Archive of Our Own

Monday

One of the first sparks that ignited his and Kyojuro’s relationship can be traced back to the moment Akaza mentioned in passing that he’d never kill Mitsuri. Kyojuro was stunned, rendered speechless in the moment. It was the first sign that there was much more to Akaza under the thin veil of blistering rage that shrouded him. Kyojuro wanted to know the reason, but honestly, Akaza had never thought about it before.

“Why don’t you kill women, Akaza?”

“I don’t know, I just…. Guess it always felt wrong.” 

“And Muzan let you?”

“He wasn’t pleased at first, but I always did what he requested of me. I didn’t ask for anything else so he allowed it. I could never… bring myself to kill them…” 

Akaza, sounding uncharacteristically solemn, made Kyojuro look at him in a way he’d never seen anyone look at him before. It wasn’t condescending pity, exactly. It was pure undiluted compassion. It still made Akaza want to claw his brain out of his skull. 

After that tussle with Sanemi a few weeks ago, most Corps members are a little wary of Akaza. Not that Akaza should care about getting all chummy with every slayer he meets, but Kyojuro had asked him to at least try to be nice. It’s easy to fall back into patterns of bitterness and violence and self-deprecation, but it’s also startlingly easy these days to, as Kyojuro puts it, “do the right thing.” Kyojuro breaks Akaza’s cycles of self hatred time and time again, fanning the embers of his cold soul, rekindling a desire to be better.

Kyojuro has illuminated a path for him to take. It’s not straight, it’s not easy, but it isn’t impossible. He ignites a compulsion deep in his bones to be so much more than what Muzan made him to be: a tool.

Kyojuro never saw him as such. To him, they’re both simply people. One who holds himself to impossibly high moral standards, and the other who hardly had any standards or morals to begin with — just the mind of a man which had been moulded by a disgusting, spineless cult leader for centuries. What it took for Akaza to unlearn his savage ways and find his own voice was nothing short of excruciating, but he tried. He’s still trying. 

Kyojuro always talks about how Akaza has the capacity for so much good. Well, maybe he’s right. Akaza is not the same person he was 12 months ago. It’s hard to admit it, but perhaps he really does have some humanity left in him after all. 

Now, Akaza sits next to Mitsuri around a long wooden table in the center of the Butterfly mansion’s quiet kitchen. She seems to be the only slayer apart from Kyojuro who genuinely wants to be his friend. That’s not to say the others still hate him. Shinobu, for one, has warmed up to him slightly ever since he gave a detailed report on Doma. He can’t say he feels the same towards her, though. He’ll have to unpack those feelings another day; she’s sitting at the same table as him right now, eating quietly. The silence of the room is punctuated with the sounds of clinking cutlery and the scratch of Shinobu’s pencil on her notepad. The darkness under her eyes looks particularly purple today. Akaza finds himself having to suppress the urge to tell her that she needs to get more sleep. She’s a doctor, of course she would know that— what the hell does he know about what humans need anyway?

Akaza has his hands wrapped around a comically small cup of donated human blood, no longer needing to kill to control his hunger. It’s all thanks to Tamayo. Honestly, Akaza enjoyed the thrill of the fight more than the kill itself anyway. Now it’s just another piece of his dark past that he willingly leaves behind. 

Mitsuri hums a tune as she stacks empty bowls that once held mochi. Aoi’s cooking is apparently exceptional with the added bonus of having healing properties. It’s all so ridiculously mundane, it should make Akaza sick. In the past it would have, but instead it now stirs something deep in his psyche. Something about it is familiar. It’s comforting. 

Akaza’s been getting to know Mitsuri better over time, thankful that he doesn’t have to ask too many questions. Mitsuri volunteers all the information readily — what she likes, how she spends her days, what that indestructible little demon girl is up to, and of course, what she loves to eat. It’s no wonder she and Kyojuro work so well together. 

Mitsuri, with her steadfast willpower, unwavering loyalty, positivity, and her appreciation for all things good and sweet, reminds him deep down of someone. He doesn’t know who. He can’t remember. Was it before or after he became a demon? He’s lived so long, he can’t be too sure. Something always stops him from delving deeper. 

More than anything, Akaza admires Mitsuri’s strength. She’s a fierce opponent, with great honour on the battlefield. 

“It’s so nice of Rengoku-San to have you as a guest in his home!!!” Mitsuri chimes, reaching for a cup of tea.

Yeah. A guest.

Rengoku-San had his “guest’s” dick in his mouth that same morning.

“Yeah. He’s been a great host,” Akaza says, desperately trying to hide the smile that threatens to reveal his true feelings. 

“Greetings!” Kyojuro exclaims brightly as he enters the room. He walks over with his perfect posture and his perfect uniform and his perfect family heirloom haori to sit down across from Akaza. But not next to him. No, that would be too fucking obvious. He yawns, subtly flexing his jaw. It must still be sore. 

Oops. 

Tengen walks in shortly after, rubbing his hands together like a greedy fly. Akaza wrinkles his nose in disgust at the sight of him. It’s weird to have so many of the Hashira together like this, but demon sightings are slowly dropping, and Ubuyashiki is taking the opportunity to have everyone stick around to attend meetings and train the Corps members whenever they’re not on missions. Aoi is using this chance to try and feed everyone as many nutritious meals as possible. Something about “good food gives you strength.” Akaza’s ears pricked up at that, and it led to him having regular meals with these people. He looks down at the shot glass of blood he shields with his fingers — he wonders what’s so strengthening about this blood in particular.

“What happened to you?” Tengen says to Kyojuro. Akaza despises how quickly he noticed the way Kyojuro was gingerly massaging the hinge of his jaw. How dare this cocky garish bastard know Kyojuro like that?

Kyojuro, ever the terrible liar, says, “I… was teaching one of our Corps members about diaphragmatic breathing!! I suspect I have strained myself.”

Tengen looks over at Akaza for a split second. That can’t be a good sign.

“Oh yeah? how wide did you have to open your mouth to do that?” Tengen says, a hint of teasing underlying his tone.  

Shinobu purses her lips, the effort of trying not to laugh causes tears to form in the corners of her eyes. 

Kyojuro, completely missing the subtext of that question, is about to respond earnestly when the clomping of heavy footsteps and jingling buckles gets louder down the adjacent hallway. Sanemi. He stands in the doorway, looking at Akaza with pure hatred. 

“You approached me. I was here first,” Akaza says defensively, not bothering to look Sanemi in the eye. He lifts the tiny cup to his mouth to take a sip.

Sanemi clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes before gruffly sitting down at the furthest end of the table. 

Kyojuro starts again, “As I was saying before—”

“—How do you know that isn’t a woman’s blood?” Sanemi blurts out.

Akaza turns his head to face Sanemi. Not to respond, just wanting to intentionally let the silence drift into awkwardness.

Sanemi doesn’t relent, “I thought you only ate men.”

Tengen lets out a sudden amused “pfft” before slapping his hand over his mouth. Immature asshole.

Akaza thinks two can play at that game. He noticed the hair tie around Sanemi’s wrist the second he stomped in here. 

“Hey San, how’s Giyuu?” Akaza asks.

“Don’t fucking call me Sa—“ Sanemi freezes. His fighting spirit completely extinguishes itself for a split second before he drops his hands below the table. When his hands reappear, the hair tie is gone.

“How the fuck would I know?” Sanemi mutters. There’s a hint of defeat in his voice. Now they’re even. Akaza decides not to be a total dick and doesn’t push it. He really isn’t one for blackmail anyway. Cowardly tactics.

Tuesday

A demon’s hearing is better than most humans’. 

Akaza hears shit all the time that makes him want to rip his head off of his shoulders and punt it off a cliff. Foolish complaints, chewing, kissing, sex, arguments, meaningless conversations — it’s all so insanity-inducing. 

So it’s no wonder that one random night, while wandering around the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters, it becomes painfully apparent that his “secret relationship” with the Flame Hashira isn’t so secret after all. Rounding the corner of a pathway, he can hear whispering in the distance. It’s Sanemi having a conversation in hushed tones with some other Hashira. 

