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It's taken him more than a few years, but Akira finally thinks he understands how the Brainwash ailment works.
Its control is strong, but it doesn't turn the target into a mindless robot only capable of following orders. While they do have to follow any commands they’re given, and switch their allegiance if necessary, their personality remains mostly intact and mostly the same.
Unless, of course, they’ve spent a long time keeping their needy and submissive side under lock and key, in which case it's a little different.
Not that Akira’s complaining.
This had all started, as many things between them do, with a competition: Whoever kills the most Shadows in each area of Mementos wins, best two out of three. The loser would be completely at the winner’s mercy for the rest of the night, a reward left ambiguous on purpose.
Goro took the first floor easily, with fourteen Shadows to Akira’s eleven. Akira came back with a vengeance to take the second, leaving seventeen kills in his wake while Goro was only able to score twelve. They were neck-and-neck for the third, but Akira managed to grab the tie-breaking sixteenth Shadow just seconds before Goro could reach it.
Akira knew what he wanted—they’d joked about it before, and as jokes about weird kinks tend to go, there was more than an ounce of truth to it—but he also didn't expect Goro to react particularly well to the idea of entirely losing control like that. He'd given Goro an out, plenty of them, and was fully prepared to abandon the idea entirely and just do something else if he took the chance to decline.
Goro didn't take it. He rolled his eyes and grumbled something about Akira being too gentle with him and to just get on with it, but he notably didn't say no. Quite the opposite, actually. And if the way the tips of his ears went bright red while he did it was any indication, Akira’s initial assumption was dead wrong.
It was very impressive and honestly a little scary how quickly all of Goro Akechi’s prickly edges melted away once Akira’s Marin Karin hit home and the fight in his eyes was replaced by a hazy, slightly lovestruck pink-tinted stare. How eagerly he secured one of his belts around his neck as a makeshift collar, just because Akira asked him to.
And he looks so pretty now, wearing nothing but the collar as he looks blankly at himself in the mirror, on his knees on the bed with his legs spread wide. His eyes water with tears that haven’t quite managed to break yet, and his mouth hangs dumbly open, a line of drool pooling at the corner of his lips and dribbling down his chin to a dark spot on the comforter below. A beautiful dark red plug fits snugly inside him, just out of sight, the result of him relentlessly working his fingers inside himself for what felt like hours.
His hands are bound behind his back, not by rope or cuffs but by Akira’s words alone. And while his cock is dark and achingly hard between his legs, he won't come. Not until either the effect wears off or Akira tells him to. Akira hasn't decided yet.
“Please,” Goro begs, his voice nearly unrecognizable, high-pitched and nearly hoarse. He tries to grind down on the plug in his ass, even though it isn’t nearly enough and never was. “Please, Joker, let me come—!”
Akira feels his own cock twitch in his pants from where he's sitting, a short distance away on the couch, and he lets out a low groan as he reaches down to palm himself through the fabric. He’s always had a bit of a thing for Goro using his code name in bed, and hearing it like this, higher than any voice he thinks Goro has ever used on TV, makes him feel powerful beyond his wildest dreams and sends white-hot arousal rushing through his bloodstream.
“Be patient,” he says, noticing how heavily lidded Goro’s eyes are, almost shut. “And didn't I tell you to keep your eyes open?”
Goro’s eyes fly open wide at the command, the ring of pink around his irises on full display in the mirror.
“That's better.” Akira smiles as he casts another Marin Karin, his fourth or fifth of the night, probably. He has plenty of energy to spare—if he stuck mainly to physical skills during their game for this very reason, Goro doesn’t have to know—and no intention of stopping any time soon.
Goro’s whole body jerks as the spell lands, a sharp, quiet gasp on his lips that turns into a long, high moan on the exhale as the magic settles over him. His eyes roll back and his eyelids flutter in ecstasy, completely lost in his own pleasure and fucked out of his mind, even though Akira hasn't so much as touched him yet.
That won't last much longer, if Akira’s dick has anything to say about it.
