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The world might end tomorrow, and Aki's kissing him like he knows for certain that it will.
It’s hard for him to press Denji into the mattress like he likes with only one arm, so Denji’s on top, legs straddling Aki’s hips. Aki’s hand roams over Denji’s face, his chest, his back, anywhere he can reach; in constant movement like if he stops for a second Denji’ll disappear on him.
“Aki,” Denji breathes against Aki’s lips.
I’m here, it’s okay, he doesn’t say.
He knows Aki is tired. He can see it in the darkness under his eyes and the way his shoulders slump and he sighs when he thinks Denji’s not looking. Denji’s tired too, but tomorrow it’ll all be over — the culmination of months of work. The final battle.
And it might be.
It might be the final battle.
Denji doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want Aki to think about it, so he rolls his hips down against Aki’s and pulls away from his mouth to bite into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. Aki doesn’t protest like he usually does when Denji’s sharp teeth threaten to leave a mark. Instead, his breath hitches and he tilts his head and threads his fingers through Denji’s hair.
“Denji,” he says, quiet enough that if he wasn’t right next to Denji’s ear he wouldn’t’ve heard it.
But he hears it, and he responds by sucking bruises in a line down Aki’s neck. His fair skin colors so easily, so prettily.
Aki bends underneath him, curves up into him, and Denji moans when he feels Aki’s cock press into his stomach. It had taken a while — longer than usual — to get there. Denji knows it’s because Aki is preoccupied with anxiety. He’d been surprised Aki’d even wanted to at all, but he didn’t complain when Aki pulled him into his room after Power'd fallen asleep, even though the frantic shine in his eyes made Denji’s stomach twist.
When his tongue reaches Aki's nipple, Aki whimpers. Quiet again, like he's trying to hold it back. Like he's embarrassed that he likes it. Wants it.
This time, Denji does say, “It's okay,” because he thinks Aki needs to hear it.
“It isn't,” Aki says, voice cracking. And then, whispered, “Don't stop.”
Denji’s good at following orders.
His teeth and lips leave a trail of destruction in their wake. White skin blooms purple and red, across Aki’s chest, down the valleys between his ribs, past his navel and over to the jut of his hipbone. Aki’s breath is ragged, and Denji has to hold him in place when he jerks and writhes, nails scratching at Denji’s scalp.
Denji licks over the last mark, on Aki’s inner thigh. The crease of his skin is salty, musky, Aki. Denji makes his way inward, and Aki gasps sharply when Denji’s tongue wanders down. He tugs at Denji’s hair, pulling him up and away, and Denji’s heart aches when he looks into wide blue eyes.
“Please,” he says, reaching up to cup Aki’s cheek. “Let me.”
Aki’s head tilts into Denji’s calloused palm and his eyes slip shut. Maybe he thinks Denji doesn’t catch the tears glittering there, and Denji lets him. Aki’s hand pushes him down before coming up to cover his own reddening face.
Don’t, Denji wants to say. You’re beautiful.
But he swallows it along with the lump forming in his throat, and bends back down between Aki’s spread legs.
The handful of times they’d done it this way, Aki hadn’t really let Denji do much beyond the actual fucking. He was prepped already, he’d say, before he all but pushed Denji in. He knew Aki liked it more than he let on (he always came before Denji, with a full body shudder that Denji could feel spark down his spine), but Denji never pushed it. He’d take whatever he could get, even though he wanted all of it, wanted everything — he wanted Aki so badly it hurt.
He can’t believe he gets to have him.
His tongue breaches Aki and Aki’s heels press between Denji’s shoulder blades as his body arcs. His arm muffles the noises he makes, but Denji can hear enough to make his pulse race and his cock throb. He moans and resists the urge to rut against the sheets; he wants to make Aki feel as good as possible, and doesn’t wanna ruin it by coming too soon.
He adds a finger, then two, curls them like Aki does to him, and Aki curses, breathless, like he’s been punched in the stomach. Denji hears his name, choked and desperate, and Aki’s thighs tighten around his head. They're trembling, and Denji knows that means he's close, so he pulls away, lips swollen and chin wet with his own saliva.
