Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1304092.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Mildly_Dubious_Consent, BDSM, Rope_Bondage, Power_Play, Topping_from_the
      Bottom, Dominance, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-21 Words: 4368
****** Capable ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Giriko realizes real fast that he has misjudged the situation."
     Giriko questions Justin's ability to dominate him and Justin answers.
Giriko realizes real fast that he has misjudged the situation.
He’s not trying to provoke a fight; that’s the ironic part. Justin’s moving
around the house doing...whatever it is Justin does, something productive or
shit like that, and Giriko is thinking out loud in an attempt to win a hiss or
a laugh from the blond. He’s wandered onto the topic of Justin age, which isn’t
dangerous in itself, but it draws him down onto the subject that ultimately is
his undoing.
“Seriously though, thirteen years old?” he’s shouting to Justin in the other
room, and the priest laughs loud enough that Giriko just catches the sound. “I
can’t believe they sent you out as a Death Weapon that young. God, I would have
laughed in your face if you had come after me.”
“A lot of people did,” Justin says as he comes back into the room. He’s got
something in his hands, a book and a stack of papers, and he’s shuffling
through the paper without looking at Giriko directly. “It was the last thing
they did, in most cases.” He sets the book on the coffee table without taking
his eyes off the envelopes in his hand. “It wore off a couple years ago.”
“What, you mean no one laughs at you now?” Giriko teases, pushing himself up on
one elbow on the couch. “You’re still just a skinny blond teenager for all your
robes, you don’t have an ounce of natural intimidation in you.”
“Mm.” Justin’s tone indicates he’s listening without any hint of agreement. “I
held my own against you well enough.”
“Not anymore you don’t,” Giriko grins. “Though I could show you if you don’t
remember which of us is in charge.”
Justin’s eyebrows come up and he finally looks at the chainsaw, cutting his
eyes sideways and laughing. “I think you’re confusing combat and a consenting
relationship, Giriko. Not that it’d be the first time.”
Giriko scoffs and rolls over onto his back, one arm still folded behind his
head as a pillow. “You couldn’t dominate me if you wanted to.”
When he looks back at the situation in his memory, that’s what did it. It’s
clear in the way Justin’s shoulders go stiff and his whole head actually turns
towards the chainsaw, the way his hand with the papers comes down like he’s
forgotten to hold it up. At the moment he speaks, though, Giriko’s grinning at
the ceiling and thinking about getting Justin’s clothes off, and he misses the
subtle signs.
“You don’t think I’d come out on top?”
Justin’s tone is deceptively casual, calm and steady like he’s just asking for
clarification. Giriko laughs sharply and shifts into a more comfortable angle
on the couch.
“I’m sayin’ you couldn’t.” He enunciates the word carefully so no part of his
meaning is lost. “Not without the element of surprise, and you’d lose that real
fast.”
There’s a pull, a jerk of gravity sideways and up, and Giriko hits the
floor hard, lands on his hip so hard it startles a yell of pain from him even
before he’s realized that Justin has a fistful of his shirt and a foot angled
against his waist.
“Ow!” he yelps, and then Justin is so close to his face that he’s flinching
back instinctively from the intrusion into his personal space. “What
the fuck was that?”
“Can’t?” Justin says, hissing the word like it has a lot more sibilants than it
actually does. His eyes are clear and cold and show absolutely no sign of the
heat of irritation under his words and it is one of the more terrifying things
Giriko has ever seen. “I can’t dominate you, is that what you said?” Giriko
realizes he is on the floor; judging from the hand in his shirt Justin pulled
him off, but he doesn’t remember the blond moving at all, doesn’t have any idea
how the smaller man managed to drag him off the couch like he weighed nothing
at all.
“What?” Giriko says again, hazy with confusion. Justin’s foot tucks under his
hip, and before he has a chance to react he’s moving again, flipping forward so
he’s facedown on the floor, and all of Justin’s weight is in the small of his
back. There’s a hand against his shoulder pushing him down and another fisting
in his hair to pull his head back so his throat is suddenly strained and it’s
hard to take a breath.
“Say it again.” Justin’s voice is weirdly resonant with authority, rumbling in
a way that goes all down Giriko’s spine like a touch. The chainsaw swallows
hard, twists his hands flat on the floor in an attempt to push up, but Justin
leans forward to press Giriko’s shoulder down and the chainsaw doesn’t move
anywhere even though he should, he ought to be able to throw Justin off without
any trouble.
