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The wall against Denji’s back is rough but cool — a single blessing in this shit situation he’s found himself in.
He’s trying to calm down — deep breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth, in, out, in, out — because his traitorous dick had to go and get hard at the most inopportune time.
It’s the day of his school’s sports festival, and Denji was signed up — against his will, he would like to add — for the interclass volleyball tournament. In the first round, his class was paired with none other than Yoshida Hirofumi’s class.
Fucking stalker, he probably orchestrated it himself.
Admittedly, Denji fared pretty well in the game. Fighting devils will build up some muscle here and there, and he’s constantly jumping all over the place to slash ‘em down. It’s no surprise those assets help a little during a volleyball game; though, he still can’t dig up a ball for shit.
And it was at the end of the game, match point, when their rotation placed Denji at the back, while good ol’ Yoshida was looming up at the front.
Tall-ass motherfucker.
Being a devil hunter himself, the aforementioned muscle and skill were to be expected from him. But nothing could’ve prepared Denji for that final winning point.
It’s not like Yoshida’s class worked all that cohesively. Honestly, they were pretty well-matched. But the damn rotation. Yuko ended up in the front with Yoshida, and she turned out to be a pretty damn good setter, surprise surprise. So when the ball came flying over to their side, dug up — kinda sloppy but up, nonetheless — and beautifully set to Yoshida, Denji mentally groaned at the thought of having to dive for the ball.
He watched Yoshida’s eyes track the ball, tongue peeking out the corner of his lips in concentration, before he leapt up into the air. The deafening smack! that resounded in the gym as Yoshida’s hand drove into the ball was swallowed only by the consequential slam onto the floor of the court. And that was pretty fuckin’ rattling on its own, but that wasn’t really it. It was the look on Yoshida’s face as he hit the ball — determined, predatory, dominating. It shook Denji up so much he was frozen in place, didn’t even think to dive for the ball, much to his teammates’ dismay.
Their ire was short-lived — it’s a stupid sports festival, who actually cares? — but Denji didn’t stick around to hear their complaints, anyway.
Because at that moment, all the gods and all the devils and everything in-between conspired against him to create the most ill-timed random boner in existence.
And it was most definitely a random boner; in no way was it tied to Yoshida's spike. No way, no how. Nuh-uh. Denji likes girls. Girls.
Except… Yoshida's kinda pretty like a girl… He’s got long lashes and that beauty mark right by his mouth like a little target. He might as well have a sign that says “kiss here” by his mouth, like come on—
Wait, no. No. Denji is not thinking these thoughts. And his dick definitely did not just jump in his gym shorts.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, Denji needs to get this shit under control. Someone’s bound to notice he’s missing, and—
“Sulking, are we?”
Denji jumps straight out of his skin with an aborted yelp, eyes wide as saucers as he looks upon the last person he wants to see right now.
There’s a slight tug in his chest at that thought, like his body — or Pochita, the traitor — is rejecting it.
“Yeah, right! Like I’d go cryin’ over a stupid volleyball game. ‘M just tired,” Denji deflects, drawing his knees up further into his chest.
“Uh-huh. Somehow, I’m finding it hard to believe someone who turned himself into a perpetual motion machine is tired after one volleyball game,” Yoshida teases in that damn low rumble while sliding down the wall to sit next to him.
What the fuck kinda deal did this guy make with a devil to make his voice like that, huh? It’s pissing Denji off.
“Sounds like a you problem, buddy. And why the fuck are you so close? Back the hell up, you’re creepin’ me out!” Denji elbows Yoshida in the side, a half-hearted attempt to get him to scooch away.
The goddamn double-crosser in Denji’s chest lurches again, and it makes him grit his teeth.
Yoshida just chuckles, barely swaying in place. He peers down at Denji through the raven fringe of his bangs, those dark eyes crinkled with barely-restrained amusement.
After a moment, Yoshida rests his head back against the rough stucco of the wall, sighing, “Ya know… Shit like this — these school events, sports festivals, and all — they always pissed me off. Couldn’t stand them. Used to skip them all the time.”
The confession takes Denji off-guard for a moment, and his shoulders relax out of their hunched position.
“Why’s that?”
