Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1113809.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Asphyxiation, Sparring, Dominance, Mirror_Sex, Established_Relationship,
      No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-01 Completed: 2014-01-03 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 5137
****** Air ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     “‘I’d smash you into the floor in a matter of seconds, it wouldn’t be
     much of a fight.’” Justin asks Giriko for help and Giriko is
     persuaded to oblige.
***** Cheating *****
“You want to spar.”
Justin nods, like he hasn’t just made the most ridiculous request Giriko has
yet heard in a long line of absurd statements. “That’s the idea.” He shrugs,
angles his shoulder back like he’s trying to crack pressure out of a joint.
“It’s been a while since I had someone who could present a challenge. And it’s
important to stay in practice, or at least I’ve found that to be so.”
Giriko is flat on the couch, staring up at Justin while the priest leans over
him to block the light. “You want to spar with me.”
Justin blinks and nods again, slowly this time, like he’s not sure Giriko’s
getting the point. “In the absence of anyone else in the room to whom I could
conceivably be speaking, yes, with you.”
“You weigh like a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Giriko scoffs. “I’d smash you
into the floor in a matter of seconds, it wouldn’t be much of a fight.”
Justin raises one yellow eyebrow and his mouth quirks at the corner. “We have
rather different opinions on that.”
“You think I wouldn’t?” Giriko asks. He unfolds his arms from behind his head
and pushes up onto his elbows. “What, you’d break out your fancy Death Weapon
moves on me?”
Justin looks up and away and laughs short and amused. “That would be cheating,
don’t you think? No, no weapon forms at all. Seems fair enough, doesn’t it?”
Giriko scoffs. “Not particularly. I’m not gonna fight you, I’d take you to
pieces in a minute flat.”
“Hm.” Justin straightens from his angle over the couch, shrugs one-shouldered.
“I thought it was a matter of seconds? But if you don’t feel up to it, I guess
I’ll just have to make do on my own.”
Giriko knows he’s being needled. He’s not a genius but it doesn’t take one to
recognize the deliberately put-upon tone in Justin’s voice, the overdone sigh
he heaves as he turns away. And the chainsaw’s half-asleep; having a fight,
even a quick one, is the last thing he wants to do right now. But he does
hesitate, and his eyes follow Justin as the priest starts to walk away. The
blond’s in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, giving every impression of someone
about to have a quick workout, but as he’s moving the sweatpants cling in a way
they shouldn’t be able to, and the shirt’s pretty thin, opaque for now but if
it were to get damp, with sweat say, and if Giriko takes him out he’d probably
have to straddle him in order to keep him down, with Justin’s arms up above his
head maybe, and --
“Wait.”
Justin stops dead, tips his head to glance back over his shoulder so his whole
body twists in a way that shouldn’t be possible for anyone with a spine. “Yes?”
Giriko rolls off the couch to land on his feet and comes around the corner,
deliberately cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders back. “Can’t have you
training on your own.”
Justin’s eyes flicker up and down the chainsaw’s body and he smiles to himself
before turning back around to lead the way. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Giriko falls into step behind him, just over his shoulder where Justin
can hear him breathing but can’t see the other weapon. “Gotta make sure we’re
clear on who’s better in a fight.”
Justin laughs without turning. He appears entirely unfazed by Giriko’s
positioning. “We should clarify that, shouldn’t we.”
He takes them down the hall to the training room, rarely used by Giriko but
frequented on a semi-regular basis by the priest. Giriko takes stock of the
open space, the equipment pushed up against the walls and clear of the main
floor, and kicks his boots off to abandon them by the doorway before following
Justin to the center of the floor.
The priest eyes his jeans and white shirt. “Do you want to change?”
“Nah.” Giriko hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and grins. “I
can kick your ass just as well in this as in some fancy clothes.”
Justin gives that lopsided shrug again. “Suit yourself.” He steps back so
there’s a few feet of space between them and squares himself up with the
chainsaw. “No weapon forms at any point.”
“What’re we going to?” Giriko asks. He doesn’t move his hands but he does shift
his feet to balance his weight over his legs.
“Until one party surrenders the fight.”
Giriko rocks back on his heels, opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better
of it. “Yeah, okay.”
Justin comes up onto the balls of his feet, shifts his weight from one side to
the other, and raises his hands in front of him. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Giriko is moving as he agrees, one stride forward to span the space
between them and swinging with his right hand to slam into Justin’s ribcage.