“I’m fucking telling you the truth! There was a huge-ass bite mark on his chest,” says Sanemi, a kind of manic desperation in his voice, like this couldn’t be the first time he has tried to convince them of something he’s seen.

“Oh, I believe you now, don’t worry! I of all people know how Rengoku treats a friend. THAT is not a friend. They’re fucking, mark my words,” Tengen says.

Obanai, much to his misfortune, must have been dragged into this conversation by Sanemi. He makes a loud retching noise as he interjects, “EUGH, Just thinking about this makes me sick. Change the subject. Now.”

Akaza thinks to himself that he should bite a little higher next time to make it blatantly obvious, but he buries that thought. Kyojuro isn’t ashamed to be with Akaza, he just doesn’t want him to get in trouble and be thrown out or killed. Akaza decides not to engage with these three buffoons tonight.

The moon rises in the sky as Akaza busies himself around the Ubuyashiki mansion for the duration of the night. He keeps his ears open, curious to know who else is talking about him or Kyojuro. It soon becomes abundantly clear to him that Kyojuro might be the only person in the entire Demon Slayer Corps who thinks their relationship is still a secret. And yet, Akaza hasn’t been executed for it. Could it be possible that the Corps just doesn’t care? He has been working with them for the better part of a year now. They accepted that demon girl, even Tamayo. Could they accept Akaza too? The Hashira at the very least seem to be warming up to the idea of Akaza’s overall existence — if only due to his dedication to helping the Corps kill Muzan and his little demon posse. 

Then a funny, wicked thought surfaces to the forefront of Akaza’s mind. Instead of telling Kyojuro, he could have some fun teasing him. How long will Kyojuro deny it? How long before he gives up on trying to hide their relationship from his colleagues? It would be rather hilarious to turn it into a little game. 

After all, Akaza is getting very, very tired of pretending, of lying. 

The rest of the night drones on without Kyojuro to keep Akaza company. He’s at a strategy meeting, and those go on for hours. It’s almost dawn when he finally gets out. Akaza is already waiting outside, ready to walk back to the Rengoku Estate with him. Kyojuro looks exhausted, but Akaza skips towards him with a taunting smirk. Without saying anything, Akaza turns Kyojuro around to massage his shoulders, using varying pressure to work out the knots with his thumbs. Kyojuro is far too tired to protest until Akaza hits a nerve and it makes him splutter an embarrassingly loud moan just as the rest of the other Hashira are filing out of the building.

“He was helping me to relax!!” Kyojuro calls out defensively. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Shinobu says sarcastically, her voice saccharine.

Kyojuro whips around to face Akaza. “Why would you do that where they all could see?” Kyojuro asks. He’s so drained that his voice has lost its usual vivacity. 

Akaza shrugs, and they silently start off on the journey home.

As soon as the threat of someone spotting them is gone, Akaza bends over to allow Kyojuro to climb onto his back, and he carries him home as the birds begin singing. 

Wednesday 

Akaza and the Hashira have been assigned missions together. It’s very unusual to send more than one Hashira on a single mission, but these are being labeled “team building exercises”. Some Hashira work better together than others, and Ubuyashiki rightfully pointed out that they all have to be a well-oiled machine for the final fight against Muzan. 

This evening, Kyojuro has been teamed up with Gyomei and a handful of other lower-ranking slayers to seek out a demon that’s been terrorising a nearby town. Akaza and Kyojuro stay behind for a moment while the others start off on their journey. 

“Kyojuro. I have some… sensitive information to share with you,” Akaza whispers, batting his eyelashes up at him. 

He gives Kyojuro a piece of parchment folded neatly in half, secured with a red ribbon. Kyojuro smiles warmly and unties his gift, opening it with care. His face then turns a brighter shade of scarlet than the ribbon in his hand.

A shiver runs down Kyojuro’s spine as he stares at the rather racy picture in his hands. He experiences the five stages of grief before the look of genuine curiosity overcomes acceptance on his face. 

“I didn’t know you could draw,” Kyojuro says with his eyebrows pinched together, holding the picture close to his face to examine the detail. It’s a charcoal sketch of Akaza’s naked body reclining across the tatami flooring of Kyojuro’s room, his hand draped conveniently across his “sensitive information”. 

“Well I don’t exactly have the time to have my photo taken, do I Kyojuro?” Akaza says with a smirk. 

The thought of going through the arduous formal process of having a photograph taken of him only for it to be this pornographic nonsense makes Akaza chuckle quietly to himself. 

Kyojuro looks around once, twice, before swiftly blowing a kiss and leaving to join the rest of his group. He folds the picture up and puts it in his pocket. Before he’s totally out of sight, he spins on his heel to give Akaza a wave goodbye. They won’t see each other for the rest of the night. These missions tend to go past sunrise. 

Akaza’s own mission for the night is to engage with some mundanity, apparently. He needs to look for some better clothes, if only to wear during his training sessions. Mitsuri offered one of her own spare flexibility training outfits but he thought that if Kyojuro saw him wearing one of those he might just spontaneously combust. 

He sits on the floor of a Demon Slayer Corps dojo, folding neat stacks of sorted karategi, when something eclipses the light behind him. He twists his body, expecting to see a bear, but it’s just that big blind guy. 

Gyomei stares straight ahead as tears begin streaming down his face, “I believe this belongs to you.” He hands Akaza a heavily creased folded up piece of paper. Confused, Akaza opens it, only to see his own smug face staring back at him. He balls it up in his hands instantly.

“That’s not mine,” Akaza says. It’s not entirely a lie. Perhaps he’ll get away with this. 

Gyomei takes a slow deep breath, “Namu Amida Butsu. I pray that Rengoku-San’s sanity will one day return to him.”

Perhaps not. 

Thursday 

“This is way too fucking small!” Akaza whines.

“You are shorter than me!” Kyojuro says matter-of-factly, gesturing to Akaza.

“Yeah by an inch, Kyojuro, this wouldn’t fit around my thigh!” Akaza holds up his demon slayer uniform between his index fingers and his thumbs. 

It’s the afternoon. The sun is still up, but it’s cloudy. They stand on the ground floor of the Butterfly mansion, inspecting Akaza’s slayer uniform that has finally been delivered. Kyojuro had requested that the Corps have one made for him, stating something about how it’ll help him to blend in better, as if the clothes were the problem and not the bright pink hair, thick full-body tattoos and glowing gold eyes. 

“I gave them measurements… Maybe they got it wrong? Try it on— maybe it’s stretchy!!” Kyojuro says hopefully. 

Akaza dips into a nearby washroom. He scoffs at his reflection in the mirror. He guesses he does look a bit startling. His old white demon pants are considerably stained with dirt, grass, and suggestions of blood from all the sparring. He broke his belt recently so he’s been wearing one of Kyojuro’s old ones. His haori has rips and tears at the seams. He tries to repair it when he can, but that can only do so much before the fabric literally starts disintegrating. He shrugs his clothes off to try on the new ones, thinking that his fashion choices shouldn’t be such a big deal in the first place.

Okay, this is unacceptable though. Not only is the back of this uniform blank, but the buttons strain against his pecs, fitting far too snug over his arms and shoulders. It’s so tight even his nipples are visible through the black fabric. It’s not nearly long enough either. The hem of the shirt falls above his belly button. The pants would fit fine if they could at least button up, which it can’t, and the belt isn’t long enough to wrap around his waist so he doesn’t bother trying it on at all. He looks so stupid. He pouts at his reflection — he almost misses his old raggedy clothes. At least they fucking fit. 

He sheepishly walks out to show Kyojuro.

As soon as Kyojuro sees him, his eyes nearly fall out of his skull. He immediately begins sweating and covers his mouth in shock. He’s adorable when he’s flustered.

“What?” Akaza says flatly, deciding to feign ignorance and prolong the moment as much as possible.

“I— uhh I just have never seen you with this much clothing on!” Kyojuro says, his voice raising an octave. 

