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Aki’s fingers twitch around his cigarette, barely imperceptible but a small movement nonetheless betraying his usual stoicism. He shifts on his feet, just a movement from his left foot to his right. Denji doesn’t catch it, because of course he doesn’t. Just continues to rant from somewhere behind Aki, whining on and on about their latest mission. Aki’s good at zoning out — making everything fade to white noise, a low buzz that can settle in the back of his mind. Unfortunately that can’t be said for right now. He’s unable to diminish Denji’s whines and sneers to background noise, instead forced to suffer through that little crack of his voice as his pitch rises and rises.
“But you didn’t— Are you even listening to me, Aki?”
He is. Despite his best efforts not to, he’s heard every single complaint and groan that’s escaped Denji’s lips. Another mission where Aki had to save him from narrowly having his head sliced off. Another rant he has to suffer through. What did the moron want him to do? Not save his sorry ass and go home splattered in his blood? No thanks, he just did laundry the other day.
“Mhm,” Aki hums in this non-committal way around his cigarette that seems to rev Denji up even more.
“You’re not! At least listen when I’m yelling at you, asshole!”
Aki’s fingers do the twitch again at the way Denji’s voice raises an octave, and he forcibly makes his hand still as he brings the half finished stick to his lips, taking an unnecessarily long drag.
“I’m listening,” Aki drawls as he dispels the smoke from his lips with a similarly long exhale, watching the white fade into the night air. The moons up high tonight — a perfect crescent hanging in the sky. Moonlight is filtering down, washing the streets in a melancholic silver, a little cold, a little mystical if Aki were a poetic man. He wishes he could just smoke and admire the moon in peace; not deal with lectures from people who definitely had no place in lecturing him. Yet here he stands, blankly watching the moon and a whiny junior at his back.
He hears Denji huff behind him, and he takes a guess that he’s probably leaning against the patio door, arms folded tight across his chest and glaring holes into Aki’s back. He doesn’t shift from the feeling of heat being seared into his back from Denji’s stare, doesn’t even care really — instead it only serves to make him grin slightly around his cigarette. Denji liked to mouth off — talk shit with these narrowed eyes and snarls but instead of being intimidating, it was a poor imitation of a little Chihuahua yapping at its owner.
Denji’s shrill and grating voice continues, sounding indignant and angry — like he’s speaking through gritted teeth.
“Then tell me why you keep treating me like a goddamn idiot in the field! I’m a devil remember, I can take care of myself—“
I can take care of myself.
Aki’s fingers snap his cigarette into two. It crumbles, bent in half and useless between his clenched fingers. He blinks and looks down at his ruined cigarette, lips twisting with a small frown as he takes in the way his fingers have wasted at least five more good drags. Damn Denji, making him ruin the last of his cigarettes. Now he’ll have to wake up early to go buy another pack, and go without his morning smoke, which at this point has become a means of meditation that he’s found he’s needed before spending a whole day cleaning up after Dumb and Dumber.
“Aki—“ Denji huffs at his silence, sounding immensely displeased.
“I know, I know,” Aki mutters with a displeased sigh, flicking his now useless cigarette off the edge of the balcony, letting it land somewhere on the street below. He breathes in the cold night air, and he doesn’t know why his heart is beginning to pick up, why adrenaline is starting to make his limbs tense, why he feels like he’s about to spring into action — why one more poorly worded complaint from Denji might just set him off.
He turns around finally, leaning against the railing, and meets Denji’s brown eyes.
He’s leaning against the patio door as Aki had predicted, displeased frown on his lips and eyes narrowed, looking so incredibly frustrated it almost makes Aki laugh. Almost.
“Should I have let you get your head sliced off then?” Aki asks blandly, as he leans against the railing, raising an eyebrow at Denji who meets his blue eyes, his own shining with indignation.
