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As much as he wants to think they’re getting closer, Akira is starting to really get tired of having to figure out the keywords for a corrupt politician’s palace. And not just any politician either, the one who had falsely accused Akira and given him a criminal record in the first place was behind everything.
He had been thrown out from his hometown and outcast at Shujin, then drugged and beaten by the police after being sold out, all tracing back to Shido one way or another. Seeing the man earlier that day had settled it for him, the same voice ringing in his ears from all those months ago.
But they still didn’t have his keywords, and that meant Akira still wasn’t able to stray far from Leblanc. Having to pretend he was dead really wasn’t as exciting as he thought it would be, since he was confined to the cafe or the Thieves’ company. It felt like they didn’t trust him not to fall over and die for real, everyone always keeping watch on him and rarely leaving him alone longer than a few minutes.
It’s not as bad as it was the first day out of the interrogation room, when his head had still been pounding from where some cop had kicked him, or how he swore he still felt the drugs lingering in his system. The Thieves are a loud bunch, and it’s not like he ever said anything to suggest they try and keep their voices down, so he can hardly blame them.
But Akira likes to think he’s pretty resilient, so after a few days rest all he thinks really remains from his time locked up are the bruises that need more time to heal. Most of them are easy to hide with his clothes, and his hoodie pulled over his head is enough to get him out of Leblanc for a short while without giving away his identity to anyone who may be watching.
So even though Akira’s head may not ache anymore, it’s been taken over with thoughts of not only Shido, but with Akechi as well. Just before they had gone out to see Shido’s speech, one of Akechi’s interviews had aired on TV, letting everyone know about his part in taking down the Phantom Thieves.
Akira had to keep himself quiet as it aired, the Detective Prince’s sweet and charming voice echoing throughout the cafe as everyone voiced complaints and vitriol towards the traitor. Shido may be behind everything that happened throughout the year and to Akira, but Akechi had been the one to truly stab Akira in the back, selling him out and finishing him off in the cold and gray room.
Nothing was ever personal with Shido, the man would walk over anyone and anything to get what he wants without a care of who they are. But Akechi knew Akira, had practically gone on several fucking dates with him and seemed to actually be interested by Akira. And yet he had chosen against Akira, despite everything they’d done together and how ‘special’ Akira was to him.
“That’s the same strategy used in romance, wouldn’t you agree?”
Akira lies in bed and Akechi’s words repeat themselves in his head, and yet Akira still can’t figure out what to think about his rival. He’s frustrated and can’t even go do anything about it since he is dead to everyone in the world but a select few.
Can’t do anything about Akechi, Shido, the bruises scattered across his body, the missing keywords. He can’t even jack himself off and try to distract himself since Mona insists on following him even to the bathroom when he’s awake, because apparently he might fall over from a sudden headache or something.
It’s late at night, Morgana curled up and asleep at his side while the cool night air flows in from the open window. Going on his phone will just greet him with multitudes of Detective Prince news and pictures, his fans gushing over how brave and smart he is to infiltrate and take down the Phantom Thieves, so that’s a no.
Akira can see the sky from where he lays, the stars glittering and nearly putting Yusuke’s plastic ones to shame. The sight isn’t enough to put his mind at ease, flashes of a fake and practiced smile at the forefront of his thoughts. Akira wonders how much Akechi had lied about in the time he’s known him, how much he’d said and done just for the sake of playing Akira how he wanted.
“This is stupid .”
Akira says to no one, his only audience being a sleeping not-cat cat who doesn’t stir from his words. He needs to do something, needs to find anything that will take his attention even for a moment. Anything that will distract him from thinking so much about Goro Akechi.
Moving carefully, he lifts himself off his bed and watches Morgana for any signs of movement. He’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves after all, so he puts his expertise to use and painstakingly sneaks his way over to the stairs, grabbing his jacket on the way. He tiptoes down to the cafe, surveying the area and how much noise he can make without getting picked up from Futaba’s bugs.
Realizing he forgot his phone in his bed and can’t pull up Akechi’s fan pages for jerk off material, Akira decides he wants to get out of the cafe on his own for the first time in days. He’s about half way towards the door and debating how he’ll handle the bell when he hears Morgana’s footsteps at the stairs.
“Akira? Where are you going? It’s late and you know you shouldn’t be out by yourself.”
He’ll have to work on sneaking around better, even if Mona just has some type of heightened cat ears that gave him away. Already caught and Morgana’s voice loud enough that the bug’s definitely pick up, Akira stops and takes the time to put his jacket on.
“I’m just gonna walk around the area, Mona. I need some fresh air and have to get my mind off things.”
“Are you sure? What if someone recognizes you? It’s dangerous, Joker.”
Akira sighs and walks over to Morgana, crouching down to pet his fur.
“There’s no one around at this hour, don’t worry. Just trust me, okay? Go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.”
Morgana hesitates but eventually nods his head, telling Akira to be safe and then walking back up the stairs. Akira’s not sure how Futaba will take the conversation when she hears it, but he can handle telling her he really did just need to take a walk out. He hopes it’s late enough that even she will be asleep to not hear it yet.
Pulling the hoodie over his head, Akira walks out of Leblanc and breathes in the night, feeling the cold air brush on his face. It’s dark and empty in the backstreets, some light from lamp posts and signs illuminating the area enough to navigate it. He’s never been out here this late, when there’s no voices and all you can hear are the cars in the distance and bugs cricketing. His glasses were left in the attic, there’s no one around for him to put up a front anyway.
It’s refreshing and he takes in the atmosphere as he walks down towards Takemi’s clinic and the theater. He feels bad that most of his confidants think he’s dead, but hopefully once they figure out Shido’s keywords things will change for the better.
He bumps into a bike rack he didn’t see in the dark, a corner hitting right on one of his bruises on his side and racking a hiss out of him. Akira stands there for a moment, putting his hand over the bruise and thinking back to the interrogation room inadvertently.
