It hadn't been his best idea. Akira has done some stupid things in the past, from jumping off of his school roof back home to the time he pickpocketed a pack of cigarettes just to see what they tasted like. This time, however, it was personal. And no one ever made bad decisions when it was personal.
The truth is that Akechi was just always there. They've been playing nice with him, and it's been a strange, thin line to toe when they know that he will betray them. It's not a question of if he will or not. Just when. Just how. Being nice to Akechi...it's just one more mask Akira has to wear, but this one itches at his nerves more than the others every time Akechi gives him one of his stupid fake smiles, or uses a four syllable word in his creepy, nice voice.
It was that itch that had made him do it, he's sure. When he found himself sneaking into Takemi's clinic after hours in search of something, he hadn't been sure for what at first. A pill that could wipe the smarmy look off of Akechi's face, perhaps. Or maybe just something that could make his Leblanc coffee send him racing to the toilet.
Reading labels in the dark had been tricky, but soon enough, Akira had returned to Leblanc with his spoils and a smirk. He couldn't confront Akechi to his face. Not yet. But there was nothing wrong with making him eat crow in other ways.
At the time, it had been an awesome idea. Now, though...Akira is jerked awake by forceful knocking, jarring him from dreams of prison bars and blue velvet to sit up straight in bed. Morgana is gone, likely out looking for food or adventure, but his absence makes all of this seem more surreal. Despite his wariness, Akira moves to action, feet silent even on creaking wood.
The attic and the tight stairs are dark, but he doesn't chance turning on lights. His eyes adjust well enough, and as he reaches the bottom he can see a figure outlined in the glass panes of the door. Whoever is there is mad. They thunder their fist against the door hard enough the little 'closed' sign bounces helplessly.
Should he call the police? Sojiro? Wait until they give up?
Even as he puzzles through his options, the person on the other side gives a loud growl that sounds far more menacing than he had expected even from someone pounding on the outside of a darkened building.
"I know you're in there, Kurusu! Open the fucking door. I know it was you who did this to me!"
Just like that, all of his wariness dissolves. Akira slowly rises from his crouched position, and now he can put his memory and knowledge to the shape of this shadowy figure; a mop of hair, almost his height, and the banging of his hand is muffled faintly by leather gloves.
His fear morphs over into a catty smile as Akira winds over and unlocks the door, swinging it open to reveal an incredibly irate Akechi. He's never seen him like this before! His bland, over-the-top politeness is long gone, and he can see the flush to his cheeks even in the semi-darkness.
"What did I do exactly?" he asks as a form of greeting, voice full of faux innocence while he leans luxuriously against the door frame and crosses his arms. He can't keep his glee out of his smile so doesn't even bother.
Akechi doesn't hesitate. He blasts into the cafe, getting in a few feet before turning abruptly on his heel. He's all rage and balled up fists, and Akira is living for it.
"You think this is funny? You think it's funny to make me get an erection in the middle of the subway platform?"
Akira blinks in shock, hurrying to close the door. He lights up his phone and turns the screen towards Akechi. Sure enough, the blue glow falls across a very noticeable bulge in the front of Akechi's pants. Oh. Oh, no.
He can't seem to think of words to say. His mouth works a few times as he shakes his head in slow surprise. "It- it was laxative."
"Was it really? Are you so sure? For someone who is top of their class, you missed the mark on this one! Fix this! Now!" Akechi demands, practically foaming at the mouth at this point. Akira can see now that his body is a stiff line, and while his anger is definitely causing most of it, there is obvious tension in the set of his shoulders and the angle of his back. Arousal and panic.
If he'd been hard on the subway and had to make his way back here just to yell at him...he must be in pain by now. Akira knows how uncomfortable his own erections can feel if he ignores it for more than just a handful of minutes. Plus, he's never had one last the length of time it would take to walk here. It must be hell.
Guilt washes over him in a feverish wave. This is definitely not what he'd had in mind when he planned this prank. Akechi doesn't seem to care as he glowers at him in the dark. "WELL!?"
