Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2008815.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Dirty_Talk, Teasing, Established_Relationship, Cooking, No_Plot/Plotless,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Domestic
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-02 Words: 3164
****** Edges ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'Fuck you.' Giriko’s short-lived peace is lost, vanished in the
     midst of the cross-room conversation, but he’s grinning without
     realizing, head tipped to better catch Justin’s words while his
     stirring of the pasta goes out-of-rhythm and thoughtless. 'Keep
     talking and I’ll come out there and shut you up.'" Justin distracts
     Giriko and Giriko fails to stay mad.
Giriko isn’t even thinking about sex, for once. He’s focused on the task in
front of him entirely, although cooking pasta doesn’t involve much
concentration. There’s a soothing blankness to be obtained from watching the
water boil around the pale shapes of the noodles, something almost like sleep
and a little bit meditative, and while he would rather die than admit this
aloud denial doesn’t make it less true. So he’s watching the water, breathing
in the steam rather than moving back from the stove, and when Justin calls from
the other room it takes him a minute to come back into a more typical mental
state.
“Giriko.” Justin sounds a little strained, his voice hitting the edge of
shrillness from the combination of volume and what is probably hunger. “Is that
almost done?”
“Shut up,” Giriko yells back without moving. “Unless you want to come in here
and feed yourself, you’re gonna have to learn some fucking patience.”
There’s a breath of a pause. “Are you lecturing me on the benefits of
patience?”
“Stop acting like a toddler and I’ll stop,” Giriko shoots back with what he
feels is impressive rationality. “At least I’m cooking for you.”
“Hurry up,” Justin yells. “Cook faster.”
“Fuck you.” Giriko’s short-lived peace is lost, vanished in the midst of the
cross-room conversation, but he’s grinning without realizing, head tipped to
better catch Justin’s words while his stirring of the pasta goes out-of-rhythm
and thoughtless. “Keep talking and I’ll come out there and shut you up.”
“What do you have in mind?” That’s less shrill, there’s less strain in it, and
when Giriko catches movement at the corner of his eye he’s not surprised when
he glances back to find Justin leaning against the entry into the kitchen. But
he’s busy, he has to hover over the food or let it burn, so he just lets his
grin go sharp at the edge, stays where he is when he raises an eyebrow and
says, “Depends on whether you’re in a biting mood or not.”
“Mmm.” Justin shuffles forward, close enough that he can lean against Giriko’s
back and breathe out against the back of the older man’s shirt. “What if I’m
feeling obedient?”
That’s what does it, the words tied together with the suggestive purr in the
blond’s throat, as much of an offer as the motion of Justin’s mouth against the
back of the chainsaw’s throat. Giriko takes a breath, and starts to laugh, a
low grating burst of amusement as his blood goes hot with interest and food
drops significantly on his list of priorities.
“You’re never obedient,” he says, but when he reaches up over his shoulder
Justin doesn’t move away, lets Giriko close his fingers on a handful of his
hair and tug an edge of pain into his scalp. “But you could prove it to me on
your knees. Give you something to do with your mouth other than be a little
brat.”
“You have my attention,” Justin’s voice shivers over Giriko’s skin, ticklish
and as warm as the steam against the chainsaw’s face. “Do I have yours?” His
hands are brushing against Giriko’s waist, lighter than the older man usually
prefers to be touched but interesting in the present context, particularly when
his arm comes entirely around and the teasing-light touch drops down an inch
over Giriko’s stomach.
“Thought you wanted me to cook,” Giriko points out. It would be easy to push
away Justin’s touch; the blond is making no effort to maintain a solid hold,
Giriko could step away and be free if he wanted. But he doesn’t want to, and
there’s no hesitation in the careful downward slide of Justin’s fingers over
his shirt to the top edge of the other man’s jeans.
“I do,” Justin says, slow and considering. “I just also want you to fuck me
over the couch.”
Giriko’s eyebrows jump, his throat tightens into a shocked laugh, and Justin’s
touch comes in harder, presses against his shirt and pushes it up an inch so
the blond’s fingertips drag over the chainsaw’s stomach directly. Giriko’s
still looking for words, waiting for coherency to return to his thoughts as his
brain entirely shifts focus, when Justin says, “Don’t forget the pasta.”
