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Goro tastes like coffee.
His tongue is hot in Akira’s mouth, probing and demanding as he usually is, hands crushing Akira’s wrists firmly into his crappy mattress, neither of which Akira should appreciate, but inevitably craves on days Goro doesn’t come and visit.
Akira’s glasses dig into his skin uncomfortably as Goro changes the angle, lips tacky with moisture and the lemon-flavored chapstick he likes to wear, mingled breaths warm enough to fog up the lenses. Which is–annoying. Akira likes being able to see Goro’s face.
Akira bites Goro’s bottom lip, hard enough to cause him to groan and loosen his grip–Akira wriggles one hand free and chucks his glasses on the windowsill–winks at Goro’s peeved look for being interrupted, opens his mouth to tease, but Goro simply descends on him again, shutting him up quick.
But Akira’s feeling a little excited today, mischief lacing itself into his skin as he slips free of Goro’s grip once more–this time due to Goro’s own lack of breath–surging up to nip hard at Goro’s jaw, his neck, fingers roaming and sliding underneath Goro’s dumb prim jacket, drawing his nails down Goro’s back. Akira downright purrs as he feels Goro’s pulse jump under his lips, body shuddering under his palms.
“Mischievous little brat,” Goro says, voice gravelly. “Biting and clawing at me. Almost like a little kitty cat.”
Akira’s throat contracts around an embarrassing noise. The ensuing smirk on Goro’s face excites Akira’s core as it always does–he can’t help but giggle, the sound thin and breathy as he drags one of his hands up to his own neck, tracing across the leather cinched around it.
“I thought that was obvious with the collar,” Akira notes, Goro’s attention settling heady over his neck–Akira bares it more for him. “Detective.”
Goro swallows audibly, visibly. His hands–placed on either side of Akira’s head now, tremble faintly. Akira can feel him hard against his thigh. “You’ll have to pardon me for not noticing,” he says, voice somehow steady even as he flushes, high and bright on his cheeks. “You’ve been wearing it for the past week.”
That much is true. Akira did it on purpose–he’d been deprived of his fun for too long, and this was a sure-fire way to get Goro’s attention away from whatever detectives and celebrities tend to be preoccupied with.
Could he have just texted him? Probably. Where was the fun in that though?
Akira pushes himself upward, touching his nose to Akechi’s, gliding past, cheeks brushing as he blows cool air across Goro’s ear, calculated and sanguine. His silken hair gleams in the evening sunlight. Akira’s fingers find their way into the strands, curling and curious. “What can I say? I like knowing who owns me.”
The way Goro’s body bends is delightful, chest jumping above his as he sharply inhales, fingers twisting into fabric, throat bobbing, cock twitching against his thigh, eyes lustful as Akira eases back down onto his pillow, practically preening.
“Someone’s eager to fuck his kitten,” Akira teases, tugging on Goro’s hair, fingers splaying across the back of his neck, brushing against his starchy white button-up.
“I should really discipline you and that mouth of yours,” Goro growls, pulling away just long enough to rid himself of his beige uniform jacket. “If you’re so insistent on acting like an animal, I’ll treat you like one.”
“Promise?” Akira purrs.
Suddenly Goro is pinning Akira to the bed, hips heavy, chest pressed firm against his, lips tracing along the shell of Akira’s ear as he whispers, voice saccharine and dangerous all at once, “Cats don’t wear clothes, Akira.”
Oh, Akira knows that voice. Always murmured in his ear, always eager, always full of promise. Akira’s whole body stands at attention as the sentence slides into him.
“Clearly you’ve–never watched any cat videos before,” Akira manages as eager, shaking hands proceed to rid him of his clothes, piece by piece–surgery scars starker in the light, slick-dampened underwear dropped to the wooden floor in haste. In but a few moments Akira lays before Goro, entirely naked except for the black collar, deliciously contrasted against his pale skin. “They wear clothes sometimes.”
“It seems that this kitty doesn’t want to though,” Goro responds lowly, hovering over him, eyes raking like claws, legs splayed out on either side of Akira’s hips. “Or maybe someone’s eager to get fucked,” he taunts in mimicry.
“Who’s to say?” Akira says, voice trembling with excitement.
Goro rolls his eyes, sits up straight. “On the floor, kitty, where you belong.”
