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He woke up in a cold sweat, jolting upright in his bed. If you could even call it a bed. Mishima groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. Code 2 was awful, how did anyone even live in these kinds of conditions? His sentence would get extended if he so much as looked at his accessory the wrong way. He peaked out from under his pillow, to stare at the person in question. Akira, he called him Akira even if he had no entitlement to name him or dress him. But his look, that was entirely up to Mishima.

Akira looked like someone he once knew, someone who wasn’t fortunate enough to just lose his memory. At least, that’s what he thought. He wasn’t sure what happened. All he knew was that someone named Akira, who looked identical to his accessory, wasn’t here.

It didn’t matter who or what he was. What mattered was there were a set of gray eyes staring right down at him. Do accessories even think? Do they even feel? Mishima wished he knew more, he wanted to know if accessories could feel pain, or emotions. Anything. He wanted more than anything for Akira to be able to feel him, and possibly have feelings for him. Something about that idea felt warm and familiar.

He slid his hand down his body, one keeping the pillow firmly in place so he wouldn’t hear whatever sentence he was being given by his accessory for being a ‘waste of resources’. His accessory moved, hovering over him. His voice was distant, muffled by the pillow. He went back to his dream, what had woken him up in a cold sweat. He didn’t want to admit that he was ready and completely willing to let his accessory fuck him, but in the semi-privacy of his cell, and his own mind, he’d let it run wild.

“Mishima-kun.” His accessory’s voice came through his pillow, and he rubbed himself through his underwear. He tried to tune it out, but warm hands were on his back, gently rolling him over. “Mishima-kun…..” There it was again, it sounded so familiar. It felt like every day he sounded more and more like the boy in his dreams. His accessory peeled his pillow away from his face, leaning in and gently pressing their lips together. “This is what they call a kiss, yes?”

Mishima gaped, staring wide eyed up at his accessory. “Y...yeah. That’s exactly what that is.” He hadn’t expected him to be so warm. So warm and so human. Mishima squeezed himself through his underwear again, leaning up to kiss his accessory- Akira… kiss Akira again. He thread his fingers in to Akira’s hair, it was soft as well. Everything about Akira was surprising him today. Akira’s hands went to the waist of his pants, pulling them off smoothly and letting Mishima try and kick them off. They stayed tangled around his ankles instead, smooth.

“Do you require assistance?” Mishima didn’t know what to say, everything about this situation just seemed strange. Akira didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing Mishima’s hand and squeezing harder than he anticipated. He moaned softly, exhaling deeply when Akira dragged his hand up. “I cannot assist with your hand in my way.” Right… Right. Mishima pulled his hand away, wriggling his hips as he pushed the fabric down. He felt exposed, with Akira’s eyes staring down at him. How was he even so warm?

“I-I do.” He stammered, finally answering the question he was asked. Akira didn’t say anything, he grasped Mishima’s dick lightly. He gasped, clawing at Akira’s heavy jacket. Shit, this was far too real than any dream he’d had. He squirmed underneath him, curling his toes in to the thin sheets on his mattress. Akira smiled, a small quirk of his lips that Mishima barely caught. His heart skipped a beat at that, and he gripped Akira’s jacket tighter. He wasn’t going to make it out of this alive, he hoped that soon he’d wake up again. Like this was some kind of dream.

He shut his eyes tightly, feeling the circulation in his fingers begin to taper off as he held on to the jacket for dear life. “Oh god…. Ohhh god Akira….” He breathed, thrusting his hips up to meet his hand. Akira gripped tighter, picking up his pace and stroking Mishima faster. “H...haa...aaaa...Akira….” He brought his arm up to cover his eyes. He felt like his lungs were going to burst. He could feel the heat coil in his stomach. “Shit…. Shit I’m gonna…”

“Are you close?” His voice…. It sounded so human, almost breathless. If Mishima bothered to look, he would see that his pupils were blown wide. Mishima nodded, hardly able to keep up with what was happening. “Mishima-kun?” He squeezed tighter, and Mishima choked. The heat curled through his body, and he came hard. He moaned, breathless and spent as he sagged. Mishima tried to catch his breath, and Akira hovered over him still. He let go of the jacket, hand falling next to him on his bed. “Yuuki….”

He sat up quickly, Yuuki? Did he just say Yuuki? “What did you say?” He reached out, and Akira stood up quickly and moved back.

“Are you feeling relieved?” His voice sounded hollow, eyes looking polte and blank as they were before. Mishima pulled his boxers back up, and his pants as well as quickly as his scrambled brain would allow.


“Rest, so you may contribute to your Panopticon.” He smiled, but it felt fake. Everything about Akira suddenly felt fake again. Mishima grabbed his pillow again, trying to smother himself with how pathetic it was.

“Fine, I suppose.”