Was inevitable. This. He's felt it in lingering gazes, in tense standoffs, in quiet afternoons and volatile evenings.
Even so, Akechi never thought Akira would be this stupid - to meet his once enemy's lips with such vigorous intent. It doesn't matter they live in uneasy tandem and aligning orbits - that past remains, clear and brittle. A source of ire between them and a way to spurn rivalries in other areas of their shared lives.
He's pressed into a wall and doesn't feel trapped. A sting against his shoulder. Sloppy, pained rage subdued and smothered with lips that muffle words.
Akira's an idiot. Akechi's a bigger one. He meant to end the shit spewing from his mouth with an act that would-
Disgust him, maybe. Frustrate him. Choke the words from this throat without fingers and palms and ignore-
That he's thought about this body pressing him down until every bit of air and thought is gagged out. Ignore a wandering mind that followed him like a shadow into his room, straddling his hips tight under his body, force attention on him and him alone. Hidden pieces of Akira unraveled for his eyes and ears.
It doesn't hurt. It's not unpleasant, because it's Akira. There's no perfection between them. Gets messier the closer they get.
His hand moves up to tangle into his hair - pressing him closer, deeper, allowing himself to be found just to attack his mouth in return. He wants to suffocate. Be suffocated. Survival instincts ignored for as long as he can, until he has to break free with a deep inhale. A turn to the side. Lips feel swollen, and that's fine. If he looks at Akira he's sure-
Of nothing, in this moment.
His grip stays twisted in those locks of black hair, tightening against the base of his skull. Hears nothing outside of his own stammered breathing forced back into compliance. Takes a second to readjust, reframe, reassess.
He says nothing. Doesn't move. Doesn't check Akira's face. Doesn't turn his gaze from the freckled stain against the bottom of the wall. It reminds him of spilled coffee. Akira probably did it, mindlessly wandering around the apartment.
They have a lease - that's a fine and he's annoyed.
A tongue runs over his lips - unintentional and soothing before his eyes lock back with Akira's. Frenzied. Intense. Chin tilting up to maintain some semblance of visual control.]
We share this space.
[As if that explains everything happening and is more than a mindless, hazy assessment of their living situation. The wall behind him pure ice, the body in front of him lava - his own body getting hard against friction.]
We're going to your room, not mine.
i wasn't even supposed to do this rn but i read it again from bed and ran to my computer possessed
[At first, Akira hears we share this space and thinks that it's already happening and Akechi is about to leave or kick him out. The venue is there, an easy windup for all the ways that Akira has ruined their life here, defiled it, disgusted him-
But, it isn't what's happening.
Akira's breaths go still in his chest for an eternal second.
It slides through his brain like treacle that he's hard, strained against his sweatpants, and on the other side of the fabric is another layer of cloth and Akechi's own hardness pressed against him. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears, warring for first place with the cacophony of his thoughts loudly trying to reject what his heart has desired for so long.
He knows what it means, what Akechi's implying. Akira isn't a virgin, even if it'll be the first time anything's happened in that room outside of masturbation.
He's had sex precisely three times since starting college, each one an increasingly more desperate attempt to get over the feelings choking him like a never-ending poison, but never in this apartment. He'd never sully their shared space with it, not in any one of these rooms. Three times, to see if the third would be the charm, to see if he could finally move on and be to Akechi who he was supposed to be - someone that was safe to hate, safe to be a rival to, and maybe sometimes could be considered a friend.
In the moment that he'd felt the heat of his former classmate's come through the condom, somehow he'd known. He'd known, laying there and panting up at that unfamiliar ceiling, that that would be the last time and the complicated feeling in his chest was something he could never uproot. He had completely and unequivocally known that there was something deeply wrong with him, something far beyond his usual and forecasted brokenness, that he would reject the comfort of someone that liked him just enough and instead choose the excruciatingly painful uncertainty of a maybe that would never happen.
Akira had showered, cleaned himself up and come home, made dinner and sat across from his roommate like everything was normal. And in the afternoon of that following day, the moment he made sure their apartment was empty, he'd cried harder than he ever had in his entire life.
He'd thought he finally understood what it felt like to have his heart break.