Denji’s nose wrinkles, eyebrows dipping down slightly. “I’m saying you should have let me handle it—“
“Handle it?” Aki cuts off with a scoff, watching as Denji bristles from the interruption, arms taut over his chest, forearms flexing in his short sleeve tshirt.
He can feel his heart pick up speed, and he thinks ah, it’s finally getting to him. He can feel the pinpricks of heat across his skin, frustration laced with a hint of anger. Denji likes to complain — Aki knows that. He’s known that since the day he’s met the devil.
But tonight, he’s getting tired of hearing that whiny little voice — of Denji not thinking twice, of mouthing off. Of letting that bratty little mouth of his run on and on and on.
“You can barely wipe your own ass,” Aki says, and his voice is still steady, still flat and almost with a bored inflection. But his fingers are twitching, begging for him to curl them into a fist, to curl around Denji’s shirt and press him into the glass and force him to shut the fuck up.
“I let you handle it yourself and I’m stuck filling out paperwork explaining to Makima-san why we’re short of one more dumbass,” he says dryly, forcing a soft breath from between his teeth, leaning more heavily against the railing.
Denji’s eyes narrow, lips pulling up in a snarl, and revealing his sharp teeth. There’s a cold breeze that whips around them but Denji doesn’t even shiver despite being in a thin tshirt and thread-bare pyjama pants.
“I could have handled it! That devil wasn’t going to do that much damage to me,” Denji refutes, half seething and Aki feels the beginning of a headache pulse at his temples.
They’ve had this argument countless times before and Aki sincerely doubts this’ll be the last time either. His annoyance is starting to flare, starting to spark and sizzle, like the embers of a dying out fire being stoked. He tries to keep it controlled — Denji is an idiot, he tries to reason with himself. He doesn’t know that he’s getting under Aki’s skin, that every complaint that he “should’ve let Denji handle it himself” and not save his life is starting to make Aki unable to restraint the cold fury starting to thrum under his skin.
“I can take care of myself—“
That fucking phrase again.
“Be quiet,” Aki hisses out, patience wearing thin. He kicks off the railing and stalks towards Denji, one step and then two. Denji’s mouth snaps shut, eyes barely widening as Aki makes his way to him, steps light but lethal. There’s a new shine in his amber eyes now — a whisper of fear that sends a pleased spark down Aki’s spine.
“You can’t handle yourself,” Aki seethes out slowly as he presses into Denji’s personal space, watching as the blond uselessly presses himself against the door as if futilely trying to put distance between them.
“I’m the one always cleaning up your messes — always keeping you in line when you’re so fucking determined to run past it.”
Aki watches as Denji swallows; a movement down the column of his throat as Aki presses in closer. He can feel the satisfaction of Denji finally, finally shutting up simmering in his veins.
“You sure as hell can’t take care of yourself,” Aki continues as he cages him against the glass door, Denji unable to do anything but stare at Aki with wide eyes. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and Aki follows the movement, suddenly aware of how close Denji is — he can smell the detergent he uses. Aki’s own, an orange, citrusy scent that somehow smells so much better on Denji than it ever has on him.
“So stop bitching, and follow instructions when I give them,” Aki says slowly, words rolling off his tongue, low and dangerous. His voice is even and quiet, but there’s an edge to them that he almost never has — he’s used to speaking in that dull, almost bored inflection. Now there’s a layer of something dangerous in his voice, an unspoken demand for obedience. Aki never uses this voice, the one that has people weak-kneed and stumbling over their words to satisfy whatever he wants.
And Denji’s clearly never heard it before or experienced it. There’s a simmering heat in his gut, a throb of pleasure at the way Denji stares at him, lost and unsure. Naive. So fucking naive.
“If I say run, you run. If I say dodge, you dodge.” Denji’s eyes drop to somewhere below, no longer on Aki and it makes the hunter grasp his chin with his fingers, tugging it up.
“If I say look, you look.”
Denji’s eyes snap up to his, flicking up from the floor to meet his stare, easy obedience that Aki didn’t know was possible from the usual difficult blond. It makes his stomach curl with satisfaction — with pleasure.
