Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1872633.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Car_Sex, Madness, Manga_Spoilers, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-05 Words: 3785
****** Attention ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'It’s a damn coffin,' Giriko growls. 'That’s creepy, kid, maybe you
     don’t realize cause you spent so damn long around it but death ain’t
     a normal thing to idolize.'" Justin argues the merits of his mode of
     transportation and Giriko is eventually persuaded.
“You have to admit it’s creepy.”
Giriko’s been arguing his point for hours, or at least what feels like hours.
That might be the effect of the booze gently humming through his body, though,
or just the lateness of the hour; it’s hard to tell, for sure, especially when
the blond across the table from him is watching him with the faint bemused
smile he sometimes turns on the chainsaw. It’s not all that hard for Giriko to
obtain Justin’s attention -- the priest is usually hovering around him, watches
him more than he watches even Noah, their ostensible leader -- but it’s hard to
hold it, hard to hold the blond to anything that Giriko’s seen. Even when
they’re fucking over Giriko’s bed or the chainsaw’s got Justin pinned to a wall
while he jerks him off, the blond’s gaze will go out-of-focus every few
minutes, like he’s seeing something behind Giriko’s head or maybe through the
chainsaw. It’s eerie, a little unsettling and a lot irritating, so the fact
that Justin’s been alert and focused on the topic at hand for this long is
worth remarking.
He’s staring at Giriko, now, not blinking quite as much as he ought to and
smiling faintly, as if at some joke the chainsaw doesn’t see. “I don’t know how
you’re defining ‘creepy’ but it must be something I’m not familiar with. Or
maybe you have a phobia that’s affecting your judgment? My means of
transportation is perfectly reasonable.”
“It’s a damn coffin,” Giriko growls, but he’s grinning around the protest
without realizing it. “That’s creepy, kid, maybe you don’t realize cause you
spent so damn long around it but death ain’t a normal thing to idolize.”
“It’s definitely a phobia,” Justin says, as if he’s settled the matter, leaning
back in his chair.
“How the fuck do you figure?” Giriko demands, leaning forward to make up for
Justin’s retreat.
Justin waves a dismissive hand. “You’ve been alive for centuries, Giriko,
obviously there must be some kind of phobia there keeping you from crossing
over.”
“I don’t want to die,” Giriko spits. “That’s perfectly normal. You telling me
you looking forward to it? Cause I can fix that little life problem, if that’s
the issue.”
“I’m not looking forward to death,” Justin says evenly. “But I don’t run from
it either. It will come when it comes.”
“You didn’t leave the goddamn Academy cause you were ready for death to come
for you,” Giriko points out. “You were afraid, everyone’s afraid of something.”
Justin draws back farther in his chair, shifts his weight so he’s actively
retreating instead of just relaxing, and a shadow passes over his face. “I’m
not afraid of death, at least.”
Giriko blinks, takes in the angle of Justin’s shoulders, the leery edge to his
expression, and when he speaks again his voice is audibly softer. “What is it,
then?”
Justin shoves to his feet, clears his throat. “You should come out with me, to
the car. I’ll show you what I mean, it’s not that bad.”
Giriko’s not about to push the subject, if Justin doesn’t want to talk about it
so bad. He gets to his feet himself, stretches and sighs noisily but follows
the blond down the hallway, in spite of the low grumble he maintains more out
of habit than real irritation.
It’s not until they’re at the door to go outside that Justin pauses, hand on
the handle and not turning around.
“Solitude,” he says, clear and careful, voice totally absent any emotion. “I’m
afraid of being alone.”
Giriko’s spine tingles with the admission. His eyes catch on the curl of blond
hair against Justin’s collar, the perfectly straight stiffness of his spine
under his robes, and some very distant part of him, absent the violent impulses
and the constant seething rage, comments that Justin’s just a kid, after all,
that it’s not even an insult to call him that when he’s not even eighteen yet
for all he acts like he has the wisdom of Giriko’s years and then some. Giriko
reaches out to touch Justin’s shoulders, just between his shoulderblades; it’s
a push more than a caress, but it’s the best he’s got to offer. From the way
the blond leans back before he pulls the door open, the feel of his shoulders
relaxing under Giriko’s touch, it’s enough, at least.
