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the selfish wishes your mouth can't say

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A theater.

Because what else would it be?

Briefly, Akira wondered if Akechi knew of his palace’s existence, but immediately laughed at his own, short indulgence of naivety.

Of course Akechi knew. He wouldn’t be where he was today, a public figure people either loved or despised because he was just a tad too perfect. Without the right amount of self-perceptiveness to go along with it, Akira wouldn't have thought that the possibility of Akechi possessing a palace existed in the first place.

The detective may not always wanted to acknowledge his own emotions he kept so adamantly hidden, but he was not delusional enough to not recognize them, going so far as dissect them in order to get behind the mechanics of his behaviour. Because that's what Akechi excelled at - his self-awareness was immense, taking apart cause, action and effect in a practical, objective manner until he could re-create them in a frightently convincing way.

Akira was sure that Akechi had set foot in his own palace before. There was no way Akechi would pass up an opportunity like this if it meant that he could confirm the accuracy of his own reflections. A palace was as objective as it could get while still being the very epitome of subjectiveness.

It was a breathing, living paradox, and Akira liked to think that Akechi might even have been hesitant at some point, fully aware of what was going on beneath layer after layer, but still self-conscious about facing it in a physical manifestation. Or perhaps he just stormed into the palace right away, fully at home and gratified by the large spotlights rivaling the brightness of the moon. Either way, the temptation of visiting your own palace was too big to pass up.

In the end, Akechi was as much as a slave to primal curiosity like everyone else.

Akira just didn’t how often he came here. The risk of stumbling into him was very much present, so his group made sure to choose a day and a time where Akechi had declined joining in a raid on Sae Nijima's palace due to work reasons.

The validity of that remained to be questioned, but it was better than nothing, seeing as Akechi's attendance to classes was unpredictable at best (they had their own lessons to go to anyway), and they didn't know much about how and when he spent his free time aside from doing various sport activities and being hung up on ongoing cases. Akira had declined the idea of a night infiltration as well, seeing how large Akechi's  eyebags sometimes were, often prominent even through make-up. 

Akira liked to think that they had that in common - staying up late, being night owls and never truly able to rest their thoughts when darkness begins claiming the sky. Morgana forced him to sleep more often than not, but if it would be up to Akira, he was sure he'd venture back out almost daily. Sleep rarely took him fast, and Akira had wondered before just when would he stumble into Akechi under the cover of the night.

So if there was even the slightest chance that the detective's proclamation of having to work was true - it was the best shot they could get, really. 

They didn't have too much time anyway, with Makoto's sister's deadline around the corner. Akechi's presence was only adding into that, breathing down on their necks with a vigilant, ruthless plan up his sleeve, only to step back and smile courteously when they turn to face him.

It was more of a risk than everything else, but something everyone seemed to be eager to take, even Ryuji in spite of his obvious aversion for the detective.

The athlete was probably just happy to get his hands on anything that had the slightest relation to Akechi under the aspect of being able to destroy it. Akira himself had been  a bit startled himself when no rush of energy, no motivation ran through his insides at the prospect of entering Akechi's palace, but he did not want to disappoint his friends when they seemed to be entirely unanimous about something for once. 

So he had swallowed the budding trepidation, put on a smile he hoped hadn't come over too wobbly and agreed.

It's how Akira found himself in the current situation; crouched behind a wall from where he could see Yusuke's blade reflecting the strong lights, positively alive with each slice it managed to inflict on the shadows. Practised routine made it look easier than it was, but Akira was more often than not still in awe at how much his comrades had evolved since awakening their personas.

However, there was this distinctive feeling of wrongness in the air that made it difficult for Akira to get a proper grip on himself and slip into his usual role as the leader. He knew he wasn't the only one, but none could properly place the origin or reason of this concerning impression, and the more time passed, the more he saw his group falling into their usual dynamic, weird atmosphere moving further and further into the background.

There was a distinctive lack of puzzles and mechanics to hinder them from advancing as well, and they had only encountered one safe room so far despite having walked around the gigantic theater for several hours.

Adding into that, the shadows in here did not cloak themselves in another skin, patrolling the long, pristine hallways in their primal forms.

It made it easy to distinguish their weak points and act accordingly to that, further speeding up their progress, but the question as to why they were unlike the shadows in previous palaces remained unanswered.

Akira theorized that it was how Akechi saw everyone around him - because he was able to hide the truth even from himself at times, he was naturally just as good at taking the masks of other people apart, able to see the most inner self after only a fleeting amount of time.

It helped that he was a master at his craft, the common person nearly not as gifted as Akechi, mere amateurs compared to the way how fast the detective switched personalities and lived them.

Akira didn't want to unsettle his friends, so he opted to hold his tongue.

Another thing that concerned him was the fact that the monsters they've encountered so far were comically weak, barely scratching the level of Kaneshiro's palace. Ryuji was convinced that they were just that much stronger than Akechi, and Ann was just happy that she didn't need to overexert herself in that red body-suit of hers unlike in most of their infiltrations.

Akira vaguely noticed Makoto and Futaba theorizing about why that was, occasionally joined by Morgana's remarks. At some point they settled on the thesis that it was a provocative defense mechanism, a simple mean to lure the thieves in before sending the real wave of enemies to crush them. It seemed to fit Akechi from an outsider perspective, but the black haired male knew better. It was too predictable, and most importantly lacked the dramatical flair that always stayed true with Akechi.

No. He knew the detective had something different planned for them - he just didn't know what.

But there was only so much precaution they could take before running into the inevitable, and Akira saw his friend's initially careful demanor slowly giving away to almost reckless boldness. 

Akira kept in the back-lines, watching Haru wield her axe with frightening ease and sending another Mapsio the enemie’s way. Ruyji's smirk when bashing the skull of two other shadows was accompanied with crackles of thunder lashing out at unsuspecting, lingering monsters, paralyzing them and enabling Makoto to do even more damage with her nuclear skills.

Ryuji had noticed his unusual passiveness somewhere around the start of their infiltration. Akira's stomach had dropped with fear, but his oldest friend had merely clapped Akira on the back, nodding as if he could hear what his leader didn't tell him.

“You always do the most shit for us. So lay back for once, yeah? We got this.”

It saved Akira from explaining that none of his spells, guns or daggers even scratched the shadows his friends took so easily apart.

When he had back-flipped to safety from a menacing looking tiger the first time he realized he did no damage at all, only for Ann to take his place and completely whip the monster apart - Akira wanted to believe it was because he himself was underleveled. But it couldn't be, not when he had been practically clearing the shadows in Nijima's Palace all by himself just yesterday, with only the help of Akechi and a few, supportive spells from Morgana.