Akira stands up and slowly approaches the bed, noticing the way Goro’s eyes follow his reflection in the mirror. For now, he’s still fully clothed, jacket and all, and he knows the outfit looks cool, it always has, but he's never felt as sexy in it as he does right now.
He kicks his shoes off before he climbs onto the bed and reaches out to cup Goro’s cheek in one gloved hand, gently turning his head toward him. He was going to do something to him now that he has him here, but he quickly forgets what that something is as Goro all but melts into the touch with a shuddering half-sigh, half-whine that makes something in Akira’s chest clench tight.
“Blink for me,” he says, and Goro does immediately, slow and heavy and intentional, setting his tears free. “Just like that. You okay?”
Goro nods after a second, still leaning into his palm. “Keep going,” he whispers.
Akira smiles. How could he say no to that? “Dont worry, I will. I’m just taking my time with you.”
He was surprised, at first, at how easy it was to slip into the Joker mindset like this—warm and charming, but with an undeniable and irresistible authority lying in wait underneath—and even more so at how much he liked it, especially when he was asked to do it. But this is easily the most extreme thing he's ever done, at least sexually, and the responsibility of it sits heavy on his shoulders, leaving him too nervous to not take things a little slow.
Luckily for both of them, with the state Goro’s in, Akira doubts he'll notice much of a difference.
Akira raises his free hand as he remembers what he had in mind, pressing two fingers down on Goro’s tongue, still lolling just past his lips. “Suck,” he orders, his voice coming out lower than he expects it to.
Goro eagerly complies, quick to close his lips around him and tilt his head to take the fingers further back in his throat until Akira’s knuckles meet his mouth. His tongue swipes across Akira’s gloved fingertips—two at first, then three once Akira can't resist any longer—with precision as he moves his head back and forth, up and down, almost like—
“Do you want more?” Akira asks, trying to keep his voice steady. It wouldn't be any fun if he cracked too soon.
Goro frantically bobs his head, the closest thing to a nod he can muster right now.
“Then prove it.” Akira pulls his fingers back, reveling in how Goro subconsciously chases them for a second, almost losing his balance. “Tell me how much you want it.”
“I—I want to suck you off.” The words tumble out of Goro’s mouth automatically, so quickly that he trips over them, but he doesn’t stop. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Joker, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please—”
Holy shit. Akira was never going to deny him, but even if he was, the way the desperation in Goro’s voice set his veins on fire would have won him over. “All right, you win.” He slips his jacket and vest off and settles back into the pillows, spreading his legs just enough to be comfortable. “Get my pants off and you can take what you want.”
Goro immediately rushes to follow him on his knees, arms still awkwardly bound, all but falling face-first into Akira’s lap once he gets close enough, experimentally mouthing at the bulge in his pants. His brow furrows in concentration as he gets back on track, tilting his head up to catch the waistband of Akira’s pants with his teeth, and—
“You can use your hands,” Akira says. Not that he doesn’t enjoy this, because he does, god, he does, but he doesn’t want to make it harder than it needs to be.
Goro is quick to adjust without a word, even as his hands shake as he gets used to using them again. He pulls Akira’s pants and underwear down in one smooth motion once Akira lifts his hips to let him, the feeling of his hands sliding down his bare legs as he takes his clothes off drawing a soft gasp from Akira’s throat.
The sound echoes.
Goro looks up at him for a second from between his legs, eyes wide and lips parted, awestruck and almost reverent, and takes his cock into his mouth without any fanfare. As if it’s simply what he was always meant to do.
It’s not the best blowjob Akira has ever had, far from the best one Goro has ever given him. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated and Goro’s lips and tongue and hands scramble to be everywhere at once, never lingering quite long enough in one place to satisfy him. But his mouth is so greedy, ruthless in taking everything Akira can give him like it is the only thing he’s ever wanted, that the specifics suddenly don’t matter all that much.