They are both silent for a moment as they step out into the monochrome shadows
of the moonlight; then Giriko drops his hand, clears his throat, and drags them
both back to normal, or close enough, by changing the topic with more speed
than grace.
“Not creepy, huh? Coming out to see the damn thing in the dead of night ain’t
gonna help, you know.”
“You don’t think so?” Justin says carefully, glancing back at Giriko. Giriko
recognizes that expression, the angle of that grin and the glint of the blond’s
teeth. That’s flirtation, there, and he’s not entirely sure what Justin has in
mind but he has a pretty good idea. “I think I can persuade you otherwise.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Giriko shoots back, and Justin laughs and turns back
to watch the shadowed path in front of him. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to
keep his footing, but he is maintaining a graceful glide over the obstructions
that keep catching Giriko’s toe or heel so the chainsaw goes stumbling forward
or barks a reflexive curse. By the time they actually make it to the clearing
where Justin’s damn car is parked, Giriko is ready to turn right back around
and stomp his way back to the main building, forest floor be damned.
“Yeah, see, creepy,” he growls, turning almost as soon as the stupid thing is
in sight. “I’m going back, you can have as much damn quality time with the
thing as you want.”
“You said I could try,” Justin says, his voice resonant with more emotion than
Giriko usually hears from him. It’s enough to make him hesitate, the thought of
the walk back is enough to make him stall, and then there’s the sound of cloth
rustling behind him, and that’s enough to get him to turn back around, slowly,
just in case he’s hearing things again.
It wouldn’t be the first time he hallucinated something, but if his ears are
playing tricks on him his eyes are too, and that’s a solid enough figment of
Madness that he’s willing to engage with it. Justin is facing away, towards the
coffin shape attached to the back of his makeshift car, and as Giriko watches
he drops the robes he’s pulled off to the ground and starts  to move in towards
the car. He looks like he’s entirely ignoring the other weapon; Giriko would
believe the act, too, if it weren’t for the tiny motion of Justin glancing back
at him, the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks in the moonlight. Without the
outer layer of his clothing his dark pants and pale undershirt cling to him,
outline his lean arms and narrow shoulders, and the silvery light of the moon
halos off his skin until he looks like he might be glowing.
“That ain’t fair,” Giriko says without moving, and Justin is definitely paying
attention to him because the priest chuckles as he keeps moving in until he can
reach the side of the car itself and push the lid of the trailer open.
“Not fair?” he asks without turning. He shifts his feet, slides a foot free of
his boot and swings his leg around into the back of the car. When he pivots
around to sit in the back his chin is dipped down, his eyes cast in shadow
until Giriko can’t see the pale color for the darkness covering the blond’s
face. He can see the smile, though, the tension pulling at the other’s mouth as
he tugs his other shoe free and lets it drop. “I wasn’t aware justice was high
on your list of priorities, Giriko.”
Giriko’s coming forward -- he’s protesting, not refusing -- and Justin tips his
face up to catch the light for just a moment before he slides away and out of
sight. By the tip Giriko is close enough to actually see Justin’s let his limbs
go limp, is staring up at the chainsaw with an expression so blank that for a
moment he really does look like he might be dead. Giriko is reminded sharply
and vividly of fairy tales he read, or heard, or wrote centuries and centuries
ago, about eternal sleep like death, and he doesn’t say anything but for just a
minute he lets himself appreciate the angular fall of Justin’s limbs, the
pristine unconscious beauty of his eternally youthful face.
Then Justin smiles, slow and careful, and the first spell shatters but a
second, more mundane one, spills heat into Giriko’s veins and a grin across his
mouth.
