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When Akira emerged from the stairwell into Leblanc’s main area, it was almost 12:00. The cafe was mostly empty, save for Sojiro tending to his pot of curry behind the counter, and Futaba stationed in one of the booths with Morgana snoozing on the table by her elbow.
“Finally up, are you?” Sojiro said as the stairs creaked overhead, and Futaba looked up from her Switch. “About time. I was beginning to think you’d never – oh.”
Sojiro had looked up from the curry pot, gaze fixed on a point somewhere behind Akira. He turned back to see Akechi, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and fussing with the zipper of his jacket. Akechi froze as soon as he realized there were eyes on him.
Sojiro didn’t seem to know what to say. Futaba was staring straight at Akechi with an unsettling grin, and Akira didn’t even want to know what kind of psychic warfare she was waging on him right now.
“Akechi came over for a Featherman marathon yesterday,” he said, in response to nothing. “Morgana was with Futaba, so I let him crash on the couch.”
Fully a lie. They’d woken up tangled together in Akira’s bedcovers, and he was already filing away the memory of Akechi using his chest as a pillow, marked essential priority.
“...Yes,” Akechi said after a moment’s pause. “Thank you for allowing me to stay, Akira – I hate to rush off, but I’m afraid I need to be home soon.”
Sojiro said nothing, looking at them for a long moment, but finally turned to reach for a second plate from the shelf. “You’d better eat before you go,” he said.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Akechi said politely. “I was planning on picking up a bento from the station on my way home, so–”
“Kid,” Sojiro said, plunking the plate down on the counter, “eat the curry.”
Akechi blinked, silent for a moment, then pulled out a stool and sat down without argument. Akira sat next to him, both of them eating their portions of curry in silence for the few minutes it took to finish. Akechi mumbled a quiet thank you to Sojiro as they stood to leave.
“Akira,” Futaba said as they passed her on the way to the door, not looking up from her video game. They’d almost made it. “We need to talk.”
“Can it wait? I’m kind of in the middle of something...”
Futaba shook her head. “Time-limited dialogue.”
“Okay, well–” Akira glanced over at Akechi, who was studying the painted face of the Sayuri with artificial intensity. “I was gonna drop Akechi off at Shibuya Station. Can we talk about it afterward?” Spare him this once so he’ll actually come back, I beg of you...
Futaba screwed up her face, thinking. “Hmmm... I suppose...” She glanced up. “Get me one of those roll cakes from Triple Seven and we have a deal.”
“You got it.”
Akira stepped out of Leblanc and into the late morning sun, Akechi following close behind him. They fell into step quickly, turning out onto the main street that led to the subway station.
“Hey,” Akira said after a long, silent minute. Akechi turned slightly toward him, looking almost wary.
“What is it?”
“You look tense. Wanna talk about it?”
Akechi let out a harsh sigh. “Your sister didn’t fall for the innocent sleepover bit in the slightest, you know. Boss probably didn’t, either.”
“Sure, but... Akechi, I’m in my twenties. Who cares if they know?”
“You really think Futaba-chan would be comfortable with that?” Akechi asked, glaring. “With me?”
So that was it. “Look,” Akira started, then trailed off, mulling over what to say as they reached the station entrance and headed down the steep concrete steps. How was he supposed to explain Futaba’s complicated feelings towards Akechi and their development over the years when he didn’t entirely understand it himself?
He swiped his card at the ticket gate, then stood aside and turned to face Akechi. “... If she really couldn’t stand having you around, I don’t think she’d let you call her Futaba-chan.”
Akechi’s expression did something complicated as he followed. “It’s... it’s just what Ann calls her. We must have been spending too much time together.”
“Sure.” They reached the platform just as the train was pulling up, and Akira took the opportunity to say, “You know, one day you’re gonna get that Shido’s the one they blame the most.”
“Not this again–” Akechi started, but was forced to be silent as they entered the train. He glowered at Akira as they took their seats – a win for societal convention.
The ride to Shibuya wouldn’t be long. After a minute or so, Akira reached down and took Akechi’s hand, lying between them on the seat. Akechi startled a little and looked sharply over at him, but didn’t pull away, which Akira counted as another win.
When they got to their stop, Akira kept his hold on Akechi’s hand as they threaded out amongst the crowd. It wasn’t until they got to the top of the escalator that Akechi muttered, “... You’re set on this, then?”
Are you sure? he didn’t say.
Akira answered it anyway. “What’s not to be sure about? I told you, I want to do that with you again, if you’ll let me.”
Akechi’s cheeks colored faintly. “... I wouldn’t... be opposed,” he muttered, then let go of Akira’s hand and turned to the hallway leading to the Inogami Line.
