Archive of Our Own

“Every part of you belongs to me.”

Trailing his gloved fingers over the bare flesh of his thigh, he savoured every hair that was raised, the dips of muscles that existed solely for him. Each passing caress pressed with the purpose of savouring the warmth of the body before him, able to feel the vivid heat even despite the separation between italian leather and bare skin, a signifier he was alive and conscious. Here with him, existing only for Akechi in this moment.

Against the attic wall, they could both feel the breeze hitting them from the window that was slightly ajar. Akira particularly offering an occasional shudder from its cruel draft, forced to rely on Akechi’s warmth from where he sat behind him, feeling small and vulnerable between his legs.

He was trapped there, his heart and soul bare, each part of his skin that was slowly revealed under his partners manipulation forming goosebumps, a sleeved arm firmly keeping his back pressed against Akechi’s front.

“Hold out your hand, Akira,” Akechi commanded, tapping his thigh as an implicit instruction.

As if he was malleable, puppeteering him, he coerced Akira’s fingers to spread evenly, tracing a finger up and over from his index to his thumb. If the two of them were any others sharing closeness, hushed whispers, exchanges in the dark, this would be a kind gesture, one of intimacy, in some ways it was, Akechi implying the intimate omniscience of knowing where each nick on Akira’s fingers was from the twirling of a dagger, a pen, the hard work he continually put in day-in day-out, the feel of his skeletal structure under each layer of flesh, every single part of this, owned, claimed, to be his for the taking. Layer by layer, Akira was Akechi’s to be known, the tightening of his grip around him pushing out the air from his lungs, arm pressed against his diaphragm, another reminder of his control. Body, soul and mind, Akechi never did things halfway, Akira was either his in absolution or not at all.

Each finger was held out straight, presented nicely, cleanly for him. Both of their gazes fixed on their joint hands, Akira bewitched by the sight. He could never look away too long when it came to Akechi, for then he would show weakness, an opening. Even in submission, they had to be at odds with one another, it would be boring otherwise. Silent competition always hanging between them, even if unspoken. A given. A never ending mutual morbid curiosity in one another.

“So dexterous, Kurusu-kun…” Akechi spoke mockingly, a sharpness seeped under his honeyed tone. He made sure to keep his lips close to Akira’s ears and neck, letting his breath rest and tingle against his skin, finding satisfaction in watching the hairs stick up.

“What would you do without them? I wonder.”

With that, he bent one of Akira’s fingers inwards harshly, breathing out a gentle curt laugh at Akira’s intake of breath.

“Now, now, that wouldn’t be enough to break. We both know that. I’m sure you’re thinking about it, after all. No doubt you’ve mulled over better ideas in that pretty head of yours.”

Akira nodded in response, his mind always coming particularly blank in moments like these, doll-like in his surrender. It was a willing give of control, a solace he found in a moment of nothingness, comfort found in the familiar talks of destruction and violence. A mutual need for them both.

“I’d dislodge it well, though fixable. Give you the grace of wearing a bandage over it, with only you and I knowing the true reason for the handicap,” Akechi started to murmur as he ran his fingers carefully over the bumps of his knuckles, one by one, the protrusions highlighting the veins that also showed on the skin of Akira’s hands, some bulged out more than others, a clear sign of his strength, yet here he was, a willing victim.

“Every time you tried to write, hold something. Anything, touch another person. The sting of your broken ligament… It would taunt you,” He continued on, a depraved curiosity lilted in his voice. Leaning in to whisper against the curve of Akira’s ear, “A reminder. I’m still here. Your pain still belongs to me.”

“Do you know how long it takes to typically heal a broken bone? A finger, specifically,” He tested him, the question somewhat rhetorical, as a threat, but he knew Akira would dare to try to answer, he always did.

As a gloved finger pressed down harshly onto his pointer, Akira exhaled a shaken breath before answering in a low tone, as assured as possible, “Uh… I can imagine at least a month, depends on the break.”

“Uncertain? It’d take a matter of months. I could put your hands out of commission for quite a while. Because, of course, once I’d taken one, why not two?”

As Akechi went along, he dipped each finger inwards to Akira’s palm with a fierceness, counting as he went along until all of his fingers curved inwards, remaining with a puppeteered clenched palm. His leather fitted hand suddenly gripped over his entire fist, Akechi pressing one kiss to his ear, then to his neck, pulling some of his longer nape hair aside for better access.

“They often compare a clenched hand to the size of your heart, though yours would feel more grotesque than this. Can you imagine it? Ripped out of your chest, disconnected from your innards, in my hold. Seems correct, does it not? Though, typically, the biggest trophy of all was always the head, more gruesome, a clear cut way of showing triumph in battle. I know you’d prefer something much more sentimental, the irony of it. If I were to steal your own heart, after all.”

“Not as simple as just… ripping it out,” Akira murmured, regretting the comment as it slipped out, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. As if he’d laid himself out on the chopping block, knowing better than to rebuttal Akechi, especially not in a position like this, though he was always a glutton for punishment, and he rarely didn’t enjoy the discipline. Another card Akechi knew and held however, he knew not to fall into Akira’s whims of enjoying either or.

“You think I don’t know that?” Akechi mocked, venom in his voice despite the amused tone, shoving away Akira’s hand in favour for placing two hands on both sides of his upper chest, trailing up and down, letting his fingers slip under the oversized sleep shirt to feel over the indents of his flesh, finding ribs in tow.

“Breaking you apart, having your chest wide open, like a cavity, would be a delight. Cracking your ribs apart, the protector of your innards and feeling between your lungs and such to reach what I so crave, to disconnect it, rip it out from all ventricles and connectors, your blood unable to circulate any longer, your entire life's function in my hand. That’s all a part of the process, don’t you worry, dear Akira. You think I would forget?” Akechi spoke intensely, each method and step pointed, emphasising the name of each organ and bodily function to drive home the threat of destruction.

“Haah— Of course not,” Akira breathed out, his mind full of putrid thoughts of gloved hands plunged into him, in more ways than one. The surgical precision of Akechi running a finger from his sternum to navel, whispering in his ear threats of scalpels, of leaving him open and raw for all to see, sending a thrilling chill down his spine.

“You really are a vile creature, Kurusu-kun. To think, the leader of the infamous vigilante group, in my hands, melting at the thought of being broken apart. You’re honestly a fraud,” Akechi drove his point home by sliding his fingers back to his waist, up and down. Nails digging in through his gloves as hard as he could, the only barrier between him and Akira stopping him from scraping permanent red, raw indents, drawing blood.

