Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1097562.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Bondage, Established_Relationship, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-23 Words: 2757
****** Slow ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     “‘It’s been a long time since I tied you to the bed.’” Justin takes
     charge and Giriko lets him.
The first hint that something is unusual is how long it takes Justin to come
around the corner to the living room. Usually the priest will come straight
down the hallway and round the corner to the living room or the kitchen to do
whatever he is planning on doing in the evening before Giriko takes it upon
himself to distract him from his set goal. But today the front door slams shut
and there is a long pause before the sound of footsteps comes down the hallway.
The hesitation catches Giriko’s attention away from the show he’s idly
watching, so he’s thinking about sitting up on the couch to watch the doorway
when Justin comes into view and angles himself against the frame.
“Hey Giriko,” he says, like he usually bothers to greet Giriko when he comes in
the door. The chainsaw takes in what he’s wearing, the white undershirt so thin
he can see the lines of Justin’s chest through the fabric, the dark jeans
clinging to him like they’ve been painted on, and sits up entirely, all
thoughts regarding the show forgotten. “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” Giriko offers in response, and when the words grate dark
in his throat Justin blinks deliberately slowly at him and tips his chin down.
“Well.” The blond comes forward, and Giriko’s eyes drop to the shift of his
hips, fluid like a cat as he moves. He drops his usual robes over the back of
the couch -- he must have been taking them off in the doorway -- and reaches
for Giriko in the same movement, digging his fingers up into the chainsaw’s
hair and against the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking.” A leg comes over
Giriko’s and Justin slides in so he’s straddling the older man, leaning in so
his weight is pressed against Giriko’s chest. “It’s been a long time since I
tied you to the bed.”
Over a month, to be precise. Giriko raises an eyebrow and brings his hands up
behind his head instead of along Justin’s back where he wants them. The priest
playing the instigator is unusual enough that it’s worth savoring, even with
the associated loss of some action on his part. “Since I let you tie me to the
bed. What of it?”
Justin’s eyes are dark over his parted lips; the expression is entirely obscene
in his baby face, and Giriko can feel his cock jerk in response. Where he’s
sitting Justin can feel it too, and he smiles, licks his lower lip so slow it
has to be deliberate, and leans in until his breath is loud against Giriko’s
ear.
“Let me.”
For a moment Giriko toys with the idea of refusing, just to see how far he can
get Justin to go, but the priest in such a direct mood is so rare that he hates
to waste the opportunity. He reaches out whip-quick to catch the back of
Justin’s neck so the priest gasps in surprise and rocks forward, and damn that
feels good against his hardening cock. He groans at the friction and Justin’s
free hand is down between them, his fingers sliding down the front of Giriko’s
jeans, when did he manage to get his hand there?
Then Justin leans back, pulls free of Giriko’s hold on his neck like it’s
barely there, and before the chainsaw can open his mouth to protest he’s
sliding sideways and away. The hand against Giriko’s pants pulls hard before he
gets the hint and scrambles to his feet. Justin smirks at him and Giriko can
feel his face twist into a scowl, but then the priest’s eyes drop to the front
of Giriko’s jeans and the chainsaw can see the way his eyelids flicker, the way
his body tenses with anticipation, and he’s willing to forgive a lot if the kid
is going to look at his cock that way.
Justin leads him to the bedroom by the front of his jeans, and Giriko is
willing to be led if not quite ecstatic about his own passivity. Still, that’s
kind of the point, and when Justin glances back at him he’s chewing on his
lower lip so Giriko barely makes it past the door to the bedroom before he’s
stepping forward to grab Justin’s shoulder and close his own teeth on the
abused skin. Justin whimpers and Giriko bites, and when the priest shoves him
backward the chainsaw goes without fighting, laughing as he falls back onto the
bed.
“Can’t I have a little fun?” he asks without sitting up.
Justin climbs back on top of him, resuming his straddling position, and Giriko
bucks his hips up again just to see the priest’s calm disintegrate into
pleasure for a moment. Justin recovers quickly, though, and leans in to wrap
his fingers around Giriko’s wrists.
“Chains,” he orders.
Giriko hesitates, just to make sure Justin knows it’s his decision to
capitulate and not a result of the command, and when he pulls the chains up he
loops them around Justin’s wrists, tight enough to bruise for a moment, tight
enough to remind the blond that Giriko could be in charge if he wanted.
Justin doesn’t even flinch. “Thank you.” He unwinds the metal from his hands
with a motion Giriko can’t quite follow, and it’s elegant and graceful and
irritatingly self-possessed. Still, his skin is showing the familiar patterns
of Giriko’s chains, and there’s a hint of blood along one edge, and that’s
enough gratification for Giriko to offer his hands for his self-made
restraints.
