
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12179469.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Persona_5, Persona_Series
  Relationship:
      Kitagawa_Yusuke/Kurusu_Akira, Kitagawa_Yusuke/Persona_5_Protagonist
  Character:
      Kurusu_Akira, Kitagawa_Yusuke, Morgana_(Persona_5)
  Additional Tags:
      Body_Paint, Praise_Kink, Sexual_Content, Temperature_Play, Adolescent
      Sexuality, Sexual_Experimentation
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-24 Words: 4250
****** Late Night Watercolors ******
by clowderforce
Summary
     Hot, sweaty, and sleep-deprived, Yusuke and Akira find a way to cool
     down in the oppressive summer heat.
It’s hotter than Belphegor’s shadowy demonic ass-crack in Leblanc’s attic
tonight.
Akira sits back in his chair, stripped down to his boxers, and tries repeatedly
to beat the final boss of Punch Ouch. Sweat droplets bead on his forehead as he
mashes the buttons, giving all the effort he can muster to take Mr. Nightmare
down with his pixelated boxing gloves. He fails.
Tired, uncomfortable, and unable to focus, Akira admits defeat for now. He
switches off the game console and places the controller on top of the old
cathode monitor. It’s humid as balls. For what isn’t the first time tonight, he
briefly considers breaking down and ordering a damn air conditioner online.
Knowing his luck, though, the heat wave would dissipate the second it arrived.
Instead, he decides, he will blow that money on firearm replicas at Iwai’s next
time he goes out. Priorities.
It’s August twenty… something, he guesses, having long since lost track of the
date. Right now, the Phantom Thieves are stuck in a waiting game. He’s really,
really  hoping that Futaba wakes up in time to take care of that whole Medjed
threat thing, but otherwise, there’s nothing keeping the group busy. Without
school to attend, a Palace to ransack, or any new leads in Mementos, the past
few days of summer vacation have become a blur of video games, casual hangouts,
and part-time work. Akira doesn’t particularly mind this. However, it’s
difficult to appreciate free time when you’re dying of heatstroke.
Ann and Ryuji had taken off to catch the last subway of the night a while ago.
Therefore, Akira deduces, it’s some time after midnight. He guesses it’s
probably around two or three in the morning, not that it matters much -- after
all this time off, his sleep schedule’s become so messed up that linear time
has more or less become meaningless. He’s already tried shuffling off to bed a
couple of times, but he’s still not quite tired enough yet to sleep through the
oppressive heat. That, and Morgana’s zonked out on his pillow. He doesn’t want
to wake him, mostly just to avoid being lectured about staying up too late.
He looks over at Yusuke. He’s been in the same spot for hours, camped out in
front of his easel in the corner of the room. Like Akira, he’s also clad in
just his underwear, getting what little relief from the heat he can from a
clunky plastic box fan next to him. His most recent canvas has sat blank for a
little while, now. For a moment, Akira thinks that maybe he’s fallen asleep at
his stool with his eyes open, but the occasional tapping foot and hum of
indecision indicate otherwise. It’s bizarrely comforting, knowing that he’s not
the only one failing to get some sleep in this bullshit weather.
Come to think of it, Yusuke’s been hanging out at Leblanc fairly often
recently. He hasn’t gone home to the dorms in three, maybe four days now.
Akira’s fine with it, so long as he remembers to bathe and Boss doesn’t get
pissed. It’s nice having the company, even if he mostly just stares at his
easel. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he misses
Yusuke when he’s not around. He might even admit that he’s charmed by the
struggling young artist, maybe even has a bit of a crush. Unfortunately,
though, feelings are messy, and as such, he buries them nice and deep so he can
deal with them later.
Right now, though, what really has Akira’s attention is that box fan. The
thought of a nice cold air conditioner haunts his dreams, even though he knows
he will ultimately cheap out on buying it. Tonight, though, some moving air
seems like the next best alternative. It will do, he decides, as he heads over
towards Yusuke. He plops down onto his stomach, scooting himself into the
direct path of the fan. He soaks in the nice breeze, taking what little relief
he can from the heat. His head starts to feel heavy, and he rests his chin on
his arms. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but he just might be tired enough to
fall asleep anyway. He closes his eyes.
Just as he starts to drift off, however, Yusuke drops his paintbrush on the
floor and lets out a melodramatic sigh. “It’s no use,” he says, his voice
morose. He slumps over on his stool, utterly defeated.
Akira stirs a bit and opens an eye to look at him. “What’s no use?” he mumbles.