Akira squirmed under his touch, the incessant touches leading him teetering between anticipation and disappointment. He knew better than to expect more from Akechi, sometimes he just liked to toy with him, leave him sprung and dry. Expecting more, to have greed, was a flaw, he had to be patient. Being patient and good would work the best for him in this scenario, especially when Akechi was in a particularly sadistic mood, such as this one, prone to inflicting torture and to sow no reward. This was enough for him, after all. Akira’s pain was his gratification alone.

“Did you hear me?” Akechi hissed as he gripped Akira’s chin, forcing him to face him by tilting him with aggression to look over his shoulder, a scornful look on Akechi’s face. “Tell me, Akira. Tell me how much of a fraud you are.”

To drive the point further, Akechi moved his spare hand to grab onto Akira’s hip, tracing circles from his waist to the surface of his thigh, that being enough to coax a sharp gasp from Akira’s lips, his leg trembling from sensitivity. It’d been a long time since they’d gotten this far, since he’d touched Akira like this at all.

“I’m— I’m sorry, Akechi,” Akira spoke quickly as if he had all the air knocked out of him, his hips squirming, each time his hands inched inwards to his inner thigh, he squirmed further involuntarily, cursing himself, knowing Akechi would see, use this as something to pick on.

“I… I’m a liar. I’m nothing special,” Akira’s words were uncertain, clearly still thinking as he produced them, which wasn't good enough for Akechi.

“You disappoint me.”

Hands removed from Akira’s skin suddenly, he sat in anticipation, not wanting to crane his neck to look at Akechi behind him, to show his disappointment. He instead listened to Akechi’s slight increase in breath to hear his irritation, trying to make out both of their silhouettes from the slight reflection in the TV screen across from his mattress. Akira was too proud to degrade himself any further, feeling his throat dried at the fact he even spoke the few words he did.

Sometimes, this is all it would be. As if going further was a secret privilege, and neither of them ever discussed it before or after. It would break the sanctity of it, of the hunt, the thrill of it all. Some days Akechi had more time than others, but he was lucky to know the details, if ever. Some days were more bold than others, Akechi pressing him into his tinkering table after a thief meeting, kissing his lips raw and bruised, a leg between his and leaving as if nothing happened. Other days, it was like this, calculated, unpredictable. He didn’t know when Akechi would come and go, constantly on edge, yearning with greed for a little more than the last time. To see Akechi’s mask slip one more time, see the underlying cruelty, feel it rawer than ever. He’d never been this far yet. Half naked in Akechi’s hold, while he was fully equipped behind him, his belt digging into his back and his blazer outline pressed firmly against him. It was new, he was ashamed to say he liked the vulnerable feeling. Being this far along meant potentially more, that the detective might finally get his hands dirty. But if they went so far, would he ever come back?

Only time would tell, and Akira was practically a dead man walking, no clue what the clock held for him, yet he lay in the arms of the man shortening his time.

“I thought I would give you some time to try and correct your pathetic attempt, but it seems you’re not that bright,” Akechi spoke in his princely tone, as if mocking Akira on purpose by speaking through his former facade, the false quirk of his lips clear through his voice alone.

An arm snakes around Akira with a swiftness, a pointed finger poked harshly into his chest where his bundled shirt lay, his stomach still slightly exposed. It was threateningly gentle as Akechi trailed his fingers over him, walking his fingers from above his heart to his collarbone, feeling it under his shirt. A pleased hum resounded as he felt there, the quality of how they dipped in a reminder of Akira’s fragility in this position.

Akechi’s violence may only extend with a gun laden with supernatural power, and a call for chaos that instilled deadly consequences half of the time, but it made this all the more special. All of his need for physicality, for viscera and real sinew that wasn’t that of a shadow saved solely for Akira, malleable for his own taking. Akira, a prisoner of his own lust, clear to Akechi that being his sole motivation in this moment, and every encounter before it, handing over his self-autonomy just for a potential of fulfilling a lesser base instinct. How sad, if only he knew.

Like this, they both felt as if they were gaining exactly as they wanted, unaware of their shared needs and wants. The shared need for cruelty laden with desire dug deep into them, each counterpart only accepting of one half more so than the other. Unable to communicate, as to not break the smoke and mirrors of an innocent connection, Akechi’s betrayal was a fragile topic neither of them could dare breach. Unbeknownst that Akira was the holder of such information regardless.

Motivated by Akira’s stiffness, unreacting, Akechi ensnared him further, wrapping his arm tighter in, grasping him in his hold.

“Some really heavy petting today, huh?” Akira joked, as if to lighten the mood, nervously tapping his own fingers against the bed, arms at his own sides to give Akechi full access to his front.

“I like you better when you stay quiet,” Akechi hissed, aggravated by the comment.

Making good on the irritation, he grasped Akira’s throat tightly, his fingers digging into his windpipe, feeling the edges of it under his hand. The way it shook with his sharp intake of breath. Good, Akechi thought to himself, he’d need it.

Like this, it served as another reminder, that in his hands alone lay Akira’s life, his fingers gripping against his windpipe with the threat to crush or rip it out with nothing more purpose than self serving malice and violent perversion. It made good on his comment too, as Akira felt strained to speak, Akechi’s hand pressing hard against his adams apple to a point he felt he should pre-cautionary gasp for air, hold it and predict his next move, defy it. Ever moving, ever changing, always competing, otherwise it’d be boring, they both felt this way, even in the case of such blatant harm, both receiver and recipient hanging on the edge of each other's words and actions.

“I could tear your throat out or, less messy, I could twist it at such a right angle you’d completely snap unconscious, with a possibility of being fatal. Though, my grip would be better a little further up for that. I’d strip your last words straight from your mouth. No more rebuttals, no more comedic one-liners, just sweet silence,” Akechi spoke with a fervour, his words flowing one after the other with a swiftness to show his clear enthusiasm, the idea of conquering Akira in any way a pleasing thought.

Calculatedly, his thumb and forefinger came to a formation to hold down on either side of Akira’s throat, feeling the edges of his windpipe truly beneath his hands to savour it as he applied increasing pressure, purposely drawing the air from him.

Akira squirmed a little, a low aggravated groan sounding out in rebuttal, not letting Akechi get his way easily, almost like a warning growl. Shooting his own arm up to grasp at Akechi’s hand around his throat, trying to pry up each finger against him and gasping in with each slight reprieve, hearing an angry hiss and tut in response.

“You’re like a feral animal, reaping all the benefits of placid attention but hit and struggle when disciplined. You should be lucky I’m even here, Kurusu. We both know you can handle this, let yourself ease into it,” Akechi hissed his words at first, letting himself coax into a slightly more reassuring tone. Akira could be scared all he liked, but they both knew deep down very little was off limits just from the sparring they’d done alone in the past, going further each time. He made it clear that his presence here was a luxury, they rarely got to spend time alone like this, with both of their packed schedules, especially so unmasked in a way Akechi had never let Akira delve into before. A way he knew Akira had been trying to pry him apart to see into and that he would get a glimpse, to the worst inner workings of his wants only and nothing else.

