Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1586264.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Blow_Jobs, Masochism, Sadism, Biting, Blood_Kink, Established
      Relationship, Fluff_and_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-11 Completed: 2014-05-13 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 5834
****** Titles ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Justin can see the sudden tension in Giriko’s features, the way the
     chainsaw’s sleepy smirk drops into a vicious frown, but he doesn’t
     know why until Giriko grates out, 'What did you call me?' and
     everything clicks into place." Justin succeeds in picking a fight,
     and Giriko fails at the same.
***** Irritation *****
It’s been far too quiet recently. Justin’s not sure what the cause is, exactly,
other than that he’s certain it’s not from Giriko mellowing with age. After
all, with eight hundred years in his past there’s no particular reason a year
could make this much of a difference. But the fact remains that Giriko has been
unusually quiet recently, only offering token growls when Justin tries to
needle him, and while there is something to be said for peace there is also
something to be said for getting fucked up against a wall and bitemarks that
linger for days. It is the latter that has been winning in Justin’s thoughts
recently, and it’s not like they’re not having sex, it’s just calmer and more
reasonable and generally more sane than what Justin has been itching for
lately.
Which all means that when Giriko drags himself out into the living room on
Saturday morning, Justin is prickly and ready to draw blood if need be to get
the reaction he wants.
“Morning,” the chainsaw offers around a yawn. He’s wearing just boxers, as
usual. Some days he doesn’t even go that far, at least not until the afternoon.
Of course, those days Justin often doesn’t get much done until the afternoon
too, so the blond figures he should probably be at least a little bit grateful.
Of course, today he’s not.
“You’re up earlier than usual,” he snaps instead, barely looking up from the
book he has open in front of him. “Decided to attempt to be a productive member
of society today?”
Giriko stops moving for a moment, runs a hand through his hair and stares at
Justin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Even that doesn’t have the sharp
edge Justin wants. The curse sounds more like an afterthought, habitual rather
than loaded with any fire. “You sound like you have more of a stick up your ass
than usual. You want a blowjob or something?”
Fuck. He’s being considerate, or considerate by the chainsaw’s usual standards.
Justin hisses in wordless frustration and slams the book shut to punctuate.
It’s not like he was really reading it anyway.
“No, I do not. You think all the problems of the world can be solved by sex.”
“You think they can’t,” Giriko grins. He starts moving again, comes in to lean
over the table and breathe against Justin’s ear. “And you always want blowjobs,
don’t fuck around playing coy.”
Justin draws back, glaring up at the chainsaw from as much distance as he can
maintain. “Yeah, definitely, the problems of the world can be solved by my
boyfriend sucking me off.”
He doesn’t realize for a moment what he’s done. Or, rather, he can see the
sudden tension in Giriko’s features, the way the chainsaw’s sleepy smirk drops
into a vicious frown, but he doesn’t know why until Giriko grates out, “What
did you call me?” and everything clicks into place. Justin’s eyes widen for a
breath, the realization hitting him too suddenly for him to call back the
reaction. He’s usually better at judging these things, taking sniper-careful
aim at sore spots rather than Giriko’s shotgun approach to getting a rise out
of the priest. Of course, now that he knows he can use it in the future, and
he’s starting to smile anyway because this was exactly what he wanted. With the
rise of Giriko’s anger Justin’s chills into composure, so he can lean back
against his chair, raise one eyebrow, smirk with a carefully calculated curve
of his lips to push every damn one of the chainsaw’s buttons.
“I called you what you are,” Justin says, the innocence of his tone wildly out
of proportion to the expression on his face. “My boyfriend.”
Giriko hisses, one hand snapping out to clutch a fistful of Justin’s shirt.
Justin doesn’t flinch at the jerk on his clothes or the sudden increase in
proximity to the chainsaw, just blinks up at him while his pulse starts to come
faster at the unadulterated rage in Giriko’s expression.
“I am not your boyfriend,” Giriko spits, so close Justin flinches reflexively
from the violence of the sound.
“Oh?” Justin shrugs as best he can against the pressure from his tight-pulled
shirt. “My mistake. Must be someone else who was offering to suck me off a
minute ago.”
“I’m not gonna fucking suck you off now,” Giriko growls. His teeth are very
sharp. Justin can see the points of them from how close the other is; in spite
of his best efforts his gaze is dropping to Giriko’s mouth more than his eyes.
