Chapter Text
Akira wakes in Akechi's apartment, wrapped in a thin sheet and nothing else, the chill of the early morning obvious now as sleep leaves him.
Beside him Akechi stirs, reaching up to rub his eyes with a groan.
“Good morning,” Akira says, shifting to press their bodies closer. Despite the cold apartment, Akechi is warm and inviting.
Akechi mumbles a semblance of a reply, pulling Akira by his waist so their hips bump against each other, tilting forward until he's leaning over top. He dips down, pressing his lips against Akira's throat.
“So I was thinking,” Akira whispers, reaching his hand behind Akechi to touch his warm skin, running his fingertips across Akechi's bony spine.
“Your ideas are rarely pleasant ones,” Akechi says, swatting his hand away, and then as if thinking better about it, threads their fingers together in a locked grip.
Akira pouts. “It's an off day, I thought we could do something together.”
Akechi doesn't bother him with a reply immediately, choosing instead to bite down on the patch of skin he had just kissed. “I have work.”
Akira whines, hips jumping upwards. Akechi's hand slides from his waist down to his hip, pushing him back into the futon.
“H-hey,” Akira says, breathily, refusing to let Akechi get away without agreeing to some sort of date.
“Hm?” Akechi whispers into his neck. He repeats the action, biting a little softer this time before swiping his tongue across the hurt flesh.
“Movie date?”
“What time?” He asks, as he presses his open mouth against the same spot, sucking down on the sensitive skin. Akira whimpers, toes curling against the sheet as Akechi holds him firmly in place.
“What time?” Akechi asks again, a rough edge to his voice, as if it was an annoyance, as if he wasn’t the one driving Akira straight to the edge of insanity.
“Uh-”
Akechi moves his hand from Akira's hip to his quickly hardening dick, wrapping a loose fist around him.
Akira sighs, startling at the warmth of Akechi on him - around him. His thoughts buzz in a strain as his focus shifts from a date with Akechi to staying in bed all day, tumbling between the sheets.
“C'mon, Akira, tell me what you want.” Akechi's thumb circles the tip of Akira’s cock and it takes all of Akira’s willpower to not thrust up into Akechi's fist.
“Fuck.” Akira says. His eyes water, his lungs sting, forcing him to take a deep breath in. “I- I want to go to the movies with you.”
“Okay,” Akechi agrees. His fingertips dance away from Akira, pulling away, leaving a burning ache and need where they previously were hot around him. “I have some work to do, but I can meet you at the Shibuya location at three.”
“But-” Akira starts, only to be cut off by Akechi, who sweeps him up into a breathless kiss, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as they part.
“Three,” Akechi whispers against his lips. “See you later.”
Akira opens his mouth, another protest on the tip of his tongue, but Akechi interrupts him while he pulls clothes off a hanger beside the bed as he stands - khakis, a wine-red shirt, all nestled together in a white sweater that was buttoned around it.
“And don't even fucking think about touching yourself,” Akechi tells him. He pulls the clothes over his naked body, clearly with the intention to ignore Akira.
Akira glances down. His erection hasn't flagged in the slightest, stiff against his inner thigh and a dribble of precome beading to the tip. It would probably kill him to not jerk off. “Seriously?”
“If you’re good,” Akechi says, slowly, while he kneels onto the bed, leveraging himself over Akira. “I’ll help you get off later.”
“Awfully lofty of yourself to think your hand is that much better than mine,” Akira retorts. “A hand is a hand.”
“Fine,” Akechi agrees. He steps back away from the bed, pulling his cardigan up over his shoulders and starting on the buttons. Indifferently, he says: “Touch yourself.”
Akira hesitates, eyes locked with Akechi’s as he creeps his hand down to dick. Akechi’s eyes bore into the side of his head as Akira slid his hand to the base, giving himself a thoughtful squeeze.
Guilt smothers him. Akechi’s eyes, normally so hauntingly beautiful during the day, feel like twin wardens - dutifully locked on Akira’s right hand.
“Nevermind,” He manages, voice caught in his throat. He pulls his hand away, still hard, but the ache in his gut ebbs away as he obeys Akechi.
“Good boy.” Akechi gives him a peck on his forehead, pushing his unruly bangs out of the way as he does so. “I’ll see you at three.”
☾𖤓
Akira spends the rest of the morning with Morgana, a latte for him, and a saucer of milk for his companion.
The cold outside has taken solace in Leblanc, and Akira wears his coat while customers move back and forth from the entrance, the door banging shut with each guest.
“I think we’re close to the end of the palace,” Morgana tells him between licks of milk. It dribbles in his whiskers. “It’ll be nice to be done with it so soon, right?”