“I suppose I’ll educate you some more. Asphyxiation is rarely fatal, I’d have to be a lot harsher than this, think of this like a pin-prick, I’m slowly drawing air from your lungs. You’re not even gasping, yet you panic, because you know what I could do. Would you believe me if I said I’ve come across a case of auto-erotic asphyixation in the past? A man, dead with a plastic bag over his head and a raunchy magazine beside him. A case I wasn’t meant to come by, as a high school detective, but sometimes I get curious seeing files on desks on boring late nights. Salarymen really do get rather out of control, hm?”

He was purposely keeping Akira distracted by his voice, though his own wears were finely tuned to hearing Akira breathe in his first small gasps, being too stubborn at first to show signs of proper struggle, his hand still gripping at Akechi’s atop his, yet he was unrelenting in his hold. It was more for show, than anything. Their dynamic lay well in place the second Akira agreed to sit before him. Unspoken roles handed out between them, but they were always changing, ever fluid, hard to pin each other down, which is why Akechi revelled in his small victory in this current moment.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, I fear to tell you it’s currently occupied,” Akechi poked fun at Akira’s attempts to tear him away. Sighing at having to swat him away, yet again, gripping his hand with a snarl and holding his wrist in his grasp, Akira breathing in as he was let go and heaving ever so slightly.

Through small intakes, Akira exhaled a string of words he could manage, “At least ask… a guy first.”

“So you draw the line at choking but not at me discussing ripping out your innards?”

Akira let out a little snicker, not easy to placate easily, “Actions are a lot different than words. Forgive a guy for not wanting to pass out.”

“Then trust in me that I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh yeah? And why is that?” Akira teased breathlessly, shooting a look over his shoulder, his tousled black hair hanging over his face, shadowing it, a challenging glint in his grey eyes.

“I have no intentions in cutting his short. It’d be a waste of my time. That is reason enough. Do I really have to address the elephant in the room that is your… predilection toward violence? I’m not doing anything I think is out of bounds.”

With that, Akira faltered for a moment, not expecting words to be so openly spoken. He’d always imagined this happening with no negotiation, no words, just Akechi holding him down and doing as he wished. He couldn’t help his inherent instinct to protect himself, it was built into him to take control, there was a shame that came in giving himself over, especially to a rival figure.

“Touchè. You’re the one here, Mister Prince, instigating this. Hand on my throat. What could be said about you?”

“Turning it on me, classy. Very clever, do you want a reward?” Akechi spat, frustrated, his hand still gripping Akira’s, revelling in that small remaining control.

“You mentioned discipline and now reward, if I didn’t know any better, I’d take you for some kind of social deviant. The accuser is never too far from the accusation," He rebuttalled, a small smirk back on his face, letting his head fall against Akechi’s padded blazer shoulder, tilting his head upwards to remain a gaze that went unshared. The shame and prodding clearly getting under Akechi’s skin, riling him up purposely to see where it would take them.

“Checkmate then. You’re just as morbidly inclined, I’m not impressed, I’d like to continue, albeit I’ll be more… considerate. You had called yourself a liar earlier, after all. Where did that version of you go, hm?”

Akira could sense Akechi getting cold feet, the reality of what they were doing kicking in the more they talked. Talking didn’t help prolonging these things, it reminded Akechi of his life outside, how this clashed with everything. His image, his reputation, his politeness. He’d said once through the phone, Akira was the one person who saw him like this. The intimacy of that was one they both couldn’t address, not with constantly being at a head. This was a secret, a secret they tried to keep even from themselves, in denial, refusing to give it words or then it would become too real. Too whole. For Akechi, specifically. He shouldn’t be doing this, neither of them should albeit they were drawn together under the shroud of shared yearning for malice and adrenaline, the sound of grinding teeth and blows into one another with matching grins. They were a matching set, two sides of the same sadomasochistic coin.

“Moment of weakness,” Akira responded a little less confidently, the reminder of his earlier self degradation whittling him down slightly.

“Is this not all a moment of weakness? Your friends dislike me, after all. You’ve led the supposed lion straight into your den and made me comfortable, then presented me with fresh meat. It’s only fitting I’d want to devour such a thing,” Akechi spoke in a honeyed tone underlined with venom, his fingers stroking over Akira’s wrist, finally indulging Akira by tilting his own gaze down to see the mess of a boy slung against him, his hair strewn across the beige fabric. Mischief yet something pathetic stricken in his eyes that bore into his, a sight Akechi would have burned into his retinas from this day forth, even if he denied it endlessly in his own consciousness.

“Then devour,” Akira murmured and averted his gaze, there still being an unspoken hesitation in the air, the wrongness of this hanging over them. “If I stop you, you’ll know. Until then, don’t.”

“It must be hard, letting yourself be so malleable. Though, we already established your leadership as a false face,” Akechi spoke, softening slightly under Akira’s admission of wanting to have control taken from him. Finally mutually getting somewhere.

Lifting both of Akira’s wrists up, he pressed them together, feeling the bones of his wrists amidst the muscles and veins atop his skin. The evidence of Akira’s strength, time spent to shape himself into something anew through sweat and physical work, to be stronger, now in his hold. The thought of it electrifying.

“You’re quite deft with these hands, we can’t be having that now.”

Making good on his word, Akechi leaned back slightly, leaving Akira’s wrists held with only one hand, left wondering what the small tells of rustling were to inevitably lead to.

Though his suspicions were thrown off as he was swiftly handled by striped fabric snaking around his wrists, arms shackled around him from behind as Akechi worked at tugging the fabric of his tie tight around his connected joints, threading them through in a ring around each hand and knotting them in a loop until they were masterfully conjoined in a way so, if he were to tug, resistance would meet him and only being trapped would remain.

Akira stared at the ties dumbfounded, thinking to himself he’d never be able to look at Akechi’s tie the same way again after this. He’d always have the memory and knowledge that it was once used as an instrument of restraint.

“Now…” Akechi broke the silence with a lilt of laughter in his voice, tilting Akira’s head up with a no longer occupied hand and leaning to whisper in his ear. “You can’t get in the way.”

Akira huffed and tested the ties, trying to rotate his wrists and flex his fingers, but that was the best he could do. He could feel it snagging on him as he tried to move his wrists side to side. If he really wanted, he could headbutt him, throw them over, he had a thousand escape plans, a natural instinct to him now, yet he let himself be ensnared, relished in it, that he had this chance, even if a part of him felt a seed of guilt about it. This isn’t who he was meant to be.

“I can practically hear you thinking, that won’t do.”