But the other possibility - Akechi recognizing, acknowledging only him flattered Akira in ways that settled an ugly, but mushy warmth in his stomach, so he told himself that it was just a weird status  that couldn't be cured by Amrita (he had tried), meaning it was special to him only.

Honestly, Akira should have been surprised when his team members changed into their thief outfits as well upon landing in front of the grand, spectacular entrance of the theater. But it was probably Akechi acknowleding them just enough, barely meeting the minimum requirement for their clothes to change, signalizing the owner of the palace considered them at least a nuisance. Which was probably all they were.

Akira knew he should tell them, especially because there was no guarantee the debuff would stay to him exclusively, or if Makoto's prediction would become true and the shadows would get a lot stronger, but it was just so disturbingly easy, running after the path they cleared, watching them kill monster after monster with simple, low level skills (or none at all) to conserve energy.

So Akira stayed silent through it all, watching and observing because something prevented him from forming thoughts about anything that could hinder their advance. 

Futaba estimated them to be halfway through as they passed a large hall full of masked, blurred figures, all watching a bulging shadow violating a distinctively feminine shape under the floodlights on-stage. The implications were disturbing enough for Akira to avert his eyes, especially with the way how transfixed the audience seemed to be.

It was also the moment Akira felt a shift going through the entire palace, a lost puzzle forcefully clicking into a spot where it belonged and didn't belong at the same time.


He couldn’t focus, barely catching how his friends formed a half-circle around him, presumably around the spot he had felt himself coming to a halt to.

The hairs on his neck stood, blood heavy and thick inside of his body as the light’s reflection against the walls and lamps and just everything became too harsh, too bright as it bore itself inside of his skin, devouring layer after layer.

He came back to the feeling of Ryuji’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. Akira regained his senses, blinking before looking around to see several, confused faces watching him with a slightly worried expression.

Akira cleared his throat, prying the Ryuji’s arms off. “We- we need to go,” he heard himself say. It sounded foreign even in his own head, the unusual raspiness making his voice unfamiliar.

He saw blond eyebrows rising. “For real? None of us is tired yet! We’ve been making such progress, and you want us to go now?

"For once I have to agree with Skull. Is there something bothering you, Joker?", Yusuke inquired, a hand on his hip.

The sensation of forebodeness, of incoming danger became more and more apparent the longer Akira idly stood around. He repressed his urge to turn and just bolt, clenching his gloved hands. “Yes,” he nearly hissed, voice steadier than before, desperation giving it a firmer construction.

Now. I'm really sorry, It's just- I, I can't, please-”

Sensing his growing desperation despite not knowing its source, Makoto’s word intercepted his. “Let’s head back for now. With the rate we’re going at, we can come back tomorrow and still have time for my sister's palace. It won't be a problem at all.”

Relief flooded through Akira when he heard the most level headed voice next to his own speak, momentarily enabling him to sent her a small, shaking smile which she returned with a pinched one. The growing panic seeped back inside of his body soon enough, seizing his facial muscles into tangible tension again.

Ryuji seemed more hesitant than others, but he eventually gave in, nodding at them both and following after Akira when said leader turned on his heel, going back into the direction of the only safe room they had come across.

They were already running back at a relatively fast pace, but Akira felt like they weren’t fast enough, the numbness of his limbs at war with the instinct to just bolt out of this place. But they reached the safe room without any problems, hidden behind a deep red curtain, and stepped inside one after another.

For a moment, all Akira heard were their soft pants, clothes ruffling against each other when the first started to take their usual place in the lounge.

Akira waited for it to happen, for the thing that made him want to run to appear and confirm his anxiety. He didn’t want to pull his phone to transport them back out just yet, afraid he’d destroy the little semblance of peacefulness that came with being in a safe room.

Nothing happened.

Morgana settled himself in the middle of the large, white table of the room, hissing when Ryuji reached out for him.

Akira's thumb was already repeatedly tapping on the screen of his phone.

In front of him, Morgana settled onto his back near Ann, hoping to receive a few bellyrubs from her instead.

Everyone was waiting for him to use the navigation app and transport them back to the entrance.

Akira was still tapping, the navigator unchanging.

With a screeching, off-tuned sound, the ceiling above them was suddenly ripped open, debris flying into the room. Akira felt the last, few bits of safety he clung to ripped away right as a monochrome, striped figure crashed onto the table, his friend jumping away just in time. 

Kneeling in a low cloud of dust, the monster slowly rose, a long, pulsating red sword clutched in one hand, looking profoundly hazardous and ready to tear them apart within a heartbeat. Long braids swung as the new figure (a shadow?) cackled, seemingly delightful at the current predicament he found the Thieves in.

Akira had never seen the monster before, but by instinct alone he knew that all them were outclassed the instance the monster's presence began filling the room to the brim, oppressing power and something akin to chaos making their breaths come out in ragged sections.

Akira didn’t bother moving away from his position at the door, having felt layers and layers of steel falling down behind the wall the moment the monochrome monster crashed down.

Still, it hurt, Haru clawing at him in pure terror, begging him to move, please, why won't you move, just- move aside Joker, MOVE, WHY WON'T YOU MOVE?

It hurt even more to see Ann brutally thrown against Yusuke, both of their forms leaving behind a large crater from where they slid down, immobile and oblivious to Futaba’s panicked cries over the mic.

The newly appeared shadow was faster than all of them combined, his entire team getting wiped out right in front of his eyes in what must have been milliseconds before Akira himself hit the ground, not even able to think about using his personas.

Sweet, sweet pain made his previously frozen limbs melt into indolent heaviness, and he closed his eyes, feeling the mask dig uncomfortably into his skin.

In the last moment of his consciousness, Akira thought he heard footsteps leisurely approaching him, the oppressing presence of the monster suddenly gone and replaced with an aura of chilling coldness.

There was pressure on the small of his back, growing even heavier as the memory of a low, soft chuckle ghosted throughout the destroyed room. But then Akira felt the heaviness lifting, footsteps coming even closer.

Maybe his chin got tilted upwards by a thumb and an index finger. Akira wasn't sure.

The texture just felt too nice against his skin to be true – gloves, maybe? -, and Akira succumbed to the tantalizing darkness calling out for him, black dragging him into a familiar abyss.



There was no pain, no disorientation when he woke.

Akira immediately made out the absurdly large cage of glass he was in, a tight, velvet cloth holding his hands above his head, the rest of his body uselessly dangling from it just enough that he could stand on the balls of his feet.

The pressure on his wrists was beginning to become increasingly uncomfortable now that Akira was awake to feel the pain his mind had blocked out, and he risked a look downwards.

Some of his budding anxiety was lifted when he saw that all of his clothes still sat snugly against his body, including the mask. But when he tried reaching for Arsene or the other personas he’d been currently using, it felt like he was wandering through thick, misty fog, just barely able to make out their general forms before they blended back into the surrounding.

