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The first time, it's something like a joke.
Roughhousing has become common for them over the years — even moreso since they moved in together, on the quiet afternoons when Morgana isn't around and the boredom drags a little too long. They start early today: Goro is still finishing his coffee when Ren gets that look in his eye. A smile pulls Goro’s half-awake face, and bright, acidic battle-ready alertness makes his blood sing.
Which brings them here, to the kitchen floor, Goro on his back and Ren seated on his hips. One of Goro’s wrists is pinned under Ren’s knee; the other is held tight in his hand. He’s lost this time around.
The tile is cold; Goro does his utmost to focus on that, and not on the way Ren's tight sleep pants cling to his thighs, or the way his hair falls even more unruly than usual. He has that old novelty t-shirt on, the one he'd gotten on a trip with Ryuji years ago; moth-eaten holes dot the collar all the way down, revealing tantalizing bites of his chest, ribs, abdomen. He's indecent.
A tight heat swirls in Goro’s gut, and he forces himself to calm down before he embarrasses himself. It’s humiliating to lose — but it’s almost worth it to have Ren like this, on top of him, eyeing him like something familiar and interesting and dangerous.
An almost-smile crinkles Ren’s eyes; his hand leaves Goro’s wrist like he’s daring him to move. When Goro only cocks an eyebrow, Ren tilts his head and leans down until Goro is halfway certain he’s about to kiss him.
He doesn’t. Instead, his hands slide slow up the center of Goro’s chest, brushing knuckle-down over his clavicle and Adam’s apple before wrapping loose around his throat. Maybe it says something about their closeness that even then, pinned and trapped and held where he’s most vulnerable, Goro doesn’t flinch.
“This suits you,” Ren says, out of breath from the tussle. His thumbs overlap at the front of Goro’s neck; when he swallows, they bob with the motion.
A hot, dizzying rush floods Goro's ears; his mouth feels dry, his skin hot. Ren is still looking at him, and he preens and shrinks back under the attention, instinctively wrapping his free hand around Ren’s wrist. He doesn’t pull him off his throat, though; he just holds on, white-knuckled.
Still, Ren leans back, watching with a sort of playful wariness that makes Goro ache. He needs to say something, do something, that's either distracting or hot or stupid enough to get them back on level footing.
"Trying to collar me, Amamiya?" he blurts, and drinks in the way Ren's eyes widen with a self-satisfaction so deep it swallows his embarrassment whole.
And for a while, that's it. Goro gets on top and they wrestle a little while longer, until Morgana scratches at the window and Ren gets up to let him in. Goro fixes his clothes and finishes his coffee, and when Ren comes to the table to join him, they finish the crossword together. It's a normal morning.
Weeks pass before he sees the collar.
Goro isn't certain who's idea it was to peruse the adult stores of Shinjuku. Certainly, it wasn't Goro's, who had decidedly zero interest in coming at all until Ren announced his attendance.
Some weeks ago, a work opportunity had cropped up; nothing is decided yet, but if Goro takes it, it will send him far, far away from Tokyo. Goro’s opinion is twofold: on one hand, it’s an undeniably good move for his future prospects. On the other, it would mean leaving behind the only circle of peers he’s ever liked. He could seek distance, independence, an identity and daily life outside of Ren, who has been his only certainty for years despite how inherently uncertain their relationship is. But then, he had done that already years ago, flailing solo in the absence of his revenge or his determination to break free of Maruki’s reality — and all it had found him was back here, with Ren.
Ever since he’d mentioned it over dinner at Makoto and Haru’s place, the other Phantom Thieves have been doggedly inviting him absolutely everywhere. Hence, he supposes, the late-night venture into the seedier stores of Shinjuku.
He's watching Yusuke and Haru very seriously discuss the specs of a complicated-looking machine ahead of them when Ren disappears down one of the cramped aisles in Goro's periphery.
At first, the aisle doesn't appear to be anything special. There's the basics: lube, condoms, various toys in various sizes. Then comes more interesting tools, whips and floggers and gags and bits hung proudly on the walls. Then, he sees it.
The collar is smooth black leather, simple and solid. There’s a sturdy metal buckle, a d-ring, and a sort of magnetic pull to it, so that even against a wall of other gear, Goro can’t look away.
When he finally manages to rip free, it’s only to fall into a new trap: Ren, standing in front of the display, staring at him.
Even now, reunited for more than half a decade and living together for most of that, it can be hard to know what Ren is thinking. The store lights shine his lenses until he’s almost invisible behind them; his hair falls in his face, and his mouth is neutrally set.
Then he turns to study the collar, and Goro sees his eyes: dark, thoughtful, as focused as his.
Goro stalks away, reluctantly joining Ryuji in looking at tacky novelty handcuffs. Even if the neon pink faux fur weren’t an affront on its own, he would never allow these to be used on him; he hates being restrained. His mind wanders, picturing them on other attractive bodies, smooth skin and strong wrists, and cuts off the mental image the moment Ren’s face starts to intrude on his flippant fantasy.