Still in grasp, he nudged Akira to place his wrists in his own lap and whispered a small praise for keeping them there, before bringing his hand back to Akira’s throat. His hand cupped each side as they ran up and down the surface, teasing him with the threat of pressure again.

“You’ll find it a lot more enjoyable if you let your mind empty, Kurusu-kun. See, this… Focus on your breathing, let that be your anchor. Let your thoughts whittle down to nothing but that one function, breathing…”

As he spoke, he pressed his fingers inwards, holding on with a practised slowly increasing effort, feeling the skin gather between his fingers as he pinched it together. He could feel Akira’s inner neck muscles twitch as he struggled, learning to give in.

“See. We’ll go in counts, and see how high you can get to. Let’s start with a ten second count.”

In a drawn out, coy tone, Akechi spoke each number counting consecutively, with each number pressing tighter, harder, hearing Akira struggle, gasp every so often. Until he let go.

“Good. You sound satisfying like that, catching your breath under my hand. Can you try again?”

With a nod from a breathless, flushed Akira, they started a twenty count, to which Akira let out a struggled whine and shook his head the best he could as Akechi tried to pull away at twenty.

“Getting a taste for this? Oh, Kurusu. You really are depraved.”

Akira closed his eyes and sat stiffly still against Akechi as the control continued, his brain feeling light, like he could barely think. He could feel a head rush coming on, only able to focus on gasping short breaths, struggling, enjoying that struggle. He couldn’t think, he revelled in that. In having his circulation cut off, his consciousness turning to a mush of panic over breathing and little else over time.

Spurred on by the sight, left with little else to do than to hold his throat, Akechi accidentally let a pleased hum of a noise slip, pressing himself downwards to nip at the side of Akira’s nape, biting down there, imagining the blood flow under, the system that kept him alive, all consistently flowing and under his hands. His mercy.

“Ak… Akeh— Akechi….” Akira struggled out, strained and gasping, his eyes wide as he was truly struggling for air, eyes wet with instinctive tears.

It was this moment, both of them felt a surge of morbid warmth rush through them. Akira, in the excitement of if he might choose to not let go. Akechi, in the pleasure of seeing Akira succumb and struggle, truly struggle.

“There we go. Good boy,” Akechi chuckled, letting Akira struggle a little longer until he began squirming against him, trying to break out, letting go at the precipice of his suffering.

“Haah— Ah…. Fuck…..” Akira gasped for breath, curling inwards and heaving, letting out small low whines as his chest stung from the heaving and sudden rush of being able to control his own breathing again.

It was in this moment, he felt compelled to kiss Akechi, the endorphins and head rush from the post-asphyxiation making him reckless and heedy, but he held off. One of the many elephants in the room was what was and wasn’t off limits, scared to do too much and cause Akechi to flee the scene.

It was clear, at least, his feelings were reciprocal, pressing himself back into Akechi’s chest and hold from behind him, he could feel a distinct shape from Akechi’s lower half, his legs spread on either side of Akira, propped up, but he could tell. Could feel his own lower half in turn, warmth blossoming in a sickening amount as arousal came over him from the realisation that he nearly just passed out from Akechi’s cruelty, the real Akechi. Not a false mirage.

They both stayed in silence for a little while, the main sound being that of Akira’s eventually steadying breathing, struggling to sit entirely still, and it seemed Akechi was a little reckless now too, leaning over to reach the more hunched over state of Akira in recovery to continue his assault of bites and sloppy presses of his lips against his neck. Not quite kisses, open mouthed things that alternated between teeth, tongue and leaving trails of spit. Possessive markings, confident and uncovering knowing Akira often wore high collar shirts anyway. And if someone saw? He had plenty of suitors to blame this on, to Akechi’s own distaste.

To his pleasant surprise, Akira seemed to be sensitive on his nape particularly, each particularly hard bite eliciting a strangled low whine, each soft suck after to lessen the pain bringing forth an exhale, exhales which increased to eventual pants between held back noises. He didn’t expect Akira to be so vocal, in his own way, clearly holding them back, yet even in his attempted periods of quiet, he would exhale loudly through his nose or stutter a particular breath. He was learning to read him over time, the biting particularly doing the worst damage, the surprise and sting bringing forth his first plea out of Akira’s mouth, a whispered ‘stop’ but they both knew he didn’t mean it. It being followed by a ‘please’ as Akechi bit particularly hard onto the space in between his neck and shoulder, Akira’s hands being thrusted in frustration out of the pain and increasing tension in the room onto the mattress to relieve some of his struggle.

“Do something already,” Akira spoke in a harsh tone, almost commanding, akin to that of his metaverse cadence, earning a scoff from Akechi against his skin.

“You don’t scare me. Something? What exactly would that be? I might indulge you, if you can use your words, since you think you’re in a position to make demands.”

“Don’t stop.”

“But am I not doing something right now? I’ve only stopped at your interruption.”

“Other than… this.”

“Vague. Not good enough. You think I want to defile myself on you? You’ll have to say more than that to compel me.”

“Keep… touching me. Like before.”

Akechi hummed somewhat satisfied and drew back, manhandling Akira to be pressed entirely flush against him once more, using one of his own legs to cross it atop Akira’s and spread them slightly ajar, still caged in by his own. His back firmly against the wall to cushion them both somewhat, Akira completely depended on Akechi to keep him up like this with no free hands. It was beginning to strain on them both a little, having sat like this for a while now, but the unspoken intimacy and adrenaline made the discomfort a minor thought for them.

“Are you used to being touched often, Kurusu?” Akechi asked brazenly, letting his fingers skim over the skin of his stomach and over Akira’s waistband, causing his breath to hitch.

“Depends on what perimeters we’re talking.”

“Don’t play coy.”

“Like any other regularly healthy guy my age, I’m pretty used to my own. Only one other girl back in my home town, a mistake.”

“Mistake?”

Akira took a moment to respond, his head a little fuzzy from the earlier violence and the current sweeps of nervousness yet warmth in his stomach as Akechi teased over his exposed navel, wishing his waistband wasn’t so far tugged up, that there wasn’t a belt in the way. So many steps he knew Akechi could use against him.

“I was… bored.”

“Hah— Of course. Then what isn’t boring? This?”

As he punctuated his last word, his fingers dug lightly under the weight of his belt and waistband, as if to toy with him, to make a point. Dig for praise.

“No…. Not boring. Never, not with you,” Akira spoke, but the words meant a lot more than that. Akechi was the one person he felt like saw through his layers, his maroon eyes piercing right through any mask or facade.

“Likewise. Though, most healthy guys your age, as you put it, don’t actively seek out being choked and metaphorically gored to get off.”