“Yeah,” Akira murmurs. He wonders what happens after. Akechi always talked as if this was a month of crazy fun that would end after they defeated Maruki.
I’ll stay by your side, Akechi had said, and Akira had eaten the soft moment up, like a dog being fed a treat for good behavior. He wanted Akechi here, and didn't want him to leave again. But, what happened when they stole Maruki’s heart?
“It’ll be okay,” Morgana says. He pads around the counter to Akira, rubbing his head against his shoulder. “Enjoy the time you have for now.”
It felt like there was a hole in his chest, not knowing. Or maybe he did know, and he couldn’t force himself to swallow the reality of the situation.
But when the time comes, we won't hesitate to put an end to Maruki's reality.
☾𖤓
When Akira arrives at the Shibuya theater, ten to three, Akechi is standing outside the entrance, casually scrolling through his phone.
“You're early,” Akira says, his breath leaving in white puffs.
“Managed to wrap work up a little early,” Akechi replies. He slides his phone into his pocket, gesturing for Akira to enter the theater ahead of him. “Did you keep your hands to yourself?”
“Yes, and you can ask Morgana for my alibi if you don’t believe me.”
Akechi chuckles. “I doubt that will be necessary.”
Despite the inviting smell of popcorn and overpriced candy, Akechi doesn’t bother tempting him, buying tickets at the terminal instead. They walk through the crowded lobby down to their room - lights dimmed and comfortable chairs.
“Kind of a cheap date aren’t you?” Akira asks as he settles into his seat. “You didn't even ask if I wanted popcorn.”
“Apologies,” Akechi says. He moves the arm rest between them up, so their thighs touch. “Do you want popcorn?”
Above them, the theater speakers boom with ads. “No,” Akira whispers. “I don't want to miss any of the movie.”
The theater is mostly empty, a speckling of giggly school girls his age sitting a few rows ahead of them, bundled up in winter jackets, a blanket unfurled over their laps.
“Matinees are always nice,” Akechi murmurs. He leans closer, breath tickling Akira’s neck. “Quieter.”
Akira shivers, leaning into Akechi's touch. He adored being an avid moviegoer. His hometown lacked one, and traveling all the way to Tokyo just to see a new release was such a chore, but since living here, he'd gone at least once a week to see something. He'd watched Love Possibly twice in July because the main character was so dashing he brought a notepad in to write down a scene and try the same lines on Akechi.
It was nice, too, going with others. But his favorite was always when the movie didn't sell well, letting him sit in the theater alone or with only a handful of others, allowing him to feel his emotions the movie provided without a need to stifle them for the audience.
And being here with Akechi….
A theater ad gives a final warning for phones and fire exits before the lights dim, sweeping the theater with a gentle hand of darkness.
Fighting Friends is a perfectly innocuous romcom that Akira finds himself completely enraptured in, barely paying mind to Akechi beside him as the scenes fold into minutes spent beside each other. Friends turning into lovers that culminates into a third-act breakup that tugs at the heartstrings. The highschool girls in front of them whisper amongst themselves as the couple meet up again - four months in four minutes.
“How trite,” Akechi says, clearly annoyed by the choice in movie. He moves his hand into a burning grip on Akira’s thigh.
“Romcoms aren't meant to be deep,” Akira whispers back. He presses a kiss to Akechi's jaw. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Hm,” Akechi replies.
Onscreen, the couple reunites, the music trumpeting in a beautiful chorus as the camera pans around them and their lips locked together. Beside him, Akechi shifts, hand trailing up Akira’s leg and in one deft movement, pops the button on the jeans and unzips him.
“What-!” Akira yelps, immediately biting his tongue when the highschool girls all whip around to glare at him.
“Sorry,” Akechi says, for him, a lie already on his tongue. “Dropped our popcorn.”
They murmur amongst themselves but turn back towards the screen while Akechi fishes his hand into Akira’s underwear, cool leather gloves finding solace against the warm heat of his body.
“What are you doing?” Akira asks, shivering. His cock is rapidly getting extremely interested in what is happening, and he jolts as Akechi’s delicate hand drags two fingers across the length. Fear blooms in his belly, knowing there’s people so close by, but also excitement. Interest.
He licks his lips, feeling his underarms and chest grow hot with embarrassment at the prospect of Akechi fucking him right here in the theater. Suddenly all his layers for the cold winter are suffocating him. “Akechi–”
Akechi shushes him, in barely a huff of laughter, pressing his lips against the side of Akira’s face. “Don’t you deserve your reward for being so good earlier?”
