Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1045847.
  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:
      Sexual_Violence, Death_Threats, Blood, Fighting_Kink, No_Plot/Plotless,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-15 Words: 2038
****** Angry ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     “It starts as a fight.” Giriko comes home angry. Justin handles him.
     Primarily plotless.
It starts as a fight. Giriko is pissed off, not even with Justin specifically
but in general, and when the priest comes in the door of their bedroom Giriko
snaps his leg up and out, chain grating hard over his bones and skin until the
razor-sharp edge is grinding towards Justin’s face.
He should hit. He knows he should. The priest isn’t looking at him, isn’t
expecting an attack at all, and by all logic the jagged blades should tear
right through his pretty face, shatter his perfect bone structure, blind at
least one of those clear blue eyes. But there is no resistance but air, and
Giriko nearly falls from the lack of expected impact.
“What the fuck,” he spits as he crashes forward, rocking his weight to his
front foot and flailing his arms to catch himself.
“Hello to you too,” Justin’s voice comes from over his shoulder, far to the
side, and Giriko throws himself flat just as a razor-sharp blade whistles past
his head. He doesn’t know how Justin moved like he did with no warning but the
priest is behind him now and he is flat on the ground and that is bad. He
presses his hands to the floor, pulls his feet up and over his head into an
impromptu handstand, and Justin’s retaliatory strike grounds into the hardwood
floor instead of through Giriko’s leg.
“Hard day?” Justin asks as though he didn’t just try to amputate Giriko’s left
leg.
“Fuck you, shithead,” Giriko hisses in frustration, and then he arches his back
to drop his feet to the ground and come back up over his legs. Justin steps in
towards him, face flat like a mask and eyes clear of any emotion at all, and
when he reaches for Giriko the chainsaw thinks for a moment that it’s a caress.
Then he sees the blade shine at Justin’s wrist, throws himself back against the
wall, and gets his leg up in time to intercept the razor blade with a chain.
“You’re trying to kill me!” he yells, and even that is a relief, the violence
of volume hard in his throat.
“You started it,” Justin offers back, reasonable as ever, and Giriko growls and
steps forward, leaning back to let Justin’s blocked swing glance through air
before he gets his other knee up to block the backhand motion. The blade
catches the edge of his skin before it locks into the chain, tears blood past
skin and cloth, and he hisses more in irritation than pain.
“You are gonna pay for that, priest,” he snaps as he comes forward. Justin
swings at him and he dodges back so he takes the cut on his collarbone instead
of his face, but the younger weapon is retreating in spite of the landed hits
and the blood now dripping across Giriko’s chest.
Giriko reaches out, grabs one of Justin’s blade-wrists between his fingers. His
chains are less quick here than on his legs, slower to pull to the surface so
his hand goes slick with blood before the divots of his own metal catch the
gleaming white-silver of Justin’s. He shoves back on Justin’s wrist, trying to
shove the other weapon back by his arm, but Justin pivots on his foot, letting
Giriko carry his wrist forward while his other hand sweeps forward to lock
around Giriko’s in the shackle-form of his weapon.
Justin’s not even looking at him, gaze shifting sideways when he twisted.
Giriko growls again, angry all through his body, and shoves hard against the
hold Justin’s weapon-form has on his wrist. It hurts, he can feel the curve
digging deep and bruising into the tendons of his wrist, but he is stronger
than Justin if not faster, and the priest can’t let his hold go now because
Giriko’s fingers are reaching for his throat, and if he gets ahold of it he’s
going to crush the priest’s windpipe, this time he really will.
Justin tries the same trick, turning into Giriko’s shove, but he can’t do it
for both hands at once, and Giriko slams him back against the wall so hard
Justin’s head rebounds, snaps forward as all the air in his lungs gusts out in
a gasp.
“Now who’s trying to kill who?” Giriko hisses, angry-hard into Justin’s hair.
The priest runs his tongue over his lower lip, pressing into the skin, and when
he brings his head up his eyes are dazed from the blow with the wall and his
lip is oozing blood from the marks of his teeth against it.
Giriko’s tongue is on the liquid before he means for it to be, metallic-iron
taste slicking all across his mouth, and Justin tips his head up to give him
better access. He’s not kissing the priest, definitely, he’s just tasting the
hot salt of his blood, but then his shackled hand falls free against the wall
and now he’s kissing him, mouth crushing against the priest’s so the softness
of his lips flattens under Giriko’s teeth and tongue.
He tightens his grip on Justin’s wrist, still pinned to the wall, and Justin
reaches for his chest and for a minute Giriko thinks he’s left himself open,
that Justin is about to disembowel him proper, and he can’t pull away to try to
stop him. Then fingers instead of metal dig into his hip, clench tight over
skin and muscle and bone, and Giriko hisses at the pressure but doesn’t pull
away.
“I’m going to kill you someday,” he manages, hard against Justin’s mouth, and
Justin laughs bright and high and unafraid.
“Is that a promise?” he retorts, and his voice is infuriatingly steady compared
to the raw shake of Giriko’s, and Giriko hisses and lets Justin’s wrist go in
favor of reaching for the folds of cloth over the priest’s legs.
Justin twists sideways and away, and Giriko growls again, sharp and warning,
but the priest is reaching for the drawer by the bed and coming back around.
