they've barely even started. The wet squelch of Aki's fingers being thrusted in and out of his hole fills the nightly silence, alongside the teen's panting and barely suppressed gurgling of a starving fiend. 

A gentle shove, teeth digging harder into his nape. Denji's chest meets the cold of the glass screen door, hands bracing against it. If his nipples weren't rock-hard already, they definitely are now. The change in temperature makes him moan and clench around the fingers inside of him, to which Aki responds with a throaty groan, albeit muffled, as he most certainly imagines his heat on something other than his digits. In fact, Denji is thinking about something similar as well– Aki's knot. Fuck. Another involuntary clench. At the same time, the stretch of parting fingers makes him gasp, only tensing up harder. It's gotta feel something like this. He's doing his best to imagine it out of sheer anticipation that it might happen tonight, not thinking about what his incessant clenching might be doing to Aki. 

A loud growl. It's sudden when the stretch of the fiend's fingers disappears completely. He has no time to whine about the loss, though. The rustling of fabric. Fumbling. The needles digging into his nape disappear as Aki hurriedly gets rid of his clothes, throwing them aside, before making quick work of Denji's pants in an equal manner– all within a few heated moments. Then, the Gun Fiend's searing heat is back, a hand pressing his head against the window and forcing him to bend over. Considerable force is exerted on his cranium. His brain feels like watery ramen, sloshing around in his skull, as Aki lines himself up. He pushes in. All the way. Denji can feel him in his throat. Breaths get stuck in his windpipe. 

Heated exhales fog up the glass. Wet skin on skin. Aki is fucking him, treating him like a walking, talking hole to use and discard once he's done. Fists ball firmly against sheer cold. Each thrust is harder than its predecessor, making Denji's seize out of reflex; it hurts a little. Yet, he arches his back for the fiend as much as the position allows him to. The force on his skull increases. Rough panting ensues. Globs of drool run down his back, trickle into the dip of his spine. Aki's breeding is rough and uncoordinated, as if he waited literal years to have Denji and now that he finally gets to do so, he doesn't know how to fuck him right. The teen does his best to find a good angle for his hips, only earning himself a throaty warning growl. The fiend comes to a halt, pushes in completely with a hard thrust, to the point where Denji is certain that Aki is all the way up in his throat. A shudder wracks through his frame when he shifts and the pointed tip of the fiend's cock presses against the innermost part of his cunt. He can feel it. Aki is throbbing, so Denji clenches around him eagerly. He wants it. He wants Aki. 

It makes the Gun Fiend groan and gurgle happily. "So– ti–ght–", he moans, barely coherent, as he closes the distance between their bodies. Chest to back. Aki's panting intensifies. Lungs rattle. Denji does his best to hold the tension in his abdomen. The resistance forces him into a sluggish pace, but that seems to be no issue; Aki doesn't give a shit, continues to breed him. Hard and slow. Languid strokes. All kinds of incoherent bits of speech and gurgle-growls fill the air. He seems to really like that– the feeling is mutual. Every drag against his insides sends sparks up and down Denji's spine; he loves being bred slow and deep. He rarely gets to feel those ridges that he noticed when touching Aki's cock for the first time in ages, but like this, he can count them as they massage his insides, getting him wetter and wetter. The rutting starts to get irregular, the pace off because stuttering hips can no longer keep it up, despite being as slow as it is. He knows what that means. Aki is about to cum. 

Teeth find his lower lip. "Gonna fill me up, Aki?", the teen manages to huff, grin spreading over his lips. It makes the fiend growl, line his Colt up with Denji's head, muzzle to temple. A series of harrowing clicks. Like the hammer of a pistol being pulled back. Eyes widen. The teen's breathing speeds, his little grin turning into a manic grimace. Aki mirrors him, needles bared in the face of daggers. The Colt is loaded, itching to fire. Part of him wants him to do it. Pull the trigger. Watch his blood and brains splatter across the window. Fuck. He's sick in the head. And he wants nothing more than Aki blowing all those sick parts of him out of his skull, smearing them across the nearest available surface. Denji's sure that he'd make a pretty corpse at Aki's feet. Pretty enough to fuck. Suddenly, the wonderful drag against his insides stops. 

