Archive of Our Own

Leather felt odd against bare skin like this, the degree of separation both a hindrance and an added sensation, but overall a symbolic reminder of the unattainable. Of what he was doing.

Moonlight flitted in through the window, casting a shadow of his arm over Akira’s skin as he curiously let his fingers follow over the indents of his hips, his shirt pushed up just enough to allow access to work over his chest. Soft breathing remained the same regardless of what he did, a reassurance to him and yet a curse. Though, he doubted Kurusu would be so pliant otherwise.

Below the attic, sitting forgotten on the counter were two coffee stained cups, one with only a splash left and the other spilled.

There were still some stains on Akira’s front, reminding Akechi of his initial reaction, how the steam fogged up his glasses and he missed the moment his eyes would have gone just as blank before inevitably losing his consciousness…. Tragic, really.

Though, if it weren't for that, he wouldn't have had this moment, this time to achieve what people like him often don't get to have.

Pure-hearted, irritating, annoying Akira.

And he knew he wasn't the only one. He mused over this as he traced circles up and over the boys chest, starting in slow wide motions as he let himself be carried into a train of thought, encouraged by Akira’s sigh of relief in his slumber.

Having to keep tabs on the one person your mind decided to allow you an attachment to, albeit a complicated one, was practically torture. Private conversations, not meant to be seen by Goro’s eyes, always awakened him to the true motives of Akira’s dear friends. Always wanting something or the other, always sparing glances at him as if he were some kind of God, an object of lust.

Disgusting. Goro couldn’t stand it, he wrinkled his nose at the memory and began to lightly scrape lines over Akira’s skin, barely enough to leave behind a mark but just enough to have a grasp, to feel his nails in his skin, even if it was through digging his nails into italian leather.

The school fanboy was one of the worst, he clearly had such a sad fixation on Akira, going as far as stalking. Takes one to know one, Akechi thought, but at least he himself had a reason, and more grace.

Poor Mishima would hide around corners around the school grounds, taking photos on his phone of his dearest Kurusu and Goro could only wonder what he’d need to keep such… zoomed in images for. The thought elicited a mix between a laugh and a scoff.

The thieves were no better, he’d only witnessed one of their confessions and found it humorous to see them rejected. They all looked at him with such admiration, even the males. Something that intrigued Akechi, such outward, blatant adoration, especially from the painter, blatantly commenting on Akira’s physique and asking for strange favours…

They were certainly not a usual bunch, but they shared those traits, Akechi knew. A group of essentially outcasts fighting for social justice having unconventional preferences societally? What a shocker, he joked internally to humour himself, twirling a finger around Akira’s areola as he did so, admiring the colour, taking in every detail.

It was torture, in the end. Yet, admitting why was the hardest part, adding to his growing resentment against Kurusu, who had no qualms against his own choices and those who he expressed interest in. Small comments here and there, giggles about celebrities between friends with an added comment, working in bar establishment commonly known to attract the non-conventional crowd, the owner herself a drag artist.

At first, it knocked Akechi sick. He’d always been told, especially as a part of “The Prince” to be a charmer, to meet eyes with matching demure ones and offer them a hand to help them up. He’d been to seedy gatherings full of drunken politicians, weedling their way into whatever they wanted, by means of either money or force, grabbing the flesh of the entertainers with their hands as they passed by, passing jokes and shared greasy appreciation, whittling these women down to the supposed usefulness of their bodies. A man would sling an arm around Goro’s shoulder, breathing the smell of whiskey into his face as he remarked about his young age, how it must be so easy for him to get women.

The worst was a day Shido was in his radius. All of the men far too gone under the influence, gaggled over a round bar table hired privately, Goro himself a little tipsy due to pressured consumption, struggling to stay awake from exhaustion due to his packed schedule. The occasion was celebrating a recent shutdown.

“Don’t ya’ think, dear Mr Prince here is more girly lookin’ than ever?” A man tossed a comment at Goro during a back and forth with Shido. “If you squint… He almost looks like a girl.”

The table laughed, even Goro himself forced out a laugh, a little too out of it to know how else to appropriately respond, uncomfortable and shifting in his seat.

“I don't see why you’re laughing, boy,” Shido bellowed, the table simmering into silence save from the music and lights that shadowed them all.

“If I ever catch you with one of my associates, or any man for that matter, I won't falter to show you the consequences,” Was Shido’s final word, words that stuck in a freshly recruited and TV debuted Goro’s head for a long time to come.

Conform, or die.