“Hey,” Akira said, and when Akechi paused to look back, he stepped closer and put a hand to his cheek. Akechi’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away as Akira leaned in to press their lips together.
He’d been thinking about it pretty much since they’d gone to the sentō last night, but it had just never quite seemed like the right time. He just didn’t want Akechi leaving with the impression that sex was all he wanted – not after the nearly half a decade he’d spent longing for this.
Akechi tasted faintly like curry and something else Akira couldn’t quite identify. He’d have to figure that out later, preferably with extended further testing. He kept the kiss shallow, moving back after a moment to admire the deepening pink flush in Akechi’s cheeks as his eyes fluttered open.
Akira knew what he wanted to say right then, but he also knew Akechi wasn’t ready to hear it. “Text me later, okay?” he said instead.
Akechi nodded slowly, then turned to leave. Akira watched him the whole way to the Inogami Line entrance. Just as he reached the escalator, he glanced back, and Akira waved brightly. He caught just a hint of a smile on Akechi’s face, and then he was gone.
Akira waited for a long moment, then let out his breath, trying to will away the idiotic smile on his face. He had a roll cake to deliver.
━━━━━━━━━━
“There you are! Did you complete my fetch quest?” Futaba crowed, looking up as he walked back through the door of Leblanc. Akira presented his prize to her, and she seized it with a sharp-toothed grin as she tore open the wrapper.
“Damn, that’s good. I think they put crack in these. Now sit,” she directed with a mouthful of cake, gesturing to the booth seat across from her as if they were about to discuss business. “Sojiro’s out getting cigarettes, I want to finish this before he’s back.”
Akira sat as ordered. Morgana stirred, roused by the movement of the table, and they both paused, staring. After a moment, Morgana simply adjusted himself in his sleep and drifted back off, and Futaba let out a sigh.
“So.” She fixed Akira squarely with the same look of appraisal she used when scanning team members for status effects. “You and Sketchy-kechi, huh?”
“Is that all you sat me down to talk about?” Akira asked, a little confused. “I mean, I figured you’d tease him about last night, but–”
“Oh, I know all about what you did last night,” Futaba interrupted. “Sound carries way too well in Leblanc. And let me tell you, I needed brain bleach just for the little bit I caught! I barely even have the energy left to make fun of your horrible taste in men! I sit on that bed occasionally, you know!” She stuck out her tongue and shook her head, cringing in overdramatic disgust.
Akira stared at her in horror for a long moment, then buried his head in his hands, mortified. “Fuck – Futaba, I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to hear that–”
Wait, she wasn’t supposed to hear that. “Hold on, you still have the cafe area bugged?”
“Not to worry, honored customer, we were quick to install a new rule here at Alibaba Incorporated,” Futaba said, steepling her fingers. “From this point in time, audio bugs will be active only during Leblanc’s open hours! Your off-the-clock yaoi is now strictly your business!”
“Please never refer to my real-life hookups as yaoi again.”
Futaba snickered and ate another bite of her roll cake.
“To answer your question from two minutes ago...” She pointed the roll cake at him, accusatory. “What I came to tell you is this: your research stat is wildly under-leveled!”
Akira stared at her, uncomprehending. “... Research stat?”
“In hypnotism.” Futaba finished off her cake, giving him a somber look. “How much do you know?”
Akira fidgeted, suddenly feeling like an ant under a magnifying glass. “... I mean, Chihaya told me a little bit, but not much, really–”
“Exactly!” Futaba cut him off. “Research stat under-leveled! You’re taking on quests above your EXP threshold! Bad practice!”
What was this? Where was he? Was he suddenly in an episode of Mystery Zone?* “Futaba,” Akira said, “why do you even know about this stuff?”
Futaba gave him a deadpan expression. “Akira, one does not simply spend their formative years watching a lot of tokusatsu without consequences. Bet you anything that’s where your boy got it, too.”
Akira thought briefly back to that episode from yesterday, the one that had seemed to bother Akechi. “...Oh.” He was beginning to understand now. “You mean, you–?”
“Nuh-uh!” Futaba made an X with her arms. “Details proprietary! Not for big brothers to hear!”
Yeah, that was fair. He didn’t particularly want to know much, either. “So... why are you telling me all of this, then?”
Futaba let out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, shaking her head. “You don’t get it, do you? I have a reputation to uphold here, Akira! A pervert reputation!”
“A reputation? You’re not part of some underground scene I don’t know about, are you?” If Futaba of all people had ever been to any kind of club in her life, then Akira wasn’t the (technically ex-)leader of the Phantom Thieves. It simply wasn’t possible.