"Beg for it, bitch.", the Gun Fiend rasps the demand at him, clearer than ever, before he can even think about whining. The muzzle heats up, seething on his skin. Blood pumping where it's needed. The throb of Aki's pulse. He can feel it. This must be what it feels like when he's about to fire. What if he just keeps quiet, doesn't react? Would the Gun Fiend fulfill his ultimate desire without knowing? Of course Denji hasn't spoken about what he wants (what a hypocrite he is at his core), lest it sends Aki spiraling once more. Thus, he can only wonder if he thought about him, too– mangled, broken, no longer breathing… But still warm and soft, inviting. 

"Use me.", the mutt demands in return, weary of begging. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. The heated gunmetal digs harder into his temple, the fingers clawing into his scalp tighten their grip in his hair. Aki tries to act as if he's in control. He isn't. Denji is hellbent on establishing that. His expression of manic euphoria doesn't falter. Instead, it distorts his youthful visage even further. "Do it.", the teen grits forth, fangs still proudly displayed. Aki throbs. No words follow. "Come on. Do. It.", he eggs him on. Another string of threatening clicks of the fiend's hammer, likely in a futile attempt to force Denji back into submission, but no such luck– the mutt knows that he simply ain't shit, no matter how big and scary he acts.

Daggers oppose needles in a stand-off of lethal weaponry. They continue to do so, even when the fiend begins to move again. Slow and hard. Each thrust accentuated by an agitated grunt. Sweat-slicked skin squeaks on glass. Denji's heated breath has long started to run down the window as condensation. The Colt's muzzle is threatening to pierce through the side of his head from how hard Aki presses against him, caging him between his body and a sheer barrier. He briefly wonders if bones can outlast glass or vice versa. The grip on his skull tightens. Likewise, his heat clenches around Aki's cock. The pressure exerted on his head is strong enough to blur his vision. 

It makes him cackle. "I won't be as tight if ya kill me.", Denji mocks, not breaking the one-sided eye contact and definitely not allowing his unhinged demeanor to falter for even a second. "You'd keep quiet, though.", Aki growls in return. The pace picks up. No more slow treatment. The fiend goes for hard and fast instead, desperately chasing what he seems to have lost through Denji's acts of defiance. The mutt gives way and lets the Gun Fiend pound into him. The sound of skin on skin makes its grand return, joined by feral growling and feeble moans that the teen can no longer swallow. The Colt slips from its spot. Teeth dig into his shoulder, albeit not hard enough to draw blood. His scalp is released as well, the arm instead wrapping around his midriff. Aki is holding on for dear life at this point.

Denji finds himself far from his own climax, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't care. Not when the Gun Fiend sounds so disgustingly pathetic with his panting and wheezing as he ruts into his cunt in a manner so frantic that one might think his life depends on dumping his unviable load into his bitch. Soon enough, he can no longer keep his manic expression; the mutt goes from unhinged to melting in pleasure. Mouth agape, eyes rolled up and cast at something that doesn't exist. Aki shifts, readjusts his hold on Denji's waist. More weight against his back. The new angle makes him moan. It's just right. 

Pressure builds in his abdomen. His knuckles turn white as his short nails dig into the heel of his palm. Moans turn into whimpers as the teen tenses around Aki anew. He can't help but reach down to stroke himself. The fiend halts between two thrusts for a second. He feels him flare, his cock filling with more blood. Burning heat against his sore folds every time that Aki pushes in. Hips stutter. Loud heaving beside his ear, rattling and whimpery. Denji can't even cry out when the heat in his stomach overflows, making his knees weak and forcing tremors through his system. 

A last thrust, deep inside. Twitching and throbbing. Aki is panting as if he just ran a marathon, doing his utmost to draw oxygen into his lungs. Then, wet heat, searing hot. Denji's eyes roll so far back into his head that only the whites of their scleras show before his lids flutter shut. Fuck, that was good. The incessant twitching against his folds brings him back to reality, though. Disappointment weighs his midriff down. He still didn't knot him. A groan breaks out of him– at both the realization that Aki still didn't do it and the feeling of another load of runny cum being shot deep into his cunt. Shuddering ensues on both ends. Denji is fully prepared to lean forward against the cold-ass window for another moment or two, but it doesn't come to that.

Aki withdraws. A rush of liquid follows right away, runs down his thighs, even manages to drip into the mess of his pants and underwear that's still bunched around his ankles. Denji is pulled away from the glass paneling, legs trembling as he's moved about. Then, sheets stick to his sweat-clad body. He's so out of it that he didn't even notice Aki wrangling him onto the bed. The sheets, though; they're so nice and cold and soft and– he can't help but give a long sigh, relaxing on his fours. His knees are far apart, back arched, while his arms wrap around one of Aki's pillows. Speaking of which– the Gun Fiend's searing body heat returns, rests against his back.

