Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1538402.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Blindfolds, Light
      Bondage, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-15 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 7251
****** Darkness ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "There’s a flicker of motion, fast and dark so Giriko jerks back
     instinctively, but there’s just the couch at his back and there’s
     nowhere to go. Then his vision is gone, wiped out by shadow, and he
     reaches up in a rush of adrenaline to grab at whatever Justin’s
     doing." Justin surprises Giriko. Giriko gets Justin back.
***** Tolerant *****
Giriko doesn’t get any kind of warning from the priest. He hears Justin coming,
of course; the kid walks quietly, but with no one else in the house it’s easy
to pick out the sound of another person’s existence even over the chainsaw’s
own louder presence. But he’s thinking about a nap, and he’s comfortable
sprawled out over the couch, and picking a fight sounds exhausting, so he
doesn’t move or turn at the sound, even when the blond comes up directly behind
him.
“I know you’re there,” Giriko points out, leaning forward to grab at his beer
and swallow a mouthful. “You’re not that quiet that you can surprise me. Good
try, though.”
“Not my intention,” Justin says. He’s not snapping the words, so he’s not
irritated and looking for a fight, but there’s an almost-laugh back in his
throat that sends a prickle of foreboding down Giriko’s spine.
He goes still, the bottle clutched in his hand, and when he speaks his words
come slower with consideration. “If that ain’t it, what is your intention?”
There’s a flicker of motion, fast and dark so Giriko jerks back instinctively,
but there’s just the couch at his back and there’s nowhere to go. Then his
vision is gone, wiped out by shadow, and he reaches up in a rush of adrenaline
to grab at whatever Justin’s doing. He can’t see, though, and his grasping
fingers skid over bare skin before he can form his hand into a grip. Justin
laughs and pulls away; there’s pressure against Giriko’s hair, and when he
brings his fingers up to touch at his face he realizes what’s going on.
It helps take the edge off the panic, a little, although Giriko can’t see what
Justin is doing and that leaves him jumpy with nerves. “Did you blindfold me?”
“Still working on it.” Justin’s disembodied voice floats just over Giriko head;
when the chainsaw reaches up to grab for hair or a shirt or an arm his fingers
hit the priest’s mouth, drag wet over his lip. Giriko can feel him laugh before
his lips part and Giriko’s fingers slide in over his tongue; Justin bites down,
gently for once, just enough to press the edge of his teeth against Giriko’s
knuckles. He’s still pulling at the cloth over Giriko’s eyes, too, setting what
Giriko assumes is a knot at the back of the chainsaw’s head tight enough that
Giriko can feel the pressure of the blindfold in a loop around his head. Still,
he’s being gentle enough with his mouth, and when he lets the cloth go fingers
come immediately down against the back of Giriko’s neck. Giriko’s heartrate is
calming from his first flash of panic, and it’s not that he’s opposed to this,
exactly, just startled by the introduction.
“I almost cut you to pieces,” he growls in spite of his calming pulse. “Don’t
fuckin’ do that without warning me.”
Justin closes his lips around Giriko’s fingers and sucks, humming something
that might be but probably isn’t an apology. Giriko doesn’t push the point,
just slides his fingers farther into Justin’s mouth and considers how warm the
priest’s tongue is, now that he doesn’t have the distraction of sight to pull
his attention away.
“I assume you’ve got some sort of plan?” he asks, pulling his hand free in
consideration of Justin’s ability to speak and leaning forward to fumble the
bottle down onto the table in front of him. There’s a laugh up over Giriko’s
head, but it doesn’t resolve into words, and then fingers close around the back
of his neck.
“On your feet.” The words are cool, faintly distant, Justin’s Death Weapon
voice rather than the warmth of his usual tone. Usually it sets Giriko’s teeth
on edge, the assumed superiority in that tone grating under his nerves, but
this time when he braces himself for a flush of anger none is forthcoming.
There’s just warm interest, dizzying hyper-focus on the input from his skin and
ears that turns the words interesting with their natural texture.
“Giriko,” Justin starts, the word warning and a little cooler in his throat,
and Giriko growls and throws his hand out to hit the blond. He misses but
speaks anyway: “I’m getting up, keep your shirt on,” before angling himself up
off the couch and away from that steadying hand at his neck. Standing is easy,
instinct too deep-rooted to require the crutch of visual input, but then
Giriko’s sense of the world tilts sideways, crushes in around him and sweeps
away when he tries to think about it. The living room in his head is suddenly
littered with obstacles in his memory: his shoes, a fallen book, a loop of
spare headphones he shoved off the coffee table earlier. With his eyes open
Giriko barely notices the clutter, but now it comes back with ice-cold
vividness and he’s afraid to take a step.