Yusuke looks down at him, completely unfazed by his half-naked friend lying on
the floor near his feet. “Inspiration has failed me tonight,” he says simply,
hanging his head.
From here, Akira can see Yusuke’s long, doe-like lashes, and the way his
disheveled hair frames his face. His skin, covered in a light sheen of sweat,
glows in the dim attic lighting, with the heat leaving a soft flush on his
cheeks. He’s so pretty, Akira thinks. Normally, this line of thought would
leave him feeling very flustered and self-conscious, but right now, he doesn’t
care. He’s too warm and too tired to think about it critically. The gay panic
can wait until the morning, he decides.
Come to think of it, Yusuke looks pretty exhausted, too. He’s been just about
as faithful to maintaining a rigid sleeping schedule as Akira has been (which
is to say, not at all), and the consecutive nights of staying up late are
beginning to catch up to him. His eyes are bloodshot and lined with dark
circles, and his posture is even more crooked than usual. “You should sleep,”
Akira says, followed by a big yawn.
Yusuke shakes his head, visibly trying not to catch the yawn from him. “I
can’t. I told myself that I would paint  something  before I go to bed.”
Akira groans. “You’ve been staring at that easel for hours. Just swipe on a few
dots of paint, label it modern art, and call it a night.”
Yusuke gapes at him, aghast. “And waste my last canvas? Are you joking?”
“Dude, you can just go get another one.”
Yusuke clenches his hand -- rather pathetically, as it’s three in the goddamn
morning and he’s clearly too tired to make a proper fist -- and shakes his head
again. “I cannot. I have used the last of last week’s stipend on restocking my
paints.”
Akira blinks. Maybe that’s why Yusuke hasn’t gone back to the dorms in a few
days. Knowing him, he probably didn’t even save enough money for the subway
fare. Idiot. He grins, reminding himself to sneak a few bills into his wallet
while he’s asleep. “Sucks to be you,” he says.
Yusuke nods, completely absorbed in his self-pity and unaware of Akira’s
teasing. “I think that’s what’s hindering my creative process. I’m too worried
that I’m going to ruin this canvas, or come up with a better idea while I’m in
the middle of painting it. What if I’m struck with inspiration? Then I’ll have
to cover it up and wait for it to dry before I could start over! And by then,
my muse might be completely gone and I’ll be stuck with nothing to show for it!
It’s agonizing!”
Akira knows better than to tell Yusuke to chill out, so he gives him a
sympathetic “hmm.” His eye catches on the glass of water next to Yusuke’s
paints, mostly untouched. It’s dripping with condensation, and the ice cubes
clink softly together as Yusuke taps his heel impatiently on the floor. The
glass sits dangerously close to the coffee mug filled with dirty paint water -
- Akira has a feeling that if Yusuke were actually painting anything this
evening, he might have absentmindedly mixed up the two at some point. It looks
tantalizing, though. Perhaps at some point he’ll get up off the floor and swig
it down, since Yusuke’s clearly not making any use of it. Not now, though. Not
thirsty enough. Too lazy.
“What should I do?” Yusuke asks, his eyes alight with an unexpected intensity
that catches Akira off guard. A blush creeps up across his cheeks, and suddenly
he’s thankful for the swampy atmosphere he can blame it on. He now feels an
entirely different kind of thirst.
“I dunno, just use me as a canvas?” Akira blurts out with a cheesy wink, then
recoils inwardly. Oh, god. He just flirted. He really shouldn’t be allowed to
talk to people late at night when he has no filter. He looks away from Yusuke,
mentally willing himself to sink through the floor. The floor grants him no
such blessing. Why didn’t he just go to bed before his sleep addled brain could
get him in trouble?
Yusuke, bless him, appears not to notice Akira’s internal crisis. Rather, he
seems to be considering the idea. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll
admit, I like the concept,” he says. “I’m intrigued by the idea of using a
temporary medium to create a fleeting moment of beautiful impermanence…”
“Y-yeah, that’s totally what I was thinking,” Akira says, trying to keep his
cool.
“However, I don’t think I can justify painting in such a manner. I can’t afford
to waste my paints on whimsical experiments when I need to use them for my
summer projects. Perhaps another time when money is less tight?” Yusuke
suggests.
“Sure,” Akira says. He’s slightly relieved that Yusuke has given him an out,
whether intentional or not. At the same time, though, he can’t help but feel a
twinge of disappointment. He certainly wouldn’t mind taking up all of Yusuke’s
attention, having that dreamy gaze on him as he drags the paint brush against
his skin… Against his better judgement, he finds himself making another
suggestion. “How about you just use water instead of paint? That way you could
really build on that idea of impermanence.”