“Fuck,” Giriko growls, and stirs so hard water splashes over onto the burner,
as if aggression will make up for the minute of distraction. “You’re such a
little shit.”
“You’re just too easy to tease.” Giriko can hear the laugh in Justin’s throat,
purring just under the surface of his words. “This isn’t even very challenging.
I could manage stirring pasta while you blew me, if I had to.”
That makes Giriko laugh, loud and sincere. “Bullshit. You can’t
do anything when I suck you off, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’ve been working on my resistance.” Justin’s arms are entirely around
Giriko’s chest, his fingers working their way up under the other man’s shirt
while he leans in to press against the chainsaw’s back like he’s relying on the
physical support. “Hadn’t you noticed?”
“I dunno.” Giriko is staring at the pasta but not seeing them at all; his
attention is entirely against the shove of Justin’s fingers on his skin, the
way the blond’s hips are grinding against his as if by instinct more than
deliberation. “Hard to distinguish your composure around the begging and
gasping.”
“You should pay more attention.” Justin is actively rocking against Giriko now,
his breathing is starting to come faster into the chainsaw’s shoulder. “There
are subtleties that I am sure go over your head.”
“You don’t seem to mind the straightforward approach usually,” Giriko points
out. “I ain’t the guy for subtlety, you should know that by now.”
“Yeah, I got that impression sometime around the point you shoved me down into
the couch the first time you fucked me,” Justin says, but he sounds amused and
Giriko can feel how hard he is from the angle of the blond’s body against his
back. “I’m not complaining about that, I’m complaining about you ignoring me.”
“I’m trying to cook for you,” Giriko growls. “I can let this go and jerk you
off against the counter, if you need it that bad.”
Justin sniffs. “That’s hardly sanitary.”
“I dunno.” Giriko reaches to turn the burner off. “Grinding yourself against me
while I’m cooking ain’t real appropriate either, is it?”
“Mm.” Justin bites gently against the back of Giriko’s neck, more the promising
scrape of teeth than actual pain. “Is that done?”
Giriko shoves back from the stove, hard enough that Justin would fall if he
weren’t clinging so tightly to Giriko’s chest, and reaches for the handle of
the pot. “Go get the fucking lube.”
Justin is gone almost before Giriko has spoken, unwinding his arms and sliding
away so he’s out of sight even before the chainsaw has turned to drain the
pasta over the sink. It’s a quick process, at least, and with the water gone
the food can be safely left to cool somewhat while Giriko abandons the pot in
the empty sink and comes around the corner to the main hallway. It’s not like
he’s planning to take long, anyway.
“Where the hell are you?” he’s calling as he comes out of the kitchen, without
even waiting to see if Justin is in sight. “You got me distracted, come the
fuck out here so I can take advantage of that.”
“Working on it.” Justin sounds shrill again, slightly irritated at Giriko’s
demands, but he’s coming out of the bedroom before Giriko even thinks to move
down the hallway, and he has the bottle in his hands. When Giriko holds his
hands out in offer Justin tosses it to him, and by the time the blond has made
it down the hallway he’s pulling his shirt off and Giriko has the bottle open
and his fingers half-slick in expectation.
He still asks, though, to tease Justin if nothing else. “You sure you don’t
want to do this yourself? You look real pretty finger-fucking yourself, you
know.”
“I know you like to watch me,” Justin says, but he shakes his head when Giriko
half-jokingly offers the bottle to him. “But I like it better this way, your
hands are bigger than mine.”
Giriko growls around a laugh, reaches out for the bare skin of Justin’s waist
to smear his slippery fingers against the blond while Justin pulls his jeans
open. The priest lets Giriko tug him in closer, steps forward without a word of
protest so Giriko can gust an exhale over his hair, purr, “You like to feel my
fingers inside you, huh?”
“Absolutely,” Justin says, with no trace of the self-conscious flush he would
once have demonstrated at this bluntness. “They’re almost as good as your
cock.”
It’s not that he’s saying anything particularly extraordinary; it’s more that
Justin is rarely so direct, usually takes the innuendoes and leaves the direct
propositions to Giriko, and the sentence delivered in the flat calmness of his
voice sends a rush of heat through the chainsaw just from the novelty of the
sound.