It was never an issue for him until he came face to face with Akira Kurusu, finding trouble ignoring his wandering thoughts. Most of his life, even through puberty, he was too consumed by his goals to be swayed by pointless human needs such as lust and… yet.

He felt as if he was being driven insane from the moment they shook hands. The contact felt so raw despite the separation of a glove. A rival, an equal, his antithesis. Made for him, seemingly, in his image. Every thought put behind into the back of his mind came back with a flourish under the influence of one Akira Kurusu, his tall stature matching that of Goro’s, his hands long and deft… Uniquely masculine with a pretty quality, eyelashes long enough to shed shadows onto his face in the right lighting and yet his face was shaped so sharply beneath his wide frames.

It became a problem and such a problem only added to his resentment. He was a nuisance, a distraction from his goal, meddling with the plot he’d had in place since he was scribbling over the image of a mystery man angrily with red crayon in a heartless foster home.

He couldn’t stand it. His whole world, his self-control, ruined.

Scornfully, his entire face was now scrunched in a resentful concentration, letting his hands explore further upwards, leaning over Kurusu’s lithe body to caress over the dips in his neck, feeling over each muscle and checking his pulse, reminding him of the reality he was currently in with Akira in his grasp.

Like this, his desires were only his to have. The only one to witness them, himself. Such deep-seated built in shame merged with obsessive hatred leading to Akechi needing to claim Akira for himself, to be the first pair of hands to wander his body, hoping the be the first of his kind, the first touches in any form, to show Akira such carnal desire. To match him in all forms, his equal.

He looked beautiful like this, Akechi going so far as to tuck a hair of his own behind his ear, allowing his gaze to not be hindered. The slight gap in the window allowed a hint of light over their two forms, Akira’s mouth slack with sleep, his eyes closed and head tilted on his pillow, black curls splayed across the worn sheets. Even like this, he was almost untouchable.

Though, he crossed that line easily, savouring each detail. His fingers almost burning from the inherent shame of it, of how far his yearning had pushed him. He almost feared what it’d be like without his gloves, to go further, his own lack of human contact making him obscenely sensitive to touch, the idea of skin-on-skin contact with Kurusu making his fingertips feel as if they were tingling and burning, sweaty under his gloves, his entire body ablaze with a carnal, helpless curiosity.

Leaning in, Goro pressed his lips chastely against Akira’s lips, breathing out a shaky exhale, the motion a risky one, almost tender despite his inner turmoil. He could still taste a residue of coffee lingering there, the method he’d bested Kurusu with, swapping their identical cups, one tampered, one not.

Indulgently, he let his lips linger the following time, feeling the difference in his own lips to Kurusu’s, caressing them between his own. The embrace of his slightly larger bottom lip over Akira’s slightly smaller bringing a slight fluster to him, his face dusted in a shameful pink. The act of kissing another male so gently somehow more scandalous than having earlier been clawing over his hips and waist in Goro’s eyes. He was aware of how juvenile he was acting but in this room, in this silence, not even Kurusu could judge him for his indulgence, too far gone, practically just a body and a pulse. That was what he wanted to convince himself, regardless. That the choice of male wasn't purposeful, the attachment was non-existent, denial a constant in Goro’s mind.

“Ah…” Goro let out a soft sigh, his mouth able to slot over Kurusu once more, his tongue able to taste over his lips, his body hovering over, able to physically feel the gentle occasional press of Akira’s rising and falling chest.

He could practically just stay like this forever…

This was almost enough.

Though, despite his tranquillity, it’d be a waste of his preparations and countless sleepless nights he couldn't afford to keep having over unsatisfied desires.

Entranced by his free will, his hold over Akira, Goro kneeled down over Akira and shuffled so that he could lay atop him, his head pressed to his chest, awkwardly figuring out how to best initiate such an embrace, never having done so before. He could hear Akira’s heartbeat, slightly fasting than average, counting the beats per minute, growing greedier and shifting a hand up his chest until he’d bunched his shirt up to rest just over his upper shoulders and under his armpits, no longer an obstacle for Goro to hear his raw heartbeat, to press the skin of his cheek against his toned chest. The shape of it in nature more pronounced than his own, the power of it bringing another round of fluster to his face, feeling it heat and willing it down in shame, a reminder of his preference towards a pure masculine physique, towards the dedication it must have taken for Akira, cursing him for besting him in the worst ways.

“Warm…” He let the word slip out as a whisper, the sound of his own voice causing his own heart rate to increase, his guilt trickling into his mind with each reminder that this was real. Teetering constantly between hatred mingled with the urge to claim and a clumsy, shameful curiosity.

