Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1080610.
  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, Masochism, Bondage, Dubious_Consent, Orgasm_Delay, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, No_Plot/Plotless, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-12 Words: 3974
****** Chains ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     “It’s Justin’s fault. It is always Justin’s fault.” Giriko has never
     had much patience to begin with, and by the end of the day he is
     entirely out.
Notes
     Somewhat influenced by this fanart: http://i.imgur.com/ut5Al18.png
     If you know a source for the above, please tell me so I can give
     credit!
It’s all because the priest taunts him with it.
It’s Justin’s fault. It is always Justin’s fault. Left to his own devices
Giriko would...well. Healthy relationships have never really been his thing,
but even in 800 years of wives and children and mistresses and boyfriends and
fuckbuddies Giriko can’t remember a single person who could grind through his
patience as quickly as the fucking priest.
The chainsaw is bored, as usual, and hornier than usual by the time Justin gets
back from whatever stupid Death Weapon duties he had today. He has
been very patient, waited all day without leaving the house like he’s supposed
to. He didn’t break any furniture; he even tried reading, although it was a
very brief attempt and the book came away rather the worse for wear as a
result. He deserves a reward, and he wants a fuck, and then Justin comes in the
door wrapped up like a skinny blond present in those stupid robes.
“Jus-tin,” Giriko calls from the couch in the living room, loud so Justin will
hear him over his headphones. “I’m bored.”
The words aren’t angry. He’s spent the last hour casually imagining the
various entertainment they can have once Justin is back, so the sound is closer
to a purring rumble in his throat than the razor-edge of irritation.
“Sorry,” Justin says, and his tone is anything but. Footsteps come down the
hallway and Giriko sits up just in time for Justin to brush right past him,
close enough to grab and totally ignoring him in favor of shuffling through a
stack of papers in his hand.
“Hey,” Giriko starts, but Justin keeps walking. “Hey, priest.” His voice is
grating now but Justin still doesn’t turn as he rounds the corner into the
kitchen and the associated table. “Hey!” He vaults over the back of the couch
and storms after the blond.
Justin doesn’t turn, doesn’t look up from the stack of paperwork he’s
considering on the table. “Giriko, I’m busy,” he says to the table.
“And I’m bored.”
“So amuse yourself.”
“Why should I when you’re here?” Giriko demands, reaching out to catch Justin’s
wrist and leaning in to nip at the priest’s neck.
Justin whips his hand around to shake off the chainsaw’s hold, clipping the
edge of Giriko’s face with the back of his fingers as they go by. “Go away,
Giriko.”
Giriko hisses at the impact with his face and his rising irritation hardens
into anger proper. He grabs at Justin’s wrist again, bruisingly hard this time,
and when Justin tries to repeat his previous trick he holds tight and yanks the
priest away from the table.
“Don’t shoo me like I’m some fucking pest,” Giriko hisses into Justin’s face.
The priest leans back, and his blue eyes are hard with irritation, but he looks
significantly less fazed that Giriko would like.
“Don’t pester me, then,” he snaps back, pulling at Giriko’s hold uselessly. “I
am busy, I don’t have time for this right now.”
“You seem to be under the false impression that I give any kind of a fuck about
your work,” Giriko shoots back. “I am bored and you are here and your work is
going to having to fucking wait.”
Justin opens his mouth to say something and Giriko swings in hard enough that
their noses crush together before he can set his teeth hard against the
priest’s lower lip and bite until blood fills his mouth. Justin makes a whining
noise that sounds like hurt and Giriko lets him go. He immediately regrets this
decision as Justin spits his own blood over the chainsaw’s face, eyes going
darker blue with fury.
Giriko hisses, swipes at his face with his free hand, and when it comes away
smeared red with Justin’s blood he gives up on cleaning himself up and settles
for seizing Justin’s throat in a secondary attempt to get some sort of response
from the blond.
Justin smirks, lopsided and taunting, and Giriko shoves hard with the hand on
his throat, stepping forward and pushing back until Justin’s shoulders hit the
nearest wall behind him. The priest chokes, Giriko can feel his throat working
for air, but as soon as the chainsaw loosens his grip the priest takes a deep
breath and visibly collects his instinctive panic.
