#aaand it's here for the three-chain combo!!!!

[transientutopia]

apostasy - third fragment

WARNINGS: the rating’s been bumped up ♪

****Please be gentle, because it’s my first time ♥

Read on AO3 (highly recommended)

~~

He knows his own limits. He's recognised them to the point that it's painful for him.

"You want someone dead," he drawls, "but you're too helpless to do anything on your own."

How ironic.

~~

An entire week has lapsed, and Tetsuya still hasn't left.

Nor has Chihiro kicked him out.

God knows why.

In this time, Tetsuya has discovered every secret to Chihiro's self-proclaimed hideout.

One: revising his initial impression, it is extremely luxurious, and Chihiro refuses to tell him why. There is a hidden trapdoor -- evidently, assassins must like trapdoors -- that leads down to an open space, where there is working water, electricity and even a proper food supply.

Two: he has a lot of light novels. A lot of light novels. Tetsuya isn't sure he's ever seen this many in one location before. It rivals the shelves of those in the large Animate stores back in Tokyo.

Three: the suspected pitfall is actually a pitfall. When Tetsuya shines light in on it, he can see a few skeletons at the bottom. Chihiro argues that they fell in by themselves and that he has nothing to do with them, although he has ransacked all their belongings. He does not tell Tetsuya how he got all the way down, nor how he got back up.

Four: Chihiro has to be seriously lacking in friends and any sort of social contact for him to not have thrown Tetsuya outside yet. All the latter is doing is using his precious resources without any compensation. And his bed. They're sharing a bed.

Soon enough, something is bound to happen. Chihiro hasn't taken any jobs in the past week, and it isn't like Tetsuya would let him get away unscathed if he were to -- albeit, not that the assassin particularly cares.

Tetsuya is only waiting. Akin to a ticking time bomb that they both know will go off sooner or later, he will come.

"He's been waiting for you all this time."

"Mayuzumi-san, may I use the bath?"

"Hell no."

"Thank you very much," Tetsuya says with his back turned, hands already on the trapdoor.

"Oi!"

Chihiro groans. He's fallen so deep, it's like he doesn't know how to get back up anymore. If someone had told him a week earlier that he'd end up housing a cute detective who barely even reaches his shoulder, he would have laughed and slit their throat (he wouldn't have, it goes against his standards), probably.

How things got here, he isn't sure.

No--

--he knows exactly how.

By housing Tetsuya, he's only really delaying the inevitable. He can't harm him, which rules out a lot of things that would make his life easier: namely, killing the said male.

They both know it's only a matter of time for Seijuurou to arrive.

You could always just leave, a voice in the back of Chihiro's mind says. Leave him here and go off by yourself. You've had so many chances to do it. When his back was turned, when he was fast asleep... Even now, as he soaks himself in your bath.

But his pride won't let him.

At the same time, he isn't stupid. He's not a dreamer -- he's realistic. He's pragmatic in his decisions, and above all, he honours the senses that he's honed through years and years of being in the business.

He can't win.

He knows that more than anybody -- there's no way he can win against Akashi Seijuurou, the rumoured "strongest of the underworld". It's like waging war on the King himself -- guaranteed death.

So why doesn't he move?

He doesn't have any attachment to this place -- no matter how opulent it is in a city like this, riches mean nothing if the owner is dead.

He knows that more than anybody.

Better than anybody.

"I came to apprehend the both of you."

"What an idiot," Chihiro laughs sharply. "You won't be able to do shit."

"It isn't polite to talk about people behind their backs."

Chihiro swings around, eyes wide, chair swiveling.

Except his chair doesn't have any wheels.

Realising his mistake far too late, Chihiro lets out a string of curses as he falls backwards, slamming onto the ground. The chair makes a sound of splintering wood.

Well, fuck.

Tetsuya stares at him, jaw agape in shock. Chihiro stares back, equally shocked. He hasn't done something so clumsy in over ten years.

...

And then, Tetsuya laughs.

He bursts into pure, unadulterated giggles; then full-blown laughter, as Chihiro gawks at him.

(It definitely isn't because he's smiling beautifully-- freely, for the first time, either.)

Still on the floor, Chihiro realises something.

Tetsuya's hair -- it isn't black.

"You-- your hair--"

"This?" Tetsuya tugs at a lock of his own hair absentmindedly, "I realised that there isn't any point anymore."

"Your natural hair colour is light blue?"

He raises a brow as if to say, "Your natural hair colour is light grey?" but Chihiro is too preoccupied attempting to take in the bizarre sight before him.

'How the hell did he even wash out the black so easily?'