Yusuke hums in approval. “Now that’s a thought,” he says. “A brilliant
suggestion. Not only do I get to conserve my paints and canvas, but I can also
draw inspiration from the exquisite shape of your body.”
Akira’s stomach does a flip.  Exquisite…?  He debates whether it’s just artist-
speak, or if this is just Yusuke’s roundabout way of admitting his attraction.
It’s probably the former, but...
Before he can think too much on it, though, Yusuke’s standing up and grabbing
the mug of paint water. He pauses for a second, and puts it back down. “Would
you prefer I use the ice water? It might feel nicer than the room temperature
one in this heat.” He gives him an encouraging smile, one that makes him melt.
Damn him.
Akira swallows hard, his mouth dry. “That’s awful considerate of you. Now who’s
the one with the brilliant suggestions?” he says, with a nervous smile. They’re
doing this. Fuck, they’re actually doing this. He actively tries not to implode
from embarrassment as Yusuke kneels down next to him, placing the glass of ice
water on the floor with a gentle thump. He’s painfully aware of how close they
are.
Yusuke pauses. “Are you alright?” he asks, with a concerned tilt of his head.
“You look quite rigid.”
Yeah, rigid. One could say that. Other than the uncomfortable and persistent
sexual tension he’s trying to ignore, he’s doing pretty okay, though. He
relaxes his muscles and tries to let go of the tightness in his body. It’s just
a late night water painting experiment. Nothing weird about this, right? “Yeah,
I’m fine,” he says, keeping his voice as casual as possible. “Go for it.”
“Very well,” Yusuke says. He swirls the paint brush around in the water, the
ice cubes clinking around in the glass as he stirs. He holds the brush over
Akira, preparing to make his first stroke, when a drop of cold water falls from
the brush tip onto his upper back.
A shiver flutters up Akira’s spine, goosebumps prickling on his skin. As
unexpected and chilly as the droplet is, however, it feels nice. With the cool
air from the fan blowing on it, he can feel it begin to streak down between his
shoulder blades. If a simple errant drop feels this pleasant, he can only
imagine what the actual painting will feel like. He closes his eyes and waits
for Yusuke to get to work.
Yusuke presses the brush softly on the back of his neck, swirling it lightly at
the base. Akira draws in a sharp breath, the air hissing through his teeth. He
releases the breath as slowly and evenly as he possibly can, ignoring the ever-
growing flush on his face and anticipating the next stroke.
The next one is a long, drawn out line, traced slowly and deliberately down the
length of his spine. His breath hitches in his throat, and he makes a
concentrated effort not to dig his hips into the floor. Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t
such a good idea. He’s totally getting turned on by this and he’s about to pop
a boner right there on the middle of his goddamn bedroom floor and Yusuke’s
going to get creeped out and things are going to get awkward between them and -
-
“Relax,” Yusuke says. Akira’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not, but his
voice sounds a bit strained, too. He resists the urge to look back over his
shoulder at him. For a second, he swears he hears Yusuke licking his lips
before dipping the brush back into the glass of water, but quickly dismisses it
as wishful thinking. He also tries to deny the pooling warmth in his stomach at
the anticipation of being touched again. But he does as Yusuke says, taking a
deep breath and allowing his muscles to slacken.
Yusuke hums to himself as he grazes the bristles against Akira’s shoulder
blade, crisscrossing his strokes in a delicate hatched pattern. His voice is
soothing, as is the repetitive motion against his skin. Akira genuinely starts
to relax, taking in the sensation of the light pressure and swift movement. As
Yusuke moves on to the other shoulder blade and repeats the pattern, Akira
thinks that he could probably fall asleep like this. He lets out a blissful
little sigh, enjoying both the brush strokes and the way the fan cools the
water droplets on his skin. The room is still hot, but for a moment he can
actually forget about it in this moment of small comfort.
When Yusuke withdraws the brush again, he goes back to feeling self-conscious.
Is he being selfish? Is Yusuke really enjoying this, or is he just humoring
him? Before he can fall too far down that rabbit hole, though, Yusuke pulls him
back with feather light strokes. He sweeps along the curvature of his back
muscles, pulling the lines down sharply towards the base of his spine. He
pauses and admires his handiwork, watching as it glistens in the light. “You
have a beautiful figure,” he says, reverence in his voice.
