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“I don’t know about this, Dazai…” Atsushi protests as the taller man shoves him into the dark room, the backlights of the computer screens bathing everything in a dull blue.
“Nonsense! Nothing to it. Just watch the spy-cam for the next few hours and write down anything suspicious!”
Against his will, Atsushi is pushed down into a rolling chair, situated in front of several large screens, all projecting different rooms of what looks like a very, very nice apartment.
Atsushi’s eyes linger on the screen showing an empty bed.
“This just feels super invasive! Even if it is Akutagawa…” Atsushi trails off, then narrows his eyes at Dazai.
“Why does he have all these cameras in his apartment in the first place? And also, why do you have a direct feed to them?”
“Welp, I gotta go! Very busy. A lot of important Agency business to get to. You know how it is. Now - make sure to watch him real close, alrighty? We’re counting on you, Atsushi!”
And, with a very suspicious wink and a bit of a twirl, Dazai is gone.
Atsushi may or may not have heard the door lock behind him.
Sighing, Atsushi swivels around in the chair to face the screens, sinking further against the leather.
There is nothing, and Atsushi means nothing, that he would rather be doing less than spending his Saturday night watching Akutagawa. Not only because the man in question is the most irritating person in the universe, being a quite literal thorn in his side since the second they’ve met, but also because things between them have been… better… recently.
At least the man hasn’t threatened to kill him or outright stabbed him the last few times they’ve run into one another.
A change that will surely be over the second the prickly mafioso finds out that Atsushi was spying on him. Sure he’s a criminal, but even criminals deserve some privacy.
Still, it’s a job, and at least this time the chance of him being shot, stabbed, exploded, and/or kidnapped is minimal. He’ll have a boring night watching boring Akutagawa do boring things and move on with his life. He just has to humor Dazai. Atsushi can do that. Approximately 98% of his job is humoring Dazai.
What does Akutagawa even do in his free time, anyway? He doesn’t see a torture dungeon on the screen, nor any Satanic symbols drawn on the wall in blood. What kind of hobbies do mafiosos even have? Knitting? Bird-watching? Scrap-booking?
Atsushi snickers to himself at the mental image of Akutagawa diligently cutting out pictures of Dazai from the local paper and gluing them in an album titled something gross like My Master, plastered with glitter and hearts.
Watching the empty apartment gets old pretty quickly so he distracts himself with word games on his phone until eventually, there is movement on the camera.
He sits up straighter. It’s the front door opening. Lights turn on, and there he is.
Atsushi is suddenly at full attention, his detective senses tingling. Well. Something’s tingling. Either way, Akutagawa is home. His shoulders are drooped and he looks downward as he shucks his shoes off in the genkan. His grip against the handrail seems harsh even from the distance of a spy-camera.
Probably a hard day of extorting people, walking away from explosions he caused by remotely detonated bombs, and stabbing everyone that is within his line of sight.
Atsushi watches Akutagawa slowly walk into his kitchen, fill the kettle with water, and obtain a package from one of the cupboards that looks like tea. He makes a cup, walks over to his couch and sits down.
He doesn’t drink the tea for a long time – just stares off at the wall, seemingly thinking about something. From this vantage point, Akutagawa looks small; all alone in this big, empty apartment, nothing and no one to keep him company after he gets home from work except a cooling cup of tea.
His own fault, Atsushi thinks despite the pang of sympathy squeezing his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t be completely alone if he wasn’t the biggest asshole in Yokohama.
Well. Not the biggest asshole. He’s found himself thinking of Akutagawa that way less and less recently, which concerns him for a reason he still hasn’t been able to fully grasp.
The man finally drinks his cup of tea, dainty and slow. He pulls out a laptop computer from somewhere, typing something for a few minutes before he closes the screen and disappears from the living room camera, re-appearing on the bedroom camera.
Akutagawa’s bed is huge, a paltry comparison to Atsushi’s own sleeping space. It really seems too big for just one person.
Atsushi watches as Akutagawa takes off his coat. There’s a hook directly next to his bed that must have been installed solely for the purpose of hanging up said coat in grabbing proximity.