“It’s not going to stay on me for long if I so much as—,” Akaza raises his arm, flexing it, and a neat little rip appears in the seam that runs along his bicep.  

A faint flush creeps up Kyojuro’s neck. It takes every ounce of Akaza’s self control not to burst into giggles as Kyojuro pathetically attempts to recompose himself, plastering a wide grin across his face. His eyes are unfocused, not looking at anything in particular, though he makes a pointed effort to dodge Akaza’s gaze.  

“Give it back!!! I will get this fixed!!!!!” Kyojuro yells as he lunges at Akaza. 

“We having a party in here or what?” Tengen says loudly, poking his head around the entrance from the engawa. “Oh, flashy!! — what are you doing?” He says looking to Akaza, then to Kyojuro. Akaza has to make a conscious effort to keep his face from contorting, shrivelling up like a raisin at Tengen’s overall repulsive presence.

Kyojuro freezes, looking up at Tengen with his mouth hanging open and his hands still extended towards Akaza. He blinks at his friend a few times before straightening up to face him. 

“The tailor got his measurements wrong!!!” Kyojuro exclaims with the same rigid grin on his face. 

Tengen raises an eyebrow, “So this isn’t your doing?” He says to Kyojuro, pointing at Akaza. 

Kyojuro places his hands on his hips as if that’ll make him look more convincing, “NO! Why would it—?” 

“I’ll get in touch with the tailor this time, Kyojuro,” Akaza says as he approaches Kyojuro from behind, letting his hand graze his ass on the way up to possessively rest his arm on his shoulder. 

“Sir Flashy, what do I have to do to get a uniform like yours?” Akaza asks, burying his childish jealousy to ask a genuine question for once. 

Tengen beams, bringing his hands up behind his head to flaunt his huge arms, “Oh this? This was my special request! Our uniforms are seriously lacking in style. I wanted to stand out, show off the goods—“

“And manoeuvre your weapon with greater ease!!” Kyojuro says a bit too loudly. 

Both Akaza and Tengen look at Kyojuro for a second before Akaza removes his arm from Kyojuro’s shoulder. 

Akaza, grinning wickedly, seizes the opportunity, “what do you know about manoeuvring Tengen’s weapon, Kyojuro?”

That wipes Kyojuro’s unconvincing smile right off of his face. He looks at Akaza like he wants to smack him. And not in a good way. Tengen on the other hand, irritatingly boisterous as ever, bursts out laughing at the both of them. 

Later on in the night, all of the Hashira are having dinner, or maybe he should call it breakfast at this hour of the morning. They’re sitting together in a local restaurant as a special treat after some particularly difficult missions. It's technically Friday now, the end of the week for most of them. Not that it means anything — it’s not like demons just stop murdering innocent people on weekends. 

“Kyojuro! I’m hungry,” Akaza says, suddenly overcome by the irresistible urge to be a menace to Kyojuro again. 

Kyojuro, still suffering from a rare case of sense of humour failure, glares at him.

“Then. Eat. Something,” He says through gritted teeth. That’s subtle. 

“What do you recommend?” Akaza says, leaning forward over the table to rest his chin on his hands. A teasing smirk creeps onto his face as he rubs his leg against Kyojuro’s. Kyojuro slams the heel of his shoe on Akaza’s toes. Akaza blinks hard and curls his lips between his teeth to suppress a noise. 

“I’m sure Kocho-San has some blood for you at the Butterfly Mansion,” Kyojuro says as he lifts his bowl up to slurp the broth, his foot still firm on Akaza’s toes.

“That’s drinking, not eating,” Akaza says, unblinking as he mentally wills Kyojuro to give up his facade of indifference. 

Unfortunately for him, Kyojuro successfully ignores him. 

Akaza continues, “I’m in the mood for something warm… and long—”

“—Ikayaki,” Giyuu pipes up. He hasn’t spoken a word since he got here. Akaza didn’t even think he was listening. 

Akaza throws a few confused blinks at Giyuu before shifting his focus back to Kyojuro.

“That’s all sliced up. I want something a little more… uncut.” 

Kyojuro’s bowl slips in his hands. He inhales a mouthful of broth, making him cough and splutter. 

“Ew,” Shinobu says with a grimace, turning her head away from the both of them in disgust. 

“I don’t think ikayaki is that bad,” says Giyuu. 

Shinobu leans in between Akaza and Kyojuro. “Can we shift the discussion away from… cannibalism, please? There’s a child here," she whispers condescendingly to Akaza in her sickeningly sweet voice.

Muichiro throws an airplane he made out of a napkin at no one in particular, “I wasn’t listening,” he says in a bored voice. 

“Yakiimo,” Giyuu contributes again, staring hard into his bowl of salmon daikon like it contains all the answers of the universe. 

“Fucking dipshit— demons can’t eat human food!” Sanemi says, banging the side of his hand on the table. It makes his tea lurch and spill over the sides of his cup. He curses at whatever God he believes in under his breath as he mops up the tea with Muichiro's discarded airplane. 

Gyomei begins silently crying in the corner. Tengen on the other hand, has spent this entire exchange analysing Kyojuro over the lip of his cup.

Mitsuri gasps, “oh you LOVE yakiimo, Rengoku-San!!!” 

Kyojuro squeezes his lips together into a calculated smile and turns to face Mitsuri, nodding politely at her. Kyojuro intercepts Tengen's gaze, and Tengen finally takes a swig of his drink. They have a fully mute conversation through micro facial expressions and hand gestures that Akaza cannot for the life of him decipher, quickly followed by Kyojuro sighing in resignation and accepting the drink that Tengen pushes across the table to him.

Akaza, recalcitrant, frantically tries to think of a way to continue their highly inappropriate banter, only to come up empty. He sits there sulking, worrying his lip with a fang as he traces the patterns of the wood grain on the table. He realises, a bit belatedly, that this plan to irritate Kyojuro into making the first move in front of his friends might not be working. He ogles Kyojuro across the table in a last-ditch attempt to garner a positive response, but to no avail. Kyojuro only gives him a blank unreadable expression in return.

Later that morning, Akaza watches from the shadows in the corner of Kyojuro's room as Tengen drags his best friend home. Kyojuro, a bit too tipsy and far too handsy, falls face first onto his futon at Akaza's feet, reaching out to grasp blindly at Akaza's ankle. He falls fast asleep seconds later with his hand still locked around Akaza's foot. Akaza's head jerks up at the sound of Tengen making an amused noise.

”He likes you,” Tengen says, waggling his eyebrows.

Akaza is about to respond with “you think I didn’t fucking know that already?!” But Tengen cuts him off with a childish “Oooooo,” pointing his index finger at him.

Before Akaza can berate Tengen with a slew of insults, he flashes Akaza a smug grin and disappears between a blink in a gust of wind. 

Friday

The last night of the week starts off as a quiet one. These past four nights have ended with either Akaza or Kyojuro being summoned to some kind of mission, or with Akaza walking Kyojuro home and tucking the worn-out man into his bed. (Or there's this morning... whatever the fuck that was). All things considered, they have had hardly any time to spend together recently. Akaza feels weathered by the distance between them and it's entirely his own fault.

He doesn't know when or how he became so accustomed, so dependent on Kyojuro's company. The truth is unavoidable. The gaping ache left by Kyojuro's absence is just as maddening as the itch in his throat caused by the sun's presence. Thinking about it now, it’s all so fucking stupid — his efforts to tease Kyojuro all week have only coalesced into a mountain of his own longing. The desire to touch or simply be near Kyojuro, to close the emotional distance between them, overshadows most of his thoughts. It’s becoming too difficult to think about anything else at this point.

Tonight, Akaza ends a self-defence training shift at one of Ubuyashiki’s dojos, dragging his feet and feeling rather dejected.

This time it’s Kyojuro that waits for him outside.

“Would you like to spar?” Kyojuro calls.

Akaza’s eyes light up. “You’re not tired?”

