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There’s a night in early November that finds Goro Akechi as peaceful as he’s ever been. He’s tired, but he’s always tired, and he’s angry but not as much as usual; he’s sitting on the uncomfortable bed that belongs to one or the other of the twins that have been driving him crazy for the better part of a year— he’s never been able to figure out for the life of him which sleeps on the bed and which takes the couch, and whenever he asks they just smile at him— feeling, for once, almost human.
The brave and noble leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts is sitting on the ground to one side of him, staring glumly at an assignment he’s laid out on the bed; his brother, Goro’s closest friend and worst enabler, sits on the mattress on his other side, back to the wall, dark eyes shut and breath slow but unquestionably awake. The rest of Ren’s little coterie cleared out an hour or so ago, so it’s just them now. Joker and his most treasured enemies.
The silence is long but not uncomfortable, three people all content simply to exist in a space that can hold them; it’s a strange and novel thing, for Goro, who is used to filling every space with words or violence. Not a bad one, though, provided he doesn’t let himself think about it all for too long.
Finally Ren looks up at them, tilting his head where he’s rested it on his forearms, and says, “Akechi?”
He hums. “Yes?”
“Why haven’t you kissed one of us yet?”
Goro chokes on air.
“What?” he says, hacking breaths making his voice hoarse. Both of them have turned to stare at him now, four eerie grey eyes fixed on his so intensely it’s making him start to regret the no glasses rule he’d imposed.
A slow, focused blink.
“Why,” Ren repeats, and Goro can’t tell if there’s challenge or curiosity or hurt in his voice, “Haven’t you kissed us yet?”
Not an auditory hallucination, then. Okay. Glancing at Akira offers no solace; his expression is almost identical to his brother’s, sharp and unwavering— although there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, an infinitesimal little quirking of his lips into an enigmatic smirk that, yes, Goro does want to bite off him.
What the fuck, though, actually.
“Amamiya-kun,” Goro starts weakly, and is cut off immediately when Ren rolls his eyes.
“Don’t Amamiya me.”
“Ren- kun,” Goro corrects, sickly sweet, “I’m afraid I have no idea what’s prompted this line of questioning.”
“Yeah you do,” Ren replies flatly, then continues stubbornly on his little crusade to make Goro feel unmoored: “I’ve narrowed it down to one of three reasons, I think. The first is that you’re not into either of us, but that’s impossible-”
Goro splutters. He manages to scrape something together that resembles chastising him for arrogance, but it just makes him laugh, that wicked showman’s grin so strangely warm on his face.
“I’ve seen the way you look at Akira, detective,” he says wryly. When Akira raises an eyebrow he continues, “Hell, I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’m not leaning in the not attracted to us direction. Which leads into option B, you think it would make it weird with the other one-” (here he starts ticking things off on his fingers. It’s adorable, and Goro loathes him.) “—And I get why you’d worry about that, but I promise you you don’t have to— or, C, you feel bad starting a thing with one of us because you’re planning to assassinate me and that would make it weird.”
Goro’s entire brain stalls out. Next to him, Akira snorts.
“We’re doing both of these at the same time?” he asks. It’s just barely audible over the ringing in Goro’s ears.
Ren’s laugh is almost more of a cackle. “Seemed more efficient.”
Finally Goro manages to swallow, and flex his hands, and say, “Ren-kun, I have no idea what on Earth you’re-”
“Let’s not do the bullshitting part,” Ren says, and Goro’s jaw clacks shut. When he turns from one twin to stare at the other, Akira sighs.
“They figured it out on their own, don’t look at me like that,” he says, “Futaba tapped your phone like the minute we joined the team.”
“You would have told him, though, wouldn’t you,” Goro says sharply; Akira just shrugs.
“Well, yeah,” he says.
“Technically you told me in April,” Ren points out. His head is still pillowed on his arms, incongruously comfortable, infuriatingly adorable, and Goro may have been insane for a long time but he can, apparently, get worse.
“Just that I met a hot murderer. Not that he was gonna target you.”
Another shrug.
“Sorry, can we back up for a moment,” Goro says, smiling through the deafening noise in his head in the way he knows from experience both twins think is creepy as hell; “Can we circle back around. To every batshit thing you’ve said in the last four minutes.”
“Wow, you are cute when you’re rude,” Ren says mildly.
“Told you,” says Akira. He sounds smug. Goro could kill him.
“You knew who I was this whole time?” Goro snaps. Ren blinks placidly again, smile still playing at his lips.
“I mean, no, I only knew who you were specifically when Akira found out. You didn’t think we were actually both going around doing Metaverse horseshit behind each others’ backs for six months without noticing, did you?”
Faintly, Goro does recall finding it difficult to process his accomplice and Joker living in the same room without ever having a confrontation. This isn’t what he’d expected, though.
“You…”
“Can we get back to the original question,” says Akira flatly, leaning on Goro’s shoulder with a kind of easy comfort Goro cannot imagine having with someone like himself in a thousand years, “Because I actually do kind of want to know the answer.”
Hysterically: “To why I haven’t kissed you? Not anything to do with the murders?”
“I mean, we did pretty notably already know about the murders.”
Goro drops his face into his hands. He breathes. He bludgeons Loki’s laughter back into the recesses of his brain where it belongs. Finally, feeling unmoored, he brightens his voice into something so cheerful even he finds it unsettling and says, “If you must know, something of a mix between your second and third theories. You appeal to me for different reasons, and I’ll admit I have my doubts about the longevity of a relationship wherein either one participant or one participant’s beloved identical twin fucking dies as a result of the other participant-”
“But I’m not going to die,” says Ren mildly, “So it doesn’t matter.”
Goro snaps his head up to look at him, baring his teeth. “Are you quite certain?”
A slow, unreadable smile. “You were never gonna kill me. Akira would be mad at you.”
“I’m not sure what’s convinced you I would care about-”
“Akechi. C’mon.”
He could scream. He doesn’t, because Futaba Sakura still has the cafe below them bugged, but he could.
Akira is leaning against his shoulder. He’s so warm. Every point of contact burns, even through his clothes— Goro has never, never allowed anyone to touch him as casually as Akira does, but he doesn’t know how to stop him or even if he really wants to.
It shouldn’t be grounding.
“I don’t understand,” says Goro. He leans into the touch.
“Sure you do,” replies Ren, sitting up and pushing his bangs out of his face with a faintly sinister little grin. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re not gonna kill me, and we’re great at sharing.”
He should focus on the part that’s going to send his plan careening off the tracks and straight into hell. He should. He should run damage control and figure out what the fuck he’s going to do to fix it.