“Fuck,” he finally says, just for the satisfaction of the sound on his tongue,
and shoves hard against Justin’s hip. “Turn around.”
Justin obeys instantly, twisting around towards the couch as he gets his jeans
open and shoved down off his hips. Giriko reaches out to steady the blond, hold
him in place via a hand at his waist, but his grip slips in the lube he’s left
over Justin’s stomach and he can’t get a hold. It doesn’t much matter, though,
Justin is bracing himself against the back of the couch and rocking back, all
but whimpering for Giriko to touch him, so he probably doesn’t need much
support anyway. Giriko steps in anyway, close enough that he can shove in
against Justin’s leg himself, and Justin is just starting to purr approval when
Giriko touches him, starts to slide his fingers into the blond and force
Justin’s response accordingly lower in his throat.
“Do you just like distracting me?” he asks, trusting to the support of his body
to hold Justin more or less in place while he reaches around to close his
fingers around the blond’s length. Justin’s head drops down, like it’s become
too heavy for him to hold upright, and he huffs an exhale that isn’t really a
response as Giriko strokes over him once. “I was right in the middle of
dinner.”
“It’s more fun,” Justin admits, the words drawn odd from the curve of his neck
and the angle of his head. Giriko eyes the clean lines of his back, the shift
of lean muscle over the blond’s shoulders as he holds himself steady against
the slow thrust of the older man’s fingers into him. “I wanted to see if I
could get you to actually let it burn.”
That makes Giriko laugh, push in against Justin hard enough that the blond
rocks forward over the couch and nearly falls, though he doesn’t voice a
protest beyond a shocked exhale. “Responsibility got the better of me. Guess
you smoothed some of my rough edges off.”
“Soon I’ll get you on a leash,” Justin says, the pretended innocence clear in
his voice even under the breathless quality it’s taken on. Giriko hisses in
irritation, shoves his fingers in as hard and fast as he can, and this time
Justin really does fall, slides down against the edge of the couch although it
doesn’t do more than break up the pattern of his laughter.
“Fuck you,” Giriko growls. He’s half-expecting Justin’s response, the gasped
“Please” even before the blond has gotten his feet back under him. Giriko lets
him go, slides his fingers free and steps back so he can undo the fly of his
jeans while Justin kicks his own free and turns back around to watch Giriko
shove his clothes open, looking flushed and half-fucked already.
Giriko tries to come back as soon as the denim is ostensibly open, enough out
of the way that he probably won’t hurt himself on the zipper, but Justin meets
him halfway and the blond’s hands are everywhere, pushing up at the edge of his
shirt and down at the top of his pants, and when his lips brush against
Giriko’s earrings and he sighs, “Take them off,” Giriko doesn’t have a good
enough reason to protest. He lets Justin push his shirt up, kicks his boots off
so he can struggle free of his jeans, and he’s back sooner than he expected,
backing Justin up against the couch while the blond shifts to rest his weight
against the furniture and hook a leg up around Giriko’s hip.
“Better,” he says, and Giriko can see the flush rise in his cheeks as the
blond’s gaze slides down over his skin. “Much better.”
“You got a problem with my clothes?” Giriko asks, hooking his arm under
Justin’s leg so he can drag the blond in closer against him while he lines
himself up.
“Only when you’re wearing them.” That sounds harmless enough, Giriko is just
starting to grin at the comment, and then Justin goes on: “They give you the
wrong idea. You’ll start thinking you’re not my pet.”
Giriko growls, low and threatening, and thrusts up hard, without any of the
care he can sometimes be persuaded to exhibit. Justin flinches, his face twists
in almost-pain, but the sound he makes is nothing like hurt and has no impact
on Giriko’s intentions.
‘’I’m not your fucking pet,” he hisses before a different tack occurs to him.
“Wait. Is that what you’re into? Is that why you brought me home?” He closes
his fingers on Justin’s hip, drags the blond down farther so the priest gasps
and shuts his eyes against the flush of sensation. “So you could have a big
cock on-call to fuck your ass whenever you wanted?”
