Work Text:
The music thrums through him like a second pulse, which is gratifying because sometimes it feels like his heart hasn't beat since February 2nd, 2017. Wearing clothes that would either make Lala-chan proud or smack the shit out of him, Ren moves with the throbbing crowd, a piece of a larger organism. Bodies press against him, sweat and flesh and heat, overwhelming and disgusting, blasting through his overstimulated nerves until it leaves a dull buzz in his skull drowning all thought. He hates it. When he gets home he'll scour his skin in the bath, water up to his neck, and he'll think about drowning himself. But for now, his brain is empty and clear, nothing but instinct and movement and music, the will of the crowd singing through him as he grinds and grabs and thrusts against faceless bodies.
One particularly handsy man grabs for Ren's hips and he lets him, feeling the hard length rut into his side, and Ren drapes his arms across the man's shoulders to pull him in tight. He hadn't planned on fucking anyone tonight, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't or hasn't. Sometimes he'll bring someone home with him—"home" being a love hotel, because like fuck is he bringing a stranger into his dorm room—but more often than not he prefers to get on his knees in the club bathroom. Quick and dirty, a flash of pleasure, maybe someone will pull his hair just right, and he can make a mess of himself finishing in the bathroom with the taste of cum on his tongue.
He's got midterms starting tomorrow which is why he's here tonight, wanting to forget, wanting to get numb on disgust and self hatred since he's not here to do it for him. The man in his arms sucks a wet and sloppy kiss against Ren's neck and he croons and preens like he's not mortified at the displays of a man twice his age. Like always, he imagines his voice, more savage and cruel than even from his perfect reality, calling him trash, a disappointment, sharp maroon eyes daring him to be better. Ren throwing himself at his feet when he fails so he can fuck him in brutal punishment. Luxuriating in the hatred because at least it's passionate and Akechi would never admit he loves him so Ren will take what he can get.
He'd whisper in his ear how filthy Ren is and he'd get shivers, moaning yes, yes, yes into his hair as he takes him mercilessly, painfully, consuming him from the inside out—
The man is fumbling at Ren's belt and he's so caught up in the fantasy he almost lets him. Instead he grabs the guy's hands and drags him towards the bathroom. Might as well get this over with now, and quickly.
Ren likes this club. The stalls are the nice ones that go to the floor, panels sealed flush to each other so as long as his partner shuts up, he can basically do whatever he wants in relative secrecy. It's short work to shove his latest victim down onto the toilet and wrench open his fly to expose his half-hard dick. He wonders if he can even still get it all the way up, decides it doesn't matter as long as he can still come eventually, and sucks it down his mouth with practiced ease.
The man moans and palms at the back of his skull like he's not sure what to do with his hands. Suddenly awkward and shy despite his daring touch on the dance floor. But here Ren is in control, doing what he wants and with a knife in his boot to make sure he only does what he wants. Kinda reminds him of Yoshida which—eugh, no, banish the thought. Not that Yoshida isn't hot or Ren wouldn't fuck him—he is and he would—but he'd be so awkward and sweet and straight about it and that's not what Ren craves, especially now.
But the thought haunts him so bad he rolls up his eyes to the man's face, wanting to make sure, and they lock eyes. Not Yoshida, he's sure of that, but whatever this guy sees in Ren has him groaning and shuddering until he spills sudden and bitterly down Ren's throat. Dutifully swallowing it down, Ren wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands and heads back to the dance floor, leaving his partner sputtering. Ren really does just want to dance tonight, and frankly he's not even a little turned on by that pathetic showing.
It's only thanks to that brief, impulsive examination of his face that gives Ren any reason to recognize him when his face shows up in the news three days later. An accident, apparently. Sad. Still, no reason for him to slow down.
