[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}
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.]