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Denji’s head pounds as he lays back on the rubble. Before it was dust and broken concrete, it was a building, one he was flung into while devil fighting. He huffs, slowly stabilizing his burning lungs. His entire body stings with pain, the cuts and scrapes throb. His head turns to the side, cheek flush against the concrete and he gets a glimpse of the body beside him. He lays there, his eyes on Denji. He subdued the already weakened devil with octopus as Denji laid there. He’s panting softly, his disheveled black hair sticks to his forehead and ripped white shirt exposes his stomach. He’d shown up just in time to stop Denji from revealing his identity, without knowing that Denji was in need of help. He pushes his arm in front of Denji's face.
“You lost a lot of blood, didn’t you,” his sleeve is pushed down. “Here, drink.” Denji’s eyes track the blood spilling down Yoshida’s wrist, the only injury he sustained during the fight. The fresh, sharp smell hits him in the face. His stomach growls, his body aches for sustenance and human blood is served up on pretty pale skin right in front of him. His hands shake as they come up to grasp at Yoshida, one holding the back of his hand, the other grips his wrist, narrowly avoiding the wound. He holds firm, squeezing with gentle pressure and watching the blood ooze out as he moves his face closer. His eyes flick up, Yoshida stares at him, huge dark pupils between his bangs. He’s instantly embarrassed, this feels too intimate for two men, but his body yearns to eat. His eyes shoot back down and hot blood smears against his bruised lips. He pants against the skin before his tongue juts out, sliding against the cut. The familiar metallic taste floods his mouth, making his brain fuzzy. He latches to the wrist, gently working his lips over it. The blood runs through his veins, mending his achy broken body.
He’s tasted devil blood many times, but nothing compared to human blood. And nothing compares to Yoshida’s blood. It’s bitter and salty on his tongue, warm as it slides down his throat. It’s better than any of the expensive foods he’d ever had. His eyebrows furrow and his grip tightens as it starts to drip down his chin. His head rocks as he feeds, like he’s an animal consuming its prey. He can’t hold back a whine as he gulps him down.
Yoshida grunts in pain, “That’s enough.” He tugs his arm away and Denji falls off his wrist. His hands remain in the air, he wasn’t ready to stop, he longs for more. He pants, trying to regain his breath as he mutters a thank you. A shudder rips through his body, the thought of Yoshida’s blood swirling inside him, keeping him warm is grotesque. His hands wipe the blood from his lips and chin, he watches Yoshida wrap his wrist with a scrap of fabric, torn from his ragged shirt.
“Come with me, Denji” he watches Yoshida stand and extends his hand out to him. His eyes flick up towards his wrist, and the blood seeping through his makeshift bandage. He can still smell it, coppery in the air, smeared on his mouth. His stomach growls again and he bites his lip as he takes Yoshida’s hand and is pulled to his feet. He debates on turning the other way, going home and crawling into his bed to sleep off the exhaustion that settles after fighting devils. But what’s the point of resisting with someone as persistent as Yoshida? Especially after he’d accepted his blood.
Yoshida turns on his heel and begins down the sidewalk and Denji mindlessly follows a few steps behind him. He stares down at his tattered shoes as he drags along. Next thing he knows he’s standing at the shoe locker of the nearest sento and Yoshida stands at a vending machine, buying two bath tickets. His brain blocks out the words between Yoshida and the cashier as he exchanges more yen for some towels. He gestures for Denji to follow him into the changing room, and he does without protest.
He seats himself on the bench behind Yoshida, watching him peel each layer of clothing off. His suspenders pop, then he makes quick work of the buttons of his torn and bloody work shirt. His belt clatters in the locker, making Denji look up, right at Yoshida. His eyes trace over the muscles in his arms and shoulders, his wide athletic back and thin waist. Denji turns away once he catches a glimpse of Yoshida’s underwear.
“Are you going to bathe?” He’s broken out of his trance by Yoshida’s voice, and startled once he turns back to Yoshida. He’s fully nude, besides the towel hanging from his hips.
“Ah.. yeah.” He stands up to fumble with his dirty shorts. They slide down his legs and he tosses them in the locker with Yoshida’s clothing. He hooks his fingers into his boxers and inches them down.
The bathroom is empty, Denji grabs a bucket and stool, then makes his way all the way to the back of the showers. He’s flustered when Yoshida takes a seat next to him, turns on the water and starts to rinse himself without a second thought. He’d prefer to shower alone, or at least without Yoshida beside him, but he’s too worn out to make a scene. He leans to turn on the water and it’s icy on his skin. He jerks away, catching sight of Yoshida who hums as he starts to lather his hair. Denji slips his hand under the water to test the temperature and leans back in head first once it’s warm enough. Rubble, dirt, and blood slide off his body and spiral down the drain. He groans, his head hangs between his shoulders. Water trickles down his face, dripping off his chin.
“Do you need help?”
“I don’t want another guy to bathe me, don’t be weird,” he grumbles. He glances over to watch Yoshida rinse out his hair. Denji’s eyes follow as the soap slides down his skin, down his muscled shoulders and back. Yoshida turns the tap off and squeezes his washcloth before he scrubs his body. He takes a breath.