It feels unreal that now, having buried and grieved for the impossible, that he can be feeling Akechi's erection against his own, hot and firm and real. He doesn't dare wish for more, knows that accepting Akechi into his room and therefore his bed will shatter him in new ways when he's inevitably left alone in it. He knows the right thing is to say no, so that maybe he can still look him in the face tomorrow and watch Akechi's eyebrows crease down in that familiar way when he accepts the apology coffee Akira always makes.
And yet, what he says is-]
Okay.
[It's whispered between their mouths, as tiny and quiet and loud as a thunderclap, reverberates up through his spine. Akira grabs at his sleeve the same way he does when he wants to get Akechi's attention but can't meet his eyes for some reason, and gently tugs him away from the wall. It feels so many leagues away from the fierce kissing, as fraught as a fight, that he'd think he was watching a video of himself if the realness of it wasn't making him tremble ever so slightly, impossible to suppress.
He hasn't had a mask up in so long, Akira can't help but wonder what kind of expression he's making as he stares at Akechi's near-crazed eyes. He wonders if it's as fragile as he feels right now.
His heartbeats are so, so loud.
If he isn't going to say something combative, he should at least say something- teasing, at least as flirty as their norm, or something halfway sexy, but what comes out is a still-too-quiet-]
I only have lube in there.
[It spirals hot down his neck, hopefully not to his face, saying what he means without actually saying it. Practical, but embarrassing and still probably fragile. For himself or for a partner, he'd never planned on needing any condoms ever again. Maybe it'll ward him off, somehow. Maybe Akechi is the type of person that hates not using any, or maybe he'll think that Akira is the type of person that sleeps around carelessly and shouldn't be touched that way.
If Akechi leaves on his own terms before they go too far, maybe Akira can still find a way to pick himself up off the ground.]
im losing my mind don't look at the timestamp in this essay
[The air stills with that matter of fact statement, a tug of his sleeve.
Kurusu Akira - leader of the Phantom Thieves, a man that steals hearts and heals souls, who defies gods and rips apart centuries old legacies with words sharpened from injustice, a cruel world, a pathetic reality meant to exploit-
Only has lube in there.
A reminder that above all else Kurusu Akira is infallibly human, and it's why Akechi Goro hates him in the deepest recesses of his heart.
They move forward, as always. Every step makes his body feel like lead and air in equal measure. Red tinting the base of his own neck - irritation at his roommate, embarrassment at the fucking topic at hand, knowledge his own lack of experience will show to a rival he can never lose to.]
Then that's what we'll use.
[It's
sitting in a room, in the fading remnants of a true reality. The hinges impossible to see. Frayed threads invisible, no matter how tight they wind their fingers around it, no matter how much they pull, pull, pull back.
They're in a room -
Taking stock of items, supplies - 'That's what we'll use' a statement made over the questionable pills from a doctor almost disbarred. Someone Akira trusts with his life, trusts the lives of others to, so Akechi puts the barest amount of faith in it.
Preparing for battle - it's all the same with them. Always the same. Always a fight.
Tone steady, voice low - unintentional, air filling depleted lungs, mouth sore.]
Stop making me wait - I don't have the patience for a conversation right now.
[Because
He's greedy. Wants for everything, yearns for nothing, craves a world that was never his and-
Wants to steal it. Wants to take him. Wants that creeping red to flow up - a path he follows with the fingertips resting on the back of Akira's neck.
A threat, maybe, in his palm - fingers light across his skin, all the way up to his hairline. It could change in an instant - Akechi almost does it. Wants to see. Wants to watch. A constant, moving line that Akira pulls forward, every time Akechi crosses it.
A bullet to the skull. Fingers around his neck. Stolen breath that he wants to feel against his own lips.]
Move.
i can't look at the timestamp because i can't read 👌
[An "okay" lodges its way in his throat, stuck, tied there with the force of Akira's wanting and translating into a single, simple nod. Okay. It's time to move.
However... It finally isn't nerves, or yearning, or longing that make him silent.
It's the Then that's what we'll use, a flintstone's spark that lights up his brain, makes him move again, be a person again that isn't silently mourning his own broken heart as he lives in the place that will drive the fissures deepest. It's the reminder of safe rooms, of Joker, who he was and who he has always been and will be again. It's them, him and Akechi, drawn into their own orbits as they have perpetually been for nearing a decade.