Yoshida takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets another deep sigh out, closing his eyes.
“Felt like a slap in the face. The shit I do being a devil hunter is way more challenging than any sports game. Listening to people worry about what they’ll wear or what event their class will do for the culture festival… It made me sick. I’ve had to worry about dying every day of my life for the past three years. While my classmates were signing up for clubs, I was signing a contract with a devil.” He tilts his head back down and plays with a loose thread in his gym shorts. “You’re constantly surrounded by normal people at school. Constantly reminded of who you are. It pisses me off.”
A moment of silence passes — just Denji watching Yoshida twisting the thread around and around his long fingers.
“Why come this year, then?”
The thread slides against those fingers once, twice, thrice, and then Yoshida pulls with a snap!
“You’re here.”
Denji’s eyes travel up to meet Yoshida’s, and his breath catches in his throat because— Did he get closer?
“Not everyone around me is normal, now.”
Denji knows what Yoshida’s saying without actually saying it.
I’m not alone, anymore.
He… Denji gets it. “Normal” has always been a distant dream.
But the proximity is scrambling Denji’s brain a bit, he can’t form a coherent response. And it’s doing nothing to help the problem still occupying space within his gym shorts. So he lets go of his legs and kicks out a knee to push Yoshida away, to create some blessed fucking breathing space.
“Yeah, well, don’t go expecting me to be all buddy-buddy with you. ‘M not out to make any friends.”
Yoshida catches his leg in one warm hand, holds it against himself so Denji’s partially spread open and—
Oh. Oh, no.
“Ah, how could I forget? You’re too busy being a girl’s piece of furnitu—”
He freezes. Denji freezes. For a moment there, Denji’s sure the entire world freezes as Yoshida’s eyes fall on the tent in Denji’s lap.
“H-Hey, don’t—” Denji struggles to tug his knee out of Yoshida’s rapidly tightening grasp. “Let me fucking go, asshole! It’s— Stop looking!”
“This why you ran out of the gym so fast?”
“Wha–? No!”
“Who? Mitaka? Yuko?” Yoshida’s hand slides off Denji’s knee, creeping further up his thigh. “Me?”
Denji swallows around sand before asking, “W-What’re you going on abou—”
Yoshida tightens his grip on Denji’s thigh, and it shakes Denji up so much he jerks in place, heart hammering against his ribcage.
“Did I do this to you, Denji?” he whispers, even closer now.
“That’s— You’re being pretty presumptuous , Yoshida—”
“Ah, so you do know my name.”
“—and I like girls, in case you fucking forgot, idiot.”
“Never said you didn’t.”
“Tha—”
Denji pauses. Processes that for a second. Then swiftly stops himself, because this is not the time to be questioning whether or not there’s an “and” in the list of genders he’s attracted to.
“Need to deal with that before they notice we’re gone.”
“Yeah, no shit—”
“Let me help,” Yoshida rumbles into Denji’s ear, promptly sending electricity zinging down Denji’s spine.
“S-Shut up, dude. That’s not funny.”
“I’m dead serious.” Yoshida’s thumb starts massaging small circles into Denji’s inner thigh, and against all that makes sense in the world, Denji’s cock jumps in his shorts. Yoshida’s lips pull to the side in a crooked smirk as he says, “Doesn’t seem like you’re all that opposed. It’ll be faster this way.”
This guy is really sitting here trying to rationalize jerking another dude off on the side of a school building.
Denji is not — Is. Not. — actually considering this. No fucking way.
“You’re insane,” Denji sputters, the bite in his voice losing all its teeth.
Yoshida giggles — fucking giggles, short and bright — and breathes out a deep, “Yeah.”
There’s a war going on inside Denji’s body. This is… wrong. It’s wrong, he shouldn’t like this. He doesn’t like this.
Again, his chest lurches, and then a flood of nothing but want, want, want floods Denji’s veins.
Yoshida’s so close his warm breath fans against the sensitive, sweat-slick skin of Denji’s neck. Denji closes his eyes as Yoshida’s nose brushes the shell of his ear and he soothes, “C’mon, Denji. It’ll be over quick, promise.”