Akira’s face splits into a feral grin as he slinks out of bed, kneeling innocently. Goro slides to the edge of Akira’s mattress, prim shoes a stark contrast against the cheap grain of the wood.
“Fetch your leash,” Goro says, loosening his tie.
It’s been too long since Goro last used that particular item–usually reserved for special occasions or when he’s feeling a particular way, hungry to devour as much of Akira as is socially acceptable. Maybe one day, Akira can get him to snap.
But that day is not today. He doesn’t say a word nor does he try to hide his excitement as he pulls out a box from underneath the bed, grabbing the matching black leather leash from his pile of toys, placing it in Goro’s waiting palm.
“Good boy,” Goro croons mockingly as he hooks the end of the leash into the D-ring on Akira’s collar, wrapping the end around his fist until the line is taut. “Let’s see if you can continue that behavior.”
Deftly, with one hand, Goro pops the button of his slacks free, zipper parting with ease as Goro relieves some of the pressure on his cock, underwear already tented through the opening it creates.
“Need some help?” Akira asks highly, attempting to gauge the situation, eager for any kind of information he can glean about how this encounter will go.
“Cats don’t speak,” Goro promptly answers, freeing his cock after a bit of difficulty.
“This one does,” Akira counters, eyes drawn to the length of him, the way the head is already dusky red and slightly moist. He’s enamored by it–a strange feeling to have, but he’s too far into this to really question his tastes anymore. He shuffles forward, wondering if Goro will have him suck it off, or rub it with his hands and his face, or–
The leash gets pulled tightly upwards, forcing Akira to straighten his back as the collar clenches, balanced on his knees precariously, moist cunt exposed to cool air rather than lukewarm skin.
“Bad kitty,” Goro scolds, clicking his tongue, drawing Akira’s gaze upwards to see near genuine disappointment in his expression. Akira almost feels guilty. “I didn’t say you could move.”
“Cats don’t listen to orders,” Akira says, voice slightly strained due to the position.
“Ah, but it’s not really an order,” Goro hums, mouth curved, looming. He grasps his cock with one gloved hand, groans softly as he gives himself a rough tug. “My cock is your treat today, Akira. If you want it, you’ll have to perform some tricks for me.”
Electricity lights up Akira’s spine as the words permeate the charged air. Goro makes deliberate, lusty eye contact, leaning back, muscles pulling at the seams of his button-up.
Akira swallows hard, core throbbing with interest. “...and if I’m a bad boy?”
“Then I’ll leave you here wanting, with only your own hand to satisfy you,” Goro answers immediately, no playful lilt, no teasing tone, no telling eyebrow twitch. He’s serious. “Are you going to be a good kitty for me?”
“That remains to be seen,” Akira answers, unable to give in that easily. His neck is starting to strain from the position, but he doesn’t fight it yet.
Despite Akira’s answer, Goro smiles, all teeth. He loosens his hold on the leash, allowing Akira to relax back into a slouch. “Cat’s don’t speak, Akira.”
Akira curls his hands into fists, paws at the air. “Meow,” he says.
“Much better,” Goro praises, hand returning to his cock, thumb spreading the bead of precum forming at the tip. “If you can sit up straight and keep your desires in check for five minutes, I’ll let you hump my leg. Ten minutes, and I’ll let you ride me. Simple enough, no? You just have to be quiet and be still.”
Akira puffs up his chest to deny the way his heart pounds harder against his sternum, smirks to hide the way he wants to salivate, puts his hands in his lap to cover up the way his cunt clenches around nothing, dripping slick onto the floorboards. He nods his head and straightens his back, eyes latched onto the movement of Goro’s hand.
He just has to sit here and do nothing. Akira can do that much for five minutes.
Goro then proceeds to give what Akira can only call a pre-meditated pornographic performance. He strokes his cock with intent, fingers curled and skilled, smears every new bead of precum immediately to ease the slide of his hand. He leans back on his other, widens his legs and lets out sounds louder and breathier and more brazen than Akira’s ever heard from him. He unbuttons his shirt halfway, rips off his remaining glove with his teeth, wraps his tongue around his own fingers, coating them in saliva. With those same fingers he reaches inside of his shirt to pinch and rub his own nipples, biting his bottom lip and groaning as he does so, face flushing brighter, deeper, down to his neck, sweat pebbling on his exposed collarbone, golden strands darkening as they stick to his temples. Goro’s chest heaves, his stomach contracts, his cock darkening as he pumps himself with deliberate rhythm, always pausing when it seems like he’s about to tip over, denying himself release. At one point he even throws his head back, chest hiccupping on an aborted moan, but he doesn’t come.