“You—shit,” Akira groans as Goro’s tongue flicks over his slit, loud and full as his head tips back of its own accord and he bucks up into Goro’s mouth. “You feel so good, Goro, so good, so—”
Goro moans around him, the vibration rippling up through Akira’s core, and at first Akira thinks it’s from his praise alone, a thought that makes his head spin. If just his words can affect Goro like that, he'll gladly keep talking for as long as he can. He looks down at him again, a thousand words on his tongue, and—
He immediately forgets all of them.
Past the obscene mess of tears and drool and precum on his face, Goro ruts helplessly into the mattress, hips twitching as he tries to find any friction he can. He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it, so focused on pleasing Akira that his own pleasure is a mere afterthought, even as he makes himself delirious with it.
Before Akira can take in the sight in front of him forever, before he can watch Goro take himself apart all because Akira asked him to, Goro takes him deeper into his throat and sets every nerve ending in his body alight.
“Look at you,” he whispers, unable to find the breath to do anything more, as his hand finds Goro’s hair on reflex and grips tight. “Getting off like that just from having my cock down your throat. You love this, don’t you?”
Goro whines his assent, muffled around the cock in his mouth.
Akira smiles. It’s so endearing when Goro allows himself to be earnest. “I can't believe I get to have you all to myself like this,” he says, tapping his fingers on Goro’s scalp. “Not a thought in that little head of yours, just me.” Being so totally in control, holding Goro in his hands so thoroughly, is as daunting as it is alluring, and it makes his whole body throb with arousal. “Do you like being mine, Goro?”
Goro trembles with a sob that doesn’t quite reach his lips, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.
“You don’t have to worry about anything else, okay?” Akira brushes a tear away with his thumb. “I’ve got you. Just focus on me.”
The words seem to flip a switch in Goro’s brain and he pulls off to breathe, a desperate, harsh gasp of air, before he dives in again. He worships Akira with his mouth as he mindlessly grinds into the sheets, his entire world narrowed to pleasure alone.
He’s so beautiful like this, without anything in the way. No smugness, no insecurity, nothing but desire and devotion and the glassy, brilliant scarlet of his eyes. Akira thinks of keeping him here for as long as he can take it, letting Goro bring him up and over the edge again and again until they both break, until Akira’s cock is the only thing Goro knows.
But Goro asked him not to come on his face or inside him at all before they started, and he’s already getting close. Maybe some other time, then.
He has something else in mind, anyway.
“Hey,” he says, gently tugging at Goro’s hair. “Goro. You’re too good, I don't want to come yet. Sit up.”
Goro stops in his tracks and gets back up to his knees at the foot of the bed, resting his hands on his thighs. He blankly waits there, skin tinted pink under his belt-collar, eyes glazed over and rimmed with red, his cock hard and weeping and all but forgotten. All of him at Akira’s command.
Akira stares back at him for a minute, utterly spellbound by how raw and deep his submission runs. Goro is his, his to use, to hold, to pleasure, to cherish—fuck.
He feels Goro’s eyes on him as he takes a condom off the nightstand and tears the wrapper, shifting back to sit a little more upright. He waits to look up until he hears Goro’s breath faintly catch in his throat as he rolls the condom over his shaft. “Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks sweetly.
“Yes,” Goro says in a rush, nails digging into the skin of his thighs.
There are a lot of things about this Goro in front of him that Akira isn’t quite sure how to feel about, simultaneously very hot and very weird. But being able to outright say what he wants so easily, without having to break through all the layers of whether he thinks he deserves it, is something Akira can only appreciate. “Come here, then.”
Goro comes easily, crawling across the bed and collapsing in his arms with a weak groan, half-dazed and panting as Akira reaches around him to work the plug out of his hole. His body is limp and heavy like a ragdoll as Akira maneuvers him where he wants him: Back pressed against his chest, legs straddling his own, thighs trembling as he hovers over his cock, with only Akira’s hands on his hips and the little strength he has left to hold him up.
“...Joker,” he whimpers between shaky breaths, in a delicate little voice that doesn’t even sound like him anymore, every barrier destroyed until only the depths of his soul remain.