Justin huffs a weak laugh without opening his eyes. “I see I haven’t succeeded
in smoothing out your language.” He’s panting, Giriko can see his cheeks
flushing pink and damp with sweat already even before the chainsaw pushes the
blond’s leg up a little higher and pulls back to thrust forward again in one
smooth stroke. That makes Justin hiss, gasp a quick inhale, and when he goes on
his voice is a little higher than usual, his words come a little faster. “That
wasn’t my original intention.” He reaches out to steady himself on Giriko’s
shoulder with one hand and closes his other around himself, so slow Giriko can
tell he’s teasing himself just from looking. “Though I’m not complaining.”
“Oh good.” Giriko sounds a little shaky himself, though that might be from the
grin he can’t keep from his face. “I’d hate to have you unsatisfied.” He’s
quicker with the next thrust, his movements sharp and hard enough that Justin
rocks back and has to catch himself against the chainsaw’s neck. It’s worth it
for the way he can feel Justin tense around him, the way the priest’s mouth
drops open around his groan of response. “Seeing as I’m only here for your
pleasure, huh?”
Justin starts to speak but the first edge of his words dissolve into another
hissed moan before he can form his mouth around coherency. “Ah. Like you’re -
- not enjoying yourself.”
Giriko laughs, leans in so he can feel Justin’s breathing coming too-fast
against his mouth. “I am.” It’s harder to balance when he’s not holding Justin
upright, but it’s worth it for tremor that runs through the blond when he lets
Justin’s hip go in favor of replacing Justin’s feathery touches on himself with
the grip of the chainsaw’s fingers.
“Oh fuck,” Justin blurts, and lets go entirely, reaches up so he has both arms
around Giriko’s neck. “Fuck, don’t stop.”
“I’m not gonna stop,” Giriko growls, more irritated by the implication that
he might than the understated order in Justin’s voice. “I thought you knew me
better than that.”
“Ah.” Justin turns his head up, drags his open mouth across Giriko’s lips in a
vague approximation of a kiss. Giriko can feel the catch in his throat when the
chainsaw strokes his hand up over the blond’s length, the whimper far back on
Justin’s tongue when he rocks up into the priest. “I suppose I do.”
Giriko purrs agreement, tightens his hold on Justin’s leg to keep the blond as
steady as possible while he picks up his pace. The motion of his hips is out-
of-sync with his hand, he keeps losing track of what he’s doing and forgetting
to jerk Justin off with any rhythm, but from the way the blond’s cheeks are
flushed and how hard he’s panting for air, Giriko’s doing a good enough job
between the movement of his cock and his hand to push the blond towards the
edge. He can see it coming, can feel the way Justin’s hands draw tight and
desperate against his neck and the tension arching his foot even before the
blond presses his forehead into Giriko’s shoulder and groans.
“Fuck,” and he sounds broken, breathless and overheated and shaking with tight-
wound tension. “Giriko, fuck, I’m --”
“Yeah,” Giriko says, and it’s partly acknowledgment and partly encouragement,
and when he draws his hand up fast over the blond’s length Justin wails against
his skin, and all the tension in him collapses into shivering pleasure against
the chainsaw’s body. Giriko keeps his hold on the other steady while Justin
gasps against his shoulder; he doesn’t need the extra leverage, anyway, not
with Justin’s leg up at this angle and not with his own orgasm so close. It’s
only another few thrusts, long smooth strokes that make Justin jerk and moan
with the last ripples of sensation, and then Giriko’s coming too, pleasure
shocking under his skin and coursing through his blood until his hold on Justin
goes gentle, the grip fading into a caress, and when he regains control over
his mouth he’s got his lips pressed against Justin’s hair like a kiss.
Neither of them moves for a moment; Giriko sighs against Justin’s hair, and
Justin takes a deep breath into Giriko’s shoulder, and then the chainsaw lets
Justin’s leg go and the priest shifts his weight so he’s better balanced and
not relying on his hold on Giriko’s shoulders to stay upright. Giriko’s just
letting Justin go, turning away and starting to think about recovering his
clothes from the floor, when the blond takes a deep breath, and tips his head
back in an impressive display of haughtiness, given his current lack of
clothing.
“Are you going to finish cooking dinner?”
Giriko pauses mid-thought, irritation flooding into him as he turns back to
glower at the blond. But as he turns back around he sees the flicker of teasing
in Justin’s eyes, the sparkle of amusement in the clear blue, and when Justin
grins Giriko starts to laugh before he realizes he’s not really angry after
all.
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