Nuzzling his head against Kurusu, he was overtly aware of how overdressed he was, still in his work slacks that clung to him and his uniform. It was strange but a place of comfort for him to remain in what he knew.

Intimacy to Goro always seemed… uncomfortable. Too vulnerable. To bare himself, his body and soul to another person, only to be used. He’d seen it countless times, with his mother, transactions between ladies of the night similar to herself with politicians. It always enraged him, really, to see it happening. He could never envision himself with a woman, to ever defile one. It had no interest, so he assumed he was above lust as a whole.

But right now, he felt somewhat squirmy. He was no better than them, taking what he wanted with greedy uncaring hands but in the end, it was Kurusu’s fault. He made countless remarks, he put his fingers into Akechi’s hair, tempting him again and again. He was of the same sex too, after all, he knew better than to be so blatant, to risk Akechi’s image with how touchy he was. It was his fault, not Goro’s. Kurusu had been hinting to this from the start, is what he convinced himself.

It was strange, he lamented, how physically affected he was like this. Pressed against the other male’s body, he felt ablaze, his own erection straining against his slacks, a sensation he’d never felt before. He felt over-sensitive, able to feel the simple pressure of Kurusu’s thigh beneath him, that alone keeping his breath irregular, occasionally sucking it in, too nervous to move in fear of losing himself to reckless abandon.

He never anticipated indulging himself either, he’d planned to become acquainted with Akira, body and all and be on his way. Leave no trace of himself.

But, when faced with what you want most, it was hard to stick to plan. Akira often lead him astray from these things, he should’ve expected this. It was hardly Goro’s fault.

Closing his eyes, Goro hid his face into the skin of Akira’s chest, his body lay atop him comfortably, legs slotted together. A shift in his sleep nudged Akira’s leg into Goro, eliciting a pathetic strangled curse from Goro’s throat, curling further into his chest as he tingled from the barely there friction he experienced against his arousal, his breathing already heavy.

He was so pathetic, even in slumber he didn't fail to catch him off guard.

It felt like silent permission, however, to gingerly rut his hips into Akira’s sweatpant clad thigh, the layers of fabric adding to the friction as he learned the best ways to sway his hips into the body beneath him, huffing out silenced grunts with his growing success. It already felt so good, his pent up energy welling up his body and overcoming his mind, replacing his thoughts with a fuzz and focus on an ache he needed to quell. It truly was primal, he could no longer look down upon others for this.

“Gah— Ah…” Goro kept moving, quickly feeling himself coming to the precipice of the end, low whines trapped in his throat, biting his inner lip but losing his grasp, shuddering atop Akira. Fantasies of Akira below him, toppled onto each other during a duel, bruised faces, a cheshire cat smile and mutual heavy breathing echoing in his mind, compelling him to keep going, to imagine Joker below him, defeated, servicing him by—

But he stopped. It felt too lonely like this, shame settling deep into his bones. Was he really so low to bring himself to completion like this? Defiling his clothes like a no good teenager, a juvenile attempt at getting off like a boy with a helpless crush, allowing Akira the dignity of seeing him so pathetically subdued? He refused to fantasise about what was in front of him, to be so desperate.

He wanted to possess Akira’s mind too, to feel his every reaction, to test his weaknesses, even in a predicament like this, to study him for all he was worth. Gain the upper hand, finally, unbeknownst to his rival.

Sitting up, he fixed his hair that had gotten messy from his moment of weakness, stilling himself for a second to rake in the sight of Akira’s hardened chest, his nipples pinkened and raw from Akechi’s frequent nuzzling into his skin repeatedly and the cold chill in the night air. Vulnerable and ready for the taking.

Sitting between Akira’s legs, spreading them to situate on either side of his own hips, he drank in this angle just as well, an indulgent position, able to access him more intimately from here, able to press himself into Akira if he liked, so easy to access from all angles…

Eager to commit this to memory, Goro dipped his fingers under the waistband of the softness of Akira’s sweatpants, tugging them down and over to settle just low enough over his thighs, stretched over where his knees were spread across Akechi’s lap.

The reveal of more skin made Goro feel like a starved man, feeling over the skin of his outer thighs. It quickly felt not enough, the outer skin quickly becoming his fingers digging into the inner, feeling the muscle under him, how the skin was firm and strong, sending a warmth into Goro’s navel. All of Akira was perfect, not like Goro. Goro, despite his own physicality, didn't show such firm features.