He’s beautiful. Handsome. Akira can’t take his eyes off of him.
As Goro straightens up and attempts to gather his breath, his eyes dart to Akira’s face, mouth twitching into an incredibly satisfied smirk. “My goodness,” he pants, twisting his wrist around the head of his cock. “With the way you look–someone might think you were the one being touched.”
Akira’s hiss is more of a mewl at the observation. His core aches, heart pounding, head throbbing, body trembling. He feels entirely too hot, the leather of his collar growing damp with sweat as he struggles to hold his position, hands twitching to either relieve himself or to replace Goro’s on his body. He didn’t–he’s never thought about how it would feel to see all those reactions from Goro and not be the one to cause them. It’s stupid but–Akira feels jealous. He wants to put his mouth on him, wants to touch him, wants to shove him down and take his cock and watch the way his face twists when he’s about to come, brows furrowing, lips bitten and bruised.
Yet he can’t deny that seeing Goro fall deeper and deeper into the throes of pleasure but not quite lose himself in there is doing something to his brain, stuffing it with honey-heat, laden and sticky, shoving rational, common thought to the recesses. It leaves only instinct to sing and ravage, tremolo in his body, ringing a tune that glows in his ears, scorching his skin, tightened electric nails raking across his cunt.
It’s been an instant. It’s been an eternity.
Akira desperately, distantly, wonders if it’s been five minutes yet.
“Cats don’t speak,” Goro reminds him–Akira didn’t realize he’d said that out loud. “But yes. It has.”
It takes a moment for the words to penetrate, a moment more to comprehend–but Akira’s body scrambles upon understanding, ankles sticky with slick as he crawls across the floor, climbing up the bed with faltered coordination. His fingers twist into Goro’s shirt as he steadies himself on his knees, settling gingerly on Goro’s clothed thigh, moaning softly as the starchy fabric meets his soaked cunt. His body reacts to the sensation without conscious input, immediately beginning an abortive drag along the length of Goro’s thigh. He sighs shakily as the frenzied energy bubbling in his blood calms into something more pointed, more purposeful. He can feel Goro’s cock ghost along his kneecap–hard and heady as he adjusts to Akira’s weight and movement.
“My, how–impatient,” Goro teases, breath stuttering, staring at Akira with hungry eyes. “Now you’re going to–ruin my nice clothes.”
Akira laughs weakly, lips twitching into a smirk. “Y-you’re the one who didn’t stop me,” he retorts, even though he’d just been scolded about speaking. He figures that it’s fine since Goro hasn’t put any real heat behind the command. Besides, he already has what he wants, perched on his prize as he is. There’s not much Goro could do to make him give it up.
“You’re so stubborn,” Goro growls, leaning closer to nip warningly along Akira’s neck, free hand grasping Akira’s waist, thumb tracing the divot of his hip bone. “Do you ever learn?”
“When I feel like it,” Akira purrs.
He yelps in surprise as Goro tightens the lead of his leash, yanking hard enough that Akira’s forehead drops hard on Goro’s shoulder, body oddly contorted. It takes him a moment to reorient himself, wondering what the purpose of this could possibly be–realization falling upon him suddenly. He can’t really–there’s no easy way to drag his hips like this, no way to thrust against Goro’s thigh–not in the way he wants, needs. Akira attempts to pull on the leash, but Goro already has it taut. He attempts to move his hips, but the grip on his waist is suddenly iron, holding him still.
Akira hisses in frustration, nails attempting to scratch through fabric. Bastard.
“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t get what you want?” Goro mocks in a cruel titter.
Akira glares, squirming for some kind of stimulation beyond the slight tightening of the muscle underneath him. He could get himself off with his hands but–that’d be no different than getting off on his own, and it’d be no fun. Goro knows Akira far better than he’d like.
“Do you feel like learning now?” Goro asks, triumph coloring his tone.
“...meow,” Akira grumbles, scrunching his nose in defeat. Normally, he’d be more resistant and try to get his way but–he’s pent up enough as is, cunt throbbing almost painfully.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
Flushing, Akira pitches his voice higher, speaks louder. “Meow.”
Goro hums, pleased. “Good boy.”