“You’re gunning for a fight, kid, is that what you wanted?”
“Never said it wasn’t,” Justin says. It’s not like the admission will cool
Giriko off, at this point. “You seemed heading towards domesticity recently. Of
course, if you prefer to continue denying the commitment inherent in our
relationship, be my guest.”
Something flickers over Giriko’s face; it’s almost a cringe, there’s a hint of
softness in his eyes but more anger at his mouth, and the hand in Justin’s
shirt moves to shake the blond, more for punctuation than for viciousness.
“Fuck you,” he spits. “I ain’t denying anything about our relationship. But I’m
no one’s boyfriend.”
Justin is very briefly rendered entirely speechless by this. The anger, though
he wasn’t counting on it, isn’t much of a surprise when he thinks it through.
It’s the first statement that wipes his thoughts blank with shock for just a
moment, and that’s long enough for Giriko to drag him bodily to his feet by his
hold on the priest’s shirt.
“Take it back,” Giriko growls. The vibration of sound hums through Justin’s
skin and settles into heat in his blood, so his eyelids flutter more than they
need to when he blinks and his voice comes out a little slower, a little lower
than he intended.
“I can’t take back something that’s true,” he says, almost slurring the words
over a tongue gone heavy with anticipation. Giriko shoves him, lets go of his
shirt at the last minute so the tug pulls Justin off-balance and he falls
heavily into the wall instead of regaining his feet. Before he can collect his
balance or his composure Giriko’s shoving up against him, forgoing the push of
hands for the added strength of his shoulders and chest against Justin’s.
Justin stares wide-eyed at the chainsaw, not frightened as much as breathless
with the flood of satisfaction in his veins. They’re the same height but
Justin’s at an angle against the wall, and Giriko’s stretching to his full
height so Justin’s at eye-level with his mouth, can watch his lips and tongue
shift as the chainsaw bites off words more than enunciates them.
“Fuck you, I’m not your boyfriend.” The title turns into a curse in his mouth,
and when Justin opens his mouth to respond Giriko’s lips crush against his, too
hard to be called a kiss proper but still enough to shatter Justin’s focus so
he slides another inch down the wall. There’s a flash of spiking pain as Giriko
bites down on his lower lip, a rush of coppery blood over Justin’s tongue, and
the blond is shuddering in the weird shaky pleasure of pain when Giriko pulls
away and lets him breathe.
“You done?” he asks. There’s blood on his mouth, Justin’s blood staining his
teeth and lips violent red, and Justin can’t look at the chainsaw’s eyes at all
anymore. Even with his mouth stinging with the already-clotting tear in his lip
he wants to lick that color off Giriko’s mouth.
“No,” he says as coolly as he can manage with his blood going to steam in his
veins. “I won’t lie, certainly not for the sake of your bizarre need to defend
your masculinity.”
Giriko’s hand comes down on Justin’s shoulder, high over his collarbone so a
thumb digs against the blond’s throat. Justin drags his gaze up to meet the
angry heat in Giriko’s eyes; as soon as their eyes meet the chainsaw growls,
shoves down and presses his thumb against Justin’s pounding pulse. He maintains
the pressure and Justin maintains their eye contact as he folds to his knees,
sucking idly on his lip and watching the way Giriko’s mouth comes open absently
in response to the shift of his own.
It’s not a surprise that the chainsaw’s hard; Justin could feel the other’s
cock through the thin fabric of his boxers even when he was standing. Giriko’s
not the only one, although Justin’s jeans do a better job of hiding that fact
if he cared to pretend otherwise. The chainsaw’s not particularly concerned
with it in any case; no sooner have Justin’s knees touched the floor than the
hand on his shoulder catches at his jaw, a finger hooking into his mouth to
slide over the blond’s tongue.
“Open your mouth,” Giriko orders, but Justin’s already parted his lips in
preemptive action, so Giriko’s words come out like a desperate attempt to
regain control rather than the domineering tone the other was trying to take.
He’s reaching out for Giriko’s boxers to pull them free as well; Giriko doesn’t
try to order him to do that, just growls in irritation and shoves two fingers
into Justin’s mouth for the priest to lick, hooks his thumb over the blond’s
chin to hold his mouth in place while his fingers press almost down the
priest’s throat.