“Here,” he says, grabs Giriko’s wrist and pulls it down with surprising
strength. The lube smears over Giriko’s fingers and he ought to be glad Justin
has thought of this. He is not.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, reaching down to seize the priest’s hips and spin him
around to face the wall. “God damn you, you’re not going to be able
to walk when I’m done with you.”
Justin doesn’t protest, just presses his cheek against the wall and lays his
hands flat against the stone. Giriko fumbles over the fabric of his robe,
hitches it up in handfuls rather than tearing it apart, and when it comes up
there is nothing under the dark cloth but the priest’s ass.
“Huh,” Giriko laughs. It’s not quite amusement but it’s the closest he’s come
all evening. “You are the strangest priest I’ve ever met.”
“I thought you were going to kill me,” Justin says, the sound muffled by the
angle of his face into the wall, and the first edge of emotion Giriko has heard
yet, amusement, teasing in his words.
“I changed my mind,” Giriko says, trying to imitate Justin’s level tone. He
fails, knows he failed, so he slides his slick fingers into Justin’s ass
instead of waiting for a response.
Justin gasps for breath and clamps his mouth shut over whatever sound he would
have made.
“No comeback this time?” Giriko needles, dragging his fingers hard inside
Justin. “That’s a shame, I always like to hear you scream.” He pulls his
fingers out, undoes the tie of his pants and frees his cock, grips himself with
his slippery fingers and pulls once, twice before reaching out to grip Justin’s
hip. He slides the hand pressed flat against the wall down to Justin’s
shoulder, braces him in place, and steps in to angle his hips in line with the
priest’s.
He opens his mouth to say something, but there is nothing on his tongue but
animal sounds so he growls instead of speaking and slots his hips home.
Justin squeaks, the sound forced out of him as his shoulders slant into the
wall, but Giriko groans, Justin tight around him and warm under his hands and
against his chest. He slides back, forward again, and Justin actually gasps,
starts to vocalize something and Giriko wraps his fingers tight over Justin’s
mouth.
“Shut up, priest,” he hisses. The effect is somewhat ruined by the gasp in his
voice and the way Justin bites his finger, but it is enough for his purposes.
Giriko pulls Justin down, fingers digging hard against the priest’s narrow
hips, and Justin arches his back like a girl, twists his hips back and sticks
his tongue out so it slicks hot over Giriko’s bleeding palm.
Giriko hisses, shifts his hand down to Justin’s throat instead. The
priest laughs, he can feel the vibration under his palm even when he tightens
his fingers to cut off the sound.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, digging his hips forward again, and Justin coughs a
breath free and manages, “Aren’t you?”
That startles a laugh out of Giriko. “Damn right,” he grates. Justin’s hip is
digging sharp into his palm like the blades earlier, blood from his injury
sliding slick over the other weapon’s skin, and Justin is starting to pant,
sucking air past Giriko’s fingers as quietly as he can but still audible.
Justin slides one hand down the wall to angle between his own cock and the
wall, and Giriko hisses and presses hard, burying himself as deep as he ever
has inside the priest. Justin coughs, laughs, and sucks air in past the
pressure against his windpipe.
“Don’t talk,” Giriko hisses. “Don’t you dare.”
Justin stays still, doesn’t move anything but his hand on himself, but he licks
his lips, just in front of Giriko’s line of sight. Giriko can feel himself
drawing tight, expectant, and as his vision narrows all he can see is the
priest’s mouth, the twitch of a smile over his teeth, and he tightens his hand
over the other weapon’s throat but too late, Justin is already curving his lips
around his name, “Giriko,” soft and affectionate and hot with want, and that is
what does it, as it always does, and Giriko is coming hard into Justin and
pressing bruised fingerprints into the priest’s hip and throat.
When he blinks his way back to vision Justin’s eyes are closed, he is digging
his hips forward, jerking against his hand and the wall both, and when Giriko
lets his hold go loose the priest gasps for air, composure briefly lost between
pleasure and panic. The chainsaw drops forward, forehead landing against
Justin’s shoulder while he catches his own breath.
He comes back to the present when Justin’s hand closes over the fingers still
at the priest’s waist, the warmth of contact startling him to attention just
before a blade cuts past Justin’s skin to gouge at his forearm. Giriko yelps in
pain, drops his hand and slides out and away,
“Fuck!” he spits, falling hard against the ground, and Justin is twisting,
coming down over him to clip the edge of his throat with a silver blade. The
priest’s face is close enough to kiss, breath gusting warm over Giriko’s face,
and Giriko can see purple bruises lifting already, his fingerprints stark
against creamy skin.
Justin smiles, bright and white and gleaming, and slides his tongue past his
lips, runs it delicately over Giriko’s.
“I think I won, don’t you?” he offers evenly. Giriko would fight if the blade
weren’t at his throat, rising blood as fast as his heart can pump it, but
instead he stays still and contents himself with glaring.
“Glad you agree,” Justin murmurs, leans in to almost-kiss Giriko, then is gone,
stepping back and away. He smoothes his robes over his hips, runs his tongue
over his sticky fingers, and then turns to go.
Giriko stays where he is until Justin is gone. Only when the priest is gone,
the door shut behind him, does the chainsaw shut his eyes, pull up the glaze of
pleasure briefly glimpsed in Justin’s blue eyes, and let his mouth curve
silently around the syllables of the priest’s name.
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