“‘M not some two-pump chump,” he grumbles but allows his legs to fall incrementally further apart.
Yoshida hums, hand snaking further up Denji’s thigh, further, further—
“Prove it to me, yeah?”
The sting of teeth on Denji’s tongue tastes like metal as Yoshida moves to grasp Denji’s length over his gym shorts, strokes once, and cups his balls. Denji squeezes his eyes shut tight when Yoshida’s fingers dip underneath the band of his shorts and boxers, and he lets his head fall back against the wall with a light thud as the aforementioned articles are pulled down and warm, humid air hits his bare cock.
“Ah…” Yoshida breathes, hand delicately wrapped just under the head of Denji’s dick. “You’re so wet for me.”
For me. For me.
Denji’s not… anything for Yoshida. Nothing, he’s nothing.
The first pump has Denji’s entire body alight, tensing so hard he’s shaking.
Don’t you dare make a fucking sound.
Yoshida’s thumb catches the precum drooling from Denji’s tip, swirling it around the head and spreading it down to ease the glide. It feels so fucking good, why does it feel so good, this is stupid, this is so stupid—
“Pink.”
The word is mumbled into the space between them, nearly drowned out by Denji’s heaving breaths.
“H-huh?”
The world is unfocused when Denji’s eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for him to blink the glaze from them before looking over to Yoshida, whose gaze is trained on Denji’s crotch.
“So pink. You’re flushed all the way down, see?” He punctuates the statement with a slow, deliberate, agonizing drag, sliding the foreskin down until the hot pink head and sensitive shaft of Denji’s cock are exposed.
It makes Denji’s stomach flip in dizzying somersaults, and the realization that they’re doing this, actually doing this, in the open air, where anyone can walk by and see — see Yoshida touching him, see Denji drooling for it — hits Denji like a ton of bricks, and he has to gasp in air, a fool’s attempt at cooling down his flaming body.
His eyes flit over to Yoshida’s face again, watching intently over Denji’s shoulder.
“S-stop looking, you creep.” When Yoshida pays him no mind, Denji snaps, “Oi!”
Again, the boy ignores him, keeps his steadfast gaze on his task, that tongue peeking out between dry lips to wet them. Denji’s gaze lingers… grazing along the slope of his nose, to the length of those dark lashes and the sharp line of his cheekbone until it lands on the piercings of his ear.
Eight. He has eight piercings in one ear. Who needs that many piercings? It’s ridiculous, and definitely not hot at all. And the way they hug the curve…
Without thinking, Denji leans over, drags a piece of metal between his teeth, and lightly tugs.
Yoshida’s reaction is immediate: he stills, hand pausing and squeezing that much more around Denji’s dick, and a soft moan slips past his lips.
Oh, that sound, that sound. It makes Denji feel powerful — like he knows a weak spot no one else does and he wants to guard that secret close to his chest, jealously.
He wants to hear him again, wants more, so he pulls once again and lets his tongue drag against the shell of the ear as he releases the earring from his teeth, gifted once more with that lewd sound.
“I—” Denji pants, “I told you to stop looking.”
Yoshida sucks in a sharp breath and then fixes that dark gaze — suddenly heavier, darker, incredibly reminiscent of that look back in the match — onto Denji’s face.
“If you wanted my attention so bad, you could’ve just asked,” he teases, the fucker. The corner of his lips pulls to the side in another soft smirk, and Denji immediately has the urge to kiss it off his stupid pretty face.
Wait, no—
“You’re pink here, too,” Yoshida comments, pulling Denji back into himself. He leans back a little to lift his free hand and cups the side of Denji’s face, thumb rubbing along his cheek. “Cute.”
Cute? Cute? Denji has never been cute, not once in his life. It doesn’t fit him. So why does it make him burn that much hotter?
Yoshida starts moving again — slow, even pumps along Denji’s shaft, torturous enough to drive any man insane.
But the weight of Yoshida’s gaze on Denji’s face makes everything heightened. Makes the hand on his cheek and the friction on his cock electric. Yoshida’s gaze is heavy-lidded and scorching, studying every centimeter of his face, watching every breath pass between parted lips, every twitch of Denji’s brow as he picks up his pace, starts to twist his wrist on the upstroke.