He does fine on his tests like always. Decides to go to one of the seedier clubs in Shinjuku where faceless strangers grope his ass and slip their hands between his legs, getting him off through leather pants tight as a tourniquet. But someone gets greedy, pulls him away by the back of his hips, grinding into his behind like he's trying to fuck Ren through his clothes. And judging by the hard, rigid line of the cock rutting hungrily against him, this guy is big. He tries to turn to his new admirer, whimper against his neck and maybe let him ruin Ren with that cock, but fingers dig wells into his skin and bruise his bones, a head tucked between Ren's shoulder blades like he's folding into him. The bass of the music bleeds into a frantic heartbeat, and Ren abandons all pretense of dancing to thrust back into the man humping him like a dog in heat. He doesn't want to be seen, fine. Ren arches back into him, reaching an arm behind him to scratch fingers through surprisingly long soft hair before he's slapped away. The sting of it makes him whine.
Someone else tries to whisk Ren away, but Mr. Greedy behind him snarls him in close, a hand wrapping possessively around his chest, dipping under the crop top to graze a thumb over Ren's nipple. They're not usually very sensitive, but for some reason this touch shoots little horny jolts right through his sternum. He throws his head back with a gasp and the stranger tucks his face alongside Ren's neck.
After biting a claiming bruise into Ren's throat, getting him worked up and mad with arousal, the man is suddenly gone, hands retreating from Ren's waist, his chest, no more hot breaths hissed into his hair. Ren turns and tries to spot the man, beg for him to fuck him, here on the dance floor, outside in the back alley, over the sink in the bathrooms, somewhere, but no obvious takers. Everyone is just an anonymous face in the crowd, moving to the sway of their own pleasure.
Ren goes home alone that night, taking the last train back to his dorm like he does every weekend. Morgana glares at him ruefully but Ren is all too used to disappointing his friend by now and instead tosses him out of his room so he can bury himself under the covers and finally work himself while thinking of that man's demanding, claiming hands and rough heavy breaths.
What had happened to him? He clearly liked Ren. Why wouldn't he fuck him? Ren sucks on two fingers until they're nice and wet before plunging them inside himself, bucking back into the awkward penetrative angle and imagining those hands with Akechi's voice. Ren has to bite his pillow when he comes, and Morgana isn't allowed in his room the rest of the night.
Ren stays home for a few weeks after that, just to appease his judgy furry roommate. He's so tired of being told what to do, when to sleep, reminded to study and go to class. Real life is boring and dull, monochrome, not gilded in red and glittering like knives. He misses that world like a phantom limb. He misses Akechi.
When he finally goes out again, begging off with the excuse of winter break as cover, the shift in the temperature brings back too many memories, reminding him of the things he lost, of people claimed in the cold. So he goes to Crossroads for old time's sake, as a customer, on a day he knows it'll be busy so Lala-chan won't have as much chance to fuss over him. He's old enough to drink now but he never has to buy one himself, eyes lined with glitter and lips rimmed in dark red. His first few drinks, he charms off some eager sweet prospects that ultimately prove too soft for Ren's tastes.
He glances to the back rooms, wondering if maybe Lala's place is just too tame for him tonight, when he sees a man tipping a pouch of white powder in a drink, then casually carrying it on a trajectory right towards Ren. He cuts his eyes away quickly, not wanting the man to know what he saw. Excitement flutters in his chest like a trapped bird. No one's ever tried to drug him before.
If Lala-chan knew, the man would get tossed on his ass so fast, with maybe a broken finger as a warning to never return. But he was quick and sneaky; only Ren's well-trained eyes caught the barest seconds it took for him to spike the drink. Right then, Ren decides: he's going to take that drink. Whether it's meant for him or not. If not, he'll spare some other poor would-be victim, and if it is for him… well, knowingly drinking a spiked cocktail is basically consent. The adrenaline of the unknown, of danger, thrums under his nails. Maybe he'll get to use his knife. Maybe he'll be too fucked up to remember he has it.
"Hey there," a voice purrs in his ear. A thrill sings through Ren's skull. "All alone tonight?"
"Not for long, I hope," Ren charms back effortlessly. The man is about his age, for once, hair excessively styled with gel and smirk a little too obvious. Ren wonders if he could get his knife to his throat, if he'd squeal. Instead, he gestures to the drink. "For me?"
The man offers it readily, and Ren downs half of it in a single long hit. The man's smirk widens, which annoys Ren. He was impressed by his subtlety, the sleight of hand. Too readily pleased that Ren accepted the drugged drink, too green, too amateur. He waits before taking another sip, instead slipping his arms around the man's neck.