Akira still doesn't know what he's supposed to do. It's not like aphrodisiacs or whatever this is have antidotes or anything like it was a witch's spell. They wore off, right? How long? Already he's lifting his phone, frantically starting to do Internet searches for answers.
He was midway through reading a really uncomfortable side effect commentary on Viagra when Akechi's voice breaks through. He sounds so quiet and so upset.
Akira looks up from his phone to see Akechi standing there, one hand clutching at a bar stool helplessly for support. It might be his imagination, but he thinks he sees his knees buckle. Akechi looks wretched, and Akira knows that this prank has gone horribly, horribly wrong. It is now up to him to make it up to Goro fucking-wants-to-kill-him Akechi.
"Fine. Fine. Come on."
If it feels weird and like a betrayal to reach out and grasp Akechi's wrist to haul him upstairs, Akira tries not to think about it. The attic is eerie at night, shelves and odds and ends looming like monsters in the dark, but at least his bed is lit up by the moonlight spilling in. It's practically under a spotlight as if proclaiming 'Here! Here is where you will give your first handjob to the boy who doesn't like you!'
Akechi is quiet, and when Akira turns back to look at him he is looking around the room with obvious curiosity, his free hand pressed across his crotch. After a long, drawn out moment, Akechi's shoulders draw in sharply, and he gives the tiniest and daintiest sneeze Akira has ever heard in his life. His heart melts. It shouldn't.
"Eugh. This place is covered in dust. Do you not clean?" Akechi gripes, his nose scrunched up. He no longer seems cute. Instead, he looks a bit like a moppy haired bulldog. Akira cannot pretend like he's not enjoying this more openly critical version of him, though.
"One, yes, I do clean. Two, I work about ten part-time jobs including the big one we're in on together right now. You know this because you were stalking me."
It's probably more than he should say when Akechi is already mad at him, but this asshole is judging him on the dirty, health hazard of an attic that he had been put up in like he'd had any say in it. Even Kawakami had said it was like the dust just rematerialized!
Akechi is smirking at his outburst, looking smarmy and in control even when he looks ridiculous with sweat dappled skin and the front of his pants tented out. Oh. Right. He's supposed to be helping.
Akira takes a deep breath and guides Akechi over to his bed, pointing at it like he's a small child. "Look, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a prank. You're welcome to...er, sort yourself out. I'll go downstairs. Plenty of booths," he murmurs, already reaching for his pillow and blanket, but he is surprised when Akechi reaches out to grab his wrist to stop him.
"No. You need to fix this!," he repeats, eyes spitting sparks, and Akira finds himself weirdly caught off guard by how blown out his pupils look. "Don't you think I tried to sort it out myself? Do you know how humiliating it is to do that in a public restroom stall? You need to stay here."
For some reason, the visual of Akechi furiously masturbating in a bathroom stall makes Akira's stomach burn. He can practically see it in his mind's eye; pants rucked low on his hips and legs spread, one hand holding up his shirt while he pressed his too hot face against the cold metal wall. It was dirty.
Akechi certainly isn't ugly, Akira can admit. Painfully awkward and an entire toolbox, but not ugly. Akira can already feel where this is going and decides it was best to rise to the occasion. For that reason, he lets a smirk pour across his lips before he reaches out and begins to unbutton his jacket.
Akechi looks relieved.
Three buttons don't go for long, and soon Akira is pulling it off of him, leaving the man in his white shirt underneath. Already Akechi looks more vulnerable, glaring up at him hotly through the entire process as if he is humiliated. His cheeks are high with color, and his lips look darker as well as if he has been raking his teeth across them continuously the whole way here.
As Akira reaches forward to loosen his tie, he can feel the intense heat radiating off of his chest. Akechi is burning up. It feels all the more important to get him out of it, and so Akira hurries. He impatiently unbuttons his white shirt, yanking it up out of his pants and peeling it down his arms to leave him shirtless, the tie settling onto the floor like a boneless snake.
He's skinny, unsurprisingly. What does surprise Akira is that he has muscle hiding on his frame that he never would have guessed existed. It's sparing, but he can see delicate shadows all over his torso where the moonlight lands on the hard planes and then bleeds into darkness in the dips. When did this asshole have time to work out? Akira feels kind of offended by the revelation.
