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Goro’s apartment isn’t huge, and he’s not prone to collecting knick-knacks, so it still looks fairly impersonal. It has exactly two decorations: a little ceramic paperweight in the shape of a crow gifted to him by Sumire with the explanation that she “saw it and thought he’d like it”, and a small houseplant suggested by his therapist, who is of the opinion that Goro would benefit from having something simple to look after.
“Being responsible for another life, even a small one, might help you remember that your own life doesn’t have to revolve around violence,” she’d apparently said. Akira doesn’t know if it’s working, but it’s been three months since he got it and the plant hasn’t died yet, so maybe.
Early on, there’d been a lot of worry about where to even find a therapist who knew about the Metaverse or could be trusted with the info, barring the obvious; then Futaba’s investigation into one of her mom’s old employers had resulted in a lot of things happening very quickly, and one of the benefits of the job Goro very suddenly acquired turned out to be extremely understanding medical care, and, well.
…the details aren’t important.
What’s important, right now, is the apartment. No one besides Goro lives there. No Sojiro, no Akira’s parents, just him. And Akira’s parents were wholly unconcerned when their son expressed an interest in spending his summer break back in Tokyo.
And weekend visits are always great but there’s only so much they can do when Akira has to go back the next day and even his parents will definitely notice any above-the-collar marks--
But now Akira doesn’t have to go back for weeks and there is finally, finally, finally nothing in the way of the type of thing Akira’s been trying very hard not to daydream about in public for the last four months.
Everything’s as ready as it’s going to be. They’re standing next to the bed, wearing looser clothes that’ll come off faster; the blankets are pushed to the side; the model gun is sitting on the nightstand.
Goro picks up the gun, checks the magazine. It doesn’t come off, of course, because it’s just a lump of plastic. But Akira gets why he’s checking.
“Just making sure,” Goro says, putting the gun back down.
Akira nods.
After a moment, Goro says, “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Goro taps his fingers against his hip, takes a deep breath, and punches Akira in the stomach.
Akira doubles over with a wheeze; Goro literally isn’t pulling his punches, and it hurt. He doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it, though, because an elbow slams into his shoulder blade, knocking him to the ground. His hands automatically block his fall, palms landing on the carpet. He’s still technically on his feet, but before he has the chance to stand, cold almost-metal presses against the side of his head.
“Don’t move,” Goro says lightly, and a hand grips in Akira’s hair, yanks his head up. Pinpricks of pain flare in Akira’s scalp. Now that he’s not facing the floor, he has a clear visual: Goro standing over him, one hand holding the pistol against Akira’s head, a hungry look in his eyes.
Just because they’d agreed on the broad strokes beforehand doesn’t mean actually experiencing it isn’t a little holy shit. Akira’s breath catches in his throat.
Goro lets go of Akira’s hair, leans down a little to get close enough to brush his thumb across Akira’s lips. “Don’t look so startled,” he murmurs. “You must’ve known this was coming. Your little gang’s only been at this for a handful of months; I’ve been doing this for years. It was amusing watching you play at heroes, but the game’s up. You’re finished. All that’s left now is choosing where to dump your body.”
He pauses. “Although I suppose I could find a use for you before then.”
In another world Akira might say, Practice that speech in a mirror?, but in this one he doesn’t, because he knows Goro did practice and Akira was there for it a few times.
Goro straightens, puts a hand on the back of Akira’s head, pushes him towards Goro’s groin. “Well?” he says. “Surely you’ve thought about this often enough that you know what to do.”
Akira swallows. Reaches up, undoes Goro’s fly with one hand. Leans in, tongues at Goro’s cock through his boxers.
“Putting on a show?” Goro murmurs. His fingers tighten in Akira’s hair.
Goro’s already half-hard; so’s Akira, but that’s not important right now. He pulls the boxers down enough to free Goro’s cock, and his eyes flutter closed as he takes the head of it into his mouth.
He’s gotten pretty good at blowjobs over the last few months, or at least Goro hasn’t exactly complained about it. He wraps his tongue around the head of Goro’s cock, laps at the skin. Goro’s grip tightens to the point of pain.
“Not even a word of protest,” Goro murmurs. “Do you think if you do a good enough job, I’ll let you go? If so, you’re a fool. You’re not getting out of here alive, Joker. But maybe if I’m in a good mood I’ll just kill you quickly, instead of taking my time with you.”
