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"Ten!" Shinji hefts his axe and performs an impromptu pruning on a bare ginkgo branch arching over the sidewalk. "Holy shit, man. Ten Shadows in one night."
"Ahem." Mitsuru shakes the black canvas gig bag she's holding. No one's going to mistake a battle axe for a guitar, but it's enough camouflage for one AM. If there's one thing Akihiko's learned in the past year, it's that people only see -- only remember -- what they expect to see.
"Fine, fine." With the speed of long practice, Shinji stashes the axe in the bag and swings it over his shoulder. "But ten! Double digits, sweetheart."
Akihiko shakes his head. It takes guts to bring a not-quite-but-sure-looks-real gun to your forehead and pull the trigger. It takes something else entirely to call Kirijo Mitsuru 'sweetheart.' And get away with it. He tugs his scarf more closely around his throat. "You're in rare form tonight."
"Damned straight. We set a new personal best, and I could still go another hour."
"Speak for yourself," Akihiko says. It's December, but it's been a mild one, and the weather's not to blame for this marrow-piercing chill. "Those twisted little maya did nothing but cast bufu."
"Aww," murmurs Mitsuru. "I found it to be refreshing." Akihiko swats at her fur-trimmed hat and she ducks away, smiling.
"You did spend a lot of time on your ass tonight," Shinji says. "Maybe bring a pillow or something next time, yeah? So you can get comfy and watch the princess and I show you how it's done."
"You can kiss my frostbit ass," Akihiko mutters. It still feels oddly rude to curse in front of Mitsuru, but she never does more than arch an eyebrow at the worst Shinji can come up with. Which is saying something. If only Shinji's love for vocabulary extended into the classroom, maybe Mitsuru wouldn't have to tutor him in English twice a week.
With a shout of laughter, Shinji grabs for Akihiko's waistband. "Bend over, then. I'll warm it up."
"Help, help," Mitsuru deadpans. "I've been struck by a ridiculously trite pick-up line." But with a neat side-step, she maneuvers herself between the two boys. "Leave him be, Shinjiro. He's exhausted."
"Hey--" Akihiko says, just as Shinji says, "He's not that far gone. Trust me. He's only bitchy like this when his pride's hurt."
If he stalked off now, he'd just prove Shinji right. And with the dorm only three blocks away, there isn't any point. Akihiko breathes a quick prayer for patience and watches Shinji reenact the evening's greatest hits for Mitsuru until she breaks down and laughs at his pantomime. If it hadn't been for the repeated shots of bufu, he'd be soaring just as high right now. It really was impressive: ten Shadows in a single evening, and they hadn't even made a move towards Tartarus. The Shadows had been thick as drifts of autumn leaves in every nook and corner of the train station.
He wonders why the train station, why tonight, but dismisses it as an unsolvable puzzle. At least unsolvable by them. Mitsuru would, without fail, be submitting a report to the Kirijo Group's research division the next morning, before the first class bell rang, detailing the where, what, and how of every Shadow they'd obliterated.
Shinji takes the front steps of the dorm two at a time and unlocks the door. "Her Highness first," he says, holding it open, and Mitsuru sweeps in with a suitably regal nod. "Cranky bastards last," he says, and tries to shut the door in Akihiko's face. Akihiko shoves him inside, then takes care of the locking up himself.
Warmth. Toasty, wonderful warmth. He can feel his fingers thaw as he fusses with the locks.
Akihiko's head snaps up at the thud of the axe-laden gig bag crashing to the floor, and there's a swirl of motion as Shinji slams back against the wall, hauling Mitsuru along with him. The chill must've slowed Akihiko's brain as well, because the slowest neurons are still searching for the source of the surprise attack, even as he realizes Shinji's hands are cupping Mitsuru's ass where the hem of her peacoat ends, and they're kissing, kissing like they've just made it home after fighting all the forces of darkness.
Yes, okay. Fine. But still. Take your coats off; stay awhile.
"Mmmm." Mitsuru pulls away, dislodging Shinji's hands and firmly pressing them against his own chest. "A lovely thought, but I'm quite ready to retire for the evening--" Shinji lunges forward, but Mitsuru can deflect a move that clumsy without changing her stance. "--alone."
Shinji blinks. "Alone?"
"Alone," Mitsuru says, turning to Akihiko. "Goodnight, Akihiko," she says, brushing the lightest of kisses over his lips before heading up the stairs.
With a sigh, Shinji unbuttons his coat. "Figures. Well." He tosses it onto the counter, knocking the visitor's log askew, then crowds Akihiko against the door.