Grumpy, Akira shoves him down onto the bed, deeply amused by Akechi's gasp of surprise and bounce. Good.
It's nothing compared to the surprise on his face when Akira scrambles after him, applying his weight hard over Akechi's lap as he straddles him. A quick lean over to the side, and he snags the tie off the ground. His smirk is almost wicked as he grips Akechi's hands and begins to wind the silk of the tie around his wrists.
"What do you think you're doing!?" Akechi splutters in indignation. "Get off of me!"
Akechi struggles, but it just takes Akira grinding his ass down into his crotch to make Akechi buckle, weaken, and go limp in his grasp. In mere seconds, he has his hands bound, and it's really a shame that this bed is such a piece of garbage with no proper frame to tie him off to. He would have to be happy with this much alone.
It didn't make it any less satisfying to reach down and begin plucking off his gloves, though. They're buttery and nice, obviously expensive. He has good taste, and Akira rather relishes the sensation of them as he pulls them onto his own hands, stretching his fingers and flourishing them to model his spoils. They were a perfect fit.
"Take them off! Untie me now, Kurusu. I will have you arrested for assault and you'll go straight to jail. You know you will."
Akira leans in close and presses his now gloved hand over Akechi's mouth and presses a finger over his lips with the other. He's so close now their noses touch and his curls drip along Akechi's forehead.
This close and with Akechi's head pushed back, his hair has fallen with gravity, revealing some of his hairline. It's precious to see his balmy skin, tiny tendrils of his hair sticking and giving away even more of his arousal. He's a mess, and they both know it. When Akira shifts his weight a bit more, the muffled sound of Akechi's moan against his palm is exquisite.
"Shhh. I'm trying to fix it, remember? You do want me to fix it, right?"
Akechi's eyes are blazing and narrowed, and while his room is dark Akira knows what color they are; brown like mud, but with a heart of pure blood red that made them stand out proudly from his hair. They should have been boring, but they weren't. Red was Akira's favorite color and, at that moment, he's kind of feeling regret about the lack of light to see them.
The man seems like he wants to argue. Oh, Akira can feel his want to argue like ants are marching on their skin. After an incredibly long, hateful pause Akechi's body goes ever so slightly slack, but his glare intensifies while he nods in agreement.
"Good boy," Akira whispers, peeling away his hand and grinning with deep satisfaction. His own nerves about what he is doing seem to evaporate into pure confidence knowing that Akechi is right where he wants him. He feels powerful and excited to be doing something this mischievous. It makes it easy to sidle a little further down Akechi's legs until he was in the perfect position to press his hand against the protruding front of his slacks.
The sensation of hardness there under the material and knowing it was a cock that was not his own is fucking exhilarating. His fingers seem to have a mind of their own as he eagerly unbuttons and unzips his pants, tugging them down his hips. In his enthusiasm, he drags his underwear with them, and a moment later Akechi springs free to allow Akira a good look at him at last.
Akechi burns with embarrassment under his gaze, bound hands straining and flexing, rushing down to cover himself, but Akira doesn't let him, holding him back with a smirk.
"Don't be shy. I'm not going to laugh. I just want to see what your droves of fans would kill me for."
He is shockingly not bad. Akira gently clasps his gloved hand around him, feeling out the length of his want. He's clean and mostly hairless, obviously fastidious in his grooming. He's not small, but not large either, and Akira really likes the curve and upturn to it that makes even his cock almost seem snooty.
"Very nice," he praises, curiously pressing his thumb heavily along the prominent vein on the underside. He maintains the pressure all the way up to the tip before he swirls the pad of his thumb around the slit where a pretty pearl of precum rushes to meet his touch.
Akechi jolts and writhes underneath him, fingers clawing into his own stomach for lack of anything else to hold on to. Thanks to Akira tying him up, he couldn't even grip at the sheets unless he wanted to swivel his torso. His inability to do much is very cute when he's so hungry for more, and Akira thinks those ghostly white burns left behind after his fingers are more than a little sexy.
"I hate you."