“I know,” Akira says, slowly easing him down. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart, so good for me—”
They both moan when Goro sinks down onto him, tight and hot and perfect, throwing his head back over Akira’s shoulder as he bottoms out, hair tangled where it brushes his skin. He stares off at some point on the ceiling, jaw slack and breathing ragged, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, exquisitely wrecked.
Akira leans in to press a kiss to the base of his neck, just under the ridge of the collar, and lingers there, breathing him in. Sweat and leather and all. “That’s it,” he murmurs into his skin, slowly moving his hand up his side. “You’re gorgeous.”
Goro jerks at the touch. “Nnh—”
“Mm-hm.” Akira keeps moving until his hand reaches Goro’s jaw. He grabs it lightly and tilts it down just enough for Goro to see his reflection in the mirror. “Look at yourself.”
Goro meets his own eyes, struggling to keep them open. He’s so exposed like this, so debauched, chest open and cock lying hard against his stomach, his head empty but his body full. He looks like a work of art on display, body and emotions alike laid bare for Akira alone, and a part of Akira wants to sit here and take him in forever.
The rest of him, however, isn’t that patient.
“I want you to fuck yourself on my cock,” he whispers into Goro’s ear, and an incredible full-body shiver racks Goro’s frame. “Nice and slow. Can you do that for me?”
Goro nods, still watching himself in the mirror as he lifts himself up with energy he doesn't have, suspended in the air for a second by some external force before he comes down again, breathing out a quiet moan as Akira’s cock hits his prostate. He repeats the motion before his body is ready for it, then again, up, down, up, down, in a brutal, mechanical rhythm. Each time he descends, a new sweet and tender noise is pulled out of him into the air, each one slightly different than the last.
“Good boy.” Akira takes Goro’s hands in his and brings them up to his nipples, rubbing the nubs around under his fingers. “Play with them a little. Make yourself feel good.”
Goro whines as his fingers close around them, pinching and rubbing at the skin as if possessed. He doesn't let up even when his breath hitches, when his own sensitivity swallows him whole, still riding Akira into oblivion. He moves like a machine, a puppet on strings, helpless to Akira’s words and his own body.
He’s so far gone that he barely reacts when Akira wraps his hand around his cock, pumping him in time with his hips. All he can do is slump back against him, back coated in sweat, and mumble something incoherent as his eyes roll back into his head, overloaded with pleasure.
“You can take it,” Akira says, half to himself, because fuck, he’s getting close, too. “Just a little longer.” He reaches up to trace along the top of the collar, fingernails lightly scraping the sensitive skin on Goro’s neck, and sends one more Marin Karin through his fingers.
Goro screams.
Akira wants to shatter him and put him back together, to hold his mind in his hands like something precious and make it shine, to love him mercilessly while he can’t fight back. “Do you want to come?”
“Mmh—ah—” Goro tries to nod, but his head just tips down under its own weight and he doesn’t have the strength to lift it again, even as his arms and legs continue their robotic motion.
Akira grins in the mirror and lets go of Goro’s cock, leaving him vulnerable and uninhibited. “Then come for me.”
Goro obeys untouched, painting the bedspread with streaks of white as one final, drawn-out moan escapes his lips before he finally goes still. He gasps in breath after breath, limbs slack as the strings holding him up are finally cut.
Akira gives him ten seconds before he flips them over and drives into him, smearing Goro’s knees in his own cum as as his arms give out and his face is buried in the pillows, choking out a muffled sob. He knows from experience that Goro likes the overstimulation, doesn’t mind Akira using his body to get off even after he’s already spent; every time Akira pulls out and jerks himself off instead, Goro gets annoyed with him for going too easy on him, and...well. Of course he’s going to give him what he wants.
