Work Text:
Denji's stomach rumbles with a loud, gurgling sound, painfully empty, and he grumbles, rolling onto his side and hugging his belly tightly to try and muffle the vibrations.
His mouth is also dry, his throat itchy, so he blindly gropes for the water bottle he stole two weeks ago and gulps down a few sips, quickly setting it aside for fear of running out too fast. The liquid is already warm and slightly bitter from the time it's been marinating there, but it serves to moisten his throat.
Another wave of tremors spreads through his stomach, clamoring for real food, something he can sink his teeth into and swallow, like bread or meat, and just thinking about it makes Denji's mouth water.
His last real meal was a jar of spoiled pickles he found in his neighbor's trash can five days ago, and he did his best to preserve the pickles so they would last a few days, even though there was mold in some parts and the taste made him shudder with disgust every time it went down his throat, wet and bitter.
Now, there's nothing left. And his stomach won't stop rumbling.
Denji curls up, burying his face in the smelly, pillowless mattress, and makes a whiny, pathetic sound, his fist buried in the middle of his stomach. The pain seems to lessen considerably when he squeezes it like this, so he keeps it there.
Despite all the discomfort, he eventually falls asleep.
When he wakes up, the pain is exponentially worse, radiating throughout his torso, and he grunts, clutching his stomach again. He's so hungry. He'd tear a rat apart with his bare teeth if he came across one lurking around.
He concludes that it must still be early morning, since there is no sun in sight, and he would know immediately, as the sun's rays always pierce through the bullet holes in the wall and force his morning awakening.
He sits up, unsteady, and black spots fill his vision at the same instant, all the blood rushing to his head. He knows he needs to eat something, no matter what it is. As long as he can chew, it will do.
There's a run-down diner a few blocks away, and if he's lucky, he might find a half-eaten sandwich or an old hamburger in the trash cans. He'll just have to be extremely careful. The owner hates his guts and once broke a Coca-Cola bottle over Denji's head when he saw him rummaging through his trash.
With the plan in mind, Denji's feet make contact with the floor and he quickly puts on his sneakers, tying only one shoelace because the other one had its tip fucked by fire from a lighter and is too short to tie.
Outside, he is hit by the breath of the night, the angry meowing of cats fighting each other and, a little further away, the laughter of drunkards wandering the streets.
Denji, chin held high, walks as if he owns the street, scratching his shoulder when a persistent gnat comes buzzing beside him.
"Fuck off!" he shoos it away with a slap, continuing his walk.
It's cold, the breeze chilling his bones, and the sound of his teeth chattering is too loud in the dead of night. A thin tank top and shorts aren't exactly appropriate for the weather, but Denji still prefers to spend his time looking for something to eat than stealing clothes from his neighbors' clotheslines. He's resigned himself to the fact that this is a luxury he can't afford. It's not like he cares, anyways.
Suddenly, he stops. A little further ahead, he can hear a man crying and sniffling loudly, his voice wavering, faltering.
"Please, please, I'm begging you!" he begs, choking, probably on his own tears. Denji wrinkles his nose with the sound. "I promise to pay next week, I- you know I got a family to feed at home, please… I'll do anything! I just need more time!"
A second voice laughs, and the sound is mocking.
"Anything, huh? I'm afraid it's already a bit late to offer your body. The deadline has passed. And don't worry, we haven't forgotten about your family. We'll go after your wife and daughter as soon as we're done with you."
Denji's eyes widen in understanding. They must be from the Yakuza.
The man lets out a horrible sound, like a sob, though not exactly, and then there's a series of sounds. A small fight, it seems. Denji knows exactly how it ends, because he hears the trigger being pulled, followed by the roar of a gunshot, and then the thud of a body falling.
"Ugh, his blood got on my shirt."
Denji's heart is pounding throughout his body, bursting in his ears, and he thinks, remembers once hearing, while standing before a tombstone with tears in his eyes:
"You can sell your body for all I care, just find a way to pay off the fucking debt, or we'll slit your throat and throw your remains in a ditch."
Denji isn't stupid. He knows the Yakuza have money to spend, because they get paid very well for the jobs they do. Everyone knows that.
This is the chance he's been waiting for so long.
His legs start moving before he even thinks about it, panting down the street until he skids into the alley. He was expecting to see the man's body on the ground with his brains splattered on the wall, but there is no body in sight. As he glances at the blood dripping from the nearby garbage bin, he knows where it went.
Three pairs of cold, piercing eyes turn to him as soon as they saw him, and Denji almost swallows his own heart, which is now pounding in his throat. One of the men has a small cloth in his hands and was in the middle of wiping the excess blood from his own shirt when Denji appeared. He raises a questioning eyebrow, with a twist of evident displeasure in his mouth. There is an ugly scar across his left eye, which has a whitish, vulture-like color.
"Did you lose something, kid? This isn't the time to be wandering around the street."