Needles find his nape. Cue an unbecoming snort when the fiend buries his nose in his hairline while holding onto his scruff. Aki bucks aimlessly, his cock jutting between his thighs and rubbing along his folds. A drawn-out groan falls from Denji's lips. A hand trails downward, pushing the fiend's length against him. Stickiness against his digits. Eugh, gross. It's a fucking mess down there. He dreads seeing the sheer amounts of hazardous material clinging to his fingers, but he keeps touching Aki's dick anyway. They've reached a short respite in the middle of reward time, so he'll make the most of it. His finger goes further down, traces protruding veins and faint ridges down the shaft, until he reaches the thing of his affection– Aki's knot.

The fiend's jaw clenches while Denji touches him. Fangs dig a little deeper into his skin, albeit still not enough to pierce it. His boyfriend's heartbeat thrums under his touch. He doesn't know what to do with the bulb, but he figures that cupping it with his hand might feel nice, so that's what he does. It jolts, engorges ever slightly. God. He just wants to grab it and feel it get bigger in his grip, but decides against it; he wants it in his pussy more. His hand goes back up the shaft, shifting in his spot as his palm wraps around it. He wants to line himself up, but Aki is faster. Hips set back. Distance between them, only to be closed when the fiend hits home.

God, he's so fucking sore that the first thrust makes him wince in discomfort. Fingers claw into the pillow. Denji's turn to hold on for dear life. Aki isn't even going fast, having settled for a slow but deep pace this time, but he's still caught between pleasure and pain, just because of how wrecked his cunt is. Drool trickles down the side of his neck. Panting sets back in. Skin on skin. The bed frame protests every single one of Aki's movements with creaking. Then, it starts to feel good again. An airy moan fights its way out of the teen's throat. Eyes roll, lashes flutter. Torn between burying his face and letting the fiend hear every little sound he manages to coax forth, he eventually settles for the latter. Throaty, metallic rattling in response. The sound makes Denji's bones vibrate. He'll take that as a positive reaction. 

Aki's forearm braces against the mattress. The bite on his shoulder loosens. Cue a shudder when the fiend's tongue swirls over his skin, sampling his sweat. It makes him giggle, all loopy and beside himself. He's so gross sometimes. Denji, however, has no say in who is gross and who isn't, considering the things he fantasizes about (he's well aware, thanks). Pressure against his cock. Aki's hand, rubbing gentle circles into sensitive flesh. His jaw falls slack. The muscles in his lower back ache when he arches further in response, offering himself– anything for the Gun Fiend. Languid thrusts quicken. Aki's lungs rattle. Gurgling ensues. 

The fiend pushes forward, more than ever before. Denji hisses when the knot catches on the rim of his cunt, eyes squeezing shut. Fuck. He's trying to get it in– now, out of all times, when he's already so worn out that he won't be able to sit for the next two weeks or so. His boyfriend comes to a halt immediately. "Sh-shit, did that hurt?", Aki huffs next to his ear, worry overshadowed by the fact that he can't breathe properly. "N-no–". Denji whines. This is worlds apart from the act he put out before. Do not beg, he tells himself, do not fucking beg. "I want it.", is all he says, voice breaking. Goddamnit. Well, it's been a long time coming (quite literally).

There's no response. Aki just gets straight back to breeding him into a sloppy mess. Denji thinks he cums again somewhere along the way, brought to the brink and pushed over it by the fiend's gentle rubbing, albeit he can't tell for sure. He's so overstimulated that he's tingling all over, engulfed by the warm buzz that he usually feels when Aki is tearing into him. The other's rhythm is starting to fall short again, until it devolves into an off-beat mess of rutting and twitching. Then, it's back. The fiend's knot. Pressing against him. Denji pushes back this time. The rim of his hole stretches to accommodate its girth. It stings. A whole-fucking-lot. Especially when he gets to the thickest part of it. With a last gentle roll of Aki's hips, it's in. Just like that.

It's getting bigger, somehow filling with even more blood. It stretches him to the point where he can't tell where the knot starts and where his insides end. It's intense, albeit not only in a sexual way. Two bodies, wholly connected. Interlinked. He loves Aki, can't think of anything else while his stud fills him up. His peabrain is flooding his system with sheer unimaginable amounts of dopamine, to the point where a dopey grin forms on his face– pure fucking bliss, holy shit. Denji's breath comes in shallow heaves, hands fisting into the bed. The fiend above him is trembling, muscles unable to carry his weight any longer. When Aki collapses, the teen does too. 