The priest slides back without blinking at the sudden movement, pivoting on his
foot so Giriko’s hit goes entirely wide, and the chainsaw has to take another
step forward to catch his balance. Justin turns as quickly as he does so
they’re facing each other again, hands still up in front of him and face
perfectly relaxed.
“Was that your best shot?” he asks.
Giriko frowns and rolls his shoulders back. “Just warming up.” He comes in
again, but this time he sees Justin trying that same twist again, reaches out
with his left to grab the priest’s upraised wrist. Justin grimaces, snaps his
arm down, and Giriko’s hold goes loose without him quite seeing how. Justin
brings his other elbow around to swing, but it goes wild and just clips
Giriko’s shoulder without really offering any lasting impact.
They both draw back again, Giriko glaring now. “What the fuck was that?”
Justin raises his eyebrows. “Did you expect me to just let you grab me?” They
both come in this time, stepping forward with left feet like there’s a mirror
between them, but Giriko swings high and Justin comes in low, ducking so
Giriko’s fist clears the top of his head while his own lands solid against the
chainsaw’s chest. Giriko grunts at the impact but doesn’t pull back, snaps his
other hand around to take a shot at the priest’s shoulder. Justin pivots back
from that too, but not far enough to clear it completely so it’s a glancing
blow instead of a full hit.
“You’re not really trying,” Justin observes. He sounds as calm as if they’re
having a regular conversation rather than raising bruises on each other. “Why
are you holding back?”
Giriko growls and grabs at Justin’s incoming arm -- he’s trying the elbow
again, but the chainsaw closes his fingers around Justin’s upper arm and stalls
out the movement. “You want me to break your pretty face?”
Justin laughs and twists around Giriko’s hold so the chainsaw’s fingers bend
back and he lets go involuntarily. “I didn’t expect to find chivalry in you of
all people.”
“Yeah, well.” Giriko shifts his weight to one side as Justin drives an elbow
into the curve of his back. He takes the hit, exhales hard with the impact, but
stays where he is. “I wouldn’t call it chivalry, exactly.” The priest steps
back in front of him and he swings onto one foot, brings his other up to snap
out sharp and hard. He knows it’s going to connect even before he feels the
give of muscle under his foot and hears Justin’s pained exhale. “More
consideration for the future.” He drops his off foot to the ground and pivots
around it to swing his other leg up and at the priest; Justin has to stumble
backward to clear the kick, and he nearly falls before he can get his feet
under him. “You’re a lot prettier without bruises on that face.”
“Aww,” Justin manages. He sounds breathless, but when Giriko steps in to swing
a fist at his solar plexus he catches the hit with one hand and snaps his other
out to slam against the chainsaw’s shoulder. “I thought you liked marking me.”
Giriko laughs and twists his hand around to trade Justin’s hold for his own so
his fingers are around the priest’s wrist again. “The rest of you, sure.”
Justin jerks his arm around but Giriko’s ready this time, lets his arm follow
the movement so he can maintain his hold, and when the priest swings with his
other arm he grabs that too, twisting up and around so Justin winces in pain.
“But your face is off-limits.” He’s got him, he knows he does, Justin’s not
strong enough to break free without the element of surprise and he’s stepping
in too close for the priest to get any traction. Giriko grins, adds pressure to
Justin’s arm, and opens his mouth to demand surrender.
Justin snaps his head forward. This close Giriko doesn’t have time to react
before his forehead collides with the chainsaw’s nose, just under the metal
strip across the bridge. There is a burst of pain, white starbursts in Giriko’s
vision, and the chainsaw gasps in pain and drops his hold, reeling backward as
his nose gushes blood.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You fucking cheat! That was playing dirty!”
Justin shakes his arm out and grins bright. “I have to play dirty to win with
you,” he says. “Besides, I never said I wasn’t going to hit your face.” He tips
his head to the side consideringly and bites his lower lip. “I think you look
quite fetching covered in your own blood.”
“You still think you’re going to win?” Giriko drops his hand from his face,
spits to clear his mouth from the rush of blood from his nose.
“I’m serious now.”