“Our strategy meeting ended early tonight,” Kyojuro says, already reaching for his sword.

Akaza thinks he should jump over there, sweep him off his feet, and carry him far away to suck the soul out of him for being so wonderful, but he resists. Instead he tightens the black belt on his karategi and raises his fists. Kyojuro smiles at him.

“Ready for a real sword fight, Kyojuro?” Akaza asks teasingly.

Kyojuro shakes his head and laughs, releasing his sword from its scabbard. His smile falls, expression turning serious in concentration, and he dashes towards Akaza in a swirl of bright red flames. Akaza anticipates his next movements, but doesn’t react on purpose. Kyojuro is inches from his face as he swings his sword in a perfect arc – Rising Scorching Sun, effortlessly slicing his arm off. It’s refreshing, the feeling of Kyojuro’s blade gliding through his flesh. There’s no resistance at all; Kyojuro’s skills are just that refined, magnificent, and Akaza can’t stop the gleeful grin that twists his features into something slightly maniacal.

He swings his leg into Kyojuro’s chest, not hard enough to break anything. The force of the kick sends him skidding across the yard. He digs his heels into the dirt, maintaining his balance as he slides to a stop. 

“Is that all you got, Kyojuro?” Akaza gasps. “Come at me. I can take it,” He says with a wink. 

That makes Kyojuro’s eyes widen — the desired effect. Akaza doesn’t stop his torrent of suggestive quips as their fight gets more and more heated. 

“Fuck, ugh— you’re so strong.”

“Harder— yes.”

”Faster… faster…”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Give me more”

“You have such a fine sword, Kyojuro.”

“Ah— Don’t stop.” 

Kyojuro becomes increasingly distracted with each comment, grunt, and gasp Akaza makes. Akaza can see it. He can hear his breathing turning erratic, see the pulse of his carotid throbbing harder each time he locks eyes with him. His swings turn sloppy, more uncoordinated. 

“You’re so tight,” Akaza breathes.

“What?! That doesn't make any sense!” Kyojuro shouts, slashing Akaza’s arm. Akaza blocks it, the sword sticking firmly into his bone. He leans into it, bringing his face closer to Kyojuro’s, getting off on the way his eyelids quiver as he refuses to break eye contact. They're caught in a stalemate, panting heavily onto each other's faces. Then, moving on instinct, they're leaning their heads closer and Akaza can see Kyojuro's pupils dilating, his irises perfectly framing the reflection of Akaza's glowing golden eyes in them. Kyojuro's breath hitches. His eyes soften. His eyebrows relax. He stutters on an exhale, and Akaza inhales his breath, the sweet aroma of his air and blood stirring a heat in his groin. On any other night, in any other place, Akaza would have given in. He would have collided into him with reckless abandon, let Kyojuro slither his hands under his clothes, kiss him like he wants to devour him, collapse onto the dirt and melt into each other like no one's watching.

But people are watching. And suddenly Akaza is uncertain of how the Corps would feel, how Kyojuro would feel, about revealing their relationship by openly making out on their precious master’s property. Akaza takes a deep breath. 

“Who ever said I was talking about sparring?” Akaza drawls, his eyes narrowing into slits. Kyojuro fails to react quick enough — Akaza trips him up and holds him to the ground with his foot on his wrist, Kyojuro’s sword just barely out of reach. Akaza crouches over him with his fist drawn back, looking at him with a lopsided smirk, “I win, Ky—”

“Shut the FUCK UP,” Obanai shouts, the interruption effectively bringing their absurd foreplay to an abrupt end. 

Akaza giggles before releasing his grip on Kyojuro’s shirt and standing up. He extends his hand out to Kyojuro, a subconscious gesture, but Kyojuro ignores it in favour of staying on the ground to pretend like his dick isn’t making an obvious tent in his pants. 

“Oyakata-Sama has a mission for you and Tomioka,” Obanai says, shooting them both a sharp glare. By the way he spits out the name “Tomioka”, Akaza gets the impression that they aren’t exactly best friends. Akaza can’t even begin to imagine what Giyuu must've said to get on Snake Man’s bad side, considering Giyuu doesn’t say much at all. Ubuyashiki has been wise to not pair up Akaza and Obanai for any missions, “well-oiled machine” be damned. Even though he has zero interest in his girl crush, he still hisses at him every time Akaza dares to stand near his precious Kanroji. 

Akaza takes off, beaming. “Bye Kyojuro! See you later!”

Kyojuro, blue-balled and still quite taken aback, calls after him, “I won’t see you later! I have to be out before dawn!” 

“That’s alright!” Akaza says as he gives him a parting wave, glancing over his shoulder one last time. And he supposes he should feel somewhat satisfied with himself about leaving Kyojuro on a cliffhanger like that, given his personal mission to torment him. It's all fun and games until Kyojuro is completely out of sight and Akaza once again comes face-to-face with the fact that he too, is suffering. 

Saturday 

It’s cold tonight. Winter is coming to an end, but its bite still makes everyone hope the meeting will be a quick one. 

Akaza has been summoned to a Hashira meeting. Very strange, considering he hasn’t been asked to join one in a long time, pretty much since he first betrayed Muzan. 

He stands awkwardly in Ubuyashiki’s main courtyard as the others mingle and chit-chat. He’s the only one not dressed appropriately for the weather, wearing one of the karategi that he found on Wednesday. 

“Oyakata-Sama will greet you now.” 

Ubuyashiki’s creepy children speak in sync, standing on the engawa that faces them all. 

The atmosphere stills. The Hashira fall into a line, bending down on their knees to bow respectfully to their master. Akaza, standing at the end of the line, doesn’t move. It earns him a sideways glare from Kyojuro. 

The weak, frail man makes his appearance. “Thank you all for joining me here tonight,” Ubuyashiki says, his voice serene. He has this ethereal way of speaking that makes Akaza uneasy, like he knows something that Akaza doesn’t. 

Ubuyashiki continues, “As you may know, it has been precisely one year since Akaza began assisting us with our mission to defeat Muzan Kibutsuji.” He stops to draw a deep laboured breath, and Akaza studies him. As if sensing it, he turns to face Akaza with his unseeing eyes. 

“Thanks to your cooperation and contributions, the Demon Slayer Corps have made significant advancements in every aspect of our organisation,” Ubuyashiki says, pausing to briefly catch his breath again. “From the swordsmiths to the Kakushi, and from the Mizunoto to the Hashira, we owe you our deepest gratitude.”

Akaza frowns. All of this just to say thank you? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Another child approaches Ubuyashiki, handing him something rectangular tied neatly in a satin cloth.

“Please accept this gift, and consider it an offer to officially join the Demon Slayer Corps.” Ubuyashiki presents it to Akaza in his outstretched hands. Akaza, totally overcome with astonishment at what is unfolding in front of him, walks up to Ubuyashiki slowly to take what is being offered. 

Akaza remains standing in front of Ubuyashiki, unsure of what to do. He looks down at his gift — it feels soft, but there’s some weight to it. He’s so caught up in the way his stomach is churning, bile rising in his throat, when the sound of a gentle clap startles him out of his racing, downward inner spiral. 

One clap turns into two, and Akaza turns around to see the Hashira applauding him. All of them — Giyuu, Tengen, Mitsuri, Shinobu, Sanemi, Muichiro, Gyomei, Kyojuro of course, and even fucking Obanai. Their facial expressions range from proud to vaguely disinterested, but they continue clapping for him nonetheless. All he can do is blink rapidly at them. His eyes meet Kyojuro’s gaze. He gives Akaza an encouraging nod, mouthing “open it.” 

Akaza unwraps the cloth, and his mouth falls open slightly. Because the gift he’s been given is a brand new Demon Slayer Corps uniform, complete with a custom haori and what appears to be some kind of weapon. His eyebrows are still pulled together in confusion when he raises his head again. He sees Kyojuro grinning brightly at him. It’s infectious, and Akaza can’t help but smile back. 