Akira can’t help letting out a thin whine around the cock in his mouth. His own cock is starting to strain against his pants. Goro’s voice is like silk, low and soft and almost a purr, and the barrel pressed against the side of his head feels like a cold brand, promising to heat up until it sears his flesh.
Goro thrusts into his mouth, cock pushing forward to brush against his soft palate. Akira barely manages not to gag. “Or maybe I will take my time,” Goro murmurs. “If I shot you in the stomach, how long would it take for you to bleed out? Or the femoral artery, perhaps. I could watch your life pour out of you as I spread your legs open and made sure the last thing you felt was my cock burying inside you. Even after death you’d still be warm enough for me to finish. I might even try for another round, really use you up before disposing of your corpse.”
God it’s such a fucking relief to not care about how hard that makes him.
Goro shoves Akira’s head forward, burying his cock in Akira’s mouth even more. Being good at giving blowjobs is becoming much less relevant, if Goro’s just fucking his mouth, holding his head still and using him like an object.
Akira restrains his gag reflex as much as he can, but it’s still getting hard to breathe. Involuntarily, the corners of his eyes start to well up. For a second, Goro’s expression falters.
Even through the increasing lack of oxygen, Akira gives a thumbs-up.
Goro’s expression slips back into predatory. “I wonder if I could kill you with just this,” he murmurs. “Choking on your murderer’s cock would certainly be a way to go. But that would probably take too long, and there’s so much more I’ve got planned for you.”
He yanks Akira’s head back. Akira gasps for breath, tries to fill up his lungs with oxygen before it gets knocked out of them again.
Goro lifts him up by the hair, shoves him backwards. Akira lands on the bed with a whoof, barely gets a second to catch his breath before Goro’s almost on top of him, yanking the rest of his body onto the mattress.
There’s a small clink as the gun ends up on the nightstand. Goro pushes his fingers under the sides of Akira’s waistband, pulls off Akira’s pants and underwear at once in one surprisingly smooth motion. He’s gotten really good at that, Akira thinks dizzily, before Goro pins his wrists down and lowers to devour his mouth.
Akira opens immediately; Goro’s tongue pushes in like he hasn’t mapped the inside of Akira’s mouth a hundred times before, claims every inch of it without giving Akira an opportunity to respond. Withdraws to bite at Akira’s lower lip, hard enough to leave an indent.
Akira’s painfully hard by now; Goro’s still-wet cock is grinding against his, the first attention it’s gotten since the start, and his stomach twists and coils with rising heat. As Goro moves to bite and suck at Akira’s neck, Akira’s gasping for reasons beyond oxygen deprivation, writhing underneath him.
Once Akira’s neck is apparently bruised to Goro’s satisfaction, he lets go of Akira’s wrists, grabs him by the hips instead, flips him over. It’s as devastatingly hot as the first time he tried it. Bouldering’s good for arm strength, and Akira’s happy to reap the benefits.
Goro lifts up Akira’s hips, settles between his legs. “If you’re sick enough to get hard for your murderer, let’s see how much I can make you come undone,” he says, and there’s a few seconds of a slight wet sound before the first finger starts to push inside Akira’s entrance.
Akira shivers, squeezes his eyes shut. It’s rough, moving too far too quickly and without enough preparation, and his body is already protesting with an ache. But then Goro’s finger brushes against one spot, and a moan stumbles from Akira’s lips at the resulting spark of pleasure. It pushes harder, forcefully rubs against him; the ache hardly seems to matter as ecstatic waves ripple through Akira’s body, his cock leaking onto the sheets and incoherent sounds spilling from his throat.
Another finger pushes in, scissors with the other. The ache increases, but Akira’s beyond caring.
A third finger; it feels like Akira’s body can’t take anymore, is too full and too wracked with pleasure. Then the fingers withdraw, and Akira almost sobs at the sudden emptiness.
Teeth sink into the back of the area between his neck and shoulder. Hands grip his hips again, and flip him back over onto his back, letting him look at Goro once more.
If Goro looked hungry before, now he looks starving. His hair hangs sweaty around his face; his eyes are deep and dark and seem like they could devour Akira whole with just a look. His chest heaves with ragged breath.
He gets back between Akira’s legs and doesn’t take a moment before he starts to shove his cock inside.