As if hearing his thoughts, Tetsuya holds up a small bottle. Chihiro recognises it as a certain, liquid solution made several years back that eradicates all traces of hair dye immediately on application -- it had spread across the globe like wildfire.

"Oh," he says eloquently. Then, his gaze travels downwards, and his mind goes entirely blank.

Tetsuya is wearing his clothes.

"Ah," he looks down at himself innocently, as if he hadn't just destroyed several sections of Chihiro's brain, "I took the liberty of borrowing some clothes, as mine ended up getting stained slightly. It'll only be for today, is that okay?"

Since the beginning of his stay, Tetsuya had been washing his clothes minimally, making sure to keep up his façade as a citizen of the city: there was no doubt it had been discomforting for him to stay in such an outfit for days on end. He had done so without any complaints, but now, Chihiro wishes he had lent him his clothes earlier. It isn't as if Tetsuya goes outside at the moment, anyway.

...Or, alternatively, he wishes he could erase the sight from his mind altogether.

(He really doesn't.)

Swallowing dryly, Chihiro allows his eyes to wander even further down, regretting it instantly.

The air in this city is polluted, and humid, though not too hot -- it has always been like that.

'I've never been more grateful-- I mean, spiteful towards it. Right.'

He's extremely "spiteful" for a good reason.

After all, Tetsuya isn't wearing pants.

To be more accurate, the boy is donning nothing but an oversized, white, button-up shirt with sleeves that have been folded up several times to his wrists ... And a pair of boxer shorts that have been tied to stop them from falling.

Chihiro swallows again.

It was already evident before, but even more so now: Tetsuya's skin has an alabaster, milky, smooth paleness to it that extends from the tips of his toes to his forehead. He looks as if he's never gotten a sunburn, much less a tan, in his entire life. His body is slim, lithe and toned. His cheeks are slightly flushed, too, and his locks have small droplets of water dripping from them that fall to his bare expanse of collarbone before slipping out of sight beneath his shirt. Chihiro's floor has always been freakishly spotless, and Tetsuya has evidently taken advantage of that fact, opting to go barefoot.

He's close to killing himself. He wants to kill himself, when the very essence of his job is to kill other people.

'Fuck,' Chihiro thinks repeatedly.

Remembering that he still hasn't gotten up yet, he quickly rises and reaches for the chair. Before he grasps it, however, he stills, and then strides over to the couch.

Inwardly, he praises his mind for recalling the crack in the chair's frame in time. The last thing he wants to do now is to embarrass himself even further.

...Though, he isn't sure what's more humiliating than his own dick going erect at the sight of someone who is, supposedly, his "enemy", dressed in an oversized shirt, that specifically belongs to Chihiro himself.

He's never going to see that shirt the same way. He makes a mental note to burn it once Tetsuya leaves.

Raising a brow, the detective pointedly looks towards the table, and then to the taller man.

"...Do you want to continue reading? I apologise for scaring you."

'You aren't sorry at all, you bastard.'

When Tetsuya's lips tug upwards, Chihiro realises that he spoke aloud.

"I apologise," he repeats, eyes still sparkling with mischief.

And fuck if that doesn't turn Chihiro on even more.

Tetsuya, the damn cause of everything that has begun to turn the renowned assassin's world upside-down -- has he mentioned that he kills people for a living but can't even deny a cute boy over a head shorter than him anything -- walks over to the abandoned desk.

Then, he fucking bends down.

He bends down and picks up Chihiro's light novel from the floor. He dusts it off lightly and then puts it back on the table.

Fuck.

Judging by his barely-visible, sly smile, he knows exactly what he's doing.

'Well screw you, too,' Chihiro seethes.

Two can play this game.

Footsteps entirely silent, he traipses over. Tetsuya's back is still turned, and naturally, Chihiro takes the chance to lean over. He places his palms on the table, arms on both sides of the shorter male, essentially trapping him in.

He's so close that he can feel Tetsuya tense up without even looking.

"Thanks," he purrs, head dipped down so his lips are right beside Tetsuya's ear, "for picking it up."

"...!"

Tetsuya inhales sharply.

Then, he makes the biggest mistake--

--he turns around, still cornered between Chihiro's toned, muscular arms.

Their gazes clash in a mix of cobalt blue and dark grey, both widening simultaneously.

It's as if time stills in that moment.

Everything fades out to white noise behind them.

And then--

--Tetsuya's tongue darts out to lick his lips, and that's it.

That's it.