Ubuyashiki raises a hand, and everyone goes silent again. “Akaza. We look forward to working closer with you. Great things await you on the horizon, my child,” Ubuyashiki says with a small smile. “This meeting is dismissed. Please stay a while.” He tilts his head towards the night sky, “Tonight is quite lovely, is it not?”

The Hashira bow their heads and announce their agreement in unison.

Kyojuro, grinning from ear to ear, leaps over to Akaza. His fighting spirit is especially brilliant tonight. 

“Why don’t you go and try it on? I’m sure this one fits,” Kyojuro says with a chuckle. 

Akaza still can’t find the words he wants to say, so he nods instead. 

He finds an empty guest room and sets the clothes down on the floor, unfolding each item carefully. He stares at them, trying to untangle the knot of emotions that overwhelm his mind. 

He has been given a proper demon slayer uniform — one without sleeves. Tengen must be behind that. The buttons on the shirt are silver instead of gold like Kyojuro’s. The pink haori is the same shade as his old one, but the stitching is strong and neat. The fabric is thick and the sleeves are wide to allow for a better range of movement. Finally, his eyes focus on the pair of specially-made spiked nichirin knuckles. They’re lined with a thin layer of metal so the nichirin can’t contact Akaza’s skin and accidentally hurt him. It’s all so thoughtful, like they really care about him.

It’s nonsensical to Akaza, to receive all of this without having to beg and grovel. This experience of being here for the past year has only revealed the stark contrast between the Demon Slayer Corps and Muzan’s army. It’s shone a blinding spotlight on everything he was missing, everything he could be or could have been right from the start. He holds his head in his hands now, bewildered at how he ever landed in Muzan’s clutches at all. In the end, all it took was one man to pull him out of it. Akaza doesn’t know if he can attribute any of what he has now to himself.

After a few minutes, Akaza stands and gathers the clothes to put them on.

Destroy

A word that was once meant for him, Upper Moon Three. Akaza had spent so long having his identity warped and moulded by Muzan’s malevolent hands, and now he stands looking at himself in the mirror, with a slayer’s motto splayed across his back. 

A demon turned demon slayer, how blasphemous. 

A spiteful, satisfied smile tugs at his lips. Muzan would lose his fucking mind if he saw him now. 

The clothing swishes under Akaza’s arms. He’s still getting used to having so many layers of clothing on his body when he walks out onto the engawa. The chatter dies down as everyone turns to look at him. Kyojuro is talking loudly to Shinobu with his back to Akaza, not even noticing him at first. Shinobu rolls her eyes and taps his shoulder. When he turns around, he immediately stills, looking up and down at Akaza, unblinking. He swallows, his gaze turning dark and hungry, and Akaza can see the way he's trying to regain control of his breathing. Akaza's own heart beats hard in his throat as he stares silently back at him before Tengen swaggers over to Akaza and slaps him hard on the back.

“Looking good, bro!” Tengen says. The compliment makes Akaza cringe. 

“You look so cute, Akaza-San!!!” Mitsuri calls, clapping her hands excitedly as she skips towards him.

They all mingle and talk for a bit about things that don’t matter at all. It’s a slice of peaceful normalcy they don’t get to experience very often. Akaza endures it for a few minutes until he can't bear the space between him and Kyojuro any longer.

Akaza finds him easily, his fighting spirit is a beacon in the crowd, shining brighter than everyone here combined. He stands shoulder to shoulder with him. His skin sparks where his fingertips brush against Kyojuro's hand. He has to make a conscious effort not to reach out and hold it. Kyojuro leans his head towards Akaza while brushing his hand against the small of his back, not exactly inconspicuous, and he's so close that Akaza can feel his comforting warmth radiating from his neck.

“I’m so proud of you. You worked so hard.” Kyojuro whispers, his voice silky, tempting. Akaza slowly turns his head to face him, vaguely worried that if his eyes should meet Kyojuro’s in the moment, he may not be able to restrain himself. But Kyojuro is still looking straight ahead smiling at no one in particular. 

“Well, it’s getting late! We should return home. I have a mission at daybreak!” Kyojuro announces suddenly. 

“Akaza. Stay a moment. There is something important I need to discuss with you,” says Shinobu.

Kyojuro’s already turning to leave. Akaza makes a last minute decision, a risk, a gamble. Enough is enough. It’s stupid, but his feet are moving before he can finish turning the thought over in his head.

Akaza saunters over to Kyojuro…

…and puckers his lips up at him. 

Kyojuro, without any hesitation whatsoever, gives Akaza a little peck on the lips.

In front of everyone. 

The silence is only broken by the shrill clang of someone’s sword falling on the gravel.

“Farewell! I look forward to seeing you all again at the next meeting!” And Kyojuro walks away — just like that. Akaza watches him go, his mouth agape and lips still tingling where they brushed Kyojuro's. 

Shinobu, unfazed, continues talking, “Well, now that you got that out of your system, I have a proposition for you.” Shinobu drops her voice to a whisper, “It’s top secret.” Akaza hears what she’s saying but the words float around in his head. Akaza begs himself to focus. 

Shinobu sees straight through him. She steps closer and tugs at the sleeve of his haori. “I want you to consider trialing medicine that might make you resistant to sunlight. Tamayo-San and I have developed a vaccine of sorts using Nezuko’s blood.” Akaza’s eyes widen. Resistant to sunlight? Shinobu lets her words sink in. He immediately thinks of Kyojuro, of not having to wait for the sun to go down before he can spend time with him again. He thinks of watching the sun spill over the horizon with Kyojuro, how he might look in its rays. He hasn’t felt the sun’s warmth in hundreds of years — what would it be like? 

“We would need you to stay at the Butterfly Mansion indefinitely as a matter of convenience while we conduct experiments on you. We’d have to monitor you day in and day out. If you agree to this, you will have to lay low for a while.” Right. The last thing everyone needs is for Akaza to be captured by Kibutsuji. He understands Shinobu. He knows this is critical, but he feels untethered in his own mind. It’s so good, but that’s the problem. Does someone like him deserve an opportunity like this? He can feel himself slipping into a spiral. His ears are ringing. This is too much. It’s all too much. But Kyojuro— where is he? 

“I’m sorry, if you’ll just— excuse me. I have to do something,” Akaza says, already turning away to run out the gates. 

“Akaza! You cannot tell Rengoku-San yet!” Shinobu says in a slightly louder, yet still hushed voice. 

Akaza looks back, “That’s not it! Don’t worry!” 

Shinobu’s expression hardens and a small vein appears on her forehead.

“I’ll meet you at the Butterfly Mansion later!” Akaza yells before breaking into a sprint. 

He takes off into the night. Kyojuro couldn’t have gone far. He can see his fighting spirit in the dark, burning brightly just down the path that runs alongside Ubuyashiki’s estate. He’s close by. 

“Kyojuro!” Akaza yells. 

There’s the telltale flare of his fighting spirit, indicating that Kyojuro heard him. 

“Kyojuro—”

Akaza hops into the air and tackles Kyojuro, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him. Kyojuro cackles delightfully as he stumbles backwards. Akaza buries his face into the crook of his neck; this is the most he's been able to touch him all week.

“What is the matter?”

Akaza stands up, his arms still linked around Kyojuro’s neck. “Do you realize what you just did?!” Akaza laughs nervously. Seconds pass. He can see the cogs turning behind Kyojuro’s eyes before something finally clicks. 

Kyojuro’s eyes go wide, “They know.”

“Yes,” Akaza breathes, smiling, “Yes you fool, they’ve known for a while.”

“I kissed you.”

“Yes.”

“In front of them.”

“Yes.”

Kyojuro bursts out laughing, “Well that’s— HAHAHA!!”

“We don’t have to hide anymore, Kyojuro,” Akaza says through Kyojuro’s booming laughter. The realisation settles over Akaza now: He’s not going to be executed. He’s a demon slayer. Muzan can’t find him. Neither of them will be cast out of the Corps for being together. 

“We’re going to be okay,” Akaza affirms to himself, squeezing Kyojuro’s hands. It’s all so horrendously corny but Akaza can’t bring himself to give a fuck.