He knows this person across from him intimately in all ways but one. He knows how his mind works, how his body moves, the differences of his breaths outside but tense around strangers and at ease at Jazz Jin and the odd blend of sharp and relaxed that he has in their own shared space. He left his imprint upon him as a boy, and has been with him for nearly every step of being a man.
Akechi knows him at his best, his worst, his most magnificent and his most horrible. With Akechi, he can be kind, or steel, or gentle, or sharp. He can be the terrible person he truly is, even as he lives every day trying so hard to be a good one. Akira can trust him with his back, his throat, his heart, knowing full well that he could slice open every single one til his life is spent. He is the only one that Akira can show himself unmasked, as petrifying as it feels even with him.
If he breaks at the end of it all, he will break. He's already placed himself in those hands a long time ago. He will face it.
Move, Kurusu Akira.
He does, grace restored, sinewy and smooth as he practically glides in the direction of his bedroom. The soft way he pulls Akechi along probably irritates him, but Akira feels distant from it. He feels distant from his body itself, though he's still somehow aware of how quickly his heart is beating and the dull ache at the apex of his thighs.
There's no room for him to feel weak or empty. Not right now.
It's not until they've breached the barrier of his room that he releases Akechi from that familiar hold, the way he has so many times before; there's even the hints of satisfaction left over in his steps, as if now too he's finished telling him whatever needed to be said. He doesn't turn around as he rifles through the drawer, careful not to knock into the other solid objects under his underwear.
Akira still needs some secrets, after all, and Akechi doesn't really need to know about any of his sex toys... or how much use they've gotten.
The moment his hands are on the bottle - half-empty, but more than enough for this - he turns to toss it on the bed with a simple flick of his wrist. It lands up near the top, almost perfectly in reach for grabbing when it's needed. And then he's near still again, only moving to tilt his head to the side as he considers Akechi with silent eyes. Weighs the tension in his body.
Weighs the wildness of his gaze, the impatience of his words, and lets heat pool hotter in his belly.
Without a word, Akira explodes into action and launches at him like a cat, like a panther, a predator. Teeth clack as he goes to match their lips together, the momentum drawing them down, down, down and hopefully onto the bed if Akechi hasn't moved much.]
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Was inevitable. This. He's felt it in lingering gazes, in tense standoffs, in quiet afternoons and volatile evenings.
Even so, Akechi never thought Akira would be this stupid - to meet his once enemy's lips with such vigorous intent. It doesn't matter they live in uneasy tandem and aligning orbits - that past remains, clear and brittle. A source of ire between them and a way to spurn rivalries in other areas of their shared lives.
He's pressed into a wall and doesn't feel trapped. A sting against his shoulder. Sloppy, pained rage subdued and smothered with lips that muffle words.
Akira's an idiot. Akechi's a bigger one. He meant to end the shit spewing from his mouth with an act that would-
Disgust him, maybe. Frustrate him. Choke the words from this throat without fingers and palms and ignore-
That he's thought about this body pressing him down until every bit of air and thought is gagged out. Ignore a wandering mind that followed him like a shadow into his room, straddling his hips tight under his body, force attention on him and him alone. Hidden pieces of Akira unraveled for his eyes and ears.
It doesn't hurt. It's not unpleasant, because it's Akira. There's no perfection between them. Gets messier the closer they get.
His hand moves up to tangle into his hair - pressing him closer, deeper, allowing himself to be found just to attack his mouth in return. He wants to suffocate. Be suffocated. Survival instincts ignored for as long as he can, until he has to break free with a deep inhale. A turn to the side. Lips feel swollen, and that's fine. If he looks at Akira he's sure-
Of nothing, in this moment.
His grip stays twisted in those locks of black hair, tightening against the base of his skull. Hears nothing outside of his own stammered breathing forced back into compliance. Takes a second to readjust, reframe, reassess.
He says nothing. Doesn't move. Doesn't check Akira's face. Doesn't turn his gaze from the freckled stain against the bottom of the wall. It reminds him of spilled coffee. Akira probably did it, mindlessly wandering around the apartment.
They have a lease - that's a fine and he's annoyed.