Denji takes a step back, hesitating, wondering if this is really a good idea, that maybe it's better to risk having another bottle broken over his head, but the instant he turns around, his stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble that echoes off the alley walls.
A sepulchral silence falls.
And then, one of the men bursts into a thunderous laugh, bending forward.
Denji puffs out his cheeks, covering his own belly with an insidious shame creeping up his spine. He realizes that, since he's already there, it's best to get this over with quickly. Those men could be the reason he has food on the table for a whole month, if Denji is good enough at what he does. He might get the hang of it along the way.
"I wanted to, um, offer you my services," he murmurs. He doesn't sound as self-assured as he planned in his head. The smell of iron invading his nostrils is impairing his ability to communicate, and his eyes keep nervously returning to the reddish puddle forming beneath the garbage bin.
One of the men, with a crooked bandana on his head, takes a few seconds to stare him up and down, analyzing him, and Denji shrinks under the weight of his gaze, looking at his own feet.
"Pretty brave of you to come to people like us for this, kid," says Scarface, with a crooked smile. "Do you know who we are? Do you know we just killed a man?"
Denji raises his head, glancing slowly at each of the men, and nods without saying a word.
"What exactly are you offering?" asks the man with the bandana, although, judging by the predatory look in his eyes, he must already know.
Denji presses his lips together, sinking his teeth in until a trickle of blood runs down. He tries to remember the women he's seen offering their services on the sidewalk, attracting the attention of every man who passed by. Their words are already stuck in his brain at this point.
"I can… I can suck you off," he says, stumbling over his words. His tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. "But it's not for free, you have to pay me for it!"
The third man, whom Denji will call Glasses, laughs.
"The litte one got his priorities straight, I like him."
"Well," says Scarface, stuffing the now bloodstained cloth into his pocket. "Let's do what he wants, then. I really need to relieve some stress."
When Denji remains in place, unsure how to proceed from there, because he had no idea they would actually agree, Scar, who at some point knelt down, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"The fuck you waiting for? Come here."
Denji goes. Inside the alley, the smell of blood is even stronger, and he resists the urge to cover his nose, because it would be childish. He resits, stopping, trembling, before Scar.
"On your knees," Scar says.
Denji obeys. A loose piece of glass scrapes his knee, and he hisses in pain, leaning to the side for a moment. He moves his legs to get more comfortable, not wanting to be uncomfortable throughout the process.
Looking up, he is met with a smile. Even kneeling, Scar is much taller than him.
"Now, I'll teach you how to always get what you want from men," he says as he slowly lowers his own zipper, and then puts his hand in his pants, revealing a full, pink cock, which he skillfully wraps with his fingers. A grayish flash shimmers, highlighting the numerous rings on the man's hand.
Denji stares at the outline with wide eyes, his scraped knees throbbing where he's pressed them against the ground, the pebbles breaking through his skin. It's much bigger than he expected.
Scar squeezes the base of his own cock, then guides it to Denji's closed mouth, spreading the moisture from the head onto his lips. The smell that invades Denji's nostrils is musky, acrid, and he tries to turn his head away to get rid of the unwanted touch, wrinkling his nose with disgust.
“Wait, no-”
“Ah-ah-ah, why are you turning your head away? You asked for this, didn't you? Now open your fucking mouth, don't make me waste my time here. Careful with your teeth or I'll chop your fingers off.”
Grimacing at the bitter and disgusting taste the man had spread all over his mouth, Denji reluctantly does as he's told. A finger comes and pulls his tongue out abruptly, and the man hits his hard, heavy cock against his tongue with a crooked smile.
"You stupid whore. You accept anything people do to you, don't you?" he asks, just a second before shoving everything into Denji's mouth, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck. Tears immediately prick the corners of Denji's eyes at the brutal intrusion, a muffled sound escaping him, and the man groans, hoarse. "Fuck, I forgot how good it was to fuck a little boy's mouth… it's so small and warm. There's nothing better than this."
The blunt tip of the glans hits Denji's palate with such force that he almost chokes, repeatedly thrusting there without letting him catch his breath, and Denji stretches his trembling little hands to grab the front of the man's pants while saliva and tears begin to stream down his chin, the cock going in and out with wet, loud pops inside that narrow, filthy alley.
A second hand appears on his head, pushing him in rhythm with the first man's movements.
"Yeah, yeah, that's it. Keep going, kid. Mine's next."
Denji whimpers again, unable to do anything but stand still and let them use him like a doll, a mere hole to stick it in. His throat burns, and he feels his gag reflex rising, burning, but a threatening look from the man above him is enough to make him swallow every drop and relax his mouth again, fearing an even worse punishment.
Hearing himself gag fills him with shame and disgust, tingling throughout his body, and he closes his eyes tightly, trying to distance himself from the sensation of the throbbing cock repeatedly violating his throat.
Suddenly, Denji feels a pair of hands on his ass, and he groans in protest as his pants begin to be pulled down because that place is private and that's not what we agreed on, but a sharp slap on his cheek prevents him from turning to complain.