“Justin.” His voice is weird like this. He can feel the rumble all through his
chest, the sound echoing in his head like he’s talking into a glass.
There’s a touch at his wrist; Giriko snatches at it, desperate for contact, and
it’s not until his hand is steady around Justin’s wrist that he feels self-
conscious about the anxious speed with which he moved. Justin doesn’t comment
on it, though, which is unlike him; he just tugs gently at Giriko’s hold,
leading instead of pulling away, and says, “Come with me.”
The first step is hard, terrifying, really. The ground is farther away than
Giriko expects and he keeps expecting to kick something or trip or just run
headlong into a wall, but Justin’s hands are warm against his and he can’t
admit to the damn priest that he’s almost crippled by fright, so he bites his
lip and keeps moving into the dark unknown in front of him.
It gets easier, a little. Giriko doesn’t remember specifics about the rest of
the house, which should make it worse but in practice just means his
imagination loses out on some of the specifics of his impending demise. And he
keeps not falling, each step stays clear and even and Justin’s hands don’t
waver on his skin, so even when the hallway has stretched to impossible lengths
in front of his feet when the priest turns him through a doorway Giriko follows
without protest.
“Bedroom,” Justin offers, and Giriko grins behind the blindfold.
“That mean what I think it means?” He lets the question roll hard in the back
of his throat, purr over his vocal chords until it comes out rich and low with
suggestion.
Justin is less than impressed with the heat of Giriko’s tone, judging from the
rapidity of his responsive laugh. “That depends on what you think it means.”
There’s a push against Giriko’s shoulder, hard enough to knock him off-balance.
The chainsaw stumbles, runs into resistance, and grunts in instinctive panic
before he falls back to the mattress just behind him. He growls, raw this time
without taking the time to savour the noise; spiking, needless panic turns the
sound grating, but Justin’s talking over him, ignoring his protest.
“If you think it means I’m going to strip you down to bare skin and push you
back to the mattress before I suck you off until you couldn’t see straight even
with your eyes uncovered...” There are fingers against Giriko’s chest, pressing
a little more lightly this time but still forcing him back. He goes, a
controlled lean this time, focus centered on the way Justin’s words spill out
of the darkness into his brain without the intermediary of facial expression
between them.
“...Then no, it doesn’t.”
Giriko hisses, giving voice to the frustration of his half-interested cock,
shoves up onto his hands so he slams his chest hard against the priest’s
expectant hand pushing him back down.
“Fuck you, Justin, you can’t --” Giriko’s saying, the words firing sharp and
hard past his lips, but Justin just keeps talking, louder so Giriko clearly
hears him over his own protests.
“Because I’m going to ride you instead.”
Giriko stops talking. Justin stops talking. Neither of them move, there’s not
even the rustle of cloth to cover the ringing silence that stands in
counterpoint to Giriko’s darkness.
Then Giriko groans, faintly, so softly it would have been lost in any ambient
noise at all, and Justin laughs, and Giriko nods, licks his lips.
“Yeah.” He sounds hoarse, shocked. “Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, good.” He falls
back to the mattress, uncoordinated with anticipation, and Justin’s fingers
come down over the front of his shirt.
“Is that acceptable?” the blond purrs, his fingers pulling the buttons of
Giriko’s shirt loose.
“Like you would stop even if it wasn’t,”Giriko growls, but he’s grinning and
the delight comes through in his words. “Of course it’s acceptable.
You know that.”
“I do.” Justin’s worked the whole front of the chainsaw’s shirt loose, one-
handed too, judging from the lopsided weight pressing the mattress lower just
alongside Giriko’s hip. “I just like to hear you say it.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Giriko says, or tries to say. Justin’s fingers keep going
lower, skim over the front of his jeans, but more startling is the press of
heat and moisture against his stomach as Justin licks at his skin. With no
warning from the sight of the priest’s blond head the sensation is shocking,
blows Giriko’s mind away from its path and forcibly drags sound up his throat
in the form of a moan. Justin laughs without pulling away and his fingers find
and catch on Giriko’s button, pull it free of the denim. Giriko reaches to
help, maybe, but his hands hit Justin’s shoulders instead and then the blond is
pulling his zipper down too, leaning in to press his mouth over the pulled-
tight fabric of the other’s boxers and exhaling hot, sending a shudder of
reaction all up Giriko’s spine.
“Faster,” he demands, bucking up against Justin’s mouth. “I can’t
fucking see your mouth on me, that’s bad enough, don’t make me wait too.”
The pressure vanishes. “I told you,” Justin’s voice comes clear, faintly
condescending, but there’s a pull at the cloth around Giriko’s hips and the
chainsaw is too distracted by scrabbling for purchase on the mattress so he can
arch up off the bed to complain. “I’m not going to suck you off.”