“You weren’t before?” Justin asks, and then they both close again. Giriko kicks
when Justin tries to hit him again, deciding that staying well clear of the
priest’s forehead is the best decision at this point, but then Justin follows
his lead and snaps a foot out towards his shoulder. The impact lands atop the
rising bruise from the priest’s first hit and rocks Giriko back more from pain
than the force itself, but then he predicts Justin’s feint and slams his foot
solidly into the blond’s solar plexus. Justin falls back, gasping uselessly for
breath, and Giriko follows, mouth full of the taste of his own blood and veins
full of furious adrenaline. Justin looks up as he approaches, eyes wide as he
struggles to breathe, and Giriko shoves into him bodily, throwing his whole
weight behind his shoulder so the priest topples back and hits the ground hard.
Giriko’s on him before the blond can move, dropping down to straddle Justin’s
hips with his full weight. Justin is still having trouble taking a breath, and
although he swings at Giriko the chainsaw catches his fist and shoves his arm
back to the ground before pinning his wrists above his head.
“You’re out,” he declares. “Surrender.”
Justin gasps in a breath, wiggles against Giriko’s weight and hold, and effects
no change at all. He shuts his mouth and glares up at Giriko, setting his lips
together in clear refusal.
“Look, you little cheat,” Giriko says with remarkable calm. “You’re trapped.
There’s no way I’m letting you up and you can’t get up until I let you. Give
in.”
Justin just stares at him unblinkingly, with no sign that he has heard anything
Giriko has said. Giriko’s nose is still trickling blood down his throat, and
it’s starting to burn, and he growls and reaches down with his free hand to
close his fingers around Justin’s throat.
“Surrender,” he says, enunciating every syllable. Justin glares at him, his
eyes a silent taunt, and Giriko shifts his hand so he can press his thumb
against the priest’s windpipe. He can feel the give under the pressure, can see
the flicker of eyelashes as Justin blinks, but there’s no change in that gaze
otherwise.
“Fuck you,” he offers, and presses harder, brings his weight down into his arm
so he closes off the priest’s breathing entirely. Justin’s mouth comes open,
Giriko can feel his throat working as he tries to breathe, but his eyes are
focused over Giriko’s head and he’s pulling against the chainsaw’s hold on his
wrists like he’s still going to get free. Giriko growls, a low wordless sound
of frustration, and stays where he is and keeps his hand tight around Justin’s
throat.
There’s a moment of question, when Justin pulls hard enough to twist one of his
wrists free and swings at Giriko’s face, but the chainsaw turns aside to avoid
the blow and Justin gives up on punching to grab at a handful of Giriko’s
bloodstained shirt. Giriko looks down at the priest’s wide blue eyes, the panic
rising under the color and the shift of his throat as he tries to breathe for
air that won’t come, and he sucks in a breath as panicked as the priest’s
movements and says, “For fuck’s sake, Justin, just surrender!”
Justin stares at him for a moment longer, and Giriko thinks he’s going to
actually pass out before he gives in. Then he tips his chin down in a nod, lets
his hold on shirt go, and goes utterly limp under Giriko’s hands. Giriko lets
go immediately, both his hold at Justin’s throat and the wrist still clenched
in his fingers, and Justin gasps for air and lies still but for frantic gulps
of air.
Giriko stays where he is on the priest’s hips, hands open at his sides, and
tries very hard to look less frenzied than he feels. After a few minutes
Justin’s breathing is back to a normal pace; the priest inhales deep, and
exhales slow, and pushes himself up to his elbows. Giriko looks to his throat,
knows without seeing them that there’ll be fingerprints there in a few hours,
and licks his lips without meaning to.
Justin laughs weakly. “I guess you did win.”
“Yeah.” Giriko glances up to his eyes and has to look away from the sparkle
under the blue. “Why --” He can’t finish the question.
Justin braces himself and angles his hips so he slides his legs free of
Giriko’s weight before he leans forward into the chainsaw’s personal space.
Giriko doesn’t pull back, just watches him come until the priest’s mouth is
right up against the corner of his own.
“Thanks,” Justin smiles, and his tongue comes out to trail over the edge of
Giriko’s lip. When he pulls back he’s got the chainsaw’s blood on his mouth; he
licks it away as Giriko watches, catches the chainsaw watching him and grins,
lopsided and shadowed.
It’s not until Justin stands and his sweatpants catch on the outline of his
erection that Giriko realizes how hard he is, although from the way Justin lets
his gaze linger on the front of the chainsaw’s jeans the priest was definitely
aware.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, turning away, and Giriko opens his
mouth to protest before he goes on. “You should really wash up yourself.