“Ew, no,” Futaba said, wrinkling her nose. “The lion does not concern herself with earthly matters.”
Akira breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Meaning...”
“I mostly just write weird porn online. But I’m damn good at it, you know! The amount of followers on my side account would blow your mind!”
“Right.” Akira didn’t need to ask about that.
“Right! I can’t have my brother out there doing badly-researched hypno-kink! What’s that gonna say about me!?” Before he could point out the multiple flaws in that logic, Futaba was moving on. “Look, as little stake as I have in the general state of Akechi’s psyche, you gotta do some research if you’re gonna keep messing around with people’s brains. I'll send you something to check out.” She leveled a finger at his nose. “Time to put some serious points into your skill tree. Got it?”
“... Okay,” Akira said, feeling like she was probably right but also like this was the most awkward conversation they had ever had and maybe ever would have. “... thank you?”
“Yes, yes, my expertise is invaluable. Go, my scarab.” Futaba was already burying her nose in her Switch. “And never speak of this to me again!”
“Way ahead of you,” Akira said, already halfway out of his seat.
━━━━━━━━━━
It wasn’t until later that night, when Sojiro had finished closing up for the night, that Akira investigated what Futaba had sent him – a link in his text messages, with no further context. He knew better than to text back asking where it led.
Luckily Futaba’s information was sound, as always. From the way she’d talked about it, Akira was half-worried she’d link him to a porn website, but instead he got a surprisingly comprehensive well-organized masterpost about hypnotism. Safety guidelines, what-not-to-dos, that kind of thing – and most of the advice was even aimed toward people using it for sex. Apparently hypnotism was a lot less uncommon of a kink than he’d realized.
Akira took it all on with the same intensity that had gotten him consistent top-ten scores on his exams. He read article after article, summarizing them into bullet points so he wouldn’t forget them, and noted down anything that seemed particularly useful for their specific situation. If they were going to do this together, he was doing it right, damn it.
He kept at his task with dogged tenacity, but after about an hour he started thinking about acting out some of these things with Akechi, at which point his dick took a special interest in the proceedings. Akira tried to ignore it, but everything he read just spurred his imagination on even further, and pretty soon it was clear he wasn’t going to be properly retaining any new information until after he’d taken care of this.
At least he’d covered enough to feel like he’d been productive tonight. He turned off the phone screen and set it on the desk, pushing his chair out and unzipping his jeans.
As Akira pulled up his shirt and gave his cock a first light stroke, he closed his eyes, letting his head tilt back as he flicked through the myriad of fantasies his brain had shoved at him in order to find just the right–
Oh. Yeah, that one’s good.
............
...He’s sitting backstage at Akasaka-Mitsuke, watching Akechi on some talk show interview. The set looks just like he remembers, even though Akechi hasn’t done one of these TV appearances in years – dozens of flashing light displays playing on an endless loop. The set is the same, the hosts are the same, but Akechi...
Akechi – Akechi looks off.
Something is occupying his attention, bit by bit. He started the interview fine, but the longer it goes on, the more preoccupied he seems to be, blinking slowly and pausing between words. Eventually, he’s asked a question that he doesn’t even seem to hear, staring into space with his lips slightly parted for a few long seconds.
Before the confused host can repeat herself, Akechi’s back, shaking his head.
“I’m, I’m sorry, what was the question?” he asks softly. “I apologize, I was a bit... distracted.”
Akira knows him. He knows better. Akechi’s not distracted, he’s sinking into trance.
It’s all he can do to wait in his spectator chair for the interview to end, foot bouncing impatiently. Obviously he can't interrupt the interview, but every time Akechi trails off mid-sentence or has to ask the host to repeat a question, it’s like it goes straight to Akira’s cock.
Finally, finally, the host announces they’re out of time, and Akechi rises to his feet with a cordial smile. Only Akira notices him swaying slightly in place as he says his goodbyes.
He’s on his feet in a second, as close to the stage as he dares, ready to greet Akechi as he walks off. Akechi maintains himself at first, but as soon as he’s out of the audience’s view his smile drops and he stumbles eagerly into Akira’s arms, clinging to his shoulders for stability.
“They just kept going,” he mumbles, dazed, before Akira can ask. “The lights were... all the displays, they were distracting, I couldn’t... like they were pulling me in...”
“So you went under, is that it?” Akira teases him, wrapping an arm around his waist to support his standing. “Was a bunch of pretty flashing lights all it took to hypnotize you?”
Akechi nods, slowly, almost robotically. “Pretty,” he murmurs, gaze going a little more distant.