“Okay, you have my attention,” he manages, although the sound is somewhat
strained around the pressure on his throat. “What exactly do you want?”
“I want a fuck, you shithead,” Giriko growls into Justin’s face where the
priest is sure to read his lips. “I thought you’d be interested.”
Justin rolls his eyes, and when he speaks his voice is weighted with sarcasm in
spite of the strain. “Absolutely, because I live to serve your sexual
appetite.”
“Are you saying you’re not interested?” Giriko hisses. He pushes his fingers
deeper into Justin’s windpipe, so the priest gasps and he can hear the whine of
air as he tries to breathe. When he digs his hips against Justin’s and angles
his leg between the priest’s the blond tries to wiggle away, but there’s not
really anywhere for him to go, and the robes don’t do enough to disguise the
dig of his erection.
“That’s what I thought.” Giriko tightens his fingers again, so for a moment
Justin is trying to breathe and getting nothing at all, and then lets go in
favor of holding the priest’s shoulder back against the wall.
Justin sucks in air, exhales, inhales again, and glares at Giriko like his
arousal is the chainsaw’s fault. Of course it is, for some definitions of
“fault.”
“Fuck off,” he spits, and Giriko laughs, legitimately amused in spite of his
burning frustration.
“Yeah, you seem real convinced of your own determination.” He leans in, licks a
trail of saliva along the line of Justin’s collar, and the priest shivers a
minute before he’s able to rein in his reaction. When Giriko bites him hard
enough to break skin with the edge of sharp teeth Justin groans and rocks his
hips up; it’s almost as gratifying as the taste of blood on his tongue, the way
the blond has stopped fighting his hold.
Then Justin gets his hands on Giriko’s shoulder, shoves back, and it’s not as
hard as Giriko knows he can push but it is enough to send the chainsaw
stumbling back a step or two, and that’s not acceptable, not with anger and
arousal boiling together under Giriko’s skin. He surges forward, slams Justin
hard against the wall and pins him there with his extra weight and extra
strength, and this time when the priest pushes Giriko doesn’t flinch or shift.
He shoves back, leans in to catch the cord of one of those fucking headphones
with his teeth and pull it free so he can exhale loud against Justin’s ear. The
priest jerks away, twists his mouth into the start of some sort of angry
denial, and Giriko laughs so low he can feel the vibration hum through metal
and bone.
“You’re gonna be that way, huh?” He breathes against the priest’s ear, and
though Justin pulls away Giriko is close enough now to hear the stutter in the
blond’s breathing, close enough to feel the moment of submission flicker
through the lean body against his before the priest recalls himself, goes stiff
and still with barely-restrained fight again. It makes Giriko laugh, legitimate
amusement with none of the gentleness usually associated to the sound. He
shrugs one-shouldered, stretches one arm out clear of Justin’s skin and the
wall both. “It’s not like I can’t handle you like this too.”
The chains come up quick, absent the usual tearing edge they have and the
faster for that. The first loop goes around Justin’s wrists; although it
doesn’t do much to stop his fight it does keep his hands back behind him, out
of the way and out of commission, and a plan is starting to come together in
Giriko’s head, the faint outlines rising into clarity as he considers. There
are some advantages to being a weapon, techniques Giriko can’t manage at any
kind of a distance for combat but that come in extremely handy this close-up.
The second loop tangles around Justin’s leg, catches and holds his weight while
Giriko considers alternatives and finally just embeds the other end in the
ceiling. Justin sighs, put-upon at this insult to his house. His eyes are still
steady, totally unafraid in spite of his lack of balance and lack of manual
dexterity now. Giriko is winning, Giriko is in charge, there is blood staining
the white collar of Justin’s robes and still oozing from his lip and the damn
priest just looks at him like he’s beneath notice. Giriko growls and that
doesn’t get a response either, he can feel fury twisting sharp-edged under his
skin, so he pulls a chain up along his leg -- saw-toothed this time, maybe it
was a mistake to not use those all along -- and kicks out, tears the blades
through the layers of cloth Justin is wearing.