They’re right outside the walls to the Ubuyashiki mansion, but Kyojuro, who truly has nothing holding him back any longer, leans in to press a delicate kiss to Akaza’s lips. His hands find their way to Akaza’s face, stroking the tattoos on his cheeks. Akaza can't help but lean into his touch. The feeling of finally kissing him properly is a balm that soothes every worry that wracked his brain. Kyojuro is just like that. Akaza licks the seam of Kyojuro’s lips, an invitation, and Kyojuro accepts, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Akaza pulls him closer; nothing’s holding him back anymore either. 

When they eventually part, Akaza knows he’s looking up at Kyojuro like he’s the center of everything. Kyojuro is the sun and Akaza is just a mere planet, doomed to orbit him as long as he lives until he crumbles to dust or his star burns out. Kyojuro's eyes sparkle, mirroring the night sky. Warm puffs of their breath billow in the air around them and the tip of Kyojuro’s nose is turning pink as the night grows colder. Akaza is so enamoured by it all that it physically aches him. 

Akaza sighs. “I have to stay at the butterfly mansion for a while. Shinobu has things for me to do there that require her constant vigilance,” Akaza says. 

“I understand,” Kyojuro nods. He slides his hands over Akaza’s clothed arms, giving his biceps a quick squeeze. “I guess I’ll be the one sneaking into your room tonight.” 

Akaza’s heart somersaults in his chest. “Not that we need to—“

“—sneak around anymore?” Kyojuro interjects, “I know.”

Kyojuro gives him a chaste kiss on the cheek and Akaza waves goodbye to him, leaving for the Butterfly Mansion as the final snowfall of the season begins drifting down from the sky.

Akaza’s room in the Butterfly Mansion is funny. 

There’s all the basic human necessities. A single bed, a side table with a burning oil lamp, and a short cupboard. None of which he needs. Though he guesses it would be more unusual to assign him a room containing nothing whatsoever. At that point it would just feel like a jail cell. 

The single window in the room has the curtains pulled shut. Upon closer inspection, Akaza sees that a thick layer of fabric has been nailed over it, ensuring that not even a drop of sunlight can get in. His stomach hurts at the thought of someone taking time out of their day to do that for someone like him. 

He turns around, at a loss for what he should do. He’s been spending his nights with Kyojuro for so long, it’s weird to not have his company, or to at least have something to do for him. Whether it be taking care of him, running an errand for him, cleaning his room, anything. He hasn’t been truly bored in months. 

Akaza digs the nichirin knuckles out of his pocket, unwrapping them from the neat cloth they were nestled in. The black metal gleams in the lamplight. He turns them over in his hands, careful not to let the nichirin contact his bare skin, and slips one set over his fingers. 

It fits, well, like a glove. 

He assumes a fighting stance and throws a few practice punches. They don’t budge. It feels natural. 

He’s been here before. Not in the sense that he’s been in this exact room, but that he’s experienced this feeling before — Of spending years outcast, not knowing where he belonged, only to be accepted by the most painfully understanding people and given a second chance.

Why?

The tears well up in Akaza’s eyes before he can stop them. Ever since he broke Muzan’s curse, he feels like he’s been teetering on the edge of some kind of major revelation. He has a strong feeling in his gut that it must be his memories, but he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to cope once they fully come back. The pain of knowing these feelings is already almost too much to bear. 

A knock at the door. Thank goodness, he doesn’t want to think about this anymore. It’s Kyojuro. He can sense his fighting spirit through the door. 

Akaza absentmindedly wipes a tear from his face with the nichirin knuckles still on. It burns like hell.

“SHIT!” Akaza yells.

“Akaza?” Kyojuro opens the door suddenly to peer around the side of it.

“Come in, I fucking— agh, FUCK,” Akaza hisses. His skin is boiling. 

Kyojuro strides across the room to Akaza, his face laced with concern. He reaches out to examine his cheek. There’s a raised red mark on it that’s slowly disappearing. 

“Are you hurt?” Kyojuro asks.

“This shit is not the same as your sword,” Akaza says, wincing. Kyojuro frowns, clearly worried. He turns Akaza’s face in his hands to take a closer look. He isn’t saying what he’s thinking. Kyojuro has a tendency to internalise his more negative thoughts. It’s somewhat of a good habit considering he’s a rock for so many people, the voice of reason and logic. He's someone people can always depend on, so he can’t afford to voice every concern, should he needlessly worry his comrades. But Akaza isn’t a comrade. He knows him better than that. 

“I’m fine, Kyojuro. It’s nothing. Really,” Akaza says, gently touching Kyojuro’s wrist. Kyojuro’s shoulders relax and he finally meets Akaza’s gaze. Akaza offers him a small reassuring smile. 

Kyojuro hums, “I overheard that the sword smiths have been developing some new weapons…” He trails off. That’s definitely not what he wants to talk about right now. His heart rate is increasing. His eyes are stuck on Akaza’s lips. 

Silence settles in the room like freshly fallen snow. 

“You have been teasing me all week,” Kyojuro says in a low voice, “Do you know what that does to me?” 

Akaza swallows. His mind goes totally blank. 

“Oh, now you have nothing to say?” Kyojuro says, his voice dripping with charm. He shuffles closer, the smile tugging at his lips softens his features but the grip on Akaza’s face tightens. Akaza doesn’t notice the burn on his cheek anymore. He can only feel Kyojuro’s warm hands. He can only smell the way the scent of his shampoo mixes with that of his musky uniform. He can only see his eyes, wide with desire, boring into his own. He’s searching, looking for some sort of sign. Akaza’s tongue darts out to lick his lips — and that’s it, isn’t it?

Kyojuro finally closes the distance between them, kissing him fervently with a greed so monumental that it makes Akaza gasp into his mouth. Akaza weaves his fingers into Kyojuro’s soft hair, but the spikes on the nichirin knuckles become tangled in it. Becoming increasingly frustrated with them, he risks more burns and grabs the metal with his bare hands. He pulls the weapon off of his fingers, hissing at the pain, and drops it to the floor with a dull thud. He feels Kyojuro's eager, wandering hands feeling him up through the silky black fabric of his new uniform, tugging the hem of his shirt above his pants to grasp at the bare skin of his back. His touch is electrifying. Akaza works the buttons of Kyojuro’s shirt as they stumble backwards until he feels the base of the bed against his calves. He clumsily sits down and Kyojuro takes it as an invitation to straddle him in his lap. 

Without breaking the kiss, Akaza pulls his arms out of the sleeves of his haori, allowing Kyojuro to squeeze his arms, to feel the flex and ripple of muscle as Akaza holds him by the waist. He hoists him up into a more comfortable position on his thighs, bringing their bodies flush against one another and squashing every molecule of air from in between them. Akaza shoves his hand below the waistband of Kyojuro’s pants, wriggling his fingers between his ass cheeks to finger him under the fabric of his fundoshi, coaxing a stuttering groan out of Kyojuro. He throws his head back and Akaza smiles against his soft skin as he kisses his throat, rolling his tongue over his Adam’s apple. He can feel Kyojuro's rapid pulse under his lips. A low chuckle escapes him. It’s so typical that his favourite part of him is his neck. Akaza is still a demon, after all. It’s easy to forget that when Kyojuro makes him feel so human. 

The building arousal between them both becomes tangible with each passing moment. Kyojuro reaches down to touch it. Akaza moans softly at the sudden contact on his growing erection. His hands move unthinkingly, still down the back of Kyojuro’s pants, his fingers kneading the plush skin of his ass. They find their rhythm, rolling their hips against each other, sighing in harmony. The sound of Kyojuro’s heart is beating so loud in Akaza’s ears, like the baseline of a sweet song. It makes his fangs ache.

“Kyojuro…”

Kyojuro hums in response.

“I want to taste you,” Akaza whispers breathlessly into his ear, and Kyojuro's heart skips a beat. Akaza's head is spinning, his dick drooling at the thought of Kyojuro’s blood on his tongue. They're so close that Akaza can feel the way Kyojuro’s cock is thrumming with need against his stomach. 