"Dance with me," he breathes into his ear.
Crossroads is a bar, not a club, and there's not much room to move, but the man obliges anyway, holding the bony crest of Ren's pelvis as they sway arrhythmically in the narrow empty space. Ren catches him constantly looking back to the drink on the counter, clearly worried Lala will sweep it away from cleaning. The drug doesn't take long to hit his bloodstream, fizzing the edges of the world in soft grey, silhouettes limmed in darkness. Ren's head spins like he just threw back a shot on an empty stomach, and for once, he tangles over his own feet, stumbling into the man's waiting embrace. The nervous flitting of his eyes ceases, and all his hungry attention trains on Ren.
"Should we… get out of here?"
Ren wants to answer but can't, words slipping through his fingers like wet sand, heavy and clumped. The man keeps a hand around Ren's waist, steadying his swaying steps while directing him out the door.
The next thing Ren is aware of is a brick wall against his back, a tongue in his mouth. It tastes like vodka and cigarettes and moves with a demanding clumsiness. Sloppy, again. Akechi would never kiss him like that.
Then the world tips sideways. The man's gone. Ren stumbles, even with the wall supporting him he can't stay upright. Another man, larger and darker in the shadows of Ren's mind, grabs him by the hair and twists to steady him. Ren moans at the touch, tight and painful and beautiful, but there being a second attacker surges a thread of panic into his sludgy veins. He reaches for the knife in his coat pocket but can't close his clumsy fingers around it. The man wrenches Ren's arm against the small of his back, pinning it in place and shoving Ren's face into the wall. Another hand, quick and sober, slips into his coat and wraps around the handle instead. He hears the snik as his attacker flicks the blade open. The edge of it grazes along the back of his neck, across his hairline.
Ren should be more worried. He's drugged, delirious, pinned to a wall with his own knife to his throat, floaty and stupid and helpless as the man presses his cheek into rough brick. But when a low, heated voice hisses You're pathetic in his ear, Ren's whole body quakes. The world keeps twisting around him, confusing bursts of colors and shapes, but the hand on his arm, body pressed to his back, fits him in all the right ways, and he's too tired to think anymore.
He might have said some things. Might have remembered fervent kisses, starbursts of pleasure exploding in his chest, a struggle for the knife that leaves his fingers wet and sticky, bloody hands caressing his body, making out in a taxi, a bed underneath him, a body moving inside him, the knife gliding along his skin.
He might have remembered any of these things, but he doesn't. When he wakes up, it's like the worst hangover of his life. Naked, alone, confused. His whole body aches from sex with a partner he can't recall, in a room he has no memories entering. He's been in enough love hotels to know he's in one now, but everything from taking that drink to now is a dim blankness in his mind.
A glance around and he spots his clothes strewn about the floor, and no one else's. His knife is buried in the nightstand, imbedded in the wood next to his phone and wallet. Dried cum sticks to the backs of his thighs and his ass. There's no other signs of life in the room. With a sigh, he heads to the bathroom to clean up and his heart stops at what he sees. Bruises down his neck, shoulders, chest, even his arms. Some have teeth marks around the edges, but others are purple and black and yellow like someone hit him. There's a thin red line tracing along the curve of his hip, no deeper than a papercut, but still bright and stinging. Not just from sex, then, he looks like he took a beating, and for some reason that makes him feel worse than injuries blossoming along his body.
He hopes the other guy looks worse. He hates not knowing if he fought back at all. He looks like he did that night in November. At least this time, his face is untouched.
Ren cleans himself up, dresses, heads back to his dorm. Doesn't tell anyone what happened, like always.
He stops going out for a while, too.
That night wasn't particularly worse than any other. He took that drink knowing it would end something like that, and Ren was fine with it. But there's a hollowness in his chest now, like something warm had started to grow and was ripped away, and he has no memory of what it was or why it's gone. He wonders why he's missing something he's never sure he had. He rubs the cut along his side, sometimes digging his fingers in like he wants to tear it wider, hurt himself anew to make himself remember.