Unfortunately, these two little freaks have always had a way of scrambling his priorities. Akira is very, very warm.
“…Expand on the… sharing thing,” he says weakly. Ren’s grin turns predatory, and where his head is perched on Goro’s shoulder Akira’s does the same.
“Why don’t we just show you?” Akira purrs. He straightens up a little— enough for a traitorous part of Goro’s soul to mourn the loss of some of his touch— and reaches out past him to crook his fingers, saying, “Renren, c’mere.”
Ren rises smoothly: first to his feet, then back down a bit, resting one knee on the shitty little mattress so close to Goro’s that it brushes his thigh. His eyes are dark, his smile vicious. He shifts, steadies himself with a hand on Goro’s leg, and then—
And then he—
The twins, they—
The thing about the position they’re in is that when the kiss starts it’s not just next to Goro, it’s over him; Akira is draped comfortably along his back and Ren is only not pressing up against his front by virtue of the way his palm is resting on his fucking thigh, so when they meet in the middle they may as well still be using his shoulder as a headrest.
Goro’s brain doesn’t quite stall out. He’s still cognizant of the heat radiating off them both, of the steady weight of his partner against his back and the way his rival boxes him in, of the soft little sounds their mouths make as they press together, sounds that by all rights he should find unpleasant mixing with these lovely tiny little vocalizations that make his blood light up in his veins like an oil line in an active volcano.
Even when they break apart they stay there, so close that Goro could map them both out in their entirety with his eyes shut; turning to look at him with a smirk, Ren says, “…Get what we’re saying?”
Goro opens his mouth. He shuts his mouth. He opens it again, inhales, and makes a kind of helpless creaky sound that doesn’t really mean anything at all but hopefully conveys at least a little of what he’s thinking.
“What?” he manages, finally, once the twins are done snickering at him.
Akira drapes his arms around him from behind, nuzzling at the nape of his neck. “Come on, it’s obvious, isn’t it? We are very, very good at sharing.”
“Only with each other,” Ren points out. He settles more fully on the bed— or, more accurately, he settles more fully on Goro’s lap, straddling him and resting an elbow on his shoulder so he can reach past him to pet Akira’s hair, and Goro can barely process a single goddamned thing, and they’re so warm. “We’re pretty dogshit at sharing with anybody else.”
“Although we could be convinced on one or two things,” says Akira, pressing the words into the sensitive skin where Goro’s ear meets his jaw.
Ren laughs huskily. “That’s how you know you’re special, detective,” he says, which really shouldn’t make every panicking nerve he’s got spark and brighten, but, well, he’s only human; “I never let anyone touch my brother. Not my friends, not our parents… but he likes you.”
He likes you. The words catch and don’t let go, scuttling their way into the crevices in his mind on a thousand tiny legs. It shouldn’t be so noteworthy—Goro knows Akira likes him, Akira tells him that, and moreover he should know better than to ever believe such a thing is unconditional— but…
He likes you, Goro, you’re special, Ren’s words echo, the way he brushes against you matters— the way he throws his arm over your shoulder when you’re in safe rooms, the way he smiles just for you, be it soft or bright or vicious-hungry.
He hears: He wants you.
He shudders, failing to contain a fluttery sort of gasp, and feels Akira laugh softly into his hair. A warm hand strokes down his arm; soft lips brush his neck.
“Aw, look, he likes that,” murmurs Akira, nuzzling him; before he can scrabble together something suitably snippy to say in response he hugs him tighter and adds, “You like him too, nii-chan. Don’t pretend this is a favor you’re doing me.”
And Ren (Ren, Ren, Ren with a thousand admirers, Ren with everything Goro has ever wanted dancing at his fingertips like rats out of Hamelin, Ren with his stupid coat and his friends and his justice— ) shrugs, and squeezes his thigh, and says, “Well, yeah.”
“There is something deeply, fundamentally wrong with you both,” Goro says hoarsely. He receives a laugh in duplicate for it, warm and easy, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually know what love feels like, but if he did…
“Mm-hmm,” hums Akira, sliding a long and clever hand along Goro’s hip. “It’s why you want to kiss us so bad.”
“That’s—”
“We want that, too,” Ren purrs. His face is so close. Goro can feel his breath.
Akira chuckles, nudging Ren away, pulling Goro closer, pressing his lips to his cheek— and it becomes obvious quite suddenly that what they’re waiting for is for Goro to pick, to turn his head just so and claim one of them. To choose a path.
He shivers.
Ren notices. Of course he does.
“It’s okay, beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing his hand down Goro’s arm to play with his fingers; “Just relax. I can take care of you both, if you let me.”
And that sounds— nice, actually, really nice, being wanted and touched and not having to think for once, letting his stupid empathetic freak of a rival take some of the weight from his shoulders while his partner holds him close enough to support the rest— but there’s part of him that rankles against giving in like that, and in the moment of his indecision Akira laughs darkly against his nape.
“Or,” he says, sinister as Goro’s ever heard him, “We could do something a little more fun, you and I.”
Taking an unsteady breath, Goro says, “W-what…”
“C’mon, don’t you want to play with him properly?” he purrs, “I’ve seen you really fight, Crow.”
“I…”
Goro pauses and flicks his gaze to Ren, who’s looking caught out suddenly— when he raises his eyebrows, visions of all the awful things he’s fantasized about doing to Joker dancing in his mind, that pretty face goes red.
“…I hadn’t thought that would be welcome,” he finishes. He can hear the hungry menace beginning to thread through his own voice, and if it’s largely unintentional, well, he can worry about his control slipping later.
“Who cares?” asks Akira glibly. “I mean, it is— Ren won’t admit it, but he- mm-!”
He cuts off suddenly when Ren snaps up to slap a hand over his mouth. There’s a brief scuffle, some sharp sounds— a yelp(from Ren, Goro thinks), a lot of shoving that by necessity involves Goro— and then finally Akira yanks away, cackling, and says, “My point is, wouldn’t it be fun? We could ruin him. We’ve done much worse.”
Goro absolutely does not want to admit how often he’s imagined breaking Ren Amamiya beneath his heel, with or without Akira’s participation on either side of the conflict. The thought of him bruised and bound and drooling, fucked until he can’t even think anymore—
Well.
“You know I have a hard limit,” he says weakly. He is many terrible things, but rapist is not one of them.
Akira hums.
“Yeah. It’s one of the things I adore about you,” he says softly, smiling against Goro’s neck when the words make him shudder involuntarily; “But I promise he wants it. Look at him.”