“Tell me again.” The words are cold and icy and they shouldn’t be running
through Giriko’s blood like fire. “Tell me again, Giriko, how I can’t dominate
you.”
There are several things that Giriko thinks. One is that he had no idea Justin
was so heavy. Another is that he wasn’t intending to get this reaction. But the
last -- the reckless one -- is that he is intrigued, and he has been really
terrible at not listening to the voice of interest. There’s not a lot that
surprises him anymore, after all; he has to take advantage of those things
that do.
So he swallows hard, and shoves just to make a point, and he’s grinning when he
says, “You can’t dominate me, Justin.”
“Really.” The hand in his hair lets go and he drops his head forward to take a
deep breath. Narrow fingers close around his wrist for a moment before there is
the tingle-tell of a weapon-shift and the fragility of bone reforms into the
weight of steel around Giriko’s wrist. Justin moves, startlingly quick again,
his hand and weight lifting in one moment. Giriko rolls, twisting sharp to get
his weight under him again because this is a fight, now, but Justin’s still got
the cuff around his arm, and when the chainsaw pulls with all his strength the
priest just rocks back and looks unimpressed.
“Cute,” he offers, and that’s a flare of anger as well as interest in Giriko’s
blood. The chainsaw hisses and Justin smiles. It doesn’t touch his eyes at all
and, yes, that’s all interest again.
“Come on,” he says, with no recognition of Giriko’s prone position, and he
starts moving before Giriko can even consider not-reacting to the implied
order. Justin’s hold on his arm jerks painfully at his shoulder; Giriko hisses
and twists to relieve the pressure and then he’s sliding across the floor,
Justin is just dragging his weight like it’s nothing. He’d be impressed if it
didn’t hurt so damn much, but it does and he scrambles to his feet while Justin
doesn’t slow, so by the time he’s got his balance under him he’s moving forward
in the priest’s wake like a fucking dog.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, and reaches out with his free hand to get a handful of
blond hair.
The angle is all wrong for a reaction, he should be coming straight from
Justin’s blind spot, but the priest pivots on one foot and slaps the chainsaw’s
incoming hand away with stinging force. The fingers of his free hand close
tight around Giriko’s wrist while the chainsaw is still hissing from the snap
of pain, though Justin doesn’t bother changing into shackle-form for his second
hand. For a breath they stand still in the hallway, Justin staring flat and
cold at Giriko with their arms crisscrossed between them.
Then Justin sighs and says, “I’d rather not knock you out to make my point, as
I’d need to wait for you to regain consciousness and I’m not sure I’d not break
your nose, but I can if you’d prefer.”
Giriko gapes at the blond, wordless with shock for a moment. Justin tips his
head back, just barely, and Giriko didn’t know he could recognize a headbutt
before it comes but it turns out he can, his whole body tries to flinch back
from the impending impact.
“Yes, okay,” he blurts before he can think through the surrender. He doesn’t
think he’d be able to say it if he did think about it, broken nose or not, but
the adrenaline rushing into him is saying flight for the first time
in years and it seizes control of his voice before he can stop it.
Justin smiles, and tips his head, and lets Giriko’s hand go. “Good.” He turns
away, like the issue is fully resolved, and when he keeps walking and Giriko
keeps trailing him the chainsaw realizes that it is.
The priest doesn’t let Giriko go until they reach the bedroom, and then he does
it so abruptly that Giriko has the full use of his hands for almost a minute
before he processes what’s going on. He doesn’t call his chains up, for one
thing because he doesn’t want to actually hurt Justin but also because he wants
the satisfaction of pummeling the blond with just his fists, but he lunges
across the room without giving the priest the warning of a curse this time.
Justin doesn’t anticipate the attack this time -- Giriko gets his hand around
the blond’s shoulder, angles his arm fully around the priest’s throat, and for
a wild moment he thinks he’s won. But he keeps moving forward, much farther
than he expects, and just as his body is panicking about its spiraling center
of gravity and flinching from the impending collision with the ground he hits
the mattress instead. The shock of a soft impact rather than a hard one is
almost more irritating than hitting the floor would be, and while he’s still
recovering from that Justin slides away and out of contact for a moment.
“What the fuck,” Giriko starts to say as he pushes himself up onto his elbows,
but he only has time to locate Justin, moving in towards his ankle, before the
blond pulls hard against his leg and drags him sideways on the bed. “Ow!”
