FIC. FINALLYYYYYYY.
After spamming everyone and their mother's F-List with art (lol) I present you...
Title: Smoke
Fandom: Persona 3
Pairing: Shinjiro/Akihiko
Rating: NC-17. There shall be porn! \o/
Prompt: ... Actually, it's a prompt from KinkFest @ IJ. Persona 3 - ShinjiAki - Fetishizing the "bad boy" image - "He who delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god."
Comments: ... She actually denies this, but at least half the fic is thanks to nyxmidnight, who stayed two nights with me to kick my awful Engrish-skills into something acceptable. THANK YOU, NYX. <333
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He couldn't, wasn't able to understand. God knew he wasn't the most sociable guy on Earth, but going so many days without talking to anyone -just wandering alone around the same spot, the same sickening streets- it seemed unbearable even for him.
Akihiko didn't know whether to be afraid for him or amazed. Preoccupation was the primary emotion, though, and he let himself be guided by that. Shinjiro was strong, always had been -no doubt- but the fact that he was using that strength to slowly self-destruct was what made Akihiko return to the back alleys of Port Island every two weeks or so.
Perhaps it was a bit like watching a car crash, he thought. The idea didn't help too much, it carried a morbid connotation he disliked and didn't ease his worry.
"Ain't going back," Shinjiro warned every time, glaring at him with a fury he didn't want to understand.
Akihiko said nothing. Shinjiro's escape was planned, so carefully planned it betrayed who he had been before. He could hope, then, as long as there were still scraps of Shinji's older self. He could see them in the breadth of shoulders used to carry heavy axes, in the matching scars they both got from every night they spent on Tartarus. He knew those remained. He had seen them over his own skin many times, unfaded, and there was no way Shinjiro's wouldn't be the same.
"Stubborn fucker," Shinjiro muttered under his breath, steam forming in the cold air. He slouched even more, if that was possible, and Akihiko was unable to tear his gaze away apart from the strong line of his neck, the same as when he used to wear Gekkoukan High's white shirt.
***
Akihiko inhaled smoke, a burning cloud filling his lungs and nausea slowly dripping from the back of his head. Shinji made this look easy, he thought, coughing repeatedly before declaring: "I can't see the appeal of this". It was half a lie, and he returned the cigarette to Shinjiro's hands, feeling guilty. The other took it between two fingers, hands bare and wrists bony, way thinner than before. Akihiko bit his lip when he noticed that, leaning closer.
"Figured so." Shinjiro sucked in a last drag before crushing the filter under his boot. "You shouldn't do this shit anyway."
"You make it sound so like it'd kill me." The joke left an aftertaste bitter as tobacco in Akihiko's mouth. He felt warmer now, at least, and wondered if Shinji's coat was enough protection against the chilling night. Wondered too why he never saw him anymore without the beanie, why he wore those heavy boots. Those weren't just winter gear." Trying it just one time won't do any harm."
Shinjiro grabbed the front of his sweater, eyes narrowed, irritation written all over his face, then pulled him for a forceful kiss.
Akihiko's mind went blank. He didn't understand. He didn't understand. Perhaps it was another way to try to chase him away. They had resorted to punching and kicking before, several times, when Shinjiro had first left. Akihiko had hit back then, and so he kissed back now, hard and inexperienced, using too much teeth, the flavor of smoke spicy in his tongue, making his knees weak.
Akihiko was panting when they separated, his split lip reddened with blood.
"Like I said," Shinjiro grunted, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "Gekkoukan's Golden Boy shouldn't be doing this shit."
***
Shinjiro was harsh and had little to no delicacy when he dragged him into a dirty restroom in Que Sera, Sera.
Akihiko let him, relishing in the thrill of risk, the idea that this was a different kind of fight he still wanted to win knotted hot and restless in his groin. He was far from the clean, safe dorm. He felt it in the air, in the sticky floor and the darkness. Shinjiro blended in with the filthy space, unlike him. It unsettled him more than it reassured him. There was nothing calming in the way he rubbed a knee against Akihiko’s crotch, either, hard himself under the denim of his jeans. Adrenaline rushed through Akihiko, mixed with arousal, and it was something he wasn't used to, didn't quite know how to deal with, but fuck if he wasn't going to try his damnest.