“You’re kinda an exhibitionist, ain’t you?” he asks, coming up to climb into
the back of the car so he can cast Justin in the shade of his body.
Justin huffs. “Hardly. There’s no one around, right? I’m just interested in
winning the argument.”
“Using any means necessary?” Giriko asks, and when he reaches to shove the hem
of Justin’s shirt up an inch the blond doesn’t protest.
“I like winning,” is all he says, holding Giriko’s gaze, and the chainsaw
laughs.
“Yeah, I see that.” He drops his weight back on a knee between Justin’s spread
legs, and when he tips himself sideways Justin moves in sync in the other
direction, comes up so he’s kneeling over the chainsaw instead of the other way
around. “So if I said I wasn’t convinced?”
Justin heaves a melodramatic sigh. “I guess I’d have to improve my arguments.”
He tugs at the edge of Giriko’s coat, traces the soft fringe down to the front
of the chainsaw’s jeans. The older man is rapidly becoming interested, if not
entirely there yet, and when Justin presses the palm of his hand down against
the denim the chainsaw bucks up into the pressure. That gets him a grin from
the priest, a not-so-gentle shove of the blond’s hand against him before Justin
rocks back on his heels and pulls away so he can reach for the front of his own
pants.
Giriko can see where this is going, and after all, he’s here to be convinced,
so he leans back against the back of the trailer and reaches out to drape his
arms over the edge. He could match Justin’s motions but there’s something to be
said for just watching the distant focus on Justin’s face as he gets his jeans
open, stands so he can slide them free of his legs and drop them over Giriko’s
feet. Then he’s back, coming up on hands and knees to crawl up over the
chainsaw’s body, and Giriko is definitely interested now, between watching
Justin strip and the view of pale limbs he’s getting between the short sleeves
of the blond’s undershirt and the thin fabric of his boxers. He lifts an arm as
the other comes in closer, wraps his arm around so he can shove up the edge of
the priest’s shirt and press his fingers in hard against Justin’s spine. Justin
arches in, takes a whimpering inhale that Giriko suspects is at least slightly
overstated. It doesn’t really matter. Justin’s as interested as Giriko, he’s
wearing far too little to pretend otherwise, and when Giriko pulls the front of
his boxers open and curls his hand around the blond’s cock the shaking laugh he
gets is entirely unfeigned.
He tips his head up, leans back so he’s relaxed in counterpoint to the tension
he’s drawing under Justin body as he starts to stroke over the blond’s length.
The priest’s head is tipped down into shadow again, his eyes shut so Giriko can
just make out the smudging shadow of his lashes against his cheeks, and when he
reaches out his hand hits Giriko’s shoulder so the chainsaw can feel the
steadying force in the contact.
“Is this your plan?” Giriko asks without looking away from Justin’s face.
“Cause I gotta admit, I’m willing to let you try but I’m not sure you jerking
me off in the back of your creepy car is gonna change my mind.”
Justin laughs again, shakes his head and lifts his face up to the moonlight,
opens his eyes to the sky and speaks with his throat drawn tight by the angle
of his head. “Not quite.”
“Quite?” Giriko digs his fingernails into Justin’s spine, pulls him in closer
and sits up enough to press his mouth against the thin fabric of the blond’s
shirt. The cloth goes damp immediately, so when the chainsaw shifts he can feel
the way the moisture makes the clothing cling to Justin’s skin.
“What exactly did you have in mind, then?”
“There’s lube in the pocket of my jeans,” Justin says to the sky. “You prefer
me fucking myself on you to blowjobs, even, don’t you?”
“You prefer fucking yourself on my cock,” Giriko insists, but Justin’s right,
and the calm delivery of the sentiment is enough of a problem that the chainsaw
grimaces and shifts against the pressure of his jeans, and that gives him away.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Justin says, but he’s reaching down to press the palm
of his hand against Giriko’s cock so the chainsaw doesn’t offer a real protest,
just growls, “Which pocket?” as he bucks up against the blond’s touch.
