[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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.]