Sharp pain mixes with ecstasy once more; Goro’s harsh thrusts don’t take long to reach that spot again, slamming into it like he’s trying to break it open. Akira can’t stop the moans pouring out of him. Goro’s unrelenting, merciless in how he thrusts inside him, and Akira wouldn’t have it any other way.
Time seems to blur a little. The unending rush of physical sensation overwhelms Akira’s senses. But awareness comes back with a jolt when he feels fingers on his throat.
His eyes fly open. Both of Goro’s hands wrap around his neck, pressing down. Goro’s face is--not sadistic, not wild. Satisfied, like he’s enjoying the last course of a good meal.
Goro squeezes tighter. Akira’s throat constricts; his lungs burn as less and less oxygen passes into them. He’s starting to feel lightheaded. Black dots appear in his vision; the world grows hazy.
God, it’s so fucking good.
It’s almost relaxing; giving in, letting the world move on without him, finally letting everything just stop. And--and Goro, too, that it’s Goro who’s doing this, who loves him enough to want to hurt him in the way he wants to be hurt, who needs him in ways no one else does, who understands what he needs and is eager to give it. Who he trusts absolutely.
Akira’s eyes are almost starting to flicker closed when the pressure ceases.
His abused throat instinctively gasps, pulling in oxygen to his desperate lungs. His vision slowly starts to clear.
He feels heat spatter inside him.
A hand grasps his cock; everything’s so overloaded that he comes almost immediately, spilling all over Goro’s hand and shirt with one last moan.
He feels Goro pull out from inside him, tentatively rest a hand on his face.
Goro looks--nervous. Tense. It’s not an expression Akira wants to see, so he gives a tired smile.
Goro’s face seems to relax a little. “Hey,” he says softly, stroking a thumb across Akira’s cheek.
“Hey,” Akira replies, even softer, because his voice is still hoarse and faint. “How was it?”
Goro gives a soft huff of a laugh. “I should be asking you that,” he says.
Akira considers what words to use, and settles for just giving another thumbs-up.
Goro laughs again, brighter this time. “I suppose that gets the point across,” he says, and pulls his messy shirt off, hesitates a moment before just dropping it on the floor. Lies down on his side, watches Akira with a warm expression.
It’s a blissful little moment, so of course Akira’s brain decides to short-circuit.
A rush of feeling swarms into his mind, filling up every corner. Not fear, exactly, but--there’s just so much of it, overpowering everything else. All the happy thoughts sink in the flood. It feels hard to breathe again, but not in the relaxing way; more like there’s something crushing his chest, invisible and unforgiving. He realizes, faintly, that this must be what it’s like to have a panic attack.
Two thoughts struggle and break the surface.
If I burst into tears right now, Goro’s going to freak out and think it’s his fault.
If I try to pretend I’m fine and Goro realizes I’m not, he’s going to freak out and think it’s his fault and also be mad at me.
Okay, okay, so--
He manages to gasp out, “This is not because of you,” before he pulls the pillow over his face and lets the tears flow.
“Akira?” Goro says, and yeah, there’s the beginnings of fear. Akira blindly reaches out, clumsily grabs Goro’s hand, squeezes hard.
“I’m fine,” Akira says, hoarse and muffled by the pillow. A lifetime of instinct kicks in: make sure everyone else is okay before you, they’ve got their own problems to deal with, they don’t need yours, hold it back, don’t be selfish, don’t make anyone worry--
“No, you’re not,” Goro says, the fear still creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Talking is a lot harder when it feels like any words will come out as a sob. Akira’s head is full up, too crowded with cascading emotions. It feels a little like he’s drowning. It feels a lot like he’s drowning.
But it’s not Goro’s fault, he has to--he has to try to convey that somehow--
He takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, yanks the pillow off his face and immediately flings himself around Goro, head over Goro’s shoulder so his face isn’t visible. Holds on tight enough it’s almost painful.
And besides, it--it feels like he has to. Like holding onto something will keep the rest of him from being swept away in the flood.
Goro’s hands hesitantly rest on Akira’s back. “…can you talk?” he says, awkwardly, still not used to delicacy that isn’t an act.
Akira shakes his head. The tears haven’t actually stopped; Goro can definitely feel them trickling onto his shoulder now.
“…okay,” Goro whispers, and holds Akira tighter, lifts one hand to stroke Akira’s hair.