The collar feels — different. Certainly, it would look good on Ren, perhaps with a tag hanging from the ring: if found, return to so-and-so. Goro wipes the thought from his mind before a name can solidify in that visual.
It isn’t just that, though. There’s something else — something he doesn't want to think about. Goro hates being restrained; he hates being tied up, held down, restricted in any way. But —
Ren saunters up to the counter so casually that none of the others even look up. But Goro is looking; Goro is watching him. Goro sees the collar disappear into a small, nondescript bag, slipped into an inner coat pocket where no one will find it.
Still, nothing really changes. Goro wakes up and goes to work and comes home to Ren; sometimes they go out, or see their friends, or trek through the Metaverse. Sometimes they playfight; sometimes Ren wins, and sometimes Goro does, reveling in the prize that is Ren breathless beneath him.
And always, the collar is there in the periphery, its paper cocoon tucked into the hallway closet above the towels. Mostly, Goro just tries not to think about it. Sometimes, at night, when Ren is asleep down the hall and he has no one for company but himself — his thoughts wander.
Goro has lived enough of his life as someone’s dog; he has no real desire to serve, to be obedient, to kneel and wait for his turn. That docility and domestication, feigned or otherwise, has never suited him.
But there’s something else to it that Goro can’t quite put his finger on. The collar, stark and stiff, not yet broken in; Goro, wild and unruly and not half as good as he pretends, even now. And beyond all that, too — there’s Ren , razor-sharp and bright-eyed, with that distinct wickedness twisting his features the moment before one of them ends up pinned to the floor.
When Goro comes, he bites down so hard his sharp canines tear right through his pillowcase. Even once he’s cleaned himself off, the thread sticks in his teeth.
They make a Mementos run later that week. Sumire and Ann are both away for work, but everyone else makes it, crammed into the Mona Bus arm to arm.
As usual, Goro is sandwiched solidly between Ren and the window. For all their talk of camaraderie and friendship, the Phantom Thieves still prefer each other’s company, even after all these years.
Not that Goro is one to talk, with his own obvious and only favorite. Though the other Thieves have grown on him like a stubborn weed, Ren is undoubtedly the hinge connecting him to each and every one of them. Goro almost never goes out on long outings unless Ren is going; even in a group, he sticks tight to his side, a half-step behind. The moment that Ren had offered him a place in his home, he had taken it — instantly, covetously, watching eagle-eyed behind his devil-may-care facade for any competitors. He arrived here today with Ren, and he’ll leave here with him just the same.
In some ways, all of them orbit around Ren like lonely little moons, too settled in their own now to risk crashing into each other. In some ways, Goro is no better than the rest of them. But in some ways, he is , because it’s his name on the lease, and his clothes in Ren’s closet, and his hands that pinned Ren’s to the fridge this morning. He won .
If nothing else, Goro is self-aware. He wants Ren in more ways than he can have him, but he’ll still take him in any way he can get. If he isn’t his lover, he’ll be his roommate, his confidante, his shadow — the first person to betray him, and the last one to kill him. He’s the only one who can match Ren; he’s his complete opposite. He wants to tie the two of them together in some inseparable bond; he knows that someone else, outside of his power, already had.
It’s a pathetic but persistent problem. Years into adulthood, settled into scars that strain but don’t split, Goro wants .
Maybe it would be good for him after all, to move away.
In the driver’s seat, Haru swerves abruptly to slam into a Shadow with a gleeful cackle. Goro barely has time to snap from his brooding before Ren is smiling his signature Joker smile and flickering into action.
For a moment, Ren’s weight settles on Goro’s lap as he climbs over him. Then he vaults out the door, and he’s gone.
Naturally, Goro follows him — covetously, eagle-eyed, a half-step behind. The first hard strike of his blade into the Shadow’s amorphous midsection reverberates up his arms, zinging in the back of his mouth like static.
Maybe he’s a little tightly wound tonight. When the Shadow finally goes down and Ryuji slings an arm over his shoulders, hooting in victory, Goro bares his teeth at him.
“Woah there,” Ryuji laughs, unconcerned and unthreatened. “Sorry, man.”
Futaba pops up from nowhere, emanating playful mischief. “Down, boy!”
It hits a nerve, and the affection from both of them does nothing to keep Goro’s shoulders from jumping to his ears. Throwing Ryuji off of him, he stalks several paces ahead of the group, avoiding Ren’s watchful eye.
“Grump,” Futaba huffs good-naturedly, unswayed by Goro’s outburst. When Goro glances behind, he sees Ren coming up beside her, lightly tugging on the ends of her hair. It’s a normal, fond, unremarkable scene.
Haru’s voice is so chipper and pleasant that Goro’s brain struggles at first to process it as an insult. “You should keep him on a tighter leash, Ren-kun.”