Chihiro breaks the standstill first. He dives in, mouth locking onto Tetsuya's, taking advantage of his small, muffled gasp -- god, it turns him on -- to thrust his tongue inside. Tetsuya's hands come up instinctively to push back on his chest, fingers clenching around the material of his shirt -- albeit, not reluctantly. Whether it's a conscious gesture or not, Chihiro doesn't know, but Tetsuya pulls him closer, harder--

--and then he jerks back a little, breaking free, completely out of breath. Panting, saliva dripping down his jaw, Tetsuya is a mess.

He's never looked more attractive.

Chihiro licks his lips almost mockingly, tauntingly. He swipes his thumb across his own, bottom lip, and then presses it against Tetsuya's.

"Thanks for the meal."

The phantom's cheeks flush even more, and even the tips of his ears go visibly red. It's the cutest thing Chihiro has ever seen, and he feels his own face grow warmer, too.

"U-um--"

Before Tetsuya can continue, Chihiro kisses him again, pushing him back against the edge of the table as he does so, almost as if he's trying to block off his escape. Tetsuya kisses him back with little resistance, and Chihiro allows him no more than a second to catch his breath each time they break apart.

"Nn...!"

Chihiro can feel all the blood rush straight down to his groin at the sudden moan. Tetsuya's eyes widen, but he doesn't have time to feel embarrassed before he's reminded of the reason he let out the noise in the first place.

Chihiro is pressing up against him.

The sensation isn't anywhere near as jarring as it could be, if they were both unclothed: but through the thin, flimsy material of his boxers -- Chihiro's boxers -- Tetsuya can feel the obvious bulge in the taller man's trousers. It's pushed onto his own, and he knows Chihiro can feel him, too.

Before he can even think about saying anything, Tetsuya catches his heated gaze, and it's all the warning he gets before the assassin slips a hand inside.

"Ah--!"

Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, tears begin to form at the corners of his eyes, and Tetsuya squeezes them shut. He trembles beneath Chihiro's skilled hands, only growing hotter, harder, wetter -- and when Chihiro thumbs at the head of his cock, he gasps, eliciting a low chuckle from the man. It takes everything inside him to stop the sounds that spill from his lips. The abrupt feel of a hand on his forces his eyes open a little, and Tetsuya can barely make out Chihiro's form through his tear-blurred vision. He blinks, feeling them slide down his cheeks.

"Let me hear you."

Lacing their fingers together, Chihiro doesn't hold back on his torturous movements with his other hand. He leans in, biting Tetsuya's collarbone softly, successfully drawing out a loud moan from the boy's lips -- it's sweeter than music to his ears. Smirking, he brushes against the tip of Tetsuya's member with light, fleeting movements, and the boy whines.

'Fuck it,' Chihiro thinks, hoisting Tetsuya up by the ass. He picks him up, throwing him onto his bed unceremoniously. Tetsuya doesn't get the chance to complain before a tongue slides between his lips, hot and intrusive. Chihiro is pushing him down against the bed, and almost like a reflex, he lifts his hips up to press their arousals together--

The groan that falls from Chihiro's mouth doesn't sound human.

Exploiting the moment Tetsuya lifts himself off the bed, Chihiro reaches down to untie and pull his boxer shorts off roughly. Swallowing the shorter boy's moans, he begins to unbutton his own shirt -- and somehow, he manages to undo his belt, kicking off his pants without giving into his growing urge to rip them off instead. When he slides his dick, slick with precum, between Tetsuya's legs, the latter stiffens, freezing up. Chihiro pauses, licking into his mouth a final time before pulling back.

"Don't worry," he murmurs lowly -- he can barely recognise his own voice, "I'm just going to stay between your thighs. Could you tighten up for me?"

"N-nngh... O-okay," Tetsuya moans. With a touch of hesitance, he lifts his legs up to rest around Chihiro's waist before squeezing his thighs together softly.

It feels like pure bliss to Chihiro, who lets out a low, guttural growl.

And then, he moves.

Body jolting instantly, Tetsuya becomes hyper-aware of their positions: with his back on the bed, his ass lifted and his legs wrapped around Chihiro's waist, he's definitely giving him an eyeful--

--but it feels so good that he can't bring himself to care.

Chihiro, on the other hand, is towering over Tetsuya, hands laced together with his as he thrusts between his thighs. With each push and pull back, his cock rubs against Tetsuya's dick and, occasionally, his balls, causing a delicious friction that sends pleasant shivers down Tetsuya's spine with each movement. There's no doubt that Chihiro shares that sentiment -- he's so hard that it borders on painful. Speeding up his thrusts, the only sounds that echo through the large room are his bed's creaks; the sloppy, wet, erotic squelches of their members rubbing together, practically dripping with precum; and of course: their moans.

Feeling his climax draw near, Chihiro looks down at Tetsuya's face. He has his eyes closed in euphoria, his mouth open as he whimpers, a trail of saliva on his jaw, tears tracking down his cheeks--

It isn't enough.