“I’m—hah—” He cuts himself off with a low moan as his thrusts turn more erratic. He wraps one arm around Goro’s torso and brings them closer, setting the other on top of Goro’s as he clings to the sheets, his whole body shaking as he falls apart under him. “I’m so close, Goro, just hold on a little longer for me, hold on—”
It barely takes him any time at all to come, hips stuttering as fireworks of pleasure explode in his nerves and he drapes himself ungraciously over Goro’s back, sinking deep into him. Goro wails uncontrollably into the pillows, and Akira feels a pang in his chest of something he isn’t sure how to name.
Just before the post-orgasm haze starts to cloud over his thoughts, he manages to topple both of them over onto their sides, exposing the raw exhaustion in Goro’s voice to the rest of the room. He can’t exactly hold on tight in the state he’s in, his strength sapped and his mind fuzzy, but he can hold him close, pulling him into a light embrace and feeling every one of his hiccuping breaths reverberate in his own chest. He whispers half-coherent praise over Goro’s shoulder and waits there until the tears stop, and for a few minutes more after that before he pulls out. As he tosses the condom in the trash across the room, he silently thanks Mementos logic that everything will reset itself as soon as they leave and he doesn’t have to deal with it.
“Can you look at me?” He asks when he comes back again.
Goro rolls over and tilts his head toward him, eyes cloudy and still outlined in the spell’s rosy pink.
Akira smiles and scoots back to make space on the other, cleaner side of the bed, lying the pillows flat. “Come lie down over here.”
Goro barely pushes himself upright to cover the distance before he falls again and flops over onto his back. He doesn’t move after that.
“Good.” Akira leans in to kiss his cheek. “Now close your eyes and get some rest. As much as you need.”
Goro doesn’t need to be told twice.
Once he’s asleep, Akira puts his hand on Goro’s chest and casts Amrita, watching him shift in place before he goes still again. If anything, he looks even more relaxed than before, sinking into the mattress like it’s about to swallow him whole. Akira lets his hand rise and fall in time with Goro’s lungs for a minute—in, out, in, out, each breath slower and shallower than the last—before he pulls away.
And then he freaks out.
Should he have had Goro wash himself off first? He didn’t do it because if it were him, waking up totally clean would have made it seem like the rest of it never happened, which would have tripped his brain up and made it worse. But Goro is not him, and to Goro, waking up sweaty with his legs covered in cum is probably just gross. Not to mention that the belt is still fastened around Goro’s neck, even darker against his pale skin, and Akira should have remembered to take it off first.
But there's nothing he can do about it now. He just has to wait for Goro to wake up and then take it from there.
He just has to wait.
Maybe he shouldn't have done this at all. It was intense, and risky, and they both wanted it but maybe it was too much and he should have been more responsible and stopped it before they could even start and—
Breathe.
He laces his fingers with Goro’s and times their breaths together, feeling his heartbeat slow as the seconds tick by and the tear tracks on Goro’s cheeks start to dry. Goro will be okay. They both will.
“I love you,” he whispers. He doesn’t know if Goro hears it.
He stays there, lightly and absentmindedly squeezing Goro’s hand as he watches him rest. Goro’s face gets so open and relaxed when he's asleep, free from the stress he has to face in his waking life, and it's a sight Akira doesn't get to see nearly as often as he wants to. It makes Akira feel all the luckier to have him, to be able to take care of him like this.
Goro stirs after a few minutes, squeezing Akira’s hand back before he truly wakes up. His movements are slow and sluggish as he shrugs feeling back into his shoulders and comes back to himself, and when he opens his eyes, dark and vacant, it’s clear that they won’t stay that way for long, each blink heavy and almost catlike. It takes a good few seconds for his gaze to shift from the ceiling to where Akira’s sitting next to him. He looks completely worn out.
“Hey.” Akira brushes a strand of Goro’s hair out of his face with his free hand. “How are you feeling?”
Goro doesn’t answer. He barely seems to register that Akira spoke at all, staring through him instead of at him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Akira says, even though he wishes he would. He squeezes his hand again. He knows Goro doesn’t get afterglow-clingy like he does, and he doesn't want to push too far, as much as he wants to just take him in his arms and hold on tight, but he isn’t going to let go of him entirely, either. That’s non-negotiable. “Is this okay? Touch-wise, I mean. Do you want more, less?”