“You talk too fucking much,” Giriko grunts, moving his fingers to feel out the
inside of Justin’s mouth until the priest can’t anticipate his movements, just
licks and sucks whatever and whenever he can. Giriko’s boxers are off, Justin’s
fingers fitting against the sharp line of his hips; the chainsaw shoves his
fingers over the blond’s tongue once more, far enough that Justin’s throat
works against the obstruction, then pulls them free and grabs the back of the
priest’s head in one movement. His fingers are wet, catch on Justin’s hair even
before he’s made a fist, but Justin’s coming forward fast, anticipating
Giriko’s movements so he’s got his mouth over the head of the chainsaw’s cock
before the other has even managed to get to the obvious conclusion of his
complaint.
Giriko doesn’t groan, doesn’t offer any sort of coherent comment, just chuckles
low and satisfied. Justin can see his expression go languid with pleasure at
the contact, just for a breath; then Justin dips in farther quickly, and Giriko
shoves at his head so the chainsaw slides far back in the blond’s mouth, and
Justin’s attention on holding the chainsaw’s gaze evaporates under the more
immediate concern of breathing around the intrusion in his mouth.
“God you look good like this,” Giriko says, the sound rumbling rich in his
chest. The fingers at Justin’s head are too strong for the priest to push back
against without an actual fight, and he doesn’t want to fight anyway; there’s a
thrill to letting the other steer the pace of his movements, to stalling out
his inhales until Giriko pulls his mouth back and he can take a shuddering
desperate breath in the moment before he’s shoved back. “You weren’t made to be
a Death Weapon, you were meant to suck cock, obviously.”
Justin chokes on a laugh at that. Giriko grins down at him, thrusts back
against the back of his throat until the amusement cuts off with a lack of air.
“Maybe just mine.” His hand shifts sideways so his free hand can curl against
Justin’s cheek with unusual tenderness, push the strands of yellow hair back
from his forehead, and his gaze goes weirdly soft in counterpoint to Justin’s
rising light-headedness and the continued burn of his blood at the back of his
throat. “Or just mine.” He punctuates with another push, meeting his own thrust
until Justin has to tip his head back to take the chainsaw’s length down his
throat properly, has to shut his eyes while Giriko keeps talking. “You’re mine,
okay? I’m not your boyfriend but I’m --”
He cuts off like the possessive won’t come, can’t be forced up his throat, and
when he lets Justin slide back and the priest opens his eyes the chainsaw’s not
looking at him, he’s glaring at the wall instead. There’s a beat while Giriko
scowls and Justin catches his breath; then the chainsaw looks back down,
growls, “More,” and shoves Justin back in so hard there’s no space for any
other considerations in the blond’s head but breathing around the almost-
metallic taste of Giriko in his mouth. He’s so lost to the thrust of the
other’s length over his tongue and against his throat that he doesn’t realize,
right away, what Giriko says when the chainsaw finally groans and comes over
the back of Justin’s tongue. It’s not until the other man has pulled free and
dragged Justin back to his feet, not until the chainsaw’s got his jeans more
than half-open, that Justin realizes the word was ‘yours.’
He thinks about saying something, considers it for several seconds, but
Giriko’s almost got his pants open, and before Justin’s come to a conclusion
the other’s fingers close around him and any coherent response he might have
mustered is lost in an appreciative groan.
“Fuck you,” Giriko purrs against his ear. “You were trying to pick a fight,
weren’t you.”
Justin starts to laugh, although the sound comes out choppy with startled
inhales in time with the pull of Giriko’s hand over his cock. “I didn’t know
that would work so well.”
“Mm.” Giriko hums, leans in against Justin’s shoulders and drops his other hand
down to shove the blond’s hips back against the wall to counteract the priest’s
instinctive rocking forward into the friction of the other’s movements. “‘M I
not satisfying you enough?”
“I’m very --” Justin’s throat catches on a breath before he can finish his
thought. “Satisfied. I’m just not -- not bleeding enough.”
Giriko laughs at that, low and dark, and when he tips his head down to Justin’s
shoulder Justin tips his head sideways in anticipation even before the other’s
teeth break his skin. The burst of pain is fire under Justin’s skin, lancing
through his blood so his whimper turns into a moan, the hurt floods into
pleasure, and he jerks into Giriko’s hold and comes across the other’s wrist.