Immediately, Goro turns on his heel to glare. He’s a good ways away from the group — far enough that someone else wouldn’t have been able to hear.
Haru doesn't flinch from his gaze at all. She only tilts her head to the side and smiles, sharp and dangerous.
Ren opens his mouth next to say something, and Goro’s eyes fall automatically to him like it’s their natural state. But before he can joke or intervene or whatever other cop-out peacekeeper measure he has up his sleeve, a Shadow springs out of nowhere to slam into Goro.
It only takes a few seconds for the rest of the team to catch up; in that time, a few important things happen. In no particular order: Goro gets some hits in, takes some hits himself, and, perhaps most importantly, becomes enraged.
With the combined efforts of the primary team, the Shadow goes down easy. Calming Goro down is the more difficult task.
When they’ve seemingly decided it’s a waste of effort to watch Goro dodge Amrita over and over, Ren takes matters into his own hands. Goro registers Ren’s familiar, determined, ecstatic smile twisting his face even behind the red-tinged delirium of his own fury.
Ren leaps in with his hands free of weapons; in the same moment, Goro’s sword clatters to the ground. His arms open in some sort of invitation, teeth bared, fully intent on ripping Ren into pieces; Ren falls right in.
Goro’s knees hit the ground first, and instead of falling backwards with Ren on top of him, he throws them both forward. Ren’s legs are still locked around Goro’s hips, keeping himself from being completely out of control even as the back of his head smacks against the hard floor.
This is almost looking like a repeat of this morning, especially when Goro’s hand snaps forward to snatch Ren’s wrists. But before he can manage, Ren wraps his hands around Goro’s neck.
He doesn't even press down. There’s almost no pressure — just a suggestion of a choke, a sweeping thumb against his throat. Goro’s eyes widen; his pulse quickens; his reactions slow. And for a long moment, the two of them just stay there, out of breath and watching each other.
Then, quick as a whip, Ren yanks relax gel from his sleeve, squirts a copious amount onto Goro’s cheek, and smears it all across his mouth and jaw with the red palm of his glove.
Goro is so outraged by this turn of events that it isn't even immediately obvious that the status effect has been cured. “Joker, you — ”
Ren’s thighs tighten briefly around his hips, flirty and distracting. “I told you to ditch the helmet,” he grins. “You don’t show enough skin.”
Before Goro can find his bearings, Ren wiggles out from under him and escapes once more.
Something about it sticks with Goro, aside from the bitter medicinal taste. There’s him and there’s Ren and there’s the space in between them; there’s the struggle and the giving in and Ren’s hands around his neck. There’s the press of other people around them, and how — in spite of that, in spite of them — for that brief moment, Ren’s eyes were only on him.
When he gets out of the shower that night, the hallway closet door is ajar, and the bag is gone.
He finds Ren in his bedroom, sitting criss-cross on his futon in that old, moth-eaten t-shirt. Morgana is nowhere in sight, and the collar is placed pristine in his lap.
Goro takes a second to look around. Ren’s room is hardly foreign to him; it’s right across the hall, and in such a small apartment with such limited storage, he’s in here all the time. The hand vacuum sits propped against the wall, and their singular air conditioning unit is already set for the oncoming summer in Ren’s window; Goro overheats easier, but his own window is tragically too narrow.
If he leaves, he supposes he might never see this room again; Ren might move to someplace smaller. Or maybe someone else will simply move into his vacant room, painting over any sign he was ever there at all, taking up his place in Ren’s life.
His mouth tastes sour.
“What brings you here?” Ren asks with a smile in his eyes, not even trying to look convincingly surprised by Goro’s presence in his room. His posture is relaxed, but his glasses are notably still on.
Leaning against the doorway, Goro crosses his arms and tries to pretend he has a plan. His eyes, naturally, zero in on the collar. “Taking your teammate’s suggestion seriously, are you?”
Ren freezes, except for his hands, which twiddle aimlessly in his lap. His voice is neutral and unruffled, but Goro has known him too long now to fall for that. “Which one?”
Though Ren is turned away, Goro raises an eyebrow in lieu of answering. He looks down at the collar, fighting the flush burning his ears, then back up.
Despite his defensiveness and prickliness and general misgivings, Goro isn’t exactly opposed to whatever it is that might be happening here. He isn’t exactly full speed ahead, either. He isn’t sure how he feels.
It’s no secret that Goro hates to lose; he doesn’t want to just give in, roll over, play dead. When he pictures himself on his knees before Ren with his head meekly bowed, something inside him recoils. There’s something about this that draws him in, even aside from Ren’s involvement and the innate challenge, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Is this some attempt at punishment?” he asks, airy and biting. “Are you trying to reel in the misbehaving dog? I don’t give in without a fight; I believe you know that.”