His slight frame in that white shirt is a sight. He looks like some kind of Renaissance painting, all sharp angles and elegant frills. He wonders briefly if the reason he wears clothes like that is actually some kind of fashion statement, or whether he’s trying to hide how skinny he is under that coat.
The moments that he’s seen Akutagawa without that black coat on have been far and few in between; prior to this, the only times he’s gotten a peek at the man’s white-clad shoulders have been the times they’ve merged their abilities, and usually during those moments Atsushi is slightly distracted by trying not to die to muse about Akutagawa’s fashion choices.
Here, now, he’s free to look. And look he does.
Akutagawa reaches behind his neck, fiddling with the collar before he pulls off the large, lacey ruffled thing he’s always wearing and throws it on the bed.
Atsushi’s throat suddenly feels quite dry.
Atsushi watches closely as Akutagawa’s fingers start to unbutton the shirt. Just the top button being undone, revealing a sliver of pale neck, has Atsushi feeling lightheaded.
One by one, lithe fingers unbutton the dress shirt, revealing sharp collarbones, then the pale, smooth skin of his chest, then his concave abdomen. Akutagawa lets the shirt hang open as he pulls on his belt, popping open with one quick movement.
Atsushi exhales.
When did he start holding his breath?
Why did he start holding his breath?
Akutagawa’s fingers go to the fly of his pants and Atsushi’s hears nothing but the pounding whoosh of blood in his ears, like his heart had migrated to the base of his skull and is now trying to beat against his brain in an effort to wake it up, considering the stupid thing hasn’t had a single coherent thought in multiple minutes now.
Until, helpfully, he thinks I’m watching Akutagawa undress.
Atsushi’s hands shoot up to cover his own eyes on instinct, a sudden flare of heat settling on his cheeks.
What the hell is wrong with him?
This is weird. This is so weird.
He should not be watching Akutagawa undress.
But…
He peeks past his fingers at the screen.
He just looks so… different. Without a persistent snarl on his face and sans his armor, Akutagawa looks… almost soft.
He’s painfully pale, his collarbones and ribs are protuberant, and even from the spy-cam he can see areas of skin puckering indicative of scars. There are… a lot of them. That stupid pang of sympathy shoots through Atsushi again.
How many of those scars are from Atsushi?
It’s not like he didn’t deserve them, but still.
He doesn’t look away as the man’s pants drop to the floor. His legs are also incredibly pale and thin. He wears well-fitting boxer-briefs underneath; a fact that Atsushi could have gladly lived the rest of his life not knowing.
He takes his clothing, meticulously straightening them out on hangers and disappears somewhere off screen.
Then, he gets on the bed. On top of the covers. With his shirt still on and in just his underwear. A little weird, but Akutagawa is a freak so Atsushi wouldn’t be surprised if he just sleeps like this.
Well. This has been a total bust. He’ll have to tell Dazai that Akutagawa –
Atsushi blinks at the screen.
Akutagawa is not turning off the lights. Instead, he’s using one hand to trail along his own body, caressing his bare skin. He watches the man’s eyes flutter shut, back arching slightly, and then that same hand starts to, uh.
Grope. Himself. Over his underwear.
Atsushi can clearly, clearly, way-too-clearly-how-high-def-are-these-cameras, see an erection starting to tent said underwear.
Atsushi barely scrambles in time to the floor to unplug the monitor, breathing heavily as he sits on his knees. His cheeks are ablaze and heart is racketing against his ribcage.
Oh my god.
Oh my god?!
Did he just – was Akutagawa – did he just see…
Oh, this is all manner of wrong. Urgh, what is Atsushi, some kind of pervert voyeur? He’s not just going to sit here and watch his sworn enemy jack off!
…Unless.
Atsushi sits up straighter, blinking in the darkness.
This could be a diversion tactic. Pretending to do something like… that… to scare off someone who might be spying on them, then getting down to nefarious business.
Atsushi remembers reading something like that once!
Heh. Oldest trick in the book. But he’s not going to get Atsushi like that. No sir.
Atsushi plugs the monitors back in, turns everything on, and glares at the computer screen as the black screen lights up again.
Akutagawa always thinks he’s smarter and better than Atsushi, always trying to belittle him, but jokes on him! Atsushi’s got the upper hand this time and he’s not falling for such an obvious trick.