As the Akira's gaze rose, his clothes did nothing to lessen the sudden feeling of naked exposure that promptly followed.

His glass cage was on top of the largest stage he had seen so far, high above rows and rows of countless people he did not want to look at despite them being mostly unrecognizable, bare forms. He still felt their anonymous, combined gaze on him, practically tearing holes through his flesh, and Akira didn’t couldn't recall a situation where he had felt more vulnerable than now.

"J-joker!"' a familiar voice shouted, and his head snapped up from where he had lowered it to escape the masses of what must be thousands.

Pure terror flooded him when his eyes were drawn to the front row, five forms he knew all too well shackled to plush, luxurious seats, masks gone and baring the clear dread that had made itself a home.

How long had they already been awake, seeing him tied up and exposed?

Morgana was nowhere in sight, and Akira desperately hoped he somehow escaped Akechi’s clutches, preferably to  the entrance, knowing Futaba usually stayed in the safety of it with her persona. Perhaps it was a foolish glimmer of hope, but Akira found that there was not much to grab in his current situation.

"Jo- Akira, are you alright?"

For Yusuke to abandon their code names - it spoke lengths about their situation. Akira tried to answer, but abruptly became aware of another cloth nestled tightly around his mouth, preventing him from giving out more than a few grunts.

He nodded instead, and saw the tall artist’s form slightly slump back against his seat, some of the worry sated. 

The rest of his group seemed similarly alleviated, and in that short instance of seeing some of their worry dissipate, Akira wanted to scold them, to lash out and make his concealed agitation known.

This had been a reckless idea, and as much as he wanted Crow to stay by their side not as a mole, not as a member but as a friend, they shouldn't have put their lives on a silver plate for him to take in the first place because they were talking about adept, intelligent, absolutely perspicacious Akechi.

Who, last time Akira checked, was still planning on murdering him cold-blooded behind their backs.

But he knew that most of his anger should be directed at himself and no one else, for knowing that he would have gone into the palace anyway, no matter how the other Phantom Thieves decided.

Perhaps Akira really was the fool after all, and he felt even worse when realizing his earlier, short attempt of trying to shift the blame to his friends. Wasn't he their leader? Shouldn't he had voiced his doubts out aloud, making the contradiction of their intentions clear?

Akira saw Ryuji opening his mouth, probably about to let out a stream of censored curses when the lights went off, bathing everything in complete blackness.

Shouts immediately followed, the clear distress doing little to calm his own nerves.



There were several voices calling out for him, adding into the panic rapidly coiling inside his stomach, but all he could do was listening to his friend’s desperate cries as he struggled uselessly in the cloth's hold again.

"Ladies and gentleman," a loud voice suddenly purred, amplified by speakers with the way the edges of the words were just the slightest bit of distorted.

It sent a row of shiver down his spine, and Akira wriggled uncomfortably, physically trying to get one of the many, negative sensations that plaque him away.

“It's been a long, long journey to get to this point, wouldn’t you all agree? "

Something brushed against his cheek.

Feeling more vulnerable than before, Akira suppressed a whimper, jerking away from the touch only for his head to be harshly pulled back forth. He vaguely noticed that the voices around him came from two different angles - one resonating throughout the entire hall, the other next to his ear. The grip on his chin was relentless.

"Beneath my very palm is the main attraction we’ve advertised for months. It was hard, dedicated work to get to this point, but you’ll find that the precious time you spent waiting for this act will be nothing short of worth it. Today-” , the all too familiar voice said, almost a caress in his ear despite the loudness that echoed throughout the hall, “Today, it’s time for our grand finale!”

Thunderous waves of applause washed over him, completely drowning out the horrified screams of his friends with the sheer enthusiasm the masses embodied, eager to set their sights on whatever had been planned for the main act.

Akira felt another presence coming up behind him, a body heat settling against his back, but not quite touching.

Akira sensed whoever was in front of him distancing while the applause was still going on, and the black haired male fought off another whimper when a gloved hand settled on his throat, an abstrusely light, soft gesture in contrast to the place it rested on.

“I can’t believe you were so naïve to try and infiltrate my palace,” the real Akechi said, voice a mere murmur next to Akira’s ear. He felt the hand squeezing just the tiniest bit. “But I suppose I don't blame you for thinking you could change my heart. After all, most of your previous cases have turned out to be quite successful, didn't they?"

A feather-light touch on his cheek had Akira nearly bolting out of the detective's hold, the mockingly soft imitation of a caress making his alarm bells go off.

"Could you have lived with it, though? If by some miracle you did manage to steal my treasure? You wouldn't have been able to make me confess my sins openly if you wanted me to stay by your side and not in jail. Each and everyone of you-" Akechi's fingers toyed with the rim of his mask - "would have firsthandedly seen how your interference plays out completely."

They had talked about this before. About who's perspective is right, how their action could be justified. Akechi had argumented that it was easy for them to play the judge because they failed to see the consequences after the confession. A black and white view.

"You disconnect yourself from the result because you can ignore it, just like people ignore the process of how flesh comes to be when they eat out with their friends. But I don't blame you for it. In fact, I can even understand it - it's how we're able to live and continue onwards, after all. If we'd be hung up about every little detail, we'd never move from our place. But does it enable you to change their heart by your own, self-constructed parameters of justice just because you can ignore most of what comes afterwards? You change their live irreversibly forever, but see only a fraction of what's projected by the news and think you're done, case filed away in a drawer of misplaced ignorance for the rest of your life. Terribly illiterate, if you ask me."

It had struck something within him, and Akira hadn't been able to response after that.

Only days later in the bathhouse did some sort of answer come to him, but Akira would have rather died than admitting he still thought about something Akechi said days ago. The opportunity to breach the topic had never really risen again, both sides occupied with school, work and the metaverse.

Now Akira couldn't find the words he had carefully constructed evening after evening yet again.

They wanted to change his heart because of simple reasons.

Getting him into a team, preventing him from betraying them, maybe even have a mole inside of the police. But now, with Akechi's hot breath against his ear as a constant reminder of his situation - hadn't it been utterly condescending of them? Deciding for someone else, completely altering their entire life because they didn't want to endanger their own?

Akira knew more about the detective than probably anyone else, but nearly not enough to meddle with his psyche. No amount of knowledge would give him that right. With the other's it had been easy, seeing their deeds, the wrongness in their actions. But this?

Yes, Akechi was planning on killing Akira, but he knew there were deeper reasons lying underneath what the detective said. Reason which Akira would have liked to unravel if he just had the time for it. Akechi's time with him had blended genuineness and artificiality into a sweet, bitter coffee Akira couldn't help but keep on making and drinking.