Giriko doesn’t let the bite against Justin’s shoulder loose until the blond is
shuddering aftershocks against the wall; then he lets go, pulls back so Justin
can see his face. His lips are red again, in the moment Justin can see before
they come down on the priest’s mouth, and he tastes like copper and iron and
oil. Justin shuts his eyes, and smiles, and when he opens his mouth there’s a
purr at the back of his throat.
***** Pleased *****
There’s no way he could have known, Giriko tells himself later. He’s gotten
pretty good at judging Justin’s reactions to the prodding the chainsaw offers,
good enough that he recognizes (in his own mind; he’d never admit it aloud)
that only about half of what the priest does is due to Giriko’s taunts. More of
it is Justin’s mood, how tired or irritable or horny he is, that determines
whether they’re going to be teasing each other or having a real fight, and it’s
been months since Giriko made the mistake of entangling his own response to a
jibe with Justin’s.
Which means he’s about due for it, he rationalizes later. And the title makes
him livid, defensive with the special sort of bleeding-edge desperation that
means Justin’s hit way too close to the mark, especially because Giriko makes
an effort to avoid letting the damn kid know about those triggers. Still, he
seems to have most of them at this point, and all Giriko has is the blond’s
sensitivity about not having a meister; it’d be kind of nice to even the score,
even if he never uses that knowledge.
So, yeah, he’s trying to pick a fight when Justin comes home on a Thursday a
couple weeks after Giriko made him swear, swear never to call him anything
starting with a ‘b’ and ending with ‘oyfriend’ ever again. The chainsaw doesn’t
think that’ll stick, but it’s holding for now, which means he doesn’t have that
excuse for a fight, and he’s itching for one. His skin is prickling with
anxiety, a low-level nervousness that’s been building ever since that last
sort-of conversation, and it’s definitely not because he keeps finding
that damn word on the tip of his tongue every time he turns around. And
it’s reasonable that he find out how the priest reacts to it. Only sane thing
to do, since the fucking blond knows how Giriko feels about the stupid title.
He’s been thinking about it off-and-on for an hour when the front door opens,
slowly winding tighter and tighter around the idea until he can’t even pay
attention to the mindless shit he’s got on the television. He turns it off a
quarter till when Justin usually gets home, lies back on the couch and tries
not to think too hard about how he knows when Justin usually gets home, how he
can feel anticipation rising in his blood without even looking at the clock,
cause that makes him feel like a pet, which is only slightly better
than boyfriend.
He waits to speak until Justin’s halfway down the hallway, after the delay and
the rustle that is the priest shedding his boots and socks and robes at the
door, the faint sounds of breathing and movement and half-voiced sounds of
action. Justin speaks first, in fact, which Giriko counts as a win for all that
the priest sounds horrifyingly domestic in the way he calls “Giriko?” down into
the main part of the apartment.
“Yo,” the chainsaw says to the ceiling. A minute later a blond head comes into
view, Justin tipping his head until he can get a good look at the chainsaw
stretched out over the couch. He’s always done this, since the very first day,
before Giriko learned what he tastes like or how his mouth feels or the
truly amazing sounds his throat can produce. It’s some sort of ritual, checking
to make sure his ward hasn’t killed himself or everyone around him while he was
gone. It doesn’t even bother Giriko anymore.
He tries to avoid thinking about that too.
“Keeping busy?” Justin asks, only very slight sarcasm audible in his tone.
“‘Course.” Giriko kicks one leg off the couch to swing himself upright so he
can get to his feet and slouch around the end of the furniture towards the
priest. Justin stays where he is, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and
his eyes sharp enough that they could go towards really kinky or really violent
or both at a moment’s notice. Luckily Giriko isn’t particularly concerned about
his own safety, or he would worry. If it were him looking like that, Justin
would be smart to worry about losing an ear, or a finger, or worse. “Don’t want
to disappoint my boyfriend, now do I?”
Giriko is ready for the priest to frown, ready for a slashing blade-arm or a
hiss or irritation or anything in between, along the whole range of how-is-
Justin-feeling-today. He is not expecting the blond to lean back like Giriko’s
threatening him, and he is definitely not expecting Justin’s eyes to go so
wide. The sharp edge is gone like it was never there, washed away into blue-sky
shock; Giriko’s never seen Justin look so utterly floored, not ever.