He never found himself particularly inclined towards a specific kind of person, or a specific body type but somehow Akira felt like he was all Goro could ever need.

The well built nature of Akira’s body, his thighs, they whispered into Goro’s mind about the difference, about how he couldn't go back after this. He lacked the softness that was craved by most men, though Akechi wasn't most men and he was being reminded of that with each second he had a laser point stare on the indents of Akira’s thighs as he groped them under his hands.

Worst was, he couldn't ignore the obvious before him, the skin of Akira’s thighs that lead innerwards, thinly covered by a pair of grey boxers, clearly well worn with the waistline frayed.

He could feel his mouth go dry as he focused on the sight, the swell of Akira through his boxers unavoidable. And if he moved his fingers just a bit further…. More inwards… He could feel it. The curve and roundness of his lower area, the space of his perineum, just finger light touching over where his balls settled comfortably in his boxers, his cock still soft and lay flat against his stomach under the fabric. It all felt so vivid, too much and he was barely halfway there.

“God, Akira…” Akechi croaked, his voice so dry and barely there, the words slipping involuntarily.

Unable to resist his vices, Goro slowly felt upwards, his hands cupping over the expanse of his balls, over to the end of Akira’s length, watching his face as he did so — peering over with curiosity.

With the light stimulation, Akira huffed in his sleep and tossed his head to the other side of his pillow, his hips squirming. Not quite as big as a reaction Goro was expecting, hoping for much more. So much more.

Greedy, he was invigorated with a sudden confidence, his heart leaping in his chest as he let his hand curl around the whole of Akira’s length, holding it in his grasp, the weight if it in his hand through boxers enough to send pulses of warmth through Goro’s body. He felt lightheaded.

It was his first time feeling something that wasn't his own anatomy, it felt so similar yet different, Akira further in girth than him and it felt even better as he began to rub his palm into him. The cautious friction elicited another loud exhale from Akira, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth opening further.

Clearly enjoying himself, even in slumber. Goro smiled to himself without realising.

The reaction only gave him further encouragement, letting his pointer finger trace over what he assumed was the tip of Akira’s arousal, bringing his thumb and finger together eventually to rub up and down the entirety of him, the feeling overwhelming to both Goro and Akira. The both of them let out a similar deep sigh, though Akira’s was followed up by a twitch of his hips, squirming in Goro’s lap.

“Not enough?” Goro mocked, his voice kept quiet, despite knowing Akira wouldn’t wake for anything under the influence of the drug.

Deciding to be generous, though it was also to satiate his own curiosity, Goro pulled down his boxers, the mild scent of Akira’s musk filling the air as tugged them to the same level of his sweatpants, Akira now practically bare and willing beneath him if he ignored how haphazardly his clothes were willed off of him. Easy to tug back on if needs be.

Like this, he could see every line of Akira’s flesh, every mole on his skin. The tension in his navel as he held the position of having his hips held up slightly. Akira looked better than he could’ve imagined and like this, in the privacy of the attic, at an ungodly hour, they were in their own world, a private bubble just for them both. For Akechi to be selfish, to take as he wanted. For once.

Already missing the feeling of Akira in his hand, Goro got back to work, wrapping his whole hand around the length of Akira now. Holding his cock in his hand, his rubbed the palm of his glove up and over him, finding the friction hard due to the barrier. Yet, the idea of using his bare hand felt so… incriminating. He could hardly fathom it. Working with what he had, he spat on his gloved hand, cringing at it despite the nature of what he was doing, bringing it back to Akira to the other boy’s relief, a whine escaping his throat, taking Goro off guard.

“Shit…” he could barely contain himself, hearing Akira make such a noise from his touch was too precious, he could feel himself burning it into his mind like it was sacred despite knowing he’d likely hear much more at this rate.

He tilted his wrist on every upstroke, finding Akira quit liked that, his hips twitching up into it each time he twisted his wrist around the tip of his cock. It was fascinating, as Goro never found touching himself in this way particularly sensitive, not that he did often regardless.

“...Feels good?” Akechi asked rhetorically, almost fondly, as he kept going, focusing on twisting his hand around and torturing the sensitive tip of Akira’s cock, delighting in each rough, low noise he received.

“Good, so very good…” He praised, pleased by where this was going. He could feel Akira filling out in his hand, growing to full hardness over time. It was different like this, with Akira asleep, he relied on making Akira feel best to bring him to hardness as he lacked any other awareness. Meaning this was all for Akechi alone, all for it.