His pants and boxers come free, slip down Giriko’s legs out of contact, and the
chainsaw sits up quick, reaching out for the source of that voice. “No,” he
agrees, fumbling wildly through unresisting air. “No, you said you’d fuck
yourself on me, get back here and keep your damn promise.”
There’s a laugh off at Giriko’s right -- when did Justin move over there? -
- and the sound of a drawer opening. The chainsaw turns, reaches out again but
is less surprised, this time, when he comes up with nothing, and when sound
comes from the foot of the bed again he doesn’t even try to grab at it.
“I’m working on it.” Giriko can hear amusement in Justin’s voice, can hear the
blond’s smile even if he can’t see it. “It does take a minute or two. Are you
always this impatient when you can’t see?”
“I am always this impatient,” Giriko growls. There’s pressure on his legs, a
shift in the mattress, and when he grabs this time he gets his hands around
Justin’s hips. The blond’s straddling him, up on his knees, and even the
knowledge that Justin is letting him touch doesn’t undermine the satisfaction
of leaning in close, especially when Giriko’s mouth hits bare skin instead of
the cover of a shirt. “Sight’s got nothing to do with it,” he tries to say, but
his mouth is open and he’s licking against Justin’s chest, grinning when he
feels the priest stutter a breath and arch forward into the touch, so the words
are a little lost in the process.
Justin’s hand comes down against the back of Giriko’s neck, warm and a little
startling, and Giriko tries to get one hand around to the front of the priest’s
pants. That’s easy enough, but with the loss of his grip goes loss of control,
and when Justin laughs again and slides backwards Giriko can’t stop him, can
just flail at the air and groan, “Fuck Justin, get back here.”
“Hang on,” Justin half-laughs. “I have to get my clothes off first, you know.”
“I don’t care,” Giriko growls, sliding forward to the edge of the bed and
reaching out, missing wherever Justin is entirely. “I’ll cut them off you,
whatever, just come --”
Fingers hit his grasping wrist, curl gentle and warm and suddenly Justin’s
right there, skin everywhere and so hot Giriko can’t tell what he’s touching,
how the blond is oriented, just that he’s here and against Giriko’s body and
there doesn’t appear to be any intervening clothing anymore. His sigh is a
rumble of satisfaction, and then they’re both falling backward, Giriko tipping
his weight back and pulling Justin with him so they both land heavily on the
bed.
“Oof,” Justin protests at the impact. “You’re so needy when you can’t see, I’m
sure I’d handle a blindfold much better than you are.”
“Shut up,” Giriko says into his skin. Judging from the angle of the sound it’s
probably Justin’s stomach, maybe the edge of his chest -- yes, that’s it,
Giriko can make out the outline of ribs under his mouth, when he licks he can
feel Justin’s stammered gasp for air under his tongue. “We’ll try that next
time.”
“I can take it off, you know,” Justin points out, so condescending that Giriko
is growling a refusal before he’s properly thought about it.
“Fuck you, it stays on. And next time I cover your eyes, we’ll see how you like
that.”
“Mm,” Justin purrs. His weight shifts, pressure settles over Giriko’s hips, and
when the chainsaw goes questing with his hands and mouth he finds that Justin’s
straddling him, a little too far forward for Giriko’s cock to be anywhere it
wants to be, but --
Justin hisses, leans forward to dig his cock against Giriko’s hand, and the
chainsaw grins. Well, at least he’s not the only one into this.
“Let me,” Justin starts, but Giriko talks over him fast and loud.
“You can do whatever you want. I’m just going to be doing what I can with this
stupid thing over my eyes, and right now I’ve got what I want.” He twists his
wrist, wraps his fingers around the priest’s length, and Justin actually rocks
up into it, thrusting up for more friction as best he can from the somewhat
awkward angle.
“Giriko,” Justin protests, and Giriko tightens his hold and strokes over him
again so whatever else the blond was going to say is lost in a half-repressed
groan.
“Hurry up,” he growls, grabbing at the priest’s hip in a futile attempt to pull
him down lower or farther back or something, just to get some hot skin for the
chainsaw to grind against.
Fingers close over his bracing hand, and when Justin pulls Giriko starts to
protest even before his hand is free, leaning forward and in so he can butt his
head against the priest’s skinny chest as he hisses, “Don’t be a little bitch,
Justin, I’m already wearing --”
“Hold your hand still,” Justin says, voice impressively calm given the way he’s
instinctively rocking up into Giriko’s grip. His fingers hold the chainsaw’s
hand steady, palm-up, and when cool liquid drips over Giriko’s fingers he
catches on.
“Really.” He curls his hand into a loose fist, smears his fingers as thoroughly
in the lube as he can one-handed. “I can’t even see and you want my fingers
instead of your own?”
