[Akira feels like a fever, Akechi decides. He's heat and he's disorientation, makes the tips of his fingers feel numb and the bends of his elbows sweat, and he doesn't think he likes it all that much, but he can adjust. He thinks.]
[So he keeps kissing him, slowly easing to lay down alongside him, slotted to him and perched up on his chest, letting his hands wander their way up into his hair and trace patterns into his scalp. Akira's fingernails against his own elicit a soft sort of rumble of sound, because that feels strangely pleasant, and he draws away a moment later because his lips have gone numb, he thinks.]
[He's still crying, a little, but it doesn't feel like it. It doesn't feel like the horrible dam-breaking pressure release it does when he gets too tangled up in himself, it's just... Tears. And he only notices because he's gotten Akira's face damp, and as he licks them his lips taste like salt, but only dully. They mostly taste like Akira, and he can't really determine just what Akira tastes like, yet, but he likes it.]
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[So he keeps kissing him, slowly easing to lay down alongside him, slotted to him and perched up on his chest, letting his hands wander their way up into his hair and trace patterns into his scalp. Akira's fingernails against his own elicit a soft sort of rumble of sound, because that feels strangely pleasant, and he draws away a moment later because his lips have gone numb, he thinks.]
[He's still crying, a little, but it doesn't feel like it. It doesn't feel like the horrible dam-breaking pressure release it does when he gets too tangled up in himself, it's just... Tears. And he only notices because he's gotten Akira's face damp, and as he licks them his lips taste like salt, but only dully. They mostly taste like Akira, and he can't really determine just what Akira tastes like, yet, but he likes it.]
You aren't empty.