He had felt god, in warm flesh and goosebumps, in reactive twitches and shudders. In how, even after Hinata had decided he was ready, he was trying to resist gaining any pleasure from Komaeda's loving touches. In his tense muscles and sudden relaxation and the way the sheets shifted under them when Hinata's fingers dug into the fabric. Komaeda's free hand trailed up bare skin, traced hip and ribs before twining his fingers with Hinata's hand. He felt god the first time Hinata didn't jerk his hand away immediately. Every one of those three seconds had counted for an eternity.
He had heard god, in the quick breaths, in the choked back sounds and the little growls of frustration, Mozart to his neglected senses. But most of all, after working hard to learn every sweet spot and tender area, discovering through luck and past experience how to use his tongue and lips and hand to get the best reaction, he heard god in Hinata's moan like silk, finally unrestrained. Komaeda heard god, and he didn't even mind that Hinata got a little too overzealous and almost choked him with the unwieldy thrusts of his hips.
He had seen god, in the tinge of pink on Hinata's cheeks every morning after, when they ran into each other by chance because Komaeda wasn't allowed to stay in Hinata's room. He saw god behind his eyelids every night after he'd finished getting Hinata off and was back in his own bed, one hand working to bring his own release to the images and sounds and sensations he had so carefully stored away. That Komaeda had even that was a gift, he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve to know what the precious talented hope-filled form of Hinata Hajime looked like at its most vulnerable, didn't deserve to be so familiar with the heavy feeling of Hinata's cock on his tongue.
He did deserve the other end of it, the looks that toed the line between mild disgust and arousal, the careless treatment that was just a little too soft to be enjoyable. Such a worthless wretch as himself deserved the look of disdain every time he got a little too close to trying to kiss Hinata — someone like him, match lips with a hope-endowed talented brilliant person, born to be above the rest? It was a ridiculous thought, but if Hinata would just give him something other than a quiet refusal it would be okay, any attention would be enough, Komaeda didn't care what it was, love him hate him beat him kill him.
He had found god in Hinata, and as a disgusting creature far below Hinata's feet, he had no right to complain, no matter how much worse every encounter made him feel, if he could get Hinata to make that face and that sound and that motion it was all worth it, even if he couldn't get Hinata to look at him for longer than a split second, even if he couldn't get Hinata to hit him or yell at him or tie him up or abuse him, even if he got lonelier every night.
Maybe it was better that Komaeda had never believed in God.