Archive of Our Own

As an extremely experienced Metaverse traveler, Akechi's relied on his senses and instincts to survive from harrowing circumstances, and those traits naturally carried over even when he became part of this strange patchwork of a team as he started working alongside Joker. With the army of ten reduced to three to later mere two, he has allowed them to take rein even in his status as a navigator, which is the only, only reason why that pops out of his mouth when he sees Joker inflicted with the rage status effect.

Not that he thinks he can be blamed—he just can't help himself from voicing his fascination. Seeing Joker so emotional is utterly surreal; he's sure that Joker's shown less emotion at death's door, when they've been battling one-on-one at the pit of collective human consciousness back in November, even when Maruki had taken Yoshizawa from their ranks. It's like learning that the same bland croquette you've been eating from the subway station for the past week straight also comes in an alternate curry flavor with a spicy kick. Akira is an extremely controlled and repressed individual; his expressions are so subtle that it had taken Akechi months to read his poker faces, and even then sometimes he can't be hundred percent sure that is what Kurusu is feeling—and considering that this is coming from him, the Detective Prince (ha) who kept the entire media eating out of his hand, praised as the hope of the country the past two years, that's frankly terrifying—so watching Joker mercilessly tear his blades into the shadows and carving death into their prone forms makes Akechi breathless. It makes his fingertips tingle. He wants to tear and claw against this new side of Akira until he knows every edge and angle of it.

At his words, Joker's hyperfocus aimed at his enemies snap to Crow. Even when he points at the remaining single terrified shadow, that eerie gaze does not waver from Akechi's form. "Joker?" He calls out, stepping back once. "We don't have time to dawdle. We're here to rescue Yoshizawa, so we need to get to the assembly hall."

Joker ignores his words, no surprise—considering the status effect, those words probably only sound like a faraway echo to him. As much as this side of Joker intrigues him, he just doesn't have time for any of this, doesn't have time to waste, god knows what kind of insane brainwashing Maruki is inflicting on the only other Persona user in this strange reality.

So he's about to snap Joker out by slapping him across the face when Joker lunges at him with his whole body. He yelps at the completely un-Jokerlike action, and it throws him off kilter so much that he ends up throwing his blade halfway across the battlefield, efficiently disarming him excluding his gun which he can't use against the only level-headed person who could help him destroy this reality. "Tch, idiot," he stutters as Joker grabs his limbs and pins him down to the floor, yelping when Joker begins to straddle him, oh, for god's sake—"what do you think you are doing!?"

He freezes as one of Joker's daggers press against his throat, deep enough to draw blood but not enough to instantly snuff the life of him. No reply is returned, not in words at least—only in form of rough breathing and furious glaring. Akechi smirks, feeling the freezing steel turning warmer as time passes by his blood dripping down the metal. "Are you going to kill me? Maybe we haven't buried the hatchet quite deep enough. I wouldn't mind it if you go through with it," he was a dead man, anyways, just like Isshiki Wakaba and Okumura Kunikazu—ha! funny that he's been brought back with his two victims, one hell of an irony, he thinks—Akira would only be hurrying his death by a few days at most, just until they destroyed Maruki's pathetic escapist world.

Joker keeps staring at him blankly, the rage silently boiling within those grey orbs, then Akechi is suddenly being flipped on his stomach and the blade that was seconds ago against his neck is now biting into the thin layer of fabric surrounding his body. Akechi chokes as the dagger travels down his spine, leaving a trail of crimson mark among its wake, and Akira does not falter until he reaches the navel. Once that's done with, there is the sound of that dagger being thrown away haphazardly against the floor, and Joker's two hands are on the two sides of the ripped onesie. Without hesitation, Akira pulls on the fabric violently from both ends to essentially open up his back, the revealing gape traveling all the way down to his ass.

"Joker," Akechi groans against the floor as Akira takes each globe of the ass and massages them apart with a satisfied and lustful sigh, "there are still enemies here!"

At that, both hand freezes, then there's the sound of fabric shuffling along with Joker's taut thighs trapping him to the floor. Soon the Bugs that had been glancing at them between curiosity and terror gets obliterated by hail of bullets, and the hands return on his body along with Akira's hot breath against his neck, the violent nips against his collar. "Thank you," he sighs out, body going limp as his sense of danger calms down as the only remaining threat in this area is Joker, and Joker seems to be satisfied with Akechi's body forced against the floor and completely under his mercy.

Then a raw finger covered by the soft leather of the crimson gloves thrusts into him, and god it fucking hurts that Akechi lets out a choked scream out involuntarily—and with how gone Akira is, Akechi feels dread curl in his stomach when he realizes Joker in this state would choose to fuck him raw without any intervention. He flicks his head up until his mask gets dislodged, revealing his whole face, then twists his neck the best he can to look back to Joker straddling his hips, furiously undoing his own belt. "H-Hey, Akira," he breathes out and lets his mouth spread open, "put your fingers in my mouth."

Thankfully Joker's eyes turn dangerously hungry upon landing his eyes on him, and there is an index forced into his mouth and prodding at his throat. Knowing that this is the only prep he's getting, he sucks and licks at the digit dutifully and skillfully, giving it all the attention he would give to a cock. He lets his lashes flutter as he bites into the leather just so Joker could feel the pain graze his senses. Akira moans loudly at that—naughty boy. It's better when Joker retracts the fingers and starts fingering him open again—the spit isn't enough to completely dissipate the pain but it does reduce to a level where Akechi can handle, even find it pleasurable. The two fingers turn into three and soon they all leave him, and Akira's fevered flesh rubs against his still-too-tight hole.