You’re covered in blood.”
Giriko gapes at Justin’s back for a minute. Then his mouth angles into a grin
and he takes a breath before getting to his feet to follow the priest out of
the room.
***** Mirror *****
Justin’s head is still swimming with the rush of temporary oxygen deprivation
by the time he gets to the bathroom. His body is starting to ache, swelling
starting against his throat where Giriko’s fingers were pressing and chest so
sore from the chainsaw’s kick that it hurts to breathe, but his tongue tastes
like blood and the lingering euphoria is overriding the pain, or at least
turning it into excitement instead of hurt.
He doesn’t turn around, although he can hear Giriko’s footsteps down the
hallway behind him as he goes, and doesn’t look up until he gets to the
bathroom and stops in front of the mirror. Giriko comes up behind him, stands
over his shoulder so their eyes meet in their reflections. There is blood all
across the chainsaw’s face, smeared from where he swiped at it with the back of
his hand and splattered across the collar of his shirt. That’s going to stain,
Justin notes absently, but he’s not looking a lot better. The marks of fingers
are starting to show up on his throat already, rising a dim blue under the
skin, and his mouth is red from Giriko’s blood. When he lifts his shirt
carefully there’s no sign of the kick Giriko landed, at least not yet, but he
winces when he tries touching the location and stops investigating.
Giriko is watching him when he looks back up, eyes lingering against the skin
exposed by his raised shirt. When Justin drops the fabric the chainsaw’s gaze
comes up higher, but then it stalls on the shadow at his neck. He can see
Giriko’s throat work as the chainsaw swallows before the other man steps in,
close enough that his hip brushes against Justin’s.
“That’s going to bruise,” he says unnecessarily, and he brings his hand up
around to brush light over the marks. It’s the wrong hand, at this angle, but
the touch lingers too long anyway, and Justin can see Giriko trying to line his
fingers up with the faint darkness under his skin. There’s no pressure at all
but Justin goes harder anyway at the contact with the bruise-sensitive skin.
Giriko isn’t looking at his face. The chainsaw’s gaze is fixed on the
reflection of Justin’s throat in the mirror, bruises and skin and his own
fingers, and he is unexpectedly silent, like he has forgotten how to speak
entirely. Justin can’t decide where to look, at Giriko’s hand or Giriko’s eyes
or Giriko’s mouth, and then his roving eyes go down and decide that the front
of the chainsaw’s pants is the best of the available options. The jeans do a
better job of disguise than Justin’s thin sweatpants, but Giriko is so hard the
outline of his erection is clear even through the denim. Justin reaches out
sideways to press his fingers against the tight fabric.
Giriko grunts but doesn’t speak, although his fingers go briefly tighter
against Justin’s skin and his eyes flicker up to meet Justin’s in the mirror.
They stare at each other for a minute without moving; then Justin blinks and
slides his fingers up to slip between the waistband of Giriko’s pants and the
chainsaw’s hips, and Giriko shifts his hand from the bruises on Justin’s neck
to the less-sensitive skin of his shoulder.
It’s hard for Justin to maneuver his hand until he stops watching himself; the
inversion of his vision makes everything strange and backwards, but when he
stops looking down and looks at his own reflection, or at the flutter of
pleasure over Giriko’s face, it’s much easier to find his way across the
familiar lines of stomach and hip down to the hot hardness of the chainsaw’s
cock. Giriko breathes in hard through his mouth rather than his bruised nose
when Justin trails his fingers against the flushed skin, and then he reaches
down with his free hand to undo the button of his jeans to give the blond more
maneuverability. With the extra room Justin can invert his hand, wrap his
fingers entirely around Giriko’s length, and slide up slow and lingering so
Giriko grits his teeth and rocks up into his touch.
It’s thrilling to watch the chainsaw in the mirror; Giriko’s not looking at
Justin’s face, either his eyes are shut in concentration or his gaze is
lingering against the priest’s hip or neck or shoulder like there’s something
worth watching there, so he doesn’t see Justin staring at his face. His skin is
all smeared red with blood and it looks like he might have a split lip in
addition to the nosebleed, and his teeth are catching at his lower lip and
pulling so hard it can’t be anything but painful, but when he closes his eyes
his eyelashes are feathery against his cheekbone, and when he looks at Justin’s
skin his mouth goes soft with want, and when Justin slides over the head of his
cock his lips part and his face goes slack and Justin can’t catch his breath.
