Chapter Text
It’s not too bad at first.
It’s just a crush that Hirofumi doesn’t admit that he has, but continues to secretly nurture as if refusing to treat a simple, unassuming disease. It’s nothing that hinders his work, nothing that takes his attention away from his objectives, nothing that comes even close to making him lose his cool.
At first.
Only. At first.
Untreated diseases tend to hide potential for fatality, after all.
"Hey, Denji," Hirofumi calls as he's resting his head on his fist, elbow propped up on the table, "We're friends, right?"
Denji tilts a blonde eyebrow in response. He may spontaneously change the definition of 'mess' in the dictionary if he gets any more dessert on his face – whipped cream lines his upper lip like a mustache, colorful sprinkles pepper his cheeks akin to rainbow freckles, and there's an ungodly amount of strawberry sauce dribbling down his chin. Hirofumi's torn between feeling awe and disgust, but admits it has its charm.
"I dunno," the blonde mumbles, shrugging, "Don't care either. Don't gotta put a label on what we got goin', do we?"
…what they have? They have something, then? That’s interesting. He thought Denji only saw him as a stalker and a walking wallet, which wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
Denji's already back to stuffing his face full of cake, so Hirofumi calls him again – "Denji."
"What?"
"We're friends," he affirms this time, "So you can call me by my first name."
The blonde's face scrunches up. "Huh. Sure. What was it again? Hiro…?"
His heart skips a beat, which rises to his throat. He swallows it down.
“Hirofumi.”
“Eh, that’s too many syllables!” Denji complains, “I’ll just call you Hiro. Hi~ Ro~” he repeats with a cheeky grin, as if practicing the way he says the hunter’s name. It rolls off his tongue all creamy and saccharine, coated in the toppings he’s drowning in. It drowns Hirofumi too.
“Den-kun,” he offers.
Denji chokes on his cake, and Hirofumi chokes on his heartbeats.
That disease he’s acquired becomes progressively worse, spreading through blood, muscle and bone, seeping into every cell of his body and tangling with his soul. Love, he self-diagnoses. Denji crawls his way into Hirofumi’s heart and expands his territory inside it, first conquering empty space before obliterating anything that dares dwell in there.
With every casual Hiro he says out loud, his influence spreads further – it consumes the hunter from the inside out, an inextinguishable flame eating at all of his oxygen, killing him again and again only to revive him with the breath of a smile.
He begins to willingly offer himself for the slaughter.
“Den-kun,” he calls in the way he knows makes the blonde cutely scrunch up his little nose, “Wanna hit my place after school?”
Denji’s nose smoothes out, but his expression remains unenthused. Hirofumi takes it upon himself to sweeten the deal before the blonde’s even had the chance to reply.
“I’ve got some beer.”
Denji’s eyebrows pinch together, eyes that look golden under direct sunlight staring at him with a glint of curiosity. “The what now? You drink?”
“You don’t?”
Denji scrunches up his entire face now, his gaze moving out of the classroom’s window as if attempting to hide the truth by throwing it at the horizon. “I mean, yeah. Of course I do.”
“So you’re coming,” Hirofumi affirms with a smile.
Yoshida’s completely intoxicated. It’s not because of the beer.
It’s Denji.
Denji and his flushed cheeks, Denji and his easy grins, Denji and his husky voice, Denji and his Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro, Hiro.
The drunk blonde leaves just before midnight and Hirofumi kisses that empty can of beer which had last touched Denji’s lips like he’s drinking from the Holy Grail, pushing his tongue into the small opening to consume what little essence his Chainsaw Man has left in the cold aluminum. Starved, inconsolable,
in love.
“Thanks a bunch, Hiro! That girl from yesterday accepted goin’ on a date with me!”
Something went terribly wrong.
He did promise he’d find Denji a girlfriend – poor, innocent little thing really believes he likes girls – but of course he wouldn’t hand over his Chainsaw Man like that. Denji doesn’t know he’s meant to be with Hirofumi yet, that those girls don’t love him like the hunter does, that they’ll only make him suffer.