Winter break ends and he goes back to class. Sometimes he texts the former Phantom Thieves, just to maintain, but they have moved on for the most part. They seem happy with their normal life, while Ren feels like he's seconds from drowning. Only Morgana knows how often he goes out at night, dolled up pretty and wearing tissue paper for clothes that cling and show off his figure in the ways he likes. He knows Morgana doesn't like it, worries about him, but what can Ren say to those disappointed blue eyes? That he misses the Metaverse? That he longs for Akechi Goro, the man who murdered two of his friends' parents? Who tried to kill him, multiple times, and that knowledge only twisted the want into something ugly and jagged to where it feels like it's eating him from the inside, a parasite burrowing through his chest leaving him haunted and empty? That thrill and danger and recklessness are the only ways he feels anything anymore and without them he'd rather be shot and bleed to death alone, just like Akechi did?
That despite how badly it ended, that night a few weeks ago was the most joy he'd felt in years.
Maybe it's time to go out after all. The press of the cold freezes his fingertips, and he only has one glove.
He starts off back at Crossroads because he can't leave well enough alone. It's a quieter night, slower, and Lala's sharp enough to know Ren needs a drink and a conversation he doesn't have to participate in. But she cuts him off too early, when he just barely feels the numbing buzz along his scalp and weakening his knees. Slipping off the barstool and closing his tab, she tells him to go home and study. He says he will and goes to the next bar, then the next.
He drinks until his stomach twists with poison and he desperately needs a piss and the world floats in a hazy gauze. He relieves himself against the back wall of an old building and barely manages to stumble from the scene of the crime before he tips and topples to the concrete sidewalk. The alcohol is fire in his veins and his cheeks are warm but he still feels so, so cold.
Look at him, the illustrious leader of the Phantom Thieves, brought so low.
A pair of boots pass through his eyeline and stop, standing in front of Ren. His mouth is already shaping around the fuck off he expects to spit at the foot of the stranger's judgment when he hears his own thoughts spoken back to him.
"Look at you. How pathetic can you be." Ren lifts watery red-rimmed eyes to another pair of red, glaring down at him above a green-checkered scarf. Ren sits up on his knees like he was pulled by an invisible string, hands gripping in a vice on the lapels of the expensive-looking tawny coat.
"Akechi," Ren breathes it like a prayer.
Akechi curls his lip in disgust, and Ren has never seen anything more radiant. "Is this really what you do with your spare time? Whoring yourself out to horny old men and taking every substance you can get a hold of?"
Ren's drunk, he's stupid, he's in shock, and none of Akechi's words makes sense. His grip on Akechi tightens. He can't stop staring. Ren could argue he's not a whore (he's not getting paid), he's not a user (not his fault alcohol is cheap and wildly available), that all of it, all of it, was because of him, but Akechi would never take his excuses, never forgive his weakness, but all he can do is stare up at him with what he knows must be idiotic longing and adoration and relief, and he buries tears behind his retinas to choke out, "Fuck me."
Akechi physically recoils, attempting to free himself from Ren's touch like it burns, but Ren just shuffles closer, still on his knees, pressing his face into Akechi's thigh and making some horrendous submissive whine like an animal. Akechi pries Ren off his by his hair and the touch is everything he wants, leather on his scalp, twisting, sharp burning pain and he needs—
"Haven't got your fill of cock yet tonight, then?" He spits, every word a nail driving into Ren's brain. Ren has so much more he could say, wants to say, wants to punch Akechi in the face and wrestle him to the ground until his knuckles drip with blood, kiss him so hard their teeth cut unto each other, swallow him down until Ren chokes, wants to cut into his ribs and curl up next to his beating heart until it lulls him to sleep, but Ren is drunk and stupid and can only beg for him again, head bowed, fingers frozen into Akechi's clothes, a litany of Akechi, please, please …
"What makes you think I want anything to do with you?" He snarls so viciously Ren almost dares to believe him, but then he's dragging Ren by the hair into a dark space between two buildings, bracketing his shoulders with his knees, one hand clumsily fumbling his fly open until he can free his cock, already hard and weeping and Ren's heart flutters with giddy delight that Akechi wants him as badly, too, even as his mouth is forced down around the full length without consideration or reprieve.