He hoped, selfishly, if his desires invaded his dreams, that Akira would hear his voice and dream of him. Dream of Goro. Plant the seed in his mind, to lust after Goro in his own time. He could imagine it.

Akira sat with his back up against the attic wall, his blankets bundled over his lap as he touched himself under them, inevitably falling off of him as he grew more frantic… His hand moving further up and down at a greater pace…

Absentmindedly, Goro had began following his fantasy, as he came to reality finding he’d taken on a cruel quick pace, Akira letting out a string of noises and rocking his hips almost away from the touch, overstimulated and leaking into his hand.

Oh. It was all over his glove.

Fascinated, Goro pulled his hand up and down at the same fast pace but made sure to coat Akira’s length with each stroke with his own secretion, the look of it so pretty to Goro. The pinkened, rawed look of Akira’s cock from the onslaught of friction from Goro’s gloved hand looked so good on him and even better with the added slickness.

He could only wonder…

Pulling away, he watched in amusement as Akira, in denial of touch, bucked his hips into nothing but air, his legs shaking subtly in Goro’s lap. How pathetically endearing.

Opening his own mouth, he let his tongue lick over the texture of his own glove, receiving a salty musky taste. It wasn't anything special, in reality, but the act of such depravity, of something so bold and grotesque as consuming it, brought static to Goro’s mind and a shiver through his body. Decidedly, he sank his teeth into the fingertip of the leather, pulling it off with his teeth, shedding the layer of leather over both of his hands. His palms were clammy and uncomfortable, adjusting to the temperature change, but he was too impatient to give himself much time.

At first he hesitated before reaching out to stroke Akira in his bare hand, the both of them letting out mutual exhales though Akira’s was followed by a grunt, pleased to be touched again.

It felt so different, he could feel with each stroke how the skin of Akira’s cock moved with his hand, commanded by him. The veins over the girth of him, wider than Goro’s own, fixating on them in his mind, wondering how to better memorise them, his mouth suddenly welled with saliva, swallowing it down.

It felt like he’d have gone too far if he committed to that, to taking Akira in such a way. The submission of servicing him. A hand was one thing, his mouth was another… but when else could he seize the opportunity? They’d both had not much time left.

Feeling generous to the both of them, Goro acted on his whims and tucked his hair behind both of his ears, laying Akira’s legs down and getting on his knees between them, leaning over to awkwardly lick over his tip that sat curved against his stomach, the pre-cum taste more potent this time around, the salt of his skin more vivid beneath him.

Like a starved man, Goro ignored the shame in the back of his mind, letting his lips mouth around Akira’s tip, the room suddenly echoing with subtle creaks of the bed as Akira tried bucking up into the touch.

“Contain yourself,” Goro mocked in a honeyed tone, holding Akira’s hips down with his hands to make it easier for himself to learn. He couldn't afford to be forced to gag, he had to do this right first time. Perfect this, for both himself and Akira.

Closing his eyes once more, Goro held a hand around the base of Akira’s cock to more cleanly ease him into his mouth, gagging after the first few inches much to his frustration. He struggled with how to best wrap his lips around it, but technique mattered little as Akira began to let out consistent heavy breaths, his breathing ragged and only increasing by the second.

Satisfied regardless, Akechi kept going with resilience, his own cock twitching in his pants as he felt his mouth further fill out with cock. He felt debased like this, kneeled over, servicing another man but it felt too good for shame to consume him. With his hair slipping and falling against Akira’s skin, bangs messy and in his way as he took Akira deeper, he really did feel feminised in this way, the humiliation of it strangely sending only further heat down his own spine and to his own arousal, the persistence of it aching at this point. Though he refused to animalistically touch himself in such a position, this was about improving his skills, taking all of Akira for himself.

“Mhf…” He made a low grunt around the girth in his throat as Goro struggled, the intrusion foreign. As it took a little getting used to, he purposely gagged himself once to go deeper, earning a surprised response of a noise from Akira.

He continued like this, bobbing his head to the tip and willing himself to go down as far as he could. The taste was unfamiliar just as much, the potency only increasing, Akira twitching into his mouth repetitively.

With little warning, Akechi’s mouth was suddenly spilled into, coughing and spluttering around the sudden liquid that settled on his tongue, having been unexpectedly shot down into his throat.

“Agh— Gh….” Akechi struggled with the aftermath, feeling Akira’s cock twitch and tremble in his hand, pulsing from the aftershocks, meanwhile Akechi struggled with what to do. The residual come in his mouth sitting on his tongue, though he’d already been forced to swallow so much, the taste bitter and full of Akira’s unique musk.

