no subject

[He hears the question, but the simple way Akira leans into his touch makes him act without thinking. He shuffles back forward, craning his neck so that when he moves his hand and pushes Akira's bangs out of the way he can put his lips just above an exposed eyebrow. Even if Akira weren't a strange little furnace of a boy, even if their circumstances weren't so odd, Akechi is pretty sure the gesture would sear the same warmth from his lips down his throat and spreading through him as though it were honey flooding his veins, and he exhales in a somewhat exhausted way, putting their foreheads together again with his hand still tangled in Akira's hair.]

[He's still there with his eyes closed for just enough seconds to be too long to pretend it didn't happen, so he leans back to give him a dull frown.] ...that's not a bad plan.