He wants more.

More.

More.

Formerly blank eyes glinting maliciously, Chihiro's hand dives down to wrap around both of their cocks without a single word of forewarning. Tetsuya's eyes shoot open, and his voice chokes up in his throat. Whilst he's distracted, Chihiro shifts a little and bites straight down on the creamy expanse of his neck, piercing it almost immediately. He licks up the blood, and Tetsuya sobs out his name--

It's all Chihiro has to hear to cum.

Pumping the both of them with one hand, he scrapes his nails lightly against Tetsuya's cock, and the boy is gone. They make a mess of both themselves and the bedsheets, but to Chihiro, it's entirely worth it.

Thoroughly spent, Tetsuya collapses. He doesn't even have the energy to curl up on the bed at the moment -- not that he particularly wants to, considering he's covered in both his own cum and Chihiro's. He barely notices when the latter leaves the bed and comes back with a wet towel to wipe him off, along with fresh pairs of boxers.

"Thank you... very much."

"No problem."

He doesn't realise when he passes out until he wakes up.

***

"Mm..."

When Tetsuya opens his eyes, he's met with Chihiro's handsome, plain features gazing back at him. He blinks.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," Chihiro echoes, lips quirking up sardonically. "Had a good rest, huh, Sleeping Beauty?"

Ignoring the logical voice at the back of his head, Tetsuya shoots back, "Thanks to you."

Chihiro raises a brow at the boy's audacity, but, well, they did just have sex. Even if it was just intercrural. He smirks, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You brought that on yourself."

Tetsuya opens his mouth to argue, blushes, and closes it. It's adorable to the point that it's unfair, and Chihiro swallows down the urge to cover his face. He's pretty sure he's blushing, too. Luckily, Tetsuya has his eyes averted.

(Unfortunately, his embarrassed expression is also another shot to Chihiro's heart.)

"Y-you played a part in it, too," Tetsuya says, refusing to meet his eyes, "every time you just..."

Trailing off, Tetsuya rolls over so that his back is facing Chihiro, who is more than slightly confused.

"What do you--"

Oh.

Oh.

'"Every time you just", huh?' Chihiro smirks knowingly. So Tetsuya had caught on -- over the past week, he had been coming out of the shower shirtless, or with nothing but a single towel draped around his waist, or...

(He couldn't help it -- bored out of his mind, he hadn't gotten any action in the past, what, ten years? -- he's an assassin, for god's sakes; it isn't as if he can just fuck his victims before slashing their throats apart: that doesn't sit well with him. With a cute, delectable, defenseless creature like Kuroko Tetsuya sleeping by his side every night, refusing to leave his hideout -- no man would be able to resist such a temptation, and he isn't -- wasn't -- willing to try.)

"Hmmm," Chihiro hums smugly. Tetsuya refuses to turn back, and the taller man doesn't make him.

After all, what they're having is a lighthearted conversation, but they both know it won't last.

***

That night -- to be precise, at one in the morning -- Chihiro wakes up suddenly.

Someone is outside.

Someone who is calling for him -- no, calling for the "Mist". He shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He would've never thought of people giving him such a ridiculous nickname, had it not been for Tetsuya's interference.

Tetsuya.

The detective is fast asleep, but he stirs, half-conscious.

'He's got good senses,' Chihiro thinks, 'but not good enough.'

It isn't a bad thing -- no, it's something Tetsuya should be grateful for. Only those who thrive in the underworld should have razor-sharp senses -- they determine whether you live or die, after all. Tetsuya mumbles something under his breath, and Chihiro turns his back to him.

Before he can move, however--

--a hand shoots out, latching onto his own. He whips around in surprise, eyes wide.

"...Where you are you going?"

Tetsuya's voice is soft, coated by a thin layer of sleep.

He's good.

He isn't a detective for nothing, Chihiro realises. His lips tug up involuntarily.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"..."

Tetsuya's brow furrows slightly, but other than that, he gives no indication of what he's thinking. It's enough, though.

"I won't let you leave."

"Let me?" Chihiro raises a brow, fully turning to face him properly. "You won't let me, you say -- I don't require your permission to leave, kid."

Tetsuya is silent. He's hell-bent on stopping Chihiro, it seems. The assassin only shakes his head.

"Just because we fucked doesn't mean you can make me do shit about my job."

Impressively, Tetsuya doesn't physically react -- he doesn't reel back, his fingers don't tighten. But pain flashes through his eyes for the briefest of moments, and Chihiro feels powerful.

It's a sickening thought.

"Let go."

"I refuse."