Akutagawa had not moved from his position on the bed, but the light teasing outside his underwear has turned into a beneath-the-underwear affair. Atsushi watches the rhythmic movement of a hand under the cloth, swallowing down the saliva collecting in his mouth.
He bets he’s not even masturbating under there. He won’t believe it until he sees it.
Just like Atsushi predicted, a few more seconds of ‘masturbation’ later, and Akutagawa is getting out of bed, disappearing somewhere off camera. He returns with a medium-sized box in his hands a few seconds later.
Aha! Atsushi grins, writing down the timestamp and the item. Suspicious activity captured!
Just as he thought. That box likely has something to do with… crime… and Atsushi is going to totally find out what it is, and Dazai is going to be super proud of him and might even take him out for lunch! And maybe even pay this time!
Atsushi leans in closer, wishing these cameras had a zoom function. He can hardly contain his excitement as the man opens the box, and –
And that is not a crime box.
Atsushi gapes at the screen, unable to believe what he is seeing.
…That is a sex toy box.
Dazai has to be playing a joke on him. Him and Akutagawa must be in on it together. There is no way that this is happening to him right now. Because there is no way, no God’s green earth, that it’s possible that Akutagawa, the Rabid Dog of the Port Mafia, has a (pretty full) box of… what look like multiple dildoes, and vibrators, and is that a cock-sleeve?!
Atsushi is not done picking his jaw off of the floor when Akutagawa puts a towel down on his bed, and, in full view, without hesitation, 100% pulls down his underwear, hard cock springing free.
Atsushi is looking at Akutagawa’s dick.
Its - it’s a dick. Like an penis. An erect penis. Akutagawa’s erect penis.
And Atsushi is looking at it.
And Atsushi is not looking away from it.
Its.
Well.
Surprisingly girthy for such a skinny guy. Kinda nice looking, if he was to offer his honest opinion.
The penis and the guy attached to said penis lay down on the towel, popping open a bottle of some sort and squeezing it into his hand.
And then, his hand is stroking said penis.
Atsushi is a deer in the headlights, completely frozen by the image before him. Bafflement, embarrassment and something else that he refuses to name keep his unwavering attention.
Those long fingers glide up and down his cock, twisting slightly at the head, setting a slow, leisurely pace. His other hand massages his balls, fingers appearing to press further and further back, until Akutagawa’s back arches suddenly off the bed, mouth falling open in a moan, chest heaving with exertion.
He had barely started touching himself and he clearly just almost came, balls tight and cock a ruddy pink, tip basically glistening with precum and – that’s.
Atsushi’s gut clenches.
That’s super hot.
Why is that super hot?
Atsushi’s hand seems to have a mind of its own as it presses down over his crotch, putting pressure on his own regrettable… situation. He’s more than half-hard at this point, his pants feeling way too constricting, the room becoming hotter and hotter with every passing minute.
This is… an involuntary reaction. Just normal, and biological, and – and. He should probably look away, turn this thing off before things get out of hand. Annoyed, he glares at his traitorous dick. There is no way that he’s going to get hot and bothered over Akutagawa, of all people. ,
Blushing, Atsushi reaches over to the monitor to turn it off, but stops before he’s able to.
Akutagawa is taking something else out of the box.
No fucking way.
There’s a groan in the room and Atsushi is briefly surprised that the cameras have sound before realizing that it came out of his own mouth.
Because Akutagawa is holding a dildo. Its nondescript and black and looks huge in Akutagawa’s hands.
He lays it down next to him. Then spreads his legs, knees falling down so Atsushi has a perfect view as Akutagawa takes those same devilish fingers and slips one inside himself.
Oh shit. The pulse of arousal in Atsushi’s gut at the sight is borderline painful. He watches, breathless, as Akutagawa slowly pumps in that finger, in and out. His mouth is open, his cheeks and chest are pink, and his untouched cock is swollen and heavy against his abdomen.
He clearly knows what he’s doing. Jesus fucking Christ, Akutagawa fingers himself when he jerks off. And puts toys in his ass. And looks very, very good doing it, too.
If Atsushi wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now.
There’s a part of him that knows, for a fact, that Akutagawa is probably, most likely is actually masturbating, and not just trying to ‘distract’ a potential spy from finding out details about the Port Mafia’s next job.
