He'd lift Mishima up, press him flush against a tree; not exactly the most comfortable place - ah.
But Mishima would love that, wouldn't he?
He can practically feel the bark scratching up Mishima's back, roughness separated only by a shirt thinned with sweat - and all the while Mishima would cry for "more, more!", hands desperately clutching and clawing down his arms. Tears at the corner of his eyes but a glossy mouth openly panting, face flushed red with the desire of "harder Akira, harder" and yes, Akira would obey, hips at first snapping up in a rhythmic manner; but then, Mishima's tight clench, his small gasp when Akira hits that spot - heaven, for a moment, he swears - erratic, then, urgently slamming deep into Mishima's delicious ass, eager to please please please and finally -
Mishima's voice snaps him back into reality. His textbook is open, fingers at ready to flip the page; yet, instead Mishima is staring at Akira, head cutely tilted and eyes squinted in concern. Struck with sudden embarrassment, Akira hastily clears his throat. How long had he...?
"You've been staring kinda weirdly at that page for over ten minutes," Mishima says. Akira chuckles, straightening up and scratching the back of head. Oh.
"Just...having trouble with this concept," he vaguely brushes off, and Mishima nods.
"Need any help?" he offers, but Akira turns it down. Both return their gazes to their books, but Akira's mind is still elsewhere. His fingers drum against textbook pages; then, he looks back up to Mishima.
"Hey, wanna go on a jog some time?"