Aki makes an aborted noise of protest, rocking his hips up against Denji's face. Denji grins and bites a matching mark into Aki's other thigh.
“Denji…”
If Aki's anxiety weren't palpable, viscous and heavy in the air around them, Denji would make fun of him for whining.
But Denji knows Aki’s scared.
He knows what the tears mean.
For an outwardly stoic man, Aki cries a lot. But he’s never tried to hide it from Denji before.
He crawls back up Aki's body, pressing a kiss against each and every hickey as he goes. He pries Aki's arm off his face and smiles down at him. Aki blinks in the sudden light, lashes wet.
“It's okay,” Denji says again, because he doesn't think Aki believes him.
Aki shakes his head, curt, and digs his nails into Denji's shoulder.
“I need you,” he says.
He cranes up for a kiss, even though Denji'd just been eating his ass, and that more than anything cements in Denji's mind that Aki really, truly believes there's no tomorrow. An ache blooms in his chest, and the lump is back up in his throat, choking him.
“Please,” Aki says, tears beading in his lashline.
“Yeah,” Denji croaks. “I'm here.”
I love you, he thinks as he pushes in.
He wants to say it, because he knows it’s right.
He’d say it if he didn’t think it would break Aki completely.
Aki is warm and tight around him, and it’s as overwhelming as the first time. Denji has to stop, once he’s all the way in, because if he doesn’t he’ll come, and Aki doesn’t like it when he comes inside. Aki’s looking up at him, brows furrowed, and Denji doesn’t know if it’s from pleasure or because he’s crying.
Denji leans down to kiss him again, thrusting slowly. Aki whimpers into his mouth and his cock twitches against Denji’s stomach. His legs wrap around Denji’s waist, pushing and pulling him as he sets a steady pace. The kiss grows wet from Aki’s tears, and Denji breaks away to kiss them off his cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Denji murmurs, a broken record, but he’ll say it again and again until they both believe it. “It’s okay, Aki, I’m here.”
He sinks once more into Aki and Aki sobs, clinging to Denji like the words aren’t enough, like he needs to feel the heat of his body for it to be real.
“Don’t stop.” High and shaky, but Denji obeys.
He presses his lips to the pulse beating in Aki’s neck and fucks him like maybe, maybe , there really isn’t any tomorrow. Aki’s nails dig searing crescents into his back and his moans are wet and hitching and when he comes, he cries out Denji’s name and shakes and clenches so hard around Denji he sees stars. He tries to pull back, because he’s gonna explode, but Aki’s arm and legs tighten around him.
“Aki, fuck,” Denji pants into Aki’s overheated skin. “I’m gonna come, too.”
“Inside,” Aki breathes, “do it inside.”
Denji’s fingers tangle in the inky black spill of Aki’s hair and he kisses Aki hard, so Aki’s swallowing his moans as he comes. Aki squeezes him, squeezes every last drop out of him, biting his lips and clawing his back and crying crying crying.
When the overwhelming rush of pleasure begins to subside, Denji looks down at Aki’s wet face and feels that horrible choking feeling well up again.
This time it’s Aki who says, “it’s okay,” and he smiles through the tears, petting through Denji’s hair and down the nape of his neck.
“It is,” Denji says, hollow, and kisses Aki one last time.
It’s barely dawn when Aki leaves. Denji wakes to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, back bending as he leans down to pull on his socks.
“Hey,” Denji says, bleary with sleep.
Aki turns to look at him, and none of the fear from last night shows on his face.
He’s just Aki.
Just Aki.
“I have to go,” he says. His smile is small, but it reassures Denji nonetheless, and he smiles back.
“I know. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Aki’s face flickers. Falters. He turns away from Denji before he nods. “Yeah.”
He’s on his feet and halfway to the door when the urgency hits Denji like a runaway train. He sits up, leaning towards Aki like he’s not already out of arm’s reach, like if he willed it enough he could make Aki stop and turn around and never leave him.
“Hey.”
Aki stops. Doesn’t look back.
Denji’s heart is in his throat, strangling him, but he manages to say it.
“I love you.”
Aki’s inhale is shaky. He nods again. Pushes open the door.
“I’ll see you later, Denji.”
When Denji next sees him, it’s not Aki.
Aki is gone.