A year ago, Akihiko's life had been remarkably free of midnight excursions throughout the town, nevermind the ability to produce lightning strikes with an aspect of his personality made corporeal. But Shinji's hands working under his clothes, that's still the same. Shinji's just better at it now. Shinji snags Akihiko's coat by the wrists and strips it off, adding it to the pile on the counter, followed by his vest. His scarf burns across the nape of his neck as Shinji yanks it off.
Akihiko reaches around to the small of Shinji's back and grabs a fistful of his t-shirt, pulling it free from his jeans. Shinji's as hot as an overworked engine, and Akihiko's gloves skid over his sweat-damp skin. "Gee, so glad I could be here as your second choice."
"Quit bitching. You're going to get laid." Shinji ducks down and twists out of his shirt as Akihiko tugs it over his head. His hair's even more of a wreck than usual.
Maybe he's got a point, but Akihiko will be damned before he'll concede it. Not without getting in a few shots of his own. It wouldn't be any fun, otherwise. "I guess. Or maybe I'll call it a night, too."
With a snort, Shinji grabs Akihiko's right hand, brings it to his mouth. He swipes his tongue across the cabretta leather, from wrist to palm to the tip of the thumb, which he promptly sucks into his mouth. Hard.
"Fuck." Akihiko slumps against the doorjamb before he stumbles. This is the most goddamn annoying thing about Shinji: he never forgets a weak spot. Akihiko flails for Shinji's bare arm and holds on as he bites down. You let him find one little weakness and he's like a terrier with a rat.
With a wet sound too loud to be anything but deliberate, Shinji pulls Akihiko's hand from his mouth. "That, too. Just give me a minute."
This has not been Akihiko's night for getting in a decent shot. He wonders how he lost before he knew where the fight was. You wouldn't think he'd be in such a lousy mood with what Shinji's doing to the side of his neck, with his tongue, and the way he's gotten Akihiko's shirt undone to the point where he can scrape his nails over Akihiko's nipples, but Akihiko's not quite ready to let it go. "Fine. I'm sure I'll endure it. Somehow."
With a snicker, Shinji breaks off, just when he was getting to the really good spot under Akihiko's jaw that makes him want to rip something in half with his bare hands. No, wait: Shinji's outright laughing.
Leaving one arm around his shoulders, Akihiko sighs and undoes his own belt buckle. "Do I even want to know?"
"Endurance exercises. You 'nd the boxing team, training after school, right?" Shinji hiccups, and Akihiko slaps his back none-too-gently for sharing that horrifying image. "Like, a hell of a lot more fun than another five-mile run, but if you strain something delicate, it's a bitch to explain..."
"You are fucking sick, you know that." Akihiko gets his belt off and briefly considers wrapping it around Shinji's throat. In a permanent way. But Shinji'd probably just enjoy it. And then he'd ask Akihiko what kind of porn he'd been watching.
"Fuck, yeah. You're so going to be thinking it during practice tomorrow," Shinji says, and laughs again when Akihiko cuffs him upside the head. Then grabs a fistful of his hair and kisses him. Hard enough to make Shinji stumble back a step, bracing his hips against the counter.
Just to shut him up, of course.
When Akihiko finally breaks away to catch his breath, he realizes Shinji's rubbing his back in slow, regular circles. He's not laughing now, just peering at Akihiko closely. "If you really do feel like shit, y'know, I can take care of things myself." He never stops with the circles.
Akihiko closes his eyes for a long second. Shinji's picks the strangest times to be solicitous. And he's lousy at it. Maybe that's why it hits Akihiko so hard. He's suddenly a lot less annoyed than he's been since they left the dorm two hours ago, spoiling for an excuse to beat the shit out something.
He runs his hand over Shinji's stomach, then yanks at the top button of his fly. He likes the way the black leather looks against Shinji's skin, and knows damned well Shinji likes it too, even before he hitches his hips closer. "I'm tired, not dead."
"Glad to hear it. C'mere." Holding his jeans up with one hand, Shinji pulls Akihiko over to the couch. "Lie down."
Akihiko does, knees bent over the armrest, kicking off his shoes and attempting to hit Shinji in the process. His aim's good, but so are Shinji's reflexes, and they end up over by the windows. "Yes, dear; whatever you say, dear," Akihiko says, but he lifts his hips and unzips his pants.
"About time you started listening to me."