There were so many kicks and punches thrown at him, but really he thinks the worst part was the needles. The imagery and feeling of one daring to come near his skin occupies his mind, and Akira presses down on the bruise to stop the thoughts.
He closes his eyes and groans from the pain, not really surprised to find how much he enjoys the feeling. He’s always been kind of an adrenaline junkie, feeling so alive when fighting a strong shadow or even the Reaper. He loved feeling the hits from such a powerful opponent just for him to beat it and watch it crumble to dust like it was nothing to him.
So Akira had fucking loved when Akechi challenged him to a duel in Mementos back in November. The two of them trading blows and using their personas and weapons to beat the other down, how easy it was to read Akechi’s true intentions now. He’d gone back to Leblanc that night and locked himself in the bathroom for hours, using Akechi’s glove to jack off and thinking about their fight and Akechi’s words afterwards. How he would survive Akechi’s attempted assassination and reign over him, beating him like any shadow and taming him to join Akira.
But now he was thinking about Akechi again, it really felt inevitable at this point. Akira tries thinking about what the Thieves are going to do tomorrow to find the keywords as he walks back to Leblanc. He’ll probably just try and find some show to watch in bed until he falls asleep, but the walk was nice.
When he rounds the corner he sees a silhouette just past the cafe’s door, near the area where the old man usually sits with the radio. It’s hard to make out the details in the dark, but he can tell the figure is facing towards Leblanc. Akira starts to panic a bit, is it one of Shido’s men? Did they see him earlier and were waiting to catch him when he came back?
He doesn’t think there’s a point in turning back around without looking suspicious, so he risks it and heads to Leblanc’s door. As he walks, the figure starts to get clearer, wearing a face mask and their hair tied back. They seem to be stuck in some sort of trance, their gaze locked on Leblanc and paying Akira no mind.
It doesn’t seem like one of Shido’s men, they would likely have made a move by now, so maybe they were just lost or drunk? Akira’s reached the door by now, and his instincts yell at him to just get inside and probably tell Morgana about the person outside.
But he can’t help the feeling that maybe the person needs help, and he’s nothing if not a helper to others. Against his better judgment, Akira turns back towards the person and tries to get a better look at them, but the mask obscures most of their face.
“Hey, are you alright? It’s late out here, but do you need help?”
Akira takes a few cautious steps towards the person, and as he speaks the figure’s eyes seem to snap out of whatever they were in and lock onto Akira. They open in surprise but then quickly narrow, and Akira suddenly feels just what an idiot he really is.
It’s the eyes that make it clear to Akira, the reddish stare that he has engraved into his mind pierces into him and roots him in place. He looks at the hair that is tied back in a ponytail and curses himself for not being able to recognize his beloved rival sooner.
They feel stuck frozen in time, the moment lasting only seconds but feeling like a lifetime as they take stock of each other. Akechi is dressed nothing like Akira’s ever seen him, wearing jeans and a plain black shirt that was clearly meant to draw little attention.
His would-be murderer recovers first, marching towards Akira with a look that certainly spells Akira’s doom out for him. The rapidly approaching assassin drives Akira to react out of pure instinct, adrenaline pumping through his body and taking over his actions. He won’t let Akechi win, won’t let him get the upper hand he so desperately wants.
Akechi is about to get his hands on him when Akira grabs him, using all his strength to take hold of the traitor and manhandle him into the nearby cramped laundromat. Better to avoid Futaba figuring out he’s been found out until he gets a handle on the situation. He has to cover Akechi’s mouth when he starts to talk, worried he might wake up the whole neighborhood and give Akira’s identity away.
Akechi rewards him with a bite when he gets pushed against a machine, and Akira pushes him aside to hold his marked up hand. The teeth marks are deep and Akira thinks it’ll probably leave a scar.
“What’s wrong with you?! Shooting me wasn’t enough? You bite hard!”
Akira tries to keep his yelling as hushed as he can, so it comes out as a shout-like whisper, but Akechi doesn’t seem to hold Akira’s concerns. He scoffs and adjusts himself from where Akira had pushed him, not even looking pleased with himself as he stares down Akira with a murderous glare.
“I can do a lot worse, Kurusu . But you already know that all too well, don’t you? Maybe I just have to do a better job of it this time, you always were fucking stubborn.”
This was really bad, as in completely throwing a wrench in all of their plans and getting rid of any sort of advantage they had. Even if Akechi didn’t kill him here and now, and Akira is certain his rival is planning how to dispose of his body right at this moment, there was the risk he’d act as the good loyal assassin and report back to Shido anyway.
It’s just Akira’s luck that he would run into the one person he shouldn’t, dooming himself and likely all of his friends in the meantime. But what are the odds for it happening anyway? What was Akechi even doing outside Leblanc at this hour? There’s no way he could have suspected Akira was anything but dead and he didn’t care about the Thieves, so there was no obvious reason he’d be there.
“Why are you even here, Akechi? And keep your voice down, unless you want the whole neighborhood to know the Detective Prince is a murderer who lurks around cafes.”
Akechi took off the mask when he was fixing himself, blessing Akira with a beautifully pissed off face. There’s decent lighting in the cramped room from the bathhouse and vending machine, so Akira can see Akechi’s face much clearer than before.
There’s a flash of something for a split second on Akechi’s face, but it’s gone so fast that Akira doesn’t get to process the look. Whatever it was is covered up by a sneer, Akechi studying Akira’s face just as well in the light.
“Maybe I wanted to come see all of your precious friends mope around without their beloved leader. They really are useless without you, Joker, it’s a wonder you ever kept them alive for so long.”
It’s a stupid excuse, but Akechi smiles with a twisted sort of cruelty, coming closer to Akira and reaching up towards his face. He brushes a thumb right in the middle of Akira’s forehead, staring at the unscarred skin while he imagines the hole he put there, now a thing of the past.