The Gun Fiend's arms wind around him tightly, before the fiend rolls them onto their sides. He keeps the mutt in a sweaty, sticky embrace, but Denji cannot care any less right now. The dopamine hit suddenly wears off. Sensations return to him, causing him to shudder harshly when he grows increasingly aware of the mounting pressure in his abdomen– which is definitely not caused by an impending orgasm. Uh, what the fuck just happened? His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, fumbling for– for anything. Anything of Aki. His hands, his arms, just him. Denji even reaches back to guide the Colt over the side of his neck, feeling it throb in tune with the fiend's knot when he strokes it with his hand. 

Silence returns. The two lovers are lying in bed, spooning, both still reeling and unable to process what just happened. They really did it and that really just happened. Fuck, that was– actually, good or awesome or any other word doesn't even begin to describe how much Denji wants to do this again sometime. Butterflies struggle in his chest. It's like falling in love with Aki again. The dopamine rush may have worn off as quickly as it came, but it left him feeling wonderful and euphoric, as if all is right in the world for just five minutes. He wants to kiss Aki, albeit he finds that he can't arse himself to move; the flesh is weak and unwilling.

"Um…D-Denji?", Aki croaks suddenly, his voice slowly but surely failing him. He does his best to seem attentive, but all he can manage is a little hum. "I-I think I'm– st-stuck.", the fiend states. Yeah, no shit. "That's okay…", is all the teen can manage. It's not going to be that way much longer– right? Right?

No such thing. The pair is tied for an hour. One goddamn hour. It takes Aki's dick an entire fucking hour to go limp and shrink enough for him to pull out. They both stink at this point, Denji is sticky in places he hasn't thought possible, but that's not the worst part, not by a long shot. When their tie breaks, it's a mess. What spills out of the teen is no longer runny, but thick. The sight makes Aki jump out of bed, gagging out of sheer disgust. No amount of towels in the world could salvage these sheets. What follows can only be described as damage control with him using paper tissues to clean himself and the Gun Fiend watching on in disgust. 

Denji reminds Aki that he is the one who put all that cum there in the first place, only to receive a miffed grumble before being ushered into the bathroom, albeit not without a wet rag stuffed between his legs, so he doesn't leave a trail of gunk across the corridor.

Aki fails his evaluations with the Bureau for Public Safety left and right. It'd be a surprise if he ever returns to active duty. He isn't outright dangerous, but Denji has heard the specialists that Makima put on his case mutter things under their breaths– they're scared he might snap one day, but not scared enough to put him down. One drop of blood could set him off, they say, so who knows what skin, flesh, and bones could do? It's so funny, Denji finds. They don't know that the Gun Fiend only seeks to devour one scraggly mutt, but cannot bring himself to do so. A fiend, so terribly infatuated with his prey, that he cannot kill– how fucked up is that?

Needles sink into Denji's shoulder. Bloody drool drips, wetting his shirt. Searing pain under his skin. The maw of needles grinds, ligaments tear. One of those nights; Aki loves him so much that he is tearing him apart. Pure adrenaline courses through his veins. It feels so good that it leaves him in a daze. The fiend swallows greedily when he pulls away, straddling Denji's still breathing carcass… Or he wishes he were a carcass, at least. This exact setting isn't new, so he shouldn't be surprised by how ethereal Aki looks when the pale light of the TV hits him just right, the way his long black hair falls off his shoulders with each movement because he still didn't cut it, the way his - yes, his, his, his, h i s! - gore clings to his mouth and chin. Torn up and bleeding out, the teen finds that he is in love.

"K-kiss me.", Denji sighs downright wistfully. Aki visibly recoils. The Colt sways as he shakes his head. "Ah, no–", he begins. Hesitation. Written all over his enigma of a face, clear in his demeanor. "My mouth is all gross.", the Gun Fiend states. The teen gives an amused huff. His mouth is gross, he says. Well, in that case– 

Hand on the back of Aki's head, bringing him down with force. They clash. His own blood tastes bitter on his tongue when he shoves it between the fiend's lips, who accepts his advances with a content gurgle. Nipping, licking, biting. Everything is fair game. They keep going until his own lips are stained with fresh blood and swollen. It is then that the Gun Fiend pulls away, looking down on him anew. 

"Look–", Denji hums, giving Aki a genuine smile of bloodied daggers, "Mine is, too."