“Agh…” He gagged one last time, saliva dripping from his mouth due to his struggle and spluttering, resting his head on Akira’s thigh for some reprieve, letting his eyes focus on the wall before closing, willing his heart rate to slow. He could tell the boy hadn't woken up, one of his first worries, despite knowing the strength of the substance he’d be given. His second worry… He’d ingested it. Dirtied himself further, past the point of no return. There was no going back now, having let himself serve as something so debasing, another man’s ejaculate sliding down his throat…

It was so wrong, it went against everything he was ever told…

Goro swallowed, the defiance of it bringing a searing heat to his own hardened cock in his slacks, a body tremor seizing through him as he lay defeated atop Akira, his face a slickened mess of his own and Akira’s making.

He could feel a deep heat settling over him, his mind in a haze. Despite his uncertainty, the guilt embedded deep within him, it felt good. It felt so good to just be here, settled with Kurusu, having him all to himself, however he wanted and needed him.

Despite his unconsciousness, like this Goro felt the warmth of being needed, Akira’s reliance on his touch, his neediness to feel completion brought Goro a pleasant feeling, the feeling of being wanted. The further he let himself slip, his mind wandering less, the more comfortable he was giving in to his desires, being at the point of no return was almost a comfort, he’d given himself over and it was too late to return.

Lulled by his haze, Akechi was pleased to see Akira somehow remained hard throughout this. He appeared to be mumbling something in his sleep, his face scrunched up as if in concentration.

“I wonder…” Akechi muttered as he watched from so low below, only catching the angle of Akira that was mostly his jaw and lower face, not able to make out the words. He looked effortlessly good like this, from this angle, Goro could see all the toned areas of his body, the sharpness of his face. He was so soft, his body slightly tan with the occasional scarring, his skin so warm to the touch, his waist almost cinched in in a way that was obscene for a man and yet he was effortlessly handsome in every way a man could hope to be… it enraged him.

Motivated by his sudden spike of annoyance, Goro slid himself to interlock over Akira, leaning in to his ear and whispering, “I hope you dare not betray me and dream of another. You deserve only my touch, even in your mind.”

Sighing in irritation, Goro only received silence.

“Doesn't it feel nice? I could tell it did…”

“Feels… A lot,” Akira responded in a drowsy, barely comprehensible tone.

Goro was indeed getting through to him, his voice was penetrating Akira’s dream. He could only wryly smile and lick over the shell of Akira’s ear before giving a final whisper for him to dream sweetly now that he was pleased with the outcome.

His hips were slotted over Akira’s in this position, he could feel his own erection painfully pulsing, desperate for anything at this point. He’s never felt such pathetic desperation in his life, it was almost laughable how close to the precipice he was from such little touch. Even now, the slight rubbing of his boxers and pants against himself as he put pressure down onto Akira’s hips with his own was enough to draw a hiss out of himself.

It was a good thing Akira wouldn't be seeing him like this.

Being around Akira Kurusu, it was as if he was under an aphrodisiac. His own personal drug, his body felt aflame, his mind addled with disgusting lust he couldn't contain. Even now, as he spoke, he could taste Akira, each swirl of his tongue as he moved his mouth a reminder of his own succumbing.

Eyes averted from himself, focusing on Akira’s sleeping face, he tugged his belt apart, letting it fall, next he let his fingers work at the button of his pants, freeing himself effectively and desperately trying to ignore the call of repressed shame that still remained. It was irrelevant now, all he needed was Akira.

He tugged his cock free, letting it spring out just enough so it settled with him still mostly clothed, his belt jangling around his waist and pants still up to his hips as he began to manhandle Akira.

In his most shameful moments, his hand on himself in the dark of night, usually after a visit to a familiar jazz bar, a night in Kichijoji, he would let the shower cascade over him as he envisioned himself being taken by Akira, then himself taking Akira in turn. In his wildest thoughts, he envisioned the both. The two fighting for the right to take, to be inside the other.

Even at this moment, he felt greedy, though he had been too ashamed to take the necessary precautions to engage in such intimacy… The act a process in which he felt too much humiliation in preparing himself at home beforehand, the thought of walking into the cafe establishment knowing he’d only fingered himself open hours before… It was far too much. His paranoia would be off the charts, he would have it in his thoughts constantly each time he looked at Kurusu. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he thought he might enjoy the risk.