“Shut up,” Justin says, still in that ice-cold Death Weapon tone, and Giriko’s
mouth closes automatically. The priest is looping cord around his ankle -
- where did he even get that -- and has knelt down to tie it to the corner of
the bedframe before Giriko has entirely processed what’s happening.
“Hey, wait, what are you --” he starts as Justin ties off the knot and comes
back up, and he swings himself forward to reach for the tie against his ankle.
The impact across his face is more startling than it is painful, and it
is very painful. Giriko stops moving entirely in favor of drawing a hand up to
cover the sting of Justin’s fingers on his skin, and Justin grips the
chainsaw’s other ankle and jerks his leg out to the other corner of the frame
while Giriko is briefly stalled out.
“Woah, wait, what the fuck Justin?” Giriko manages. He can feel the individual
fingers coming up in red pain across his skin. “Did you just slap me?”
“You were resisting,” Justin says calmly. “I’m sorry, were there other
restrictions upon my actions to subdue you?” He ties off the second bond and
comes up to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Uh,” Giriko says.
Justin’s smile touches his eyes this time, or maybe it’s that the ice in his
eyes bleeds into the sharp corners of his smile. “Let me know if you change
your mind.” He grabs one of Giriko’s wrists in one hand and shoves the chainsaw
flat to the bed with his other, climbing up onto the mattress so he can
straddle the other weapon’s torso.
It shouldn’t be a turn-on. Giriko prides himself on his dominance, on being in
control, and if tying Justin up drives him crazy the opposite should be true,
this should be nothing like appealing. But when the blond leans forward to loop
the cord around the headboard it draws the front of his jeans awfully close to
Giriko’s mouth, and the chainsaw’s cock doesn’t think to check in with
rationality before it starts to go hard.
Giriko himself doesn’t really think through his movement when he comes forward;
he still has one hand free, at least, and he takes advantage of the angle and
Justin’s apparently precarious balance to grab the priest’s ass and pull him
forward so he half-falls against Giriko’s mouth. When the chainsaw opens his
mouth and blows hot against the thick denim of the other’s jeans he can feel
how hard Justin is too, can feel the priest buck forward against the contact in
the moment before he recollects where he is.
He does remember, though, and a hand comes down to tangle into the chainsaw’s
hair again and force his head back down to the mattress.
“No,” Justin hisses, and Giriko laughs, because he has lost already and if he’s
going to go down he’s going to have fun doing it. “I decide what we do, you
need to wait.” He wiggles free of Giriko’s hold and pins the chainsaw’s arm out
with more force than is necessary, and when Giriko groans in protest he lets
the grunt of pain go a little darker than it needs to in his throat. He’s
watching for it, this time, so he sees the flicker of Justin’s eyes to his
face. The priest doesn’t smile -- his mouth is still fixed in concentration -
- and his hold doesn’t falter, but his breath stutters for a moment, and Giriko
grins and lets the blond finish tying him down without more futile struggle.
“What’re you going to do to me?” he asks as Justin comes up from the last knot.
“You left my clothes on. You planning on just leaving me here to reflect on my
sins?”
“I could cut them off you,” Justin says, tone perfectly calm, and Giriko’s
breath goes dead for a moment. “But I’m not going to.” His fingers come down to
the front of the chainsaw’s pants and he opens the button one-handed, a twist
of fingers and thumb that presses what feels like accidental pressure against
the chainsaw’s cock. “I don’t need that much access anyway.” He’s not looking
at Giriko’s face when he tugs the chainsaw’s clothes down the inches he needs
to free the other man’s length from its constraints, and he’s not particularly
gentle. Elastic catches and tugs down until Giriko hisses in pain, and then his
boxers come free and Justin turns away without even touching him, barely
pausing to look.
Giriko makes a whine of protest, twists his head up as far as he can get it off
the bed as Justin slides sideways to stand next to the mattress. “Hey,
don’t go, you fucking won, okay? I was wrong, don’t leave me here.”
Justin turns his back on the chainsaw, but Giriko can hear the smile in his
voice when he speaks. “I’m not going anywhere, idiot. I like to be comfortable,
that’s all.” His shirt hits the floor and he reaches to the front of his pants
as he toes his shoes off. Giriko can see the lean muscle across his shoulders
shift as he gets his jeans open, and then Justin’s stepping free of the denim
and coming back with nothing but creamy skin, and Giriko can’t quite breathe.