And— well—
Ren is staring at them with wide eyes and a deep blush on his face, looking from Goro to Akira and back frantically. It’s easy to feel his hands shaking, the unsteady pace of his breath, the racing of his heart.
“…Oh?” Goro says. It’s barely audible. His own heart races.
Akira, pressed against his back, laughs. “Isn’t that right, Renren? You talk big about taking care of us, leader, when you and I both know how much you want the big bad assassins to… mm.”
Goro glances at Ren, waiting for argument, and instead finds him looking the most helpless he’s ever seen him, unsteady and hunted— and when their eyes meet he shivers, his breath catching, a tiny, helpless noise the only vocalization he makes.
…Tenderness can probably wait.
Goro tilts his head, just a little, just innocently. He sculpts his face back into something open and innocent. He finally moves— reaches up gently, softly, to cup Ren’s cheeks in his hands.
He smiles. It’s a small thing, fond and more genuine than he meant for it to be.
He says, as sweet as he’s ever been:
“Run.”
And, to his delight— although there’s some small grief at the loss of the warm, comforting weight across his knees— Ren does; he jerks up and stumbles back and bolts for the stairs, not even bothering to put on his shoes.
Cute.
“Shall we, then?” Goro asks, tilting his head to smile at Akira, who laughs softly and nips his shoulder.
“You know I never turn down a hunt,” he says warmly. It’s so charming, so familiar.
Like every time, Goro wants to kiss him.
Like he never has, Goro does.
Akira’s lips are soft and yielding and taste faintly of chapstick, and Goro would kill a thousand people for a second more of this, and they don’t have time for that. He draws it out until he can’t hear Ren’s footsteps anymore, then breaks away to whisper, “Come on, partner. We finally have prey worth catching.”
-
Ren isn’t hard to locate, although that’s probably only because he wants to get caught.
They find him halfway down Aiyatsbus, his ridiculous coattails fluttering as he vaults a dead turnstile. This high up even he’s fled by the shadows he passes, to say nothing of the fear they harbor for Goro, so there’s nothing to stop him sprinting down the winding maze of railway track.
Goro pauses on the platform, tugs his helmet off to make eye contact with Akira, and smiles.
It’s so much more fun than finding a distortion and tracking it to its source— a moving target, living and breathing, is so thrilling, so appetizing. It’s a little like the best palaces, the ones where the rulers know what he’s there for and are trying so hard to scurry away— but even that can’t compare. Not to Joker.
Goro slips into the shadows as he follows him, fading out here and there to make himself known enough to cause a stumble or a burst of speed; Akira, meanwhile, does that weird fading thing he does and doesn’t reappear again until they hit the bottom floor of the area.
Ren pauses by the yawning doorway down into Chemdah, breath heaving, leaning heavily on a wall, and apparently that’s good enough for his brother— before Goro can even decide if he wants to keep chasing him there’s a flicker of menace in the air and suddenly Akira is on top of him.
He laughs as they wrestle; it’s the same high, dangerous croon Goro so treasures from their hardest fights, all breathless bloodlust and mania, and he’s full of nothing but affection as he ambles over, spectates their scrabbling for a moment, and, in one smooth movement, draws his gun and points it directly at Ren’s head.
“You seemed awfully confident I wouldn’t kill you,” he says mildly. The twins go still as they notice him—first his shadow and then the gun, the glint of it in the eerie light. “But Robin did just learn Samarecarm thanks to you. Maybe I’m curious to try it out.”
From where he’s half-pinned beneath his brother, Ren’s eyes widen. His pupils dilate visibly— which is wild— his lips part, his breath stutters; above him Akira makes a soft, uncertain noise.
Goro rests a hand in his hair. Scratching his scalp with the tips of his claws makes him melt, apprehension vanishing from his posture just as he’d hoped it would.
“Very good work, Akira,” he adds, both because it’s true and because whenever he compliments him in their regular endeavors Akira visibly has to prevent himself from reacting: like this a shudder wracks his whole body, a soft noise on his lips. “Won’t you help me show your brother his place, sweetling?”
A shallow nod. Akira’s hand flexes around Ren’s wrist, where any struggling has been reduced mostly to spectacle— although when Goro produces the bundle of zip-ties he keeps in his weird infinite Metaverse pockets it quickly jerks back into frantic reality, Ren’s scrambling growing desperate.
Goro doesn’t mind. It’s kind of fun, really, to crouch next to him and lend his own strength to Akira’s— and from there it’s very fun to force his legs bent and bind his thighs to his calves, trap his arms behind his back, tear off his mask, and shove that bare and pretty face of his against the dirty floor.
“This is a good look for you, Joker,” Goro says mildly, swatting his fingers away from the hilt of his knife and snatching it up himself instead. It’s a far sight better to get rid of clothes with than his saber, at least. Akira’s little switchblade would probably be more efficient still, but Akira has taken a step back to catch his breath after getting a high heel to his solar plexus, so Goro makes do.
(It had been very cute, actually. At Akira’s breathless noise of startled pain Ren had paused in his struggling, looking genuinely alarmed, and asked if he had any personas with healing on him. When Akira nodded weakly and flashed him a thumbs-up he’d exhaled in relief and gone back to doing his best impression of a dying fish fresh out of contortionist school.)
“Thanks. I like your dumb jumpsuit, it’s very tight— hey, question, why the fuck do you have so many cable ties,” Ren says. He writhes; Goro hisses, trying not to nick his skin.
“Much of my work is actually just questioning shadows, and they can— fuck, stop moving, you weird little brat, it won’t get you out and you’re going to cut yourself— they can get a little difficult sometimes,” Goro replies, deciding not to engage with the leering comment about his suit.
“What if I’m into- Hey!” Ren replies, cutting himself off quite sharply to express his indignation as Goro yanks the shredded remnants of his ridiculous coat and vest off his torso. “What the hell, I love that coat.”
“It’ll respawn,” Goro tells him flatly. He trails the knife down his chest, just barely too light to cut, fascinated by the rapid rise and fall of his small breasts. He’s barely ever had a chance to really look at the twins’ bodies: even that time at the bathhouse he’d been trying to be respectful.
He has no such restraint now. The glint of metal against the flushed curve of Joker’s chest is intoxicating. “What was that about being into something?”
Ren sticks his tongue out, which seems about par for the course. Rather than offering that a dignity it doesn’t deserve Goro chuckles and presses down, just barely hard enough to break skin; much to his delight it makes Ren moan, body twitching helplessly as he tries to jerk away from and press into the pain at the same time.
“I see,” says Goro. Then, steeling himself, because he knows this will come out corny unless he really sells it: “Well, good luck for me, I suppose. Here I thought I’d have to shatter your mind to make you into a desperate little painslut, but look at you.”
