Work Text:
Sometimes, Goro will wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping off his skin, and Akira won’t be there.
And every time that happens, Goro knows where he’ll be. He pretends, even just to himself, that he doesn’t, but he does.
He tells himself that he goes to the throne room first because that’s the closest room to the Emperor’s quarters. It may be true, but that’s not why.
It’s because he knows Akira likes to sit on the throne. To pretend the Empire is his.
Maybe it’s not pretend.
Because it was supposed to feel like Goro cut his puppet strings when he pulled the trigger against Shido’s head. It feels more like he just passed along his leash.
“Goro,” Akira says when he sees his shadow breach the royal tile.
“Good evening, Akira.”
No point in asking how he’s doing anymore. Nothing changes.
“Come here.”
That’s not new either. Goro knows the drill by now.
With meek footsteps, Goro crosses the length of the throne room with his eyes locked on Akira. The silent command of patted thighs comes, and Goro tries not to look as humiliated as moving to sit in Akira’s lap feels.
“My pretty Prince,” Akira mumbles, the back of his marked hand coming to brush against Goro’s cheek. If Goro was a better man he wouldn't nuzzle into the touch.
“I’m the Emperor now.”
A condescending look passes on Akira’s face, “Of course you are.”
Goro doesn’t really know what to say to that. Instead, he simply gulps as Akira’s hand slides down his cheek, to his jaw, to his neck, to hold a firm grip against his throat. Akira doesn’t say anything either, just appraises him like that: watches as his pupils dilate, the tendons in his neck flex, the jugular beats to the rhythm of his heart.
He looks hungry.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Akira asks, loosening the grip just enough to allow Goro’s vocal chords space to vibrate.
Goro breathes out heavy air, “You were gone.”
“You knew where I was. Could’ve stayed in bed.”
“You…” make me feel safe, but that’s silly, isn’t it? It’s such a silly thing to say when Akira would never believe him, not really. Silly thing to say. Even if it’s true.
“You want something from me?” Akira asks, gazing up into Goro’s eyes while his free hand runs up his bare thigh. “Or,” he squeezes the flesh, “you need something?”
It makes his spine shiver, goosebumps bristle, cock twitch. The maw inside his body whimpers and gapes; he wants Akira to make him whole again. It would be so easy to agree.
“We already…” because they did already. Just a few hours ago, if the clock in Goro’s bedroom was right.
“Mm. I bet you’re still-,” he cuts himself off, his hand travelling upwards and under Goro’s waistband to prod at his hole, “wet.”
“I was going to bathe in the morning,” he bites his lip after he speaks, squirming against Akira’s deft fingers as they slide in.
Akira smirks up at him, “Lucky me.”
And, he supposes, there’s no point in trying to fight it now. He knew what would happen if he came here tonight. All of this was just prolonging the inevitable.
It’s biology. He needs this now.
The white-hot pain and the ice-cold pleasure. A delicious cocktail of highs that only Akira can give him, only Akira knows what he needs, what’s best for him. How to make him moan loud enough to wake the whole palace up. How to make him so overwhelmed he has to cry it out for hours. How to make him cum so hard he sees the Void, the eternal nothingness and empty forever.
“What are you thinking about?” Akira asks, feeling as his hole clenches around his two fingers.
“Oh,” he gasps, coming back to his body, “you.”
Akira’s fingers spread apart, scissoring his cum out of Goro’s hole and getting his underwear all wet, “You flatter me.”
“I’m being honest,” his voice comes out smaller than he intended, all meek and mild. “I thought you like it when I’m honest.”
“Hm,” Akira considers, “I do.”
“Then-,” Goro’s cut off by the shock of the hand on his neck snapping to pull his head to side by his hair.
“With whores like you, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
Goro tries to keep it inside, but the moan bubbles up and slips out without permission anyway. “Fuck,” he mumbles.
“The only thing truly honest about you is this body,” his hand snakes around to Goro’s front, palm immediately sticky with precum. “You’re not fit for a throne like this. You belong in a whorehouse.”
Another traitorous moan.
Akira barks a laugh, “Of course you’d like that. Shall I go call at the Golden Cat then? I bet they’d pay a pretty price for that royal blood in your veins.”
“No,” Goro manages to croak. “Just- just you. I just want you.”
The noise that leaves Akira with those words can only be likened to a growl. He growls right into Goro’s ear, “Take your clothes off.”
Goro doesn’t break eye contact with Akira while he shuffles back, off the throne and down the few stairs below; where people would usually kneel before Goro. He tilts his head appealingly, starting to work his fingers down the buttons of his nightshirt.