“Th-thanks,” Akira mumbles into the floor, his heartbeat pounding in his
temples. Coupled with the sensation of the cold, wet brush on his sweating
body, the praise is just too much. Whether or not he’s meant to interpret the
admiration as sexual or purely aesthetic, it doesn’t matter much now. He lies
as still on the floor as he possibly can, trying to conceal his raging hard-on.
This was a terrible idea. He prays that Yusuke will get bored of this activity
and head off to bed before he realizes something’s off.
“Would you please turn over for me?” Yusuke asks politely.
Fuck.
Akira squirms a bit in his spot, wincing. “I’d rather not,” he says, a little
too quickly.
Yusuke quirks an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he asks,
placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been acting a bit strange. If you’re
uncomfortable, we can stop.”
Akira takes a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s not it, I assure you,” he
grunts. “It doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. If anything, it’s… um, too
comfortable.”
“Too comfortable?” Yusuke says thoughtfully, the gears turning in his brain. He
ponders the meaning for a moment, then goes bright red. “... Oh!” He puts a
hand to his mouth, surprised.
Akira’s face is a matching hue. “Yeah,” he mutters facedown into the floor.
“Sorry.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine! I don’t mind, really,” he sputters, his face still flushed
as he tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. He gives a nervous laugh.
“That’s a reasonable physical reaction. Come to think of it, this is rather
intimate, isn’t it?”
“A bit more than expected, yeah,” Akira admits. “It feels really good.”
To Akira’s surprise, Yusuke leans in close to his ear. “I can keep going if you
like,” he whispers, his breath tickling against the back of his neck.
His heart leaps into his throat. He can’t believe this. Yusuke is flirting with
him. Yusuke goddamn Kitagawa, the most adorably socially inept person he’s met
in his entire life, is clearly and brazenly flirting with him. He’d be an idiot
not to reciprocate before talking himself out of it.
Akira swallows and nods. “Okay, yeah. Let’s keep going,” he says, and rolls
over onto his back. He feels exposed and vulnerable with Yusuke’s eyes locked
on his body, gazing at him with an intensity he’s never felt before. He makes a
futile attempt not to draw attention to the tent he’s pitching in his boxers.
Yusuke, for a moment, seems lost for words. He shakes his head, smiling. “I
can’t believe I was so fixated on having Ann model for me before. This is what
I’ve been looking for the whole time. This is the inspiration I’ve craved.” He
picks up the brush and dips it back into the water.
“What? You give me too much credit,” Akira says softly, closing his eyes. He
waits eagerly for Yusuke to paint him again.
Yusuke obliges, streaking a cool, wet stripe along the length of his jawbone.
He trails downward, flicking the brush in a zigzag pattern across his neck.
“Not nearly enough credit,” he says, watching him quiver beneath him as he
traces a sensuous line across his collarbone. “I understand now why I was
failing to capture the true feeling of desire.”
“Is that so?” he asks. Yusuke hums in affirmation, sweeping the brush in a
broad X shape over his chest before resting it on his heart. Which, by the way,
happens to be beating erratically at this point. Never in his wildest dreams
did he ever see the night going like this. He’s terrified. He’s elated.
“I was setting myself up to fail,” Yusuke continues, lifting the brush from his
skin again and dipping it back in the water. “I couldn’t capture the essence of
desire because, well…” He looks away sheepishly. “I had never fully experienced
it. That is, until tonight.”
Akira swallows down the impulse to pinch himself awake. Is Yusuke implying what
he thinks he’s implying? Suddenly, blurting out the sleep-deprived suggestion
to have Yusuke paint his body earlier doesn’t seem like it was such a terrible
idea after all.
He opens his eyes to see Yusuke staring hungrily at his torso, his cheeks
flushed and his pupils dilated. His hand hovers over his stomach, his slender
fingers clasped tightly around the brush handle. “Your body is the perfect
canvas,” he murmurs, sending sparks through his body as he teases down the taut
lines of his abs. “Perfection is fleeting and impermanent, like these marks on
your skin. I may have nothing to show for it later, but in this moment… you’re
my masterpiece.” Those words are corny as shit, but damn it, they’re working.
He picks up the brush again, dips it, then swiftly presses it against the
sensitive skin of his thigh.
Akira moans loudly, unable to control the way his back arches. Startled by his
own reaction, he shoots a panicked glance towards the bed. Thankfully,
Morgana’s still fast asleep. “We should take this downstairs,” he whispers,
pointing at their oblivious feline companion. Yusuke nods, and they slip
quietly out of the room.
This is crazy, he thinks, as he grabs Yusuke’s hand and practically yanks him
down the stairs into the restaurant. He certainly wasn’t expecting the night to
go in this direction. After a quick search to make sure the blinds are drawn,
he pushes him up against the wall, drawing in for a deep, searing kiss.