They don’t do this enormously often, but Justin is fast to learn and slow to
forget, and his movements are as efficient as his attacks in combat, quick and
deliberate and focused. Giriko tips his head up to watch Justin’s hands as he
secures the other end of the chains, then down, because the priest is carefully
balanced and leaning far forward, and his undershirt is riding up over the line
of his pants to expose a inch of pale skin over his stomach. Giriko jerks up,
throwing off Justin’s precarious balance, and the blond has to throw out a hand
and catch himself on the chainsaw’s chest. Giriko gets a glare out of that, a
glare and a sigh, and when Justin goes back he cinches the chain tighter than
he strictly needs to. Giriko hisses but doesn’t protest or loosen the chain -
- it’s his own chain, he could add links if he wants, but the priest’s not the
only one who likes to play rough sometimes, and half the fun of this is the
shared illusion that Giriko is actually restrained by the ties at his hands.
And feet, of course. It’s harder to see what Justin is doing when he slides off
the bed, and it’s a lot less fun when he’s not shifting directly on Giriko’s
lap,  but it doesn’t take any longer to tie his feet than his hands, and then
Justin is coming back around, peeling off his shirt with a total lack of self-
consciousness.
Giriko stares since he can’t touch, watches the pull of muscle against Justin’s
waist and over his shoulders as he twists the shirt up and over his head, and
then the priest is going for his jeans without even pausing. Giriko lifts his
head as far as he can to see, which isn’t far with his arms stretched over his
head, and Justin almost convinces him that he doesn’t care if the chainsaw is
watching or not. But there’s a pause, just a breath of hesitation as his thumbs
slide past his waistband, and Giriko looks up at his eyes just as Justin’s blue
gaze flickers to his face. The priest grins, flash-quick, and then he’s
wiggling free of the jeans and Giriko looks down to the curve of his ass and
the way his cock is standing hard from his body, and then he grins dark and
slow.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, partially a taunt and partially an observation.
Justin drops the jeans and raises an eyebrow, supremely self-possessed even
when he’s wearing nothing but creamy skin.
“Yes, I am,” he says steadily, but then he looks away from Giriko’s face, down
to the spread of the chainsaw’s body across the bed, and he bites his lip again
and his face flinches into appreciation for a minute, and Giriko laughs and
rocks his hips up.
“Well come on then,” he drawls, his motions and tone making the preposition an
innuendo. “What are you waiting for?”
Justin rolls his eyes but climbs onto the bed anyway, and he can protest all he
wants as long as he comes closer. He reaches for the front of Giriko’s pants,
undoes the button one-handed, and slides the chainsaw’s cock free of the
confining fabric. Giriko hisses at the contact but then it’s gone, Justin’s
turning away, and he pushes up as far as he can get off the bed.
“Hey! What the fuck, where are you going?”
Justin turns back, and his mouth is actually firm with frustration now.
“I’m trying to get the lube, idiot.” He ducks down, and before Giriko has
entirely processed the movement his mind goes bright and white with pleasure as
Justin’s mouth closes around him.
He’s not quite done groaning when Justin pulls free, wipes his hand across his
damp lips, and hisses, “Patience,” before sliding off the bed again. Giriko
subsides, lying flat on the bed and trying very hard to convince himself that
the wait will be worth it.
His litany is almost immediately validated when Justin comes back, hands
slippery and eyes dark again. The priest doesn’t even look at Giriko’s face,
just stares at the chainsaw’s cock as he gets back onto the bed. His hand is
cold in spite of his body heat, but the chill is counteracted by the friction
of his fingers over Giriko’s erection, so the chainsaw doesn’t complain beyond
a hiss that could be either a flinch or satisfaction. Justin glances up at the
sound and smiles careful and slow. He brings one leg over Giriko to straddle
the chainsaw’s hips again, and for one wild moment Giriko thinks he means to
just go with no further preparation.
He’s almost disappointed when Justin shifts his weight forward and reaches
around behind himself, the more so because he can’t see what the priest is
doing. Then the blond’s mouth comes open, his eyes shut, and he groans, and
Giriko immediately takes back every moment of almost-disappointment he felt.
Justin’s not looking at him, with his eyes shut, but his face is unusually
uncontrolled, and Giriko’s imagination goes wild with every half-voiced shiver
and every tremble of Justin’s lower lip. He can tell when Justin moves his hand
from the way he involuntarily comes up onto his knees, can tell when he slides
a second finger inside himself from the way his face goes blank for a breath.