What Goro liked the best, was the idea of control. Of exerting himself, showing Akira, Joker, who was the better of the two. To watch him cling onto their surroundings for dear life as Goro mercilessly took him for all he was worth, giving in to both of their primal needs and fucking Akira until he was dripping in Goro’s come, from the inside to his thighs. To watch his cocky smile slip into nothingness, mouth ajar and stupefied, surrounded to Goro’s will.

He got stuck on that imagery, rutting his hips into Akira as he fantasised, the feeling so much more tantalising and tangible on his bare length, twitching against Akira’s bare skin, able to feel the occasional bump of their erections together, the two of their heavy breathing intermingling. He could hardly think with each overwhelming spark of pleasure, oversensitive to it due to his prolonged denial. He couldn't tell if it had been hours since he’d started with Akira or only minutes, his perception of time and reality whittled down only to the object of his lust and obsession before him.

Overcome by the idea, Akechi gripped onto Akira’s hips and rolled him over so he was lay on his stomach, muttering a small “shut up” as Akira let out a grunt of protest in his unconscious state. Like this, he was able to see the swell of Akira’s ass in its completion and the expanse of his back, the occasional metaverse scar remaining, ones he’d likely hidden from his teammates, now all Goro’s to see. Perfect.

With no hesitation, he leaned in to hold onto Akira’s hips once more, feeling over his waist and finally digging his fingers in, finding surprise in the pleased grunt Akira let out. How depraved, he thought as he dug his nails in harder, earning more pleasured noises, Akira’s hips moving down into the thin mattress beneath them, the crates supporting it creaking.

“So pathetic…” Goro chuckled, though he was pleased. Akira truly did match him in every way, even in this regard.

Taking his own cock in his hand, Goro spread the cheeks of Akira’s ass, settling the tip of himself between there, letting the swell of his ass fall back into place as he let go, enveloping his cock.

“Ah…” Goro grunted, trembling from overstimulation so easily. He cursed how starved of touch he was, how easily it all got to him.

A small rut of his hips to test the waters had Goro hunching over Akira, holding onto him with a white knuckled grip. He could feel the friction was dry, but he felt too good to stop, his cock was occasionally pushing against Akira’s hole and the thought, the irrational though he could slip in had his head spinning. He felt like he was going mad.

Spitting onto his own hand, he brought it down to strok over his cock and fucked the wetness inbetween Akira, his ass becoming slickened with Goro’s pre-cum and spit, quickly creating obscence slick noises with each fuck of Goro’s hips forwards.

“Kurusu…” He groaned through gritted teeth, unable to tell the difference between appreciation and irritability towards the other at this point, all he knew was his body.

All Goro knew was the creaking over he bed becoming more violent, forcing Akira’s own hips down onto the bed, his cock trapped behind his stomach and the blankets being forced to rub against the surface of his bed. With every thrust, the pair of them let out barely held back low groans, the occasional keening whine coming from Goro as he hardly kept himself together. His thrusts sloppy and unpractised but full of frantic energy, the embrace of Akira around his length again and again an inexplicable feeling he could barely will himself to pace himself through.

Each time he pushed himself into the inexplicable heat of Akira, Goro could feel himself go more delirious. Chasing after that perfect friction, Goro moved his hands to hold onto Akira’s ass, shaping it and pushing the mass of it together to perfectly and more tightly hold his cock, making each movement more intense and tailored to his every fuck against him.

“Ah— Fuck….” Goro exclaimed, his voice hoarse from his impending release, chasing after it impatiently.

He ached for it, having denied himself in favour of Akira’s pleasure for so long, for his own selfish exploitation of his body. Now, Goro could take care of his own needs. Frantically fucking himself into Akira’s soft caress, the friction maddening now as Goro manipulated his body to shape around him.

Hanging his head down low as he sought out the precipice of his need, Goro’s hair hung down over his face, obscuring his view save for being able to watch as his own cock disappeared in and out of Akira’s ass. The length of his cock sliding in and then out, disappearing between him as if he was truly fucking him, the thought of such a thing bringing a lewd, long whine deep from Goro’s throat, a guttural sound as his hips began to stutter and shake.

His grip was slipping as Goro moved his hips at an unforgiving pace, the crates supporting the mattress squeaking in tandem with his heavy breaths and whines.

Even Akira began to let out muffled grunts, his cock rutting against the bed with each forceful movement. Each sound of his only encouraging Goro further, the two of them thoughtless and forced to succumb to their most carnal desires, consciously or not.