So the hunter purposely chooses the ones who’ll reject Denji. The ones who will teach him that there’s no mercy away from Hirofumi’s arms. The ones who will send the blonde crawling back to him like an injured puppy.
He’ll tend to Denji every time – will console him with friendly words, with sweets, with alcohol, with touches that the blonde’s too hurt, too needy to ignore. He induces vices, fabricates comfort, conditions dependency, all to speed up the process of Denji realizing his feelings.
There’s been a mistake this time, but it's not too late to correct this unfortunate mishap – Octopus has been quite hungry lately, and the devil’s always had an appetite for young women.
“Hiro…” Denji mumbles between his knees, crouched with his back to the school roof's safety grid, “That girl… she's dead. I heard a devil killed her.”
“What a tragedy. I’m so sorry, Denji.” Hirofumi kneels in front of the sulking blonde and ruffles his hair, earning a wistful look in response. “Get better soon, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this.”
“Dude,” the blonde exhales bitterly, “The one girl who accepted going out with me fuckin’ died–”
Hirofumi presses a fingertip to Denji’s lips, gently silencing him.
“You know I’m always here for you, right, Den-kun? Let me take care of you. It’s no use thinking about her anymore.”
It never was.
But Denji doesn't need to know that. All he needs to do is lay his head on Hirofumi's lap and allow himself to be petted, to have his cheeks kissed both by the sun and by the hunter's fingertips. Hirofumi's face warms up as he watches the glow of Denji's skin, the glistening of his humid lips, the spark of curiosity lighting up his honeyed eyes–
"Hiro…?"
Smiling, the hunter cards his fingers through sandy blonde hair.
"It's nothing."
“You’re buying the kid,” Octopus snickers inside his head just as he’s finished buying a pack of penguin-shaped, black and white chocolates. Hirofumi sighs as he’s walking out of the store, with Denji’s apartment as the destination.
“I’m not buying him,” he assures the nosy devil, his voice low to avoid being heard by passersby, “I’m spoiling him. It’s different.”
“Does he know he’s being ‘spoiled’, Hirofumi?”
“Of course,” the hunter affirms with a smile, “He wants this. And he'll want me, in due time."
There's no doubt about it. After all, Hirofumi's the only one who loves Denji irrevocably, who treats him adoringly, who touches him unapologetically.
The boy's so deprived of affection, it's only a matter of time until he succumbs.
Nayuta “loses” her set of keys one day. Denji doesn’t stress about it, though, openly telling Hirofumi that he’ll start to leave the door unlocked when she's out walking the dogs. He doesn't specify whom he's leaving it open for.
If that isn’t a very shy invitation, the hunter doesn’t know what it is.
When he arrives at Denji's apartment that afternoon, he treads inside with a grin – he's always watched the place from afar, never having put his feet inside thanks to that troublesome devil child. Things are different now, though – now he's allowed free access to Denji's little sanctuary, to his boyishly scented shirts, to the crack of the easily opened bathroom door as the blonde's taking a shower.
He's allowed free access to watch Denji burying his face in the arm he's folded against the wall, free hand curled over his cute little cock to pump it to completion. With a grunt, he shoots a pathetic amount of cum onto the tiles, while Hirofumi palms himself over his pants, his body going rigid against the door as he whispers dark prayers of Denji, Denji, ah, I'm cumming, Den-kun—!
He leaves a small gift in the fridge – a slice of pie.
"Nayuta says she's been smellin' you around the apartment," Denji comments one evening, completely out of the blue, as he's walking away from the devil he's just killed and towards Hirofumi.
The hunter cocks his head to the side. "Well, I've been there," he says as he's removing his jacket, which he drapes around Denji's naked shoulders to shield him from the chilly breeze.
"Without my knowledge?"
"You do find my gifts, don't you?"
Denji looks away with a pout, fingers curling over the jacket to pull it closer to his body. Cute. "...yeah. Why do you keep doing that?"
"It's my personal brand of appreciation," Yoshida grins, "Just thanking Chainsaw Man for all his hard work."
Denji's pout gains a curious quality that reaches his eyes – they gaze into Yoshida's with something akin to giddiness, maybe a little bit of surprise.
