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The first time they kiss is a mess. Denji pulls away too early, checking to see if Yoshida had barfed down his throat or bit his tongue off. The second time around, Denji gets to relish in the softness of Yoshida’s kiss. It’s delicate and sweet like a petal. He likes it. It takes awhile but eventually he gets used to the way their lips connect. He thinks he’s gotten the hang of how to kiss, but no one told him that tongues could be apart of the mixture until it was too late. French kisses was it? The first time Yoshida’s tongue prods into his, he shoves him away and just barely evades biting down onto the other’s tongue.
Luckily Yoshida is patient, and Denji is up for anything.
They’re kissing again, and this time Denji wants to learn how to kiss like Yoshida does. It’s messy and Denji is clumsy, but Yoshida hasn’t pulled away yet so that’s Denji’s sign that not all hope is lost.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, “sorry-” he can’t make out the scene, but the air is hot and heavy, and he’s certain the spit on his chin isn’t his. He is plunged into a heated embrace of lips and tongue- he bites whatever prods. Surprisingly, it connects to wet skin. It earns him a gasp from the other boy.
“Shit- I’m sor-” Yoshida silences him with a deep kiss.
He’s so rude, won’t even let him apologise. His jaw gapes to welcome Yoshida’s tongue into his mouth. His lips are chapped ruby, he can taste the rust of blood on the tip of his tongue. It marinates into his sense of taste until the metal relish turns almost sweet. It’s not his.
“Wait-” Denji can’t breathe, his mouth is full of Yoshida. His teeth nib on the other’s lip, totally an accident and Yoshida releases Denji, albeit reluctantly. Denji is surprised at this retreat, but he uses this moment to cover his mouth with his hand before Yoshida can kiss him again. He shakes his head, words muffling into the back of his palm. He catches a red blotch on the ink haired boy’s lower lip. He watches it run slowly down his chin. “You’re bleeding.” Denji states, matter of factly. “Yeah.” Yoshida replies nonchalantly, letting the blood run its course, it splatters onto his shirt. Thankfully the fabric is a deep black so the colour of red is lost in the cloth. Denji watches as another drop of blood trails down his face and spills onto Yoshida’s shirt. Shit, that’s a lot of blood, how hard did Denji bite?
Yoshida’s tongue timidly peeks out from the parting of his mouth to wipe the crimson away from his lip, as if it hadn’t just been in Denji’s mouth a few seconds ago. Yoshida’s hand wraps around his wrist and pries Denji’s hand from his face, connecting with a peck on the lips. The kiss is slow, and he can feel Yoshida draw out his breath. The blood on his lip entangles with their kiss. His blood is warm, Denji notes. He opens up for him like a blooming flower, on instinct. He smells the cloying tang of blood that smears on his already red lips, and Yoshida gives him the world.
His tongue is heavy on his, and Yoshida should really stop kissing him when he’s bleeding this much- Denji pulls away, gasping for air, trying to catch up on his breath only for Yoshida to chase after him, bringing him back into pleasurable suffocation.
“Mmh– but your lip-” Denji can’t breathe.
Yoshida’s spit is now his own. He feels Yoshida’s tongue map out the entirety of his mouth, from the top of his mouth to the underside of his tongue. He’s light-headed. He bites down on his tongue, and he knows he bites down hard enough to summon blood because a second later he tastes it on his tongue. It’s sweet. Yoshida doesn’t budge, instead he just further kisses him deeper, as if to challenge him to bite harder.
He can’t breathe.
Denji tries to pull him away, crumpling Yoshida’s shirt into his palm, trying and failing to tug him away from his face. It only earns him a hand that lands on his cheek, cupping and pulling Denji further into the kiss, as if Yoshida would die if they separated. As romantic as it sounded, Denji fails to linger on the thought for too long because
He can’t breathe!
His panicked hands land on Yoshida’s head and before he passes out from suffocation, he rips Yoshida away from himself by the dark locs on his pretty little head. They separate rather violently with a loud gasp for air emitted from both parties, to Denji’s relief and Yoshida’s displeasure.
“Sorry,” Yoshida chuckles out. Despite the apology, nowhere in his voice does he actually sound sincere, that much Denji can infer. Yoshida’s lips are smeared with blood, and he’s still bleeding profusely. Denji isn’t any better, his chin is stained from their joint saliva-blood concoction, and it smears a pretty, gleaming, kind of disgusting pink on his lips.
“I almost died.” Denji tries to make him feel remorse, but it comes out more as a quiet statement than as an angry complaint. Yoshida’s lips ghostly linger past his, the sides of his lips quirked up into a small grin. No signs of regret or repentance anywhere on that stupid, stunning face. He tries again, this time utilizing the knowledge gained from his biology classes. “I almost died of..” His eyebrows scrunch together as his mind skims through all his past biology lessons, looking for the word. “Harpoxia.” Denji grits out, faking his anger through a glare. Yoshida lets out an airy laugh, he sees through his facade.
“You mean hypoxia?”
“Yeah, that.” Close enough. If Denji were any more out of it, he wouldn’t feel the hand that snakes around behind him, resting on his nape. “Whoops.” Yoshida doesn’t learn, and their lips connect once more.