Goro shrugs again, not making any movement to inch closer or pull away. This is good.
“Okay.” Akira rubs his thumb back and forth along the side of Goro’s hand. “Take your time, I’m right here.”
Goro nods and lets his head loll to the side. His mouth falls open, but only to take a long, deep breath, eyes half-closed and seeing nothing.
Akira doesn’t know what to think. He's worried, of course he is, he's never seen Goro go this deep before, but at the same time, he's never seen Goro go this deep before. He tends to zone out a little bit after they have sex, but he’s never looked quite this peaceful, and it’s nice to see him fully let go of all the weight he carries behind him, even if it’s just for a little while.
He notices Goro’s fingers twitch out of the corner of his eye and silently watches him shakily lift his hand to his—
Goro brushes past the belt on his neck and he tenses up, eyes shooting wide open.
Akira’s stomach drops. He definitely should have taken it off.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, leaning in to loosen the buckle. “Let me—”
It’s weak, but Goro manages to push him away just as he gets close, finally meeting Akira’s eyes.
“You want me to leave it?” Akira asks. He has no idea why, but if that’s what Goro wants, then what else is he supposed to do?
Goro’s lips part as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. He just nods instead, barely moving his head.
“Okay. Okay, yeah, that’s fine.” Akira nods along with him and pulls away. A long second later, he adds, “You’re in control now, don’t worry.”
He doesn’t know if it helps. He doesn’t know if it’s what Goro wants to hear. He just hopes it’s enough.
Goro absentmindedly runs his fingers over the leather, back and forth and around the buckle, his expression constantly shifting. Apprehensive one second, pleased the next, almost wonderstruck the second after that. He’s clearly working out how he feels about it, and Akira wants to give him as much time as he needs to do that.
Still, Akira doesn’t take his eyes off him and doesn’t let go of his hand. He needs Goro to know that he's here, both for Goro’s sake and his own peace of mind. Not like he has much of that right now.
He feels terrible when he has to shake Goro’s shoulder once his eyes eventually slip shut again. He wants to let him sleep, he deserves that, but it’s getting late and they have to get home. They still haven’t decided whose apartment “home” entails tonight. Akira wants it to be his—breakfast in bed in the morning is the least he can do, and he has the better-stocked kitchen by a mile.
“Sorry,” he says again, trying to wrench a hand under Goro’s shoulder to push him upright. “Can’t let you drift off quite yet.”
Goro whines at him, soft and disgruntled, even as he lets himself be manhandled up. If Akira wasn’t so concerned about him, he’d pay far more attention to how adorable it is.
“I know.” Akira manages to get him into a sitting position. “Let’s wash up and then we can get out of here. That sound okay?”
Goro just nods again.
“All right.” Akira wraps an arm around him and lets him slump against his side. “Can I carry you?”
For a second, Goro looks like he’s about to protest, his face scrunching up, but he just shrugs instead. At least he seems to realize that he’s in no position to walk right now.
“Thank you.” Akira slides off the bed and back onto his feet. “Let me know if anything hurts.”
It takes a bit of maneuvering to get Goro close enough to the side of the bed for Akira to pick him up, but he eventually manages to lift him up into a bridal carry and take him to the bathroom. His body is impossibly heavy as he melts into Akira’s arms. Akira doesn’t mind at all. Goro doesn’t let him do this very often—at least, not without performatively complaining about it, even though they both know he likes it. This is a rare opportunity, and he would be stupid not to take it.
Goro goes down easily into the empty bathtub, boneless and pliant. Akira would have filled and preheated it right when they got here, but he wants to clean up the worst of the damage first, because again, gross. He’s always appreciated the tub, since it’s bigger than both of theirs combined and easily the most comfortable bathtub he’s ever been in, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for its existence than he is now.
He lets Goro settle in as he leaves to grab a few washcloths and a bottle of body soap from the basket on the counter. When he screws off the top to take in the scent, it smells like vanilla and almond. It reminds him of Goro, somehow. It’s perfect.
