Ken Joshima, by and large was insufferable. Even before the experimentation, Chikusa gathered, he was just as crude and loud and stupid as he was after. Chikusa didn't know, he didn't know Ken before their captivity. He was just hazarding a guess.
His animalistic traits hardly endeared him to anyone, he slept on the floor, curled up on old oil cloths and moth eaten blankets, and as a result largely smelled of mildew and sweat and blood. His hygiene left something to be desired and his regular speaking voice was far too loud to be considered socially acceptable. He drooled, both in his sleep and while awake. His legs twitched like an excitable puppy in his sleep, as though he was running after something gleefully. Gleeful wasn't really something they could afford anymore. It wasn't as though Chikusa missed it.
Mukuro-sama made things better for them. They weren't someone's science experiment; it wasn't as though they had any chance of a normal life to begin with. They were always meant to be killers.
Luckily, killing was something Ken excelled at.
He'd return from a mission, his mouth full of blood, his clothes and knuckles smeared. He smelled like death. Smelled like sweat and blood and burning. His hands would find the front of Chikusa's uniform, throwing him into the wall. His breath was hot and it reeked but the harsh grinding pressing up against him was a serious distraction. It wasn't at all surprising to learn that Ken got hard when he killed, Chikusa learned it quickly in prison. All this? This was also entirely unsurprising.
Ken's teeth press into Chikusa's shoulder, blood and saliva staining the fabric of his jacket as he roughly pressed into Chikusa's hips, a growl escaping his lips as he looked to Chikusa for some kind of reaction. He never got one. Chikusa never felt the need to validate him. It didn't matter to him. It didn't mean anything to either of them. The fact of the matter was neither of them were sure if they even liked the other. Simply tolerated each other out of necessity. They had nothing in common other than their pasts, even that wasn't enough to have any mutual feelings of admiration. It didn't matter.
Ken bit down on Chikusa's lip, his teeth – unnaturally sharp as they were – puncturing his lip as he pulled, again growling at Chikusa's stoic demeanor.
"Don't be a bitch, Kakipi" he sneered, his hand trailing down the front of Chikusa's pants. His hands were painfully hot, Chikusa could feel the blood on his hands as his fingers wrapped around his cock. Maybe he was trained to be this way, Chikusa, maybe this had happened so many times he just expected it. It didn't matter. He was human still, it was only natural.
Ken's tongue is practically prying Chikusa's mouth open, it was a clash of teeth and tongue and Ken's mouth tastes like blood. Chikusa isn't sure if its his or someone else's. It doesn't matter.
All Chikusa can hear is the blood in his ears and the hum of the air conditioner through the wall, he can't hear Ken's groans as he ruts against him, the snarl as Ken flips him over and presses his cheek into the cold rough concrete. Ken sinks his teeth into Chikusa's shoulder again and his back arches, his chest snagging against the cinder blocks. His cheek was rubbed raw against the cinderblocks as Ken's hand roughly shoves the back of Chikusa's pants down, his tongue running around the shell of his ear. He could hear Ken burying his face in Chikusa's hair, inhaling deeply.
"I can smell it on you, Kakipi…" he groaned, a faint clinking could be heard as Ken undid his belt.
And with that, Ken shoved Chikusa into the wall, his vision blacked out, and he could hear Ken laughing.
It doesn't matter.