His socks follow his shoes as Shinji peels them off, before getting a hold of Akihiko's pants by the cuffs and hauling them off, nearly yanking Akihiko off the couch in the process. With a shout, Akihiko cups his dick through his briefs so it doesn't get caught in the crossfire. "Hey, watch it!"
"Yeah, I am." Bracing himself against the back of the couch, Shinji bends over, shoving the hem of Akihiko's open shirt out of the way and mouthing him through the cotton. "I really, really am. Hey, do it right now. Leave your gloves on."
It's not the first time Shinji's asked for that, but it still makes Akihiko shudder. He's honest enough with himself to admit it's only half because Shinji's watching him like that, like he'll miss a critical cue if he blinks. With Shinji's hands in the way, it takes longer than it should for Akihiko to kick his briefs off, but he finally hooks an ankle over the back of the couch and gets his hands between his own legs.
God, yes. So maybe he was just waiting for Shinji to ask.
"Fucking showoff," Shinji grunts. As if he wasn't responsible for any of it. He crawls onto the couch, sitting on the armrest, and runs his hands over Akihiko's thighs. When Akihiko shoves a hand towards his face, he spits in the palm without being asked.
Akihiko sighs and goes a little faster. Much better. It's still not at all like having Shinji jerk him off, but it's also not like how he usually does himself, either. It's like he's feeling all the pressure, but only half the usual sensation. Shinji's mouthing at the inside of Akihiko's thigh, so he gives him his left hand to suck on instead.
Shinji groans, which makes Akihiko do the same. "Uh huh," Shinji murmurs, showing off himself as he gets Akihiko's fingers completely wet, opening his mouth when Akihiko presses down on his tongue. He pulls off with a last lick. "Yeah, c'mon, I want to see you put it in."
"I should do you like this," Akihiko says, breathing hard as he clenches his abs and curls up so he can get his hand where he needs it. There, right there; he brushes a fingertip over his hole and his shiver's not exaggerated for Shinji's benefit. "I really should. See if you like it from the other side."
Shinji runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, later, whenever," he says, and when Akihiko shoves his finger in, up to the second knuckle, it's Shinji who hisses. "Shit."
The angle's awkward and Akihiko's distracted by the way Shinji's fidgeting, rubbing his own cock through his half-opened jeans, but it's good enough that Akihiko's got to slow down before he goes off too soon. He grits his teeth and lets go of his dick, cupping his balls and pressing them hard against his body. It's a seriously crummy angle and his wrist is already cramping, but he forces in another finger, just to see Shinji's reaction.
Eyes wide, lower lip between his teeth, he doesn't disappoint. "Holy shit. I fucking can't--" he says, but Akihiko never finds out what, exactly, because Shinji interrupts himself to bend over and suck Akihiko's cock into his mouth.
Not that Akihiko really cares at that point.
Shinji's gotten better at this, too -- a lot better, though you wouldn't have been able to convince Akihiko that was even possible the first time they did this. It's like he decided one day, in typical Shinji style, that he just didn't give a fuck what he looked like, sounded like, and then it was all Akihiko could do to hold on and not lose it instantly at the sounds Shinji made.
Kind of like now, actually.
The sheer coordination it would take to keep touching himself through this is far more than he can manage at two in the morning, so he grabs the cushions and settles for keeping himself on the sofa. "Shinji, goddamn it," he snarls when Shinji twists his tongue right there and Akihiko feels it shoot up his spine like an inside-out zio.
Thank god for the Dark Hour. For Shadows. For the adrenaline rush that comes from being the only three people who can deal with the first two. For having this huge, nearly-empty dorm to knock around in, because Akihiko's three minutes away from shouting his throat raw, and there's no one but Mitsuru to care, and she wasn't exactly quiet herself the last time Shinji went down on her, so she's got no room to complain. Just thinking about it brings Akihiko that much closer, and he swears he can smell the cinnamon-scent of Mitsuru's hair.
Someone is humming, and a cool hand brushes his sweat-sticky hair off his forehead. Akihiko opens his eyes -- when had he closed them? -- and oh, that's why the air's scented with spice. Mitsuru's leaning over the back of the couch, watching him intently. "It was too quiet upstairs," she says.
Shinji grunts, presumably the best acknowledgement of her presence he can manage with his mouth full of Akihiko's cock. Akihiko's hips jerk, rough and off-tempo, which makes Shinji grunt again. Mitsuru's petting his forehead like he's a feverish child, unable to sleep because his brain's overheated, and the contrast between the motherly gesture and Shinji's hard suction is more than Akihiko can reconcile. As he flails for a better hold on the couch, Mitsuru catches his hand and squeezes it tightly. "There, just like that," she says.