Then Justin shifts his weight, tips sideways and back so Giriko’s cock brushes
up against his ass, and reaches down to wrap his fingers around his own
erection.
Giriko makes a sound without meaning to, a gasping laugh that sounds more than
a little incredulous. “Fuck, Justin,” he manages, and the priest doesn’t open
his eyes but he smiles and strokes his hand along himself with agonizing
slowness.
“That’s the idea, eventually,” he says, and his voice is so calm in spite of
the visible tremble in his body that Giriko knows how much it is costing him to
maintain the illusion. He grins and rocks his hips up, hits Justin’s wrist and
bumps the fingers the priest’s got inside himself, and Justin cries out and
almost falls. He has to let go of his cock to catch himself on the bed, opens
his eyes to meet Giriko’s gaze, and instead of chastising he laughs, leans down
to breathe hot into Giriko’s ear. He doesn’t speak, just keeps his mouth
whisper-close so Giriko can hear the catch in his breath, the barely-audible
whimper as he slides his fingers free, and the deep inhale he takes as he
reaches out to brace himself with a hand on either side of the chainsaw’s head.
There’s a moment of perfect stillness; Justin is holding his breath, frozen in
place, and Giriko can’t take an inhale for the tension of anticipation. But the
chainsaw’s never been very good at patience, and he snaps, “Stop fucking with
me.”
At least he starts to snap. Justin laughs as he inhales to speak, a tiny
splinter of amusement against his ear, and shifts his weight backward so
Giriko’s cock hits his ass. The chainsaw’s words die in his throat, Justin
wiggles slightly to line himself up, and then the priest is coming down to
slide himself onto Giriko’s cock and the chainsaw can’t think at all.
Coherency vanishes for a moment under the burst of satisfaction in his
head, friction where he wants it and heat where he wants it, and his hips come
up entirely without his intention and Justin gasps and pulls forward, and
that’s good too, the movement is good, and then there are hands on his chest
and Justin is gasping, “Still, hold still,” and Giriko is obeying without even
knowing why. Justin’s eyes are shut again, his whole face tight in something
between pleasure and pain -- of course, with him they’re nearly the same anyway
-- but when the chainsaw goes still he starts sliding down again, slow and
careful but not stopping until he bottoms out on Giriko’s hips.
Justin exhale, careful and shaky, and pushes himself up until he’s upright over
Giriko. It’s not until then that he opens his eyes, looks down at the chainsaw,
and smiles, the same predatory smile he gave him during their first meeting. It
doesn’t make sense that he should look so in control when Giriko’s cock is
inside him, but then he arches his back and lifts up an inch and Giriko doesn’t
care about a whole lot other than the sensations flooding his body.
The angle is odd for Justin to effect vertical movement; there’s nothing he can
brace himself on, so he has to rely on just his own strength to move, which
means that he keeps twisting to get a better angle and his motion is
fantastically and horribly irregular, a single fast thrust followed by one so
slow Giriko is tempted to let the chains vanish and flip them over so he can
just take what he wants. But then Justin tips his head back, arches his back so
his neck and chest form one smooth curve, and Giriko can’t think straight and
lets him go on fucking himself on the chainsaw’s cock.
Then Justin shifts one hand to Giriko’s stomach to brace his weight and brings
his other hand to wrap around his own erection, and any sort of pretense of
restraint vanishes. Justin exhales hard so it sounds like a groan, leans in
against his supporting hand, and starts to jerk himself off in time with his
movements over Giriko. His eyes are shut and his head is tipped forward so his
yellow hair falls over his face, and Giriko can hear every gasping inhale, now,
can feel the hand against his stomach starting to shake with tension. It takes
a minute for him to catch the rhythm but then he has it, bucks up as much as he
can when Justin comes down, and the priest rocks forward and makes a sound
resonant with pleasure.
The pattern of Justin’s movements stays constant, even when Giriko’s responsive
motions are stuttering out of time with the oncoming wave of climax. The
chainsaw thinks at first it’s that Justin isn’t as close as he is yet, but then
the priest sucks in a pained inhale and comes hard over his fingers, and
even then he doesn’t lose his rhythm, even as his body jerks involuntarily and
he moans something that sounds a lot like Giriko’s name. Giriko’s losing focus
himself, only catches the edge of Justin’s satisfied exhale before the priest
comes down again and pleasure bursts hot and bright into his head.
Justin is looking at him when he blinks back into awareness, and if Giriko were
less entirely languid he would hit him for the self-satisfied smirk at the
corner of his mouth. But “Happy?” is all the priest says, and Giriko can’t
manage anything but a groan that answers better than any words would have done.
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