Akira almost choked at the vulgarity, it being one of the most blunt phrases Akechi had said so far.

“You started with all that, I just listened.”

“Then what is this, exactly?” Akechi drew out each word with a predatorial sweetened cadence.

His hips jolting simultaneously towards and away from his touch as Akechi placed a firm hand over Akira’s bulge through his uniform pants, stroking his thumb over the defined length of it.

“Shut up, Akechi.”

With that, Akechi tipped his head back and laughed something closer to a giggle, as if he forced it on purpose just to aggravate him, letting his torture inflicting hand go further by fully sweeping his whole palm up and down over the shape of his erection, flicking his wrist as he reached over the tip end, earning a repressed low noise each time between clenched teeth.

“If I had to make a true hypothesis, I’d say you like this more than you’re willing to admit. You were in this state the last time I cornered you, all it took was one cheap threat in your ear and you were over-eager. Pathetic,” Akechi purposely spoke rather unaffected with an over exaggerated yawn though on the contrary his free arm wrestled to grip around Akira’s middle, holding him in tight, restraining in his hold Akira’s held together arms and keeping his shirt shucked up onto upper abdomen.

“Can’t even use your own hands, entirely dependent on mine. If I was a perverted fool like you, I’d already have gotten my hands dirty. It would’ve been easy, you would've been easy. You’re begging for it right now, with each minute hip movement. You need this. Any other ‘average’ peer your age would’ve been hand-in-pants with you, furiously seeking to end it in a matter of minutes, a means to an end. A bore. But that isn’t me, is it, Akira?”

“I already said—“

Frustrated by the response, Akechi cut him off with a tut, before allowing him the chance to speak again.

“No. This is… better.”

“Good, you’ll learn to treat me better. I’d rather die than touch filth like you. You understand? I’d find more enjoyment in your suffering than this.”

“Then… tell me. Speak to me again like before.”

A compromise. Though, Akira enjoyed both outcomes. Curious to know what it would, will feel like. Will he keep his gloves on? Or does he get to feel Akechi’s bare hand against him? Will he be clinical, unbothered as he removes his belt and pants or will it be harsh and uncaring…

Ever unpredictable, Akechi made a wet noise that filled the silence as he wet his lips, throat dry from the incessant speaking, another privilege Akira should be grateful for. He let them sit in that silence for a moment, let Akira sit in anticipation, instead focusing on teasing his clothed hardness, applying pressure on the ball of his palm as he dragged it up and down, slowly working it into a cupping motion, particularly stroking him in a fervour through his uniform alone.

“Ah— Akechi…. Fuck…” Akira let each word slip out between forced out breaths, each uptake of his hand forcing out another hushed whine or the like in his low, throaty tone. Another thing Akechi despised, his baritone-esque tone of voice, how naturally it came to him.

He had to admit, he did slightly understand why this was satisfying alone. Being in control of Akira’s pleasure like this, seeing him increase in sensitivity and desperation the longer he waited, it had its own appeal. But without a violent touch, it lost its personal edge to Akechi, and he had a suspicion Akira felt the same.

Removing his hand, he swatted over his thigh, achieving an initial disappointed whine followed by a startled deep gasp. That was what he needed.

“It could be a lot worse. My bare palm would strike harder, especially on bare skin. Though, that’d hurt my hand. I’d prefer something less… taxing. Maybe I'd knock the air out of you again,” Akechi indulged them both again by voicing his depraved, sadism laden fantasies.

Curling his hand into a fist, he held it against Akira’s stomach, “I could punch you here. Square in the gut, like a target, knocks you dizzy and defenseless, since you seem to like that.”

Akira nodded, once, then twice. The thought of it, of anything that wasn’t nothing, that wasn’t being neglected, he’d ask for anything if it came from Akechi’s hand at this point, the edges of his mind blurring under his increasing desperation from being repeatedly strung along and left without anything of satisfaction in the past.

“Oh? You agree? Even being punched isn’t off limits? To think you were complaining earlier. Hm, maybe some other time. When I’m not focused… On other things….”

Returning back to his original point of focus, leather covered hands fiddled with the loop and buckle and tugged them apart, able to focus his intentions now on tantalisingly slowly undoing the top button, then gripping the zip between his fingers. Akira’s hips twitching as he did so in anticipation, a comment of ‘down boy’ being murmured in retaliation, taking his time in response with pulling it down to the end.

“You’re lucky my hands aren’t free,” Akira complained, his eyes squeezed closed out of frustration, said hands squirming in their restraint.

Ignoring the comment, Akechi stayed almost threateningly silent for once, sliding his hand under the plaid pants to feel over the surface of Akira’s boxers, finding where the outline of his erection lay and pressing a purposeful tip of his finger against the small wet patch there.

“Ah— Sensitive…” He reacted without thinking, Akira’s head still in a state of blurriness due to feeling so vulnerable. This was his first time being touched properly too, but his counterpart didn’t ask for that specific detail earlier. A bit of clothed playfulness with a girl paled in comparison to the raw touch of a boy with nothing but stated malice towards him, each shred of Akechi’s attention addictive. Though his touch was a newfound addiction.

Growing bolder, Akechi began to resume his earlier methods, stroking up and over the length of him through the fabric, making Akira whine each time, increasingly leaking and twitching underneath, desperate to feel him properly, nothing between them, just skin on skin. His mind conjuring images of Akechi tucking hair behind his ear, between his legs in front of him, stroking his bare erection, rather than the current torture he was being put through.

“You’re probably close just from this, I’d hazard a guess,” Akechi broke his silence, teasing and focusing on stroking the clothed tip of Akira’s length, earning another buck of his hips and a groan. “You see, I don’t feel like getting my hands dirty. Neither will I be removing a single article of my dress, including my gloves. So, if you feel like whoring yourself out, do that at your own leisure.”

“But…. I thought you were going to touch me,” Akira spoke almost brokenly, rocking his hips into Akechi’s touch while he still had it.

“Oh, I am. Clearly, this isn’t enough for you. I certainly would need more than a bit of fondling. I’ll be generous enough to free you from your confines of your underwear, if you wish, what… with your, hands tied and such. However, I refuse to dirty myself or my gloves, I doubt you could afford to reimburse me.”

“You… threw one at me. Don’t act like it’s a big deal,” Akira spoke through gritted teeth, aggravated due to frustration, pent up as Akechi went back to barely scraping over his erection with a single finger.

“I could very well ask for it back. Stains are… a different issue. Unless, you have something to tell me, Kurusu?” Akechi replied coyly, tracing circles around the outline of Akira’s tip, making it harder for him to speak.

“No. Fuck— No, not at all…” Akira denied.

“Well, for the record. You can keep that one, my treat. For when you’re trying to imagine what I never gave you.”