And Akihiko -- well, how much longer was he supposed to hold out with the way Shinji's looking up at him, lips red and cheeks hollowed out as he draws Akihiko in? It goes on much longer than usual, but not nearly as long as it feels from the inside. He shudders, hand still clenched in Mitsuru's.
Shinji sits back on his heels and swipes his hand across his mouth. "Thanks, Princess. My jaw was starting to hurt."
"I'm surprised," Mitsuru says, crisp as a clean sheet of paper. "As often as you do that, one would think you'd grow accustomed to it."
Akihiko laughs. Okay, he feels considerably better than he has all evening. Nothing like a great blowjob and the sound of these two sniping at each other to take care of a foul mood.
"Hey, what can I say. It's brand-new every time," Shinji drawls.
With a final squeeze to his hand, Mitsuru stands up, brushing the wrinkles from her yukata. "Which explains while you're never prepared," she says. She fetches something from the coffee table and tosses it underhand to Shinji.
Oh: it's the bottle of lube from under Shinji's bed. It's a good thing one of them isn't half-asleep, because Akihiko's lacking attention to the finer details tonight. He stretches out his legs, twisting his ankles until they crack, and peels off his gloves one finger at a time.
If he's not going anywhere, he might as well make himself comfortable.
Mitsuru's settled into the chair at the head of the sofa. Shinji can see her, and he smirks in her direction as he pops open the bottle, but she's just outside of Akihiko's line of sight. That won't do. Sitting up, Akihiko flips over and rests his elbows on the arm of the couch.
That's a much nicer view. Raised far too well to put her feet on the coffee table, Mitsuru's sitting cross-legged, her bare feet peeking out from under the hem of her yukata. Her hands are folded in her lap, but Akihiko's known her too long (too well) to be fooled by the demure posture.
Shinji's a warm presence behind him. "Okay, then," Akihiko says. He's stretching out his back; really, that's all. He is not preening or some other girly thing like that. "I would like to get to sleep at some point."
"Aw. Am I boring you?" Akihiko's expecting a slap on the ass, because he's watched all of Shinji's porn, and Shinji's kind of predictable when he's preoccupied with his dick. So it's a surprise when he grabs Akihiko's hips instead, shoving him further up the couch. "'Cause I can fix that."
"You keep saying this." And oh, holy shit, it's good thing Akihiko's already come once, because Shinji's response is to spread his cheeks apart and spit right on his hole. Which is completely ridiculous, because Mitsuru had remembered the lube, hadn't she? But Shinji's watched all of Akihiko's porn, too, and perhaps pays more attention that he's given credit for.
He does it again, and Mitsuru shifts in the chair. "That's filthy." Her voice is breathy.
"Just how you like it." Shinji's working two fingers at once into Akihiko's ass. Cold with lube, they go in easy, with the burn Akihiko always feels from the stretch of the muscle. "Convenient, right, that you're both easy to get worked up."
"Shame there's nothing in it for you," Akihiko says through gritted teeth. Then there's more lube and Shinji's other hand is rubbing at his opening, too. He sways back and forth on his knees.
Shinji laughs, low and hot, and it does as much as his fingers to open Akihiko up. "I give, and I give, and I give. Unlike someone over there, who's just a big fucking tease."
Mitsuru arches one perfect eyebrow, which is enough to send most men running. Not that Akihiko could even stand at this point, and doubts Shinji could do much better. "My apologies. I didn't realize I was the cause of the delay."
With the same lack of self-consciousness she'd show in opening a textbook in class, Mitsuru loosens her sash and flips apart the lower half of her yukata, smoothing the fabric away from her bare thighs. Akihiko stares at at her dark red curls, as if he's never seen her nude before. "Do continue," she says. It's not a request.
"Yeah, all right."
Shinji pulls his fingers out so quickly that Akihiko shouts, jerking at the sudden absence.The sofa creaks as Shinji crowds forward, and Akihiko feels Shinji's cock nudging at his hole. "C'mon, c'mon," Akihiko says, to Shinji, to Mitsuru -- to the world at large, hell; just someone move already.
"Since you want it so bad," Shinji says, and pushes in.
Akihiko's just trying to catch his breath, so it's Mitsuru who's moaning -- Mitsuru, who's working one finger into herself in perfect synchronicity.