“But I must say, these bruises really do suit you… I thought I’d never see them again after that night. My favorite part is missing though, care to explain it to me, Joker?”
Of course he wants to know how Akira survived, and it’s probably enough to consume Akechi’s thoughts in return for Akira’s own struggles. Why should he tell him anything? It’s not like Akechi trusted Akira enough to tell him about where he gets his orders from, or why he worked with Shido at all.
Whatever screwed up reason Akechi had for coming to Leblanc doesn’t get rid of everything he’s done, to Akira and to his friends. He still wants to help Akechi somehow, but he can’t shake how frustrated and pissed he’s felt ever since they discovered the truth about Akechi. It’s only gotten worse after his arrest and recollection about Shido, a bottled up mess of emotions confined to a small cafe.
But maybe Akechi really did care about Akira in some twisted way, since he was so kind as to bring himself to Akira when he was reaching the height of frustration. Akechi presses down on a bruise on Akira’s cheek and Akira swallows down a groan, Akechi’s face clearly annoyed at being ignored for a couple moments.
“Are you still delusional from what those fuckers did? Maybe I’ll just put you out of your misery right here since you c— hm !”
His voice is cut off when Akira grabs his chin and smashes their lips together, ignoring the stinging from any pressure on his marks. Akechi takes a moment to respond, kissing back for a few seconds before he tears away and looks at Akira with disgust.
“Is that your pathetic attempt to distract me? It won’t work, you’re gonna tell me everything about what you and your band of idiots have been up to. If I like what I hear, maybe I’ll consider just shooting you again instead of strangling you slowly.”
Akira looks at Akechi’s lips, how they shine from their kiss and thinks he wouldn’t mind if Akechi did either of those things. After they deal with Shido though, Akira’s not one to leave things unfinished. A look at Akechi shows he’s serious, snarling at him and enraged that Akira would have the audacity to not answer him.
But Akechi picked the wrong night to piss Akira off, here in the cold and lonely night, and after days of dealing with an aching body that Akechi played a part in. Yet here Akechi stands, making demands and acting like Akira’s done something wrong by surviving.
There’s no hiding between them anymore, their true nature exposed to each other now and begging to explode and take them both down. They couldn’t go as far as they wanted back during their duel, but Akira thinks it’s high time Akechi shows just how much he can take as well. His perfectly maintained skin would probably look so beautiful with bruises to match Akira’s own, his face mirroring how Akira felt in that miserable interrogation room.
“Shut up already, Crow. Don’t act like you didn’t come to Leblanc for no reason. Looking for anything to help you feel something? It’s sloppy and you know it, so why—“ Akira’s words are cut off when Akechi’s fist crashes right into his jaw, knocking him to the side. It lands right on a bruise, making the pain flare up and sting from both sources.
Akira snaps his head towards Akechi and takes in his disheveled look, eyes filled with a wild look. “Fucking seriously, Akechi? That all you—“ Akira clenches his fist mid sentence to retaliate but is stopped when Akechi seals their lips together again.
Neither of them break away this time, lips locked together in a violent and rough kiss, the two of them gripping onto each other like they were seconds away from biting each other’s tongues off. Akechi tries pushing himself off of the washer Akira has him pressed against, but his efforts are thwarted when Akira takes hold of his hair and yanks hard .
Akechi moans into Akira’s mouth, returning the favor by biting down onto Akira’s lip and drawing some blood. He licks at Akira’s lips, tasting the iron and blood before sucking on the area and moving his hands to Akira’s jacket, trying to pull it off. Akira stops him, grabbing hold of his arms and placing them between Akechi’s body and the machine, pushing Akechi hard enough to keep his hands pinned.
Akechi glances behind himself, eyes narrowing at his trapped hands and turning back to Akira with an open mouth, ready to chide him. Akira acts fast, using his hands to grab Akechi’s face at his chin and hair and brings their mouths together again in an open mouthed kiss. He shoves his tongue in his mouth, angling Akechi’s head with both hands and pushing him down to get a better vantage. Akira licks the insides of Akechi’s mouth, tongue exploring and tasting his warm mouth.
Akira slides their tongues together, rubbing slowly and tasting hints of blood in the kiss. Then he stills Akechi’s head, and tries shoving his tongue as deep into Akechi’s mouth as it would go. He’s practically inhaling Akechi’s face, his tongue reaching and licking the back of his mouth, trying to settle itself and make its home there. A few well placed licks and prods cause Akechi’s body to convulse, his gag reflex triggering and trying to get the intruder out, but Akira’s having too much fun feeling him squirm against him.
Lost in his mouth, Akira doesn’t notice that Akechi’s managed to free his hands and pushes Akira out of his mouth. He coughs and recovers from the fucking his mouth just experienced, looking back up at Akira with eyes filled with both hunger and defiance.
Akira glances down and notices Akechi’s bulge, already so hard just from some kissing, it was almost endearing. But Akira was still the only one marked up here, and it was only fair that his rival be branded like Akira was, the two of them bound together in every way they can.
While Akechi steadies his breath, Akira takes hold of him and twists his body around, his back facing Akira and front pressed against the single washer. “Ah, w-what are you doing?” Akechi tenses up now that he can’t see Akira’s movements, anticipating what he’ll do next and holding his breath.
Akira doesn’t answer him, instead he moves Akechi’s ponytailed hair to the side to expose his neck, the long creamy skin bared to him with a pull of his shirt. He can hear Akechi release a breath, then hitching when Akira’s mouth descends down to his neck.
Akechi gasps, his senses focusing on the hot mouth sucking down hard at his skin, moving and searching for a sweet spot. It doesn’t take long, Akira’s mouth stopping in place when Akechi moans from pressure at a certain area. Akira doubles down, sucking on the spot for a while before biting down.
It’s hard enough that it’s sure to leave a mark, but Akira’s just getting started at branding Akechi as his. He alternates between sucking and biting, moving to different spots along Akechi’s neck and shoulders in order to bruise him up. Akechi whines from the feeling, his voice pitching and body grinding back into Akira’s growing dick through their clothes.