Akira thrashed out of frustration in Akechi’s hold, his irritation leading to him turning around and throwing his legs over Akechi’s lap to face him, breathing heavily as he stared down directly at Akechi, his glasses askew and his shirt falling down where he balanced on his knees.

“Oh, so scary. Whatever will you do with limited coordination?”

Locking eyes with intensity, Akira used his hands despite the handicap to tug his cock out of the pocket hole of his boxers, that way he could use his restrained hands to rut his bare cock against them, whining as he did so. In the next moment, wrapping his two hands around what of his length he could grasp, the image of Akechi’s tie dangling onto his own cock as he thrusted into his own hands a reminder of their predicament, that this was real.

“Ah, so you’ve bested me in order to make a fool of yourself. Well, go ahead. Put on a show for me, Joker.”

The use of name he’d come to know so well from Akechi’s lips in the past weeks, a symbol of his nearing betrayal, knowing oh so much, caused Akira to whine and thrust into his own hands harder. Each hint of guilt in his gut also served to create a morbid arousal, knowing the man in front of him fully intended to end him, that he meant every threat, made his heart race. Biting on his bottom lip, Akira kept going with vigour, knowing if he kept up like this he’d be lucky if he managed to cum onto Akechi’s pants, his thighs, to piss him off. Earn more of his attention, good or bad, it was all the same in the end, forever playing a game of cat and mouse with the detective.

“Akec— Akechi…. Please,” Akira played up his own display, wetting his lips with his tongue purposely, letting saliva dribble down off of his tongue to elicit a lewd display. His hair shadowing his face, the sounds of his thrusts into his hands growing messier, wetter as he grew closer.

“Please what, exactly?” Akechi asked with a self satisfied smirk, using a hand to palm at himself subtly now, the other gripping onto Akira’s hip possessively, rubbing circles into his pelvic bone.

“Do what you want to me, anything…” He spoke in an almost slurred tone, almost drunk off of the attention and the high of finally having Akechi like this, even if he was being given barely anything at all.

“Aren’t you a sweet thing when you’re desperate? Begging, offering me your own misery… Reach out your hands.”

Struggling to take his hands off himself, but wanting to be good above all else, to have Akechi’s interest, he eventually did so, a slight tremor in his legs, shaky from the desperation, the denial.

“Good boy, Kurusu. Here, a reward. Makes it easier, a piece of me…”

Leaning towards Akira’s held out clasped hands, he spat into them, letting his saliva drip between and onto his fingers.

“There. Use my saliva to get yourself off.”

It was slightly humiliating yet thrilling to place his hands back on himself gingerly, feeling the slickened texture of his cupped hands, knowing with each touch he was smearing himself in Akechi’s spit, while the other boy remained completely pristine. Untouched. He defiled himself before Akechi’s eyes, desperate enough to get off he’d use the other’s saliva to do so, serving as a makeshift lube, not that he needed it.

“Do you remember what I said? About how your body belongs to me? I say that because it knows me more than anyone else, even against your mental will. Your physical reflexes in battle, mine. No-one else spars with you quite like I. Your increased mental wit. And now this, your carnal desires, belong to me. Each time you touch yourself, from here on, you’ll be able to picture me in your pathetic excuse for a bed. Won’t you, Akira?”

“Ye— Yeah…. I already can, already have…”

Laughing slightly, Akechi increased the pressure and speed he was palming himself at, sighing before speaking, “I imagined so. I have teased you in the past, after all. Though I didn’t know how far your attraction stretched, if at all.”

Akira was spurred on further by seeing Akechi also clearly aroused enough to touch himself, even if it was through his slacks. The sight enough to make his dick twitch in his hands, frustrated by his own lack of technique, unable to do much than hold onto himself and fuck, almost animalistically, only able to think of his own chase for release, for a quick thrill, to see Akechi get off in turn, anything to give him the rush he needed. Being with Akechi made him feel like this, off the rails, not ever truly thinking, he couldn’t help himself, he needed this, needed him. His thoughts a mantra of that, a repetition of ‘need him’ and ‘want him’ over and over as he stared down at Akechi’s bulge, trying to make out any solid details behind his crooked frames on his own face and slightly wet eyes.

“What is really getting me off, Kurusu, is imagining the burns you’re going to have on your wrists after this, knowing you’re pushing through the pain of the friction just to pathetically seek release. I want more, I want to see you struggle, I want to see you conquered by me and me alone,” As Akechi spoke, he quickened his own pace, sounding more and more manic as he words went along, revelling in this, in knowing they were both just as twisted as the other.

“Hurt me— Fuck. Something, if it… is good for you. It’ll get me off too, wreck me. Destroy me. I don’t care how. Something, anything intense, so I can’t think anymore.”

Their shared manic, lust drunk spiels compelled them both into a state of almost colliding into one another, Akechi manhandling Akira onto his knees, instructing him not to stop what he was doing but dragging him by his hair to his crotch.

Like this, Akira struggled to adjust, Akechi’s tight grip on his hair tugging every so often just to create pin pricks on pain on his scalp, earning Akira to thrust into his restrained hands and plant himself face first onto Akechi’s lower half, his scent filled with his unique musk as he breathed it in, whining and committing it to memory.

“I don’t care what you have to do, make me feel good.”

Which is how Akira ended up sucking and licking through the fabric of Akechi’s pants, struggling to hold himself up and thrust into his own hands at the same time, having to choose between prioritising one or the other, but each time he stopped using his mouth, Akechi would tug on his curls again.

“Fine. If it gets you to focus more, here.”

From behind his head, Akechi threw a stray pillow, a sad limp thing, to Akira, helping nudge it with his own leg between Akira’s kneeling form. In a state of brain fog and irritation, Akira bared no shame as he saddled the pillow, grunting in relief as his cock slid between a particular fold of the raised pillow, rutting into it as he resumed licking over Akechi.

“A stray earlier did… Ah— suits you well. Hmn, hah— you become so… pliant like this. Like a bitch in heat, rutting against your own bed. A pillow is enough for you, hm? Drooling all over me… If you weren’t so vile I’d use your mouth properly.”

Akira’s mind could barely focus on the words, his hips beginning to hurt from the amount of strain put on them to get himself off, huffing and panting against Akechi between licks, sucking over him and groaning low in his throat in complaint that this wasn’t enough. He’d never done it before, yet in this moment all he wanted was the real thing in his mouth, to feel the true weight of what lay behind the confines of Akechi’s slacks. Entirely clothed and practically unbothered aside from the occasionally stutter, Akechi rested against the wall yet still, in contrast Akira was exerting raw force to get the right angle of friction, missing the feeling of Akechi’s spit, of his hands, yet at least this was easier. The scent of Akechi’s arousal, the twitch of his cock under his pants spurring him on, his own dick twitching, threatening to spill all over his own pillow, looking up at Akechi with pleading eyes, breaking out from licks to murmur he was close, his voice cracking.