The cruel sneer washes over Akira's skin like an icy blast, but his shiver in response is definitely not from cold. He holds Akechi's pleasure in the palm of his hand, very literally, and he takes great enjoyment out of squeezing his cock and watching Akechi's blistering anger wash over into ecstasy.
"I don't hate you. I think the ultra polite, good boy routine is boring though. You're one of us now; something better and worse than friends. Trust me."
He knows that Akechi would never trust him. That's okay. He's not going to trust Akechi either. With a deeper smirk he starts to pump his fist along the length of Akechi's cock, letting the delightfully soft leather of Akechi's own gloves give him friction like his hand couldn't.
Beneath him Akechi moans, lifting his bound hands up to clap over his mouth as his hips start to buck up against Akira's weight with want. Akira doesn't give him an inch. He settles his knees into the mattress more securely and keeps on touching him, fascinated by the entire process. It's not like touching himself. The angle was all wrong and his own cock was thicker. He's also never done it with gloves, and he may just have to change that soon.
He's feeling testy though after the little 'hate you', and he leans up to pry Akechi's hands away from his face just in time to hear a needy whine drip past his lips. It goes straight to his belly, pooling heat there that sloshes and makes him realize he's grown half hard himself. He ignores it for now, deciding he wants to hear more sounds like that one and make this little upstart fall entirely to pieces.
He would deserve it.
This thought in mind, Akira moves. His weight is shifted away, and Akechi's eyes are flashing open in surprise. He looks like a caged animal, prepared to bolt like Akira was about to do something to humiliate him.
Instead, Akira slides up the bed and eases against Akechi's side before he playfully shoves Akechi's shoulder until the man is forced heavily onto his side. It makes it easy to spoon up against his back this way. While this gesture should feel warm and sweet and intimate, Akira just likes that now he's got the perfect angle to touch him and the new freedom to bite at his ear.
Which he does.
The broken sound Akechi makes is like his first sip of coffee in the morning; dark, bitter, delicious, and it wakes up a part of him that had been sleeping.
"Fuck, you sound good," he whispers directly into Akechi's ear, his hand already wrapping around the man's cock as if hungry to feel the weight in his palm again. It is just as hot, and Akira takes a moment to enjoy squeezing him and letting his fingers knead and remember his shape.
His own breathing is shallow and fast as he stares at his own leather clad hands on another person's cock for the first time. It doesn't feel real, and he's pressed so close to Akechi that when he runs his tongue over his lips to wet them, it brushes against the shell of Akechi's ear too.
The reaction from Akechi is instantaneous. He cries out, bound hands lifting from the bed as if trying to grab something invisible as his whole body jolts. It's too good to pass up. Akira just chuckles deeply right into his obviously sensitive ears before he opens his mouth, letting the yawning void of it echo for a moment before he wraps his teeth gingerly around it.
Akechi tries to leap out of his skin again, but Akira holds him fast, tongue swirling along the fascinating little ridges and even plunges into the cavern of it as if mimicking other activities. The whole while his cock jumps and his breathing becomes reedy and barely there like he's dying.
"Mmmngh, oh my god, fuck you!" Akechi cries just as orgasm engulfs him. Akira rushes away from Akechi's ear and sits up on his elbow to watch him, roughly continuing to move his hand while Akechi comes. Hot stripes of his release paint onto his bedding and then leak down along his fingers still holding him. It's such a stark contrast to the dark gloves, and Akira can't help licking his lips again.
He had done that. Akechi was lying there exhausted and panting, his thin chest moving too fast and his skin perfectly pink all over even in the dark. He looks like a wet dream, if Akira is honest. Especially given his pants were still clinging desperately to his thighs and making him look all the more sordid.
Akira enjoys the warmth in his chest that came from enjoying every second of that. He sits and watches Akechi catch his breath until at long last almost-red eyes turn to flick up in his direction. He's got pretty eyelashes. Akira has never noticed.
"Is that any way to talk to the person who just got you off for the first time? Rude," he teases, pulling off his dumb fake glasses and gently rubbing at the bridge of his nose where sweat had sprung up. Good thing he didn't need them to see, or he might have missed the fact that Akechi is still hard. And glaring.