A tongue runs over his lips - unintentional and soothing before his eyes lock back with Akira's. Frenzied. Intense. Chin tilting up to maintain some semblance of visual control.]
We share this space.
[As if that explains everything happening and is more than a mindless, hazy assessment of their living situation. The wall behind him pure ice, the body in front of him lava - his own body getting hard against friction.]
We're going to your room, not mine.
i wasn't even supposed to do this rn but i read it again from bed and ran to my computer possessed
But, it isn't what's happening.
Akira's breaths go still in his chest for an eternal second.
It slides through his brain like treacle that he's hard, strained against his sweatpants, and on the other side of the fabric is another layer of cloth and Akechi's own hardness pressed against him. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears, warring for first place with the cacophony of his thoughts loudly trying to reject what his heart has desired for so long.
He knows what it means, what Akechi's implying. Akira isn't a virgin, even if it'll be the first time anything's happened in that room outside of masturbation.
He's had sex precisely three times since starting college, each one an increasingly more desperate attempt to get over the feelings choking him like a never-ending poison, but never in this apartment. He'd never sully their shared space with it, not in any one of these rooms. Three times, to see if the third would be the charm, to see if he could finally move on and be to Akechi who he was supposed to be - someone that was safe to hate, safe to be a rival to, and maybe sometimes could be considered a friend.
In the moment that he'd felt the heat of his former classmate's come through the condom, somehow he'd known. He'd known, laying there and panting up at that unfamiliar ceiling, that that would be the last time and the complicated feeling in his chest was something he could never uproot. He had completely and unequivocally known that there was something deeply wrong with him, something far beyond his usual and forecasted brokenness, that he would reject the comfort of someone that liked him just enough and instead choose the excruciatingly painful uncertainty of a maybe that would never happen.
Akira had showered, cleaned himself up and come home, made dinner and sat across from his roommate like everything was normal. And in the afternoon of that following day, the moment he made sure their apartment was empty, he'd cried harder than he ever had in his entire life.
He'd thought he finally understood what it felt like to have his heart break.
It feels unreal that now, having buried and grieved for the impossible, that he can be feeling Akechi's erection against his own, hot and firm and real. He doesn't dare wish for more, knows that accepting Akechi into his room and therefore his bed will shatter him in new ways when he's inevitably left alone in it. He knows the right thing is to say no, so that maybe he can still look him in the face tomorrow and watch Akechi's eyebrows crease down in that familiar way when he accepts the apology coffee Akira always makes.
And yet, what he says is-]
Okay.
[It's whispered between their mouths, as tiny and quiet and loud as a thunderclap, reverberates up through his spine. Akira grabs at his sleeve the same way he does when he wants to get Akechi's attention but can't meet his eyes for some reason, and gently tugs him away from the wall. It feels so many leagues away from the fierce kissing, as fraught as a fight, that he'd think he was watching a video of himself if the realness of it wasn't making him tremble ever so slightly, impossible to suppress.
He hasn't had a mask up in so long, Akira can't help but wonder what kind of expression he's making as he stares at Akechi's near-crazed eyes. He wonders if it's as fragile as he feels right now.
His heartbeats are so, so loud.
If he isn't going to say something combative, he should at least say something- teasing, at least as flirty as their norm, or something halfway sexy, but what comes out is a still-too-quiet-]
I only have lube in there.
[It spirals hot down his neck, hopefully not to his face, saying what he means without actually saying it. Practical, but embarrassing and still probably fragile. For himself or for a partner, he'd never planned on needing any condoms ever again. Maybe it'll ward him off, somehow. Maybe Akechi is the type of person that hates not using any, or maybe he'll think that Akira is the type of person that sleeps around carelessly and shouldn't be touched that way.
If Akechi leaves on his own terms before they go too far, maybe Akira can still find a way to pick himself up off the ground.]
im losing my mind don't look at the timestamp in this essay
Kurusu Akira - leader of the Phantom Thieves, a man that steals hearts and heals souls, who defies gods and rips apart centuries old legacies with words sharpened from injustice, a cruel world, a pathetic reality meant to exploit-
Only has lube in there.
A reminder that above all else Kurusu Akira is infallibly human, and it's why Akechi Goro hates him in the deepest recesses of his heart.