“Come then. Show me what a sorry excuse of a mess you can make of yourself.”

Gripping his gloved hand deeper into Akira’s hair, purposely tugging and fussing with the locks, Akira grew frantic, the bed making creaks and screeching against the floor as the crates rustled underneath his efforts, groans and whines sounding out as he used his tied wrists to hold the pillow down, momentarily selfish but head still pressed in to smell Akechi, to be close to the proof of their mutual depravity as he grew closer and closer. His stomach tightening, his mind entirely foggy.

“Be a good boy for me and let go, Kurusu,” Akechi spoke through ragged breaths, lifting up Akira’s head by his hair and slapping him. The force giving out a loud smack, Akira whining and nodding.

“You’re going to earn a taste for this if you’re not careful. Maybe you already have.”

Smack. Another harsh slap before letting go.

As Akechi’s grip released him, Akira felt the sting on his cheek, grunting loudly and practically falling face first back to his spot on Akechi’s crotch eagerly, inhaling as he gave out his final desperate thrusts, feeling the tingle of aches across his whole body, particularly fresh on his head and cheek, whining out muffled expletives and some broken form of Akechi’s name as he fucked into the pillow one last time, releasing all over it’s surface. Gasping for breath, yet still pushing himself to try and suckle onto the tip of Akechi’s clothed erection, not wanting to be scolded again, his mind focused on wanting to be purposeful, to make Akechi not leave this time.

In his aftershocks, he could only stay on his knees, breathing heavy and pausing his motions, yet still licking over Akechi, the static in his brain mellowing out, so this time he could truly focus on him. On Akechi’s each miniscule reaction, each stutter of his breath, the occasional muttered curse. It was precious, he needed more. Ever selfless, always unfulfilled if not filling a role, Akira needed to give this to Akechi just as much as he needed that release. Cutting off his sloppy drooling and sucking to admire the wet patch he’d left behind on Akechi’s slack, mentally quipping to himself that Akechi was a hypocrite for claiming he didn’t want to make a mess of himself yet allowing this.

“I— I can… Get you off properly,” Akira spoke, and it was almost as if he’d broke the bubble they were both in, Akechi blinking down at him and smiling pleasantly.

“Oh, how quaint. You’ve only just thought to offer that now? Now you’ve achieved your own satisfaction.”

“You said— You… You didn’t want to be dirty.”

“Well, obviously I would’ve declined your mouth, and to clarify, I still am. Simply pointing out your selfishness. If you truly care, then here, lay down for me.”

Sheepishly, Akira pulled himself off from the pillow, moving it to the floor for now, knowing it was cum stained and prone to get on either of them, and lay instead against the harsh mattress of the bed. Uncertain of what would come next, his restrained hands began to ache now too, his wrists turning a red hur under the tie material.

“I’m going to let your hands go, so you can do a proper job. And you’re going to lay there and let me asphyxiate you, one last time, and apply what you learned from earlier. I want to finish as I see you struggle, most of all I want it to be from your touch, even as you gasp for breath.”

The admission threw Akira back a little, but he should learn to not be surprised after tonight what came out of Akechi’s mouth, only nodding and holding his wrists out, feeling relief yet a sick anticipation in his gut, his freed wrists only meant another duty to fulfill, not complete freedom from Akechi’s whims.

Unbuttoning a couple of his top shirt buttons, Akechi sighed and also adjusted his hair as he straddled Akira’s torso, situating himself there comfortably. And despite being above waist level, Akira flustered at the visual, a self indulgent part of him able to twist the sight into a potential scene of Akechi atop him, to be inside him. To which Akechi was clearly taking advantage of, smiling as he felt up over Akira’s chest, up and over the hardened nipples over his shirt, stopping there to tease them and arch his own back to sit pretty. A display, on purpose of course. The pair of them as depraved as the other.

“Hm, how will you explain the wrist marks, I wonder…” Akechi whispered sultrily as he brought his hands up Akira’s chest and to rest over his throat, a surprised breath escaping Akira.

“If I’m lucky, you’ll have handprints here. You’ll maybe even grow a taste for this, perhaps I should teach you, so you can do it yourself… I personally like seeing how stupified it makes you, seeing everything drain away except for panic and gasping. I like you best when you’re struggling, Joker.”

To make good on his word, Akechi enclosed a hand around his windpipe once more, the pair of them more used to the routine now. Akira more slipped into a stupefied mindset, able to let himself enjoy the struggle, the pressure, to watch and enjoy Akechi’s predatorial expression as he aimed to take his breath away, using his newfound hand freedom to seek out Akechi’s slacks once more. Twisting his wrists to loosen them a little before finding a patch that was still wet, knowing he was on target, his vision blurry and struggling due to the choking sensation, his eyes welling with tears again as he struggled to breathe.

Feeling the twitch of Akechi’s erection under his hands, feeling his hands twitch subtly against his throat, Akira was affirmed he was doing this right, and that Akechi wouldn’t need much to push him over at this point. With fewer limitations than before, Akira was able to mimic almost as Akechi was doing earlier, pressing down harshly onto him and tilting his wrist on each upstroke over his hardness, revelling in each whine and whimper Akechi let out. He could feel his own arousal spurring inevitably again, from the feeling of the pain combined with the evidence of Akechi’s pleasure, a combo he’d come to be familiar with and yearn for, all he could need in this moment.

“Kurusu— Cry for me… Don’t you dare let go, don’t give up on me,” Akechi whined high and haughtily as he let go of his windpipe momentarily, thrusting into Akira’s hands, his maroon eyes focused in on his expression, on the rise and fall of his chest struggling, feeling his throat muscles struggle and twitch beneath his hands. His own dick twitches under Akira’s control. All of this a combined mistake, a mistake he’d yearned for, needed. To see Akira at his lowest, yet he knew he couldn’t quite let him fully go, thinking of his purpose that awaited him in only a matter of weeks. Blood, viscera. Akira. Akira, Akira, Akira.

“Ak— Akechi…” Akira struggled in response, Akechi chasing his release in his own weakened state of mind, a whine of Akira’s name slipping out from his mental mantra as he reached the precipice of his desperation, uncaring he’d make a mess of himself at this point, not having originally planned on finishing at all for this reason.

Yet, it was as if he couldn’t stop, pushed by a rabid drive, zeroing in on applying harsh pressure to Akira’s throat, each gasp spurring a thrust of his hips into hands that weren’t his own, an instinctual reaction — as Akira gasped and gaped he used that as his cue to push forward.