He’s hoping the priest will just tell him, but of course the opportunity to
tease is too good for Justin to pass up. There’s a faint laugh and then the
pressure is gone, Justin’s pulling free and turning back to reach for his
discarded clothing as Giriko hisses in frustration and moves to unzip his
jeans. He doesn’t even bother to get them more than undone; that’s enough to
shove his boxers out of the way, and by the time Justin turns back around
Giriko’s got his fingers tight around himself and is stroking away the
desperate edge of want from under his skin. Justin huffs a sigh, hooks his
fingers over his boxers to push them off rather than reaching out to replace
Giriko’s fingers with his own, or maybe his mouth, as the chainsaw half-hoped
he would.
“One would think with eight hundred years you would have learned some
patience,” Justin observes as he opens the bottle and slicks his fingers.
“One would be fuckin’ wrong,” Giriko says. Justin’s face in the moonlight is
sapping some of the fire from his words; they come out more as a commentary
than an attack, and Justin can certainly hear the difference. The blond tips
his chin down, smiles slow and dark at Giriko as he arches his back and reaches
around behind himself.
“Are you coming around?” he asks, timing the question so the words are coming
out perfectly level in spite of the motion of his arm that says he’s sliding
his fingers into himself. “To my point of view on the car.”
“Not yet,” Giriko grates with more stubbornness than honesty. Giriko can see
how sharply the blond’s spine is curved, the way his body is drawn tight with
the awkward angle as he works himself open. “You want some help with that?”
Justin glances down at him, grins so fast and so bright that for a moment he
looks his age. “You’re always too rough, Giriko.”
“And you always like it,” Giriko points out. Justin hesitates, tips his head,
shifts one shoulder in a shrug that might be neutrality and might be agreement.
Giriko knows he’s being taunted -- it’s generally a safe bet, with Justin -
- but he can’t help the flare of irritation under his skin, the grab he makes
for the blond’s hips as he lets his hold on himself go.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, bumping his head hard against Justin’s chest. “Stop
playing around, you little shit, are you going to ride me or are you just gonna
be a tease?”
“I don’t see why I have to choose,” Justin points out, but he’s sliding his
fingers free and reaching down to grip Giriko’s cock with slippery fingers.
“You lack imagination for these kinds of things.”
“I just keep my mind on the goal.” Giriko jerks Justin forward to emphasize,
pulling hard enough that Justin abandons his grip to throw out a hand and catch
himself on Giriko’s shoulder.
“You miss out on the anticipation, though,” he sighs, as if Giriko is a wayward
soul accidentally slipping down the path to hell and not a deliberate sinner
well beyond any hope of salvation. “There’s a moment --” he shifts his weight,
leans over his knees, comes down lower so Giriko’s cock bumps against him for a
moment. “-- When everything is about to happen but hasn’t yet.” He wiggles
slightly, shifts himself just barely to the left, and Giriko can feel himself
fit into place although Justin’s still hovering over him. “It’s almost better
than the event.”
Giriko looks up. Justin is staring out into the darkness of the forest, his
eyes gone dreamy and out-of-focus like they sometimes do. His hands on Giriko’s
shoulders are gentle, absent as if he’s not really present, as if he’s
forgetten who and where he is.
“You’re insane,” Giriko growls, and jerks hard on Justin’s hips to pull him
down bodily onto the chainsaw’s length. The blond’s eyes come back into focus,
his hands tighten into fists, and when he groans and curls in against the
chainsaw’s body Giriko laughs more from the pleasure of his reaction than even
the sensation around his cock.
“Don’t forget about me,” Giriko hisses, leaning in close so his teeth brush
against Justin’s ear when he talks. “I’ll make sure you remember if I have to.”
“I thought I was supposed to be convincing you,” Justin says without lifting
his head from the chainsaw’s shoulder. The hand making a fist in Giriko’s shirt
relaxes as the blond catches a breath; then he straightens, come back upright
so Giriko can feel the shift of the priest’s body around him even before Justin
has really moved at all.