Maybe Akira was selfish like that, wanting to reach out for something that has no chance of surviving.

The pressure on his throat left him, but instead of removing his hand entirely, Akira felt Akechi's index finger slowly trailing downwards. “You of all people should know that it wouldn't have worked. But perhaps your caring, benevolent nature quickly gave in when your chivalrous friends convinced you to change the traitor's heart, hm?”

The finger stopped at the taut muscle of his stomach. Akechi slowly pressed into his skin, and this time Akira did let out a soft, strangled noise when the entirety of a gloved hand was deliberately splayed across his mid-section, the other moving from cheek to chin again, pushing the slightly smaller back against Akechi's front. 

“I suspected it, of course, calculated the possibility of you finding out what I was actually planning to do. But...”

Akechi trailed off on purpose, letting the words hang heavy in the air.

“ of me are still astonished. You always keep me on my toes. I never know what to expect when around you, and it's challenging and incredibly infuriating at once. This time, I expected you to be rational, to not enter my palace - but here you are, against all my expectations yet again. The great leader of the Phantom Thieves caught in his very own attempt at trying to play hero. I'd be disappointed, really, but it just means I got you to myself a bit earlier than  anticipated."

Akechi’s non-chalant voice as if talking about the weather had his blood running cold and hot at the same time, a mixture Akira didn’t know how to react to aside from surreptitiously holding his breath whenever Akechi’s exhales fanned across his ear in a particular way.

Didn't- didn't Akechi want to kill him? He tugged at his bonds, but it earned an increase of pressure on his stomach, ceasing the Akira's advances immediately.

“Do not misunderstand. You would make a marvelous actor. It's hard to tell what's going on inside that head of yours sometimes. However, I cannot say the same about your sad excuse of friends.”

“You’re- one to talk,” Akira managed to press out, swallowing a gasp when the hand on his stomach pressed further, surely leaving an imprint even through his vest. Hot iron marking property.

He realized that Akechi must have taken the cloth around his mouth off at some point.

The detective was the very definition of an actor, several layers of masks constantly worn around each and every person, probably not even letting his guard down in front of a mirror.

His palace was a theater, for god's sake.

There were times Akira had thought he’d seen glimpses of the actual Akechi – raw, yearning and hurting in so many places that Akira didn't know where to start –, but now he wondered if those had been short, intentional slips ups to emit a feeling of empathy from the thief, to reel Akira even further into the tangled web that was Akechi.

He truly didn’t know the other male, no matter how many hours they’ve spent together, drinking coffee and talking about more in life than the mundane, useless things people like dwelling about.

At the same time, Akira felt a connection with Akechi that was different from his usual confidants. Their conversations had meaning. Built on strong theses and opinions, unwavering in their choice of words and carefully implanted, secondary meaning, so very different from the one-sided conversations he usually lead.

Not all of that could have been fake.

Akechi kept coming back to him, just like Akira sought out the detective in spite of their differentiating convictions.

You’re one to talk,” Akechi repeated, mocking.

“I’d never let you inside my palace without taking proper precautions. Real security measures. The fact that all those palaces you've visited so far had painstakingly easy puzzles and rather convenient air ducts speaks for nothing but weakness.”

Akira was breathing heavily through his nose for reason he didn't want to analyze, not with Akechi pressed tightly against his back.

Some seconds passed before he found his voice again, cold realization flooding him.

“There wasn’t a safe room to begin with.”

Akechi purred into his ear. “Very good. It’s quite fascinating, isn’t it? You storm into palaces, blindly relying on safe rooms when your items and energy runs low. Ever considered there’d be a palace with no safe rooms to rest and teleport back to? What would you do then, hmm? Beg the owner very nicely to let you go?” 

The implications prevented Akira from squirming even more, not wanting to play into the other's hands. 

His distorted desires created a palace, but even then Akechi had so much control over that subconscious part of his that he lacked any weakness such manifestations usually had.

Akechi was absolutely confident about his desires, so sure of his own conviction that nothing could waver him, no place to hide from Akechi inside of his own palace, the sensation of a safe room merely projected by the detective himself. He let his control slip on purpose over an area, only to harshly regain it back the moment they sat inside of his trap.

It was astounding on many, many levels. 

A distortion of your desires and anxiety should be a weakness, and yet Akechi manages to utilize its potential. 

“That monochrome figure,” Akira pressed out, acutely aware of how hot his skin was beneath Akechi’s hand. He'd- he'd take a gamble. “It's your second persona. You're the black mask- a-and another wildcard?"

That thing had felt so much more powerful than anything Akira had encountered before, but it made its entrance in the same, dramatic way Akechi liked to end all of his final attacks with.

It wasn't a question, but it wasn't really a statement either. Akira didn't have too much evidence on his hand other than loose connections and gut feeling, but he hoped Akechi would confirm or deny it anyway.

Both hands on his body squeezed once, and this time, he couldn't hold back the quick, surprised gasp. His own sound snapped Akira back into his predicament, shame squashing some of his arousal.

“Why, correct yet again. Regarding to the second part - I'm afraid I do not know what the wildcard is you're talkin about. But you'll tell me soon enough, won't you?"

A cackle towards the end that felt like a drop of oil in fire.

"Especially since it seems to revolve around you, as well."

Akira suddenly realized that Akechi's voice was unusually loud - it must still be projected throughout the hall by some sort of cognitive microphone, and the black haired thief had the inkling suspicion that everything he himself said was broadcasted as well.

"This is one of many reasons why they follow you, Akira. Your intuition and instinct are unrivaled from all I've encountered so far, making you a natural leader that draws people in. Even I have a hard time denying your orders in battle. Oh - not that I planned doing that, of course."

The detective's voice gained a slight, bitter tone towards the end, but Akira was distracted by an entirely different matter.

Not Joker.


To casually be called like that, even with his mask on in the metaverse where it clearly made him Joker - Akechi's usage of his given name sent tingles down his spine, goosebumps breaking out on every surface. 

The words were a definite compliment, but the way Akechi said them, almost frustrated had Akira biting his lower lip. The pressure on his throat wasn’t comfortable, but it distracted him from the burn of his wrists.

The black haired thief was glad for the darkness that enveloped them, giving them a sense of privacy despite there actually being none, but Akira also knew it wouldn’t last too long, especially when Akechi removed himself entirely. 

Akira was horrified at himself for nearly letting a whimper slip out at the loss of warmth, and froze even more when realizing that he had barely put up a fight during his entire restraint. Akira told himself it was because he was in no position to resist anyway, personas unaccusable, body restrained.

Akira knew he liked Akechi – not nearly enough to call it a crush, but the desire for more had been there the moment he realized Akechi carried more layers than files around.