In front of him Ren swallows a whimper; behind him there’s a cut-off, muffled laugh, like Akira is trying really hard to keep it together and failing miserably.
Goro glances back, raises his eyebrows. “Do you have something to contribute, Akira?”
“No! No, of course not, don’t let me interrupt,” Akira says, grinning. “You’re just cute.”
Hm.
“Come here for a moment, please.” Goro stands and holds out one hand— Akira blinks, tilts his head, reaches out— yelps sharply, when Goro jerks his arm behind his back and slams him up against the wall.
“I know you as well as you know me,” he hisses, flattening his free hand against Akira’s chest to pull their torsos flush. “If you test me on purpose, pet, I’ll put you precisely where you’re asking to be.”
His partner shudders and goes limp, a soft, gasping sort of mewl of a noise catching on his lips as he presses his forehead against the rough concrete.
“The only reason you’re not right there with Ren is that I can use you to break him,” Goro murmurs. He flexes his claws, gripping Akira’s wrist hard enough he’s almost certain it’ll bruise. “The second you’re more trouble than you’re worth I’ll tie you to a post and let you watch me fuck your brother without you. Understand?”
“G-goro—”
Goro nips the back of his neck, sharp, chastising. “Do you understand me?”
This time the shiver is a visible, full-body thing, the sound almost a whine.
“Yes,” Akira whispers. Goro smiles, presses a kiss to the spot he’d bitten, and lets go.
“There’s my good boy,” he murmurs. He’s quite aware of how badly Akira wants his praise— he’s always soaked up the slightest hints of approval like a flower reaching for the sun, always lit up so heartbreakingly bright whenever Goro implied he wants him around. He knows he’s not much better, but he’s also not above using it to his advantage. “Come on. You wanted to help me ruin him, didn’t you?”
Akira nods, rubbing his wrist. His eyes are wide behind his mask.
“What should I…”
There’s a part of Goro that’s genuinely endeared at how quickly Akira went from goading to earnest and uncertain; he chucks it aside to languish with the rest of his feelings until whenever it is that Ren’s got control of their dynamic again and smiles at him sharply.
“You said he wants to be at our mercy, right? A victim for the big scary assassins?”
Ren whimpers audibly. Goro keeps an eye on Akira, waiting for him to respond, but even as he does returns to Ren’s side to briefly card claws through his hair, relishing how he leans against it for a moment— then, of course, gentleness had, he braces his foot on the pale expanse of his chest and roughly shoves him down onto his back. The position must make his arms hurt something terrible, but that’s hardly a negative.
“…Yeah,” says Akira. He stares down at his brother— his older brother, even if it’s only by minutes; his older brother who has always, always been protector and leader, who’s called the shots and gone in first their whole lives.
His brother, who’s Joker— who he loves, who he resents— and Goro’s not sure what the two of them have done before now, what lengths they’ve gone to, but he’d bet almost anything Akira’s never seen him quite this vulnerable. Vulnerable enough to crack the fantasy out of him, sure, but not bound and whining on the hard floor of Mementos.
“Prove he belongs below us,” Goro tells Akira, gesturing him closer so he can stroke his shoulder and gently shepherd him in front of Ren’s trembling form. “Sit on his face. I want to see you shut him up.”
Akira shudders and nods, hands unsteady as he goes to remove his pants— and that’s a little bit of a production, because both of the twins have such stupid boots, but he gets it quickly enough. Goro has a brief moment to be amused at the fact that the two of them together could form a single entire outfit, but then Akira turns fully enough to actually look at and essentially every remaining thought in Goro’s head veers sharply downward.
Shit, he’s hot. Strong, graceful legs, inner thighs glinting faintly in Mementos’ low light where his arousal has already dripped down them, the faintest hint of flesh visible at their apex under neat dark hair— there’s a moment where Goro has to resist throwing their current trajectory out the window and just slamming him down to get his mouth on him himself, but he is nothing if not plan-oriented and it’s as enticing to watch him carefully, shakily kneel, breath unsteady, pausing before he makes contact to squeeze his eyes shut.
“Go on,” Goro says, a little more hushed than he’d intended. It sounds oddly reverent, but then this is as close as he thinks he’s capable of getting to a religious experience. “Open your mouth, Joker.”
It’s a heady sort of rush to have that kind of order obeyed, layering onto the blindingly attractive image of Ren tied helplessly on the floor with his face flushed and tongue out, saliva he’s not going to be able to do anything about starting to pool. The thief makes a wordless, pleading sort of noise, hips flexing, legs spread wide.
Goro can’t tear his eyes away. The wet pink of Ren’s tongue is nearly identical in color to the flesh above it, like they were made for this— as Ren lowers himself enough to make contact they both gasp, a virtually identical broken noise coming from two voices at once. The main difference is that one is wet and muffled.
“Oh, fuck,” whispers Akira, rocking gently, clearly trying not to crush his brother’s head; “Oh god, Ren, your mouth.”
Ren moans, long and low, lifting his head visibly to try and get more— and it seems like he’s getting as much from this as Akira is, almost, desperation in his movements, his body twisting and twitching helplessly. He moans again, louder and needier, when Akira’s thighs momentarily give out, audibly pleased at the weight of him, how it must be making it hard to breathe.
Ren is incredible. It feels like they could do anything to him and he’d like it. Goro wants him in ways he can’t quantify, wants to hold him and to hurt him and to hear what he sounds like screaming. He wants to rip him to shreds. He wants to kiss him gently and feel the way it makes him smile.
“You really are getting off on this, aren’t you,” he mocks, toeing at the dampness between Ren’s bound legs— it’s soaked through enough to be visible even through the black of his costume, and being touched makes his whole body jerk like a fish on a hook. He whines, muffled and needy, most of the sound lost in Akira’s flesh.
It’s astonishingly cute.
“Pathetic little freak,” Goro says fondly, pressing roughly down; “Look at yourself, Joker. Leaking and moaning like a cheap whore for a couple of murderers, so eager to be a fucktoy for us… What do you think, Akira— should I give him a treat for behaving so well?”
Breathlessly, Akira nods. He’s moving his hips in twitchy, jerky motions, grinding unforgivingly against Ren’s face; Goro is nearly transfixed by the sight of it, could stare forever at where they join, flashes of pink from a clever tongue or a twitching cunt tantalizing every time they peek out from behind Akira’s dark hair. And the sounds— fuck.
“He- nnh-! He’s being good,” Akira gasps, rocking over him, hands trembling where they’re propped on his chest. “You should- should— fuck, Goro, ‘m really close-”
“You’re allowed to cum if you like,” Goro says mildly, “You’re just not allowed to stop. Ren, if he tries to rest, don’t let him.”