"Crow," Joker hisses between his lips as he grabs Akechi by the back of the neck and slowly slides into the tightness. The prep hasn't even been remotely enough; the pain is excruciating as Joker squeezes his shaft into him, not that he could show how much it hurt past a gritted teeth considering his pride.  "C-Crow... Akechi..."

"Oh, so you know who you're fucking? Good to know that I'm not just some convenient nameless hole to fuck int—hnngh, don't do that while I'm talking!" Crow seethes when Akira, no longer content with the slow pace, slams his hips to force the remaining half of his cock into Akechi. Despite everything, it does make him satisfied in a twisted way that Akira does recognize him on the most primal levels right now, that his body can reduce Kurusu Akira to such base state by causing his rage and pleasure to cross over. It feels like a victory that he didn't even know he needed.

Then Akira starts rocking his hips, experimentally shallow and hesitant at to grasp a motion at first, exponentially speeding up once Akechi relaxes around him and it becomes less painful to thrust into the warmth. Akechi groans and twists his body desperately, trying to get that cock to hit his prostate, and collapsing into a moaning heap when the cockhead finally hits against his spot. It's just so hard to keep himself in check when Joker is pounding him perfectly against the prostate with a punishing pace, so he gives up trying to keep his desires stuffed in and lets his moans leak between his mouth, a lowly strung praise of keepdoingthatohjustlikethatpleasekeepgoingakirathere—

At one point, Joker moves his hand so they're in his hair, pushing and pulling against it, violently pressing his face against the concrete one moment then pulling hard enough to pull out tufts of hair the other, in accordance to the rhythm of his hips. The pain against his head only makes him even harder and tighter, and soon he's panting with his mouth open, his leaking cock still confined between his own clothes jerking at every press and pull of Joker's movement.

He's suspended between two acute source of pain and one incandescent pleasure and it's not long before he's spilling all over between the floor and his stomach, making a mess of himself inside his suit. Joker doesn't even stutter as he comes, a soft grunting the only indication that he even felt it, continuing to jackhammer Akechi's hole roughly, neither the hand in his hair nor one clutching his hips faltering, snapping his hips incredibly fast. If Akechi could come again he could, but frankly trying to keep his head in midst of the overstimulation is already too much because Joker is still hitting his prostate with every sink and he's no longer able to twist out of it with the iron grip against his head.

Joker gives a full-body lurch when he finally ejaculates into him, thrusting into him frantically to spill all his seed into Akechi's hole. They stay interconnected for a while, Akira collapsed on his form, until Akechi finally catches his breath again and pulls Joker's prone form off his body. Akira doesn't fight back at that, just makes a pained groan.

"You back yet?" Akechi snaps his finger in front of the exhausted leader's face, earning another sickly sound from him. Legs still unsteady, he crawls around Akira to smirk down at him. "You were inflicted by rage."

"My muscles feel like they've been at Protein Lovers," Akira moans out, panting on the floor utterly drained of energy.

Akechi takes that moment to undo one of the clasps for his claws so he can clean himself out, snatching a medical pad from Joker's satchel. Akira eventually recovers too, helps him rub the antibiotics over the knife marks over his neck and back. "Sorry about that," Akira mumbles and winces as he scans Akechi over. "Your clothes are going to be unsalvageable," he sighs in the familiar poker face of disdain, pulls his overcoat and passes it over to him. "Just wear this, any damage done to the clothes in the Metaverse is reversed once we get out, and we're too close to the assembly hall to back out now." 

"Thank you, Joker," Akechi takes the offered jacket and wraps it around his body. It's still pleasantly warm from Akira's body temperature, not to mention it still smells lightly of coffee and curry despite being a Metaverse materialization—the scent Akechi's learned to connect to safety over time. He lets it hang open—no need to button it up when it's only his back material that's been ripped to shreds, and gives Joker a light smile.

"Akechi, I..." Akira pauses as he tries to touch Akechi on the shoulder, then quickly retracts his hand. He's numbly rubbing at the dent on his glove, the one Akechi's left when he was sucking on them earlier. His face is twisted into regret and hesitation and Goro realizes, oh, oh, oh.

Oh.

Suddenly the jacket feels so much colder and heavier. He bites his lips. "We should be on his way, Joker," he articulates hollowly, coldly, keeps his back turned on the other boy. He refastens the claws on his hands to the point where they're suffocating, because the bite of the metal into skin keeps him from floating. He can't. He can't give in, not when they haven't even rescued Yoshizawa. Not when Akira's idiotic friends are all drinking down the sweet nectar of Maruki's dreams and avoiding the truth.

Not when Akechi himself is nothing more than a mirage in a scorching desert, destined to fade away, reduced to nothing but dust as he should have back in the engine room. Especially considering that Maruki would attempt to use his life to leverage a deal from Akira. The mere thought of it disgusts him to the core.

Joker tries to grab him. Akechi turns away before he can grasp the tattered remains of his coat. "Akechi—"

"Don't forget that this is just a deal," Akechi shouts as he collects his abandoned sword from behind one of the boxes, and continues forward, not looking back.