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Growing increasingly impatient, Goro waits for Amamiya at the gate outside the Asakura residence.
The official investigation into 'the double fanged murder demon' has been progressing slowly but surely. Goro knows that he's probably going to have a name soon — something concrete enough to bring into Mementos — but until then, he needs to play by the rules.
Watching the Phantom Thieves run their own amateur investigation at the same time has made for an amusing little diversion, and he'd actually allowed himself to look forward to facilitating this meeting with Asakura for Amamiya today. As the minutes tick by, however, he's finding that his goodwill is beginning to run out.
It's just after midday, and while that was their agreed upon time technically, Goro expects a level of professionalism from the people he works with. Amamiya included. He should have been here before noon, and certainly not almost fifteen minutes after it.
Fucking typical.
Goro is weighing the pros and cons of just leaving (Amamiya might have promised to supply him with as much free coffee as he can drink for this favour, but suddenly, the idea of him turning up to find Goro gone is far more attractive) when a woman comes around the corner in front of him.
Not something remarkable in and of itself, but (at first glance) she appears to be a police officer — albeit one wearing the formal, dress uniform, rather than the more practical one with pants that most female officers seem to prefer now. And he wonders if, for some reason, the station has sent someone to communicate with him directly about the case. Then he notices that she's wearing her (impressively and impractically) long hair down — the first clue that this woman is not the genuine article. The second one, as she comes closer, is that the material the uniform is made from is all wrong — thin and cheap, and entirely the wrong shade of blue.
The middle of the day seems an odd time for someone to be holding a costume party, he manages to think, before he gets a proper look at the face half-disguised under the brim of the police bowler and nearly has a fucking aneurysm.
Sensible heels clicking loudly on the pavement, Ren Amamiya walks right up to him — like everything's completely normal — turns and looks the house beside them up and down, and then makes a stupid humming sound under his breath. "Is this it? I guess it is the kind of house that only a don of entertainment could own…"
Is he wearing lipstick?!
It's too much. Even for Goro. Even when he's had far more experience than most when it comes to keeping his shit together in the face of the ridiculous. And he finds himself unable to bite back the laugh that bubbles up in the back of his throat and steals his breath away.
Eyes streaming and stomach muscles aching, he has to literally clutch at his midsection as he doubles over, coughing and spluttering in the middle of the street.
And Amamiya — the ridiculous fucking bastard that he is — manages to sound completely unconcerned and entirely oblivious when he asks if he's laughing at the fucking house.
"No," he wheezes, wiping at the corners of his eyes. "It's you — I mean, that getup…"
In the time they've spent together, Goro has often found himself… frustrated by how well Amamiya looks in what he chooses to wear. From cheap, faded jeans, to his awful plaid uniform, and even when he's decked out in all that objectively hideous fishing gear — Amamiya always seems to pull it off.
It's reassuring to have finally found something that breaks the pattern. Something that he just looks like a complete and utter moron in.
"He knows my face," Amamiya says, tilting his head to one side, and blinking owlishly back at Goro with lashes so long that he wonders if he isn't also wearing mascara (or if, perhaps, they've always looked like that and Goro's just never noticed because of his stupid glasses). "You were the one who said I needed to wear a disguise if I came with you today, right?"
"Yes — well, that is true…" Goro will give him that. He'd just assumed that Amamiya would turn up in a baseball cap and a facemask, rather than a skirt, nylons, and a frighteningly convincing wig. "It just surprised me, I suppose."
Nobody surprises him the way Amamiya does.
Dabbing the last of the water from his eyes, he tries not to think about Shido's growing impatience as of late. Between the snipes regarding the speed of his infiltration of the Phantom Thieves, and the occasional jabs about how he needs to be careful about becoming too close to their targets, it's not difficult to see what he's driving at — what he's expecting. Shido probably won't be satisfied until Goro himself suggests having every last one of them killed.
If only—
No.
There's no point in thinking about that.
Not now.
Not when he's already come this far.
Standing up straight, Goro dusts himself off, and smiles. "Truly, spending time with you is never boring."
***
It's almost eleven o'clock when Goro gets back to his apartment that evening. His brief excursion with Amamiya had been entertaining enough (and, surprisingly, might even prove useful to the case), but it also managed to eat an impressively large hole into his already-packed schedule.
And time is simply not a thing he has to spare at the moment.
To make matters worse, the associated paperwork will need to be filled out as well. At some point. And, as he adds the folder to the steadily growing pile on the countertop in his kitchenette, he realises that this particular backlog is actually starting to catch up with the mountain of homework that he also needs to take care of.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Then, as if summoned specifically to compound his despair, his phone pings in his pocket.
Goro is not surprised in the least to find an encrypted message from Shido sitting in his inbox. Because why not? What's three more names to add to the list for the next time he's in Mementos, after all?