Akira shudders–that specific phrase never fails to make him a little loopy with glee. He lifts his head as Goro gives him slack, breathing easier–no time wasted as he tentatively thrusts his hips. The movement is eased by Akira’s own slick that had collected while he’d been forced to be still, less of a rough drag and more of a resisted glide. Goro doesn’t say a word as Akira settles into a rhythm, but he does roam across Akira’s body with mouth and hands, grasping his ribcage, teasing his nipples, lifting his collar enough to lick at his pulse. Every touch takes him higher, winds him tighter, stokes him hotter.
“Such a filthy animal,” Goro suddenly purrs into his skin, biting with the intent to mark.
Static electricity melds with honeyed pleasure to ignite Akira’s whole system, scrambling his head, throat contracting around an embarrassingly high-pitched whine, hips thrusting harder than before, less coordinated, his enlarged clit dragging deliciously along the prim black slacks of the Detective Prince.
Every time they tangle together does Akira think of this. He’s a thief, a criminal, and here he is with the poster child of the police force itself, his body under his hands, muscles tight with restraint, humping his goddamn leg–dragging down that framed smiling portrait, ruining the meticulously maintained image with his dirtied, whoreish fingers, staining his perfectly perfected mural of morals.
But Akira learned that Goro wasn’t so perfect after all. He’d always been hiding, painting over his own face, dazzling and distracting with white teeth while inside he wanted to maim and snarl and guzzle himself on filth and carnality, rip every obstacle apart with his bare hands. That wild light in his eyes–roving Akira’s body greedily like he wants to eat him whole, slaking his hungry thirst upon the sight of Akira getting himself off with shameless desperation in his lap–that was the real him.
And Akira liked that Goro more.
That feeling rakes across his insides like a pulsating storm, eyes fluttering on every thrust, nails digging in like claws, collar and cunt damp and sticky. In conjunction with the physical pleasure, how could Akira stand to be anything but a wreck?
Suddenly, Goro tightens the leash again, forcibly stilling Akira’s body, yanking him away from the precipice.
“No no, kitty,” Goro breathes into Akira’s ear, hot, heady, moist. “I know you’re–probably in heat, but you don’t get to come until…until I’m inside of you.”
Akira whines at the idea, desperate. He just wants to come, goddammit.
“Now now, you’ve been–so good so far,” Goro scolds even as his heart pounds underneath Akira’s hand. “Remember what I said? If you can be still for five more minutes–you get to have my cock.”
Akira mewls, shaking his head, eyes beginning to sting.
“Poor kitty, I know you’re, mm, desperate, but this is what we agreed on,” Goro soothes, fingers sinking into Akira’s hair, petting him softly. “Won’t you be good for me?”
Akira does want to be good. He always does, in everything. Goro knows that–and today it seems like he wants to find the limit. Like he wants to push Akira, see how far he’ll go before he breaks, before he stops being good.
Well. Akira has always had a nasty habit of accepting challenges he really, really shouldn’t.
He nods his head, ignoring the protests of his body as he remains perfectly still, cunt throbbing angrily, heart tearing at his ribcage, lungs heaving stones, all playing livid on his bones.
Akira soothes himself with the fact that he’s not the only one so affected. Goro’s not been touched deliberately for a while–the most he’d been getting was probably the residual touch from Akira’s knee as he used Goro’s leg. Looking down, he can see just how neglected his cock is–red and flushed and twitching every few seconds. Goro’s chest heaves underneath him, breath fanning across his hair, small aborted grunts caught in his throat. If Akira wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t be able to hear them.
Time slows to a crawl. Akira doesn’t know how Goro can count like this–maybe he isn’t counting at all. The idea almost sends him into a frenzy, almost makes him shove Goro down on the bed and take him without permission, but he grabs that instinct with both hands and wrangles himself into stillness, into control. He can be still for five minutes. It’s not that hard. It’s not that hard.
God, please, hurry up.
“...time is up,” Goro says quietly, voice strained, shocking Akira even though his voice is hardly audible. He suddenly drops backwards onto the bed, hair splayed out across the wrinkled sheets, sweat shining in the divot of his exposed collarbone, cock raised and prominent. He grasps it with his hand, gives himself a stroke, groans loudly as he does, eyes clenching shut briefly before he stares up at Akira, bottom lip wet. He smirks. “Enjoy your–treat. Akira.”