Akira licks each mark he makes, inspecting them with a scrutinizing look to ensure the redness doesn’t fade away and going back to the ones that do. With a hand gripping Akechi’s hair, the other snakes its way into Akechi’s shirt, going up and groping his chest and nipples. He uses his nails to circle around the pert mounds, digging in with a scratch and teasing his nipples with the occasional flick.
“Ah… fuck! Harder… need more, Kurusu.”
It’s hard to resist when Akechi keeps moaning and grinding back into his dick, but he can still hear the defiance and haughtiness in his voice. It won’t do. Akira needs Akechi broken and cockdrunk under him, needs him to see what it’s like to be bruised and marked. He needs to be the one to beat Akechi in this game of theirs, the one Akechi seems to always think he’s winning somehow.
Akira removes his hand with a hard pinch to Akechi’s nipples, interrupting his whine by pushing him to bend over the washer. Despite their location, Akira shows no care when he rips Akechi’s pants and underwear down, baring his ass to the cool night air.
He takes the fat cheeks into his hand, squeezing the flesh and groaning at how big they are in his hands. His ass feels so soft and plushy, Akira rubbing them up and down with squeezes here and there to see the skin move. Akira can’t help himself and spreads Akechi open, hungrily zeroing in on the cute pink hole that greets him happily.
But it’s not the tight and puckered up hole Akira had been expecting, the one he dreams about eating out and prepping with his tongue. Instead he’s met with a moderately loose and wet hole, clear indication of having been used and fucked sometime that night. Akira feels his body heat up from anger and jealousy, at the idea of Akechi getting fucked open by someone else, some nameless stranger.
He stares at the clean shaven and used hole for a while, his grip tightening around Akechi’s ass and envisioning all the ways Akechi could have been dicked down in a manner of seconds. There’s no traces of cum from what he can see, so Akechi probably had the mind to not let whoever it was come inside him.
But it begs the question, had Akechi really gone out tonight to get fucked and then come by Leblanc afterwards? Maybe Akira really had been right and Akechi was being mindlessly reckless after shooting Akira. A step closer to whatever he was trying to achieve and yet unable to forget Akira.
“Having trouble, Kurusu? Surely you know what to do over there, or have I overestimated you after all?” Akechi’s smug voice rings through Akira’s ears, like he knows full well what Akira is seeing and thinking without any shame or care at all.
What a fucking slut.
Akira shoves a finger into Akechi’s loose hole, getting a feel for how used and wet he already was. Enough time has probably passed since then that he’s not completely open, but it’d be easier to fuck into him and spread apart anyway, albeit with some resistance.
Akechi moans like a whore as Akira explores, squirming against the washer and shaking his ass from the movement. It pisses Akira off, how he doesn’t seem to care that he’s letting himself get used by nobodies, how he still doesn’t get that Akira will be the one to win here, turning Akechi into a limp mess of pleasure.
He yanks his finger out of Akechi and smiles darkly at the whine of loss from Akechi, frustrated and grinding back on Akira to entice him back inside. But Akira ignores him and harshly spanks Akechi’s ass with a single palm, the other taking hold of Akechi’s hands and pinning them on his back.
The perfect skin there reddens up slightly before it quickly fades away, and Akira dedicates himself to keeping that shade permanent, relishing in Akechi’s cries from each strike. He alternates his palm on both cheeks, slapping them violently and mesmerized by the blistering red that grows there. But Akechi has started to get louder with each spank, and Akira remembers they’re technically in public and risking waking someone up.
He stops his strikes and reaches into his pocket, grabbing the glove he keeps better track of than his phone. Akechi turns his head to figure out why Akira stopped and is met with a glove shoved into his mouth with a muffled hmph sound. He looks down at the fabric that pokes out from his mouth, quickly recognizing it as his own black glove and looking wide eyed back at Akira, eyes darting between Akira’s pockets and face.
Akira doesn’t care to hear what he has to say about it right now though, and goes back to his hold on Akechi’s hands and ass. The redness is much more pronounced now, the marks shaped like a hand and sure not to fade anytime soon. Akira takes up an irregular pace now, striking his ass and hearing Akechi’s muffled surprise and moans.
His own dick aches through his pants, having not been able to come since before the interrogation room. He’s lost track of how long they’ve been in the laundromat and doesn’t want to risk any early risers walking in on Akechi’s ass getting pounded so he needs to get his dick wet already. Akira stops his strikes and releases Akechi, allowing him to turn back around and remove the glove, setting it on the next washer.
Akira takes note of the flushed look on Akechi’s face and drags him into a searing kiss, reaching down to his own sweats as they make out. Akechi notices and breaks the kiss, quickly dropping down to his knees and continuing Akira’s work.
He must be desperate since he gets Akira’s dick out in record time, mouth opening and practically drooling over the sight. Akechi uses his spit to lube the huge cock up, clearly practiced hands spreading the wetness up and down his length.
“So fucking big…”
Akechi moves on and kisses the tip before enveloping the head and sucking on it, glancing up at Akira with a hazy look. He tongues around the head and focuses on the slit, dragging his tongue back and forth against it while his hands jerk the rest of his length off.
Once he takes Akira’s cock further into his mouth and starts bobbing his head it’s clear to Akira that he’s very well practiced at this. All of his movements are so efficient at getting Akira off and bringing him to full hardness, but there’s also a wild desperation in it.
He slobbers and moans around Akira’s dick like he can’t wait to have it inside him, to have it slam into his used hole and unravel him. Akira moans at the feeling around him, Akechi’s hot tongue and mouth drooling over him with a loud wet slickness that echoes in the small room. He looks down at Akechi and watches his head bob back and forth, his ponytail bouncing and threatening to come undone.