“Denji...” He looks to Yoshida, water trickling down his cheeks.
“I can’t have you turning into chainsaw man anymore. I don’t know how else to spell it out to you.” Denji doesn’t reply, steam fills his sinuses and the words swirl in his brain. “Please Denji, live a normal life,” his voice his low, pleading, “The dogs. Nayuta,” he pauses.
“I told you already I can’t, and I don’t want your help,” he retorts, he’s over it. There is no convincing him, his annoyed voice is proof. Yoshida sighs, going silent for a moment, then his faint voice cuts through the tension.
“I’m sorry Denji, but since you’ve refused again, I’ll have to detain you after this. I hope you understand. Public safety's orders.”
Yoshida stands up to dry himself and Denji’s eyes pull towards his body. They track the white towel that skims against Yoshida’s skin. His eyes are closed as he meticulously dries himself, starting at his hair and moving down. He pushes down his shoulders, arms, and his chest, Denji’s eyes follow every step. He wipes at his stomach, then leans over to dry his legs. And now Denji’s eyes are stuck in place between his thighs. He rips his eyes away to stare at himself in the foggy mirror. God he feels weird, this asshole was just lecturing him, getting on his nerves as he always does. Denji can’t comprehend why he was just gawking at him, or why his eyes lingered on another guy’s cock. He leans in to wipe the condensation off the pane and he gets a glimpse of his flushed face before he’s startled by a figure behind him in the glass. It pulls the showerhead down and pushes it towards his hair.
“What the hell are you doing to me?!” he squirms away and the showerhead follows.
“Rinsing you so we can get in the bath before I take you in to public safety, you’re taking too long. You haven’t even washed your hair, now please give me the shampoo,” he huffs. Denji reluctantly fumbles with the shampoo before passing it backwards to Yoshida. He pushes some into his palm and works it into Denji’s hair. Denji watches in the mirror, his heart races as his fingernails scratch at his scalp. As much as he’d hate to admit it, it feels nice, like he’s being pet. He leans upward into the hands as they lather his hair, and watches Yoshida in the mirror.
Yoshida’s hands slick his back hair as it’s rinsed out, he shields Denji’s eyes from the soap. Conditioner is combed through his hair as he lathers his skin with complimentary soap, it does a decent job of clearing the dried blood off his body but his rental washcloth is stained dark red. Yoshida rakes through his hair as he rinses it out, before dropping a towel on Denji’s head.
“C’mon,” Yoshida turns toward the bath and sets off before Denji gets the chance to dry himself.
“I’ll be over in a second,” his eyes trace down Yoshida’s back once more, onto the towel that hugs his hips. Denji’s heart is racing, his face is flush. Maybe it was the steam, because there wasn’t a chance it was because of another man, especially not Yoshida. But he can’t take his eyes off him, especially once the towel is pulled off. He watches Yoshida as he cups the hot bathwater and dribbles it on his legs, adjusting his body to the heat. Denji pulls the towel off his head and gives his body a few swipes as he makes his way over to the bath. His eyes skim over Yoshida’s body, distorted by the water. He’s soaking up to his neck, leaving out his injured wrist. Denji cautiously steps into the boiling hot water, seating himself across from Yoshida. His eyes are closed and his lips are curled into a soft, comfortable grin.
He tries to rationalize everything that’s happened in the last few hours. Yoshida had saved him, offered up his blood to repair his body. He dragged him along for a bath, paid for his entry, and washed his hair for him. Even the lecture seemed to come from a place of concern. Was Yoshida doing this because it’s his job, or was he doing this because he cared about Denji? ‘Does he like me? Or just my devil heart?’ And soon his thoughts evolve, ‘do I like him?’. Denji shifts and the water follows. His body involuntarily draws closer, he doesn’t understand. Why is his heart racing, why are his hands shaking?
Denji’s lips burn at the thought of kissing the idiot who just scolded him and would be arresting him after they’d finished soaking. He licks at them nervously as he gets closer. His trembling hands land on Yoshida’s shoulders and his eyes flutter open between his wet bangs as Denji leans in. Their lips push together, Denji’s chapped against Yoshida soft and they don’t taste like vomit or sting with pain. ‘Does he use flavored chapstick?’ Denji pulls away.
They stare at each other awkwardly. The bewilderment on Yoshida's face makes Denji tense. He’s hyper aware of every shift Yoshida makes, his softening face and slightly parted lips. Denji’s heart pounds in his ears between noises of dripping water and soft pants. Yoshida shifts and his eyes close as he tilts his head to kiss Denji. His hand comes out of the water to hold the side of Denji’s face, holding him steady. Yoshida likes him. He understands that now.
