#perilflesh

This was made very plainly evident when he grabbed hold of her elbow and proceeded to rip, her flesh falling off her arm easily as soggy paper. Her shriek was one more of horror than pain initially, and then her nerves lit up.

She fell backward, clutching her ruined arm to her chest. “You fucking maniac!” She spat, cringing at the overwhelming stench of blood – her blood. Her crop top was completely soaked through at this point; she’d have to buy a new one, no use washing it.

But he didn’t seem satisfied. Fear edged into her head as she backpedaled, looking around frantically for Dame or Kiba, anyone – 

His nails dug into the meat of her thigh, and her lip curled before she was shrieking again. “Stop it, stop! I’ll kill you, bastard! Shitty shrink! Fuckin’ potato peeler!” Her leg flopped uselessly, muscle exposed to the air, soaked in red. Her breaths were coming in shallow gasps now, heart hammering away at her ribcage.

The heel of his shoe dug into the gaping wound, and she sounded more animal than human. “Son of a bitch! Get the fuck off of – “ He used the leverage to get a grip on her shoulder, this time digging deeper, prying away skin and sinew to the point that she could see bone. It was cold and hot at the same time, every nerve buzzing, the blood making her fingers stick together.

She was coming apart like a doll with the stitches undone. She jerked, a last-ditch effort to escape, call for help, anything –

A hand wrapped around her throat like a vice, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She could feel her pulse thumping hard against his thumb, and she bit back all noise.

He said something – something along the lines of keeping his promise, she was too focused on the approaching hand, on the nearly-soft caress from her cheek to her forehead before she was falling apart again, skin prying away from her skull, her ears ringing with how loud she was, and then he was cramming it all into her mouth. She choked on blood and bile and herself, his fingers pushing the mess in further, further –

His cheek stings in the aftermath, but where he might usually shrink away, become docile, the man before him provokes a different kind of reaction. There’s a keen understanding, that he’s poking flames and he could instigate something much worse than a slap, but in this moment he doesn’t seem to care.

Shinji is, and always will be, deathly attractive when he’s out to harm.

So forgive him, for using the height advantage to back the other against a wall. Forgive him for getting handsy almost instantly, all to softly growling into the others neck, lifting him from under his thighs. It’s ridiculous, that he can find something like that so attractive, but he does. 

It’s insanity, to him, that people do not understand how disgustingly hot it is, when Shinji could so easily rend the flesh from him but stays his hand. How utterly attracive to watch, when he is using his quirk. How can anyone not lose their mind when shown such things? Is he weird for falling for it, for becoming a mess at the thought of death by the hands of someone like him?

For the most part he’s patient, waits until he knows Shinji won’t murder him for lifting and pressing him against a wall, grinning slightly against the others neck and begins the process of marking him, biting too hard and lapping at each mark reverently. Each movement is praise, a worship for the man he keeps pressed against himself and the wall. 

He’s keenly aware how needy he becomes, but Shinji seem’s to think it’s quaint enough. And if he hates it, then he can rip the flesh from his bones and call it a day. It’s not that Aisuke wants to die; he isn’t suicidal at all, but he knows if he provokes the other, then surely he deserved the fate set for him. 

And after a few languish moments of enjoying the other, he pulls back just enough so he can look at Shinji.

And grins.