"You really don't understand the situation you're in, do you?"

"I won't let you leave," Tetsuya reiterates, and Chihiro's brow ticks in annoyance. It's like they're re-enacting their initial meeting.

(It pisses him off.)

In a single, fluid movement, he has both of Tetsuya's wrists pinned to the bed--

--only for Tetsuya's slim, toned legs to swing upwards with the full intent of kneeing him in the jaw. He dodges smoothly, but the instant he does so, Tetsuya takes advantage of the literal millisecond his grip shifts to tear his own wrists out of the hold. His hands launch forward to push Chihiro off the bed, but, as expected, the male catches them in his own.

If this turns into a battle of power, Tetsuya will lose in a flash -- they both know that.

However, all he was looking for was a single second where both of Chihiro's hands were occupied.

'Got you.'

The moment Chihiro pushes back against his palms, Tetsuya allows his own shoulders to drop, power draining from his hands--

Chihiro's eyes widen as he falls forward.

He has almost no time to react, and Tetsuya is already moving--

--then, their foreheads smash together.

"FUCKING OW!"

"Hh--!"

Chihiro mentally commends Tetsuya for barely letting a hiss out, because fuck he would've never been able to keep his voice back like that, even in a million years. He's very vocal about pain for an assassin. Nobody hears: much less sees: him during the job other than his targets, though, so it doesn't matter.

"You little--"

Tetsuya has tears in his eyes, and Chihiro sends a swift, furious chop to his temple. With the both of them thoroughly disoriented, it's obvious who will win -- after all, Chihiro kills for a living.

He hasn't been done in like this for a long time, though.

Before his strike hits--

Chihiro inhales sharply, and he softens the blow at the last second.

Tetsuya blacks out on impact, and he falls towards the bedframe. Catching him, Chihiro lays him down on the bed.

...

He could have killed him.

He could have killed Tetsuya with a single strike in that moment -- he's damn lucky that Chihiro caught himself before he did so.

He's still angry. He still hasn't calmed down, and he's more agitated than he has been in a long time.

Gritting his teeth together, Chihiro glares down at the boy's sleeping form. So small. Peaceful. Vulnerable.

He could have died.

...

'I have to leave.'

He has to go before he does anything. Chihiro doesn't trust himself to be near Tetsuya right now, not after that stunt -- he's never fought anyone without killing them, or being put near-death himself, and his fingers are instinctively -- naturally -- itching to finish the job.

This isn't a job.

No matter how many times he repeats the words to himself, his body refuses to stay still. It's hot. He can feel his adrenaline pumping.

Letting out a loud "tsk", Chihiro pulls his discarded shirt on. He grabs the unsoiled trousers he'd prepared hours earlier, pushing his belt through impatiently. He pulls his socks on, shoves a gun and knife through their holsters with uncharacteristic carelessness, then stamps into his shoes. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he closes his eyes.

'I have a job to do.'

He can hear their voices. Please, they say. Avenge me. I'll do anything.

His lips curl up into a sneer and he walks out, steps silent, without a single glance back.

He can't bear to look at the boy on his bed right now.

***

By the time Chihiro's back, only a couple of hours later, Tetsuya is still asleep. He's calmed down considerably by now, and he snarls as the graze wound on his waist starts to sting. He disposed of the body as usual, and the kill was next to effortless: but he didn't get out unscathed, and that dampens his mood. Virtually ripping his shirt off, he glowers down at the bloodied cloth: being torn and stained with crimson, it's as good as gone.

He's still pissed off at Tetsuya -- there's no way he isn't.

But his body isn't screaming for him to finish him off anymore, and that's enough for now.

He takes a step closer.

Tetsuya is wincing in his sleep, evidently in pain, and Chihiro feels a brief, brief pang of remorse in his chest.

...Remorse?

How low he's fallen.

He can't contemplate the feeling before a chill runs down his spine, cold sweat forming at the nape of his neck instantly.

He recognises this sensation.

He knows.

He turns his head back reflexively to face the exit--

--he only has a split-second to take in the cold breeze, why is there a breeze coming in--

--and then there is nothing but black.

"Good evening."

He knows that voice. He doesn't even have to think to place it.

"Fuck... you."

He struggles to speak, choking as he feels his body fall. He feels himself being held back by something sturdy -- an arm -- as it lowers him to the floor soundlessly. He forces his eyes to squint open, and he can barely make out the shape of two polished, leather shoes.

"How low you've fallen, Chihiro."

'You don't have to say it, asshole -- I already... know...'

He can't feel, or see anything anymore. The last thing he remembers is the soft, derisive chuckle that rings through his ears, the same way it did eight years ago.