And push forward he did, until he twitched one final time against Akira’s hands, releasing his unrelenting hold as he came, whining into the open air and trembling atop the other boy, his auburn locks falling onto one half of his face as he slugged somewhat lopsided in the overstimulation that came afterwards, not used to it feeling so intense. Rarely ever indulging in such things as carnal needs ever at all.

Watching Akechi find his peak as Akira began to stream tears and plead, he found just as much relief as air rushed back into his lungs, grasping out to hold onto the inner fabric of Akechi’s thighs for purchase as he shot up, catching his breath, painfully aware of his own reaction to seeing Akechi unabashedly vulnerable yet so powerful, a combination he didn’t know if he could quit after tonight.

The room was full with their coupled breathing, one more violent than the other, the two coming to their senses after being caught in a whirlwind of morbid exploration, fractured self promises and broken unspoken boundaries. It was sobering, to stare at one another and remember they were still in the small attic space, in the aftermath of their decision to push each other's buttons after another group meeting. Yet now sticky and knowing far more about each other than before, far closer than ever before. That thought unsettled Akechi, however the realisation he’d come to learn more of Akechi thrilled Akira. Who had truly gained what here, neither of them knew. It was in the end, a mutually disastrous decision neither of them could fully regret, an actualisation of their worst fantasies.

“So, uh. Same time next week?” Akira tried to lessen the tension, feeling himself cringe as the words slipped, nodding towards the fact they had another palace meeting coming up in their shared group schedule.

Glaring daggers, Akechi sat up and grimaced at the sticky feeling, rising off of the bed and brushing himself off. Akira was an utter mess, his shirt in all kinds of directions, cheeks flushed, glasses barely hanging on and worstly, his dick was half hard still tucked out of his boxers.

“You’re an utter freak, Kurusu,” Akechi spat, leaning forward to pick up his tie where it was strewn across the end of the bed with his nose scrunched up, his own heart beating in his chest. Not knowing quite where to go from here, how to justify his own actions, how to easily slip back into the polite, kind boy he was only mere hours ago.

Yet, his regret fell short as Akira wasn’t phased, only laughed at his insult and tried to put himself a bit more back together in turn, pulling his shirt down and fixing his glasses, his lower half adjusted back into proper decency.

“So, is this it? You’re going to keep… cornering me, toying with me and pretend it never happened,” Akira questioned coyly, shuffling to sit comfortably against the wall, raising an eyebrow.

“We both know this isn’t practical.”

“Yet you said I belong to you, that you think of me,” Akira rebuttaled, his quip a little too fast, vulnerable.

“You’re a criminal. I’m blackmailing you, to remind you. Grow some sense, Kurusu,” Akechi criticised, knowing he was pushing himself away, knowing he couldn’t keep letting himself get so close, not so soon to the upcoming deadline. Bask in the glory of his victory he may still come to do, he felt a pang of confusion at the knowledge this wasn’t an everlasting thing, that he couldn’t quite grasp that yet. He wished he felt nothing, instead he felt too much, a hatred that was all consuming, a need to consume Akira for all he was worth, in a way he couldn’t control.

“Right,” Akira replied, his tone short and small, low in town, fingers twiddling his front bangs.

“I’ll be needing you to let me out. And I’ll need… to use your restroom,” Akechi broke the awkward air.

“Mm, figured.”

They collected Akechi’s belongings back into his attache case, the pair of them respectively freshening up in the bathroom, returning back as the time passed on into their rigid dynamic, as if someone was watching, judging. It frustrated them both, but they were also mutually painfully aware that closeness only meant for it to be harder in the future. There could be no soft kisses, no goodbyes, no maybes, no what ifs.

Only, Akira sat in a lone booth downstairs, waiting for the tap in the bathroom to turn off, for Akechi to be done, key one hand, twirling it around as he waited. He kept replaying the scenes in his head over and over, of slaps against his face, letting his own hand feel over the surface, imagining it. He doubted that would be the last time he’d do that, like a person longing after the sensation of their first kiss feeling their lips, but all Akira had to go by was the familiar feeling of a palm swatted on his face. Yet, he feel his cheeks heat up, knowing that Akechi’s violence was precious to him in its own right. It was special to just him.

It was weird yet not entirely uncomfortable silence as Akira walked Akechi to the door, the sign flipped to closed long ago, all the lights off in the cafe, lit only by the light from upstairs and the streetlamps flitting in through the glass of the door. It shone onto Akechi’s face as he looked down and around awkwardly, like he wanted to say something, to say more, but he couldn’t.

“You know, we don’t have to talk about this—“

“Don’t fool yourself, or us for that matter. There is nothing sane about letting me do that to you and then letting it go.”

“It… doesn’t change how I see you. You know I’m the same. We both went too far back then, the duel. We both needed this.”

“It was a foolish mistake, Kurusu-kun. I can’t explain what came over me,” Akechi spoke, his tone practised. Readied, as if he’d rehearsed it.

It stung.

“Sure, right. Well, I was joking but, I will see you next week?”

“Of course.”

“And… If I see you around?”

“I fear my schedule is quite packed. I won’t be available.”

“Ah, yeah. I should’ve figured.”

The silence continued, yet they both still stood there, beside the door as Akira worked at the lock, the click resounding as he turned it hesitantly into place Yet, Akechi made no hurry to step through it yet, case in one hand, his fist clenched on the other side.

“Can I… kiss you?” Akira blurted, turning around from the door he’d seconds ago unlocked.

Akechi averted his eyes, looking down. Not responding. He couldn’t let himself. Words stuck in his throat. This was all too confusing, he couldn't walk out of the door, to just left and let the bell hit the door as he did so. To let the final chime be Akira’s reminder this isn’t what they were, what they never would be.

Yet, he was the one to break the distance, gripping Akira harshly by the shoulders and tugging him in, his last glimpse before he closed his own eyes were Akira’s widened set. His lips colliding messily against him, feeling the other respond in return, messy, unpractised. Almost innocent if it weren’t for the noises and grasping, Akechi growing greedier, fisting his hand back into Akira’s hair, Akira responding in turn by grabbing around Akechi’s waist. Kissing each other breathless with little to no technique, just doing what feels right, a representation of all of this, just reckless abandon.

They broke apart with Akechi pushing Akira, wiping his own mouth and breathing heavily. The pair of them were dumbfounded, surprised. Not sure whether to slip back into pleasantries or not. To try and remain in their old patterns of goodbyes, palace talks and plan-making.

“Goodnight, Kurusu,” Akechi panic uttered before opening the door and slipping out, ignoring that he never heard the door shut behind him and that Akira had indefinitely watched him walk down the street, hurriedly and towards the direction of the station, avoiding the streetlamps to blend into the shadows, hoping one day they’d swallow him whole.