Yusuke’s lips are soft and pliant, moving along with Akira’s as he wraps his
arms around his waist, but suddenly he stops and pulls back.
“I forgot my brush,” Yusuke says, his eyes wide.
He starts to turn around to go get it, but Akira grabs his shoulder with one
hand, using the other one to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle his
laughter. Here they are in the heat of the moment, macking on each other in his
uncle’s empty restaurant in the middle of the night, and this delightful idiot
decides it’s the perfect time to go grab art supplies. He’s so ridiculous. His
shoulders quake as he tries his best not to erupt into a giggle fit. He can’t
help it. It’s just so absurd.
“What’s so funny?” Yusuke asks, cocking his head.
“You are,” he replies, absolutely giddy, drawing him in for another quick peck
on the lips. “Forget about the brush. If you’re too busy painting, you’ll miss
out on experiencing desire firsthand.”
Yusuke nods sagely at his advice. “You make a very good point,” he says. “We
should get wrapped up in the moment.”
“That’s the spirit,” Akira says, trailing a finger down his chest. He continues
tracing downward, coming to stop right under his navel. His eye catches on the
noticeable bulge in Yusuke’s underwear, and he smiles. He’s pleased to see that
he’s not the only one excited. “May I?” he asks, hooking a fingertip under the
waistband and giving it a playful tug.
Yusuke nods, sheepishly averting his gaze with a coquettish smile.
Akira swallows. He’s flying a bit blind here. Generally speaking, he knows what
he’s doing -- he’s got a dick of his own, after all, and the mechanics of it
aren’t exactly rocket science. His only other experience seeing an erect penis
is from that accidental Mara fusion in the Velvet Room last week, but at least
Yusuke’s doesn’t come with tentacles and teeth. At least he hopes not. Only one
way to find out, though.
He’s got no mask or tuxedo to complete the look, but Akira swallows down his
nerves and puts on his best, most confident Joker face he can. He pins Yusuke
against the wall with one hand, and slides the other into his briefs, wrapping
his fingers around his already half-hard cock. The resulting sigh of pleasure
that escapes Yusuke’s lips gives him the confidence boost he needs to take a
bit more initiative. He strokes his hand up and down in a slow rhythm, and is
rewarded with a shuddering gasp. The sound is enough to make his own cock
twitch.
Yusuke, not one to just observe, slips his hand inside Akira’s boxers, cupping
gently against his erection. He mirrors Akira’s movements, using the same up
and down motion to stimulate him.
Oh. Oh, that’s nice.
It’s different, having someone else touch him. Yusuke’s fingers are calloused
from hours of gripping brushes, pencils, and swords alike, but his grip is soft
and his strokes are tantalizingly slow. It leaves him aching for more.
Akira leans in and kisses him again, swiping his tongue over Yusuke’s bottom
lip. He melds their lips together, hot and wet, engaging in a sensuous game of
give and take. Yusuke tastes like coffee, with hints of the spicy hot curry
he’s been mooching over the past couple days. Akira’s had to put in a little
extra effort in the kitchen to appease Sojiro after Yusuke’s freeloading, but
he decides it’s more than worth it if it culminates in moments like this.
They’re both getting worked up from the exploration, and Akira’s the first to
pick up his pace, tightening his grip on Yusuke as his stroking becomes more
frantic and needy. Yusuke mirrors his movements, kissing him for dear life and
desperately trying to keep up with him. It doesn’t take long for them to get
close to the brink.
Before they know it, they’re both spent, panting heavily and leaning against
the wall. They’re covered in sweat, and they’ve made quite a mess of
themselves, but it’s nothing a few paper towels and a quick run to the
laundromat won’t fix.
“That was… fascinating,” Yusuke says, running a hand through his hair.
“It sure was,” Akira says, feeling blissed out. “Enough inspiration for one
evening?”
Yusuke grins and nods. “This was quite the experience. I doubt I’ll be
forgetting tonight any time soon.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
They stand in silence for a few moments, stopping to catch their breath and
soak in the afterglow.
“Say, Akira…”
“Yeah?”
“I rather enjoyed having you as my muse tonight. Would you be opposed to
inspiring me again in the near future?” Yusuke asks shyly, brushing his hand up
against Akira’s.
“Not at all,” Akira says with a smile. He takes his hand and laces their
fingers together, then leans in for a chaste kiss. “I’d like that very much.”
Not a bad trade-off for air conditioning, he thinks.
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