He’s seen Justin naked before, obviously, but he rarely gets such a clear view,
and never when he’s not already reaching out for the priest. Justin is moving
quick, slithering up onto the bed and leaning far across the chainsaw so the
taut skin of his stomach brushes against the chainsaw’s cock and Giriko hisses
and bucks up for more. Justin is moving too damn fast, though, straightening
almost before he has touched Giriko at all, and he’s not meeting Giriko’s
desperate gaze, just sitting back on his heels and looking down at the bottle
in his hands like it demands his full attention. Giriko is pretty sure he’s
never been more irritated with the lube, particularly since usually it’s
a good sign. But Justin is looking at the bottle, turning it over in his hands
like there’s something to see, and after the efficiency of his actions up till
now the delay is agonizing.
“For fuck’s sake, Justin,” Giriko says, pulling at the cords. They show no sign
of giving way -- he didn’t really expect them too -- but the tension and
resistance is a bit of a relief. “You can fuck me if you just hurry it
the fuck up, wouldn’t that really prove you’re in charge?”
Justin’s eyes flick up to his face and there is a burst of a smile across his
features before he reins it back. He catches and holds Giriko’s gaze, the curve
still clinging to his lips, and Giriko is so focused on the blue that he
twitches in surprise when the priest’s fingers brush against the inside of his
thighs, just inside the top of his pulled-down jeans.
“Really.” Justin’s smile is getting wider and looking more dangerous as it does
so. “Could I. I thought you didn’t bottom, ever.”
“I don’t care.” Justin’s thumb is brushing against Giriko’s balls, like an
accident, and every touch is sparking heat into Giriko’s veins and
not quite where he wants it. “I don’t care, anything you want, please, just
don’t make me keep waiting.”
“Mm.” Justin draws his hand away and Giriko groans at the loss before he
realizes that the blond is working the top of the bottle open with both hands,
now. “Well. I appreciate your willingness to capitulate --” he sounds taunting,
like he’s accepting tribute from a supplicant, and Giriko can’t even manage to
be irritated. “-- But I really would prefer to be riding you. So that’s what
we’ll be doing.” He sets the bottle aside, both hands shine-slick with lube,
and raises an eyebrow at the chainsaw spread-eagled in front of him. “I hope
you don’t have any complaints?”
Giriko shakes his head, quick. “No, no complaints, jesus Justin what do
you think?”
Justin laughs. It’s the first natural sound he’s made since flipping Giriko off
the couch in the first place.
The second comes when he reaches around behind himself with slippery fingers.
Even Justin can’t feign the raw sound in that moan, or the way his face screws
up with that very particular look that rides the line between pain and
pleasure. Giriko is watching Justin’s face, since he can’t really see what the
priest’s hand is doing, but he can feel his cock twitch with another flush of
blood in response, and then Justin’s face relaxes into just straight pleasure
as his shoulder shifts and Giriko groans and has to look away.
“Fuck,” he blurts, and Justin laughs although Giriko doesn’t dare look at him.
“Sorry,” and that’s breathy enough that Giriko can imagine his expression, he
doesn’t even have to be looking at the blond. “I’m leaving you out,” and then
slippery fingers close around him and Giriko whines an inhale as if he’s been
hit.
Justin’s fingers are so slippery there’s almost no friction at all, just the
slide of lube and a hint of pressure, and the priest isn’t setting any kind of
a rhythm, but even with his eyes shut Giriko can tell that the blond’s hand
against him is moving in a weird jerky counterpoint to the fingers the priest
has inside himself, and the thought is enough to drag his breath choking and
too-fast from his lungs. Justin is laughing on almost every exhale; he doesn’t
have much air himself, and the sound keeps twisting into a pseudo-moan, but he
sounds delighted and thrilled and Giriko just wants his hands free so he can
pull Justin down onto him. As it is he can do nothing of the sort, of course,
but he keeps pulling at the restraints anyway, twisting and jerking until he
can feel the skin on his wrists rubbing raw and too desperate to care about the
marks that will show for days.
Finally Justin’s hand slides away. Giriko takes a breath, so certain of the
next action that he doesn’t even protest, and opens his eyes just as Justin
leans in, braces himself against the chainsaw’s shirt so he can get a leg up
over the older man’s hips and straddle him properly. The blond weighs almost
nothing -- Giriko has no idea how he managed to pin the chainsaw to the ground
before -- but he barely has a breath to notice this before Justin slides
backward and his ass bumps against Giriko’s slick cock. Giriko hisses in a
breath, and Justin laughs again, and his hands form into fists to brace himself
as he lifts his hips and tilts backward, wiggles to fit himself in place.