"Yeah," he clears his throat, a little smile threatening to pull up the corners of his thin lips, "Yeah, I guess Chainsaw Man really does work hard. Y'r welcome, by the way."
With a happy nod that makes his bangs sway in front of his eyes, Hirofumi lifts a finger to tap at the dip of Denji's collarbone.
"You'd look good with a necklace."
It's a collar. Not in appearance, but in meaning.
Denji never takes it off – an elegant golden necklace, with a discreet chainsaw pendant that dangles from his neck day and night. It's a reminder that he belongs to Hirofumi, willingly or not.
He'll come to his senses one day.
It could take a while, though. He doesn't seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed – although Hirofumi would argue it's part of his charm.
Two more girls die in the span of a month, and Denji still can't put two and two together. In those instances, it wasn't even to correct a mistake – Hirofumi just finds that Denji's much more malleable when he's upset, so sacrifices were made in the name of love.
He wraps his arms around his Chainsaw Man, puts his pieces back together, makes him smile again – rekindles his flame. Denji accepts and reciprocates, lets his fingernails sink into the hunter's flesh as he's being comforted, sighs shakily into his clavicle.
"I promise I'll always be by your side," Hirofumi whispers into his ear, "You know I mean it, right?"
"...yeah. Thanks, Hiro."
Denji buries his face in the hunter's chest, feeling small and fragile in his arms, and he decides that this is what happiness truly is.
He lets it happen just once, and it’s downhill from there.
Denji’s fighting a devil as his alter-ego, chainsaws roaring into the night and his body covered in a glistening veil of blood and gore, while Hirofumi watches undetected from the sideline. It’s a little too much for him to bear – the eroticism of Chainsaw Man’s battlelust as he destroys his enemy piece by piece, the simulacrum of calamity, a natural disaster rather than anything human or devilish.
Hirofumi pleasures himself with the sight, hand on heated flesh, skin crawling with goosebumps at the sound of Chainsaw Man’s unhinged laugh. His loud engine fills the hunter’s body with static electricity, which turns into feral bolts of lightning when he shoots his load all over his palm, Denji’s name hissed from behind his gritted teeth.
It happens again, then again, and one more time. It gradually becomes a habit, heightening the urgency of Hirofumi's desires.
“Hirooo,” Denji slurs, his voice breathy and husky like a drag of menthol cigarette, as he lays a reddish cheek over the hunter’s table, “I’m so sleepy, man–” he pauses to hiccup, “But I always— I always sleep like a rock when ‘m drunk. I dun wanna. Wanna play sum’ board games. Y’know– Like that, that, uh, Monolopy. Pomonoly. Molopomy?”
Feels like the sky is opening inside of Yoshida’s head, the sun peeking through the parting clouds. The hunter draws in a slow but incredibly fulfilling breath.
“Monopoly,” he calmly corrects, reaching across the table to push a few strands of hair behind Denji’s ear, revealing more of his flushed face. “What’s it like, sleeping like a rock?”
“Mmmmhnoply,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes, “Wha’zat ‘bout a rock?”
“You said you sleep like one.”
“Oh.” Denji snorts, a silly little grin crossing his lips. “If I caught on fire I wouldn’t e’en brudge.”
“Budge,” Yoshida corrects again, just as calmly as the first time. “So you’re telling me… that you wouldn’t wake up, no matter what I did to you?”
“Mmhm. ‘s the funniest thing. Nayuta–” Another little hiccup, followed by a giggle. “She drew a butt fartin’ on my face last time.”
“That’s interesting. Wanna sleep here tonight, Den-kun?”
Denji giggles, pressing his face to the table as if to hide it. “I hate it when you call me that,” he breathes against the table.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“It’s funny.”
“Den~kun~” Yoshida singsongs, brushing the back of his fingers down the tangent of Denji’s warm ear, “Sleep here tonight.”
The blonde peeks at him with one eye, his cheeks puffed up. “But… Nayuta—”
“Don’t you think she’s a big girl already? I wanna stay with you some more, yeah? We can play monopoly like you wanted, and you can sleep on my bed. I promise you it’s very comfy.”