He’s teasing, mostly, but Justin’s breath catches in his throat. It’s only
audible because Giriko’s listening for it, cause he’s got nothing else to read
from, but he does hear it, and it brings him up short.
“You do.” It’s not a question. Giriko’s reaching around Justin’s hip, feeling
his way via a thumb against the blond’s skin so he can tell where he is. The
priest doesn’t answer, but his continued silence is as much answer as Giriko
ever gets, with these sorts of things.
“Wow.” He’s found his way, slippery fingers gliding over familiar skin, and
Justin’s still not speaking but every half-heard hiss of anticipation is better
than a sentence. “You just fucking love having me inside you don’t you?” He
curls his fingers, twists his wrist to push two together inside the blond in a
single movement. Justin breathes out so calmly and so evenly that Giriko can
hear the effort underlining the sound, the focus it costs Justin to keep it
that way.
“Fuck.” He slides his hand in farther, judges Justin’s appreciation from the
way the blond doesn’t protest, the tiny movement of his hips forward and back
so he’s rocking himself between Giriko’s hands. “I thought your expressions
were the hottest thing about you but I mighta been wrong.” When he thrusts his
hand he can hear the slick catch of the lube on skin, the sharp catch of breath
as Justin rocks up in response, the faint creak of the mattress under Justin’s
shifting weight. “I can hear every damn thing you do.” Justin sighs, just
barely, on his exhale, comes down to open himself up over Giriko’s moving
fingers. “Are you always making sounds like this?”
Justin’s fingers close on Giriko’s wrist, hold his hand steady while the blond
draws himself up and free. He doesn’t speak, still; Giriko’s not sure if it’s
because he can’t level off his voice or just so Giriko can keep listening to
the ever-louder pant to his breathing, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Justin
pushes him back and he lets the priest’s cock go, falls back heavily to the
mattress so he is staring at the ceiling, or would be if he were seeing
anything but the dark fabric of the blindfold. His slippery hand comes down to
stroke over himself, a slow easy coating of lube over sensitive skin, and he
reaches out with his other hand, feeling blindly through the air, until his
fingers hit Justin’s shoulder, and that’s enough. The contact tells him enough
about the blond’s movements, the tip forward as he adjusts his weight, the rise
as he comes up higher on his knees, that Giriko’s not enormously startled when
fingers come out to hold his cock steady.
It’s agonizingly slow, is what it is. Justin’s not giving any sensation with
his hand, really, and even when he starts to lower himself over Giriko’s length
it’s slow, he’s moving at a crawl, and even the tight heat of Justin slowly
closing around him isn’t enough to take the painful edge off the delay.
“Justin,” Giriko groans, “Hurry up,” but the priest doesn’t speed up or say
anything, although he takes a breath like he’s thinking about it. But then he’s
down, lowered all the way around the older man, and Giriko groans “Finally,”
and reaches out to fumble his way back into a grip on the blond’s own length.
The priest arches back when Giriko strokes him; the chainsaw can feel the
movement straight down his spine, hot satisfaction pooling in his blood, and to
boot Justin moans sharp and loud, like he’s ten minutes in already instead of
maybe two. But he’s not moving, not yet, and Giriko growls and half-sits up
into the darkness of the world, and jerks hard over the priest’s cock and
hisses, “Fucking move, don’t tease me.”
Justin laughs, faint and breathy and amused. A hand presses down on Giriko’s
chest, Justin bracing himself, and then he is moving, coming up at an angle on
his knees to slide back down slow but faster than the first time, and Giriko
nearly loses his grip in spite of his best intentions.
“Don’t stop,” Justin says.
“Don’t you stop,” Giriko snaps back, but he resets his hold and tries to focus
on that, even when the priest increases his pace, starts well and truly fucking
himself without Giriko doing anything at all but jerking him off. It
feels amazing, of course, friction and heat and the tight hold of Justin around
him, but without vision to ground him the world starts to lift up and away,
breathing blending with hearing so he’s not sure if he’s hearing himself or
Justin starting to gasp, until everything is saturated red and liquid with
heat, until Justin’s panting and Giriko hand is digging into a handful of soft
hair and he’s not sure who’s where or what’s going on, just that it’s good and
hot and slick and he needs more.
“Giriko,” Justin says, and he sounds broken, he sounds so shattered Giriko’s
memory flashes an image of the way he must look, the way he always looks when
he sounds like that, all glazed blue eyes and parted lips and flushed cheeks.