“You’re too rough,” the blond chastises, but he’s moving to bring himself up on
the chainsaw’s length in spite of his complaint, and the usual controlled
amusement on his features has cracked into softer sincerity. His eyes are in
focus, too, locked on Giriko’s face just like Giriko wants them to be, and the
chainsaw doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches out to wrap his fingers hard
around the blond’s length.
“Really.” He jerks, hard and fast, and Justin’s back curves in that arch again,
the blond hisses with halfhearted protest that doesn’t undermine the way his
cock twitches in Giriko’s hold. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe anything,” Justin manages. He’s smiling in spite of his
words, the expression on his face making them very nearly tender, and when
Giriko strokes over him again his eyelids flutter in what looks nothing like
protest anymore.
“Nope,” Giriko agrees. He pushes at Justin’s hip, urging the priest to move,
and after a moment Justin does, takes the hint and starts to find a rhythm as
he moves himself on the other man. “‘S better that way. You believe in too damn
much.”
“Mm. Maybe,” Justin almost-agrees. His breathing is coming faster, his voice
starting to quiver as he speaks. Giriko tightens his grip, strokes fast and
out-of-time, and is rewarded with the blond losing his breath entirely in a
gasp before he recovers what little composure he has left. “Maybe we balance
each other.”
“Don’t group me with you,” Giriko hisses, but his hold on Justin’s hip slides
around to his back, his fingers settle in the curve of the blond’s spine. “I -
- I ain’t nothing like you.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Justin says. He’s talking fast, blurting words between
the sharp inhales he’s taking as he shifts his knee and increases the pace of
his motion. Giriko’s the one who has to focus on breathing for a moment, and
while he’s tensing his fingers against Justin’s back the blond keeps talking.
“I said we balance each other, that has nothing to do with similarities.”
“Fuck,” Giriko says, and when he pulls in Justin loses his balance and half-
falls against the older man’s chest. “Just fucking stop talking for five
seconds and let me jerk you off.”
Justin laughs, the sound so sincere Giriko almost doesn’t hear the hysteria
under it, but then he presses his forehead into the chainsaw’s shoulder, goes
quiet except for the gasp of air, and if it’s not five seconds it isn’t long
before Giriko feels him draw tense in anticipation a moment before the blond
sighs and shudders and comes over the chainsaw’s fingers.
Giriko doesn’t bother with trying to be patient. Justin is still leaning in
against him, breathing hard into his shirt, when he lets the blond go and sets
his hands steady on the other’s hips to keep him in place while Giriko thrusts
up into him. He can’t get much movement with Justin’s weight on top of him but
he can get enough, particularly when Justin laughs into his shoulder and turns
his head so he can lick against the chainsaw’s neck. Giriko groans at the
contact, drags Justin down hard onto him, and then reality is washed warm and
white for a moment in the wave of pleasure that spills through him.
Neither of them move for a moment. In the aftershocks of pleasure Giriko is
content to drop heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion against the back of the
trailer, turn his head to let Justin keep kissing at the edge of his collar.
The priest seems just as satisfied; at least, he’s not making any effort to
move, just working his way up Giriko’s neck to his ear until he can bite at the
piercings set into the chainsaw’s skin.
“Giriko,” he finally says, his voice slow and soft.
“Yeah?” Even the usual grate of Giriko’s voice is smoothed for the moment,
pulled down to a low rumble by the peace of the moment.
“It’s not creepy.”
Giriko opens his eyes, stares blankly at the forest for a moment. Then he
laughs, sharp and so loud the sound echoes off the trees around them.
“It is too,” he says, but his hand lingering at Justin’s hip comes around to
his spine and pulls until the priest falls properly against Giriko’s chest.
“But that’s okay, I don’t mind a little creepy.”
He can feel Justin’s smile against his skin.
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