“Mm, I dunno…”
“I’ll let you hug my special edition Chainsaw Man plushie,” Yoshida offers.
Denji grins at him at that, all jagged teeth and eyes crinkling at the corners. “You own a Chainsaw Man plushie?! That’s– Haha, that’s hila– Hilarious!"
“Well… everybody loves Chainsaw Man. I’m no exception.”
Yoshida’s heart rate goes off the charts with his shrouded confession; he joins his hands on the table to wait for a response, both to keep them busy and to prevent Denji from seeing how much he’s trembling.
The blonde finally lifts his face off the table, a cocky, lopsided smirk adorning his boyish face.
“Heh! Alright-o. Guess I can open up an exception for ya juuus’ this once,” he says as he’s brushing his thumb over his nose, “I’ma sleep ‘ere tonite!”
Hirofumi quickly understands Denji’s metaphor.
The blonde drops asleep over the board game within minutes of them having started, drooling and all, completely dead to the world. It’s the cutest thing. So cute that it makes Hirofumi roll him onto his back and press kisses to his cheeks, his jaws, the tip of his nose.
Finally. Finally the warmth of his skin coats Hirofumi's lips. Finally his boyish taste is within reach, seeping into his palate as he drags his tongue up the curve of Denji's jaw.
Finally – his.
"Let's get you to bed like I promised, shall we?"
With all the care in the world, Hirofumi picks Denji up bridal style and takes him to his room, laying him gently on the bed before crawling over his sleeping silhouette. To see Chainsaw Man this vulnerable leaves him breathless, his heart rate picking up, a crooked grin forcing its way to his lips.
“Den-kun,” he whispers into the blonde’s ear, “I can do whatever I want to you, right? You won’t wake up. You said so yourself."
No response. Not a twitch of a muscle. Hirofumi, on the other hand, feels like he’s recharged his batteries all the way to two hundred percent – he’s so giddy he’s sweating cold, his palms clammy, his extremities trembling. His dick hardens out of sheer anticipation.
“You keep playing hard to get,” he murmurs as he’s nibbling on Denji’s ear, hips rolling down onto the unconscious blonde’s, “When are you gonna fall for me, Den-kun? You're already letting me do this much to you. Love me. Love me like I love you."
He bites into the supple flesh of Denji’s neck, groaning in bliss at the taste of his sweat. He leaves mark after mark, made of teeth and lips and love, every hue from pink to purple painting the sun-kissed canvas of the blonde’s column. Hirofumi’s hands trail up Denji’s shirt, pushing up the fabric, which he’s quick to completely remove.
It’s so different to see him shirtless up close – to catch every curve of his waist in his hands, to follow the ridges of his abdomen, count his ribs one by one, slide his fingertips over the warm, silken skin. Hirofumi feels the texture of every inch of Denji that’s available to him, from the arch of his hipbones to the delicious perkiness of his chest; he allows his palms to both grope and caress, to lovingly flick Denji’s rosy nipples as well as roughly pinching them.
Denji deserves no less than his everything, after all.
He seems to be feeling it even in his sleep – his face scrunches up a little bit, cheeks reddening, tiny whimpers falling past his parted lips. Hirofumi drinks them all, releasing sounds of his own upon seeing the effect he’s having on the blonde’s dick – it pushes up his pants, darkened with dampness at the tip, where he's no doubt leaking precum; Hirofumi presses a fingertip to that slick spot, and Denji throbs in response.
“Den-kun~” he purrs, grabbing the rigid member, “Look how cutely you’re reacting to another man’s touches. God, you’re so hard. So hard for me.”
He palms Denji through the thin fabric, lowering his face to one of those appetizing nipples, and tasting it with his tongue. Groaning, Hirofumi sucks it into his mouth, rolling it around his tongue like the most savory candy, abusing it 'till it pops out of his mouth red and swollen. Denji's dick pulsates against his hand, seeking attention. He really is a needy pup.
With a hearty chuckle, Hirofumi lowers Denji's pants and licks his lips at the delicious-looking cock waiting for him, small and rosy, with pale veins adorning its length, leaking precum all over the blonde's stomach.