Giriko would respond if he could, but his coherency is even more astray than
Justin’s; all he manages is a guttural moan, more a grunt of acknowledgment
than anything else. Justin gasps, rocks forward, and some part of his weight
shifts over Giriko’s hips so when he comes back down the friction is different,
drags hot over Giriko’s cock as the priest slides down onto him, and orgasm
hits Giriko without warning, pulsing rhythm under his skin and forcing a groan
of satisfaction from his throat as he comes. Justin whimpers in almost-
encouragement and drops down as deep as he can go, shifts his weight again so
Giriko can feel the motion through his cock, and the chainsaw groans in protest
of too much sensation and grabs at Justin’s hip to hold him still.
His shadowed vision is still white-washed with pleasure when he recalls
himself, his hand still moving though it’s arrhythmic enough that Justin is
starting to pant in desperation. When he resumes his former pattern, faster and
harder than before, the sound Justin makes, a low ragged wail of appreciation,
is enough to tell him the blond is right on the edge -- Justin never
goes that incoherent unless he’s about to come -- even before he feels the
ripple of pleasure hit the blond’s body as warm wetness splashes over his
fingers and stomach.
Giriko is pulling the blindfold off while Justin is still trembling over him,
before the priest has slid himself free or the chainsaw has even let his grip
on Justin’s length go. Justin starts laughing as Giriko opens his eyes to a
world gone painfully bright in the last few minutes, keeps laughing even when
Giriko squints and growls and pulls him down to the mattress with him.
“I can’t believe you blindfolded me,” he hisses against the blond’s ear.
Justin’s arms comes around him and the priest sighs, voice rippling with the
low hum of pleasure that doesn’t flicker even when Giriko bites at his ear.
“I can’t believe you left it on,” he finally says.
Giriko opens his mouth to retort, comes up with nothing, and has to hiss in
response instead. Justin starts laughing again, but even with the absolutely
surety that the blond is laughing at him, Giriko can’t find the aggression to
do more than growl wordless threats into the curve of his ear, not even aware
that he’s grinning in response to Justin’s amusement.
***** Willing *****
The hardest part is actually finding the blindfold. Giriko didn’t think to look
for it the first time until Justin had scooped it up and bundled it away along
with his clothes, and then he puts it away somewhere and Giriko can’t find it.
It’s not that he needs that particular strip of cloth, and if he had thought
that through originally he would have just used a tie or an undershirt or
something. But he starts off looking, and once he looks not using it would be
admitting defeat, and he can’t have that.
So he waits for a week and a half, until Justin leaves for a most-of-the-day
diplomatic mission he’s supposed to be observing, and then Giriko tears every
inch of the bedroom apart. He digs through drawers, checks every pocket of
every jacket Justin owns, checks both side tables twice each, and is just on
the verge of giving up when he sees a strip of dark cloth under the edge of the
bed.
The priest is using it as a bookmark. For a fucking Bible. Giriko is unclear on
the exact religious connotations of being a Death Weapon, or worshipping Lord
Death or whatever the fuck it is the blond does, but he’s pretty sure it
doesn’t involve reading the Bible. Which means this is solely to spite Giriko,
taking advantage of his natural avoidance of the damn thing to hide what he’s
looking for, what Justin knows he’s looking for, in plain sight.
“Fucking priest,” Giriko hisses, and then goes to dig through another drawer
just to be spiteful.
He’s waiting by the front door when Justin gets home, winding the blindfold
around and around his hands idly. The click of the lock tips him off, though,
so when Justin opens the door and looks at him he’s reclining against the wall,
holding the strip of fabric up with a grin.
Justin looks at his face, looks at the blindfold, then turns away to shut the
door, but not before Giriko catches the curve of a smirk over his lips.
“You found it, then.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yeah.” Giriko steps forward before Justin has turned back around, close so
he’s pressed up against the other’s back. “The Bible? You don’t even read that
shit.”
Justin laughs. He makes no move to pull away; if anything he cants his
shoulders back an inch, rests part of his weight against the larger man’s body.
“Did you read what page it was marking?”
“What?” Giriko drops an arm down over Justin’s shoulders, angles his elbow so
he’s got his forearm hooked around the other’s neck. “No, what the fuck are you
talking about?”
“Romans.” Justin’s voice sounds dreamy. He tips his head back against Giriko’s
shoulder; his eyes are shut, like he’s reciting from the back of his eyelids.
“Chapter one, verse 27.”
“Like that means goddamn anything to me.” Giriko winds the blindfold over
Justin’s closed eyes, pulls the cloth tight against the back of the blond head
while Justin’s throat works in a laugh.
“‘And the men,’” he starts, his voice taking on an odd sing-song tone Giriko’s
never heard from him before. “‘Likewise gave up natural relations with women
and were consumed with passion for one another.’” He lifts his head, bows it
forward so Giriko can pull a knot in the blindfold, the dark fabric creasing
Justin’s yellow hair. “‘Men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in
themselves the due penalty for their error.’”