Denji’s letting out little, aborted sounds now, barely succeeding at keeping quiet, and he’s making a concerted effort to remember why he was trying at all.
“C’mon,” Yoshida rumbles, the hand sliding from Denji’s cheek to cup the nape of his neck. He leans down into the hypersensitive skin underneath Denji’s ear and says, “Lemme hear you, sweetheart. Want it.”
Want—
Denji gasps, loud, as Yoshida parts his lips and scrapes his teeth against Denji’s neck, and Denji finally lets go — moaning, gasping, whimpering as Yoshida works him closer and closer to the edge.
For all the bravado he puts on, Yoshida is clearly affected himself, panting hot against Denji’s skin, rumbling wrecked little comments — yeah, just like that, baby, you sound so good, fuck — into his ear.
Yoshida thumbs the sensitive slit of his cock with each stroke, and Denji jerks in his hold, a loud, “UHN!” falling from his lips.
Denji’s being too loud. He knows it, hears himself bouncing against the walls, and is again reminded of the exact predicament he’s in. Someone walking by would easily hear and get curious. Someone could turn the corner and see Denji whimpering and moaning and wrecked for Yoshida, and that sweeps through Denji’s body in a dizzying, hot rush, only makes his moans more desperate.
Shit, Denji’s so close, cock throbbing, aching, toeing the razor-sharp edge, and this feels dangerous, far more dangerous than any mission he’s ever been on, far more maddening.
Without warning, Yoshida tilts Denji’s face towards him with that possessive hand at the back of his neck, and suddenly lips are on his own, swallowing down his sounds. Yoshida’s lips are soft, a little dry, and forceful against Denji’s. His mouth opens easily under Yoshida’s influence, and then Denji’s tongue moves against his to taste him — bitter and sweet like those iced coffees he always likes to drink. It’s incredible.
It’s good, it’s good, Jesus fuck, it’s so fucking good, and Denji might really be into boys, and he really can’t bring himself to care because Yoshida sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and tugs, and that’s all he needs to fall hurtling over the edge, spilling hot and messy over Yoshida’s hand.
Denji clings to him as he cums, his entire body nearly buzzing out of his skin. He doesn’t realize it until he’s slumped against Yoshida, fingers clutching onto the fabric of his gym shirt for dear life. But Yoshida doesn’t seem to notice, or at least mind, content to press soft, open-mouthed kisses against Denji’s neck.
When Denji finally comes back to himself, he jumps away from Yoshida’s grasp, staring wide-eyed up at him.
“Ah! Uh— Ah!”
Fuck. Words.
Yoshida just smiles gently down at him, amused.
“What the fuck did we just— Your hand! We need to clean— Ah!”
There’s a soft chuckle, and then Yoshida lifts up the sweat towel Denji hadn’t noticed this whole time.
“That’s— Hey, what’re you doing? Someone has to clean that!”
Yoshida shrugs, uncaring. “Lucky day for that person.”
Something about that makes Denji’s stomach flip, and he has no idea if it’s a good or bad thing.
Unprepared to process absolutely anything that just occurred, Denji tucks himself back into his boxers and shorts, hopping up onto his feet. He suddenly feels antsy, like he needs to run a few dozen laps. Or to just run away.
Yoshida smiles in that knowing, self-assured way he always does, wiping the last of Denji’s cum off his hand. Then his hands reach for the band of his own shorts, and Denji’s eyes track the movement, catching on—
Denji sucks in a breath as Yoshida tucks his very prominent hard-on underneath the band of his underwear before tugging his shirt over it, completely hiding it.
He could’ve— This whole time, Denji could’ve just—
“Come find me next time that happens, okay?” Yoshida grunts as he stands up, stepping forward to loom over Denji. “I’ll take good care of ya.”
The grin he flashes is wolfish, and Denji’s body reacts instantly, a full-body flush flaring to life.
Well, it’s not like it was a bad experience. Really, it was the best fucking orgasm Denji’s ever had, and—
Is he really considering this?
He really is.
“I’m fucking insane,” Denji whispers.
Yoshida giggles again — that fucking giggle — and says, simply,
“Yeah.”