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Rain battered the hotel window, a constant, soothing patter that blended with the faint scent of vanilla incense drifting through the room. They had been sent together on a mission to the outskirts of Nagoya to recover a pair of documents that had been illegally trafficked. It shouldn’t have taken more than a day — they would be back in Yokohama before they knew it. Instead, night had already fallen by the time they finished, largely because Akutagawa had left three men in critical condition when they tried to reclaim the documents. The train station had already closed, so the most sensible option was to rent a room at the nearest hotel. They’d leave in the morning anyway.
The room reflected that practicality in every way — nothing remotely sophisticated about it. Two single beds separated by a nightstand with a lamp that flickered every now and then.
The silence between them was uncomfortable, as it always was when they found themselves alone in an enclosed space with no mission to occupy them. It was broken only by the sound of the rain and the creaking of the mattress springs every time Atsushi shifted. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to scrub a mud stain off the bottom hem of his shirt with a small damp cloth. Akutagawa, on the other hand, was leaning against the headboard of his own bed, remote control in hand, cycling through channels that looped back around on themselves — not surprising, given how cheap the room was. There couldn’t have been more than six or eight channels to choose from.
“We could have been back in Yokohama three hours ago if you hadn’t hesitated.” Akutagawa’s voice broke the silence now, irritated, and he finally set the remote aside, leaving the TV on some game show. “Your lack of resolve is still revolting.”
Atsushi rolled his eyes, a grimace on his face.
“You sound like a broken record. Don’t you have anything new to add?”
Akutagawa looked away from the television and back at Atsushi, brow furrowing at the response.
“I could add just how stupid you are for throwing yourself at an ability user with no plan whatsoever. If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d already be dead, and I’d have to explain to Dazai-san why his precious little pet died in the most idiotic way imaginable.”
That was enough to make Atsushi spring to his feet, the damp cloth dropping to the floor.
“I’m not anyone’s pet! I could have handled it on my own—”
“Really? Because the ceiling caved in on you and you just stood there like a deer in headlights. If that’s what you call handling it, I don’t even want to know what you’d consider a failure.”
“You’re so annoying, has anyone ever told you that? Just shut up for once in your goddamn life.”
The raven-haired man raised an eyebrow, visibly amused by the outburst he’d provoked — enough to make the weretiger actually curse.
“Oh? And what makes you think I’ll do that just because you say so? Are you going to convince me with your little speeches about light and justice and your orphan backstory, the way you did with Kyoka?”
Every word they flung at each other was laced with venom, heating the blood in their veins. They had drifted close enough to stand face to face, and at some point Atsushi’s fist had closed around the front of Akutagawa’s shirt, tight enough to make clear just how much those taunts were getting to him.
Atsushi pressed his lips into a thin line. He stood in silence for a few seconds — and then took one step forward, closing what little distance remained, and pressed his lips against his partner’s.
It was a desperate attempt to silence that insufferable voice. It was the only thing he’d come up with, impulsive and unthought-through in the way so many of his decisions were. His lips crashed clumsily against Akutagawa’s, and for a moment he felt the other’s body tense against him — hesitant, uncertain, almost indecisive.
Then he felt heat against his lower lip, and he pulled back sharply, one hand flying to his mouth on pure instinct. Akutagawa’s teeth had closed around his lower lip with vicious intent — hard enough that Atsushi felt the familiar tear of skin seconds later, and the metallic taste of his own blood flooded his mouth.
“What the hell?!” He pulled his hand back and looked at the blood staining his fingers before looking up at Akutagawa again.
Akutagawa, for his part, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing the moment they met Atsushi’s.
“Don’t do that again. Do you honestly think that just because we’re occasionally assigned missions together, I’d have any interest in your disgusting lips anywhere near me? You’re exactly as stupid as you look.”
Atsushi ran his tongue over the wound, feeling the sharp sting as he did. Blood had smeared across part of his chin, and a single drop had landed on his shirt.
Akutagawa had looked away again, brow furrowed, perhaps so lost in his own thoughts that he only registered Atsushi’s proximity when the albino was already close enough — Atsushi had lifted both hands and placed them around Akutagawa’s throat, shoving him back until his spine met the uncomfortable mattress, which groaned as both of them came down onto it. Atsushi landed on his knees, one on either side of Akutagawa’s hips, and his hands tightened around his throat.
“I said shut up.” Atsushi hissed.
Akutagawa’s hands shot instinctively to Atsushi’s wrists, fingernails digging into his skin in a futile attempt to break his grip. He found himself looking at Atsushi — truly looking, for the first time — and hadn’t expected him to be this strong. The adrenaline from the mission had already faded enough to leave Akutagawa more tired than he’d admit.