Denji is really, really bad at making out with people. Yoshida’s tongue by the end of every deep kiss is scratched, his lips shattered and bruised. Strangely it never bothers him, nor does it implore him to stop. Inversely, it only motivates him further. No matter how many times Denji breaks skin with his sharp teeth, draws blood, and bites down onto Yoshida’s poor, battered lips, he never pulls away. As if the thought of disconnecting from the other’s lip is completely out of the list of options for him. He dives head first into snagged skin, piercing canines, and blood that weighs their kiss. Denji finds that it’s him that's pulling away, suffocating in the pleasure of Yoshida’s soft lips and exploring tongue. He kisses magnificently, and it never fails to put Denji into a dream-like trance.
That’s why he’s up late on a school day, being pampered with kisses on his chest by the raven haired boy. He kisses like Denji is fragile, like he isn’t made from demon blood and skin. His lips trail on his skin like he can’t be resurrected from the dead by the tug of a black string. His body doesn’t have it in him to pull away, rather it flutters and blushes at the other’s touch. He’s glued to his embrace, and frankly he doesn’t mind all that much. He could stay like this for a long, long time. Yoshida sparks a flame in his chest, and the warmth lulls him to sleep.
He wakes up way past his alarm and the arm of the wall clock gestures to 2pm, so he really couldn’t be bothered to try and make amends with his marked absence. Yoshida is of course latched onto him, peacefully dozing off. Denji has a sneaking suspicion his alarm clock didn’t snooze itself, and it only gets confirmed when he asks Yoshida about it.
“I wanted to lie down just a bit longer with you.” Is what he defends himself with, shrugging.
“You know, just because you can afford to skip class doesn’t mean I can!”
He figures a day skipped can’t do much harm to his already horrendous grades so Denji drags them to the shower together after he struggles to wrestle Yoshida out of bed.
They end up across each other in the bathtub, the air is silent. He’s staring down at his naked self. The water is clear of soap and bubbles. It almost reflects his face on the calm surface but Yoshida rustles around and destroys the peace, his image is lost in the ripples. This was supposed to be their last rinse, but they’ve been in the bathroom for almost an hour. Denji doesn’t move, so Yoshida doesn’t either.
His gaze trails away from himself, and it slowly makes its way across Yoshida, who looks way too tall to be squeezed into a bathtub with a second person. His hand rests on his head, and his eyes are shut. His eye catches onto his torso.
He’s thin. His collarbones are sharp, and he can see the outline of his ribcage shape his skin. He’s pale like paper, and the moles littered on his skin look like specks of ink on a blank canvas. He reaches out for Yoshida’s leg and it’s given to him almost instantly. Denji starts counting how many moles are on the landscape of his skin. He finds the first one on his heel. He lifts his leg and finds another between the crevice of the back of his knee joint. Two. Denji isn’t saying anything, but Yoshida seems to have understood what the blonde head is up to.
He doesn’t resist, nor does he try to cover himself up, it’s not the first time they’ve seen each other naked nor bathed together. Denji’s hands callously run up his leg. Denji spots the third and fourth mole on his thigh. He’s leaned into Yoshida now, the space between them has closed and now their faces are inches away from each other. Yoshida’s staring at him intently. His gaze lingers further up his body. It rebelliously trails to his groin and–
“Holy fuck you have a mole on your dick!” Denji shouts crudely. His voice echoes and bounces off of the white tile of the room.
Yoshida is silenced by pure shock and he’s staring at Denji, trying to come up with a response. “I-” Denji faces up to Yoshida and meets his stunned expression. He tries to speak up, say anything, but he catches the change in Yoshida’s expression almost immediately, the shock fades from his face and what’s left is pure, sweet, raw adoration.
“Sorry–” He’s suddenly embraced by Yoshida, their wet skin enveloping each other in a blanket of fondness. He melts into the hug almost instantaneously. Yoshida chains his arms around Denji, and buries his head into the crook of his neck. A chill runs down Denji’s spine when his hot breath fans onto his wet skin.
“God, I love you.”
The confession, barely a whisper, comes out of nowhere. Denji doesn’t have to look at Yoshida’s face to know that his lips are shaped into a wide smile. Denji is taken aback by such a blunt declaration of love, especially after the volatile words that were uttered before it.
“I love you so much.” Yoshida mutters into his skin.
Denji is confused, but he replies. “Me too.” He feels the hug tighten after he says it. Denji reciprocates his embrace, inhaling the scent of his shampoo on Yoshida’s dark and damp hair.
Yoshida pulls away only to kiss him again, and again, and again, everywhere on his face. Denji thinks this is a little bit too sweet for him to experience. A guy like him, who’s been torn and ripped apart by brutal strength and indignant violence shouldn’t have such a strong reaction to such gentle kisses, but his cheeks blush and his heart races. Yoshida kisses the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the tear running down his face.
“Denji?” Yoshida pulls back to look at him, concerned.
He can’t stop crying. “Denji? Are you okay?” Yoshida’s voice is filled with worry. He nods his head, trying to hold back tears. He wipes his tears aimlessly,
“Jus’ happy.”
Yoshida releases a sigh of relief, combing Denji’s hair back from his face. He places a kiss on his forehead.
Denji is thankful, really.