Another muffled whine; Ren’s body flexes with the sound, his abdomen visibly tightening in arousal. Goro smiles and presses harder.
“Good boy,” he croons. “Go on, take your reward— that’s it, grind on my foot like a proper bitch— who knows, maybe if you impress me you’ll even get my cock eventually.”
Ren groans, breathless and low, his efforts to rut against Goro’s boot stymied by his lack of leverage— it’s quite entertaining to watch him struggle and twitch, though, his legs straining against their bindings, movements scattershot and trembling. Goro had made up his mind on fucking him well before he said anything, but even if he hadn’t it would be a laudable effort.
So, as Ren’s shaking starts to get more intense, his breaths coming fast and needy, he chuckles and draws away. It drags a truly delightful noise from him, a desolate sort of wail that sounds sweeter than syrup to Goro’s ears, his head jerking with the rest of him in a way that makes Akira, too, buckle and moan.
“Poor thing,” Goro croons, kneeling between his legs, running his hands up and down his sides just lightly enough to make him twitch and gasp. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t edge you too much. I’m much more interested in seeing what you two look like overwhelmed, really.”
He shifts as he speaks, leaning forward first to cup Akira’s cheek, then to brush his claws into the mess of his hair and yank, forcing him to bare his neck; when he gasps and moans, motions going tremulous, Goro shoves a knee between Ren’s thighs and ducks to catch Akira’s throat in his teeth, digging in his fangs high enough not a damn one of his turtlenecks could cover any marks. He gets a delightful pair of noises for his trouble, muffled gasping from below him and a cracked, needy wail into his hair.
Akira’s gorgeous when he cums. Goro has a hysterical moment where he wants nothing more than to eat him alive.
“Good boy,” Goro says, his own voice rough and breathy. “Here, move a little— I’ll be nice and let you breathe while I put Ren where I want him.”
Akira shifts back and slumps on the ground, panting, scraped knees drawing up to his chest. His whole body is shaking, his face flushed, eyes hazy.
He’s a mess, but he’s nothing compared to Ren, who takes a huge shuddering inhalation when his face is freed, glazed-over eyes fluttering uncertainly, jaw soaked and filthy with spit and slick. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, each gasp showing off the way the sweat glimmers on his cute little tits. Goro can’t resist taking them in his palms, squeezing and rolling the fat under his claws, relishing the way it makes his rival whimper and twitch.
“Akira, get rid of the rest of your clothes,” he orders distractedly, eyes locked on Ren. Once there’s movement in his periphery to prove his instructions are being followed he lets all his focus return to the boy below him, to the way he pants and squirms, the hazy look in those gorgeous eyes.
He can’t help himself: he bows to kiss him. He hasn’t, yet, and that’s a fucking travesty, so while he has a moment he sets about fixing it, unpleasant wetness streaked across his mouth and chin or no; it’s odd, of course, the lingering taste of his brother’s cunt impossible to ignore, but there’s something gloriously debauched about it, filthy in a way Goro finds intoxicating. It almost makes him want to shift gears entirely and take his own turn eating one or both of them out— god, he’d like to make them cry, tonguefuck them until there’s nothing left in those pretty heads— but no. Later. He has time.
Ren is displeased when Goro draws away. He follows him up as far as he can and makes a needy, hungry noise when he can’t, and Goro simply must laugh and duck back down to give him one more peck before he sits up fully.
“I’m going to unbind your legs,” he says, resting his hand on one of Ren’s knees. “If you kick at us or try to run, you’ll regret it, understand?”
Ren nods. His eyes are a little hazy, his lips slightly parted, and he’s startlingly docile as Goro severs the ties keeping his knees bent and tugs off his pants. He squirms a little when he’s exposed, the flush on his face darkening by degrees, but otherwise he allows Goro to direct him with little complaint.
“You really do like this, don’t you,” Goro murmurs. He pulls his gauntlets off distractedly, tossing them away without worrying where they end up. “Giving up all that control.”
Ren doesn’t reply, but his breath catches, a shiver visible in the way it makes his shoulders twitch. He shuts his hazy eyes and turns his head away.
“Don’t be so shy, Joker. You can’t hide from me any more than you can get away, so why bother pretending?” And then, when that makes his abdomen tense, his muscles flexing with arousal: “God, you’re cute. I have so many things I want to do to you.”
Ren blinks slowly, catlike, a hazy smile growing on his face; when Goro leans down to tug him up into a sitting position he goes without complaint. He slumps forward, even, nuzzling against Goro’s shoulder.
“That cannot possibly be comfortable,” says Goro. Ren just hums, so he laughs under his breath, shakes his head, and says, “Akira, pet, come here, will you?”
The twins must be aware they’ll have to stop obeying him at some point unless they want him to go completely mad with power, but apparently that point isn’t now; Akira shifts closer easily, resting a hand on his brother’s thigh for balance as Goro pulls him forward into a deep, slow kiss. He shifts Ren’s limp weight against his chest, keeping him close, half in revenge for their little stunt back in the attic and half just because it’s nice to hold him. They must like the proximity too, because when he nudges Akira back he gets a wordless complaint in stereo.
He doesn’t dignify it with an answer. He shoves Akira down, instead, forcing him onto his back, and before they can whine about that he all but throws his brother on top of him, the way his arms are bound making it impossible for him to do much other than gasp and fall against his shoulder.
“Keep your ass up, Ren,” Goro purrs, silky and threatening. He runs his hands reverently up the backs of his thighs as he says it, massaging the soft flesh, spreading him open with his thumbs. “Present for me, yeah? Show off these slutty little holes.”
Ren makes a strangled sound— humiliation, probably, although Goro can see the way the filthy talk gets him— and hides his face in Akira’s neck, shaking even as he arches his back and spreads his legs.
“Good boy, Joker,” says Goro, sliding his fingers through his folds, staring down in unabashed fascination. His swollen clit actually twitches at the praise. “You’re excellent at this. You spend a lot of time getting fucked from behind, or are you just a slut by nature, mm?”
Ren doesn’t respond with words, just a cracked sort of whimper, so Goro leans forward and knots a fist in his hair, yanking him sharply up and out of the safety of Akira’s skin.
“Answer me,” he says, sweetly. Dangerously.
Ren takes a huge, shuddering breath. “I- I’m not- I haven’t— ah!”
Roughly fucking two fingers into him makes him jerk and lose track of his words again, his mouth falling open, hands spasming where they’re tied. It’s cute. Goro can get all kinds of noises from him.