Goro can already hear Ren’s response in his head: a flirtatious smile, a cop-out, an I know . Maybe they would tussle after, if he was lucky — press Ren’s pretty little head into the sheets and drink in any excuse to touch him.
But Ren is always finding new ways to surprise him. “It’s not like that,” he says slowly; when he raises his head, his eyes flash. “It’s a gift.”
It’s hard to stump Goro; he prides himself on always having something lined up, falling off the tip of his tongue; he knows the correct answer and even if he doesn’t, he can figure it out as he goes.
But this — Goro doesn’t know what to say to this. The collar sits in Ren’s lap, his fingernails against the leather; Ren’s eyes keep a vice grip on Goro’s heart. Blood rushes in his ears, too loud to make out anything but the sound of Ren’s throat when he swallows.
Ren stands from the bed like his body is unfolding, all slow and sinewy. Most days, that persistent feline quality makes Goro’s teeth ache, begging to dig in deep; today, it reminds him more of a predator, something dangerous and unfamiliar — controlled in a way that Goro has never understood, no matter how he pretends.
The collar has already been unbuckled, though Goro couldn’t say when. The stark blackness tints Ren’s fingers startlingly pink; the silver hardware shines bright as Ren’s eyes. Spellstruck, Goro can’t look away.
Then, just before the leather makes contact with his skin — Ren stops. Leans back, tilts his head, watches him.
Goro feels like a child who’s just had his lollipop taken away.
“It’s fine,” he spits impatiently. “Just do it.”
It is maybe not the most honest or enthusiastic response but, thankfully and mortifyingly, Ren seems to understand anyway. His lip quirks in a smile for a half-second before he reaches once more for Goro’s neck.
Goro expects the leather to be cold, but it isn’t; it settles comfortably cool around his skin. The buckle is quick work in Ren’s clever hands, steady and secure. The wide band, while heavy, distributes its own weight too evenly to be choking. Even when Ren hooks two fingers under it, pressed neat against his pulse point, the pressure is only — comfortable.
Nothing like this is ever comfortable for someone like Goro, both in practice and in principle. He doesn’t like feeling belittled and tamed. He isn’t supposed to like this.
When Ren slips his fingers out from the collar and brushes them across Goro’s larynx, it feels like he’s slashing his carotid artery right open. It feels like he’s splitting him apart and reaching inside him, past the blood and gore, down his throat and through his viscera until that touch is holding him up at least as much as his spine.
Ren smiles and pulls his hand away. “I thought so,” he says, quietly smug. “It suits you.”
Then he slips past Goro and into the hall, leaving Goro shock-still in his abandoned bedroom.
There is a long stretch of a moment where Goro doesn’t move at all. He can feel his own heartbeat, throwing itself against the unforgiving leather collar: thump, thump, thump , like a knock at the door, like the sound of running far, far away from here.
Goro doesn’t run, though. Instead, he stalks to the small mirror hanging above Ren’s makeshift workbench and studies what he finds.
His skin is pink, eyes dark, and brows drawn down like he’s angry. He isn’t angry; he’s — something else, just as swirling and furious, but not half as unpleasant. It sinks in his bones, tenses his muscles, makes his fingers twitch.
The collar is jarring. Goro’s tied-back hair and the low, scooped-out neckline of his shirt leave plenty of exposed skin that usually remains a whole. With the addition of the collar, the visual is unapologetically broken up.
Goro hates to say it, but Ren isn’t wrong. It does suit him.
The thick band makes it obvious what it is: not a necklace, not an accessory, but a collar. A mark of ownership, of beastliness, of domestication.
The thought still carries an uncomfortable tinge. Scowl pulling his lip, Goro unlatches the collar and tosses it carelessly back on Ren’s futon.
Immediately, the absence feels — strange. Restlessness aches at him. Goro paces to the futon, then back, making a circuit of Ren’s tiny room.
When he finally leaves the room, the collar is slid solidly back into place.
He finds Ren this time in the kitchen, throwing something together for dinner. There are potato skins abandoned on the counter, and the air smells like onions. Some sauce bubbles ambiently on the stove.
When Ren glances up to acknowledge him, his glasses are all steamed up. Maybe because of that, he’s especially blatant in the way his eyes drag up Goro’s body, lingering at his neck. He doesn’t smile or joke or prod; he just stares a second longer before looking back down at the pot.
“Dinner in twenty,” he says, turning the burner down low.
Goro’s hip meets the counter; his arms cross over his chest. “Are we missing a roommate tonight?”
Ren hums. “Morgana’s with Haru.” Then, he glances at Goro again.
This time, there’s a familiar spark in his eye. Goro’s blood sings on instinct.
With their collective strength and skill, these impromptu wrestling matches are usually over fast. This morning, Goro had won their little game: gotten Ren’s wrists in his hand and flipped him over until the other man was practically sitting in his lap, helpless and stuck with his back to the fridge and his front flush with Goro’s. A couple hours ago, Ren won — albeit with dirty tricks, his hands around Goro’s neck and his thighs around his hips.
