Chapter Text
Kenshi lies awake.
An understatement, really.
The window in their shared bedroom is open, letting the cool air slip in. For this reason, he’s got the comforter around him, though this makes him too hot. But that isn’t why sleep does not grace his mind.
It’s been four months.
Kenshi was surprised when the demon didn’t jumpscare him during random moments after he stopped going back. He blocked his number from his phone to delete all temptation. It’s strange; he expected the demon to show up, to confront him.
But he hasn’t.
He sighs into the darkness of their room. Suchin lies next to him, sound asleep. The day after she discovered the scars, she’d kept a close eye on Kenshi, calling him daily, being more affectionate than usual. He doesn’t deserve her.
Kenshi treats the thought of the demon like he really has self-harmed. He talks about him to his wife as if he’s the self-harm. This brings an odd feeling of relaxation, like he’s confessed his infidelity to her. But of course, he hasn’t, and it’s all just one sick metaphor.
Four months clean, he thinks to himself in the privacy of his own mind. Even that feels wrong to think about. Breaking someone's the trust of someone you love is unacceptable to be compared to suicidal thoughts. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.
In a way, Kenshi is glad to not be going back to the demon. He’s not sure what keeps him away, be it the guilt that finally became too much, or something else. He’s enjoyed growing closer to his wife, spending more time with her than he has in a while. His work hired more people, so there’s less on his shoulders. It’s perfect.
Not really.
There’s always a thirst in a drunk. Always a craving in a druggie. Always a desire in a sex addict.
God, that feels filthy to think about.
Kenshi came to the terms that he was addicted when Suchin confronted him. It made it easier to accept that when he realised that same night that the demon’s presence had been causing his voice in Kenshi’s head. The statistics were strange to think of, but he guessed that the voices were activated whenever the demon gor within a specific radius.
The worst realisation was that the demon had been watching when he didn’t even know. All those times when Kenshi had been talking to Suchin, or reading peacefully on the couch, the demon’s voice had come back. This only meant that he had been listening, watching, seeing everything.
Thinking about it made Kenshi want to throw up.
It became easier to think of the demon as the villain in this weird episode of his life. After all, he had come to find him and f*ck him without Kenshi’s word. After all, the demon had listened in on conversations he wasn’t meant to hear. After all…
You’re at fault, too.
Yes, unfortunately. Kenshi couldn’t be so lenient as to blame the demon for everything he’d done. Kenshi had come back to him time and time again to be taken, to offer some kind of release, when he should’ve just suffered in silence.
But the demon was mostly to blame. Demons really did originate from sin, huh?
Kenshi remembered what the demon had said about his soul. That he always turned away from sin, never embracing it, never accepting his impurity. What was that, a year ago? More? What was once a fuzzy memory now ached hot in his mind; it was a remnant of his own shame.
He’d thought about picking up a bible or going to church to try and ‘cleanse’ himself, or whatever the right ritual was. But those tall buildings sent sparks of fear up his spine. Those images of Christ on the crucifix hurt to think of. Like it was Kenshi who nailed an innocent man to his death.
Even now, in the comfort and safety of his own bed… it terrified him.
Kenshi had never been huge on religion. He’d been brought up with atheistic families and friends, and when in a church, he never felt that ‘spark’ that others supposedly felt when being connected to God.
But when he’d met the demon, everything changed. His neutrality about God turned to fear, then neutrality, then hatred, then… he stopped thinking about it. If demons existed, God certainly did. And Hell was probably built just for him.
He couldn’t help but shiver at that thought. He could repent, he could. He’d been manipulated by the demon, seduced and forced into adultery, hadn’t he? So he wasn’t at fault.
By staying away from the demon, he could redeem himself. He wouldn’t have to live in fear of the room in Hell made just for him… he could live his life properly.
Kenshi could start a family, love Suchin again, find joy in the simple pleasures of life. Maybe God wouldn’t strike him down.
Except for the lust that plagued his mind.
The demon was crueller than he thought. Kenshi had remembered why staying away was as difficult as it was- the lust. An itching heat that spread downwards whenever dwelled on too much. A burning spike that gnawed at his bones whenever unsatisfied. Something aching and primal.
That was why he couldn’t sleep.
Kenshi sighed internally to himself. The low hum of the wind through the window was barely noticeable to him at this point, so lost in his thoughts he was.
The demon could take care of that. The demon always did. He always knew where to touch, what to kiss, how to hit that spot just right… He was an encyclopaedia of lust and curses.
And by God, that tongue. Demon saliva was an amazing substance who’s burning sensation made him go back for more. That tongue, which twisted around every bite mark, every scratch to clean it up afterwards.
He noticed his obvious arousal and felt sorrow- not irritation- sorrow. His mind and body were failing him when he needed them most. When his wife was right next to him, for f*cks sake.
Obviously, he needed release. But he wouldn’t go back. He’d kill himself for doing so.
It was the sleep deprivation that made him slip out of bed to go over to the bathroom. It was the sleep deprivation that made him turn off the lights and lock the door, as to not be seen. It was the sleep deprivation that had him turn on the shower nozzle and wait.
While he was waiting, Kenshi tried not to think about what could’ve been. He could’ve been in bed with the demon right about now, treated to the finest carnally. Maybe he would’ve been treated to aftercare by now. Whatever the case is, he’s harder now.