Akira grabs his hair right where it’s tied up, pulling it and feeling Akechi’s moan vibrate against his dick when Akira thrusts into his mouth. He traps Akechi’s head against the machine, holding it steady and fucking into his wetness at a furious pace.
When Akechi shows no sign of struggling to keep up, Akira leans over the washer and over Akechi’s body, angling to shove his cock even further down Akechi’s throat. Akira is bent over the machine with Akechi trapped between Akira’s body and the washer, his throat bared and tilted upwards to take the dick slamming into his throat at a relentless pace.
It’d be easy to see Akechi’s messy face between Akira’s legs, how his lips stretch around the huge cock and the drool and saliva gather to drip down from where they connect. His eyes look up and are only able to fill his senses with more Akira, nose pressed right into his pubes and moaning around the musky and sweaty smell. He closes his eyes and can feel his throat contract and swallow Akira’s cock down, reaching deep inside him and visibly pushing against his stretched neck.
Akira doesn’t even feel the ache in his body anymore, his bruises forgotten as he brands and burns himself all over Akechi. He holds onto the washer as he thrusts into Akechi’s tight throat, groaning at the wetness squeezing around his cock. Akechi occasionally chokes at a particularly hard and deep thrust, but doesn’t push Akira away and instead splutters a mess of saliva around his dick and moans.
Akechi grabs onto Akira’s thighs, steadying himself and tearing into Akira’s skin with his nails. Akira grunts at the sting and slows down a bit, feeling his balls slap against Akechi’s chin with every thrust. Akechi doesn’t seem happy about the change of pace though, slapping Akira’s side and using a hand to squeeze his balls.
“Shit, such a fucking slut…”
Akira moans and picks up his old pace, pounding into Akechi’s tight throat and pushing deeper every time he feels a choking spasm around him. There’s a gurgling sound that fills the small room, almost sure to alert any passersby as to what was happening inside if there were any. Akira focuses on the sound of Akechi’s throat being fucked and the waves of pleasure around his dick, nearing his climax.
A look at the spit slicked glove on the washer does him in, moaning as his hips stutter and releasing his cum into Akechi’s mouth. Akechi’s unprepared for the waves of cum that flood his mouth, trying his best to capture it all with his tongue but some manages to streak its way across his lips.
Akira pulls out and catches his breath as Akechi remains on his knees, reaching his fingers across his lips to gather the cum and bring it into his mouth. He watches Akechi’s throat move as he swallows, then moves forward to lick some off of Akira’s soft cock before spitting a wad of built up saliva to spread on his length, traces of cum mixed in.
With a shudder at the contact, Akira grabs Akechi and puts him back to bend over the washing machine like before. He takes note of his cute hard dick, leaking and yearning to be touched. Akira gets on his knees and spreads Akechi’s ass open again, facing the loose hole at a much better angle now.
It’s still as perfect of a hole as Akira dreamed of, pink and pretty and so needy for a cock to fill it up. He just has to prove to Akechi that no one else can dick him down like he can, not the way he so desperately needs. But seeing as Akechi’s ass has already been prepped tonight, he doesn’t have to focus on it too much and can return back to marking him up. He’s sure Akechi would love the burn anyway, with his slutty behavior to go on.
Akira leans down to Akechi’s inner thighs, licking around and biting down marks wherever he thinks they’d look nice. Satisfied with his work there, he moves up and licks around Akechi’s hole, not getting close enough to where Akechi ached for him. The taste drives him crazy, Akechi’s sweetness and sweat mixing together with a foreign lingering taste most likely from whatever lube the stranger used to fuck Akechi with.
He can’t hold himself back from the tempting fuckhole, leaning in to tease his tongue alongside the rim. Akechi whines from the touch, his head dropping down onto the machine and trying to push back on Akira. But Akira holds him still, one hand reaching over to Akechi’s hands and beckoning him to hold himself open. Akechi does just that while Akira starts shoving his tongue into his hole, easy enough to do without Akira’s own fingers added in yet.
Akira reaches between Akechi’s legs and finally touches his leaking dick, slowly jerking him off just enough to keep him from coming. He can feel his dick already half hard again just from this, so starved he was to get a taste of Akechi’s hole. And it beckons him closer, Akira bringing a hand back to push two fingers inside him alongside his tongue.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! A-Akira, please , fucking damn it… mhh!”
His voice and pleas are intoxicating, so hungry for a big dick to fill him up and fuck him stupid. It’s almost enough to make Akira forget everything that’s happened and imagine they were just two regular lovers making love. But they couldn’t be that yet, not when so much is still unexplained and unsaid.
Akira takes his hand off Akechi’s dick and gathers spit to drip into Akechi’s hole, adding to the wetness they’ll need. His dick is nearly completely hard again, still messy with Akechi’s saliva and his own cum. He positions himself against Akechi’s hole and rubs around a bit to spread the wetness, his dick hot against Akechi’s hole. He jerks himself off with a couple strokes until he’s completely hard, measuring the size of his dick in comparison to Akechi’s ass, how it reaches his stomach.
Akira points his dick at Akechi’s messy hole, watching his rim stretch open as Akira pushes inside and splits him open. With just the head in, Akira can tell there’s a burning stretch that Akechi whimpers from. The lack of proper prep since Akechi was already loose makes itself known with the near painful grip around Akira’s cock.
Whoever had fucked Akechi before this must not have been as big as Akira, probably leaving poor Akechi feeling so unsatisfied and empty. Maybe that’s why he came by Leblanc, drawn to the desire of seeking out a dick way too big for him from Akira, not thinking straight. Tight body sucking him in, Akira slowly sinks further into the perfect heat.
Akechi’s body struggles to accommodate Akira’s huge size, his dick practically the size of an arm and grinding its way into an impossibly tight hole despite its use that night. They both pant and moan from the burning stretch, addicted to the feeling of pain and pleasure as they merge into one.