The priest jerks backward, loses his precarious balance so he falls against the
wall, so the teeth just destroy fabric and don’t quite break skin. Giriko takes
the saw back down, steps back into arms’ reach and closes his fists around the
torn robes.
“You could have killed me,” Justin hisses, eyes narrowed now, dark with anger,
and that’s good, the reaction is a betrayal of his calm and yes that is what
Giriko wanted.
“Lucky you’ve got such good reflexes,” he says in deliberate imitation of the
priest’s perpetual calm, and Justin shoves off the wall with his teeth bared.
Giriko doesn’t know what he intends to do, with his weapon-ready hands locked
behind his back, but he slides back anyway to avoid finding out.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a terrifying Death Weapon,” the chainsaw drawls. It’s easy
to be amused when Justin’s angry, even when the blond is unrestrained and
actually dangerous; sometimes Giriko feels like they share one pool of rage, so
when the priest finally snaps Giriko can relax into delight. He pulls at the
half-shredded clothes, yanks most of the fabric free; the collar catches at the
priest’s neck and a determined seam holds on at his waist, but other than an
involuntary hiss at the pull Justin doesn’t react, doesn’t look frightened or
aware of his vulnerability at all. There’s just that fury in his eyes, tension
in his shoulders because he’s still pulling at the chains on his wrists, aiming
for slackness that Giriko knows perfectly well won’t come.
The chainsaw steps in, reaches out to touch the outline of bones against
Justin’s hip, and the priest wiggles and snaps at him like he’s going to do
damage with his teeth. Giriko catches the movement, shoves back against
Justin’s shoulder so he’s against the wall again, and goes back to sliding his
hand along the other weapon’s exposed skin.
“You’re so fucking skinny,” he says, wrapping his fingers around Justin’s
narrow hipbone. “You’re like some sort of goddamn bird, I could break every
bone in your body barehanded.” He brings his hand up, along the faint outline
of ribs. He can feel Justin’s breathing going ragged under his hand, can see
the movement of his lungs when he sucks in air, but the priest is still glaring
at him like he’s fully clothed and fully free and is just biding his time to
strike a retaliatory blow.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Giriko smirks.
“How am I looking at you?” Justin spits back without a change in his
expression.
Giriko rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t like this. Like you aren’t getting off
on being tied up and helpless while I do whatever I want to you.”
Justin pushes forward; the motion lacks any force but it does carry his
emotional point well. “Who said I was liking this?”
Giriko shoves him back against the wall by his shoulder and reaches down
without looking. He’s watching Justin’s face when he closes his fingers around
the priest’s hard cock, watching for the momentary loss of control as blood
rises to the blond’s face and he starts half-a-moan as Giriko pulls up without
concern for gentleness.
Then the chainsaw lets go, steps back, and Justin blinks his gaze back into
focus and if he was angry before now he’s furious, eyes snapping with
frustration and cheeks flushed with want.
“That’s what I thought,” Giriko says. “Now. I’m going to leave you alone for a
bit and I can’t have you struggling your way to freedom, so --”
The extra restraints are mostly unnecessary, but Justin hisses every time
Giriko digs one into the ceiling, and the dark chain looks so good against
Justin’s skin that by the time Giriko leaves him most of his weight is
supported by the criss-crossing pattern of links around his leg and hip and
torso.
Giriko takes his time; he knows right where the lube is but goes slow to get
it, slicks up his fingers before he undoes the front of his pants and takes his
cock in hand, coating it with steady strokes until he’s ready to head back into
the other room. It’s worth the wait when he comes around the corner, finds
Justin exactly as he left him but somewhat more breathless and marked with
scrapes over the sharper edges of his body from where he has been trying to
struggle free. The priest looks up as Giriko comes in, opens his mouth to say
something and then looks down, to Giriko’s open pants and hard cock, and his
eyes flicker out of anger into darkness for a moment. He licks his lip,
catching the last of the blood as he does, and then looks back up at Giriko’s
smirk and blushes all across his face and down his neck and shoulders to his
collarbones.
“Like what you see?” Giriko drawls as he comes forward. Justin is back to
glaring but his blush is lingering, his eyes are liquid when Giriko gets close,
and his lower lip is trembling when Giriko reaches out to slide his thumb
across it. “And you said you weren’t interested.”