“But that’s not—“
Aki’s fingers grip his jaw and force it shut, Denji’s teeth clacking and the hunter narrows his eyes.
“Did I say to speak?” he asks lowly, and he watches as Denji swallows, a movement down the column of his throat as his eyes widen fractionally, surprised.
Aki keeps his grip on his jaw firm, thumb digging into the side, feeling the ridge of his jawline. Denji looks at him helplessly, biting down on his bottom lip as Aki’s fingers stay hard on his jaw. Slowly Denji shakes his head, blond hair swishing with the movement, till the locks are messily splayed across his forehead and Aki has to fight the urge to reach out and brush them away.
“Exactly,” Aki says, and he presses in closer, till he can feel Denji’s body heat, thumb and forefinger on either side of his face and forcing him to meet Aki’s eyes.
He watches Denji, sees the way he meets Aki’s eyes, the hesitation around the edges of brown, the flicker of nervousness — the barely there but gorgeous sliver of obedience. He sees the heat too — oh the heat being stoked in those chestnut eyes. Like he’s wondering where this’ll go — like he’s hoping it’ll go somewhere. Fuck if Aki isn’t hoping the same thing.
“If I say get down on your knees,” Aki mutters, fingers pressing against Denji’s jaw, a singular squeeze. “Then you get down on your fucking knees.”
The sound of knees hitting metal flooring is a muted but clear thud. Denji looks up at him, on his knees, head tilted up so Aki can keep his fingers on his jaw, can slide his hand down the expanse of his throat if he wanted to — can feel the flutter of his pulse as he tightens his fingers around the pretty curve of his neck if he wanted.
“Good,” he mutters, and a soft sound escapes Denji then. A moan that Denji immediately flushes at, pink hue on his cheeks as he stares up, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights, at Aki.
Aki raises an eyebrow at the sound, crouches down so he’s eye to eye with the blond, sees the faint horror in his eyes, the embarrassed way he bites on his bottom lip as if physically stopping himself from letting out any more noises.
“Did you just fucking moan?” Aki asks lowly, and Denji flushes further, pink tinted cheeks, swallowing nervously.
“Did you?” Aki presses on, fingers tightening on Denji’s jaw that seems to snap him out of his self-conscious haze of embarrassment.
“N-No,” Denji whispers, licking his cracked lips, looking away from the elder.
“No?” Aki repeats softly, and Denji’s eyes are back on him — he must hear it. A singular word, a singular syllable and Denji’s immediately backtracking.
“I mean— I mean maybe? I—“ Denji stumbles over his words — so eager to please it’s so pathetic. The way he trips over his words, rushing through them like he’s trying to find the combination that will win him Aki’s praise again. Pretty. But awfully pathetic.
“Did you or didn’t you?” Aki asks again, and he lets his forefinger gently brush down Denji’s cheek. It racks a shiver out the younger, a twitch, an imperceptible lean into Aki’s warmth and touch.
“I did,” Denji whispers, eyes falling shut, jaw clenched and cheeks rosy with embarrassment.
“Good boy,” Aki murmurs softly and Denji whimpers this time. A soft, broken noise from the back of his throat. He flushes even more as the noise escapes him and Aki can’t help the flood of heat at the sound.
“You can be such a good boy,” Aki murmurs, brushing his finger across Denji’s warm cheek, his head still tilted up, exposing the expanse of his throat, the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the longer Aki continues his ministrations.
“If only you listened more often,” Aki mutters, fingers tightening on Denji’s jaw and forcing the blond to blink open his eyes up at him. “If only you knew when to shut up,” Aki continues, and his earlier anger isn’t forgotten — it might have simmered down at the way Denji looks up at him on his knees, practically drooling for praise, but it’s still there in Aki’s gut, waiting.
“You were about to get hurt, I saved you,” Aki murmurs, his grip on Denji’s jaw tight and almost painful, but he knows the blond can take it. “You’re my responsibility. You’re my problem.”