“Just born for it then,” he muses, scissoring his fingers, fascinated by the ways his body twitches and shakes. Regardless of the way Goro’s mocking him he’s tight, clearly unused to penetration, or at least out of practice. He’d almost feel bad for what he’s going to do to him, but… well, he doesn’t. “Maybe it’s genetic. It’s a trait your brother certainly seems to share, anyway.”
Akira makes a strangled noise and swallows visibly, turning his head to press his face against the rough ground. He’s flushed and breathless, thighs trembling where they’re bracketing Ren’s knee, chest heaving with each breath— a wreck, even though he’s not the one who’s getting fucked. Goro is struck with such an intense wave of affection that it very nearly topples him, the heady mix of aggravation and fondness and desire he associates with his partner knocking the breath from his lungs.
He wouldn’t resist the urges if he could. He drapes himself over Ren’s back— earning an aborted gasp and a shaking body pressing against his own, the friction of his cunt against Goro’s cock delicious even through his suit— and folds to kiss Akira hard, awkward angle be damned. It’s not so bad that he can’t get to him at all, and if by consequence he’s grinding on Ren while the twins are all but forced to rub their bodies together obscenely, well. Goro’s not about to complain.
Drawing his fingers out of Ren earns him a slick, filthy sound, one that harmonizes well with the needy whine tumbling out of his mouth at the loss. Goro breaks away from Akira’s delightful mouth just enough to nuzzle his face against Ren’s hair, gripping his hip with a low hum he hopes is comforting.
“You want it, don’t you?” he murmurs, rolling his hips roughly against the thief he’s captured, desire like magma in his veins. “You want me to fuck you, use you.”
A groan; a nod. Ren arches his back and pants, needy and charmingly wanton, as Akira curls a shaking hand around the arm Goro is using to keep himself propped up, staring at him with wide, blown-out eyes.
They’re so fucking cute.
“Convince me,” he growls. He nips sharply at the nape of Ren’a neck, thrusting against him, almost a threat. “Go on, give me a show. Tell me how much you want my cock.”
Ren whines, burying his face in Akira’s neck, thighs spreading, hips trembling. If Goro weren’t so deeply stubborn it would probably work. As it is, though, he only laughs—hoarse and crowing, the creepy, nasty laugh he usually reserves for Akira alone— and fumbles with his suit, fisting his length with his other hand as it comes free, holding it away from where his rival so transparently wants it.
“What is it, leader?” he mocks, “Don’t want to debase yourself? Don’t want to admit how much you like this? It’s just fine when the big bad villains are making you do it, but begging is too far?”
It takes a moment— there’s a beat where Ren keeps hiding in Akira’s throat, his whimper muffled into that pretty skin, but then he shifts— presses his forehead to his collarbone— mumbles, humiliation and arousal thick in his voice, “…Want it.”
“Hm? I’m not sure I caught that,” Goro says, grinning. He hooks his chin over Ren’s shoulder, frotting slowly against his clit, pressing their bodies together until he feels like they could merge.
“I want it, you smug jackass,” Ren says, breath catching halfway through when a well-timed jerk almost does it.
“Want what, Renren?” taunts Akira, running greedy hands over his sides, one slipping down to roughly grope his ass— Goro hisses, swallowing a noise of his own, when it shifts the angle and pushes him even closer. “C’mon, you can tell us.”
Ren growls and bites his neck— sharply, in a faintly-adorable sort of chastisement not far off from what Goro did to him— and says, “Fucking- fine— I- I want him to fuck me, want- nn- ah- w-want your cock, Goro, please I was good I need it so bad-”
—He breaks off with a cry when Goro shifts to press the head of his cock against his entrance, arching his back obscenely and gasping into Akira’s shoulder. When he doesn’t push any further he whines.
“Please, Goro,” he gasps, hands twisting, arms jerking, “Please, please, fuck— you- you can— u-use me, hurt me, break me I don’t care I need it- ah!”
The moan that breaks from him the moment Goro stretches him open is filthy, pornographic, a long, tortured note that’s only barely not a scream. It’s gorgeous. Goro kisses his shoulder shakily, almost overwhelmed himself.
He’s so hot inside, tight and wet and perfect, molding to the shape of Goro’s cock like it was made for him. Goro holds him up with an arm around his waist, a hand splayed across his ribs keeping him from collapsing down onto Akira completely.
“Like that?” he asks, nuzzling Ren’s jaw, and gets back a low, fucked-out groan that’s trying quite valiantaly to be an affirmative. Goro smiles and purrs, “What a good boy. You’re taking me so well, Ren, such a perfect— mm- perfect plaything.”
Another whimper. Ren’s body clenches and pulses around him, cunt practically sucking him in.
Akira laughs, panting, “He’s cute, right?”
“Extremely,” agrees Goro, “You both are.”
“U-uh-huh.” Akira’s thighs shift in the periphery of his vision, flexing where they’re bracketing Ren’s knee.
Goro’s mean, but he’s not a monster.
“Needy little things,” he corrects, amused, “Poor Akira. You’re just as much of a slut as Ren, aren’t you, pet?”
Watching the way that makes a shudder run through his whole body makes Goro laugh out loud.
“You were right, I should have done this ages ago— you two are so much easier to control when you’re desperate to get fucked,” he says, “Mm… Joker, can I trust you if I untie your arms?”
A frantic nod. Ren’s shoulders shake violently, his breath heavy— Goro has to sit back on his knees to get at the bindings around his arms, and while he’s at it he rubs a soothing hand across his hair and down his spine, amazed at the way the touch visibly relaxes him.
Having his arms free certainly doesn’t hurt on that front; he goes briefly limp, panting, then pushes himself up onto one elbow so he can grin back at Goro, face flushed and eyes hazy but still palpably the same self-satisfied little bastard he sometimes daydreams about eviscerating and/or kissing with tongue.
“Yes, yes, you’re very cute,” says Goro, rolling his eyes, “Here— I untied you so you can hold yourself up. Akira—”
He grabs his partner’s thigh and yanks, forcing his soaked cunt to grind hard against Ren’s knee and getting a sharp, choked cry for it.
“Impress me,” he finishes. “You need something touching that pretty cunt of yours, don’t you?”
“G-goro— ah-”
He cuts himself off to gasp as Ren’s body is forced against his by Goro’s thrusts, hands scrabbling for something to hold on to.
“Feels nice, doesn’t it? Go on. He’s our toy, love, you can use him like it— that’s right, hump his leg like the desperate fucking animal you are— fuck, look at you two...” He shudders, nudging Ren’s head up and out of his brother’s neck so they’re face-to-face.