Giriko is getting close by the time he looks up. His face is tight with
anticipation, focus written into the lines of his forehead and the set of his
mouth, and his whole body is curled in over Justin’s hand like he’s half-
protecting himself from a blow. But then he does look up, finally, to meet
Justin’s gaze, and he catches the blond’s wrist to hold it still.
“Wait,” he says, and Justin does, obeys Giriko without thinking for the first
time he can ever recall. The chainsaw slides his hand free before he
relinquishes his hold, reaches out to slide his hands against Justin’s hips and
pull up. It is a moment before Justin realizes what he wants, another before he
lifts his hands so Giriko can pull his shirt free over his head. Then the
chainsaw is tossing the fabric aside and staring at Justin’s back. Justin can
see his eyes linger in the mirror for a long moment before he touches the
blond, leaves a handprint of heat against his hip, and disappears into the
other room.
Justin doesn’t move while Giriko is absent. He keeps his hands flat against the
counter, and watches the chainsaw’s fingerprints darken on his throat, and then
Giriko is coming back in and Justin can watch him instead. He’s wiped off the
worst of the blood from his face and left his shirt in the other room, so
Justin’s eyes can follow the ripple of muscle across his stomach and shoulders
as he moves to stand behind him and the way his arms shift when he slides
fingers slippery with promise under the elastic of Justin’s sweatpants. The
pants are loose to start, and Justin wiggles obligingly when Giriko shoves;
once they clear his erection they pool around his ankles and he steps free of
the fabric.
Giriko is watching his cock when he looks up, the brown in his eyes so dark
it’s almost black, and when he catches Justin’s eyes he grins wide.
“Like the view?” he asks, and he sounds almost normal again. He reaches down so
Justin can feel his fingers sliding against his skin, along his back and down
his spine.
“Yes,” Justin offers with strict honesty. “You?”
“Very much,” Giriko says, looking straight at Justin in the mirror as he slides
a finger inside the priest. Justin doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flutter
in reaction for a moment, and Giriko is grinning again when he opens them.
“Did you like it?” he asks conversationally as he pulls back to push in again
deliberately slowly. “My fingers around your throat until you couldn’t
breathe?” He’s curling his finger, dragging sensation in the wake of his
movements, but that’s not the only thing making Justin’s cock twitch, and from
the expression on Giriko’s face he knows it too. “Maybe I should have kept
going.” He pulls his hand free, comes back in with two instead of one. Justin
breathes out hard as they slide into him but he doesn’t blink. “You weren’t
going to surrender, were you?”
Justin doesn’t answer, and Giriko growls, shoves in hard. “Were you?”
It’s hard to take a breath; Justin has to actively think about filling his
lungs before they will obey him, and then when he speaks it’s a whisper. “No. I
wasn’t going to.”
Giriko grins, pleasure at a confirmed suspicion. “What were you going to do?”
His hand slides back, pushes back in; he separates his fingers and twists so
Justin has to exhale in a rush and take another breath before he can speak.
“I was going to pass out with your fingers around my neck.”
Giriko’s eyebrows comes up and he slides his hand completely free. Justin can’t
see what he’s doing, but there’s the sound of metal and the chainsaw’s pants
slide free, and he can guess even without that.
“Good plan.” Giriko sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. He steps in so
his body is aligned directly behind Justin’s; the priest stares at him in the
mirror. He still has a little blood against his face, red he didn’t quite get
off. “Really clever.” He pushes forward so he’s just barely inside; Justin has
taken an inhale but now he can’t breathe out from anticipation. “I can see they
make ‘em smart at Shibusen.”
Justin exhales all at once in a laugh, so when Giriko thrusts forward there’s
no air left for him to gasp and he makes a strange breathless noise of shock.
Giriko reaches around in front of them to wrap his fingers around Justin’s
cock; in the mirror Justin can see how much bigger Giriko’s arm looks in
comparison to his own waist, can see how the chainsaw’s skin looks almost grey
against the golden of his own. Giriko doesn’t pull at all, not deliberately,
just closes his fingers and lets the residual motion of his own hips rock a
minimal amount of friction over Justin.