“Wh--” Justin says, or starts to say. His throat closes up halfway through,
Giriko can see it working around the sound, can see the priest’s mouth falling
open soundlessly. The shock is maybe the only thing that could bring Giriko up
so short; he was ready for violence or amusement or even casual dismissal, but
he didn’t know Justin could look like this, there was no part of him that
even considered such a response.
The blond’s starting to look a little shaky on his feet. Giriko’s forehead
creases in concern; he reaches out a steadying hand before remembering that he
doesn’t do that, he doesn’t fret over the other, and stalling out the movement.
He can’t retract his hand, though, not when the priest really is starting to
look translucent-pale, so it just hovers awkwardly in the air by Justin’s
shoulder.
The blond looks at Giriko’s arm, swallows, forces himself to look back at the
chainsaw’s face. “What. What did you say?”
Well. Those are the words Giriko was expecting, if not the tone. “I called you
my boyfriend.” He’s trying to turn the word sarcastic and saccharine, but he
can’t quite manage it with Justin staring at him with his face white with
shock, so it just comes out as generic emphasis. Even so the priest blinks at
the word, opens his mouth, closes it again, starts to look away before
obviously catching himself and forcing his eyes to stay fixed on the
chainsaw’s.
“Hey.” This is not going as planned. Giriko’s desire for a fight has lost all
its teeth, gone cold and slightly panicked because he doesn’t know what he’s
done but Justin really does look like he’s on the verge of collapse. “Hey, kid,
you alright?”
Justin does move, then, but at least he comes forward instead of back, and it
appears to be more or less of his own volition. His head hits Giriko’s shoulder
so the chainsaw can’t see his expression anymore, and it’s more of a relief
than anything, if only so that the older man can speak more normally again.
“Justin?”
“I’m fine.” The blond’s words are muffled against Giriko’s shirt, and he’s just
leaning in against the chainsaw’s chest. Everything about the angle they are at
implies that he should be hugging Giriko, or have his arms around his neck,
or something, but there’s just the pressure of his head against the chainsaw’s
sholder and Giriko’s hand still hovering in the air just shy of Justin’s elbow.
“You don’t look fine,” Giriko points out, still without moving.
“No one’s called me that before,” Justin says, clear and precise enough that he
must be trying for clarity in spite of the obstruction in front of his mouth.
“D’you think that’s something that should have happened?” Giriko asks. He’s
starting to grin; his hand finally completes its movement, lands against
Justin’s arm without any thought at all. “As far as I understand you
haven’t been someone’s boyfriend before now, kid. Generally people don’t call
you that unless you are.”
Justin punches him, gently as far as punches go but angled up against Giriko’s
ribs so all the air rushes out of his lungs. “Shut up. I mean I...I’m not used
to being anyone’s anything.”
“Anyone’s anything,” Giriko repeats, as drily as he can manage, which means he
only sounds a little like he’s on the verge of laughter. “Well said. I’m
starting to see why being a Death Weapon is such a difficult thing, must have
taken you years of schooling to get so damn coherent.”
He’s more ready for the punch this time, laughing before he flinches back from
the impact, and when Justin snaps, “Shut up,” the blond sounds like he’s on the
verge of amusement himself. “I’m trying to be honest with you here.”
“And I’m trying to stop you,” Giriko shoots back. “I don’t do well with the
touchy-feeling confessions, okay? You should know that if you don’t know a
single other damn thing about me. You can have all the feelings you want ‘slong
as I don’t need to hear about or acknowledge them.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s very reassuring, thanks,” Justin grumbles.
Giriko heaves a sigh, grabs at Justin’s shoulders to pull the blond’s face back
so he can see the priest’s expression. He’s not crying, thank goodness; there’s
just the lingering edge of that bloodless shock at the corners of his mouth and
the edges of his eyes.
“Look,” Giriko sighs. “I’m not good at this. Let’s just go in to the bedroom
and I can get back to what I am good at.”
Justin raises an eyebrow. Giriko tries not to think about the fact that relief
at Justin looking normal again edges out his irritation at the expression.
“That was almost subtle for you,” the priest says, but he steps away and turns
to head down the hallway anyway, so Giriko’s not complaining. The chainsaw
follows him, deliberately close so he’s nearly kicking the back of Justin’s
ankles as they walk. “I’m impressed.”
“I thought you’d like it,” the chainsaw grins at the back of Justin’s head.