Oh. So there is something even hotter than getting fucked in the common room by Shinji; it's getting fucked while someone's watching. Someone's who been in (almost) this same position, under Shinji (but not first; it was Shinji and Aki first, always, inseparable).
"Yeah." Shinji's finding a rhythm now. "Been waiting on this all night."
It's either lock his elbows or end up with his face buried in the couch, which, really, just burrowing down and riding this out would be completely acceptable right now, but then he couldn't watch Mitsuru, and that would be a crime. It would be a crime at any time, but when she's playing at being his mirror, Shinji's echo, it would be an absolute sin.
So Akihiko braces himself and snarls, "Come on, then," locking eyes with Mitsuru. "Harder, Shinji."
Gasping for breath, Shinji complies. "Fuck. Yeah. That's what you want. You getting hard again, taking it like this?" Shinji reaches around, groping briefly for Akihiko's cock, which, yes, is not nearly as exhausted as the rest of him. "Mitsuru likes it just fine, don't you, Princess?"
Mitsuru's yukata has slipped open to show the inner curve of her breasts, and she's humming contentedly, with both hands working between her legs. Disheveled is an even rarer look for Mitsuru than complete nudity, and Akihiko appreciates it thoroughly. "Is he doing that thing, Aki, where he's almost all in," --there's a line of sweat running down her throat and between her breasts and if it weren't for the fact that Shinji's fucking him so hard it feels like he's choking on it, he'd crawl right over there and lick it off-- "and then there's that last little hitch and it's like." Panting for breath, she fumbles for the right words. "It's like..."
"Yeah," Akihiko says. "Yeah, he is." Except now Shinji's thrusts are growing ragged, and Akihiko's so dizzy it's all he can do to keep his knees spread wide and shove back and not just lie there and get swept under. Mitsuru understands. Mitsuru's watching him with complete comprehension, because she's the only other person who knows exactly how Shinji fucks, from the inside out. "Yeah, just like that."
"Fucking come already," Shinji snarls.
Akihiko doesn't know if Shinji's talking to him or to Mitsuru, but it's not like it matters. He repositions himself so he can get a hand around his cock. "Make me."
It's possibly suicidal to be challenging Shinji given the position he's in, but no one ever accused Akihiko of being the sensible one.
Cursing, Shinji slings an arm under Akihiko's chest and hauls him upright. Yeah, okay, bent over the couch was good, but now Akihiko's got leverage.
He's also got Shinji biting at his throat, clawing at his chest. "Look at her," he says, as if Akihiko's been looking at anything other than Mitsuru. Her hand's soaking wet. As they watch, her eyes open wide and she keens, coming hard. "She's so fucking hot. Don't you wish it was your dick up in her, and those pretty fingers scratching up your back. Our princess, fucking herself on your dick, just like you're doing right now-- fuck, Aki, fucking perfect. You're just-- c'mon, baby, come on--"
Shinji gives one of his nipples a vicious twist that should hurt like hell (will hurt later) but it's like taking a hit in a fight: Akihiko leans into it, lets it break over his head and drag him under, and he's following on Mitsuru's heels. It's quick and sharp, and as much a relief as a victory.
He's still gasping when Shinji finally buries his face in Akihiko's hair. Shinji moans, then goes utterly still for one long minute.
Tomorrow, when Akihiko can't stay awake in class, when his quads are aching and he finds a bruise purpling on his shin, he's going to wonder if he should blame it on the Dark Hour, or if he should blame it on what happens after. Not that it's really important; it's all of a piece, really. One long, surreal side-step from the real life that everyone else seems to be living.
He's not complaining. Hell, he gets to beat the shit out of monsters and then gets to have way more sex than he deserves. Both with the same two people, even.
Shinji's shaking his shoulder. "C'mon, wake up. I'm not sleeping down here."
"'Mnot asleep." He's not. But he has to blink an awful lot before Mitsuru's face comes into focus. "Hey," he murmurs. She's straightened and retied her yukata. If it weren't for the color in her cheeks, you wouldn't know what she'd been doing a few minutes ago. Shinji pushes Akihiko towards her, not ungently. It burns as Shinji pulls out.
"Hey, yourself." She's tugging him off the couch, wrapping an arm around his waist. There are hundreds of reasons why he's grateful for Mitsuru, but that fact that she doesn't stumble when he leans on her is right up there at the top.
Shinji's weaving around the room, grabbing up clothes and cutting off the lights. "We're so going out again tomorrow night."
"We're so not," Akihiko says, and Mitsuru laughs as they stumble up the staircase.
***