Akira manages to bottom out with a groan, moving his hands to grip Akechi’s curved waist and grind them together where they meet. He can feel Akechi breathe in and out, his walls squeezing Akira’s cock and arranging around to accommodate Akira and make a home for him inside.
But he doesn’t let Akechi finish adjusting, painstakingly pulling out halfway before slamming back in. It’s an easier glide in than before, but it’s still so fucking tight and Akechi cries out at the feeling. Akira feels his heart thumping and heat floods his body, dizzy with the desire to take, take, take.
Akira pulls out more and then quickly bottoms out again, his pubes meeting Akechi’s ass and pushing forward to connect them even more. Getting used to the tight grip around his cock, Akira starts thrusting at a faster pace but still feels the resistance and drag from Akechi’s walls around him.
Akechi moans and cries the whole time, his slutty sounds easily leaving the laundromat and filling the nearby area. Akira stops his movements with a grunt and reaches over to the discarded glove, stuffing it back into Akechi’s mouth. He whines through it, but goes cross eyed and slumps over the machine when Akira resumes his thrusting again.
Now that he doesn’t have to worry about Akechi’s porno worthy moans waking up the whole neighborhood, Akira starts properly fucking into his hole. He squeezes Akechi’s waist tight enough to hurt and jackhammers into him, his cock enveloped by Akechi’s warm walls. Akira gathers spit for a couple of thrusts and uses it to drip down and add into Akechi’s hole and his own dick, aiding their slickness and easing the tension a bit.
The added lubricant and enough dicking down helps Akira to fuck even harder into Akechi, slamming against his ass as the resistance fades to a more tolerable level. The laundromat is filled with wet slapping of skin, Akira’s low moans and Akechi’s muffled whimpers, as well as the rock of the washing machine from Akira’s viscous pounding.
He wants to engrave himself inside and out of Akechi, wants every part of Akechi to be claimed and marked as Akira’s. It must be working to some extent, Akechi taking the fucking so well despite the pain and stretch, moaning and drooling all over the glove.
Akira uses violent and rough little thrusts to jam himself into Akechi, reaching towards his hair and pulling it back so he can look up. Akechi’s hair has fallen out of its ponytail, now bunched up and painfully pulled back in Akira’s hands while he takes the huge cock pounding his insides.
If Akechi weren’t being fucked stupid right now, he’d probably be able to take better notice of the sights through the glass and door, but he’s not able to focus or care about anything more than Akira’s monster cock stuffing him full. Akira wants to get a better look at his blissed out face so he pulls out long enough to turn Akechi around and throw him to the ground where their pants lay, getting between his legs and fucking back into his gaping hole.
Akechi’s eyes are glazed over and go cross eyed whenever Akira aims at Akechi’s prostate, moaning loudly through the wet and messy glove. He wraps his legs around Akira, his feet bouncing in the air every time his hole greedily sucks Akira up and takes his cock. His legs rub against bruises from some kicks Akira had been given, the pressure igniting the pain there and Akira moans into it.
Akechi just keeps squeezing his legs and sends molten lava throughout Akira’s body, stemming from the pain blooming in his side and turning his pace into choppy thrusts that shake and push Akechi’s body further up the floor. Akira can see Akechi’s hard nipples through his shirt and slows down for a moment to tear the thin fabric off him, leaving him completely bare on a dirty laundromat floor.
Akira sits on his knees while keeping himself inside Akechi to warm his cock, using his hands to grab Akechi’s chest and squeeze his nipples before slapping them like they were actual tits that could bounce around. Pleased at the whimper from Akechi, Akira looks over at Akechi’s cheap shirt and gets a brilliant idea, grabbing it and tearing it up to become more rope-like.
Akechi doesn’t even complain that he’s out of a shirt now, more focused on trying to move his hips up and down and fuck himself on Akira’s still cock. But Akira just takes hold of Akechi’s hands and brings them together, using his ruined shirt to tie a frankly pathetic knot around his wrists, easy to rip through from the cheap fabric but Akira thinks it’s hot anyway.
Akira moves his tied up wrists to rest above Akechi’s head, leaving them there and watching Akechi’s body stretch and curve from the position, his chest and body arching up towards Akira. A squeeze around his dick brings Akira back to the main event, getting off his knees and resuming his ravishment of Akechi’s hole. This time he uses a slower and deeper approach, long and burning thrusts that torture them both with the need for more.
But Akira quickly notices a movement around Akechi’s lower stomach with every thrust, his cockhead making itself known as it bulges against his skin. He uses one arm to hold himself up while the other hovers over the protruding area.
“ Fuck, Akechi…”
Akechi notices his stare fixated on something and looks down at his own stomach, taking in the sight of Akira’s dick reaching so deeply inside him. Akira presses down and they both moan in unison, feeling Akechi’s skin and insides push against where Akira’s cockhead waits. He wants to see more, grinding in place and watching his cock move inside Akechi.
Akechi cries and murmurs something against the glove, but it’s too muffled to make out and Akira is consumed by the sight of their melding together. He sits back to get a better view and holds onto Akechi’s waist again, his hands easily able to grasp and control Akechi’s body and movements.
He fucks his cock into Akechi while pulling Akechi forwards to meet his thrusts, connecting them deeply and watching how the stomach bulge disappears and reappears with every pump. Fuck, Akira hopes Akechi never forgets it, how his big dick stuffs him so full and pushes against all the right places.
Akechi’s lost in the pleasure, body rocking with Akira’s and his legs squeezing around him with every brush against his prostate. He looks up towards the ceiling as he takes it, exposing his bruised and marked up neck still littered with Akira’s hickeys.
Leaning over him, Akira reaches a hand over to grasp Akechi’s bare throat, testing out a squeeze as they continue to fuck. Akechi’s breath hitches and he looks at Akira with hungry eyes, tightening his ass greedily around Akira and drooling around the glove.