"Eyes on me, whore."
"Now will you look at that little ass." A hoarse, laughing voice intones above him, and soon palms are squeezing his ass, fingers pressing into the flesh until Denji is sure the imprint of their hands will be there for days.
A handful of his hair is pulled and his head is violently pushed forward until his nose touches the downy fur of Scar's groin at the same instant the clinking of a belt being unbuckled sounds behind him. His body freezes, his little fingers curling into Scar's pants, his eyes wide and teary in a silent plea to stop.
And of course, Scar just laughs. Denji doesn't know what he was expecting.
"Why you looking at me like that, huh? You think I'm gonna help you?" He chuckles again, sliding his cock out for a moment, saliva, snot, and cum connecting the glans to Denji's swollen lips, and while Denji is still coughing his own lungs out, the man shoves his thumb into the side of his mouth to force it open and shoves his cock in all at once again, his balls hitting Denji's chin. "If you want your payment, you gotta work for it. And there are a lot of us here."
Denji sobs, trembling, as he feels the intrusion of something thick and warm into his hole, and he gasps again, his hand groping blindly behind him to try and push away the man kneeling behind him.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, stop!
His hands are easily immobilized and crossed behind his back as if they were nothing, and another round of laughter echoes. They seem to be having a lot of fun with his panic.
“So cute… he really thinks he can run away from us. Six guys against a boy, it’s not looking so good for you, kid.”
Six??
Disoriented, Denji tries to roll his eyes to the sides, and focuses on two more men to his left, masturbating as they watch him being raped by their colleagues. To the right, another one, teasing the head of his own cock. Denji can't see their faces. They all look the same. He has no idea when they got there.
“We’ll give you some cash so you can go buy some nice food after this if you behave and keep your mouth shut.”
Tears are streaming down Denji's cheeks, and he swallows clumsily around the cock in his throat, trying to think about the food, imagining a plate with steaming toast and a nice layer of jam on top. He tries to think that it will all be worth it in the end, that he will have plenty of money to eat as much as he wants.
“Fuck…” groans the man from behind, still holding Denji’s hands as he tries to force his way in his hole.
“He tight?” asks another, panting. Denji can’t tell which one it is.
“Very. It’s almost impossible to get inside.”
“Just put it all the way in. It’ll be easier if he collapses.”
Denji’s eyes widen in panic again, don’t-
He thinks he faints for a moment. An overwhelming pain surges through him, a sob escapes him, and everything goes black.
When he opens his eyes again, he is greeted with the sound of laughter, and he realizes that he now has two throbbing cocks in front of him. Something is rubbing inside him, poking his stomach, and he swears he feels the thing moving between his lungs, tearing him apart from the inside.
"Ah, he's awake."
Neither of the cocks held in front of his face seems familiar, and he realizes that these are now other men's. The texture is not the same as the last one, nor is the size and color. They rub against his lips and cheeks, spreading a viscous, warm fluid on his skin.
"Suck it, slut."
Denji hates himself for it, but he obbeys. There's no escaping it at this point.
He closes his lips around the cock on the left, the longer one, and sucks, swallowing it as far as his throat can reach and then going back up, awkwardly licking along its entire length.
Someone whistles in admiration, approving, and Denji, always craving praise, does the same with the one on the right. He's still crying, and everything still hurts, but he thinks that if this ends soon, he can eat faster.
Meanwhile, he's still being penetrated from behind, being opened up to the point of pain, his fragile body shaking with each thrust. The hands on his waist pull him back and forth repeatedly, hindering his work on the two cocks he has in his hands, and Denji is already drooling, moaning as he tries to keep up the pace despite the unbearable heat growing inside him and the strange sensation between his legs, his little cock dripping.
The smacking sounds of their bodies hitting each other sound obscene, as do the wet sounds of Denji sucking the head of one cock, and then the other, his small mouth enveloping the lengths and trying not to gag or use his teeth, so as not to irritate them.
"Fuck, he's…" moans the man behind him, never stopping impaling him on his cock. "He keeps getting tighter, how the fuck is that possible?"
Denji flattens his tongue and rubs it against the base of the cock on the right, collecting all that salty, disgusting fluid that oozes out. The cock starts to swell and throb in his hand, a harsh curse sounding, and before Denji knows it, his face is covered in thick, sticky jets of cum, which drip from his eye, cheek, and chin.
He blinks, wanting to reach out to wipe his eye and get rid of the burning sensation, but the guy gets there first, spreading the cum all over his face like a lotion, and then laughs.
"That's a much greater look for you. Like the whore you are."
Denji doesn't even have time to think of a comeback when the man next to him slides his cock between his lips again, touching his cheek with his fingers.
"Don't forget about me, kid."
Denji realizes this isn't going to end anytime soon. He ignores the dull throbbing in his stomach, closes his eyes, and goes back to sucking.