(you wanna know) oh, what the hell is all this?

Published: Dec. 11, 2019.

Words: 914.

Chapters: 1/1.


Necessity dictates circumstance.

(When Kariya is in need, Kirei lends a helping hand.)


i'm baffling deep into this pair and so thirsty for content i'm writing my own.

(and idk fully how crest worms work, but gdi i'm gonna apply the same logic of poor sakura's suffering to her dear departed uncle. sue me if you want, nasu.)

title taken from the lyrics of the wheel (is turning now) by everything everything.

russian translation available here! <3

On AO3.

He knows the problem.

Of course he does--the problem is him, him and the ravenous swarm of worms he allowed to infest him, to nestle into the marrow of his bones, to work him to a friction-raw fever pitch at their whims. Consequence stood beside consequence and flicked over in the domino effect of bullshit that is this. It's the original sin for why Kariya is leant back against the arm of a not-a-stranger, not-an-acquaintance (something in the haze of the middle and impossible to define as of now), sat with his legs splayed and near out of his goddamn mind.

But, what's a problem without friends? The black abyss of his troubles stretches its maw wide, and the white eyes of problems-spawned-from-problems reflect from within.

Because the original problem, the one wringing any sanity from his brain, isn't at the center here. What would have been a bark of laughter had he sufficient air becomes a breathy gasp, one amongst the many. Morbidly hilarious to not focus on this: the hand of Kotomine Kirei on his cock. Seems like a bigger deal than it feels, stretched thin by desperation. Some distant part of him, a sliver of rationality spared by the sluice pan of arousal, comprehends the absurdity of this situation.

It began with death, with charred skin and poison-laced words spat at Tohsaka Tokiomi. Then, the inexplicable pity of Kotomine Kirei's decision to salvage Kariya from the brink, awakening panic-heavy in an unknown location, and the subsequent question-and-answer session couched as careful as possible on both sides, until--

The worms writhing, needing, craving, and Kariya unable to swallow it down, their starvation fierce in the wake of his near death. Squirming, pleading, useless--his gaze turned to the only other present party--

(--and, he knows, knows, knows this is not what the priest anticipated when he scraped Kariya's remains from the pavement, but it is what it is, and in this moment, fogged by arousal, Kariya can easily admit there are far worse people for him to lose control around, far less accommodating, far less attractive, far less--)

"Fu--" A cut-off expletive, engulfed in a sobbing noise as the pitiful motions of his hips slide up in a single-instant brief, perfect angle, and it's good, good, good. Under his breath, gasped: "Like that, shit."

There remains the question which bridges there to here, how his edge-skidding queries then begging neediness transformed into the priest's big hand stroking up and down his cock. Kariya's good arm winds around Kirei's neck, and he leverages himself into a superior position to selfishly better the effort, knife-edge keen with desperation to come. Slight bit more momentum, rocking up to slam himself into Kirei's curled fist, and it startles a moan from him. It's all too much, the contact, the sensation.

A problem, right. Even now, struggling to find purchase in an awkward position with only a single truly functioning leg, that tiny portion of of rationality lingers and hones in on the current and realest dilemma: the impassivity of Kirei. Majority addled, the cursed wisp of consciousness afflicting Kariya is just aware enough to soak in humiliation. The worms' hunger robs him of agency and requires a painfully awkward favor to summit. Kariya must submit no matter how he wishes to deny it, and the bastard he relies on in full has the smug arrogance to be unaffected.

Kirei is glass-reflective smooth. Lips set in a thin line, gaze centered on the opposite wall, he's too damn calm for someone who is (bluntly, frankly, candidly) jacking off another man. Not a whimper, not a peep, it's another day preaching the Lord's word and sitting idle as someone falls to pieces on his lap.

Kariya can't stand it. Disgust, impatience, ire--react in some way, any way. Anything but the stoicism that negates his presence. An untempered blaze of need juxtaposed cool, black-clad dignity, Kariya is all but an embarrassment, pants pushed sloppy down his thighs and sweat slick across his pallid skin. His bad arm hangs useless at his side, twitches up like he could even use it, but no, that's a deadend thought. He is a dessicated husk of a creature, being devoured from the inside out.

Worse yet, it isn't merely methodical motions, not the token, too-quick rhythm of an uninterested party eager to conclude the experience. Pointed intent characterizes Kirei's motions. Fast, fast, fast in a loose hold, then slow, languid almost, but tight, so he feels everything, every choked-down stroke. Thumbpad swiping over his cockhead, and an inarticulate sound forces itself from Kariya. His head tilts in until it leans on Kirei's shoulder and his rapid breaths huff wetly onto Kirei's throat. The steady thrum of Kirei's heartbeat bleeds over into Kariya in a parody of intimacy.

"Please, please, please--fuck, god, ahh!" Pleas pour pathetic from him, hips bucking in pursuit of completion as heat crescendoes. "Hhh, don't--I--ahh--"

He hates it. Fuck, he hates it. But, this is how he comes, sprawled out on the lap of Tokiomi's priest with the heavy warmth of his hand curled around his cock. Incoherent noises spill low and raw from Kariya, and he curls in towards Kirei, teeth scraping over Kirei's neck. Not what he dreamed, not what he hoped (spread out content beside Aoi), yet it quiets the worms and sates him, has him hazy in the afterglow.

Problems loom, but for a long moment, Kariya knows a selfish peace.