Akira removes the ruined glove and leaves it with their clothes, watching Akechi adjust his mouth from the ache. Feeling his dick beg to come into this perfect wet heat, Akira builds back up to a violent pace. Without the glove, Akechi’s loud moans have returned but Akira cuts them off with a hand to his throat and more pressure, pressing down and lightly squeezing.
He keeps it there for a moment but wants to focus more on their fucking instead of trying out something he doesn’t even know how to do right, but he’s all too aware of how into it Akechi is anyway. He’ll have to do some research later when Mona isn’t around.
Feeling close again, Akira tears himself away and brings them back up to the washing machine one final time, Akechi naturally bending over it like he was born to do so. They join back together easily, Akechi’s now wrecked hole stretching so sluttily and perfectly around Akira’s huge cock. But even though his hole may have started to learn how to take Akira’s dick, Akechi himself still can’t contain his sweet and slutty sounds.
Akechi whines and chants words like ‘ akira, akira,’kiraaa’ alongside other nonsensical cries of ‘ more, harder, so fucking big’ while he’s fucked. Akira just drapes himself over Akechi’s naked body and uses a hand to clamp over Akechi’s mouth, muffling his sounds. It doesn’t stop Akechi’s wrecked noises, if anything they just grow in volume and Akira has to press down harder as he continues to slam his cock into the welcoming heat.
But Akira’s unable to cover up the sounds of their fucking, how their wet skin slaps against each other repeatedly and the sounds of Akechi’s hole being split open. It’s all so wet and lewd, the sounds and squeeze around his cock while Akechi pants underneath him cloud up his mind, clearing his thoughts of anything else but their fucking.
“Fuck, gonna come inside you, Goro. God damn… fucking stuff you with my cum. Squeeze that fucking loose hole up, slut.”
Their sweaty bodies rock against each other, rutting and getting each other to the edge. Akira squeezes Akechi’s waist and thrusts violently into Akechi’s hole in search of his own satisfaction, using and using Akechi’s body and searching for the searing pressure around his cock from earlier. But it’s not the same tightness anymore, the painful grip from before gone now that Akechi’s hole has had time to adjust to the brutal fucking.
Any other cock would be more than satisfied with Akechi’s tight grip, but Akira’s fucking huge and maybe his hole would squeeze tighter if Akechi hadn’t been fucked that night already. He tries pressing down on some of the marks he’s decorated Akechi’s body with, but all he gets are mewls from Akechi and a tightening around his cock that just isn’t enough. The best solution he can think of is getting Akechi to come, so he pistons his dick right into Akechi’s prostate and reaches underneath them to hold Akechi’s neglected dick.
But Akira just holds his fist there, wrapped around Akechi’s dick but putting no effort into actually jerking him off, instead simply offering Akechi something to fuck into. Akechi whimpers against the pressure inside his ass which rams into his sensitive nerves, and attempts to jerk himself off with Akira’s hand as best he can when bent over and trapped under Akira.
Akira watches his efforts with amusement, “Yeah, just like that, Goro… Do you like how that feels? Use your words, slut.” He offers a squeeze to Akechi’s dick and smiles darkly at the drawn out moan it pulls when he frees Akechi’s mouth for a moment.
“Feels s-so fucking good ‘kiraaa! So big and fuck hard… Come inside me, pleasee.” Akechi’s words end with a high pitch and Akira covers his mouth again, shutting him up.
A few more thrusts and sloppy movements from Akechi pushes him over the edge, his dick finally coming between his body and the machine as his body shudders from his orgasm, ass tightening up and providing the impossibly tight grip Akira was waiting for. He acts fast, fucking his cock relentlessly into Akechi’s hole with quick thrusts and groaning as Akechi clenches down from the sensations.
If anyone were to pass by the laundromat and glance inside they’d easily get an eyeful of their bodies rutting against each other. Akira with his hoodie still on and draped over Akechi, melding them together with every thrust and hand firmly trapping Akechi’s mouth. And they’d be able to get a good look at Akechi’s cross eyed gaze as he takes Akira’s pounding. They’d probably think Akechi was some eager slut, so lost in his pleasure as he’s ruthlessly fucked where anyone can see him.
“Fucking perfect. Take it, take my— fuck, take my cock. Fill you up till it sticks… fuck!”
Akira fucks mindlessly into Akechi, sole purpose to get off and fill Akechi up with all of his cum, to seal his claim and mark on him. It doesn’t take much longer, his body stuttering and pushing against Akechi’s as he comes, rolling his cock inside Akechi’s ass as he dumps his load of cum into him. It’s much more cum than Akechi spurted out, Akira groaning and panting against Akechi’s sweaty and bruised neck as his orgasm pulses through his body.
Akechi twitches underneath him, and Akira just finds a clear patch of skin to mark with a new hickey as his hips slow down. Akira finishes dumping the last of his warm cum into Akechi’s ass and feels his nerves light up across his body, tingling from his orgasm and the contact with Akechi’s sweaty skin.
Taking some moments to catch their breath, the two rivals pant against each other and don’t move from their positions. Akira pulls himself away from Akechi’s back, looking down at his naked skin and how Akira’s work has paid off, the spanks, bites and bruises still visible. He pulls out of Akechi with a grunt, already feeling his cum leak out of Akechi and how it coats his own soft cock.
Akira lowers himself to spread Akechi open and look at his puffy and well used hole, cum leaking out from the sheer volumes of it Akira dumped inside. He lazily uses two fingers to shove it back in, the notion useless as more just leaks out of Akechi’s open hole. Akira just appreciates the sight, thinking about how Akechi’s earlier fuck hadn’t been allowed to spill into Akechi, the privilege of it reserved for Akira.
The bites around his thighs are also still visible, and Akira sighs in satisfaction, everything he’s seeing a clear indication of his victory here. The hickeys and bites across Akechi’s skin are as beautiful as he imagined, marks that spelled out Akira’s name and place there. If he can manage this with his attempted assassin, there’s no doubt in his mind that there’s so much more they can do together. Now that he’s fucked out his frustrations, he just has to convince Akechi of the same thing.