Giriko rocks up even though he can’t go anywhere, instinct winning out over
situational awareness, and he takes a sharp breath of anticipation just as
Justin does. There’s a moment of resistance, so he thinks Justin’s fucked up
the angle for just a breath; then they slide together, and the priest comes
down onto him and Giriko whines at the start of sensation.
It takes several thudding beats of his heart before he realizes that that’s all
he is getting, just the start. He whines and pulls again, tries to shove up but
he can’t get any traction and can’t get any slack from the cord, and Justin
laughs again.
“Fuck you,” Giriko gasps.
“Language,” Justin chastises, and lowers himself farther before Giriko can
manage to form a decent response. The blond’s slick and hot and tight, he
only barely opened himself up enough, and Giriko is pretty sure he’d be hurting
Justin if he had his way because there is no way he could go this slow if he
had his way. But he doesn’t, and Justin is going that slow, so it’s just an
agonizingly delayed rise in sensation, sweeping down his cock and up his spine
and into his blood so he’s panting for air by the time Justin has taken all of
him in.
Justin pauses at the bottom, lets his hold on Giriko’s shirt go so he can
smooth the fabric over the other’s chest, and Giriko can’t look away from the
blond’s face but Justin isn’t meeting his eyes. He’s not sure Justin’s
seeing anything, from the blank quality to his stare, and then the priest
starts to come back up and Giriko’s not consciously seeing much of anything
himself.
Justin doesn’t set a rhythm, per se; he keeps shifting his hands, from shoulder
to chest to Giriko’s thigh, at one point, but the movement in his arms keeps
shifting his weight and his angle until Giriko can’t even try to thrust up
anymore, until the chainsaw subsides against the mattress and tries to remember
to breathe semi-regularly through the waves of sensation as Justin moves over
him. Eventually fingers settle against his chest, pressing hard into his
ribcage through his still-buttoned shirt, and when he tips his chin down
Justin’s head is hanging down and his free hand is pumping steady over his
length all out of time with the movement of his hips.
Giriko can tell when Justin gets close from the way his movement on the
chainsaw’s cock goes jerky and too-fast; Justin doesn’t even allow the illusion
that he’s moving for Giriko’s pleasure. His eyes are shut and his lips are
parted in concentration while he chases down his own satisfaction; it is
clearly fully incidental that part of that involves fucking himself on the
chainsaw’s cock. That shouldn’t be hot, either. Giriko should be angry that
Justin is so clearly using him, should be fighting for more control or at least
vocally protesting. He’s not. He can barely breathe, can’t get enough moisture
into his mouth to speak, and he’s staring at the blond so hard he keeps
forgetting to blink. He can see the tension creasing Justin’s forehead, the
impending pleasure that catches white teeth against the other man’s lip, and
he’s watching the priest’s face when Justin tips his head back and groans
wordlessly, cock twitching under his fingers as he comes across Giriko’s shirt
and over the fingers splayed on the chainsaw’s chest.
Giriko is close by the time Justin opens his eyes to meet the other weapon’s
glazed stare, close enough that he thinks he might come just from Justin
sliding off him even if the blond decides to leave him as he is. But the priest
shifts his hand from Giriko’s chest to his shoulder, and brings his other hand
up to the chainsaw’s lips, and when Giriko opens his mouth he starts to move
his hips again, fast and rhythmic this time. Giriko sucks against the fingers
in his mouth, traces his tongue to lick Justin’s knuckles clean, and comes hard
inside the priest with the salt burn of Justin’s come at the back of his
throat.
Justin draws his fingers free as the last of Giriko’s orgasm is rippling
through him, sits back on his heels, and waits until the chainsaw’s eyes come
back into focus on his face.
“So.” He lifts his hand to his mouth to lick the last of the sticky liquid off
his skin and Giriko whimpers. “What were you saying?”
Giriko chokes a laugh. He looks up at the ceiling, doesn’t find any support
there, and when he looks back at the priest Justin’s eyebrows are raised and he
knows he’s lost.
“You can absolutely dominate me,” he admits, and Justin smiles warm. “Anytime
you want, in fact.”
“I knew I could convince you to see reason,” Justin observes, sliding free.
“Any chance of getting shown reason again?” Giriko asks the ceiling as the
priest slips off the bed and starts pulling at the cord around his ankle.
There is a laugh, natural again, and as the restraint comes free damp fingers
brush gentle over his ankle. “I’m sure we can manage something.”
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