"And I suppose you have been all over Tokyo stealing panties in addition to hearts? Spare me the details," Akechi hisses, obviously embarrassed. He jerks into action to reach down and grab his pants, swearing when he realizes that his hands are still bound and making that action far more difficult. "Take this off!"
Akira just grins and shoves him over with one hand, delighted as he loses his balance and collapses. No doubt the mess of his orgasm on the sheets just touched the skin of his back, but it's the least of his worries as he goes to yank at his pants until Akechi was blissfully naked. He had very pretty legs.
"Look at that. Your wish is my command. Now it's my turn, because you look like you still need my help."
And he definitely did. Orgasm or not, Akechi's cock was still fully hard and even more flushed than before. It looked as angry as his face in that moment, and Akira gets to his feet before he somehow got an apoplectic lecture from his dick.
Akechi's venomous eyes are on him, and they melt into something like slack-jawed surprise as Akira goes to oh-so-slowly peel his shirt up over his head. His heart is beating fast and painful against his rib cage as he does so, the chill of the attic rushing to his skin. He's never stripped in front of another person or been naked in front of someone outside of a locker room.
It makes it all the more exciting and intimidating to hook his thumbs into the waist of his pajama bottoms and push them down until they puddle onto the ancient floor boards. Akechi is just looking at him, face unreadable, but even from here, Akira can see a bead of sweat slide down the side of his neck in the moonlight. He wants to lick it off.
Akira peels off the gloves too, putting them on the shelf by his bed for safekeeping. It leaves him entirely naked. Not even his glasses could protect him from Akechi at this moment as he holds out his hand in silent invitation.
"Come over here. To the couch."
Akechi's brows immediately knit and distrust floods his face. "Why?" he asks, eyes cutting over to the couch in question as if trying to suss out if there were traps or secret barbs in the cushions. There aren't any, only Akira's best intentions.
"I told you I'd take care of this. I will. Trust me."
There was that word again. Akira is beginning to think that Akechi has never trusted a soul in his life. Seeing him continue to jump his gaze from the sofa to his hand to his crotch and back in a vicious triangle made the inevitable slump of defeat in his shoulders all the sweeter.
Akechi gets up as he was asked, lifting his still tied hands to grabs Akira's. When he digs his fingernails roughly into Akira's palm, Akira pretends he doesn't feel it. He guides him over to the couch, but before they sit down he rifles about on his desk. After a moment he gives a faint 'aha!' of triumph at finding whatever he searched for. His grin lingers even as he shifts to sit down square in the middle of the tiny seat and tug at Akechi's wrists until their knees bump together.
"Come on. In my lap, a knee on each side-"
"What? No. Why?" Akechi argues, jerking his hands back, but Akira's grip is on the tie that binds them and keeps him from going far. He's still got so much fight in him even after earlier. Akira likes it.
A little tug forces Akechi to topple a bit, barely catching himself by his hands on Akira's chest and one knee on the sofa just as Akira had wanted. "I didn't peg you for a coward. You're going to let me intimidate you?"
Fuck, it works like a charm. Suddenly a second knee was slamming into the cushion by his thigh with too much force, and the hands on his chest shove him hard back into the sofa in punishment. Good.
Akira hurries to loop his arms around Akechi's waist, finding it very small even for a boy. He likes it very much as he lets his fingers ghost along the bumps of his spine. Their naked bodies are close and warm, and the sensation of Akechi's cock pressed hot and furious against his own is life changing.
"Put your hands behind my head. You can rest your arms on my shoulders."
Akechi looks like he's about to argue again, eyes already flaring up like embers being stoked in a fire pit, but the next moment he does as he was told. Since he cannot separate his hands, he only widens the gap between his forearms and snags the loop of his arms around Akira's neck.
Thin fingers tangle in his hair, and it feels so fucking good Akira's eyes flutter shut right before his hair is yanked hard enough to sting, his head banging down hard on the wooden detailing of the sofa.