“I-” Akira tries to reason back. He had assumed Akechi meant in the privacy of his own home, away from prying eyes.
“Akira,” Akechi says. “Lift your hips up.”
Akira grits his teeth, swallowing his spit down.
“Lift your hips,” Akechi repeats. He tilts to the side, sliding his forefingers into the loops of Akira’s jeans.
They were in public–
–Akira was already on probation. Akechi had recently been released from jail. Public indecency would have them both thrown into prison.
“C’mon,” Akechi goads. “Be good, and maybe I’ll fuck you here too.”
Akira bites his bottom lip and with hesitant footing, thrusts his hips upwards, allowing Akechi to slide his pants and underwear down his thighs. When he sat back, his bare ass met the soft theater seat. He was half naked, exposed, and had never been harder in his entire life. He almost felt dizzy, cheeks flushing, when Akechi sits back in his own seat and sweeps a hand over Akira.
The seats are tight. Akira almost wishes they’d waited until after the movie, his chest tight, breath hot. Akechi moves his hand at a languid pace. It’s infuriating. And Akira can’t move or beg or whimper, because there’s nowhere to go and there’s half a dozen girls who already have them on their shit list.
“Akechi,” Akira whispers, a bit too loudly. His attention has left the movie, so he has no idea how much longer they might have. Heat simmers in his gut, but he’s nowhere close to an orgasm, his attention cannot be split away from the movement around him.
“Hm?” Akechi’s voice rumbles in his ear. His thumb dips against Akira’s slit. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m watching the movie with you.”
Akira whines weakly, watery tears welling into his eyes. “N-no, please. I need more. Please. Please touch me more.”
He’s constricted in the chair, hip flush against the cup holder, and although Akechi had moved the middle armrest from between them there’s no give. Nowhere to run to. Akechi’s full attention is on the movie, fingers idly flexing around Akira's cock as if he randomly remembers that he should be helping him get off.
He wants to cry. He wants to come. He wants Akechi to look at him.
“Here,” Akechi says softly, and he drags Akira over to him. Akira twists and turns with Akechi’s prodding until he's sitting on his thighs, back against Akechi's warm chest.
“Think I could… like this?” Akechi whispers, in the shell of Akira's ear. He shivers, Akechi's breath warm, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.
Akechi drags the zipper of his own pants down, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet of the theater. Underneath him, Akechi shoves his hand between them and pulls out his own cock, hot and hard, letting it slide against the cleft of Akira's ass.
There was no way, not here in the cramped, warm theater with no lube or time, but Akira has never wanted anything more. His toes curled in his boots as Akechi's fist tightened around him, panting, wanting. “Please. Please.”
Above him, the telltale sign of a happy ending was tolling from the wedding bells on screen.
Akira comes in the palm of Akechi's hand, defiling his glove, and stands on wobbly feet to pull his pants up just as the credits roll, the lights turning back on.
His cheeks burn, watching Akechi strip off his glove and zip himself back into the safety of his jeans.
“You're not gonna-?” Akira asks, pointing down to where Akechi was very clearly still hard in his jeans. He mimics a jerking off motion, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
Akechi rolls his eyes. “Unnecessary. I can deal with it when I get home.”
Akira moves closer to his boyfriend. “And me?”
Something flashes behind Akechi's eyes, and he hesitates. “Not going home to Morgana?”
Akira falters from Akechi’s space, a frown dancing on his lips. “Do you want me to?”
“Akira,” Akechi starts, awkwardly adjusting his coat, like he wasn't sure where to start. He walks to the trash cans, dumping the soiled glove into one. “I care for you, but–”
But,
“You're breaking up with me,” Akira accuses.
Uncomfortable silence stretches between them, not a hint of denial or acceptance on Akechi's lips.
Akira tries to find a laugh somewhere in his throat, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. “I just want to be together. We don't have all the time in the world.”
“I know,” Akechi replies. His bare hand finds Akira’s shoulder.
Akechi was always the one pushing their relationship into a new limit and Akira was beginning to wonder how much further it could go before it snapped. It was Akechi who had sought him out that first day of January, pushed him into the washer and changed the dynamic of their relationship.
And yet, here he was, being dumped not only in public, but quite pathetically, not even ten minutes after Akechi had all but fucked him in the back of the theater. Their relationship which was already precarious had bowed under the weight of uncertainty.
Akechi gives him a tight smile, teeth worrying against his bottom lip. “I'll stop by Leblanc tomorrow. After school.”
As he leaves, Akechi throws the dirty glove away in the garbage filled with empty popcorn bags. Akira waits until he's rounded the corner to collapse back into his ticket seat, letting the tears that threatened earlier flood down his cheeks.