"Do you even know how perfect you are?" he whispers into the air, taking hold of the heated length to give it a few tentative pumps, feeling at the silken skin stretched over the rigid rod, savoring the sensation. "Something like this wasn't made for girls. You weren't made for girls, Denji. You were made for me."
He settles between the blonde's thighs and kisses them wetly, inhaling his musky scent and dragging his tongue up their sturdy expanses. Hirofumi bites at the junction of hip and leg, leaving the purplish indentation of his every tooth before moving on to Denji's pitifully tight balls, placing kisses to their cool exterior. He looks like he's close already – a quick shot, no doubt.
Hirofumi licks his erection from bottom to tip, humming at the warm precum blessing his palate. He kisses the tip, smearing the pearly fluid across his lips, tasting them with a moan that crawls right out of his chest. He takes the length whole into his mouth and it fits like a glove, pressing against the opening of his throat while filling up his mouth with its girth, leaving just enough room to swirl his eager tongue around it. Frankly, Hirofumi could cum with just the weight of Denji's cock on his tongue.
He sucks and rolls it around, pushes the tip of his tongue into the slit, drinks down Denji's sleepy moans and whimpers which only increase in quantity the closer he gets to his climax. His body starts to tremble, his thighs clamping tight beside Hirofumi's head; his abdomen stiffens and it's just two, three more dips of the hunter's head to get a mouthful of cum, hot and sticky and spicy. With one last suck, to milk Denji of every drop, the hunter pulls away.
He wipes his chin dry with one hand, attentively watching Denji's face – drool rolls down the side of his mouth, his eyebrows knit together, skin flushed deeply red and his chest rising and falling faster than a hummingbird's. His skin shines golden with sweat that pools in the dip of his collarbone, right where his necklace is; some more slides down his sternum, other droplets choosing to curl a path down his navel to connect with his other fluids. The sight makes Hirofumi shudder.
"Den~ Ji~ Kun~" he calls, his tone loving but playful, "Heeey. You're still sleeping? I can fuck you, right? Wanna make you all hot and messy inside."
As expected, nothing comes out of his question. Smiling in satisfaction, Hirofumi removes his clothes and tosses them aside, reaching into his nightstand for a bottle of lubricant. Returning to his previous position between Denji's toned thighs, the hunter takes his sweet time caressing their silky expanse, eyes transfixed to the beauty of his partner sprawled on the bed, full of love marks, and ready to be bred. His precious first time.
Their first time.
His eyes fall on the blonde's virgin hole, looking so tight it may not fit him inside. He probes at the rosy ring of muscle with his thumb, shaking his head at the resistance he finds even with unconsciousness.
"You're too tight, Denji. This won't do."
He loves Denji. Would never hurt him. Wants what's best for him, so it's necessary to train his perfect little body to take cock, to condition him to desire and need Hirofumi, just the way it's supposed to be. He'll brand Denji inside and leave him dependent not only emotionally, but also physically. He needs this to feel good, so he keeps his impatience on a short leash, muzzle and all.
He pushes the blonde's thighs against his chest and licks his lips at the meal laid out in front of him, pink like strawberry sorbet, small and cute just like everything about Denji. It'll be a pleasure to ruin that perfection.
Hirofumi sticks out his tongue and drags it over the heated ring of muscles, humming with joy, eyelids fluttering closed. He eats Denji's ass like he's starving, tongue devouring his insides and lips leaving sloppy kisses to his glistening rim. He nibbles on it, abuses it, forcefully loosening the tension within. Hirofumi moans into him, his cock throbbing with the urge to thrust into that silky, tight hole and cream into it so much it overflows. His tongue speeds up, stealing small humphs and whimpers from Denji, making him squirm and harden again; so sensitive. That stiffness in his muscles slowly dissolves away, leaving the blonde relaxed and hopefully ready for Hirofumi's big cock. He knows it's no easy feat.
He coats it in lubricant, leaves it dripping, presses the tip to the blonde's virgin hole and rubs it for tentative friction. Just seeing the engorged member threaten to push past those pink muscles makes him shudder, hissing from behind his teeth. He allows himself to slide into that heavenly heat, slowly and lovingly, watching Denji's rim spread around his cock to accommodate it, tight, so tight. The blonde's walls clamp around him, sucking him in; he forces his way to the end, hips meeting Denji's.