Denji hums, pressing forward experimentally. His lips knead into Yoshida’s, tentative and slow, capturing each fold of his mouth. His mind is blank, his body works overtime to record every sensation, every noise Yoshida makes. Yoshida groans, lips parting as he clutches Denji’s face to pull him in. He can tell Yoshida is holding back to let him lead, and he does with a newfound confidence. For the first time in his life, Denji is in control. His heart thrashes in his chest and Yoshida’s shoulders quiver in his grip. Yoshida pants against his lips as they break away and Denji’s cock throbs between his legs when their eyes connect. He leaves one last kiss on Yoshida’s mole, he’s overwhelmed and embarrassingly hard, hiding what he can in the bath water. He backs away, eyes still locked on that pretty flushed face.
They linger, wordlessly, they’re both too busy in their own heads. Denji had completely erased any public safety scripts Yoshida had memorized the second their lips connected. All they can think of is each other and the sensations between their bodies. He watches Yoshida pull himself out of the bath and grabs his towel. He pats himself dry before wrapping it around his waist and making his way back to the changing room. Denji follows, drying himself on the way to the locker, he wraps his towel around his waist to conceal himself. He reaches past Yoshida to grab his clothing. He slides on his boxers, dirty pants and scuffed shoes, his shirt was lost hours ago in the devil fight. He watches Yoshida cringe as he redresses, his fingers slide through the rips on his sleeves and skip over missing buttons.
“Ready to go?” Yoshida picks up their dirty towels and tosses them into a basket near the entrance.
“Yeah,” Denji is on his heels and they’re outside, cool night air on Denji’s chest. He stops to stares into the vending machines next to the door. His eyes scan through fancy waters, sodas, juices, and hot cans of coffee. Yoshida stands behind him, silently pushing a couple hundred yen into his palm. Yoshida fingers graze over his as he spills the coins into Denji’s hand. He cups them and turns to Yoshida, who gestures over to the machines. Denji picks out a cold juice and cracks it open as he follows Yoshida. The streets are empty and quiet, apart from chirping insects.
He’s in his mind again, mulling over every kiss he’s ever had. Every single one makes him cringe, except for the last. After a few minutes of walking, he looks up to familiar streets. To his surprise, he’s back at his apartment, not some public safety facility. Yoshida leans on the door frame and fidgets with his bandage as Denji digs around in his pockets. He grasps his key.
“Think about what I said Denji. I don’t want something bad to happen to you.”
The lock clicks, Denji’s hand grips the doorknob.
“Because I like you,” he stares down at Denji, a soft smile on his lips. Denji’s heart hammers, “Goodnight,” Yoshida kisses Denji’s temple. Before Denji can even react, Yoshida is on his way, slinking off into the night.
Denji lets himself in. He kicks off his shoes and makes his way to the kitchen to throw away his empty juice. He turns to his room, door shuts behind him. He kicks his pants off, leaving them crumpled on the floor as he crawls into bed.
He lays flat on his back, trying to get comfortable, but visions of Yoshida’s body plague his mind. His wet hair clinging to his pretty face, his tall muscular frame, his soft lips. He managed to be femininely beautiful while still masculine, and that’s what annoyed Denji the most. Then the tase of Yoshida’s tart blood comes back to him and he can’t help but reach down to palm himself through his boxers. He’s already sensitive from the kissing earlier, twitching against his hand. Yoshida’s voice rings in his head, ‘I like you’.
He bites his lip as his hand slips under the fabric, fingers teasing over his half-hard cock. His mouth hangs open, soft moans push past his lips as he eases himself out of his boxers and squeezes the base. His hand pumps up and his palm twists around the head of his cock, making him squirm.
“Fuck…Yoshida,” he whines, imagining his pale hand on his cock. It throbs as he strokes himself and his fingers spread pre-come down the length. He furrows his eyebrows and that body comes back to his brain. His slim waist paired with wide shoulders, the strong Adonis belt leading to his cock. That beautiful body he hides underneath his public safety uniform. He rocks into his own hand, hips working with gentle rhythm. Breathy whines fill his small room. His other hand grips at his blanket.
His sharp teeth come down on his bottom lip and he groans as they sink into his skin. The hot mixture of his and Yoshida’s blood spills into his mouth. Blood fills his lower lip and coats his teeth, bitter and thick. He steadily thrusts into his hand as he laps at the cut. His other hand comes up to grasp at his entire cock. He whimpers as he fucks into his own hands, imagining Yoshida on top of him. Muscular thighs crushing down on the sides of his abdomen. His pretty, blissed out face looking down at him, parted lips groaning his name, ‘Denji…Denji,’ while grinding down on his hips. He wants to kiss those lips again, Denji wants to fuck him.
His fantasy is so vivid, he can see every dip and curve of Yoshida’s body as it rolls against him. Yoshida’s bloody lips lock onto his, devouring him like prey. Denji frantically rocks into his hands, his abdomen burns from exertion. His legs tense up and his back arches as his hips stutter a few more times. Yoshida is still whining his name between messy kisses. His cock throbs in his hands and his head whips to the side as come shoots on his chest and drips from his hand. It burns on his skin as he lays flat on his back, gasping for air.
He’s alone again, his hands are sticky. He slides his boxers off and uses them to wipe away the mess. He tosses them down to the floor before sprawling out in his small bed.
Denji likes him.