Ren wouldn't mind dying like this, the taste of Akechi's foreskin and precum on his tongue, shoving past what little gag reflex he has until he's suffocating, Akechi forcing his head up and down at such a brutal pace he wonders if his neck might snap. His eyes close and every sinew, every muscle fiber, loosens, relaxed and sated, completely helpless and pliant as Akechi moves for him. Ren devours it all, everything Akechi is willing to give him, gliding his hands up the back of clothed thighs to squeeze his ass, encourage him to move harder, faster, rougher, come on Akechi I can take it, give me more more more!
Akechi is nearly silent as he uses Ren's mouth as a fleshlight, meaty wet gags from Ren drowning the barely-audible grunts and bitten-back breaths Akechi can't suppress. That's okay, Ren doesn't need him to make any noise at all, he can taste Akechi's enjoyment, the way he stays hard and eager as he fills Ren's throat, how he's too distracted to move Ren's kneading hands off his ass. Knees press into Ren's shoulders, trembling from the effort. Akechi cants up on his toes to tilt his body into Ren's. Sometimes, his fingers twist tight in his curls, gloved fingertips pressing into his scalp, almost stroking, before tugging sharp enough to make Ren moan. It feels so good, filling that aching empty place in his heart, exactly what he wanted, everything he's craved, settling into his bones. Ren drinks down everything Akechi has to give him.
"Fuck," Akechi hisses out, as though against his will. "How many people have you let fuck your mouth like this? You take it so well, eager little slut…"
His eyes roll up under his closed lids, lashes fluttering against his cheek. Perfect, Akechi is so perfect, Ren moans around his length, pulling him by the back of the thighs even deeper in his throat, and Akechi's rhythm falters. Ren could tell him how he goes out every week to fuck strangers for this exact reason, to make Akechi jealous, to make him hate Ren even more, to get so good at taking cock Akechi has to keep coming back for more. Everything he fantasized about, with every pathetic partner he'd had in the last few years, and nothing, nothing could compare to this, to Akechi's mean biting words burrowing under his skin, painful but real, alive, here with him, and Ren whines around Akechi's cock, desperate and close already. His own hips rut against nothing, pushing into the tight seam of his jeans, thighs rubbing together trying to give himself enough friction to get off.
Beautiful brilliant Akechi doesn't miss a beat, spotting Ren's frantic grinding into his own fly. Akechi slams Ren's head against the back wall, rattling his brain in his skull before hauling him to his feet by the neck. Ren barely gets his feet under him before Akechi tears off a glove with his teeth and slips his bare hand under his waistband and between his legs. Ren has to brace himself with both hands on Akechi's shoulders, breathing high and clipped into his neck as Akechi plunges two fingers inside his wet cunt.
Ren hadn't fooled around for nearly a month, and the shock of the stretch makes him wail, jerking his hips fitfully into the sharp sudden intrusion. Akechi's palm presses flat and rough against his dick as he thrusts, thumb pushing up the hood to expose as much of Ren as he can as he grinds artlessly and aggressively up, harder and harder. Trusting most of his balance to Akechi's strength, Ren rides Akechi's fingers, head swimming with alcohol and pleasure, trying to sear this feeling into his bones because he knows it will never happen again.
"Disgusting," Akechi swears, thumb flicking at the underside of his cock and scraping with the barest hint of a blunt nail, and Ren fully sobs into Akechi's shoulder. "So tight. You really haven't fucked anyone for a while, have you?" Ren should have asked him then, but he's already so close, chasing Akechi's fingers to his sweet spot, sweat beading along his forehead as he strains with the effort to stay on his feet.
Akechi adds two more fingers, forcing his way into Ren's tight wetness, and having most of Akechi's hand splitting him open, driving into him ruthlessly as his thumb continues to torment his cock, makes Ren want what he's never wanted before, in such sharp brilliant clarity it burns. He wants Akechi to suck his clit while he fingers him, wants a dildo in his ass while Akechi fucks him from the front, wants to suck his cock while Akechi eats him out, almost domestic fantasies compared to getting nearly fisted in public while so drunk he can barely speak. Ren nests his hands in Akechi's hair, smooth and thick and somehow familiar, and Akechi allows it, his free hand slipping under Ren's coat and sweater to skim along his hips, his waist, sweeping light and teasing across his nipples until he's gasping.