Akira blinks, swallows, makes an odd noise. He wants it, he does, but he’d wrangled himself into stillness so harshly his body is having trouble cooperating in the opposite direction now, ruined as it is from that denial. With considerable effort, he moves his hands, planting them on the bed on either side of Goro’s waist, gasping and groaning thinly as he lifts his hips. For a moment the fabric of Goro’s slacks clings to Akira’s cunt, refusing to release him–falling away even as strings of slick still connect them, gleaming in the fading light.
The fingers of Goro’s free hand grasp Akira’s thigh as he shuffles forward, his other hand still grasping the leash. It’s almost like reassurance, like encouragement as he maneuvers himself to hover over Goro’s cock. The head brushes against his wet opening–
And Akira can’t take it anymore. Without preamble he drops, taking Goro’s cock entirely in one go, the electricity buzzing just underneath his skin refusing him the grace he’d need to take him slowly.
Akira's lungs wring a tortured noise from deep inside his core, a sound that escapes loudly into the echoing air of the attic as he’s filled, a similar noise escaping Goro’s throat. He’s always big, always hot, always perfect. Akira feels like he’s been molded to take his cock and his cock only.
Finally getting what he wanted seems to have given Akira a second wind of energy–it’s the only way he can explain how quickly he lifts himself up off of Goro’s cock, the sound of it dragging out of him filthy and slick, only the head remaining inside.
Goro snarls as his hands find purchase on Akira’s waist, hips twitching upwards as Akira teases him back, thighs shaking as he holds himself up.
Deserved, Akira taunts in his head, letting the crazed grin spread across his face as he sinks down hard, clenching his cunt as he goes.
Goro tightens the goddamn leash again, this time forcing Akira to lay down across his chest, arm wrapping around Akira’s neck and holding him down effectively as his other hand squeezes Akira’s ass.
Akira’s so out of it that he can’t even form words–everything out of his mouth is just noise–hiccupping as frustrated tears slide hot down his cheeks. He hits Goro’s chest weakly, fingers and body trembling as he seeks some kind of anchor as a maelstrom of denial begins to eat him alive.
“F-five more minutes, kitty,” Goro orders, voiced strained and sultry in equal measure. “Be–still.”
Akira can’t. He wriggles and squirms and clenches around Goro’s cock frantically, trying to get some stimulation, begging in his head for Goro to have mercy on him, that desire coming out of his mouth as simple whimpers, but Goro holds him firm and still and Akira is baffled and angry at his seemingly impeccable self-control.
It’s unconscious when he bites Goro’s shoulder. It’s unconscious when he slips free in Goro’s surprise. But it’s entirely deliberate as he snatches his leash away, throwing it behind himself, entirely on purpose as he plants his hands on Goro’s stomach and expends every last drop of energy he has on making the both of them fall apart.
No more good boy Akira. No more, no more, Akira wanted him, wanted his cock in him, wanted to tangle with him until he was begging Akira to stop and even then Akira would take and take and take and Goro would give it to him.
“You’re a horrible owner,” Akira hisses on an upstroke, hands scrambling to unbutton Goro’s shirt the rest of the way, exposing his sweat-soaked skin to the cool air of the attic. “You’re–so mean to me!”
“Discipline comes with– fuck, Akira, discipline always–ngh! Discipline always comes with pet ownership,” Goro snarls back, thrusting up into Akira as he comes down, knocking the breath out of him, lightning in his spine, his vision, cracking the shell, close to breaking–but not broken yet. “A feral cat like you–needs to be trained!”
“If I’m so feral–mmn–then,” Akira starts as he descends on Goro’s nipple–laving at him hard and needy, eyes locked onto the way his face twists in that special way–the one that tells Akira he’s close. “Then why don’t you just–just throw me away?”
Goro looks at him like he’s crazy. “Because I fucking love you?”
Akira splits down the middle. Those words break him open, pleasure spilling out like a torrent as he bows over, whimpering into Goro’s chest as he finally loses himself in the sea. But he holds on for just a little longer, long enough to lean forward, kiss Goro hard on the lips, taste the coffee on his tongue and whisper, “I love you too, asshole.”
Goro’s face contorts–warmth fills Akira from the inside out, and as they both lose themselves in the throes of ecstasy, all Akira can feel is the arms holding him close and the lips on his forehead, and he hopes that the kisses he places over Goro’s heart are able to be felt in kind.