Today, they’re nearly at a standstill. Goro is stronger but Ren is faster, and he wastes an embarrassing amount of energy simply warding Ren off. The kitchen is too small for the more impressive of Ren’s maneuvers but he still manages to lead Goro in circles, round and round like a spinning top.
When Goro finally manages to get a solid hold on Ren, he already feels his victory closing in. It would be too tired and boring to pin him against the fridge or floor again, so he holds Ren close and turns on his heel to the counter, dropping him like a sack of bricks. It isn’t the most efficient hold: both hands hold one wrist each, and though his hips between Ren’s thighs keep the other man from slithering away, it also leaves his entire head and abdomen open to attack.
And he was right to be worried, too, because the moment Goro leans close enough, Ren reaches up to catch the ring of the collar Goro forgot he had on in his fucking teeth .
The tug doesn’t choke; it isn’t that kind of collar. Still, Goro recoils with a snarl, leaving Ren’s jaw to close around nothing with a hard clack.
In the resulting moment of weakness, Ren frees himself. In the same moment, his hand cups Goro’s neck, long fingers reaching round to the back of his skull, thumb brushing the bottom edge of his collar.
The intimacy in that action makes Goro’s bones ache. He doesn’t let people touch him like this — or, at least, he never did before.
Goro could rip Ren’s hand off his throat, if he wanted to — push him away, slam him into the cupboard behind him, and throw this collar off for good.
But when he next reaches out, it’s to pull Ren closer still, Ren’s waist in one hand and a fistful of his hair in the other.
“It would be a grave mistake on your part,” he hisses, digging his fingers in, “to think me toothless and docile, just because of this.”
Goro’s hold on Ren’s hair forces his neck into a strange position, upwards and sideways, so that Goro is privy to study the way Ren’s eyes curve when he arches his eyebrows and almost-smiles. “If I really thought that, I wouldn’t need the collar.”
Not for the first time this evening, Goro is stumped. That same twitchy, not-angry feeling races through him; frantic words barely make it out through his snapping teeth. “What does it mean, then?”
Joker’s signature grin quirks the edges of Ren’s lips, but with a brittle fragility Goro isn’t used to seeing anywhere on Ren, at any time. “I want to keep you,” he says — delivered like a joke or overblown flirtation, because fuck knows the world would light up in flames if Amamiya Ren was plainly honest for once.
And, looking at the flint-gray of Ren’s eyes and the way he hasn’t yet pulled away, Goro can hear what he means: Don’t go . He doesn’t say it, but Goro hears it just the same.
They never did talk about the potential of him moving away. Goro had sat on the news by himself for days, unwilling to bring it up to Ren, unwilling to face his reaction. For Ren to ask him to stay when he didn’t want to would be awkward at best; Goro still winces at the memory of their last night in Maruki’s reality. But for Ren to be fine with him going, to nod or smile and simply send him off with a wave — that would be so, so much worse.
Sometimes it feels like there’s never any winning with Ren; Goro doesn’t know what he wants, much less what Ren wants.
Except right now — Ren’s thumb nail on his larynx, Ren’s collar around his neck — he does.
The back of Ren’s head bumps the cupboard when Goro leans forward to kiss him. He means it to be forceful, hungry, but despite his best intentions, the first brush of their lips is just that — a brush. It’s Ren who drags him closer, hand on the back of his neck tightening so much the stiff leather collar bends. His legs wrap around Goro’s waist, and Goro is grabbing hold of him instinctively, digging his fingers into the hard muscles of Ren’s thighs through his sleep pants.
When he pulls back to catch his breath, Ren moves to his neck instead. Every slide of fingers under his collar feels as intimate and overwhelming and invasive and wonderful as it had the first time. Goro’s scalp tingles; a shiver shakes down his spine.
Ren nips just beneath Goro’s jaw. Goro draws a sharp breath in and yanks him back by the hair.
“Bedroom,” he grits, “ now .”
With Ren’s legs already around Goro’s waist, the next course of action is obvious. Using the excuse to thoroughly feel up Ren’s ass, he pulls him off the counter and carries him down the hall.
It’s a blurry rush after that, floaty and indistinct: Goro’s cock in Ren’s mouth, Ren’s tongue in his throat, a bottle of lube swiftly extracted and dropped on the futon, carelessly spilling some of its contents. Goro brings Ren to one trembling orgasm before they exchange any more words at all.
“Hold on,” Ren says, voice disappointingly even but for the way he gasps when Goro’s fingers slide out of him wet. “Give me a second — ”
He’s taking too long. Goro nips his thigh, right where his bent knee pushes the flesh soft.
Laughing, Ren pushes him back by the hair. “Beast. Have some self-control.”