People were never fully themselves except when there was no one to judge them - alone. Akira was aware that he himself acted differently with each of the Phantom Thief members, with each of the confidants he had encountered until now, and yet some parts of him always stayed the same with each person he talked to.

It meant that Akechi wasn’t different, that no matter what he did, there was always going to be something real shining through, as warped and distorted as that may be.

But that did not justify how fast Akira felt his tenacity dwindling.

A dark chuckle pulled him back to reality, and he was reminded about his current predicament.

Flashlights flooded the place again, and Akira shut his eyes, thankful for the mask covering the remnants of redness that had yet to fade.

He felt Akechi in front of him again, but this time his presence seemed different, less palpable, a bit more fleeting. Dramatic in every sense of the word.

“Do not avert your eyes,” someone said, and Akira obeyed, blinking a few times to get used to the brightness threatening to claw his eyes out.

Shadow Akechi stood in front of him, clad in a way similar to his outfit when using Robin Hood. He was missing his mask, as well as the color red on his white military uniform, and the previously short cape was replaced by a wide one, almost reaching the black boots the other sported. Akira knew it would billow dramatically if Shadow Akechi were to spin.

The shadow did a mocking bow before turning towards the audience, focusing on the furious, but helpless set of Phantom Thieves in the front row.

“I do hope you can enjoy this evening to your fullest. Everything is prepared, everything is set - let the show begin!”

Shadow Akechi locked eyes with Akira over his shoulder as another round of applause took the hall by storm. The black haired male saw dripping confidence, a wicked glint hiding a monstrous malice, and fear invaded Akira's senses at seeing the smirk grow even darker.

"He will not touch you. Not today."

Akira thought there might have been a flash of irritation going through Shadow Akechi's glowing eyes, but before he could read more into that, the real Akechi stepped in front of him, taking up most of his vision. His face was crafted neutrality, but his malignant eyes expressed what his face didn't.

The detective had always been taller by a few centimeters, but now it felt like Akechi was towering over him. His gaze was burning through his clothes and skin, and all Akira could do was letting him, trying to ignore how his heated eyes affected his lower regions more prominently than everything else before.

Surprisingly enough, Akechi sported his usual detective attire that consisted of his tan peacoat, black pants and equally dark gloves. It shouldn't have caught the thief off-guard though, having felt the lack of a mask where Akechi had nuzzled Akira's ear.

Truth to be told, the detective looked like he had just come out of an interview session. Which wasn’t unlikely, now that Akira thought about it. Did he feel something when the Phantom Thieves entered his palace?

The feeling of vulnerability only increased when the lights were slightly dimmed, the words his friends were saying falling on deaf ears as Akechi leaned forward, only an inch apart from Akira’s face.

This felt more and less personal all at once, having a real, tangible face to accompany the seductive voice with, and Akechi's breath against his lips made it hard to process much more.

“At times I hated you,” Akechi muttered in one, short breath. Hellfire blazed in red-brown eyes, threatening to burn Akira alive with the way his intense gaze bore into his skin.

Akira believed him.

"I absolutely despised you for some perspectives of yours, for the pathetic friends you made that you can so gladly rely on. But where are they now? Useless, unable to lift even a finger. I thought about it. Deep down, you’re used to that, aren’t you? Having to play the leader in everything. They can’t formulate a single plan, a single thought without your help or opinion. I bet that they’d die the moment you would. They’re so depending on you that it’s absurdly painful to watch.”

"Screw you, Akechi!", Ryuji angrily shouted.

Ann's voice was next. "Don't listen to him, Akira!"

"How pretentious of him to think so lowly of us!"

There was protest growing loud, tugging at his auditory senses, but Akira could only focus on Akechi’s words, the rest starting to fade into white noise.

In response, Akechi seemed rather pleased at noticing Akira's focused gaze on him rather than the Phantom Thieves, and proceeded to remain unaffected by the enraged cries.

"I've spent a damn lot of time thinking about this entire situation. I just couldn't put a finger on why I admired you for one second, only to downright hate you in the next. It came to me in our last trip in mementos. The way you pressed a shadow for more money than the meager amount it produced, holding a gun to its head so... naturally. But your little group told you to let go, to just let that poor, innocent soul scramble as if it would help making up for every other sin they've committed. As if they were any better. Tell me, does something like that really help their conscience? You, on the other hand, don't try to hide what you are - and everybody else is taking advantage of that, aren't they?"

Red-brown eyes didn’t soften, but there was another flicker in those dark obs, gushes of wind transforming the uncontrollable flames into that of a deadly, precise fire tornado.

“I can stand you surprisingly well when we're alone. But with them around, it becomes nearly unbearable. And I asked myself: why is that? Why do I hate you at times, but even more so when your little group is assembled? It's surprisingly simple once I came around to it."

Akechi's voice was liquid fire burning his insides. "Because they drag you down, make you slower than you already are. The aftereffects are so strong that they shine through even when we're alone and you're free of their grasp. Once I realized that - I couldn't hate you anymore, not when knowing that it's their fault. But don't worry. I will remove the shackles they've put on you, unleash the potential inside of you that's just begging to be released.

"When Loki crashed your troupe and I stepped inside of the room you thought to be safe... it just confirmed my thoughts. Do you want to know a little secret?" Hot lips ghosted icily over his ear. "They were all dead. For a few minutes, they were as dead as they could be, only alive because I keep a filthy shadow that can Samarecarm. And they died because they were weak. But you were still alive, still conscious even after Loki's little rampage. Don't you see it? You don't need your friends, Akira. You need me."

There was a grin stretching Akechi’s previously tight lips, wide and sinister, turning into a menacing, deranged laugh. Akechi felt important to someone in his own, twisted version. Needed. And he wasn't going to let go now that he found what he'd been unconsciously looking for.

It was the most honest Akira had Akechi seen.

The way his shoulders trembled with cruel humor, bangs falling into a set of uncontrollable, dilated eyes that were usually so composed, guarded.

He should protest - his members weren't like that, they were not a liability like Akechi made them out to be, they did not manipulate him, but the words didn't want to leave his mouth. Instead, he could only focus on the way the detective's shoulder's stilled, head lowering to look down on Akira again.

A new, unfamiliar glint ominously shone beneath the storm of red, and it made Akira's toes curl in anxiety and sick anticipation.

A hand gripped his chin in the same manner as earlier, digging uncomfortably deep.

“And now look at you - helpless, pliant for me to do as I please. I will undo their wronging, show them who you really belong to. And because they're the culprits and part of my lovely audience, they get front seats on how I will absolutely defile you,” Akechi mumbled, coming quite close to growling towards the end of the last sentence. “They will be able to see and hear, but they will never, never be able to touch.”