The warm water slices into his back, running down his legs. Hopefully, it’s loud enough for Suchin not to hear.
Suchin. In the darkness, he questions his corruption.
It’s not too late to turn back. To switch the shower nozzle to cold and purge the arousal from his body. It’s not too late to to back to his wife and sleep.
And yet…
Kenshi slaps a hand to his mouth to stifle a groan as his fingertip so much as grazes himself. His member throbs with need and desire, though his brain is desperate to keep himself in check. It’s desperate for him not to ‘relapse’.
He could almost laugh at it all.
The water gathers at his feet, slipping down the drain as Kenshi gingerly places a hand around himself. The reaction is near instantaneous: a red-hot heat rushes to his abdomen, and he chokes back a moan.
His co*ck is burning. The heat is barely contained, and it grips to his skin like cactus spikes. Every brush of friction sends sparks up his spine. He can’t remember the last time he touched himself like this- usually it was the demon.
The demon.
Those eyes… those dark pools of hunger that bore into him with a teasing grin. Those small wrinkles around his eyelids that accompanied such dark heat always accompanied them. Even in the dark, they seemed to glow. Kenshi tried to envision that glow as he slowly moved his hand up and down…
By God, it felt amazing. Such a need that tore away at his system he didn’t know even existed until now. Sure, when the demon took him, he was always pent up… but this. This was different. That sweet desire that was so out of reach, he could only try to mimic the taste of forbidden fruit.
Kenshi fumbles with his left hand, feeling for a particular scar on his neck. It’s oval-shaped with little raised dots, from about six months ago. He runs his fingertips over the bite scar as he desperately jerks himself off, trying to being back the aching bliss of teeth on flesh.
What would it be like if the demon was there right then? Would he taunt Kenshi, make him feel shameful for masturbating to his image? Would he help him out… and swap the human’s hand for his own?
An involuntary noise escaped his throat at this. The heat from his shaft was so inviting, it was easy to picture the demon’s hand in lieu of his own. His eyes remained closed as he pressed a hand over one mouth to stifle his sounds. As much as he’d love to scratch open his scars, Suchin not discovering him is more important than that.
Is it?
All the exhaustion from sleep had faded into the background along with the sound of rushing water, to be replaced with the sparks that lit up his nervous system. The wonderful friction of his hand on himself made his head spin from the sensation. It took all his willpower not to cry out through his fingers.
”You like that, don’t you?” The unmistakable purr of the demon rang sharp in his mind. Kenshi was so stunned he nearly let go of himself, even though he was purposefully picturing it. It's not real, it’s not real. How would the demon react?
”Just like that, doll, just like that,” By God.
The demon’s tongue in his. The demon’s smooth hands tearing stripes into his pristine skin. The demon’s teeth pulling at his neck. The demon’s eyes staring into his with an undeniable, frenzied hunger.
Kenshi keened into his palm, biting into the soft flesh to not make too much noise. The pleasure spiked into his abdomen in intervals as he pumped himself, vaguely aware of precome forming.
Who was he kidding? The demon would be godly in this scenario. Through the bliss of his hand, Kenshi’s mind flicked back the half-handjob from the party months ago. His groan faded into the shower steam as he remembered the slow, purposeful movements of the demon’s fingers. Trying to copy that in the present time was most successful.
“Nghh… please, c’mon,” He gasped into his hand, other hand working to grant some sort of release. Kenshi arches into his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. The water can only muffle so much.
”You close?”
He’s not used to hearing the demon after so long. Kenshi grabs it while he can, desperate for anything to help him get off. “Y-yes, oh f*ck-“ Comes his gasped reply. His spare hand palms the shower door, trying to clutch onto the glass to prepare him for what comes next.
”Little ram…”
He has to fight not to sink to his knees as his vision whites out. Kenshi can’t help it; the demon’s cursed name slips from his tongue as his release coats the shower wall.
”Johnny…!”
Kenshi is truly sinful.
The water hasn’t stopped flowing all this time. He steadies himself for a minute, only allowing himself one minute. Only one minute.
Eventually, Kenshi’s vision returns. He straightens up, discovering a light dizziness as he does. He doubts Suchin has heard him at all. With a groan, he blinks away the black fuzz before he’s face to face with what he’s done.
Suchin.
Poor, beautiful Suchin. The only person who’s been with him through thick and thin. The devoted wife who wanted the picket fence, the children, his love. The woman who had unknowingly given him chance and chance again to repent his sins, to settle into the life of domesticity. And he still failed.
He still failed.
Grief. It’s grief that strikes him down, letting his legs fail him and his eyes sting. That aching, bleeding sensation of being sucked dry of any clear conscience that ever allowed him to commit such filthy deeds.
Kenshi was too much of a coward to go back to Johnny. And he was too much of a whor* not too. So he had buried his sin in his own palm, the thick heat of the shower. And still, grief tore at him relentlessly as he pressed a trembling hand to his face.
It was never the demon who forced him to come back. It was himself. His desperate, disgusting self who craved such sinful things. Blaming it, he realised, was pointless.
God hating him, he realised, was true.
Life seemed all but naught as his sin dripped from his right hand, and as the water baptised his trembling self, and as Kenshi Takahashi muffled his blood-soaked sobs.