To his delight, he doesn’t even need to prompt what he wants— Akira gasps at the movement, throws one arm around Ren’s neck and the other into his hair, and drags him down into a fierce, messy kiss.
It bowls Goro over just as much now as it did the first time. They’re so gorgeous, both of them, and seeing them tangled together— feeling it, how Ren’s core works when he moans, how Akira’s clever hands twist and twitch, how easy they’ve made it to pin them down and name them his— is quite easily the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s high off it, wild and unhinged, almost the way Loki makes him feel(and oh, isn’t that a thought, he could break them if he brought Loki into it). He could do this forever.
Fucking into Ren makes his body jerk makes his knee grind against Akira, the both of them gasping and moaning with every movement, a mesmerizing harmony that makes Goro want to own them, kill them, eat them— makes him want to break them open and gorge himself on the bright and burning cores within, to ruin them completely.
He wants, too, to hold them closer. He can’t kiss them both at once, and they can’t kiss each other and him at the same time(or, maybe they could if they really finagled it, but the impracticality of it is prohibitive), but he can pin Ren to his chest with one hand and tangle the other in Akira’s hair, pressing his rival down and dragging his partner up, drunk on the filthy sounds of their coupling and the unbearable heat of their bodies.
Ren’s gasping into Akira’s mouth now, soft noises escaping his lips on every short, desperate breath, rutting unsteadily into Goro’s thrusts— he’s so close Goro can feel it, his movements gone jerky and involuntarily, body trembling. It’s intoxicating. Goro feels more powerful than he ever has.
“That’s it,” he whispers hoarsely. He releases Akira’s hair so he can drag his hand down Ren’s body and slip between his legs, roughly working his clit between his fingers. Ren twitches and moans, spasming around him, falling back into Akira’s shoulder as his arms give out. “You can give in.”
“Go on, sweetheart,” murmurs Akira, tangling shaking fingers in his hair and laughing when it makes his brother whine, his whole body jerking. “Break for us, won’t you? You don’t have any other choice, after all.”
Ren doesn’t get louder when he cums— he gets quieter, even, breathless and overwhelmed, voice catching on a helpless string of sounds, ah— hhah— ah— gasped voicelessly into Akira’s skin as he clenches around Goro, slick gushing from his cunt, body trembling so hard he can barely stay up even with help. It takes all of Goro’s considerable willpower to keep his own pleasure in check as Ren’s body milks his cock, only his desire to keep playing holding it at bay.
“Good boy, Ren,” he says hoarsely, rubbing his hip in what he hopes is a soothing way. “You’re being such a perfect toy for us. Doesn’t it feel good to let go?”
“Uhh-huh,” Ren manages, slumping. He twitches through the aftershocks, panting, clinging to Akira even as he rocks back weakly against Goro. The temptation to keep going—to fuck him past exhaustion and orgasm into broken overstimulation, to shatter him into pieces so small he can never completely recover, reduce the leader of the Phantom Thieves into a real helpless fucktoy until all he remembers how to do is beg and drool and take it— is intense, but it would be a waste. He treasures his rival’s mind, after all, and there’s another wildcard to play with right there if he wants him.
He does, of course. It would be insane not to.
Goro pulls out of Ren slowly— more gently than it seems like he wants if his whine is anything to go off, the little slut— and nudges him down next to Akira instead of on top of him. They’re still tangled together; Ren gloms onto his brother the instant he hits the ground, nuzzling his shoulder with a satisfied hum, more comfortable than the rough ground of Mementos maybe warrants.
Goro laughs. “You have to let me get to Akira, darling.”
“Mmh.”
“I see,” he chuckles. “Well, alright. Good thing you two are so flexible.”
Akira makes a curious noise, one that graduates into something closer to a yelp as Goro hooks a hand under the knee that’s not being held captive by Ren and shoves it roughly back, pushing him into what’s not quite a split— it’s revealing either way, forcing him to show off the flushed and dripping mess between his thighs.
God, but he’s stunning. Goro once again crushes down the urge to bury his face in that pretty cunt until one or both of them passes out; instead he rests Akira’s leg over his shoulder and grinds his cock slowly against his clit, flashing him a grin when he drops his head back and groans.
“Goro,” says Akira hoarsely, the hand that’s not pinned under Ren’s shoulders coming up to grab the back of his neck. He folds obligingly, kissing his throat, working a mark in with his teeth when it makes him moan. “Goro.”
Ren chuckles, presumably at the desperation in his brother’s voice— and one nice thing about this position is how close it lets him be to them both, enough that he only needs to shift a little to bite the laughter off his rival’s lips.
(Also nice is how thoroughly pinned it leaves Akira, trapping him at Goro’s mercy even without restraints. The two of them are clearly enjoying it, too— Akira’s breath coming hard and needy as he leans into Goro’s mouth on his throat and Ren’s hand where it curls possessively around his waist, Ren’s quiet, affectionate laughter, the warmth and softness and life in them both, how he loves them—)
(He doesn’t think about that last part.)
He doesn’t make Akira beg. He’d been considering it, but the crack down the middle of his voice as he said his name was jagged and wide enough for Goro to recognize— it’s hardly the first time he’s seen him overwhelmed, for all it’s certainly the best. He’d be surprised if he can put together any words beyond their names at all.
“I’ve got you,” he says instead, shaky and gasping as he pushes slowly into him. “Oh, fuck, Akira.”
Sure enough, his partner’s response is less words and more a hoarse, broken sort of moan, his hands scrabbling against Goro and Ren’s skin, trying to pull them both ever closer. They both go, of course; Goro presses his forehead into Akira’s sweaty hair as Ren buries his face in his shoulder, the three of them a messy knot of clinging arms and soft, needy sounds. Akira is hot and tight, overwhelming when he’d already been so fucking close— it takes everything he has not to break immediately.
“You’re so warm,” he manages, pace unsteady— and Akira’s breathless laugh may be at his expense but it’s so cute he can’t possibly find it in his heart to be bothered, especially not when it breaks off halfway through into a sharp, needy keen, his cunt pulsing around Goro’s cock.
“Goro,” Ren says, quiet, hoarse— Goro thinks he’s maybe petting Akira, although he’s distracted enough it’s hard to keep track. “Goro, a-are you close?”
He nods, laughing helplessly, and Ren flashes him a shaky grin.
“And it’s all for us, isn’t it,” he breathes, “For Akira. Isn’t he- mm— i-isn’t he such a good boy, Goro?”
A shudder wracks Akira’s whole body— he tenses and shakes, his mouth falling open, cunt clenching, eyes flicking back as he whines.