Like this, Goro could barely contain himself. He could only think of two things. Akira. The noises. Each slap of their skin on skin together emptied his brain and furthered the pressure dwelling within him, his core curling up tight as Goro gave his final few frantic thrusts, exhaling Akira’s name in small ashamed gasps as he spurted dribble after dribble of come in between Akira’s ass and over his lower back, tainting his skin with his release.

The feeling was so overwhelming, Goro momentarily able to focus solely on the breathlessness his release provided, placing his hands now over his own face, breathing heavy into them and hiding his face from the evidence of the sins he’d committed.

Oh. Oh god. He’d fucked Kurusu.

A few more heavy breaths, a draw back of his hips, cock twitching from sensitivity before falling back into place and softening against his own skin, Goro could only stare at the mesmerising splatter of come over Akira. Having claimed him, just as he imagined, even if it was only part way there.

It was both rewarding and yet grotesquely humbling, the sight a reminder of his depravity and lack of self control. Was he really so low, to have gone this far to gain what he wished for? Was he really this selfish?

Swiping a finger through the remains, Goro began to gather all of the mess on his fingers, feeling over the sticky consistency, his eyes trained on the way it clung to his fingers as he pulled it apart. Next, he reached around forwards to slot his fingers into Akira’s ajar, unconscious mouth, letting the come slather all over his tongue and lips, effectively cleaning the bodily evidence while still forcing Akira to have a reminder of his presence — a gamble but he highly doubted Akira would blame him. When did Akira ever create a claim against anyone? Especially not someone so true and close to him. He would never bring this up to anyone, even if he had a sparked suspicion. After all, he would be none the wiser like this.

Conflicted between leaving Akira claimed and come soaked for the morning after or cleaned and wiped of the afterward evidence, Goro chose the latter, wiping off the major splatters and savouring the shiver and goosebumps along Akira’s bare skin of his back as he guilty took away what he’d hoped for others to find, to see and know what was rightfully Goro’s. Despite his shame, there was a deeper sense of satisfaction, to know this memory was his alone, putting him on a pedestal above the others he shed jealousy for in their lives. It was a pathetic attempt at rising above them, but it was all he had.

Each thought seeping into his once emptied, spilled out mind brought Goro back to his senses and the further he was dragged back to his rationality, the quicker he struggled. He was dirtied, tainted, on his knees with his own uniform slightly smeared with the evidence of his depravity and there, worst of all, was Kurusu.

Akira, splayed beautifully on his stomach, hips slightly raised, breathing heavy in sleep, still rotating his hips ever so slightly. It was almost like second nature to him now, thoughtless bending to Goro’s whims. He would almost feel bad, a mixture of disgust and fixation whirling around in his mind — a typical experience for when he looked upon the other male regardless.

Like this, Goro couldn't stand to be in the scene much longer, but he was much more dignified than to leave without a peep. Akira was more than that, more than just a body to be used. He wasn't like those men, those who would come in and leave in the middle of the night, creaking across the floorboards and leaving her with the aftermath. He felt queasy to even imagine it.

So instead, Goro found it within himself, almost ritualistically, to put things as they should be. He re-applied his soiled leather over his hands, the fitted material like an old comfort now, he could touch over Akira’s skin to clean it with less worry, less thought. Wiping over the skin with a damp cloth, gently, carefully despite the blank look on his own face.

He didn’t know how he was going to go without this happening again. Guilt be damned, it was akin to being starving and then stealing from the banquet of the bourgeoisie, he would forever remember the taste of it, the feel of it all in his hands. Akira’s hair lay so beautifully across the pillow, his hands curled into fists as he helplessly defiled Goro’s mouth. All of it. He needed more. Akira was the only person he could have this with, he couldn't give this up now.

A sudden stop came to the movements of the wet cloth, instead giving Akira a soft kiss over his head, flustering at the meaning of it. The acceptance he was showing, grateful for the privacy of the darkness and Akira’s slumbering breaths. A secret for only himself, allowing himself to pet through Akira’s hair once. Then twice, his greed forever beating him. Then, as if facing a great loss, he pulled Akira’s clothes back over him, gingerly letting the shirt fall back to his waist, his soft sweatpants tugged over lastly, Goro sparing a last glance before tucking the blanket over him.

He’d be back only tomorrow, he reassured under his breath, though who he wasn’t sure. Stepping away, his footsteps feeling louder than ever as he reached the top of the stairs, a hand lingering on the banister.

Though, he’d return under false pretences. As it always was.

Casting a glance down the stairs, to the looming darkness, Goro took each step, returning to the life he had before this. To knowing what he wanted the most was out of reach.

But it was what was best, for the both of them.