But Atsushi can’t take that risk.
So he keeps his eyes glued to the screen. He’s not quite sure he’d be able to look away, even if he tried.
A second finger slips in along with the first almost effortlessly. He watches the man’s wrist work, the movement of hand practiced and borderline elegant as he scissors himself.
He must feel so soft and warm on the inside. So tight. So – Atsushi’s dick pulses against his hand as he gingerly brushes over his own erection.
His pants are so uncomfortable and constricting and just that amount of touch felt so good – he – he – he shouldn’t.
Watching his enemy masturbate is one thing, but to jerk off to said enemy masturbating?
That might be crossing a line.
The third finger slides in along with the first two. Atsushi wishes these stupid-ass cameras had sound because he can practically imagine the lewd squelch of those fingers going in and out of him, would be able to hear the breathy gasps and whimpers, hear him breathing all ragged and wanton.
He wonders if his voice sounds different when he does this. If its higher and sweeter moaning than it is when he’s threatening to kill him.
Akutagawa, seemingly satisfied with the prep, removes his fingers. He takes the dildo, pours lubricant all over it, and, legs spread to the camera, pillow under his lower back, presses the base of the silicone cock into his twitching hole.
Atsushi whines. His own breathing is getting a little erratic, hands itching to touch, entire body so hot he’s actually sweating, and his cock is starting to hurt. And Akutagawa is taking it so well – the thin head goes in easily, then he slows down at the slightly wider base, teeth digging in to his lower lip. Slowly, gently he moves it forward and the very second that dildo is seated all the way inside Akutagawa, Atsushi thinks he loses his mind.
Fuck it.
He shoves his hands down his pants, his cock jumping at the touch. He whines in relief, own back arching painfully off the chair. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this pent up – like he’s ready to burst at any second. The barest brush of his fingers has him panting and his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
Akutagawa takes a second to adjust, pumping his slightly flagging dick to full hardness as the dildo rests, fully sheathed in his ass. Atsushi shudders at the sight. Does Akutagawa like to edge? He’s such a masochist he totally would. Just tease himself for hours, never let himself get that release until its too much, until he’s on the verse of tears and then –
Akutagawa’s other hand trails up and down his body, squeezing a nipple, revealing that tiny pink nub to the camera from the confines of his shirt. Atsushi mimics the motion, squeezing his own sensitive bud between his fingers, keening at the mixture of pleasure-pain, all serving to excite him further.
All of him feels hyper-sensitive right now – he thinks a light wind would probably be enough to make him cum.
Akutagawa finally stops his ministrations, taking the base of the cock with one hand and slowly, deliberately, like he’s putting on some kind of show, pulls it out almost all the way out. Atsushi almost wishes he would, just so he could watch that rim stretch around the toy again, but seeing the other man slam it all the way back in is just as satisfying.
He sets a harsh pace, fucking in and out of his hole, and Atsushi’s hand follows the motion, jerking himself in time with Akutagawa. It’s unbelievable how good he looks like this. Like his body was meant to take cock. He’s so lithe, his back arching, his long hair draping over the pillows, eyes closed, knees shaking. He’s clearly feeling so, so good.
He loves this. Loves having his ass filled.
What does he think about? Atsushi wonders, groaning as his wrist angles along the head, the precum making the slide all the more perfect. Whose cock does he want filling him? Who keeps him like this, desperate and needy?
The sudden flare of jealousy is surprising – Atsushi hears a low growl come out of his mouth, something wild and possessive scratching in the back of his mind. He squeezes his cock harder, the grip nearly painful, but he needs it.
Its more instinct than logic – the desire to mount, to fill, to take. At least him and the tiger agree on that much – Akutagawa’s hole looks breedable. Looks like it can take all of him. Looks like it would look perfect when pink and abused and weeping Atsushi’s cum.
Atsushi moans at the thought. He grips the base of his cock, pressing in hard to prevent himself from cumming, admiring his own size. He’s bigger than that dildo. He can stretch him even better. He bets he can make Akutagawa cry for it.
He’s never, not once, had such a lewd thought. And its Akutagawa that’s making him feel like this.