Justin makes a sound at the back of his throat, leans forward to let his head
fall so he can shut his eyes, and Giriko snaps “Look at me” so hard that
Justin’s chin is coming up and his eyes are open before he consciously decides
to obey. Giriko is staring at his face, eyes clear and pale under the shifting
shadow of his hair, and as Justin watches the chainsaw leans forward to press
his chest against Justin’s back and brings his free hand up to lie his fingers
against the priest’s throat again.
It’s not a hold, it’s not even quite a threat, more of a promise, and Justin’s
mouth comes open so he can gasp for air that suddenly seems very absent. Giriko
chokes in response, and when Justin looks at himself he barely recognizes his
own face for how dark his eyes are and how desperate his parted lips make him
look. He can’t rein it back now, wouldn’t if he could, so he ignores his own
expression in favor of watching Giriko’s eyes drift over his image in the
mirror and the way the chainsaw’s arms shift as he thrusts forward again.
“Fuck,” Giriko says again, and jerks his hand around Justin’s cock so the
priest gasps and rocks forward involuntarily. “You’re looking at me like I’m
some goddamn god.”
Justin opens his mouth, to laugh a response or maybe to agree, and Giriko’s
hold on his throat goes warning-tight. “Don’t say anything,” he grates, and
when he shoves forward again it’s hard enough that Justin almost stumbles and
he takes a breath and doesn’t try to talk again.
He can see Giriko getting close in their mirrored reflections again, over his
shoulder instead of next to him at this angle, and for a second Justin thinks
he’s going to carry on this time. But then the chainsaw takes a deep breath,
and grits his teeth, and slows down again with restraint that Justin didn’t
know he had. He stays slow and steady for a minute, staring at Justin’s
shoulders instead of his face, and then the promise-threat of his hand comes
through. He shifts his grip in purposefully, and his fingers start to go tight
as he starts to deliberately pump his other hand at last.
Justin fights back to urge to take a panicked inhale, keeps breathing as
normally as he can even past the increasing pressure on his airway, and he’s so
focused on that that he doesn’t move at all in response to Giriko’s hand
against his cock, so it is the chainsaw that sets the speed. It’s fast, faster
and harder than Justin usually likes himself, but he can see where Giriko is
going with this, and when he watches the chainsaw’s separate movements -- the
steady, slow pace of his hips, the faster movement of his hand, the careful
increase of pressure in his grip -- it’s like watching an artist, all the
precision and control that Justin usually sees in himself and almost never in
the chainsaw. He’s reminded sharply that Giriko has held his own in full-blown
combat with him before, that Giriko did win their sparring match after all,
that just because the chainsaw doesn’t choose to display patience most of the
time doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any. Justin keeps his hands still where they
are against the counter, and he can see what breath he can get thrumming with
anticipation in his chest, and he knows he’s not going to last long.
Giriko knows too. When Justin looks at his face he’s watching the same anxious
tension that the priest is, and when he looks up to meet Justin’s gaze he
grins, and tightens his grip, and when Justin tries to breathe there’s no air
at all anymore. His body goes desperate but his brain goes languid, filling
with heavy pleasure at the surrender of control, and when Giriko thrusts into
him and pulls hard at his cock Justin’s mouth comes open in a soundless moan
and everything goes white with pleasure for a moment.
Giriko doesn’t let him go until even the aftershocks have passed, until Justin
refocuses on the chainsaw’s gaze in the mirror and can feel panic starting to
wash into the satisfaction suffusing him. Then he lets his hands go, and Justin
gasps for air and has to shut his eyes against the expression on Giriko’s face.
With his mission accomplished Giriko does away with any remaining vestige of
patience; he sets his grip against Justin’s hips, pulls the priest back as he
angles forward, and by the time Justin has opened his eyes again he’s coming,
eyes shut and mouth open so Justin can watch the ripples through his body
without an audience for his gaze.
Giriko sighs, and blinks his eyes into focus, and doesn’t look at Justin until
he’s loosened his grip and slid free. Then he does, and he laughs like the
sound has been startled out of him.
“Seriously, looking at me like that has got to be blasphemous somehow.”
Justin laughs, and turns around so he’s facing the chainsaw directly without
the medium of the mirror between them. Giriko leans back in surprise, but his
eyes go soft at the edges and Justin’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see
the momentary affection in his expression.
“Shut up,” he offers, and reaches out to pull Giriko in against his mouth, and
the chainsaw smiles and lets him.
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