“I’m back,” he announces quietly, kneeling down next to the tub. He turns on the faucet and wets the washcloth once the water warms up, rubbing a drop of soap into it before he wipes down Goro’s skin and kisses his collarbone when he winces at the feeling of it. The used washcloth is discarded in the corner of the bathroom for the Metaverse to handle—he has more important things to worry about.
The tub fills up quickly once he plugs the drain and lets the water flow, and Goro hums pleasantly as he sinks in. This time, when Akira moves in to take the belt off his neck before it gets wet, he lets him, tipping his head forward to make it easier. Akira removes it slowly and carefully and sets it down on the floor next to him. He holds his breath the whole time.
“You were so good,” he says, coming back to massage whatever stress is left out of Goro’s shoulders and upper back. He’s pleased to find that there isn’t much. After that, the words just keep spilling out. “Thank you for trusting me. I love you so much.”
“...That's enough,” Goro mutters, scratchy and faint, and it’s only been a few minutes since Akira last heard his voice but—
Relief crashes into Akira like a tidal wave, and he’s leaning in to press their lips together before he realizes he’s doing it. “Don’t ‘that’s enough’ me, I was worried about you.”
“I noticed,” Goro deadpans—well, he tries, at least. He still sounds floaty, and getting each word out sounds like it takes a little more effort than it should.
“Asshole,” Akira says halfheartedly. He puts his hands on Goro’s shoulders and gently turns him toward him, trying to get a good look at his eyes. Still hazy. “Are you okay?”
Goro only looks away for a split-second, escaping the directness of the question, but that’s enough to reignite Akira’s concern tenfold. “I’m fine,” he answers, a few seconds later.
“Goro—”
“Don’t,” Goro says, and just the one word makes Akira’s heart ache.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Akira reassures him. He knows they will, most likely in the morning over hot coffees under the same blanket. There’s a lot to say. “Just let me help.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Yes, it does.” Of course it does. It has everything to do with him. “What’s wrong? Was it bad?”
“No, that’s the—” Goro digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans. “That’s the fucking problem.”
Oh. Akira thinks he understands now.
“Come here.” He pulls Goro into his arms. Goro doesn’t resist. It’s awkward over the side of the tub, but neither of them care. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He waits to say anything else until Goro’s breathing is a little less labored, until he doesn’t feel like he’s trying not to cry. He’s tired and overwhelmed and there are probably more thoughts in his head than his brain can keep up with, now more than ever. As much as Akira wants to leave, he can’t bring himself to rush him. But eventually, his chest stops heaving quite so violently and he lets his head rest unceremoniously on Akira’s shoulder, and it appears the storm has settled a bit.
“You know,” he says, stroking through Goro’s hair, “Just because I think it’s sexy when you put a knife to my throat doesn’t mean I like when anyone else does it.”
“Akira, what—”
“Shh. I promise I have a point.” Akira doesn’t mention how relieved he is to hear his own name. If Goro called him Joker now, he’d be seriously worried that his brain is actually fried, and he doesn’t particularly want to dabble in that any more tonight. “We’ll talk talk later, but...” He sighs. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, and that won’t change just because you enjoyed this. Okay?”
There’s more he wants to say, of course. He wants to know what about this appealed to Goro enough to make him want to try it, and wants to tell him that whatever it is, it doesn’t mean he secretly likes being manipulated or anything like that. That they can work with whatever that thing is in the future, or they can never touch the subject ever again. That wherever they go from here is entirely up to him and what makes him feel good. Akira just wants to wait until Goro is able to properly appreciate it.
Goro makes a noncommittal noise into Akira’s shoulder and holds on just a little tighter. That’s good enough for now.
Akira squeezes back. “I love you.”
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear,” Goro grumbles.
“Well, I don’t think I can say it enough.” Akira smiles and pulls away to kiss the crown of his head. “Now how about we finish this and go home?”