They move forward, as always. Every step makes his body feel like lead and air in equal measure. Red tinting the base of his own neck - irritation at his roommate, embarrassment at the fucking topic at hand, knowledge his own lack of experience will show to a rival he can never lose to.]
Then that's what we'll use.
[It's
sitting in a room, in the fading remnants of a true reality. The hinges impossible to see. Frayed threads invisible, no matter how tight they wind their fingers around it, no matter how much they pull, pull, pull back.
They're in a room -Taking stock of items, supplies - 'That's what we'll use' a statement made over the questionable pills from a doctor almost disbarred. Someone Akira trusts with his life, trusts the lives of others to, so Akechi puts the barest amount of faith in it.
Preparing for battle - it's all the same with them. Always the same. Always a fight.
Tone steady, voice low - unintentional, air filling depleted lungs, mouth sore.]
Stop making me wait - I don't have the patience for a conversation right now.
[Because
He's greedy. Wants for everything, yearns for nothing, craves a world that was never his and-
Wants to steal it. Wants to take him. Wants that creeping red to flow up - a path he follows with the fingertips resting on the back of Akira's neck.A threat, maybe, in his palm - fingers light across his skin, all the way up to his hairline. It could change in an instant - Akechi almost does it. Wants to see. Wants to watch. A constant, moving line that Akira pulls forward, every time Akechi crosses it.
A bullet to the skull. Fingers around his neck. Stolen breath that he wants to feel against his own lips.]
Move.
i can't look at the timestamp because i can't read 👌
However... It finally isn't nerves, or yearning, or longing that make him silent.
It's the Then that's what we'll use, a flintstone's spark that lights up his brain, makes him move again, be a person again that isn't silently mourning his own broken heart as he lives in the place that will drive the fissures deepest. It's the reminder of safe rooms, of Joker, who he was and who he has always been and will be again. It's them, him and Akechi, drawn into their own orbits as they have perpetually been for nearing a decade.
He knows this person across from him intimately in all ways but one. He knows how his mind works, how his body moves, the differences of his breaths outside but tense around strangers and at ease at Jazz Jin and the odd blend of sharp and relaxed that he has in their own shared space. He left his imprint upon him as a boy, and has been with him for nearly every step of being a man.
Akechi knows him at his best, his worst, his most magnificent and his most horrible. With Akechi, he can be kind, or steel, or gentle, or sharp. He can be the terrible person he truly is, even as he lives every day trying so hard to be a good one. Akira can trust him with his back, his throat, his heart, knowing full well that he could slice open every single one til his life is spent. He is the only one that Akira can show himself unmasked, as petrifying as it feels even with him.
If he breaks at the end of it all, he will break. He's already placed himself in those hands a long time ago. He will face it.
Move, Kurusu Akira.
He does, grace restored, sinewy and smooth as he practically glides in the direction of his bedroom. The soft way he pulls Akechi along probably irritates him, but Akira feels distant from it. He feels distant from his body itself, though he's still somehow aware of how quickly his heart is beating and the dull ache at the apex of his thighs.
There's no room for him to feel weak or empty. Not right now.
It's not until they've breached the barrier of his room that he releases Akechi from that familiar hold, the way he has so many times before; there's even the hints of satisfaction left over in his steps, as if now too he's finished telling him whatever needed to be said. He doesn't turn around as he rifles through the drawer, careful not to knock into the other solid objects under his underwear.
Akira still needs some secrets, after all, and Akechi doesn't really need to know about any of his sex toys... or how much use they've gotten.
The moment his hands are on the bottle - half-empty, but more than enough for this - he turns to toss it on the bed with a simple flick of his wrist. It lands up near the top, almost perfectly in reach for grabbing when it's needed. And then he's near still again, only moving to tilt his head to the side as he considers Akechi with silent eyes. Weighs the tension in his body.
Weighs the wildness of his gaze, the impatience of his words, and lets heat pool hotter in his belly.
Without a word, Akira explodes into action and launches at him like a cat, like a panther, a predator. Teeth clack as he goes to match their lips together, the momentum drawing them down, down, down and hopefully onto the bed if Akechi hasn't moved much.]