‘Beast’ should be demeaning, dehumanizing, humiliating — but it isn’t ‘dog’, or ‘pet’. A hot, affectionate, heady emotion burns Goro from the inside out. He bites Ren again, lower down his thigh this time, swimming in the feeling of Ren’s eyes on him and only him.
For days, weeks, he’s been struggling with the magnetic pull between him and this collar, between his neck and Ren’s hands. He doesn’t want to settle into domesticity quietly like a tamed animal; he doesn’t want to submit; he wants to fight , win or lose. He wants to belong, too.
The whole world has forgotten the false good in him, and no one alive outside of their small circle ever truly knew the bad. Akechi Goro is no longer dangerous in any public capacity, his grand ambitions stolen from him and his hit list long-since left behind. Even the other Phantom Thieves see him as harmless, if not entirely reformed, always running in at Ren’s beck and call.
But here, with Goro’s teeth marks in his thigh and his taste in his mouth — even if the entire universe has forgotten his name, Ren sees him. If only here, only now, only for this reason, he exists. Here is someone who knows what he is, knows all the ugly inside him — and still wants him to stay.
No one else has ever really known him before. Not like this; not like Ren.
Goro still doesn’t really understand it. It isn’t submission, really; he doesn’t know what it is. But when Ren hooks his thumb in the ring of Goro’s collar and tugs him upwards, all wary and warm and combative, Goro is tired of pretending he hasn’t belonged to Ren for years: since they signed that lease, since they first dueled, since before they ever met.
In the second before their lips touch, Ren flips them both over. Caught off guard, Goro feels Ren settle on top of him before he’s even consciously aware of what’s happened.
Ren’s ratty t-shirt is falling off his shoulder; one of its many holes is centered right over his chest, showing a peek of dark nipple. His pants and glasses are both long-gone, tossed carelessly in some corner of the room. His hands are once again at Goro’s throat.
This time, they do press down: evenly, at the sides of his neck over his collar. Both sets of fingers push so slightly at first that Goro knows the only reason for his lightheadedness is his swiftly-skyrocketing arousal.
Then Ren lets go. Both he and Goro take a deep breath in. Ren cocks his head to the side, studying him as he rocks forward slowly, grinding their semi-hard cocks together unevenly through his shirt. He presses down again — with more force this time.
The lack of oxygen is unlike anything Goro could have expected: less panic-inducing and more calming, distancing, like a dream. All of his complicated thoughts fly away; his lashes flutter; his back arches. Ren gasps quietly when the motion intensifies their light grinding, and his hold on Goro’s neck loosens once more.
The sudden presence of oxygen is even more unexpected: jarring and sweet. It leaves him tingling and greedy, rolling his hips up and manhandling Ren down to grind against his ass.
The lube leaves the front of his pants wet. Goro is going to die if he doesn’t get inside him right now.
“Are you ready now ?” he growls, raspy from even the brief choking. He keeps grinding up and pulling down, like he could fuck Ren straight through his clothes if he thought about it hard enough.
Instead of answering, Ren wiggles back enough to yank Goro’s pants down. Goro watches him glance at the bottle of lube, just out of reach, then shrug and reposition himself over Goro’s cock.
There is a moment, pressed against Ren’s entrance, holding himself in place, where he thinks that even with the preparation they’ve already done, it isn’t going to fit. Goro’s head is buzzing with desperate arousal; he’s torn between yanking Ren down and throwing him off to get the lube himself. But before he can, Ren shifts just right, and the very tip pushes in.
Any low sound Ren might make is drowned out by Goro’s own moan, pained and loud and vicious. He bites his lip until he draws blood, watching Ren through his swimming vision.
Ren has a determined look on his face, set and focused — though his lips are parted, and he’s red down to his neck. Goro is torn between watching his face and the space where their bodies meet, the head of his cock disappearing into Ren’s body.
He’s impossibly hot, painfully tight. Goro feels he should look away if he wants any chance of lasting, but he can’t; nothing else exists to him right now but Ren. He fights to stay still, frozen as a statue, drinking in the sight of a tussled, red-faced Ren, taking in his cock inch by inch.
By the time he bottoms out, they’re both trembling. Ren swipes his fringe from his face, stretching out his hunched-in body, and finally looks down to meet his eye.
Goro can only imagine how he must look right now, gasping and wild-eyed, blood on his lip and sweat at his temple.
By comparison, Ren still looks so composed. Ever the performer, he smiles at him, cocky, and tilts slowly down.
When Ren kisses him, it’s with the faint, metallic taste of blood. Goro moans against his lips, setting his hands solidly on Ren’s hips and finally, finally thrusting up into him.
It’s hard to get much leverage in this position, on his back with Ren bent dramatically to reach him, but Goro doesn't mind. The first few thrusts are frantic and quick; after that, his brain zeroes in on enhancing the experience. He doesn't just want to fuck Ren; he wants to undo him, to leave him aching and altered, to have him crawling into bed with him every night. Fingers skirting up to Ren’s waist, Goro alters his hold: thumbs tucked under his ribs, fingers wrapped around to his back. He feels so small and narrow like this, built more lithely than Goro is himself — though Goro knows they aren’t so different from one another. Still, under the cover of Ren’s shirt, Goro can almost picture his fingers touching, if he stretched them far enough.