Staring back at him with that same hunger from earlier in his eyes, Akira’s hand, the one not wet with his own cum, presses hard once against the front of his pants before unbuttoning them. He uses his other hand to slick up his cock with gentle strokes as he pulls himself free.
Goro knows by now that he won’t get to see anything else. He’s only seen Akira fully naked a few times.
Just seeing his cock is enough for Goro. Seeing him all wet with cum and leftover lube makes his own cock throb all the harder. He wants it to be inside of him again. It takes all of whatever remains of his dignity to not jump back into Akira’s lap like a wild animal and bounce hard and needy, up and down and up and down until they’re both satisfied.
Goro’s hands grip the sides of the open shirt to pull it off his body, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him. Their eyes are still locked together, so Goro doesn’t flinch much when Akira says, “Hurry up. Get over here.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
There’s no fanfare in the way he takes off his ruined underwear, kicking it away as he steps out of it, or in the way he fumbles over himself to kneel at Akira’s feet. “How do you want me?” he asks, breathless in excitement.
Akira hums as he considers it, clean hand roaming through the bronze strands of Goro’s hair. Goro just nuzzles his cheek into the thigh in front of him and watches as Akira continues to stroke himself.
He’s always loved how thick Akira is. His dick always feels heavy on his tongue, perfectly filling in his guts, big in his hand. Much bigger than his own. Akira’s made sure he’s aware of the difference between them.
Goro won’t lie. What would be the point? Sometimes the way Akira talks about his measly, tiny, pathetic cock feels better than a hand around it.
“Think I just want you to ride me. For now.”
There’s no need to tell Goro twice. He scrambles to his feet, letting Akira adjust and pull down his pants a little more so that Goro won’t leak cum all over them, before planting his knee delicately at his side. Their hands meet as they both reach to position Akira’s cockhead against Goro’s hole, and Goro pretends not to feel Akira’s thumb brush over his knuckles.
Once they’re connected, just barely but still connected, Goro pulls his other leg over to once more sit in Akira’s lap, not sinking down just yet, waiting.
“What?” Akira asks, grip on Goro’s hips becoming tense, but not yet shoving him down.
It’s a stupid request. He knows before he even asks. It doesn’t stop him.
“Kiss me.”
Akira huffs a laugh from his nose, “Come down here then.”
It would be futile to try and stop the smile that blossoms across his lips, so Goro doesn’t bother: smiling widely as he wraps hands around Akira’s neck and pulls him close, presses their lips together.
He’d hoped for a few moments of tenderness, a second of chaste affection and desire, but Akira makes it dirty and messy as soon as they touch. Akira’s tongue and his saliva flood his mouth, almost enough to make him choke, so he gives up; gives in. He shoves back for all he’s worth and sinks down hard, just slick enough to avoid chafing, not slick enough to avoid hurting.
Perfect for the both of them.
Akira moans into his mouth, all wet greed and sloppy ownership, as he bucks his own hips up to set the tempo. The rhythm and the pace completely his to create, to dictate. Goro’s only job is to follow.
When Akira pulls away from the kiss, a string of spit still connecting their mouths, he immediately goes to latch himself onto Goro’s neck instead. He sucks rough marks, leaves bites that bleed.
Goro just squirms and whines and moans in his hold.
It’s humiliating. To be taken and damaged and owned on his own throne. The one his ancestors sat upon before him. To defile it. To let Akira fuck him on it like some concubine.
The cock bouncing against his abdomen to the rhythm of his thrusts quivers. He likes it. Of course he does.
He’s not an Emperor right now. If he ever truly was.
He’s Akira’s bitch.
As soon as his brain has that thought, he lets go of all his inhibitions, of his dignity. It’s like flipping a switch, it always is. Something about Akira makes him feel like a feral beast.
He howls in Akira’s grasp, angling his body so that Akira’s cock hits his prostate every time, unashamed of how he throws his head back with the sweet pleasure. “Just like that,” he whimpers, slamming his hips down against Akira, begging him with his body to speed up the pace.
“Tell me how you feel, your Majesty,” Akira groans, one hand coming to Goro’s shoulder to push him down harder.
“G-good. Amazing. You’re so- fuck, big.”
Akira grunts out a sound, something that sounds vaguely like laughter. “Damn right,” he says, hand on his hip groping downwards towards the fat of his ass, “I’m the only one who does this to you. Who fucks you like this.”
A seemingly endless chain of yes, yes, yes leaves Goro’s mouth.
“So good, Goro,” but Akira’s not even looking at his face, just the place where they connect. Watching himself slide in and out of Goro’s hole, how greedily Goro takes him, how deep. Goro’s own hands slide down to feel the bulge of Akira’s cockhead in his belly. It hurts. It’s wonderful, taking him to that place, walking the fragile line of pleasure and pain.