And, ah. Goro understands what Ren is doing. He smiles, nuzzles Akira’s jaw, purrs, “He is. You are, Akira, precious thing… just look at you. You’ve been so, so good, my pet, so perfect, helpful and lovely and mine—”
He gasps, buckling, voice choking off as he feels Akira shake apart under him, shattered, wordless whimpers on his lips— and he wasn’t lying, he is good, every part of him warm and perfect, his peak fucking irresistible— Goro groans brokenly into his skin, panting against the curve of his neck as he spills into him, the world going white at the edges.
It’s a little hazy after that. He forces himself through the motions— sitting up, pulling out, scrounging through his inventory for something close enough to a towel to clean up his exhausted companions and something close enough to normal bottled water to force down their throats. It’s not quite what Ren usually brings with him— not that what Ren usually brings to the Metaverse is entirely palatable (if he ever makes Goro drink rancid gravy again he’ll change his mind about putting a bullet in his skull), but there’s generally a lot of it. Goro has one half-finished bottle of sparkling water and an unopened can of tea.
It’s fine.
He sighs as he pushes the drinks into the twins’ hands, rubbing his face. Part of him— most of him— wants to just lay here with them; they’re both essentially cats, after all, and seem completely willing to sleep just about fucking anywhere. What small portion remains, however, remembers with clarity the last time he’d let himself pass out in Mementos.
He heaves himself onto his feet. Ren and Akira make complaining noises in stereo and tangle closer together, like cats in a warm patch.
It’s— really cute. Fuck.
“C’mon,” he says wearily, “Up. We can’t stay here.”
“Yes we can,” says Ren. Akira giggles drunkenly into his neck.
“The Reaper is a horrendous alarm clock,” Goro replies. When that doesn’t convince him he grimaces, shakes out his hair, and summons Robin Hood.
There’s a moment of struggle— twin startled shouts, long limbs scrabbling at phantasmal arms— but as soon as they realize what Goro is doing both of them independently grin and go limp. The cat impression isn’t lessened.
“I’m dumping you on the ground the second we’re out of the Metaverse,” Goro tells them serenely. “I will not be carrying you through Yongen-Jaya.”
“Boo, lame, I’m not wearing shoes,” Ren says sleepily. Goro snorts.
“That’s your own damn fault.” He taps through the Nav, dragging them up into the top levels. “If you’d tried to stick around long enough to put some on I would have just made out with Akira a little longer. I’m benevolent.”
Ren laughs. “See, but then we never would have made it out of the attic.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I’d have cracked and come back over,” he admits. “Seeing you two go at it is really hot.”
“And then we would have missed the charm of fucking on nasty metaphysical concrete,” muses Goro, “What a shame that would have been.”
Robin sets the twins gently on the ground as they reach the exit, which isn’t actually what he told him to do(I.E. drop them unceremoniously on their cute asses in revenge for making him physically manifest a Persona this long).
Neither of his Personas ever fucking listen to him. He refuses to examine this. They’re both inordinately fond of Akira and Ren, too— Robin gives them each a mouthless approximation of a kiss on the forehead before he vanishes, tender and embarrassing— and he doesn’t want to examine that either.
“Come on, let’s go,” he sighs. “I feel like if I don’t wrangle you two into bed at a reasonable hour your cat will know somehow.”
“Can we stop by the bathhouse on the way? I’m sticky,” says Akira, wrinkling his nose. His voice is hoarse but sweet, and Goro can’t help pressing a kiss to his nose.
“Certainly. Let’s keep it quick, though. I’m tired.”
They get distracted at the bathhouse.
It’s nearly two hours later by the time they make it back to Leblanc, faintly-lightheaded and laughing— Akira’s gone mostly silent again, but he’s smiling bright as a star and his hand is warm where it’s linked with Goro’s, eyes glittering with something nameless and precious. If he had to put words to it he’d describe it as somewhere between sleepy and smug, which given the way their afternoon has gone is fair enough, really.
Ren has been tormenting Goro with shitty jokes for the last ten minutes.
He’s in love with both of them. It’s disgusting.
They detach themselves from him as they reach the top of Leblanc’s rickety stairs— Ren stretches, Akira yawns, both exaggerated and catlike; they shed most of their clothes and collapse into their terrible little bed together(answering that question, although at this point they share is hardly surprising) before turning identical stares at Goro. The combined weight of their eyes is, as ever, deeply unnerving.
“Uh,” he says.
Ren holds out one hand, palm up. Akira sleepily raises both of his arms.
“Can we convince you to stick around?” says Ren, smiling softly.
“That’s… I do sort of have to…”
“Go- rooo,” mumbles Akira. He makes a grabby motion at him, half-sitting up so he can be more dramatic about it— and Goro knows he’s not actually helpless, Goro has seen this man kill people, but—
Fuck.
He sighs heavily and says, “You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”
“Not a chance. Cut your losses, detective. Come cuddle,” laughs Ren.
“Not in a dress shirt though,” Akira adds. “No weird starched prettyboy clothes in bed.”
“I wasn’t aware you were in charge of me,” says Goro absently, although he’s unbuttoning his shirt as he says it, so it’s probably not particularly effective. Akira grins.
“I’m irresistible.”
“Watch it, I have a vector for punishing bad behavior now,” he says. He folds his clothes neatly— he’s infatuated, not an animal— before approaching the bed, looking down at it with a small frown. Wow, there is really not a lot of space.
“Oh no,” says Akira flatly, “Maybe the hot boy I like will slap me around. What a nightmare. Help, help.”
“Maybe I won’t,” he replies, arching his brows. Akira gives him a scandalized look. “I don’t want to reward impertinence, after all.”
“Can you be a responsible pet owner horizontally,” says Ren, “Not that I don’t like listening to you two flirt, but…”
Goro laughs and carefully crawls onto the bed. It’s strange; he’s been in this bed before— hell, he’s been here today— but he’s never really laid down in it, never tested how it would feel to sleep in it.
It’s: bad! But not as bad as he’d expected. Faintly familiar, really, kind of nostalgic. And once the twins have managed to arrange him to their satisfaction it’s hard to really care about that anyway, because he’s buried under pretty boys with soft hair and warm bodies, one tucked against each side of his body. They’re knotted around him, six legs tangled together, his chest being used as a pillow— and he thinks usually he’d dislike the way he’s trapped here, would chafe against being pinned and almost restrained, but, well…
It’s only Ren; it’s only Akira. They’re soft and sweet— they’re strong and cunning— their weight is comforting against his body, their heat settling deep in his bones. He’s safe, here. Quiet.