Akechi’s presence was so much more suffocating than his black and white persona, reducing all of Akira’s current sensation on the next, heatedly spoken words that left the detectives mouth.

“Because you’re mine, Akira. Mine to hate, mine to take apart, mine to humiliate. Mine to fight against, mine to fight with. They are nothing short of undeserving of your presence, even more so when I'm around. It's about time you and them realize that-” Akechi sweeped in close, one arm encasing his waist and pulling him forth, tilting his head up and smiling cruely at the gasp that managed to get past Akira's lips. “And I don’t. Fucking. Share.”

The detective crashed his lips onto Akira's, and the slightly smaller felt like he was being devoured, dissected and put back anew by only the detective’s mouth.

The gesture was immensely intimate, but the execution was as brutal as it could get. Akira's feeble attempts at resistance were quickly dominated by the way Akechi seemed fixated on permanently engraving himself onto the other's mouth.

He wanted to loath himself for letting his body react to Akechi's touches, but knew it was pointless to try and resist physical stimulation.

Akira was pressed tightly against Akechi, one arm around his back as the other roughly grabbed his unruly strands, pulling him closer and closer until Akira's world was reduced only to the feel of Akechi's mouth moving against his and the suffocating heat that consumed them.

It was hard to think about anything other than Akechi, not with how roughly he pressed Akira's head against his own, twisting him into all kinds of angles and positions that proved advantageous to Akechi.

Through the heavy fog that clouded his brain, Akira felt some sort of rational sense creeping back. It made him acutely aware of the position they were in and the absolute wrongness of it, no matter how much his body wanted to cooperate.

But a meager kick from him resulted in Akechi catching his leg, pulling the thief forward so that Akira lost his balance even more. The other was there to steady him, never breaking the kiss while he used the opportunity to swiftly hover over Akira even more.

Seeing as his legs and arms were occupied, Akira managed to reel his head back with a sudden, spontaneous burst of strength, about to let a headbutt connect. But the fingers in his hair harshly yanked him back even further, destroying his second attempt at defiance.

Presented with the expanse of a tempting throat, Akechi nearly growled as he tore the gray fabric apart, immediately latching onto the nearest section of pale skin available to him.

Akira couldn’t help but gasp, swallowing the drool threatening to leave his mouth as Akechi left open-mouthed kisses on his skin, only to suck a bruise into the junction between his neck and collarbone.

The brown haired male stayed there for a while, eagerly savoring every gasp that left Akira's mouth while his own was busy mapping and painting the canvas beneath him. 

Akira's hips involuntarily bucked when the detective went lower to take one of his nipples into his mouth. The hand in his black hair left, settling onto the unoccupied part of his chest, kneading the skin as if he had more flesh to grab on, never failing to occasionally tug at his free nipple.

Akira knew that the stuttered moans he desperately tried to keep in were being projected obscenely loud for the entire audience to hear, everyone intently listening how Akechi's reduced him to nothing but a whimpering, drooling mess.

But Akira was deprived-  when had he last touched himself? - and Akechi's ministrations just felt so fucking good- the fact that he could hear his cries echoing through the charged, heated air was an unimportant detail.

Akechi switched from sucking vigorously to tugging at his already sensitive nipple with his teeth to abuse the already swollen bud with undisputed fervor. 

The outrageous cries of his friends didn't prevent Akira from outwardly howling when Akechi chose to bit down hard, flashes of white entering his vision, and it took every ounce of his weak, weak willpower not to come.

The shame at letting out such a sound was instant, and Akira blinked some tears away, blurry vision focusing on the image of Akechi hovering above his face again, eyes wide with barely restrained hunger.

"So fucking responsive," he heard him growl, and Akira would lie if that sound didn't sent his own erection straining even more against his tight leather pants. A thumb pressed onto his bruised bottom lip, prying it open.

Out of some weird, primal instinct his hazy mind deemed good enough to execute, his tongue lashed out, licking once, twice around the gloved thumb before retreating in a now open, panting mouth. Something even darker flashed across Akechi's face, but he seemed oddly composed when he went down again, lapping up the small trail of blood his bite had caused.

Akira couldn't help but moan when pain cut through the pleasure, only to mix together into an enticing, confusing dance that made it hard for him to contain his increasingly wanton cries.

“Do not hold back,” he heard the Akechi’s voice from somewhere distant, hand yanking him by Akira's hair again, this time emitting a willing groan from the thief at the pain flaring up around his scalp. “Let everyone hear how I make you feel.”

Akechi pulled back, and the brief lack of stimulation on his body hastily enabled Akira to formulate a somewhat coherent sentence, no matter how much he craved to be touched again.

“W-why not just- kill me?”

It was by no means eloquent, but it seemed to amuse Akechi just enough to let out a chuckle from somewhere deep inside his chest.

“You should be able to put one and one together after I've said everything, no?", Akechi mumbled. "But by all means, I'll be glad to demonstrate."

Akechi walked around him, settling back into his original position as he pulled the smaller close again, circling an arm around his waist. A gloved had turned Akira's head around from where AKira had tried following his form, forcing him to look forward again.

It was almost intimate when he could see Akechi's face while the detective forced pleasure through his body - but like this, with touches and the predatory presence against his back it felt positively erotic, especially now that there was no body to prevent the prying eyes from looking at Akira.

"Take a good look," Akechi hissed, and the thief gasped when he felt a tongue beginning to lap around his earlobe. “Guilt and shame is all they’re good for. Seeing their beloved leader like this-” He bit down onto a spot that made Akira cry out, another wave of heat rushing through his body, “-at the mercy of another man, knowing fully well that they should not find pleasure in this. But oh, they do, can’t help their filthy desires as they dream about touching you themselves with their unworthy hands.”

And Akira saw the outline of slowly, hardening bulges and the squeezed together thighs, no matter how much each of his friend tried to hide it.

Akira felt shame and another torrent of sick pleasure crashing through him when seeing their reaction, barely coherent enough to know that this was- wrong? Why did they hide their desire beneath resentment and anger? - but Akechi, not able to stand being out of the spotlight for too long, pulled his drifting mind back.

"Killing you would be such a waste. I have not worked myself to the brink of destruction for years to gain so little out of it. Sure, it would grant me momentarily satisfaction, but it would simply not compare to the permanent knowledge, living proof of having ripped out each of your precious ties to the outer world until there is only one left. Mine."

Akira heard him conjure his saber in the hand that didn't encircle Akira's waist in a possessive grip.

For the briefest of moments, fear cut through the foggy pleasure despite what the detective just said, but hot anticipation soon molded Akira's senses back into their previous state of mushiness when the blade only severed his heavy, black coat around his arms. The saber only slightly cut into his skin, and the he wished Akechi would have cut off the entire cloth so Akira could touch.