“Due penalty,” Giriko repeats back, leaning in so he can lick against the outer
curve of Justin’s ear. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I suppose we’ll both find out,” Justin says. Giriko can hear the smile in his
voice even before the blond turns his head back, begging silently for a kiss.
“Shameless, huh?” Giriko only makes Justin wait a minute before he does come in
to kiss him, crushing the priest’s mouth with his until his teeth catch against
the other’s lip. Justin doesn’t protest, just folds backwards and around until
he can reach out to touch the chainsaw. It’s not until Giriko feels the fumble
of questing fingers that he remembers that Justin can’t see with the blindfold
he’s got on, pulls away and closes his fingers a little too hard around one of
Justin’s wrists.
“Very,” Justin manages, licking his lower lip far more slowly than he could
possibly need to. “I don’t even remember what shame is anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” Giriko growls, stepping backwards and pulling Justin in his
wake. The blond stumbles forward, off-balance but unresisting otherwise. “You
look so good when you blush.”
Justin laughs at that, a little louder than usual, like he’s making up for the
lack of sight with volume, and when Giriko steps aside and shoves him forward
with a hand on his shoulders he steps forward obediently, three unerring steps
until he can reach out and touch the bed in front of him. Giriko makes a face,
irked with Justin’s ease of movement, and steps in behind the blond, presses
himself in against Justin’s back so he can growl, “Can you fucking see through
that?” against the other’s ear.
Justin laughs again, twists in Giriko’s hold so his mouth bumps against the
chainsaw’s, sideways so it’s more quick contact than a kiss. “Of course I
can’t.”
“How’re you moving so easily?” Giriko demands, pulling up against Justin’s
robes. The blond turns away again, lifts his arms over his head so Giriko can
drag his clothes up over his head.
“Because I remember the layout of my apartment.” Justin’s voice is muffled in
fabric, coming into clarity as Giriko gets the cloth up over his head and
throws it aside. He reaches out behind himself, fingers brushing against
Giriko’s stomach before he turns with enough care that the chainsaw is
mollified regarding his sight, or lack thereof. “I’m sorry you don’t, but I am
able to navigate my own home without seeing if I need to.”
“Yeah, well.” Justin’s down to slacks and his undershirt, now, looking much
smaller and younger than he does in the cover of his robes. Giriko grabs at the
bottom of his shirt and drags that up and off too, while he’s at it. “You’ve
had longer to learn it.”
“Sure,” Justin purrs. Freed of his shirt, he’s working his fingers up under the
loose fabric of Giriko’s own clothing, dragging up over the chainsaw’s skin
until Giriko almost doesn’t hear what he’s saying. “Keep telling yourself
that.”
“You’re fucking mouthy with your eyes covered,” Giriko hisses. He flings the
shirt away, though the lightness of the fabric deprives him of the satisfaction
of any resistance to the throw. When he grabs at Justin’s pants he catches the
waistband of the slacks with one hand, leaving his other free to grind his palm
into the front of the priest’s hips, and the pained whimper of want this
elicits from the blond’s throat is exactly the kind of resistance he wants.
“Even worse than usual. I didn’t think that was possible.”
Justin clutches at Giriko’s wrist to hold the chainsaw’s hand steady so he can
rock up into it; Giriko can feel the blond going hard under his fingers even
before he starts to pull the front of Justin’s pants open. “I’m full of
surprises.” He sounds almost composed, although as soon as Giriko gets his fly
down he’s wiggling quick out of the clothes, dropping back to sit on the edge
of the bed so he can kick his shoes and pants off at once. “I have to keep
you interested.”
“You’re the one interested here,” Giriko observes, sliding his palm up over the
blond’s length and watching the way Justin’s mouth drops open even though he
manages to keep back an audible response. The priest gapes utterly soundless
for a moment; then he swallows, clenches his jaw hard around whatever sound
he wants to make, and when he does speak his voice is impressively cool, which
is to say it’s only warm and not setting the air alight.
“Are you not interested?” Justin scoots back on the bed, pulling away from
Giriko’s touch with a show of resolve that Giriko is half-impressed by in spite
of his attempt to stay angry. The priest drops back onto an elbow so he’s
lounging over the bed, reaches down to wrap his fingers around himself, and
this time he’s makes no attempt to restrain his moan of response. “I can take
care of myself, if you’re not, you know. The blindfold is making it much easier
to form the visuals in my head, I have to say.”
Giriko’s throat makes the faintest pained whimper and Justin’s mouth turns up
into a grin the priest only barely fights back. His hand strokes up over
himself, his head angles back, and even though Giriko’s pretty sure the blond’s
overstating the groan he offers it doesn’t stop the rush of responsive blood
that rushes straight to the chainsaw’s cock.