“Please,” Kyojuro says. 

A strangled moan escapes Kyojuro’s mouth as Akaza sinks his teeth into the meat of Kyojuro’s shoulder. Kyojuro had once confessed to Akaza that the sting of his bite is just as much a kink as it is a welcome, grounding relief from the chaos in his mind. It pulls him into the present. A bite is a connection, a keepsake, trust, it’s so many things all at once. It’s sacred, the way they’re here together, giving and taking exactly what each other needs. Like they were made to balance each other out. Like two pieces of separate puzzles that, by some miracle, happen to fit together to form something new and beautiful. 

Kyojuro pulls Akaza closer to lock an arm around his neck, desperate for more pressure on his cock. He grinds against him, ravenous for pleasure as Akaza drinks his fill. The pull and drag of Kyojuro's clothed dick against his own draws a gurgling moan out of his chest. It only stands to unwind Kyojuro further, “oh fuck,” Akaza hears him whisper, his voice high and hoarse with need. 

Akaza feels like he’s floating, sweet blood gushing into his mouth, and he can hear Kyojuro panting, but it sounds like he’s underwater. His brain melts to goo in his skull as everything around him narrows down to simple sensations. Kyojuro’s blood always has this intoxicating effect on him. It’s not just that he’s utterly delicious, it’s knowing that Kyojuro wants this just as much as Akaza does. It drives him crazy. 

Akaza gulps down blood once, twice, he loses count. He slips further and further into a hot, deep sea of pleasure. Muffled sounds of Kyojuro’s voice, now wordless whimpers, fade away in his ears. Kyojuro’s hips stutter. He suddenly stops, shifting his weight on Akaza’s lap. Akaza is distantly aware of room-temperature moisture spreading over the fabric that still covers his abs, growing cold and gluing his clothes to his body. 

“Akaza.”

Kyojuro’s voice sounds so far away. He feels a gentle tap on his back.

“Akaza?”

Akaza’s eyes snap open. He surfaces, wrenching himself out of Kyojuro’s shoulder, gasping for air. He can feel the sticky blood already drying on his chin and cheeks — how long has it been?! And Kyojuro… Kyojuro looks a mess. His tousled hair clings to his neck with blood and sweat. Akaza's bloody hand prints decorate his chest and there’s still blood trickling out of the deep wound on his shoulder. His stomach rises in his throat — Did he take too much? Did he lose control? In any other scenario he’d come on the spot from the sight of Kyojuro so disheveled and splattered with blood, but now overwhelming horrible guilt replaces every emotion in his head instead. Akaza presses his hand firmly against the bite mark, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“I’m so.. I’m so sorry, Kyojuro...” Akaza slurs, barely audible. His words catch in his throat as he speaks. He clenches his eyes shut, as if trying to force the shame out of his head. Kyojuro reaches out to cup his face in his hands, steadying him. 

“Akaza, it’s okay.”

Akaza’s hand, dripping with blood, clutches Kyojuro’s wrists to feel his pulse. To his relief, it’s steady and strong. 

“Look at me.”

Akaza opens his eyes — and it’s an expression Kyojuro reserves only for him. 

Kyojuro delicately holds one of Akaza’s hands, slowly taking two of his fingers into his warm, wet mouth. He sucks them clean, then caressing Akaza’s face in one hand and cradling the back of his neck with the other, he slowly raises himself up on his knees and tilts Akaza’s face upwards. 

“Open.”

Akaza obeys, and Kyojuro presses his tongue against Akaza's to allow the cocktail of blood and spit to roll onto it. It catches the light, shining like expensive fine wine. It’s delectable, a flavour so rare it could only be characterised by everything Kyojuro is: sweet, bold, complex, and so absolutely gorgeous and sensual. He could go on forever about the aroma, the body, the finish, but Akaza is already too drunk on it to form a complete thought. Akaza chases Kyojuro’s lips with his own, sucking and savouring every last syrupy drop out of his mouth. Their kisses become sloppier, more voracious. His teeth leave tiny cuts on Kyojuro’s lips but he doesn’t recoil; it makes the heat of arousal burn him from the inside out.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Kyojuro mumbles against the corner of Akaza’s mouth. 

He grabs the front of Akaza’s brand new uniform and pulls it apart. Threads tear, sending buttons clattering across the wooden floorboards. He touches bare skin, pushing Akaza down onto the bed and crowding over his body. He breaks the kiss to lean back and pop the last two buttons off of Akaza’s shirt. The muscle on his chest ripples under the skin as he dips back down to lick a hot wet stripe along the tattoo on his sternum, all the way up to his neck. He moves with such a hunger now it rivals that of a demon’s. Akaza thinks hazily to himself that he’ll tease him about it after this. 

Kyojuro nips and sucks what should be bruises into the skin of Akaza’s throat, peppering kisses along his jawline. Akaza slides a hand up under Kyojuro's shirt, cursing under his breath that he's still fucking wearing it. He whimpers as his weeping cock begs for more stimulation, and he rakes his dull nails over Kyojuro's back in an effort to bring his body closer again. Kyojuro presses his fingers into Akaza’s neck, his weakest point, and Akaza surrenders to it. He gasps when Kyojuro rocks his hips into him, groaning into his mouth. Their searching hands find each other’s fingers, interlocking them as Kyojuro crushes Akaza against the mattress, and he finds that he wouldn’t be able to break free of Kyojuro’s grasp even if he wanted to. Kyojuro’s true strength is astounding. A giddy giggle lurches out of Akaza's throat. To place his life in the hands of this slayer gives him a rush of adrenaline so addictive he could spend the rest of his days chasing it. The danger of falling for someone who wanted to kill him might have been a part of the thrill in the beginning, but now they’re just pretending. The allure is still there all the same. He has simply fallen too far and too hard for any of it to matter. 

Kyojuro leans back to shed his shirt, needing to feel more skin against his, and sighs at the sight beneath him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Kyojuro breathes, staring at Akaza through half lidded eyes. 

And Akaza, never knowing how to accept a compliment, feels like he’s burning under his gaze.

“Do you want to bite me again?” Kyojuro says, raising his eyebrows with a smile. How could Akaza say no to that?

Akaza swings his leg over, using the momentum to flip their positions, bumping their shoulders into the wall alongside the bed. Kyojuro’s nose wrinkles cutely as he laughs. Akaza moves to the other shoulder, biting much shallower this time. He is too afraid to take more blood, thinking that he might really send Kyojuro out of his mind if he does. Just a sip, if only to give Kyojuro the feeling he desires. But blood doesn’t come. He sucks. Nothing.

Frowning, Akaza sits up. There’s a playful glint in Kyojuro’s eyes as they follow him. His breathing is extremely steady. Wait a second— 

“What the fuck. That’s not funny,” Akaza says. 

Kyojuro laughs, “You were so irresponsible earlier!!”

The lapse in concentration makes the blood begin to trickle again. Kyojuro has somehow stopped his blood from flowing out of the wound with a fucking breathing technique.

“Yes, but— This is just… fucking weird. Can all of you freaks do this?” Akaza asks, truly flabbergasted. 

Kyojuro bolts upright, locking his arms and legs around Akaza’s neck and waist, bringing him back down on the bed. Kyojuro presses his forehead against Akaza’s, trying to stop his giggling to feign an annoyed tone but it doesn't work, he’s simply too happy. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I will kill you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

“Akaza!” 

Akaza chuckles, smiling fondly. His eyes flicker back and forth between Kyojuro’s eyes in an attempt to sear this into his memory forever: Kyojuro's eyes, curved into crescents as he looks back at him with a smile he only gives Akaza, practically incandescent in the dark, with his fiery hair splayed out on the white pillow like a halo of sunbeams. Fuck, everything about this man makes Akaza want to get on his knees and beg the gods to let him keep him forever.