Pressed against the stall, struggling to keep up with the frantic pace at which Shinjiro was opening his vest, his shirt, Akihiko bit back a groan into his friend's shoulder, the wool from the coat almost painful in his mouth. Shinjiro smelt like sweat and smoke, tasted like it too, and it made his hips buck, seeking contact. He hadn't realized when his friend had changed into something this dangerous, teasing and challenging him with something he clearly understood better than him. He wasn't quite his Shinji, his brother, the boy who mercilessly scolded him when he let his guard down in the face of danger.
Shinjiro panted in his ear, dragging his teeth against the shell, and unzipped his jeans. Akihiko never forgot where they were, but stopped caring, letting out a high-pitched moan when their erections pressed together, the friction burning despite the crisp air. He grasped Shinjiro’s back, nails scratching against the leather of his own gloves, and the pain was welcome too.
He moaned again when they started moving, tension building in each sharp thrust. He seeked Shinjiro's mouth and the other kissed back, wet and violent, the stall rubbing Akihiko's back raw. Not to be undone, he grabbed them both in a gloved hand, stroking until they came hard, loudly, and messily.
They clung together. Akihiko didn't mind the damp icy tiles chilling his already stained clothes. Their bodies were warm. Shinjiro wasn't punching his way out of the stall, or at least not yet. His embrace was possessive in a way he had never let show before, primal like the whole deal. It felt surreal.
Maybe, maybe, maybe...
***
Winter ended.
Shinjiro avoided him even more than before, only letting himself be seen once in a great while. Akihiko redoubled his efforts to make him come back. He even tried once or twice lure him into the Que Sera, Sera restroom again. The other one just shot him a nasty glare, muttering something about not being a fag, and Akihiko didn't insist.
It still kind of hurt.
He managed to convince himself it was better this way -experimentation, short-spanned status effect, whatever worked- just like he had convinced himself that Shinji would come back any day now, and he tried to forget the bruising caress of his hands. Sometimes the memory alone made him hard, forcing him to train more viciously, hitting the sandbag with a brutality he usually reserved for Shadows. Sometimes, he made a detour when patrolling, searching for Shinjiro just to look at him in his coat, to breath the unfamiliar smell he now carried within him, maybe, even, to share a smoke like the first time.
At least now it wasn't such a recurrent occurrence. He had other things to care about. His vow to get stronger. SEES’ new member, once the school year started. Tartarus being open to him again as soon as she arrived.
Sometimes, he even believed all that.
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*D-dissappears.*
Title: Smoke
Fandom: Persona 3
Pairing: Shinjiro/Akihiko
Rating: NC-17. There shall be porn! \o/
Prompt: ... Actually, it's a prompt from KinkFest @ IJ. Persona 3 - ShinjiAki - Fetishizing the "bad boy" image - "He who delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god."
Comments: ... She actually denies this, but at least half the fic is thanks to nyxmidnight, who stayed two nights with me to kick my awful Engrish-skills into something acceptable. THANK YOU, NYX. <333
----------
----------
He couldn't, wasn't able to understand. God knew he wasn't the most sociable guy on Earth, but going so many days without talking to anyone -just wandering alone around the same spot, the same sickening streets- it seemed unbearable even for him.
Akihiko didn't know whether to be afraid for him or amazed. Preoccupation was the primary emotion, though, and he let himself be guided by that. Shinjiro was strong, always had been -no doubt- but the fact that he was using that strength to slowly self-destruct was what made Akihiko return to the back alleys of Port Island every two weeks or so.
Perhaps it was a bit like watching a car crash, he thought. The idea didn't help too much, it carried a morbid connotation he disliked and didn't ease his worry.
"Ain't going back," Shinjiro warned every time, glaring at him with a fury he didn't want to understand.
Akihiko said nothing. Shinjiro's escape was planned, so carefully planned it betrayed who he had been before. He could hope, then, as long as there were still scraps of Shinji's older self. He could see them in the breadth of shoulders used to carry heavy axes, in the matching scars they both got from every night they spent on Tartarus. He knew those remained. He had seen them over his own skin many times, unfaded, and there was no way Shinjiro's wouldn't be the same.
"Stubborn fucker," Shinjiro muttered under his breath, steam forming in the cold air. He slouched even more, if that was possible, and Akihiko was unable to tear his gaze away apart from the strong line of his neck, the same as when he used to wear Gekkoukan High's white shirt.
***
Akihiko inhaled smoke, a burning cloud filling his lungs and nausea slowly dripping from the back of his head. Shinji made this look easy, he thought, coughing repeatedly before declaring: "I can't see the appeal of this". It was half a lie, and he returned the cigarette to Shinjiro's hands, feeling guilty. The other took it between two fingers, hands bare and wrists bony, way thinner than before. Akihiko bit his lip when he noticed that, leaning closer.