Denji’s breath hitches — Aki can hear it from how close he is to him, his face mere inches away from the blond’s.
“If you want to die, you’re not doing it on my squad. So suck it up, or get the fuck out,” Aki hisses out, fingers digging into Denji’s jaw harder to punctuate his words. Denji looks up at him, sucking in an inhale. Pretty boy, he thinks. Stupid, pretty boy.
“But I didn’t mean that,” Denji mumbles, swallowing. “I just—“
“Denji,” Aki hisses out, shutting the younger’s jaw with a click. He looms over the blond, squeezes his jaw tight, narrows his eyes at him.
“You’re on your knees, looking up at me — the only thing I want to hear is yes sir.”
Denji wavers then — Aki sees the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the need to push back, get under Aki’s skin tug with his need to listen — to obey.
Denji releases a soft breath.
“Yes sir,” he whispers, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as he closes his eyes. At Aki’s mercy.
“Good boy,” Aki murmurs, and Denji whines. A proper whine, the type dogs make, a keen almost. It’s drenched in desperation, soaked with that pathetic neediness Denji always has when it comes to praise. And Aki knows it, thrives off of it—his insatiable need to be told he’s good, that he’s a pretty boy who just needs to shut the fuck up and do what he’s told.
“Are you going to listen now?” Aki murmurs as his fingers slide into his honey blond strands, tightening at the roots and yanking his head back. “Or should I teach you?”
The words drip with warning, the kind that makes Denji’s pupils blow and lips part. The kind that has him squirming on his knees, cock jumping up to attention, thick and hard from the second Aki had touched him, straining against his joggers.
“Teach— Teach me senpai,” Denji whimpers pathetically, squeezing his thighs together like it’ll do anything to stop the stirring of his cock.
Aki hums, low and wicked, a vibration that carries through the small balcony. They’re high enough that nobody would see if Aki kept his back to the railing—he could cover Denji, could fuck his throat and nobody would be the wiser.
“Take my cock out, Denji.”
He watches how the blond’s cock jolts at that, how he swallows a whine as his trembling fingers reach for Aki’s drawstrings, fumbling to undo them.
“This is a good way to teach you,” Aki murmurs as the younger takes his cock out, thick and heavy, precum beading at the tip, leaking steadily in Denji’s clumsy fingers. “To keep your mouth full so you can shut up and listen,” he continued and Denji swallows, nodding as he holds his cock like its treasure, practically drooling.
“Kiss the tip,” Aki mutters as he cups the back of his head, not shoving it forward—not yet. Just guiding Denji forward to slowly kiss the tip, kitten-like and light.
“Like this, senpai?” Denji mumbles against his cock, looking up from under his lashes, amber eyes and pretty lips.
“Like that,” Aki breathes, jaw flexing as the other starts to kiss over his cock, slow, clumsy kisses. He hisses out a breath when Denji noses at the course dark hair at the base of his cock, when he rubs his cheek against the length. Still Aki’s hand remains steady at the back of his head, not pushing.
“You smell so good senpai,” Denji murmurs as he mouths over his cock, eyes shut and already looking blissed out. “Like— Mhm musky,” he murmurs as he rubs his lips over Aki’s tip messily.
“Easy brat,” Aki grits out as his fingers curl in his hair. “Still listening, aren’t we?”
Denji whimpers pathetically at that, low from the back of his throat, nodding in submission as he kisses Aki’s cock.
“Lick,” Aki mutters and Denji does, tentative and small, a peak of his pink wet tongue, and he whimpers at the taste of Aki.
“Senpai—“ he whimpers as he licks again, needy, pathetic, reeking of desperation as he moans. “Aki—Hngh— You taste so good—“ he moans as he mouths over his cock sloppily.
Aki exhales low, jaw working as his fingers slide into the honey blond strands of Denji’s unruly hair, the grip firm enough to pull a low tortured moan from the younger as he laps at Aki’s cock like it’s one of his lollipops. Who would’ve guessed his stupid fucking oral fixation would extend to sucking cock too?