"Ow! You would cut off your nose to spite your face, wouldn't you?" Akira laughs, voice strained given the angle of his neck, and just to get back at him he moves one hand from Akechi's back. He'd had two things firmly in mind when he had moved them. With great delight, he snags Akechi's erection into his hand while also gathering his own. The sensation of his fingers squeezing both of their arousal together is enough to make his toes curl harshly into the wood grain of the floor.
Akechi's scowl morphs into a look of pure, molten pleasure, his body convulsing forward like a wave crashing into a cliff side. Akira has no problem being that cliff side as he keeps going, dragging his hand slowly up and down, being sure to apply plenty of pressure. Akechi feels ten times hotter against the fragile skin of his cock, and it's even more erotic than his fantasy had been.
Fingernails claw into the back of his neck and his scalp, but before his mind can catch up through this wave of pleasure, lips are spilling across his own.
Akira may be a criminal, a Phantom Thief, and even just an average, hard-working student, but he has never yet been kissed.
Akechi's lips are indescribably soft and just a bit tacky. The scent of peppermint and something like rosemary fills his nose. The kiss draws long and feverish, the line of his mouth cracking and breaking around his gasps like a fissure, his breath humid and tantalizing on his cheek.
"Fuck, is that chapstick?" Akira questions, realizing it sounds stupid, but unable to care. His lips are tingling now, and he can't tell if it was from the peppermint oil or just how fucking good that kiss had been. He decides it doesn't matter as he gives their cocks another squeeze and tips his head up to kiss Akechi again.
This time Akechi doesn't keep any distance. His fingers tangle and pull at his curls and his tongue is slick and hungry as it pries its way into Akira's mouth to meet his own. The tingle of peppermint and the faint trace of breath mints mingle with the mind melting intensity of kissing Akechi to the point Akira almost forgets what he'd wanted.
He keeps kissing and keeps moving his fist between their bodies, but his free hand shifts away from Akechi's back. He slides it curiously along the cushion, searching for what had been deposited and forgotten until finally his fingers bump plastic. He unscrews the lid dexterously and doesn't even care about the mess as he lets the viscous liquid inside spill across his fingers.
Making otherworldly bombs and contraptions has meant using some very odd ingredients. The plant balm he used to make several of the items was quite interesting. It was resinous and fragrant, but he has learned to heat it and make it more malleable. It drips now on his fingers, filling the attic with an herbal scent that reminds him of basil and lemongrass. When he rolls his thumb against his forefinger he is delighted to feel the oily texture that makes his fingers slip and slide against one another.
With his heart hammering in his chest Akira tips his head back, letting Akechi nip and bite at his lower lip. He presses his slick fingers down the sensual line from his tailbone and downward until he is swirling his fingertip against his opening.
Akechi jerks away from him with a gasp, his locked hands keeping him from getting too far in his rushed surprise.
"What are you doing?"
Akira keeps circling, eyes and smirk both dark as he teases his fingertip forward, but doesn't actually breach him. "You know what I'm doing."
Akechi does. When he breathes out that rush of air sounds like a swear, and he gasps again as Akira teases at entering him again, but doesn't. Akechi is shaking in his lap, thighs tensing and Akira can hear the scrape of his nails digging into the wood of the sofa at his back.
"You know what I'm doing," he repeats, leaning forward enough to push and nuzzle his nose against Akechi's, bumping it along his cheek and temple before brushing it over his ear. It makes Akechi buckle and sway. "And you want it. Let me do it."
He squeezes at their arousal again just to make his case, and the sound that Akechi makes sends a pulse of pleasure straight to his cock.
That's all he needs. He presses his finger forward with purpose this time around, and Akechi is right there. Akira always thought that the description of being 'devoured' by a kiss was a little melodramatic, but at that moment Akechi devours him. His lips are hungry, taking every bit of him they can reach. His tongue scores the roof his mouth and claims every ridge of his teeth. All while Akira presses.
The blinding heat and pressure that surrounds his finger is unreal. Muscles flex and tense, release, and then clench again. Shivers wrack up and down Akechi's back, and between them his fist slides more easily as his own cock weeps with pleasure.
Fuck. It's so good.