“I could be a lot more explicit if you’d like.”
“I know you could be,” Justin says without turning or slowing his pace. He
sounds cool, now, steady and composed, and that’s a relief too.
“I mean, if you want I can tell you about my plan to strip all your clothes off
and spread you out across the bed,” Giriko continues. Justin doesn’t speak to
stop him. “How I’m gonna finger-fuck you open so I can watch you go to pieces
even before I get my cock inside you and pound you into the mattress.” He
reaches out to touch the back of Justin’s head, just where the yellow curl of
his hair settles over the back of his neck, and the priest shivers and tips his
head forward under the contact as they round the corner to the bedroom. Justin
stops just past the doorway and Giriko steps in against him, breathes out over
the back of his ear and slides one hand across the other’s stomach, pushing his
thin shirt sideways under the pressure of his fingers. “I could tell you all
about how you’re mine --”
Justin shudders, gasps an inhale, and Giriko was kind of expecting that but
it’s still thrilling to feel how fast the priest responds to the word. He pulls
Justin back against him; the priest’s shirt is up high enough that he’s got two
fingers on bare skin, he can feel the shiver of response run through the blond.
With Justin totally compliant Giriko can steady him one-handed, reach down to
tug his pants open with his other hand while he keeps talking against the
sensitive skin along Justin’s hairline. “My boyfriend or my weapon or whatever,
whatever noun you fucking want to put on cause you seem to care about that and
I don’t give a shit, really, as long as we’re both real clear on who is doing
the owning. Is that something about being a weapon, that you want to
be possessed?” He gets the blond’s pants open, lets his steadying hold go so he
can hook his thumbs around the other’s clothes and push them down to Justin’s
feet. “I sure never felt that way.” The priest is a little shaky on his own but
he steadies himself with a hand on Giriko’s shoulder, steps free of his pants
and boxers at once; Giriko keeps his hands at his sides as he comes back up,
catches the edge of Justin’s shirt and peels that up and off over his head as
he goes. Justin lifts his arms obediently, doesn’t speak even when Giriko
pauses for him, and when the chainsaw nudges him forward he goes, crawls onto
the bed before turning around to stare at Giriko with that same odd wide-eyed
expression on his face again.
“I don’t get it,” Giriko goes on, leaving Justin on the bed so he can collect
the lube, open the bottle and drip liquid over his fingers. “This thing you
have about being alone.” Justin leans back over the bed as he approaches,
dropping down to lie flat over the sheets and spreading his legs in invitation
without Giriko even asking, so Giriko doesn’t even have to move him before he
can reach in to push a finger against the blond’s entrance. Justin sighs as the
finger slides inside him, his eyes falling shut as he visibly relaxes into the
sheets.
Giriko keeps talking, though he’s not sure Justin’s listening anymore,
punctuating the rumble of words over his tongue with the shift of his hand
inside the blond. “You’re so fucking hung up on being on your own, being solo,
like the whole be-all end-all of your fucking existence revolves around you
being alone.” He shifts his hand, fits another slick finger inside the priest,
resumes his slow movement. “Which makes even less goddamn sense cause
you’re not. You decided to fucking adopt me, save my goddamn life like it’s
something worth saving, you’re not alone and then you seem so fucking startled
when I tell you so.” He grins, laughs shortly. “And you think you’re so goddamn
smart. You’re just a kid, really.”
Justin’s not speaking, still; Giriko’s not even sure he’s hearing any of this.
That’s okay. He’s not talking for Justin’s sake. He slides his hand free and
Justin shivers but doesn’t move to sit up or roll over, doesn’t even reach to
touch himself although he’s hard, has been hard since well before Giriko
started working his pants open. That’s fine too, Giriko likes him best when
he’s desperate for the touch of the chainsaw’s hands anyway. Unbuckling his
pants and stripping them off is a rapid process; taking his shirt off too takes
a moment longer, but it’s worth it, especially for the way Justin’s eyelids
flutter when he tips his head up and sees how much skin Giriko’s showing.