“Let… go…” the raven-haired man tried to say, but the lack of air reduced his words to faint, reedy whistles.
His face was beginning to flush red, showing something other than the constant contempt and indifference that defined him — surprise. Genuine surprise, as the realization crept in that this man, this person he had dismissed as useless, who cried too much and fought too recklessly, was fully capable of ending his life right now, with nothing but his bare hands, if he chose to. Akutagawa’s hands stopped fighting Atsushi’s. They moved to his chest instead, pushing with whatever strength he had left, his legs twisting beneath the other in a miserable attempt to kick free.
The bed creaked under Akutagawa’s struggle, and the lamp on the nightstand flickered twice before going out entirely, leaving them both lit only by the pale gray glow of the moon filtering through the storm, the room filling with light each time lightning cut across the sky. Akutagawa’s mouth fell open in a silent attempt to pull in air that wouldn’t come, Atsushi’s grip tightening in intervals, his knuckles white with the force he was applying to his throat.
“Why aren’t you mocking me anymore?” Atsushi asked, leaning his face close enough to Akutagawa’s that their foreheads almost touched.
Akutagawa tried to respond, but all that escaped his lips was a hoarse rasp from deep in his throat. His fingers, still resting against Atsushi’s chest, stopped trying to push him away — curling loosely into the fabric of his shirt instead, barely holding on. His legs stopped struggling. An involuntary tremor moved through his thighs.
Atsushi noticed that Akutagawa had finally stopped fighting when his eyelids began to flutter, his eyes rolling back. He watched a small spasm move through Akutagawa’s abdomen — his body’s last attempt to find air.
Akutagawa’s jaw had gone slack, mouth falling slightly open from the lack of oxygen. From this close, Atsushi could see the tip of his tongue just barely visible between his parted lips. His hands had dropped to his sides, and his chest seemed to have given up trying to rise and fall… Was he actually letting himself die like this?
Atsushi narrowed his eyes, staring directly at him. Akutagawa had finally gone quiet. That should have felt like a victory — should have felt satisfying, like winning something he’d been fighting for — and in part it did. But the longer Atsushi stared at Akutagawa’s face, seeing him undone like this, stripped entirely of his usual venom, something twisted low in his stomach. Something that was absolutely not the remorse he might have expected.
Seeing the Port Mafia’s dog like this — defenseless beneath him, with the marks of his fingers pressed into his throat — made heat pulse between his legs, a feeling that left him equally disgusted and lit up with want. It felt awful to find Akutagawa beautiful when he looked like he might be dying. It felt awful, and it made Atsushi want more.
Releasing his throat felt like tearing something from himself. His fingers finally let go, letting Akutagawa’s head fall inert against the cheap hotel sheets. For an instant, Atsushi held his own breath, half convinced he had actually killed him.
The seconds stretched out endlessly until Akutagawa’s body finally reacted — arching off the mattress in a ragged, tearing gasp as air rushed back into his lungs like he’d been underwater all this time and had only now broken the surface. He coughed a few times, his chest rising and falling in uneven lurches, one hand going immediately to his throat, fingertips grazing the reddened skin marked with the impressions of Atsushi’s fingers.
Atsushi exhaled — he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath — and while Akutagawa was still disoriented, he shifted to position himself between his legs. He kept his eyes fixed on him, studying the finger-shaped marks around Akutagawa’s throat, forming a crimson collar from the pressure that would fade in a few days. An accidental, temporary mark Atsushi hadn’t planned to leave. Not that he regretted it now.
Akutagawa’s breathing was audible, labored. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, glassy and wet from the effort his body had made not to die.
He brought his hand back to Atsushi’s chest, trying once more to push him away. That small, stubborn act of resistance was exactly what made Atsushi think perhaps it still wasn’t enough.
He took Akutagawa’s wrist — with a gentleness that stood in jarring contrast to what that same hand had done minutes before — and pinned it against the mattress, then did the same with the other.
“What—?” Akutagawa’s voice was barely a rough whisper as his eyes focused and he registered just how close Atsushi’s face was to his.
“I’m not done.”
Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed. The faint trace of fear in his expression dissolved almost immediately, replaced by a sneer.
“What are you going to do, Jinko — kill me? Go ahead. You’ll just be the Agency’s attack dog with blood on its hands.” He spat the words, though they came out broken, his throat still recovering.
Atsushi smiled in response, rolling his hips and pressing his pelvis against Akutagawa — letting him feel, through all the layers of clothing between them, what seeing him like that had done. Seeing him humiliated, gasping for the air Atsushi had taken from him. The contact was barely more than a graze, and still he felt Akutagawa go rigid beneath him.