“Fuck,” and he’s scrambling out of his clothes, kicking one shoe under the bed
and one into the wall while he forces his button open and zipper down, a task
made harder by how violently hard he is already. Justin laughs without tipping
his head forward, the sound pulling tight and strained from the angle of his
throat, and he is really dragging out his movements now, spending longer
stroking his thumb over himself than actually jerking himself off. Giriko
growls, yanks on the bottom edge of his shirt so hard he can feel the edge of a
seam or maybe a button give way, throws it aside without checking the damage so
he can grab Justin’s hand and pull his grip loose.
“You’re not coming without me,” he warns, leaning in so his skin runs up
against Justin’s and the priest can tell he’s there. Justin’s head comes up
from its exaggerated angle and the damn priest is still smiling, it’s the only
thing Giriko can look at with the usual taunt in his blue eyes covered.
“I wasn’t anything like close,” he points out, voice perfectly even now. Giriko
hisses and shoves him backwards; Justin goes, drops flat onto the mattress, but
his smirk is widening and he’s still talking. “Just wanted to get you to hurry
up and join me.”
“I should leave you alone just for that,” Giriko points out against Justin’s
shoulder, teeth catching on the other’s skin as he speaks.
“You won’t.”
If Justin weren’t so right, it would be less irritating, but he is, and it is
exactly that that means Giriko can’t abandon him blind and alone in the middle
of the room, much though the idea is gratifying. He bites instead, hard enough
to draw blood and then to draw a whine of pained protest from the blond, grabs
at Justin’s hip as he sits up and away.
“Roll over.” He pushes as fast as he speaks, not giving Justin a chance to
complain, and without the warning of seeing him Justin can’t resist, just turns
over under the force of the chainsaw’s movement. “And stay there.”
He moves back quickly, before Justin has a chance to get his bearings, so the
priest is just starting to frown in frustration and push himself up off the bed
when Giriko gets to the drawer he’s looking for. The sound apparently tips the
blond off, because he goes still where he is, up on one elbow on the bed and
mouth open around the start of a protest that dies into silence instead.
“Stay there,” Giriko snaps as he comes back over with the bottle of lube in his
hand. He shoves at Justin’s shoulders, hard, and either the priest didn’t
realize Giriko was there or he’s decided to go the passive route, because he
drops flat to the mattress and doesn’t try to push himself up again, even
though Giriko knows perfectly well the blond prefers to be on his back. “I’m
gonna take you like this, that’s what you get for being a fucking little
tease.”
“I wasn’t teasing,” Justin hisses irritably, but he’s shifting his legs apart
and angling his hips expectantly, and he can’t see the way Giriko’s grinning at
how fucking eager the blond is. “I wanted you to hurry up.”
Giriko spills lube over his hand, coats two fingers in the stuff, and reaches
down to Justin’s ass, strokes over his entrance so the blond can feel the
pressure of both together.
“Fast enough for you?” he asks rhetorically, and pushes both in together. He’s
not moving quickly -- he doesn’t want to actually hurt the blond, not this time
-- but Justin still slides forward over the bed before his legs catch on the
edge and Giriko’s fingers slide inside him. The strangled groan Justin offers
into the sheets in a futile attempt to hide the sound makes Giriko grin wider,
push in farther until the blond’s held breath shatters into desperate shallow
panting.
“You gotta breathe,” Giriko points out reasonably, finally reaching down to
grab the blond’s hip and steady him against the intrusion of the chainsaw’s
hand. “You should know better by now, you gotta relax into it.”
“I know,” Justin snaps. He must be okay, if he can manage irritation, so Giriko
slides his hand back and comes back forward. The priest gasps through it, this
time, audibly forcing himself to breathe into the stretch, and when Giriko
twists his fingers just slightly Justin’s inhale hitches up into a half-
repressed moan.
“Giriko --” Justin starts, turning his head as if he can actually look back and
see what Giriko is doing.
“I know,” Giriko shoots back, draws his hand back and thrusts back forward,
curling his fingers against that same spot, and Justin gasps and jerks, hips
coming up off the bed by an inch.
“Ready for me?” Giriko asks, mostly rhetorically, and isn’t surprised when
Justin catches a breath and manages, “God no, you’re way too fucking big for me
yet.” It makes Giriko laugh anyway, bright and pleased, and then he really sets
to work, holding Justin steady and working his hand at a slowly increasing
rhythm inside the blond. Justin recognizes the pattern too, drops his head back
down to the mattress and pants into the sheets, relaxes down against the bed
and into Giriko’s movements until the chainsaw can feel the slight angle of the
blond’s hips arching up to meet him, tipping for more contact just in advance
of the push of his fingers.