"How many people have seen you like this?" He murmurs, pressing his nose into Ren's hair and huffing out a breath of exertion, shoulder working his arm into every sharp press against Ren's cunt. "Filthy fucking show-off, I'll kill them, kill them all… this," Akechi punctuates the words with a sharp curl of his fingers, spreading aching delicious heat up Ren's spine and making his cock throb with arousal. "This is mine, Ren, you're fucking mine, you hear me?"
Ren just nods, frantic and desperate, rocking into Akechi's large hand stretching him open wider than any cock he can remember taking. Ren could answer him if he wanted, tell him he's always been his, that Akechi is the only person he's ever truly wanted, but that kind of sentimentality would only drive him away. No, this is all he can get, a vindictive, hateful, jealous fuck from his own murderer. And Ren is fine with that.
Besides, now that Akechi has started the dirty talk, it's like he can't stop. "I should just... carve my name into you, fuck you until you take the shape of my cock, my own personal hole to use. Take that sad little knife of yours and cut you deeper, get under your skin, make you feel every inch of me inside you." Yes, fuck, god, the words swim through his cloudy thoughts, something tingling in his memories but he can't think, only chase Akechi as he buries himself deeper and deeper into Ren's hole, the burn of the stretch across his four fingers setting him panting. Akechi's wandering free hand slips into his inner coat pocket, where Ren always keeps his knife, closing around the handle but not pulling it out.
"I hate you," Akechi snarls, even as he humps his bare cock against Ren's clothed thigh. The cold and the roughness of Ren's jeans can't feel good, but Akechi just grits his teeth into it and spreads his fingers inside Ren to the point of pain, and he wails. "Fuck you, fuck your stupid shitty recklessness, I never wanted to come back here, never wanted to see your stupid shitty face again, and when I finally do see you, you're making out with some lowlife degenerate somewhere in Shinjuku." Ren feels the knife freed from his pocket, Akechi has the blade out like he's done it dozens of times, tip pressed just under Ren's ribs. He can't breathe, and his pussy tightens around Akechi. "You're such a fucking mess," Akechi whispers the words in the same tone someone else might say I love you. "I could kill you right now and you'd let me do it, wouldn't you?"
Ren nods, because he's stupid and horny and in love with a killer.
"Fuck!" Akechi shouts, and doesn't stop shouting it, every swear punctuated by another punch up. Ren's thighs ache, his insides ache more, the boney sharpness and odd angle of Akechi's knuckles inside him rubbing along his walls, bruising him in the most aching sweetest places. Akechi clumsily rubs along Ren's dick as he thrusts, knifetip maybe drawing blood along his side, and Ren can't, he can't anymore. Its too much, Akechi's voice in his head, hand buried in his pussy, pain lighting up across his body as pleasure builds and builds, utterly tormented.
Ren cries as he comes across Akechi's palm, tears finally pooling down his cheeks as he tries to wrap himself around Akechi, but his body is loose and weak from orgasm and Akechi shakes him off, throwing his arms from around his neck and practically throwing Ren to the ground his knife skittering to the ground beside him.
There, he stares up at Akechi, his cock still peeking out through his trousers, now an angry, irritated purple, his face flush and fingers shining wet. He stares at his bare hand like he's never seen it before, then to Ren's utter shock, slides his tongue up and down each digit, luxuriating in the taste of Ren's slick.
There is so much Ren could say. So much he needs to ask. But he can't stop staring, can't make his mute mouth form the words, his brain unable process anything but the sight of Akechi, tucking himself back into his clothes without relieving himself, retrieving his glove and tugging it back over his still-damp hand.
"You disgust me," he finally says, a cold and simple statement of fact. "You're an embarrassment. Be more careful of who you take drinks from in the future. You're my rival, after all. You're mine." Then, without a goodbye or explanation, he turns and leaves Ren, pants undone in slick-stained boxers, to curl into his knees and laugh until he cries until he vomits into a garbage can.
Akechi is alive. Akechi is alive and finally, Ren remembers what it means to feel pure, overwhelming joy.