His senses nigh collapse. His skin tingles, feeling like it's melting with sweat; his gut tightens with the surge of pleasure rushing through; goosebumps rise all over his body. "Den-kun…! Feels so good inside you. So fucking good," he murmurs, hooking his arms underneath the blonde's thighs to gain more leverage, "You're so strong, my Chainsaw Man; you can take it a little rough, right?"
Hirofumi pulls away only to thrust back inside, causing Denji's face to crinkle up, eyebrows tight together; the hunter kisses the tip of his nose, then his cheeks, then his lips to help him relax. His tongue runs across the blonde's mouth, dipping inside to carefully explore every inch of it, dragging against the roof and following the tangent of the slick appendage laying motionless at the bottom. Tastes like beer, but also like Denji, and Hirofumi memorizes the sensation, burns it into his brain, to savor it for long after they're done.
He accelerates the cadence of his thrusts, leaning back to properly fuck into that deliciously tight hole, hips soundly slapping against Denji's. "Ah– Haha, hahaha, Den-kun," he chuckles, "I can't believe you really thought you're into women. Look how well you're taking my big cock; you were made for this."
Hirofumi furiously slams inside, burning his shape into Denji, making the bed rattle beneath them in the wake of his lustful fury. The blonde groans more loudly, his face redder than before, sweat curling on his cheek; his eyes slowly open up and roll around out of focus, until they find Hirofumi. They widen, a choked breath escaping his parted lips, "H-Hiro!" he cries out, irises glossed over with tears, and hands reaching for the hunter to claw at his chest, "N-No– Why–?! Stop!"
Clicking his tongue, Hirofumi curls his middle finger over his index. "Octopus," he calls forth. Sturdy tentacles wrap around Denji's arms, prying them off the hunter's chest, locking them to the bed as the devil laughs inside of Hirofumi's head. The blonde thrashes beneath him, so Octopus dutifully holds his legs as well.
"Hiro! Hiro, please—!"
"Please what?" the hunter coos, rolling his hips against the blonde's. He instantly tightens around Hirofumi's cock, shaking his head with gritted teeth, speechless, shiny little tears clinging to his eyelashes. His lower lip trembles, his chest jumps with a sob. He's seriously gonna cry. It's clear that he isn't ready for the truth – not ready to commit, not ready to accept his dear Hiro's love just yet, and that's okay. He can wait, he's patient. He can do this for Denji.
He knows there's no escaping his grasp.
"You're dreaming, Den-kun," he offers, wiping tears away with the back of his fingers, "You're drunk, remember? Makes you sleep like a rock."
"Wha— I–?" he stutters, blinking quickly. Tearlets fall onto his cheeks, dew over rosy blossoms.
"That's right; it's just a dream. You know I'd never hurt you, right? You know you can trust me. I promised."
Denji draws in a breath, unable to say a word past lips pressed together. He closes his eyes tightly when Hirofumi starts moving again. "Ah– Hn, n-no, Hiro– Hiro, it feels weird— F-Feels so weird—!"
"It doesn't feel weird, it feels good," the hunter corrects, angling his thrusts to find Denji's prostate. It's difficult with all the wiggling his partner's doing, but the blonde eventually arches his back off the bed, a silent scream pushing out of his lungs. Bingo. Hirofumi slams into that spot until Denji openly starts crying, his tongue rolled out of his mouth and eyes shooting to the back of his head; his cock pulsates over his stomach.
"Ahhn– N-No– I– I dun wanna— Dun wanna cum! H-Hiro, I dun wanna, hnngh— Please, please!"
"What do you mean you don't wanna cum?" Hirofumi laughs, thrusting faster, "You don't have to hold back, Den-kun. Show me how much you're enjoying getting fucked by me."
"N-No– Ah, ah, hnhhgggh, I– I'm g-gonna—! Ahn, fuck– H-Hiro— It's– It's comin' out—!"