The detective impatiently yanked the rest of his heavy coat off, and Akira shivered as his arms and sides were exposed, the remaining fabric of his vest soon following right after.

"Besides, if I'd kill or torture you in front of you friends, they'd only hate me. With this-", he groped his ass once, laughing huskily when Akira openly moaned, "they'll hate me, but themselves even more."

There the leader of the Phantom Thieves stood, naked except for his pants and mask, head lolling onto his offender's shoulder when he finally felt something heavy press against his behind, sending a rush of twisted, cruel desire through Akira's body.

Despite there being several layers preventing direct contact, Akechi's cock still felt so hot, so heavy on his backside as the detective started grinding. The last shreds of dignity Akira managed to collect were used for not rutting back against Akechi like a bitch in heat.

He couldn't stifle the impatient whines though, needy and in a much higher tone than he was used to.

Akira airily sighed when hands settled on his small hips to pull him closer to Akechi's cock. “It's true that I hate your guts most of the time even if they're Phantom Thieves induced,” Akechi panted into his ear, "but like this?"

The brown haired male began to massage his globes through his pants again, and all Akira could do was let out a series of ragged, spent breaths as he felt his own erection growing even harder than it already was.

"All these cocky, witty remarks of Joker gone. I don't dislike them, rather the opposite, really, but you being so utterly obedient? An exhilarating feeling, my dear." Akechi’s voice was strained with desire, and Akira tried pushing his ass back again, earning a loud, animalistic groan.

“Impatient little slut,” Akechi murmured when he recovered, sticking two fingers inside of Akira's mouth on which the latter immediately began suckling on. "A virgin, yet here you are, shamelessly begging for me to take you in front of everyone."

There were a few, fleeting images breaking through Akira’s fog, mainly consisting of shyly kissing a pretty, foreign girl just behind a vending machine, a short handjob he had given an artist when the other had been sleeping over and awoke with tremors in his heart that could not be stopped by mere words.

A distant voice told him that yes, he had not done anything beyond that, too little time, too much Akechi.

Akira felt a tongue lapping up the halfway dried trail of blood the cut on his arms left behind, and he whined when the gloved appendages retracted from his face. Akira's disappointment was short-lived, however, because in the next second he felt Akechi's wet glove sneaking inside of his pants, going further down to rub at his entrance.

He couldn't help but mewl, sagging even more against Akechi's frame who chuckled lowly in response, turning his head a bit to start sucking bruises on already existing ones again. The intrusion of his finger was painful at first, but got quickly swept away by bursts of pleasure that had his hips rutting uselessly against the air, seeking friction that would not come.

Akira was pretty sure he was going to die if he didn't get Akechi's cock inside of him soon enough, but the other seemed content with how sloppily he worked one finger into him, poking and rubbing at his inners walls and inducing breathless whimpers.

Even an especially high moan did little to fasten the pace of fingers working into him, but the thief counted it as some sort of win anyway because Akechi moved his mouth from the fragility of his throat up to his swollen lips again.

Akira didn’t even try to deny him his entrance, Akechi's tongue wrestling his own into submission easily enough before exploring the rest of Akria's mouth as if he hadn't already memorized the insides.

Swallowing the constant streams of needy moan Akira let out, Akechi pulled back, resting their forehead together. “You’re stupidly pretty already,” Akechi mumbled, chuckling when the male in his hold preened at the praise. Akira just wished that his hands weren’t bounded, wanting so badly to- to do anything, to grab his Akechi's tie, shed his clothes, grip his long, silky hair to pull him into fight a fight of dominance he wouldn't even try to win in the first place.

“But like this-"

In his peripheral view, Akira thought he saw the form of a tall, blue haired male nearly jumping out of his seat when Akira let out a guttural groan, Akechi finally working another finger into him. It made everything better and worse at the same time. Akira felt rather than saw Akechi's lips stretching into a lazy grin. 

"Like this you're a fucking vision."

The wave of fresh humiliation barely fazed him (why was he feeling that in the first place?), but Akechi growled, sensing that Akira was not entirely focused on him and reclaiming the attention by biting down where neck and shoulder met.

Akira’s mind was too clouded, to fogged by the sensations rendering everything but his libido utterly useless. No force stopped the pathetic whines crawling up his throat, begging for something out of his reach.

From behind, Akechi gave him another, husky laugh, finally deciding to show a bit of mercy when he ripped Akira's pants apart with one, mighty pull, some leftover fabric uselessly clinging to his lower legs.

Akira’s erection sprung free, heavy and leaking and for everyone to see because his outfit did not come with underwear. Akechi didn't seem surprised by it. Akira preened under the attention, baring his throat for Akechi once more when he felt the other lifting his forehead from his.

“Ah, so eager to be fucked.”

Onto the very edge of Akechi's word clung some sort of distortion - heated insanity that had Akira growing even more desperate to be filled properly, wanting to feel the animalistic passion the detective clearly tried to suppress.

“With that cocky smirk and all these unnecessary, flashy moves you like to use, I should have figured that bringing you up onto a stage like this would do nothing else than further edge you on.”

Akira couldn’t help but moan at that, pushing his ass back so that Akechi's hands that were still working him open came into contact with his own erection. He received a hiss as an answer, hand tightly gripping his waist in a way that would bruise within the next minutes.

Pain had mixed with pleasure from the beginning on, but the unspoken possessiveness in the gesture catapulted him to new heights as he whimpered, throat raw with the countless of sounds that he had barely fought against.

Sensing some parts of his urgent desperation, Akechi seized Akira’s neck again, twisting the thief into a heated kiss, tongue and teeth meeting in a way that was nothing but filthy. Akechi consumed every inch of Akira that he could get his hands on, and the last thing on the thief's mind was to fight against it, happily sinking into the sea of bliss that was Akechi.

There was distant applause faintly trying to invade his hearing, but all Akira’s sensation were able to process was the mind-numbing pleasure solely inflicted by the person caging him in, stealing every breath for himself.

There was the slightest, faint feeling that Akira shouldn't be doing this, giving himself over so easily, but it was absolutely drowned out by how the rest felt so convincingly right, everything clicking into place and planting a deep satisfaction within him that Akira didn't know he needed, craved

The black haired male felt Akechi’s lips at his nape again, ghosting over the skin in a manner so differently from the aggressive bites he had been prone to use before. “This is where you belong. Beneath my hands, your body and mind mine alone to shape.”

“A-akechi,” Akira moaned, broken and having forsaken his last remaining bits of dignity, rattling at his chains. The male behind him shivered when his name was spoken, not used to hear the other use his voice for anything other than sounds of pleasure. “Not yet,” Akechi said, pulling his fingers out.