Justin tosses his head back, looks down his nose at Giriko like he’s some sort
of prince and Giriko’s miles beneath him, and says, “Don’t put words in my
mouth.”
“I could put something else in your mouth,” Giriko offers, but when Justin
bares his teeth at him he laughs. “Okay, you’re right, bad idea.” He replaces
his hand at Justin’s hip and holds the other weapon steady while he brushes one
slippery finger over a collarbone and the dip at the priest’s throat. Justin
shuts his eyes but Giriko can feel his breathing speed in his throat, can see
the way his mouth comes open when Giriko presses gentle against his windpipe.
“You like it,” he says, and shifts his hand down to brush his fingertips over
Justin’s nipple. The priest grits his teeth but doesn’t quite entirely swallow
back a moan, and his skin goes hard under Giriko’s touch. When he pinches
Justin’s whole face screws up in concentration, determined not to react, but
the determination is a reaction in itself and Giriko just laughs.
“I don’t know why you fight it.” He lets go of hip, brings his hand up between
Justin’s legs. The priest’s eyes are still shut but his mouth is open again,
breathing hard. “I’m not complaining, of course, but I don’t get it.” He slides
one finger inside the blond and Justin makes a sound proper, an unrestrained
whimper back in his throat. “You could just ask and we could skip all this.” A
second finger and Justin tips his head back, rests his weight against the wall
and gasps. Giriko slides his fingers out, pushes back in again in one stroke,
and the priest starts to breathe audibly, matching the movement of the
chainsaw’s fingers inside him with the pattern of his inhalations.
“I guess this could be considered foreplay, though,” Giriko observes. His voice
is steady, teasing; it’s a rare pleasure to be able to speak normally when
Justin can’t even form a coherent sentence. “I’ve never been patient enough for
much of this, though.”
When he pulls his hand free Justin goes slack, lets his weight hang on the
chains Giriko’s wrapped around him. The chainsaw doesn’t have any intention of
letting him catch his breath, though. He’s been waiting all day and longer now
than he intended, and Justin’s skinny hips make excellent handholds for his
fingers. He takes a half-step in to fit himself between Justin’s legs, shifts
his cock into position, and slides up and in as he pulls Justin down by his
hips.
The priest whimpers at the movement, offers a strangled gasp against Giriko’s
hair, and this is what Giriko has been wanting, not the too-familiar friction
of his own hand but Justin hot and tight around him, and when he pulls back and
thrusts back in the sound Justin makes is a lot closer to a moan. Giriko steps
in closer so he’s pinning the blond between his own body and the wall, and this
way his hands are mostly free and he can feel the twitch of Justin’s cock hard
against his stomach every time he thrusts. He licks the drying blood off the
bite mark at Justin’s shoulder, reaches up to settle his fingers around the
priest’s throat, and he can’t see Justin’s face from this angle but he
can hear him, the high note of panicked arousal that says the self-control is
gone, that Justin’s blue-on-blue eyes are unfocused and glazing over with want.
“See,” Giriko manages against Justin’s hair, “Don’t you like this?” and his
words are starting to peel apart too, now, but Justin just groans, and when
Giriko presses his fingers tight the sound cuts off and Justin rocks forward,
grinding himself uselessly against Giriko’s stomach. The chainsaw laughs,
pushes back on his next thrust, and he can feel the blond’s responding moan
more than he can hear it.
He goes on talking, words coming fast and splintered but coherent all the same,
poured into Justin’s ear for the satisfaction of the taunt and the response of
Justin’s body quivering against his. “You want me to touch you, don’t you?