Anchored surely on Ren’s waist, it’s easier to both hold him aloft and yank him down. Goro does both, moaning into the kiss, chasing Ren’s lips when he tries to escape to catch his breath.
Goro isn’t going to let him. He’s a greedy man, and he’s going to wring everything he can from Ren, from his sounds to his come to the very air in his lungs.
Ren bites him, teeth digging into the stinging cut on Goro’s lip. Instead of letting go, Goro grabs hold of the back of his neck and drags him even closer.
He’s so warm, so tight, like he was made for him. Goro never wants to be anywhere but here: deep inside Ren, holding his hips down, sucking his tongue into his mouth.
But Ren, it seems, has other plans. His hands slide up the center of Goro’s chest, brushing knuckle-down over his clavicle and Adam’s apple before wrapping loose around his throat, over and just beneath the collar.
Then, he presses down. This time, when Ren breaks the kiss, Goro is too busy gasping to chase him.
The collar is soft with warmth and the time spent against his skin; it bends with Goro’s flesh rather than just around and on top of it, operating like a part of his body. The oxygen deprivation is slower to build but more intense: like sinking, like falling. Ren’s palm cups the swell of Goro’s throat; he feels every part of it bob against him as he gasps. His fingers are on Goro’s pulse, like they can feel it through the collar, like they could dig inside his flesh and rest there, feeling him from the inside out.
Deliriously aroused, Goro wonders if it will bruise. He hopes it will. He thinks Ren could kill him right here, right now, and he could die a happy man.
Even being choked, Goro doesn’t stop fucking Ren. The animal part of him that freezes under that hold is hardly operating right now; he’s turned on out of his mind, thrusting up frantically every time Ren rolls his hips.
When he reaches for Ren’s neglected cock, bobbing under his t-shirt, Ren makes to jerk away. The careful, smug veneer of control painted over him cracks, and his hold on Goro’s neck loosens just enough that the rush of oxygen in his lungs makes his head rush.
In a way, this is a competition, too. Goro sees an opportunity to win and takes it.
Ren makes a thin, strangled sound the moment Goro gets his hand around his cock. Pulling him all the way down, he grinds deep into Ren and jerks him off with single-minded determination.
The change is immediate and obvious. Ren tightens — almost painfully so, so much so that it would be hard to truly thrust into him like this. His muscles tense and his head ducks, hiding much of his expression beyond his hair. His hands keep their grounding, slack hold of Goro’s neck.
Between the way Ren looks and feels, there’s no way Goro is going to last much longer. He drinks in every part of Ren like he’ll never experience it again: his expression, the heat of his skin, the way it feels inside him. His hold on Ren’s cock tightens unconsciously, but Ren only moans and arches into it.
“Are you about to come?” Goro rasps, laser-focused and intent, his own orgasm hurtling oppressively closer behind his eyes.
Ren doesn’t answer, eyes screwed shut. Goro growls and yanks him nearer by the wrist, folding him at the waist and tucking him into his neck. At the same time, he bends his own knees, sacrificing jerking Ren off for more leverage.
“Touch yourself,” he says and, without waiting to see if he will, starts thrusting into him once more, too hungry and impatient to ward off chasing his own orgasm any longer.
Thankfully, it seems Ren is on the same page; he makes little sounds into Goro’s ear as he strokes himself.
Ren is quiet when he comes, just like the first time, when Goro only had fingers inside him. His come catches mostly on his ruined t-shirt; his heaving breaths send tingles up Goro’s ear directly into his brain.
The volume comes after, when Goro keeps bouncing an overstimulated, unsteady Ren in his lap.
Though Ren doesn’t quite complain, the look on his face and sounds escaping his mouth make it obvious it’s too much for him. It’s like he can’t keep himself from making noise, and Goro can’t help but revel in it, in getting this rare, unique reaction out of him.
After an especially targeted thrust, Ren shoots him a wronged look; it’s obvious he thinks he’s taking too long. Goro laughs, breathlessly.
“You told me to have self-control,” he goads, as though he isn’t seconds from coming.
Ren’s smile is almost a snarl when his finger hooks loosely in the ring of Goro’s collar. “Beasts don’t need self-control.”
That’s all it takes, really — Goro comes so hard he might black out. When he next blinks his eyes open, Ren is lying at his side, watching him.
There’s a question waiting there, in those dark gray eyes. Goro isn’t ready to answer it — not in so many words.
When he unbuckles the collar, Ren’s expression flickers and falls, returning to its default neutral state. When Goro loops it around Ren’s neck instead, that expression twists in a new and interesting way.