Giriko doesn’t bother waiting, although he’s teased Justin before and he
does love the way the blond gets when he does. But this isn’t the time, so he
just closes his fingers around his length, offers the few efficient strokes
necessary to coat himself in lube, and comes in to lean down and catch Justin’s
lower lip in a kiss while he lines himself up. The priest exhales shakily
against Giriko’s skin, his narrow fingers come up to slide over the chainsaw’s
chest, and when the older man thrusts himself slowly inside Justin just sighs
with as much satisfaction in the sound as Giriko can feel coursing through his
body. He pulls away from Justin’s mouth, just an inch or two so he can watch
the blond’s face; Justin’s staring at him, eyes wide and still slightly glazed
from his earlier shock. Giriko can see the faint marks of his teeth in Justin’s
lip from the weeks earlier; it shows on the blond’s shoulder, too, a crescent
of pale pink skin too new to have lightened to match its surroundings. Giriko
leans in towards the shape, presses his mouth to it without any of the teeth
such a gesture usually entails, and Justin whimpers, very softly, in the back
of his throat.
Giriko settles a hand deliberately gently on the priest’s hip, slides back with
as much care as he placed his hand. When he rocks back forward it’s a little
faster, hard enough that Justin’s breath gusts out of him. When Giriko murmurs,
“Mine,” into the blond’s shoulder, the sigh turns into a moan halfway through.
Giriko grins, braces himself a little more firmly, and starts to set a rhythm,
slow but steadily accelerating as he keeps talking into Justin’s skin.
“I don’t go in for titles, myself,” he says, calm as if they’re just having a
conversation and he’s not got his cock up the blond’s ass, calm as if
they ever just have a conversation. “Obviously you do, though.” Justin’s
breathing faster, now, inhaling fast enough that he’s clearly past the point of
response. Giriko lets his hip go, curls his fingers around the blond’s cock
with pointed delay so he can feel the way Justin hisses and arches into the
contact.
“I’ll call you whatever you want,” he goes on, speeding the strokes of his hand
to match the rock of his hips. Justin gasps, groans; his fingers come up
against the back of Giriko’s neck, hold the chainsaw’s head down so he couldn’t
see the blond’s expression if he tried. “If boyfriend is what does it for you -
-” Justin hisses, rocks up off the bed for a brief moment of stunning
sensation. Giriko grunts, pauses, takes a moment to recollect his rhythm before
he keeps talking. “Then I’ll call you that. You wanna be my weapon partner?”
Justin wails at that, as Giriko half-suspected he would; the chainsaw tightens
his grip, speeds the stroke of his hand until Justin drops back to the bed,
starts to pant and shake under his touch. “I’ll call you that. It
doesn’t matter, anyway, cause I’m here and I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted
to, and I don’t want to.”
Giriko’s own breathing is starting to go, rushing a little too fast through his
lungs so it’s hard to talk, but Justin is going tense underneath him so he
keeps talking. “I’m here, you idiot, whatever the fuck you thought having a
partner would look like you have one now.” He drops to an elbow, curls his
fingers into a fist in Justin’s hair and tips his head to breathe against the
blond’s ear. “Now fucking come for me.”
Justin’s back arches up off the bed until his skin brushes against Giriko’s;
the chainsaw can feel the taut edge of pleasure coiling through his body,
thrumming through his blood like a shock of electricity. Then the chainsaw
drops his weight down to press Justin into the bed, and jerks his hand over the
blond’s length, and Justin groans and comes, the tension snapping and fading
out into shivery convulsions against Giriko.
Giriko’s not far behind, now that he doesn’t need to focus on speaking. He lets
Justin go, grabs the priest’s hip to hold him steady, and is just starting to
speed the rhythm of his thrusts into the blond when Justin’s arms curl around
his neck, and lips brush against his jaw, and the priest says, “Yours” and the
world explodes away in a rush of heat and sensation and pleasure.
Giriko didn’t realize that he was as hung up on that word as Justin is. He
reflects on this, distantly, once the peak of sensation has passed and he’s
dropped heavy over the blond’s smaller frame. Justin isn’t complaining; he’s
got his fingers trailing through Giriko’s hair, the motion so tender Giriko
would complain if it didn’t feel too damn good for him to care.
“So,” he finally mumbles against the healing bite mark in Justin’s shoulder,
not bothering to lift his head. “I’ve got myself a boyfriend, huh?”
Even now, he can feel the shiver that runs through Justin, the brief pause
before the blond speaks, but his voice is level when he does. “If you say so.”
“I do say so,” Giriko growls.
Even without seeing Justin’s face he can feel the movement of a smile.
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