Denji throws his head back, tongue rolling out, ass tightening around Hirofumi while his toes curl inside. He shoots all over his own chest and stomach, string after string of pearly white, surpassing by a mile what he's been ejaculating by himself. He convulses with orgasmic spasms beneath Yoshida, tightening around his cock as tears stream down his flushed cheeks; the hunter's nerves combust with his own impending climax.
He made Denji cum. He made Denji cum so much.
With a satisfied grin, Hirofumi slams into the blonde until his vision starts to clash, with his muscles stiffening and the accumulated pleasure zapping through his gut to explode harder than a supernova. "Oh– Denji— Den-kun, I'm cumming…!" he warns as he's already throbbing inside the blonde, eyes locked to the back of his head; he shudders at the wetness that coats his cock. He fucks into that sloppy mess some more, making sure it reaches as deep as it'll go, to dye his lover's insides his personal shade of white.
He nearly collapses on top of Denji after pulling away, holding himself upright on trembling arms. "Den-kun… are you— Oh."
Hirofumi chuckles – Denji's sleeping again. Poor thing's completely ruined, full of cum and tears and sweat, lined with bites and hickeys and scratch marks. The hunter leans back to watch his semen dribble out of the blonde's abused ass, taking in the sight with a happy sigh.
He'd better start cleaning up. Giving Denji some blood to help with his healing sounds like a good plan too.
Hirofumi's making breakfast when Denji stumbles into the kitchen. He greets the blonde with a smile, briefly taking notice of his widened eyes and trembling shoulders before returning his attention to the stove. "Morning, Den–"
"Hiro," he interrupts, breathless, "Hiro, what– What happened?"
"You mean last night?" You fell asleep while we were playing–"
"No! I mean– I mean after that!" he attempts, his voice shaky.
Hirofumi watches him for a second. He leaves the stovetop and approaches the blonde, who takes a step back only to bump against the table. The hunter tenderly ruffles his hair to disarm him.
"I took you to my bed and you cuddled with my plushie," he explains, pulling out his cellphone from his back pocket to show Denji a picture he took last night after cleaning up. It shows the blonde curled around the fluffy Chainsaw Man toy, a sleepy, drool-y smile on his lips. "You were snoring and everything; I thought you slept well. You didn't?"
Denji's expression slowly softens, his gaze falling to Hirofumi's apron-clad chest. The hunter puts his phone away. "I… I dunno, Hiro. I just… had the weirdest dream," he exhales, cheekbones and ears coating pink, "I thought it was real, but…"
"But?"
"I dunno," he repeats, hands moving to his face, "I'm– I'm probably just overthinking."
"Seems like it," Hirofumi muses out loud, a hand to his chin, "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"No. Not really. Everything's normal. There's… there's nothing wrong," Denji says. Hirofumi holds his shoulders, massaging them firmly.
"Of course there's nothing wrong. You're with me," he smiles, "And you know I'd kill for you."
Denji hums quietly, his glossy, quivering irises transfixed to Hirofumi for the longest time before drifting away, landing on the bandage wrapped around the hunter's left wrist. "...you're injured?"
"Cut myself with a knife; it's nothing serious though. Now go get ready to eat, will you? I'm almost done. Made miso soup with chopped tofu, just the way you like it."
Denji removes his hands from his face to reveal all of its blushy glory, pink all the way to the tips of his ears and nose. He nods at the hunter, opening up a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Hiro. You're always doin' so much for me."
"As it should be. You deserve to be cherished, Den-kun."
The blonde cutely scrunches up his nose at the nickname, his smile becoming a tad bit brighter and his cheeks acquiring a healthy glow. He giggles shyly. "I… I guess. If you say so."
Switching his gaze between Hirofumi's face and bandaged wrist, Denji does the unthinkable – he takes the hunter's hand and plants a timid kiss to his injury. It's an accidental apology of sorts; that cut was, after all, inflicted on himself last night so he could offer his blood for the blonde, who's now quickly scurrying off to the bathroom.
Hirofumi crouches with a toothy smirk, grabbing at his own hair as a chuckle fights for dominance against his thundering heartbeats. Progress. They're making progress.
This love syndrome is finally contaminating Denji.