“Open your mouth Denji,” Aki mutters, low and raspy, firm instruction threaded into the words that make Denji swallow as his lips part open, slick and pink and undeniably pretty when they’re snug around Aki’s cock.
“Good,” he mutters and the younger whimpers low and wounded as Aki takes his cock and slowly feeds it into his waiting mouth.
“A-aki—“ he gasps but Aki hushes him, holds his hair in firm but not unkind grip to ground him.
“Breathe through your nose,” Aki instructs, voice low and threaded with tension as he watches the way Denji’s lashes quiver against his cheeks, brows scrunched in adorable concentration. “Relax your throat. You can take it.”
The instructions are bland, bored, like Aki is teaching him how to block a punch and not stuffing his cock down his subordinates throat.
Denji, for all his bluster and inexperience, listens, mouth opening wider, throat softening to let the thick heavy weight of Aki sit on his tongue.
And Aki watches — sees the way Denji’s brows drop, his jaw losing all tension, the pure unadulterated bliss on his face that he’s never seen on him before.
“You like this,” Aki mutters, with quiet, breathless realisation and Denji lets out a soft muffled noise around his cock, of dissent or embarrassment Aki doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. “You like this Denji,” he repeats as his thumb moves to skim over his temple, watching the blond’s lashes flutter, all that usual restless energy and noise pulled from him, like a puppets strings finally cut loose. “Just needed a little cock to get your head quiet, hm?”
Denji whimpers pathetically and he bobs his head in an equally pathetic nod, and Aki hums, low and approving.
“That’s alright,” he mutters as his fingers tangle in the back of Denji’s head and he slowly snaps his hips back and forth, Denji letting out a muffled cry, as Aki grunts at the hot slick heat of his mouth tightening around his cock. “I can fuck your pretty face as many times as it takes ‘till you stop being such a fucking brat.”
Denji moans at that, eager and needy and downright desperate and dumb for the idea, hollowing his cheeks, sucking Aki’s cock clumsy and sloppy, fuelled by the sound of the older’s harsh breaths punched from his lungs and the tightening grip of his fingers in his hair.
“Take cock so well, Denji,” Aki grunts as he holds Denji’s head in place, rocking his hips, chasing the heat of that perfect little mouth. “Perfect fucking cocksleeve, aren’t you?” The words are downright filthy, obscene, nothing like Aki’s usual blunt words and bland expressions and they make Denji light on fire, sucking and slurping, moaning and letting himself be used.
“Perfect,” Aki hisses, as his head rolls back as he fucks into Denji’s mouth. “Fucking perfect—“
Denji whimpers, tears beading at his lashes, mouth wrapped snug around Aki’s cock and the first telltale throbs of his cock on his tongue make him moan, vibrating through Aki.
“Fuck— Fuck— Ah—“ Aki hisses and his fingers fist in Denji’s hair tight enough to make the other cry out as he cums straight down his throat, nose buried in his pelvis, swallowing his load down dutifully.
Aki’s head rolls to the side, fingers loosening in Denji’s hair, and through half lidded eyes, he pulls his cock out and sees Denji kneeling there, hair a mess, mouth a mess of spit and cum, tears making his lashes wet and eyes so fucking pretty as he looks up at Aki, hazy and soft.
“…did good?” Denji whispers, looking up at him like he’s a god and he’s only a pathetic devout worshipper of the silence Aki gives him from his stupid loud brain.
Aki’s fingers soften in his hair and strokes through the messy honey blond strands, so gentle it makes Denji shiver.
“Yeah,” he mutters, thumb wiping a drop of cum from Denji’s chin. Always so messy. “You did good, Denji.”
And as Denji smiles, small and content and proud, leaning his face into Aki’s hand and snuggles into the warmth of his palm, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, a lesson well taught, Aki thinks absently.