A cry escaped Akira's lips, his hole uselessly clenching around nothing. “Hush,” he heard Akechi murmur, but the deeper than usual tone of his voice gave away his own impatience. “I planned on prepping you a bit longer, but seeing as you took two of my fingers so easily...”

The hand left his nape, making Akira’s head roll back against the neck behind him yet again, barely having the strength to uphold his own body and mostly relying on the taller for support.

His nose was lightly pressed into long strands of air, and by instinct Akira took a deep breath, practically purring when a pleasant mixture of sweat, burned fire and sweet coffee clogged his senses even more.

A finger trailed down his spine, touch feather light before it settled firmly between the cleft of his ass.

“Takamaki has no dignity in that suit of hers. You, however-” Akira whined low in his throat when his cheeks got spread apart by two fingers, feeling Akechi stare him down in that exact spot. “...when your coat flies in a specific way, I admit that it had always been rather distracting. A body as slutty as yours doesn’t need to be prepared that much, hm?”

There might have been tears rolling down his cheeks, but Akira did not care, the faint voice of what once might have been rationality long gone and suppressed by his overwhelming desire to finally cum on Akechi’s cock that was still not inside of him. 

As if on cue, something fleshy wedged itself between his bare cheeks. Akira nearly came right then and there, legs giving out so that he was mostly dangling by the cloth around his wrist alone and Akechi himself. “So desperate,” the brown haired male laughed as he kept grinding his cock up and down, hissing every now and then when the tight friction proved too much.

The feeling of raw exposure reached its highest peak when Akira felt his mask flying to the side, spinning through the air and landing with a dull clank.

Briefly, Akira felt like he just lost something immeasurable, something of so much worth that he couldn’t even decipher what it was – but it didn’t matter, not when Akechi laughed so horribly pretty, loud and unforgiving as he put a hand between Akira's shoulder blades, one at his hip to steady and then pushed, yanking the phantom thief's upper body forward. 

Akira's moan was practically ripped out of his throat when he had to arch his back to accommodate to the pressure, ass obscenely jutting out, arms helplessly dangling above him.

There might have been shouts, a few, desperate and weirdly strained calls of his name, but Akira did not hear them, everything blending into the same, euphorically feeling when Akechi finally entered him with one, mighty trust. His perception dulled, own senses reduced to the feeling of the male brutally ripping apart his barely prepared insides, the pain nearly making Akira come.

Akechi was merciless, hitting his prostate after only three thrusts, driving himself in and out with a fervor that had Akira chocking on his own moans, mixing irregularly with screams when Akechi's cock hit especially deep and long. The gloves on his waist felt like claws digging into his skin, and Akira tried his best to meet Akechi's harsh thrusts, head empty except for pleasure.

Akira came after only half a minute, ribbons of white either stuck against the glass or parts of his stomach, but Akechi did not care, continued drilling his cock inside, not relenting when the male beneath him began to cry for earnest with overstimulation.

The wet, squelching sound of Akechi’s length driving in and out of him was nothing but obscene, heavy balls slapping against Akira’s.

Tight,” Akechi pressed out between gritted teeth, releasing guttural groans ever so often when Akira's walls sucked him in deeper and deeper, as if not wanting to let go. The black haired male helplessly moaned when budding pleasure began to paint the inside of his head a fuzzy mess yet again, his own cock coming back to life.

“You belong to me.” Each word was accentuated by a series of the deepest thrusts Akira had felt so far, and he knew his tongue was sticking out uselessly that simply had to look absolutely degrading, but Akira could not have cared any less. “Look at your friends. Wishing they were in mine position. But I’m the only  person worthy to touch you like this, just like you're the only person worthy of my touch. No one will ever be able to satifsfy you from now on.”

"A-Akechi, nghhh-"

Pleasure seeped into the rest of his flesh, devouring his insides with each of Akechi's voracious thrusts. A galaxy of stars and wild colors danced across the edge of his vision, transforming his surrounding into a world where only Akechi and the feeling he inflicted on his body existed.

Pressure left his right waist to appear at his mouth, and Akira swallowed the fingers like he was conditioned to, almost chocking on the digits as the soft material of Akechi's gloves dug deeper and deeper.

“Look at your friends,” he repeated, a first hints of desperation clinging to his strained voice. Akechi was slowly loosing his rhythm, but it made each drag of his cock even more delicious, motions growing erratic and unpredictable.

It was chaos, the way Akechi rammed his cock inside of him in near desperation as if this was the sole purpose of his existence. Akira let out another series of raspy, lewd moans when the fingers in his mouth pressed down onto his tongue, Akira just barely having the energy left to vocalize his pleasure.

Akira rememebered and finally compiled with Akechi's order, his long eyelashes slightly clumping together and blurring his already unfocused vision even more.

But Akira thought he could just make them out, each of their forms strained, gripping the leans so tightly Akira was surprised they didn’t burst. The question as to why he should look, why they were so important surfaced somewhere deep inside of him, but Akechi's cock was just that much deeper, preventing any attempt of more complicated thoughts forming. 

Akira was close, so goddamn close, just a little bit- he needed it faster, he needed it deeper, he needed-


Akechi growled animalistically upon hearing the desperation in the thief's tone, tugging at his mouth with one hand while feverously running the other up his abdomen, solar-plexus, chest, kneading and claiming what he could get his hands on. "That's right. Scream my name and cum."

Akechi let out a long groan of Akira’s name himself, hot liquid quickly filling the abused hole, and the sensation was enough to make Akira lock eyes with a single, random person in the front row,  all while screaming Akechi’s name for the entire hall to hear, coming undone a second time.

His vision went white for the briefest moment, every sensation pulling together and expanding to unimaginable lengths inside of him as Akira let out a final, drawn out and broken moan.

He felt like he was floating, drowning in contentment. He was sure his insides were different than before.

Bathing in the aftermath of his orgasm, Akira felt the beginning of exhaustion claiming him, a strange, bone-deep tiredness tugging at his limbs.

He couldn't help but sag forward, entire weight supported only by the velvet cloth around his skin, rubbing against his bruised and swollen wrists in a way that should hurt but didn't.

A noise was growing louder, and Akira recognized it as a thunderous storm of applause.

Shadow Akechi might have stepped onto stage again, but all Akira could do was sigh when his hand where finally freed, blood rushing into his arms again as he crashed against a hard and soft body. Something steadied him, touch strange but weirdly familiar.

His head was starting to pound the more Akira tried to grab some of the wispy thoughts slowly bubbling up now that the fog of pleasure started to dissipate. So the Akira let go, snuggling against the comfortable, consuming heat.


The limbs tightened around him in response, and Akira felt himself drifting of to softly mumbled mines against his hair.