He wants to ask Akechi if it hurts. If he should stop. He's always thought that it would be uncomfortable, but Akechi is starting to move. He's starting to moan. His legs are thin, but powerful as he starts to churn up against Akira in his passion. His hips rock and mimic far dirtier activities while he keeps pushing his ass back for more. More of his fingers, because it is fingers now. Akira pulls out and presses in a second, mindless and stupid and wanting to own Akechi in this moment when he is so torrid.
The muffled cry against his lips is like pure ecstasy burning down his spine, and Akira moans right back. Any pretense of control is thrown out the window as he begins to fuck Akechi with his fingers.
"F-fuck. Untie me. Untie me right the fuck now," Akechi babbles, breath searingly hot against Akira's jaw. It's like that heat is mind control. He just does it. Akira reaches behind his own head, still fingering Akechi with his free hand, and he works helplessly at the knot he'd tied.
It takes him several tries while Akechi chews and sucks at his neck and rocks against him so their arousal brushed. When he finally gets the knot free he almost sobs his relief, but he isn't given the chance.
Akechi shoves him hard. The movement is awkward and has zero finesse, but a second late Akira finds himself on his back on the sofa with Akechi on top of him and rutting down against him desperately. Fuck, it's perfect.
Akira gasps, his own hips jerking up to meet him. His now free hand slides down, gripping at one of the delightfully full globes of Akechi's ass, spreading him as he plunges his fingers in harder. He must hit something good this time because Akechi practically sobs into his ear. Nothing has ever been sexier to him than this moment, and Akira turns his head just right to bite at Akechi's ear hard enough to hear him hiss and then whisper into it.
"Let go." He wants to watch. He wants it to be him that breaks Akechi for this one moment.
Akira pushes down on that spot again without mercy, and when Akechi practically shouts into his neck, he knows he's won. Akechi's hips jerk and jump against his own. The friction is like nothing he could hope to describe, and it's just enough. It's everything.
Akira cries out almost in tandem with Akechi, his head digging back against the cushion as orgasm engulfs him with the strength of a tidal wave. Rush after rush of pleasure hammers through his body, setting his nerves on fire. Lurid wetness blooms between them hot and unable to be ignored. They struggle and grind against one another for hours it feels like, dragging out every sizzling, unreal second until at long last they both fall still save for their desperate breathing.
Akechi's free hands rest on his biceps. He doesn't even have to look to know that they are covered in dozens of vicious half moons. The bottle of plant balm is likely on the floor and spilling everywhere, the scent in the room making that more and more likely.
When he shifts, easing his finger from poor Akechi's body, the boy shudders so hard on top of him that it makes Akira jolt too, because he's just as sensitive. The silence is drawn out and heavy just like the mugginess of the room now until at last Akira delicately clears his throat.
"How's uh...are you taken care of?"
The answering silence smarts, but after a small eternity Akechi sighs. The sound is less irritated and more full of pure relief.
"Yes, it appears to have abated."
"Good," Akira whispers back, pressing the soft words into Akechi's hair because it feels good. His hair smells really nice. It was a little more feminine than he would have expected, faintly floral and reminding him of something salty like the ocean. It's good.
The feeling of soft lashes tickling at his neck is even better.
They don't talk for so long Akira is genuinely worried that Akechi has forgotten how. He's expecting to be yelled at. He's expecting curses and anger and possibly even death threats. None of it comes until at long last Akira notices that Akechi's breathing is no longer labored, but has grown slow and deep and his body has grown heavier on top of his own.
"Are you asleep?"
There is no answer, and Akira looks up at the ceiling where a spider web sways gently. There is no spider to be seen, just dust motes winking in and out of view in the light from the window.
"Fine. Five more minutes," he murmurs, but even though he means to sound irritated, his voice is soft as he lets his head thud back against the couch cushion. Akechi doesn't wake and his hair tickles at his cheek.
His last thought before waking Akechi soon after to help him get dressed and leave in the world's most awkward silence was that, in the end, it felt very much like Akira has pranked himself.
Whatever is between them now itches even more than it had before, and Akira finds himself unable to sleep. On the subway platform the next morning he runs into Akechi, but it is not him. It's the Akechi with fake smiles and big words and false innocence.
And bare hands gripping the handle of his briefcase.