Oh, he is well-trained. Akira’s going to keep him forever.
“And how do you feel?” he asks, quietly.
Akechi doesn’t say anything, but his shaky little sigh and the way his thighs press together are answer enough to tell Akira exactly what he needs.
With the arm he still has around Akechi’s waist, Akira wastes no time herding him discreetly out of the backstage area and in the direction of the dressing rooms. Akechi goes easily, obedient boy that he is, but after a few long moments he stirs, trying to look behind them. “Wait, but I still – I still have a meeting to...”
“It doesn’t start for fifteen more minutes,” Akira coaxes him. “Besides, you can hardly go in there like this, all sleepy and trance-dumb. You’re hypnotized, so you need to be fucked first, don’t you?”
Akechi’s eyes glaze over, and a faint, thoughtless smile appears on his lips. “Yes,” he sighs happily, “ ‘m hypnotized... I need to be fucked...”
Akira pulls Akechi into his dressing room, locking the door behind them. “There’s a good boy,” he purrs, running his fingers through Akechi’s hair and watching his long lashes flutter with pleasure. “I’ll take care of everything for you. Just sink for me. Sink deep, and stop thinking, and let the arousal fill your mind right up. That’s all you need to do.”
“Please,” Akechi moans, other words rapidly becoming lost to him as he does what he’s told. “Akira, please...”
“I know,” Akira soothes him. “I know what you need. Good boy.”
He bends Akechi effortlessly over the table at the dressing room vanity, and the other man mewls, clawing uselessly at the polished wood surface and arching his back like he’s trying to present himself for fucking. His slutty little noises only get louder as Akira pulls down his slacks and boxers, revealing a cunt that’s already soaking wet with arousal.
“Oh, you really needed this, didn’t you?” Akira coos to him, pushing three fingers in and out for a few seconds to test how loose Akechi is, listening to him wail with pleasure. “Did you really get like this just from being hypnotized? Or do you just need my cock that badly?”
Akechi only seems to hear the last part. “I need your cock!” he echoes desperately, wiggling his ass for emphasis. “Please, please, I’m good, I’m a good boy – I need it–”
“That’s right. You’re such a good boy,” Akira says, freeing his cock from his pants and lining himself up with Akechi’s entrance. “And good boys get fucked, don’t they? Are you ready for me?”
“Yes – yes – !!”
Akechi keens as Akira thrusts into him, gripping his hips for better leverage. Akira can see in the vanity mirror that his eyes are practically crossed with ecstasy, drool spilling from his smiling mouth and onto the table. He’s well and truly mindfucked already, thoughts all but obliterated by the feeling of being railed into next week.
Akira did that to him. Akira was the one who trained him to be so easily hypnotized he’d fall for a bunch of flashing lights. Trained him to become a slutty, obedient plaything. Trained him to think less the harder he’s fucked, until there’s nothing left in his pretty head but Akira's voice and Akira's will.
And the smooth glide of his cunt is like fucking heaven on Akira’s cock. It’s all he can do to bury himself in it over and over and over again, listening to the weak, punched-out “uh, uh, uh!” noises spilling from Akechi’s lips with every thrust. He’s not going to last long, but what does it matter? If Akira has his way, he’ll be doing this every day and night for the rest of his fucking life.
“I’m gonna come soon,” he warns Akechi, voice strangled. Not that Akechi cares. Not that he can think enough to care. “Gonna... gonna come inside you... fill you up so every – everyone knows you’re mine–”
Akechi squeals, eyes rolling back in his head, and his cunt pulses as he comes on Akira’s cock. It’s such a fucking rush, Akira practically blacks out, but he maintains his bruising grip on Akechi’s hips, never faltering in his pace. He’s so close. He’s so fucking close. He–
Akira let out a strangled moan as he came, reality flooding back as he painted his own stomach and chest with his release. For a moment he could only gasp for air, brain stun-locked by the flood of endorphins overwhelming it as his orgasm swelled and crested and finally slowed to an end.
“...Fuck,” he said eloquently, drawing in a deep breath and looking down at the mess he’d made. There was definitely no going back now. That was one of the best fantasies he’d ever had, and he’d had a lot of them about Akechi back in high school.
His phone buzzed with an incoming message a few minutes later, after he’d cleaned himself up with tissues and just as he was pulling his pajama shirt over his head. Akechi was texting him – just like Akira had asked him to.
Not bothering to wipe the wide smile off of his face, Akira flopped lazily on the bed to answer it. They had a lot to discuss, but already he couldn’t wait to see Akechi again.
And maybe tell him about that fantasy. He had a feeling Akechi would appreciate it.