Akira can’t tell how long it lasts. But the flood eventually recedes, his chest loosens, his thoughts calm down. It feels like he’s been hollowed out. His eyes are sore and itchy.
He gives a shuddering breath and pulls back. Looks at Goro’s face, is grateful to not see panic there. Just concern.
“Feeling better?” Goro asks softly.
Akira nods. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was about.”
A flicker of irritation flits across Goro’s face. “There’s no need to apologize,” he says. “I highly doubt whatever that was was your fault.”
“Wasn’t yours either,” Akira says instantly.
The corner of Goro’s mouth twitches. “Yes, you made that clear,” he says.
“It was just…I don’t know, like my brain flipped a switch and then everything was bad,” Akira says. “Kind of overwhelming.”
Goro combs through Akira’s hair with his fingers. “Do you think it’ll happen again?” he asks.
Akira shrugs one shoulder. “No idea,” he says. “Maybe it was because it was the first time?”
“We don’t have to do this again if you think it’ll keep happening,” Goro says softly.
Akira shakes his head. “No, it’s worth it,” he says firmly. The overload sucked, but that bone-deep release was…indescribable. He doesn’t want to never feel that again. “And I don’t think it’ll happen every time, at least.”
“…well, it’s up to you,” Goro says. He brushes his lips against Akira’s forehead. “Can I get you anything?”
Akira yawns. The hollowed-out feeling is making it hard to stay awake. “I kind of just want to pass out,” he admits sleepily. “My brain feels like it got hit by a truck.”
“All right,” Goro says. He reaches over Akira to grab the pillow, slides it under their heads. Pulls over the pushed-aside blankets. “I can work with that.”
Akira lets his eyes fall shut, relaxes his head into the pillow. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and drifts off to sleep in Goro’s arms.
When he wakes up, Goro is still there, eyes closed and mouth slightly open in sleep. Akira feels a fizzy surge of affection at the sight.
After capturing it in his memory, he reaches up and taps Goro’s forehead. Goro stirs awake almost immediately.
“All good now,” Akira says, before Goro can ask. He’s tempted to snuggle closer and stay there for the rest of the day, but also he’s kind of sore and sweaty and really needs to take a shower before the sheets get any messier.
Goro raises an eyebrow. “Is that an actual ‘all good now’, or do you just not want to worry me?” he asks drily.
Akira winces slightly. The problem with being really close to someone is that they end up getting to know you pretty well. “An actual one, I promise,” he says, and extricates himself from Goro. “Sorry to take first shower, but I kind of need it more than you do.”
Goro sighs. “Someday one of us will live somewhere with a shower that fits two people and isn’t in a bathhouse,” he says.
Someday, Akira thinks. He thinks about a lot of somedays--someday he’ll graduate high school and Goro’s new boss will finally deem it okay to hire him too, someday they’ll both be able to go over a week without waking up remembering a gun or a knife or a host of other things, someday they’ll figure out this latest thing, someday Goro will reliably be able to cook more than instant ramen. Sometimes it feels like everything in their relationship is a someday.
Once they’ve both showered, they settle down on the little couch in what passes for a living room area, Akira slumping bonelessly against Goro. There’s really not enough room to lie down, so he settles for resting his head on Goro’s shoulder. Goro idly strokes his hair.
“You seem tired still,” Goro remarks.
“Mm,” Akira says indistinctly. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
Akira considers. “You didn’t actually tell me what you thought about it, you know.”
He can’t see Goro’s face, but he can picture the smile. “You were perfect,” Goro says softly. “It felt like I could do anything to you, and it would be what you wanted. It felt like you were made for me.”
Akira takes Goro’s other hand, squeezes it. “And you were made for me,” he says.
Goro squeezes back. “I think so too,” he says.
Akira used to be afraid of that part of himself; he used to think he should try to push it away until it disappeared, no matter how much it kept creeping back. But being able to actually act on it, to have someone who shares in his needs, is so much better. And being that someone for Goro, too--what Akira feels when he thinks about it now is far from fear.
Like everything else in their life, there’s still a lot of it they haven’t untangled yet. But it’s theirs, and that makes it worth anything.
They sit together like two pieces in a puzzle, hands clasped together, and for once, the reason Akira doesn’t say something is because he knows Goro already knows it.