It’s not enough; not intense and all-encompassing like he needs it. “M-more. Akira, more. I need more.”
“You are a whore, huh? Fuck,” Akira says, fucking up into Goro twice more before he continues, “get up.”
“But I-,”
“Get up,” he repeats, pinching Goro’s ass.
Yelping from the sting, Goro manages to shakily pull himself off of Akira’s cock and onto his feet. He whines as Akira adjusts, his knees and thighs hurt from the effort of riding, causing him to wobble and hold himself against the arm of the throne for balance.
He’s so focused on keeping himself upright that he barely even notices Akira get up and come around to stand behind him. A gasp leaves his mouth as Akira takes him by the thighs and hauls him higher, planting his upper body across the throne’s arms. “Wh- what-?”
“I’m giving you what you want,” Akira says, voice void of all emotion. “More.”
“No, I don’t-,”
Akira gropes at his ass, “Are you disobeying me?”
“No, it’s not. ‘Kira, I-,” he whimpers.
“I think you just crave punishment,” he says, hands gently touching and caressing Goro’s skin, letting him soak up all the perfect attention.
And then, suddenly, the feeling is gone.
“What are you-,”
Smack.
Goro’s whole body tenses on the impact of Akira’s hand coming down flush on his ass. A noise halfway between a groan and a cry leaves his mouth, and though his hands try to muffle it by closing around his lips, they’re too late. Akira laughs in response, brings his hand down once more. And again, and again, and again, until tears well in Goro’s eyes and his skin turns an angry red and his cockhead is near purple with arousal.
“Oh,” Akira hums, a sickly, fake sympathy in his voice as he rubs a soothing hand on Goro’s ass, “you liked that, huh?”
Goro just nuzzles his head against the cool metal of the throne and whines.
Smack. “Use your words, whore.”
Body involuntarily scrambling away from the pain, Goro forces himself to squeak out, “I do, I do, I do.”
“Good boy.”
Trying to hide the way those words make a shiver climb up his spine is a lost cause. Goro knows that already.
“My good boy,” Goro thinks Akira just likes to see him tremble. “My good boy who’s not going to be able to sit in this throne tomorrow without thinking about how good I fucked him in that very spot.”
“Please,” and he doesn’t really know what he’s begging for. To keep going, to stop, to make it worse; maybe he’d settle for any of those options.
Akira’s humming again, but this time there’s the distinct feeling of a blunt tip pushing into his hole accompanying it. “You want this?” he asks, sliding his cock up, against the crack of his ass instead of inside.
“Yes, please, please.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Akira. I love you.”
“Tell me you’re mine.”
Goro whines, shoving his ass back against Akira’s cock, “I’m yours, all yours. Just- please-, ”
“Call me daddy.”
It’s scary. Scary how the word almost flows out of him like water, like he’s been holding it in forever and he didn’t notice until now. He only stops himself when conscious thought kicks back in; when his mind manages to somehow parse the meaning of that, what it represents, how sick to his stomach it makes him feel.
“Say it,” Akira encourages, reaching forward to brush hair from his eyes.
“‘’Kira,” Goro groans, “I can’t- I don’t-.”
The kind, gentle, caring hand turns violent as it grips around his throat. “Say it.”
It’s scary how normal his tone can be.
“... Daddy.”
“Good boy. Tell daddy what you want.”
“I want,” he murmurs, “I want- you to fuck me.”
“Daddy to fuck you?” Akira corrects.
Fuck it. Goro doesn’t have any pride left.
“Daddy to fuck me. Please, daddy.”
Akira slams home immediately. Like he physically can’t keep himself away from Goro anymore, like he needs him.
Goro should be arching his back, moaning like a whore as Akira irritates the bruises he’s laid on his skin. Instead, Goro’s somewhere else. Goro’s back there.
That night.
He still remembers how Akira praised him, like he is now, telling him how good he’s been, how well he takes cock. How hard he pounded him, like he is now, slamming hips to hips with every thrust. How he felt betrayed by his own mind, by Akira, how he doesn’t understand what he’s done to him.
It’s all the same.
Goro takes it lifelessly. He’s tired of having sex with death in the room.
The orgasm he has barely even registers, but he must have had one; when he comes back, the throne is stained with sticky white. He registers Akira’s, but only once the pain is gone and the thrusts have stopped.
He’ll have to bathe tomorrow.
“Good boy,” Akira flops down on top of Goro to whisper in his ear. “You did so well, your Majesty.”
Goro doesn’t know what to say to that. He makes an attempt to steel his expression before he sits them both up, twisting himself so that red, raw skin presses painfully into the arm of the throne.
He doesn’t fight when Akira kisses him. He thinks it tastes like poison.