Kyojuro releases his grip on Akaza, allowing him to straighten up. He smiles to himself as he quietly finishes undressing the man below him. It’s such an intimate act that it makes him blush, and yet he still draws out the moment to enjoy every second of it. He can feel Kyojuro watching him. Their eyes meet, and Akaza is hopelessly weak to the way he is pulled in by Kyojuro’s gravity.

Akaza leans back down to kiss him so tenderly before trailing soft sweet kisses lower and lower, relishing the blissful sighs that leave Kyojuro’s lips. There’s something so divine about watching this man, known for all his stoicism, fall apart beneath him. He gasps as Akaza’s lips graze the flushed head of his cock. Akaza drags his tongue along the underside of his shaft, tasting him, before taking all of him into his hot mouth for a brief moment, ripping a loud, vulgar moan from Kyojuro’s lungs. From this angle, Akaza can only see the erratic rise and fall of Kyojuro’s chest and the underside of his sweaty neck. The sight is so arousing it physically pains him. He watches as Kyojuro's throat bobs, swallowing down another moan — Akaza can’t believe he’s still trying to be quiet after all of that. Though he supposes they ought to make an effort to not wake up the entire building.

As Akaza begins to move, Kyojuro’s hips buck uncontrollably and Akaza can feel him hitting the back of his throat. Tears bead in his eyes as an obscene amount of saliva pours out of his mouth, pooling on Kyojuro’s stomach and soiling the bedsheets. Kyojuro tangles his fingers in Akaza’s hair, tugging him up gently.

“Akaza… I want— wait—,” Kyojuro manages to splutter between desperate gasps. Akaza suddenly pulls off of him, wiping his mouth with his forearm as he crawls over Kyojuro. Before Akaza can say anything, Kyojuro’s lips are on his again. He can feel his hands blindly fumbling with Akaza’s pants as he kisses him, before ripping those too. His impatience is so funny that Akaza can’t help but laugh against his lips. His laughter is only halted when Kyojuro wraps his hand around both of their dicks, sending a tsunami of torrential pleasure coursing through him with each stroke. 

“Hahh— fuck,” Akaza chokes out. 

Kyojuro licks the desperation out of Akaza’s mouth before grabbing the back of his neck to hold him close, bringing his ear to his lips.

“I need you. In me. Now.” He grits out. 

Akaza can’t even reply. All that comes out are a jumbled mess of strangled vowels. 

Kyojuro groans and releases his grip on Akaza's dick to smack his ass hard in an attempt to bring him back down to earth. Akaza yelps — So much for not making too much noise. A greedy part of him wants to ask Kyojuro to strike him again until he remembers where the fuck they are.

Akaza only hopes the unholy mixture of bodily fluids all over his dick will be enough to get him inside of Kyojuro. He lines himself up at his entrance, looking up at him to ensure there’s no trace of uncertainty on his face. What he sees instead is the epitome of hysterical need — the poor man is misty eyed, flushed red, panting, drenched in his own sweat and blood. 

Kyojuro's lips are already beginning to form the word "please" when Akaza begins pushing into him carefully. His mouth falls open, breathing halted for a moment as he adjusts. He sighs, tears in his eyes, as he pulls Akaza impossibly closer. And Akaza forgets how to breathe when Kyojuro places a delicate, tender kiss on his lips. 

"I missed you," Akaza sighs, rocking into him slowly. Kyojuro exhales a reply that fades into a soft moan. Their breath mixes, becoming one. The sounds of their shared euphoria pierce the stillness of the winter air. He’s so tight, so perfect. He yearns to be closer, deeper. Akaza hooks his fingers under Kyojuro’s knees and pushes his legs up to rest on Akaza’s shoulders, folding him in half. That elicits an even more obnoxiously loud sound out of Kyojuro. He thrusts faster. Dizzying, blistering pleasure rushes through his entire body. He can barely keep his eyes open. He’s already so close. Kyojuro clings onto Akaza’s short hair, making his scalp sting. Kyojuro holds Akaza in place, their foreheads rubbing together as they both get closer to the edge. Akaza clenches his eyes shut as an intense, heavy pressure builds deep within him, about to snap.

“Akaza… I… I l—ugh” Kyojuro tries to say something, but the words dissolve in his mouth. He’s panting heavily. Akaza opens his eyes to gaze into Kyojuro’s. The colourful rings of his iris are hypnotic in the dark. He watches as a single tear escapes the corner of his eye. 

“Kyo,” Akaza whines, “I’m gonna—“ 

“Yes,” Kyojuro moans, “Me too. Fuck. Ah— Don’t stop. Please. Please don’t…” his breathless pleas die on his lips as he bites Akaza’s bottom lip hard.

And Akaza shatters — hurtling over the edge, his mouth open in a silent scream as his climax rips through him. He can feel the hot ribbons of Kyojuro’s release shoot between them, coating his own stomach as he chokes on a whispered syllable of Akaza’s name. 

Akaza huffs out a quiet chuckle in between gasps, tucking the stray strands of Kyojuro’s hair behind his ears as he comes down from his high. Not wanting to waste a drop of Kyojuro’s spilled blood, he quickly laps up what’s left of it on his torso and neck. Kyojuro, still trembling, hisses at the overstimulating feeling of Akaza's cock still occasionally pulsing inside of him. Akaza murmurs an apology, gingerly moving Kyojuro’s legs back into a more comfortable position before resting his entire weight on him. Akaza turns his head so that his ear is flush against Kyojuro’s chest. Soothed by the familiar sound of his breathing, he lets his eyes flutter shut, deciding that scrubbing the stickiness off of their bodies can be tomorrow’s problem.

The oil lamp has all but burned out as they lay still, entangled in the sheets of the Butterfly mansion’s hospital bed with their arms and legs intertwined. Kyojuro rubs little patterns on the small of Akaza’s back.

Kyojuro takes a breath to say something, but he pauses. Akaza can feel the weight of his unsaid words on the tip of his tongue. He peels himself off of Kyojuro to sit up and look him in the eyes.

Kyojuro sighs, his chest throbbing with each nervous beat of his heart, “I meant to tell you so many times before, Akaza…”

Kyojuro blinks anxiously up at him, squeezing Akaza’s thigh. He swallows. The words drift quietly like smoke in the space between them as they’ve done countless times before, but Akaza won’t let them slip through his fingers again. There’s something he’s been meaning to tell Kyojuro too. 

“I love you.” Neither man knows who said it first.  

Kyojuro’s eyes soften as an adoring smile tugs at his lips. “I love you,” Kyojuro repeats. He sighs, visible relief washing over him. 

There's that feeling again — it knocks the air right out of Akaza’s lungs. It’s Déjà vu. Fireworks. Cool air. The bright presence of someone so earth-shatteringly good. A someone who wants him despite all his wrongdoings, a someone who sees the sliver of hope in him. Yes, he’s been here before. Except this time, these memories won’t be stolen from him. His story won’t be brought to a bitter end. 

“Are you sure that I’m the one for you?” Akaza doesn’t know why he asks that question. 

Kyojuro exhales a soft laugh through his nose, “Yes of course. And I’m yours… if you’ll have me.” 

Kyojuro swims in his vision. The feeling swells in him, threatening to burst out of his chest, and he can’t stop the hot torrential tears that flood from his eyes. How could a man like Kyojuro ever want someone like Akaza… It’s insane.

But he wants to give in nonetheless. He can’t even claim selfishness to it – He gives Kyojuro anything he wants. If Kyojuro’s asking for Akaza, he’ll gladly give him everything. Akaza thinks to himself that he already has.

Akaza reaches out to Kyojuro, just as he had done before, many moons ago by the Mugen Train. Kyojuro takes his hand now, pulling him close to kiss him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s a silent promise. One to protect and love each other for all eternity, in this life and the hereafter. 

“Kyojuro… Am I really going to have to ask the tailor to make me another new uniform?” 

“You wouldn’t be the first, my love. Kocho-San deliberately burnt the first one she got.”

Akaza thinks that Shinobu Kocho might be one of the most impressive people in the Demon Slayer Corps.