He’s clearly going crazy.
Movement on the camera has Atsushi’s hazy eyes drifting back to the screen. He’s closing his legs, rolling over to sitting, and Atsushi can’t fight the disappointment of having his perfect view ruined. Is he done already? But he didn’t even –
He removes something else from the box, fiddling with something before placing the dildo back on the bed. Except, now its standing straight up, seemingly stuck to some kind of hard surface.
Atsushi watches with bated breath as Akutagawa gets on his knees, and, not hesitating for even a second, flexes his thighs and sinks down on it.
Holy shit.
Holy shit. Akutagawa is riding that thing like he’s got bills to pay, fingers gripping into his bedsheets, silicone disappearing inside him, shirt billowing and obstructing the view of Akutagawa’s painfully hard cock.
And, as if reading Atsushi’s mind, Akutagawa takes the edges of his shirt and lifts them to his mouth, holding the edges between his teeth. Now he’s got a perfect view of the man’s pretty cock, the flexing of his abs, the sheer pinkness of his chest, god, the sweat rolling down his neck and sticking his hair to his forehead.
He’s practically bouncing on it and Atsushi could cry, seriously, this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life, and then Akutagawa has his fingers wrapped around that swollen cock, jerking it in time with his hurried thrusts. Atsushi doesn’t know how much longer he can hold off – he’s on the very precipice of orgasm and seeing Akutagawa, bouncing on a fake cock, stroking himself, moaning and writhing in pleasure is making him lose any composure he’s even pretending to still have.
His lips seem to form some kind of word before his mouth opens, eyes flutter shut, back arches and spurts of cum shoot out on his bed.
Atsushi bites hard into his hand as he strokes down a singular time, and then he’s cumming into his own fist, pure pleasure ascending up every nerve in his body. It seems to last forever, pulse after pulse of heat spreading from his groin into his stomach and up his spinal cord.
It has never, not once, felt like that before.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, attempting to catch his breath. He takes a few seconds to bask in the afterglow, enjoying the laxity of his muscles, before he opens his eyes to meet the screen.
Akutagawa is still sat on the dildo.
And he’s looking directly into the camera.
Atsushi yelps, instantly jumping to the power strip and turning the whole damn thing off, plunging himself into total darkness.
…
What the actual fuck did he just do?!
He just watched Akutagawa jerk off.
He jerked off to Akutagawa jerking off.
And Akutagawa looked right into the camera.
Does he know?!
Does he know Atsushi just watched him like some kind of pervert?!
Was he putting on some kind of show?! It did seem like the angles were a little too perfect – is this something he does regularly?! Is Dazai usually the one that watches? He could ask, of course, but then it would be admitting to Dazai that he watched the whole thing and Dazai would never let him live it down, he’d tell everybody and he’d have to change his identity and move to Brazil and never, ever see anyone ever again!!!
Oh god. The shame supersedes any degree of pleasure he derived from the experience, hurriedly running to the in-room bathroom and washing his soiled hand in the sink, avoiding meeting his eyes in the mirror. Even from his peripheral vision, he can tell he looks utterly debauched – his clothes are wrinkled, his hair is all over the place, and he’s starting to think this blush is permanent.
Dazai’s gonna know. He’s definitely gonna know.
Atsushi’s never gonna be able to look at Akutagawa in the eye ever again.
Fuck his life. Honestly.
He sits, staring at the dark, unable to will himself to turn the monitors back on but definitely not sleeping, because the very second he closes his eyes, Akutagawa’s blissed, fucked-out face is all he sees.
He nearly jumps out of his skin as there’s a knock on the door.
Dazai opens it, huge smile on his face, letting the sunlight stream in after him.
Its morning already.
How is it morning already?
“Good morning, Atsushi! See anything interesting?”
Atsushi’s eyes widen.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, and also no.
He is not having this conversation. Ever. With anyone.
“Nope!” Atsushi squeaks, face turning a bright red hue, voice high pitched as he rushes to the door, running as fast as his tiger legs can take him.
Dazai smiles to himself and shrugs, closing the door behind him. He puts his hands in his pockets and slowly saunters after Atsushi, whistling a jaunty tune.
After all, a good mentor should always give his mentee a head start.