“You’re—” he started, but the sentence died in his throat when Atsushi pressed again, just slightly harder.
“Mm?” Atsushi released one of his wrists, bringing his free hand down along Akutagawa’s side, feeling the definition of his ribs through the thin fabric of his shirt. “What am I?”
Akutagawa didn’t answer. His chest rose and fell in shallow, quick breaths, each one a small victory over the damage done to his throat. But his body didn’t seem to share the contempt turning in his mind — a small jolt of heat moved through him, low and unwelcome, and he forced himself to ignore it until Atsushi’s gaze dropped downward.
“Look at you.” Atsushi breathed, something like wonder in his voice. “I had no idea you were into this kind of thing.”
“Shut up.” Akutagawa hissed, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of control.
Atsushi ignored him, releasing both wrists to use his hands on Akutagawa’s belt buckle. Akutagawa’s fingers moved immediately to his wrists, trying to stop him, but his strength had dropped considerably — his lungs were still burning, still fighting to recover. Atsushi swept his hands aside easily, pinning those thin wrists against the mattress while the other hand finished undoing his pants.
“Don’t fight it.” Atsushi said, his voice coming out far too gentle. “You’ll only wear yourself out.”
“I’m going to kill you.” He promised, but the broken catch between words gutted it of all conviction. “The moment I can, I’m going to—”
His words cut off the moment Atsushi pushed two fingers into his mouth, choking on the surprise, eyes flying open with indignation. His tongue moved instinctively against the intrusion. Akutagawa’s mouth was warm around his fingers, and Atsushi watched his jaw tighten — for a moment, he thought he might bite down. And honestly, it surprised him a little that he didn’t. Akutagawa just stared up at him with narrowed, furious eyes, but the threat of teeth never came.
“Good boy.” Atsushi murmured, which made Akutagawa’s eyes narrow further.
He kept his fingers there long enough to coat them thoroughly, then drew them out slowly, a thin thread of saliva still connecting them to Akutagawa’s parted lips. Akutagawa turned his face away immediately, expression twisted with disgust.
Atsushi brought that same hand down between Akutagawa’s legs, dragging his fingertips lightly along the inside of his thighs before finding his entrance, pressing the tips of his fingers in just barely to gain entry.
He watched Akutagawa press his lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound — but a small, rough noise escaped his throat regardless, his back arching off the mattress at the sensation of having something inside him. He was dry; the saliva was already drying on Atsushi’s fingers, making them drag with each small movement.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Atsushi said, not waiting for an answer, working his fingers carefully despite the pull of wanting to force it. He felt the resistance of internal muscle trying to push him out.
Akutagawa refused to look at him, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing became erratic and his hands fisted into the sheets hard enough to whiten his knuckles.
Atsushi worked patiently, unhurried, stretching him slowly until he felt Akutagawa’s body begin to give — accepting the intrusion, his breathing evening out into something less strained. Only then did he withdraw, pushing himself upright and moving just enough to undo his own pants.
Akutagawa tracked his movements, watching Atsushi’s dick, already hard and flushed, a bead of precome at the tip. A shiver moved through him. Was he really going to — was this actually about to—
“Wait.” Akutagawa said. It was the first real word he’d managed since this whole thing had started. His voice came out dry and trembling.
Atsushi stilled, looking up at him.
“What?”
Akutagawa met his eyes — finally, actually meeting them — and stayed quiet for a long moment, mouth opening and closing uselessly, the words not coming.
“I… just — get on with it.”
Atsushi smiled, leaning forward until Akutagawa could feel his breath against his cheek. He took hold of his own dick, lining up against Akutagawa’s entrance, grazing his lips across his cheek like a ghost of a kiss — and then pushed inside.
Akutagawa brought an arm up to his mouth as Atsushi pressed in, muffling a sound that was the most satisfying thing Atsushi had ever heard in his life. The heat of Akutagawa’s body around him was overwhelming. Even after taking the time to prepare him, he was still unbearably tight, but it didn’t slow Atsushi down — he pushed in to the hilt, buried fully inside the body of his enemy, the body of the man who had insulted and despised him from the moment they met, and something about it settled into him like relief.
He didn’t move at first, letting Akutagawa — who was trembling, teeth pressed into his own forearm to keep quiet — adjust while Atsushi was fully seated inside him.
“Look at me.” Atsushi said, and when Akutagawa didn’t obey, he reached out and pulled the arm away from his mouth, pinning it to the side. “I said look at me.”
