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Housewife

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“What’re you scheming?” 

Akechi’s fingers brushed under the black tank top his boyfriend wore, ghosting over the skin of his hips as a hum tickled his throat, content with the way he felt Akira shiver at his touch. “Is it so wrong for me to want to be a little affectionate with you after being out of the apartment all day?” 

Akira snorted in return, shaking his head, already knowing there was probably something else to it— and indeed there was. Akechi watched from over Akira’s shoulder, resting his chin on it, at how skillfully Akira handled the kitchen knife, slicing through vegetables and meat with no problem as he prepared the very same curry his guardian taught him. “You want something from me. What is it?” 

“For starters, a kiss would be nice. Isn’t that how a good housewife greets their husband?” Akechi teased. His gloved hands firmly gripped Akira’s hips now, still amazed at the rather curvy figure his boyfriend had. 

Akechi laughed boisterously at the glare that Akira had shot him over his shoulder, holding up the knife threateningly at the tease. “I think I preferred it when you called me ‘attic trash’ over ‘housewife’. But fine,” Akira sighed, giving into Akechi’s wishes, “only because you had your therapy appointment today that I’ll let it slide.” 

“Mm, that’s what I like to hear,” Akechi mumbled, smiling as Akira gave him a quick, chaste kiss before returning to his cooking.

“Do you mind setting up the table?” Akira asked.

“Hmm,” Akechi pressed himself closer to Akira, rocking his hips into the younger man’s, his lips curling up when he heard Akira’s soft but unmistakable sharp inhale. “I think I’ll pass.” 

“Akechi,” Akira’s voice teetered on a growl. “Don’t you dare.” 

It was a warning Akechi gladly dismissed. “Don’t I dare do what?” 

That .” 

“That’s not an answer,” Akechi teased, squeezing Akira’s hips to prove a point.

Akira tensed as Akechi dragged his fingers upwards, pushing the black tank top higher and higher, debating on whether or not to let this continue. “At least wait until after we have dinner,” Akira argued, though his voice lacked any sort of conviction. 

The brazen detective prince smirked, realizing this, and tested the waters further. “I don’t think I can wait that long. You haven’t even started cooking.” Akechi’s lips brushed against the shell of Akira’s ear, loving the way he shuddered. Considering how normally it was Akira who took the lead, seeing him be so reactive to Akechi’s ministrations made his head spin with lust.

Akira swallowed hard, his grip on the knife tightening to the point that his knuckles were turning white. He didn’t want to let Akechi win, but being trapped against the countertop like that, as Akechi’s hands roamed freely, skitting around the areas he desperately wanted him to touch, that resolve crumbled rather quickly. “You had better get on with it, then, because I don’t want to eat at midnight.” Akira set down the knife and pushed the bowls and cutting board away from the two of them, before letting his head fall forward as he attempted to undo the knots on his apron. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Akechi chided, smacking Akira’s hands away. “Leave it on. I like the way you look wearing it. But glad to see you’re feeling so compliant today.” 

“Shut it.” 

“Should you really be rude to me, considering the position you’re in?” Akechi’s hand dipped low, ghosting over Akira’s crotch. He pressed his lips against Akira’s shoulder and bit the area, wishing to stake his claim on the thief. 

Akira pressed his lips together into a fine line, at least grateful that Akechi couldn’t see his expressions and vice versa. He wrapped one arm securely around Akira’s waist while the other worked at the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling both his pants and his boxers down to about mid-thigh. Akechi wasted no time in exploring the familiar body of his boyfriend, his leather-clad hand grasping at Akira’s half-hard cock, stroking it lazily. He watched how the tips of Akira’s ears reddened and how his breath became rather ragged from the sudden pleasure. “How cruel would it be for me to start this and then just leave?” 

Akira choked on his own saliva, Akechi’s words reminding him of what he had done a few nights before. Seems like Akechi’s grudge over being teased for that long hasn’t withered away just yet. Still, Akira made his point clear before, or so he hoped. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Hmm…” 

Akechi. ” 

Akechi snorted at the desperation in Akira’s voice, swiping his thumb over the tip of his cock. “If I got revenge now, we wouldn’t eat at all, and I’m pretty hungry,” Akechi’s voice dropped an octave, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t repay that favor of yours tenfold later.” 

“Ghh…” Akira gripped the edge of the counter, admittedly very turned on at the prospect of Akechi’s vengeance. He involuntarily thrusted his hips into the hand that meticulously stroked him, chest heaving as Akechi slowly drained him of his inhibitions. He could survive with Akechi’s premature mercy, his thoughts slowly filling with nothing but the desire to be fucked until his legs don’t work. As long as he got that, Akira would be fine with whatever devious plan Akechi had in store for him later.