Fuck this — it's late, he's tired, and at this particular moment in time, he could not give less of a shit about any of it. Grabbing a protein bar out of the cupboard, he chokes it down without really tasting it, and then powers through his usual nighttime routine.
Half an hour later, he's in bed.
Completely exhausted.
Completely exhausted but still unable to sleep, apparently.
With a frustrated growl, he pulls the comforter up over his face and unlocks his phone. Hoping to bore himself to sleep, he starts scrolling mindlessly through the handful of food blogs he has bookmarked, watching out for new cafés or food trends to rejig and use for his own blog as he does.
Unfortunately, it's still not quite mind-numbing enough to shut out the drone of information swirling in the back of his head, and he's far too tired to do something more involved or stimulating—
And there's an idea, actually.
He's almost too fatigued for it, but coming so hard he blacks out from it is sounding more and more like the best course of action if he wants to get to sleep any time soon.
Opening a new private tab, he quickly finds the last video that did the job for him (the one featuring that twink with the big mop of messy black hair getting fucked to within an inch of his life in a public bathroom) and hits play.
Palming the beginnings of his erection through his underwear, it's easy to imagine that it's Amamiya in the video — speared open, whimpering pathetically — or even to pretend that it's all happening in one of the bathrooms in a Palace, and it's Joker instead. Stupid fucking coat discarded, or even better, used to pin his arms behind his back as Goro shoves his face against the wall and fucks into him.
So focused on the idea of Amamiya impaled on his cock, he can't honestly say exactly when Joker's pants got replaced with a hiked up skirt, when his boots suddenly became slutty thigh-highs, or when the full lips parted on a deep, throaty moan ended up painted a dark and surprisingly alluring red.
Fuck.
Apparently he didn't only find Amamiya's disguise today amusing, after all. Suddenly, infuriatingly, he can't seem to think of anything else, in fact.
And well, Goro is nothing if not pragmatic. If he's going to do this, he might as well do it properly.
Letting his phone slip out of his hand, he lies back against his pillow and closes his eyes, letting his mind wander as he pumps his cock slowly.
He thinks of Amamiya dressed as he was earlier, only the skirt is a little tighter now, with a deep slit up the side, and made of the same shiny leather as Joker's coat instead of a cheap polyester blend. If Goro were to reach out — if he were to hike it up — what would he find underneath?
Lingerie, perhaps? Strappy suspenders to match the outfit, and black lace panties that can't quite contain the painfully hard cock spilling out of them?
Or, he wonders, would there be nothing other than the nylon tights? A sheer, tantalising barrier between him and his prize. Something he could grab and rip and tear at with his fingers and teeth.
Yes, that's it — that's perfect, actually — he can just see it now. Amamiya in his lap, nylons torn, fully exposed — cock slapping back against his stomach as he bounces on Goro — making the same kind of breathy, pained sounds he always tries to hide when a shadow catches him off guard in the Metaverse. And perhaps Goro would even let Amamiya touch him too — allow him to pull him closer by the tie — painted lips hovering tantalisingly close as he moves his hips up and down in a slow, filthy grind.
It's only when Goro starts really getting into it — when he's more focused on chasing the pleasure pooling and curling in the pit of his stomach and licking at the base of his spine — that the fantasy shifts.
Amamiya is behind him now. The cop part of that ridiculous costume being milked by his psyche for all it's worth, as he imagines himself bent over, wrists bound — handcuffs jangling and clinking rhythmically with each firm, solid thrust into his ass. His own cock swinging between his legs, pathetic and neglected and so hard it hurts — drooling and dripping pre-cum onto the floor.
In reality, he lifts one knee, slips his right hand underneath himself and works a dry finger into his hole, hissing between his teeth and allowing himself to pretend the sting is from being stretched around a thick cock. He moans loudly and bites his lip — thinking about fingers pushing their way into his mouth — a teasing purr in his ear, and the deep, mocking laugh that follows when he tries to bite at the invading digits pressing on his tongue.
He's trembling now, thrusting into his fist and back onto his finger, and the thing that does it — the thing that makes him shudder and shake and has his toes curling in the sheets — is the idea of Amamiya grasping him by the jaw and pulling him back into a tender, passionate kiss.
Fully giving himself over to the fantasy of being taken — being held — by the boy he's probably going to have to kill in a matter of weeks, he comes undone with a ragged, desperate moan, his asshole fluttering and clenching around his finger in time with each pulse of his cock.
As he comes back down — as his heartbeat slows, and his breathing returns to normal — he very pointedly does not think about it. He doesn't think about it when he reaches out for the box of tissues and small bottle of hand sanitiser he keeps beside his bed. He doesn't think about it once he's cleaned up (more or less), or when he sinks back down into his pillow and closes his eyes again.
It's only when the deep darkness of sleep finally comes to claim him that he slips. One last image of a wink and a smirk dancing behind his eyelids, and the phantom press of those bright red lips against his own.
Goro will come up with a way to justify that to himself in the morning.
He'll have to.