He’s just not sure how the Thieves will react to finding out he gave himself away and fucked the traitor senseless, when they were pretty explicit in staying hidden. It’s not like they have to know they fucked anyway, or maybe it was an important detail to go forward with their plans? He’ll have to think about it.
Akechi’s slumped over form starts to stir though, slowly pushing himself off of the washing machine and turning to face Akira. His hands are free, so he must have freed himself at some point without Akira noticing. He doesn’t have the same blissed out look from earlier, now staring at Akira with a scrutinizing glare. It’s a fascinating sight to see, such a serious expression when there’s cum dripping down his legs and he’s completely naked.
Akechi looks away and goes to pick up his clothes, placing them on the washer and glaring at the ruined shirt. It’s still dark out, but Akira is sure it’s not too long before the sun starts to rise and wake people up. He watches Akechi’s movements and waits for him to say something, so he can get a feel for what Akechi is thinking, but it’s exhausting to wait.
“Akechi? You still gonna try to kill me? I— We can head up to the attic, I’ve got shirts you can borrow.”
Akechi doesn’t respond and instead looks around the laundromat, seemingly trying to find leftover clothes to use but coming up short. His movements are kind of shaky and slower than usual, hardly surprising after their fucking. He’ll probably be sore all over tomorrow, but at least Akira knows how to help him with that from experience these last few days.
“Alright then, lead the way. Make sure no one is around or I’ll bite your dick off.”
Akira smiles and grabs his own clothes and the glove, heading towards the laundromat entrance and using the bunched up clothes to cover his crotch. “You’d never, we both know you’d miss it too much to even try.” Akira peeks his head outside as Akechi scoffs behind him and determines it's clear, sprinting across towards Leblanc.
Akechi follows him soon after and they both hurry into the cafe, Akira locking the door and heading towards the attic. He digs around and tosses Akechi a decently clean shirt, before heading down and grabbing wet towels to clean up with. Why didn’t they stop by the bathhouse real quick? Is it even open?
Akechi is looking out the open windows when he returns, and they silently wipe themselves down as best as they can. Akira is about to ask Akechi if he needs help cleaning out the cum but a glance to his legs shows he’s somehow gotten rid of the white streaks decorating his thighs, his ass covered back up with his underwear but no pants yet.
Akira follows suit and puts his own underwear on, taking off his jacket and remaining in his sleeping shirt. Akechi puts on the shirt Akira gave him, an old gym shirt , and they’re both equally dressed. Akira gets the feeling he has to make a move first, and he’ll do anything to get Akechi back on his side.
Not only because it’d mean they could have bed breaking sex all the time, but because he actually does care about him. The sex is definitely a plus, though.
“Look, Akechi. You already know I’m alive so I’m just gonna say it. We know about Shido. We know he’s behind everything and we’re gonna take his heart. You’re welcome to join us, you have to know you’re better off without him, don’t you?”
A whirlwind of emotions flash across Akechi’s face, and for a split second Akira is ready to be strangled against his shitty attic bed. But maybe being dicked down helps mellow Akechi out, since he eventually just sits on the couch and closes his eyes, clearly thinking hard about anything and everything. Probably considering all of his plans and weighing his options with Akira back in the mix.
Akira stands in place, not trying to set him off and risk another bullet to the skull, he’d very much like to have another chance in that ass thank you very much. They don’t necessarily have to be on the same side for that, but he still wants Akechi to get away from Shido for his own good. Akechi breathes in deeply and leans back, opening his eyes and leveling Akira with a deadly serious look.
“I have some conditions. I’m willing to negotiate on some of them but others I will not budge on. You’re lucky your idiot friends aren’t around to piss me off right now. I’m fucking sore and exhausted though, we’ll discuss it in the morning before your sycophants show up. I want the open side of the bed.”
Akira could practically explode with joy, and he can’t resist sitting next to Akechi and kissing him deeply. He smiles into the kiss and they break apart, Akechi’s own mouth twisted up slightly but looking embarrassed and blushing adorably from Akira’s affection.
“Stop acting so proud of yourself, I make no promises here and will not hesitate to leave if my terms aren’t met. Your dick isn’t that good. I’m going to sleep, I’ve had a long fucking day. Don't let us freeze to death.”
Akechi moves over to the bed and settles himself in, knocking out fast after probably one of the most eventful days of his life and dicking down that will leave him sore for days. Akira crawls over him to the other side and drapes a blanket over them, pressing together to share their warmth under the covers.
He looks at Akechi’s sleeping form and marvels at how peaceful he looks, his features calm and hair draping beautifully against the pillow, reaching forward to caress his face softly. Just earlier today Akira was absolutely livid at him, and really it’s not like everything has been solved anyway. But their fucking really was a nice salve to the burning passion and tension they’ve formed, enough to get them to reach slightly better terms.
He’s sure they’ll butt heads again, it was inevitable for them. Akira will just have to fuck Akechi senseless again, whether tensions are running high or not. They’d both rather die than let things get boring between them.
Akira looks out the window and stares at the night sky, now so different and open compared to earlier. His reminiscing doesn’t last long, the open window reminding him that there should be a not-cat cat in his room, but was nowhere to be found.
He’d been awake to see Akira leave, so he must have woken up at some point and realized Akira still wasn’t back. Akira winces, hoping Mona just decided to go spend the night with Futaba since Akira obviously wanted time alone.
Yes, that was clearly what happened. There’s no way Mona decided to go look for Akira and happened to stumble upon anything happening in a certain not-so-secluded laundromat.
Shit, he was going to have to buy Mona fatty tuna for at least a month. Probably more if he didn’t want him blabbing to the rest of the Thieves.
Akira glances at Akechi’s sleeping face before closing his eyes, deciding it was all worth it in the end to get Akechi like this.