Akutagawa’s eyes opened, and Atsushi caught the glimmer of tears that he was clearly fighting to hold back. When he had what he wanted, he finally drew his hips back, pulling out partway before pushing in again with deliberate force, earning a sharp exhale from beneath him.
The pace built on its own from there, his thrusts growing deeper and more irregular — less about rhythm and more about the sensation of Akutagawa tight and clenching around him. Akutagawa’s body jolted with each push against the mattress, his head tipping back to expose the line of his throat, the finger-shaped bruises already darkening to violet and sitting against his pale skin like something deliberately placed.
“Still so tight…” Atsushi breathed, rolling his hips forward again. “Is this really the best the Port Mafia has?”
Akutagawa couldn’t answer. Every attempt died in his throat as a broken exhale, a muffled sound he refused to let become anything more out of sheer pride — though the wet, rhythmic noise of their bodies together swallowed those sounds anyway.
Atsushi shifted the angle, pulling one of Akutagawa’s legs up over his shoulder to push deeper, and that adjustment found it — the exact place he’d been looking for. Akutagawa’s spine curved sharply off the mattress, and a high, cut-off sound tore from his lips before he could catch it.
“There it is. Isn’t that better?”
From that point on, every thrust aimed directly for that same spot, forcing Akutagawa’s body to trade the discomfort of being opened for something else entirely — his body slicking around Atsushi’s dick, clenching around him like it wanted to pull him deeper.
“I hate… you…” Akutagawa managed to bite out between thrusts, his voice barely audible beneath the obscene sounds filling the room.
“I know.” Atsushi replied, dipping forward to press his lips to the bruised marks on his throat. “But look at what we do when we hate each other.”
The rhythm grew messier, stripped of any pretense of control. Atsushi felt the heat tightening at the base of his spine, one hand moving to Akutagawa’s throat again — not gripping, just resting there — and he felt Akutagawa tense almost immediately at the contact, despite the fact that all Atsushi’s palm was doing was pressing gently against his racing pulse.
He buried himself deep with a low groan, spilling into Akutagawa. Beneath him, he felt Akutagawa go rigid at almost the same moment, a shudder moving through the full length of his body, and the wet warmth against Atsushi’s stomach told him everything.
He stayed there for a long moment, catching his breath, feeling Akutagawa’s muscles flutter and contract around him in the aftermath. Then he finally pulled out, already missing the warmth that had held him. He looked down — his come had already begun to trace a slow path down the inside of Akutagawa’s thigh, mixing with a thin thread of blood.
He straightened up and pulled his pants back on without cleaning himself, then dropped to sit on the edge of his own bed.
Akutagawa took longer. His muscles made their protests known when he finally pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes going to the stain on the sheets. He brought a hand to his throat, still feeling the ghost of Atsushi’s grip, how close it had come.
His expression settled into something irritated and closed off when he finally looked at Atsushi. He got to his feet with some difficulty, legs still unsteady beneath him, and moved toward the bathroom.
“That’s it, then?” he asked, voice scraping out in a rough whisper. “Are you happy now?”
Atsushi looked up, opened his mouth — and found nothing. The words caught, his tongue flat and useless against the roof of his mouth.
Akutagawa gave a short nod to himself, like he’d gotten the answer he expected, and limped toward the bathroom, one hand bracing against the doorframe to keep himself upright.
The sound of the shower came soon after, muffled by the rain outside and the thin hotel walls.
Atsushi stayed sitting where he was, listening to his own heartbeat refuse to slow down, staring at his hands. The same hands that had been around Akutagawa’s throat. That had been inside him. That had finally made him go quiet, the way Atsushi had wanted from the beginning. So why, instead of regret, did he feel this hollow, stretching thing? Satisfied — like a cat sprawled out after a meal, limbs heavy with it, wanting nothing.
When the shower finally stopped and Akutagawa stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, Atsushi noticed that the marks on his throat looked darker now, vivid against pale, damp skin. Akutagawa didn’t look at him once — not even when he crossed to his bed and picked up his clothes, turning his back to dress.
“What are you doing?” Atsushi asked. His own voice sounded strange to him.
“Leaving.” Akutagawa answered, without turning around. “I’ll find another hotel. Anything is better than staying here with you.”
Atsushi said nothing. He watched Akutagawa finish dressing, shrug on his coat, collect the documents belonging to the Port Mafia. Akutagawa passed close to him on the way to the door, stopping there for just a moment, as though he might say something. The pause stretched longer than it should have.
“See you in Yokohama.”
Atsushi watched his silhouette disappear behind the door. It clicked shut quietly, and the room settled back into silence. He lay back on his bed without bothering to undress, staring at nothing, eyes half-closed