“Now you’re ready,” he observes. It’s a statement, not a question, and Justin
doesn’t protest, just whines at the loss of sensation as Giriko slides his hand
free. The chainsaw steps back; with the removal of his hand from Justin’s hip
the priest is free to move if he wants, roll over or fit a hand down between
himself and the mattress. He does neither, just presses his face against the
bed and rocks his hips gently into the minor resistance of the mattress.
Giriko’s grinning when he curls his fingers around the bottle of lube, comes
back in to touch at the blond’s hip while he gets the bottle open one-handed so
he can spill cool liquid over the hot skin of his cock. Justin goes still, like
he’s steadied or grounded by Giriko’s touch, and the thrill of that is still
ringing in the chainsaw’s head when he steps in and fits himself against the
blond’s entrance.
Justin takes a breath shaking with anticipation, tries to hitch himself
impossibly backwards. Giriko laughs, sharp and unfettered so the sound splashes
hot over his tongue, sets his hands tight against Justin’s hips and comes
forward just like Justin likes him to, in the long smooth thrust that makes
Justin’s back arch and pulls an involuntary moan of half-pain and half-
appreciation from the other.
“Fuck,” Giriko groans, low and heavy with satisfaction. “God you feel good,
you always feel so fucking good, Justin.” Justin’s shaking, quivering under his
touch and tensing around him until even the chainsaw wiggling a hand down
around to get a grip over the priest’s cock doesn’t cause any discernible
increase in the pace of his breathing. He does lift himself up, a little,
attempts to make space for Giriko’s hand to stroke against him, and that’s a
good sign even if he’s being unusually quiet.
“Justin?” Giriko asks, just to be on the safe side, though he slides back an
inch, rocks back forward without waiting for a response. “Justin, hey, talk to
me, you okay?”
“Keep talking,”Justin says. His voice is strained and raw, his hands are
curling into fists over the sheets of the bed, but he’s bucking forward into
Giriko’s hand, so the chainsaw keeps dragging his grip up over the blond’s
length. “I can’t...I can’t tell where you are.”
Giriko starts laughing; he can’t help it. “Can’t you?” He thrusts forward, hard
enough that Justin’s head angles back and the blond groans in desperate
response. “I’m inside you, can’t you tell?”
“Ah,” Justin gasps. “Ah, no, that’s not what I mean, I --” Giriko comes forward
again, grinning in dark amusement even before Justin’s words cut off in a sharp
whine, as he knew they would. “Ah. I can’t…” His hands catch on the sheets,
curl into desperate fists. “I can’t tell where I am, it’s all just feeling --”
“You’re here,” Giriko says, and Justin shudders like he’s said something of
value. The chainsaw angles over the priest, low enough that his chest brushes
against Justin’s back, and the blond curls up to press their bodies together.
“I’ve got you, you’re with me.” Justin’s panting, desperate for air and
twisting up, angling for more contact and more friction and resulting in almost
no movement of his own at all, but that’s okay, Giriko has more than enough
power for the both of them. “You like this? Not being able to see, just waiting
for me to act on you?”
“No,” Justin almost sobs, pulling so hard on the sheets they slide in towards
him. “No, I hate it, I do.”
Giriko presses down, lets his weight bear Justin to the bed so he can brush his
lips against the priest’s ear. “Liar.”
Justin’s breath catches, his hips jerk involuntarily so Giriko hisses, and when
he moans and comes the quiver of his body feels like submission. Giriko lets
him ride out the aftershocks, waits for the first even breath from the blond
before he lets him go, comes back up so he can grab Justin’s hips and pursue
his own orgasm. Justin groans at the resumed motion, but he’s leaning back into
it too; after a moment he comes up on his elbows to better brace himself
against the thrust of Giriko’s hips. With the smooth sweep of the blond’s back
in front of him and the half-heard whines of Justin’s breathing with every
thrust, it’s hardly a minute before Giriko’s rhythm goes jagged and a rush of
pleasure replaces the thud of his heart.
Justin stays still, leaning hard into the bed, for the few minutes it takes
Giriko to catch his breath. He doesn’t move when Giriko shifts his weight down
over the blond’s slender back, doesn’t lift a hand to help him, but he does
shiver in something that’s part relief and part a flinch when the chainsaw gets
his fingers under the blindfold and tugs it free. He stays still for another
breath after that, blinking his eyes back into focus while Giriko slides
himself free and comes back in to drop heavily onto the bed alongside Justin.
By the time he’s looking up, the priest’s blue eyes are tracking his face and
there’s a curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Shameless,” Justin purrs as he leans down to lick against the chainsaw’s
earrings. Giriko starts to laugh even before he turns his head to give the
priest better access.
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