“Uh,” Ren says eloquently, touching the collar with the tips of his fingers. “Um.”
Goro rolls his eyes, pushes him down, and sucks him off.
Two orgasms seem to have really done Ren in; he’s all shaky and weak, deliciously vulnerable as he rolls around on Goro’s bed. Goro wonders how many other lovers he’s had — if any of them have seen him like this, or made him come more times than Goro has. His nails dig crescents into Ren’s waist, his tongue still working to get Ren hard again.
Goro has spent years now fantasizing about making Ren cry. Of all the items on his exhaustive list, this — Ren’s spent, oversensitive cock in his mouth, his hands twisting the sheets — has to be one of his favorites.
When Goro’s come starts leaking out of Ren, he naturally pushes it back in. Ren makes an admirable attempt to crush Goro’s head between his thighs, but he’s easy to push and ply in this state. Goro finally surfaces when Ren’s cock is just getting hard again, a cute and painful-looking pink-red color. He rests his cheek on Ren’s thigh and strokes him off.
“It’s nice having you like this,” he says conversationally, though his voice is still rough from the events of the night. “Too tired to be difficult. Is there even a single thought in your head right now?”
“Just one,” Ren says, spread out limply, like a dead fish. The collar’s silver hardware gleams on his neck. “You’re a try-hard in this too, huh? Should’ve known.”
“What, this scenario didn’t make it into any of your fantasies?”
“Maybe a few.”
Goro wants to fuck him forever. He’s going to fuck him to death.
With that mission statement in mind, he scissors his fingers inside him, finds the spot that makes his knees shake, and resumes sucking him off until he comes again. Very little comes out of him this time, if anything at all, but Goro makes a show of swallowing anyway before dragging Ren closer.
Goro is not the type of self-loathing to deny his own good looks, but in his opinion, Ren looks unquestionably better in the collar than he did. The dark leather matches his hair and eyes; in addition, the combination of black and silver reminds Goro of his own Metaverse outfit, which is smoothly satisfying in its own way.
He gets a good look at the back of the collar, too, when Ren shoots him an uneasy look and shifts onto his front, one knee in front as if to crawl away.
But when Goro pushes his thumb back inside Ren, he stops moving immediately, a short gasp pulled through his throat. And when he drags him closer still, he only squirms, like a play-pretend version of a struggle.
Goro presses his front all along Ren’s back, his cock hard once more and dragged teasingly between his cheeks. There’s an undeniable edge in his voice, masking the affection underneath. “Are you trying to get away?”
Of course, Ren doesn’t answer, except to squirm some more. Goro laughs low and hooks a finger in the back of Ren’s collar, forcing him up on all fours to avoid choking.
“But you’re not going anywhere, are you?” Goro says as he lines up, prodding the head of his cock into Ren’s wet entrance. “And neither am I.”
Ren makes to look behind him, a question on his face — but before they can make eye contact, Goro slams inside once more.
To Goro’s gloating delight, he gets some really excellent sounds out of Ren this time, especially after Goro makes him come dry.
In the aftermath, they both just lay there, side by side. Goro is uncomfortably sticky and sweaty, and he feels like his soul has been sucked out through his dick. Ren is systematically cataloging every bite mark littering his body, collar still around his neck. It looks good on him — both the collar, and the imprint of Goro’s teeth.
They should probably talk about this at some point, but first —
“Do you smell smoke?” Goro asks.
Ren bolts up in bed with more obvious emotion on his face than when Goro kissed him for the first time. “My curry .”
There’s no grace whatsoever in the way Ren frantically waddles to the kitchen, but Goro generously holds back poking fun in honor of the smoking pot they’re forced to say goodbye to that night. There will be another opportunity to bring it up, anyway.
They sleep in Ren’s room that night, since Goro’s smells of sex and is more or less covered in lube. Goro stares at the air conditioning unit in Ren’s window and wonders if it wouldn’t be a good idea to just sleep here this summer.
The next morning, Goro is trying to clean some of the smoke off the wall when he notices a disturbing fact.
“Morgana,” he says, as evenly as he can manage, “did Amamiya get you that collar?”
Morgana pauses mid-lick, studying him with the same suspicion he’s worn since he jumped into the window this morning to the sight of Goro defiling Ren’s virtue on the living room floor. “No? I materialized with this. Why are you asking?”
Dunking his rag and wringing it out, Goro exhales. “No reason,” he says, in a noticeably better mood, and goes back to scrubbing.
Ren comes home with a new pot under one arm and a grocery bag under the other, fully prepared to rewrite his mistakes. He laughs at Goro’s attempts at cleaning, and Goro readily reminds him of his doe-legged waddling the night before, much to Morgana’s chagrin. The moment Morgana declares his supervising shift over and leaves the room, tail flicking, Ren crowds Goro into the counter, and they finish what they started.
Needless to say, Goro doesn’t move out.