"Figured so." Shinjiro sucked in a last drag before crushing the filter under his boot. "You shouldn't do this shit anyway."
"You make it sound so like it'd kill me." The joke left an aftertaste bitter as tobacco in Akihiko's mouth. He felt warmer now, at least, and wondered if Shinji's coat was enough protection against the chilling night. Wondered too why he never saw him anymore without the beanie, why he wore those heavy boots. Those weren't just winter gear." Trying it just one time won't do any harm."
Shinjiro grabbed the front of his sweater, eyes narrowed, irritation written all over his face, then pulled him for a forceful kiss.
Akihiko's mind went blank. He didn't understand. He didn't understand. Perhaps it was another way to try to chase him away. They had resorted to punching and kicking before, several times, when Shinjiro had first left. Akihiko had hit back then, and so he kissed back now, hard and inexperienced, using too much teeth, the flavor of smoke spicy in his tongue, making his knees weak.
Akihiko was panting when they separated, his split lip reddened with blood.
"Like I said," Shinjiro grunted, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "Gekkoukan's Golden Boy shouldn't be doing this shit."
***
Shinjiro was harsh and had little to no delicacy when he dragged him into a dirty restroom in Que Sera, Sera.
Akihiko let him, relishing in the thrill of risk, the idea that this was a different kind of fight he still wanted to win knotted hot and restless in his groin. He was far from the clean, safe dorm. He felt it in the air, in the sticky floor and the darkness. Shinjiro blended in with the filthy space, unlike him. It unsettled him more than it reassured him. There was nothing calming in the way he rubbed a knee against Akihiko’s crotch, either, hard himself under the denim of his jeans. Adrenaline rushed through Akihiko, mixed with arousal, and it was something he wasn't used to, didn't quite know how to deal with, but fuck if he wasn't going to try his damnest.
Pressed against the stall, struggling to keep up with the frantic pace at which Shinjiro was opening his vest, his shirt, Akihiko bit back a groan into his friend's shoulder, the wool from the coat almost painful in his mouth. Shinjiro smelt like sweat and smoke, tasted like it too, and it made his hips buck, seeking contact. He hadn't realized when his friend had changed into something this dangerous, teasing and challenging him with something he clearly understood better than him. He wasn't quite his Shinji, his brother, the boy who mercilessly scolded him when he let his guard down in the face of danger.
Shinjiro panted in his ear, dragging his teeth against the shell, and unzipped his jeans. Akihiko never forgot where they were, but stopped caring, letting out a high-pitched moan when their erections pressed together, the friction burning despite the crisp air. He grasped Shinjiro’s back, nails scratching against the leather of his own gloves, and the pain was welcome too.
He moaned again when they started moving, tension building in each sharp thrust. He seeked Shinjiro's mouth and the other kissed back, wet and violent, the stall rubbing Akihiko's back raw. Not to be undone, he grabbed them both in a gloved hand, stroking until they came hard, loudly, and messily.
They clung together. Akihiko didn't mind the damp icy tiles chilling his already stained clothes. Their bodies were warm. Shinjiro wasn't punching his way out of the stall, or at least not yet. His embrace was possessive in a way he had never let show before, primal like the whole deal. It felt surreal.
Maybe, maybe, maybe...
***
Winter ended.
Shinjiro avoided him even more than before, only letting himself be seen once in a great while. Akihiko redoubled his efforts to make him come back. He even tried once or twice lure him into the Que Sera, Sera restroom again. The other one just shot him a nasty glare, muttering something about not being a fag, and Akihiko didn't insist.
It still kind of hurt.
He managed to convince himself it was better this way -experimentation, short-spanned status effect, whatever worked- just like he had convinced himself that Shinji would come back any day now, and he tried to forget the bruising caress of his hands. Sometimes the memory alone made him hard, forcing him to train more viciously, hitting the sandbag with a brutality he usually reserved for Shadows. Sometimes, he made a detour when patrolling, searching for Shinjiro just to look at him in his coat, to breath the unfamiliar smell he now carried within him, maybe, even, to share a smoke like the first time.
At least now it wasn't such a recurrent occurrence. He had other things to care about. His vow to get stronger. SEES’ new member, once the school year started. Tartarus being open to him again as soon as she arrived.
Sometimes, he even believed all that.
----------
----------
*D-dissappears.*