How much do you want it?” He shifts his weight back, takes some of the friction
away, and when he loosens his fingers Justin whimpers before he inhales,
priorities jumbled and wrong. “What would you do, to have me touch you?” He
drags his fingers across Justin’s hip, over the flat lines of his stomach,
just barely too high, not quite where the priest wants him, and Justin groans
and wiggles, and he doesn’t succeed in moving Giriko’s hand but the chainsaw
grunts at the sensation around his cock, Justin’s motion carried straight to
his own spine in a wave of pleasurable friction. Giriko laughs and moves his
hand away, locks his fingers back in place around Justin’s hipbone, and says,
“Too bad I can just take it.” Another motion of his hips, and Justin is
starting to sound really raw with desperation now, and the sound of the priest
panting against him and the pressure of bones under his hands and the feel of
Justin around his cock is starting to escalate, Giriko can feel coherency
starting to crumble at the edges of his awareness. He stops talking, stops
taunting, stops waiting, grabs Justin at his hip and waist and picks up his
pace, chases down the rising tension of climax with Justin’s gasping whimpers
in his ear.
It doesn’t take long from there, not with Justin right where Giriko wants him
and just as needy as he likes him. When the chainsaw thrusts and groans and
comes Justin wiggles again, tries to hitch himself forward against Giriko’s
stomach, and that makes it better, Justin moving against him and the proof that
he can’t go anywhere, and Giriko’s hands spasm bruising hard to hold Justin in
place until he can fucking see again.
Then he takes a deep breath, lets his grip go and slides himself free. His
breathing is still adrenaline-fast but slowing, drawn deep and slow by the
satisfaction of orgasm. Giriko blinks, and sighs, and then he looks at Justin.
The priest is still half-suspended by Giriko’s chains (and how he maintained
the mental focus to sustain those the chainsaw will never know), flushed and
gasping and desperate, desperate. When Giriko steps back in Justin whines high
and panicked and rocks forward, but he can’t get enough traction with his
compromised balance, and Giriko smiles slow and waits until Justin opens his
eyes to look at his face.
“Not enough, is it?”
Justin blinks at him, all the condescension and haughty pride utterly gone from
his gaze. Giriko’s not even sure the priest is understanding him, but he goes
on speaking anyway.
“I could let you try to get off for an hour like this and you couldn’t manage
it.” He draws a finger down Justin’s stomach, stops just short of where
Justin wants him, and the blond drops his head back against the wall and makes
a sound like a sob. “Or I could just leave you here for a while.” That is a
sob, a wail in the back of Justin’s throat. “What do you want me to
do, Justin?”
The name is an insult and a diminutive at once; it curls hot with meaning all
across Giriko’s tongue like the taste of blood, and Justin keens and rocks
forward and says, “Touch me, Giriko.”
“Is that a command?” Giriko hisses, faux-angry again, and Justin gasps out,
“No, no, no.”
“What was it?”
“A plea,” Justin manages, talking so fast his words are tangling over
themselves. “Please touch me, I’m begging you Giriko, anything would be
enough.”
Anything would be enough. Giriko’s never seen Justin like this, has never
pushed him far enough without some sort of reciprocation for the priest. If he
could he’d fuck him all over again but it’s too soon, and Justin is
actually crying with want, so Giriko drops to his knees in front of the blond
and pulls the remains of the priest’s clothing aside.
Justin looks down at him and his eyes go wide with panic. “Oh God, no no it’ll
be too much Giriko don’t,” but Giriko remembers how Justin gets about blowjobs,
the way he comes gasping in minutes, and he wants to know what will happen this
time. He stares up at Justin’s wide blue eyes, and he smiles, and there is a
moment of perfect understanding in the priest’s face. Giriko keeps looking at
him as he opens his mouth, exhales hot against Justin’s cock, and then closes
his lips just over the head and slides his tongue hard against the sensitive
skin.
Justin shrieks, hits a range Giriko has never heard him reach before, and falls
back against the wall like he can’t hold himself up while he pulses hot come
all across Giriko’s tongue. Normally the chainsaw is opposed to the salty
taste, but Justin’s legs are visibly shaking and he looks like he might be
about to faint and that is worth the inconvenience of the flavor.
Giriko waits to pull away until Justin is breathing normally again and gets to
his feet while the priest is still shuddering with aftershocks. The chains
disappear as easily as he formed them, though he has to catch the blond from
falling as the resistance disappears. Justin drops against him, none of his
haughty poise in evidence, and Giriko notes the effectiveness of this technique
even through the distraction of Justin’s fingers curling against his hair and
the back of his neck.
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