Work Text:
Chuuya blinks awake, body pleasantly sore in so many places that he isn’t even aware of. A different kind of exercise from his usual. Before last night, he’s never seen the appeal of sex—at least, not to the point that he can understand people being driven mad in pursuit of its pleasure.
That’s not to say that he’s about to go on a spree of debauchery. But he understands the sentiment a little bit better now.
…Not that he could go on such a spree, even if he wants to.
He makes a face as he thinks about what waking up today means.
Blerghhhhh. He’s supposed to know the identity of his assigned soulmate today, urgh. Life in this world is pretty good, if one ignores the fact that there’s something called a ‘soulmate system’ hanging over everyone’s necks like a Sword of Damocles.
His friends all call him overly dramatic for describing it as such, but there really is no other way to look at it. Sure, it sounds romantic and easy, to think that there’s someone out there waiting for you. There’s no need to fear heartbreak or incompatibility, as there’s a system that has already analyzed one’s fate, in order to bring them their best possible match.
At the same time though, it sounds—
—very, very boring.
Especially since one is expected to keep a close contact with one’s soulmate for the rest of their lives, supposedly in order to continue feeling a certain ‘fullness’ in one’s soul. Why should he be required to be with someone just to feel complete? He’s plenty whole and awesome by himself, damn it. Plus, can this kind of thing be really predicted by some algorithm?
All too often, he’s heard about situations where someone continues to stay in a relationship with their soulmate—no matter how much the entire thing has already soured—because of the belief that they’re already in the best possible situation.
He doesn’t want to be locked in that kind of cage.
He’d usually spend more time musing about this. But, his philosophical navel-gazing is interrupted when there’s a giant beanpole turning around, draping over him with pointy elbows, and burying a knee right into his navel.
He flails under the other’s transformation to a weighted blanket, with an impatient, “Urghhhh, move already, damn it!”
Unlike last night, when he’d uttered the same words, Dazai doesn’t smirk at him haughtily, before moving deliberately slow just to tease him further. Today, the beanpole attempts suffocation by burying his nose into the crook of his neck, clinging to him like an oversized koala.
And the koala comparison suddenly reminds him of that tidbit that he’s read a while back, about how most koalas have chlamydia. He shoves Dazai away harder, but this man that he’s known for less than a day seems to be particularly skilled in getting his blood boiling in two different aspects.
Last night, Chuuya came to the club in hopes of getting a one-night stand as a gigantic middle finger to the soulmate system. Most people reserve their virginities for their assigned soulmates, after all.
He was determined to have such a good time with someone who’s so incompatible with him. That’s the only reason why he didn’t break this bastard’s nose when he saw him flirting with the ladies by asking them to a double suicide.
Instead, the moment he tried to punch him, it ended up with a more electric way of shoving their bodies together, accompanied by the thought of, “A smug, flirty bastard like this is probably good at sex, so might as well use him.”
Now that his head is a little clearer, he’s starting to realize that his thought process is a little skewed. However, it’s too late for regrets.
Come to think of it, given how frenzied they’ve been last night, it’s a wonder they even managed to exchange names. He congratulates his past self for managing that, because at least he can pinch the other’s ear and hiss a very personalized message of, “Let the fuck go, shitty Dazai, I need to go to the toilet!”
A low groan. Because the other’s face is still tucked into his neck, he feels it vibrate against his skin, all the way to his eardrums. “Nnngh, a chibi is biting my ankles…”
“Who are you calling a chibi!”
Dazai continues his sleep-talking performance by grumbling, “The chibiest chibi…”
“Stop pretending to be asleep and let me go already!”
He wriggles harder, which only serves to remind him of the existence of several wet spots on the hotel bed. And that aside from taking a piss, he also needs to do extensive clean up, because they’ve gone straight to passing out after doing it for at least four times. ‘At least’, because he’s been honestly turned into goo by the time he’s reached orgasm #5. By that point, counting is already too high of a brain function to bother himself with.
…Regardless of how many times they’ve done it, it doesn’t erase the need for a thorough shower. Now that he’s a bit more awake, with blood rushing back up to his head, he regains awareness of the dried come sticking on all sorts of places. He makes a face when he feels it caking his hair all over his body.
On the overhead ceiling fan, a pair of socks swing along atop the blades. He spots his hat somewhere on the curtain pole several meters away. One of his gloves is wrapped around the door handle, while his briefs are apparently acting as makeshift bracelet for this bastard’s left wrist.
He coughs.
…Perhaps ‘frenzied’ is insufficient to cover the utter chaos of last night.
The overgrown koala finally retracts his face from his neck, but only so he could smother him using his tongue. Chuuya opens his mouth with the intent to bite that slimy muscle off, but the lack of sleep has scrambled his brain-body coordination.
By the time his senses detect something other than, “oh fuck, that feels good, do it more”, he’s already hiking one leg over the other’s hips so they could get a good angle while lying side-by-side.
“…Damn it, I wanted to go to the bathroom,” he complains even as he curls one arm high enough so he could pull the other’s hair.
“Fufufu, we could do this quick,” Dazai says with the confidence of someone who somehow finds a night of debauchery to be something insufficient. A teasing lick to his bottom lip, then to his chin. “I’ll bend you over the sink after.”
“I actually have things to do today, oi.” His annoyed huff gets derailed into a moan when three successive thrusts nail his prostate with accuracy. Once again, single-digit counting is starting to slip away from him. He grips the back of this slimy bastard’s neck, trapping his cock between them as the bed creaks under their combined efforts.
They’ve actually gone to a rather expensive hotel, instead of the seedier ones near the clubbing street. Partly because he’d probably have combusted if he’d had to face love hotels with vending machines full of neon-colored sex toys inside. In any case, it’s not like he’s lacking in money.
Still, it’s probably a testament to how much they’ve taxed the bed last night that even though they’re at a pricey hotel, it still sounds like it's on its dying gasps.
Not that Chuuya is going to ask this bastard to slow down. In fact, he hisses out a, “You’re so fucking slow”, and competes with the other’s pace. He matches the rhythm of the other’s thrusts, chasing him when his hips pull back.
Breathless teasing, “Such an insatiable chibi.”
“You’re the one who wants a morning quickie, bastard!”
“Mm, that is true.” Without any scruples in admitting such a thing. “But you’re the one who will come untouched and from my cock alone.”
So annoying. He slams his hips back harder, squeezing the beanpole both inside and outside. “Better make sure you keep your word.”
“Fufufu, I don’t lie in negotiations like this,” and then his left hand does a full-body tour, scratching the raised tendons over his neck, dragging his nails over his nipple, tickling him just-above his liver. Drifts down towards his tailbone. With a brazen grin, slaps his ass, with just-enough force to shock him into a shuddering mess.
Chuuya’s rhythm falters. He gets swept along for a ride, and before he could retaliate, Dazai slams deep and fast, and that has him coming all over their torsos. He’s still twitching in oversensitivity when one more thrust fills him with the other’s come.
It takes him several moments to recover his wits, his brain completely blank for a good few minutes.
“…The soulmate system is so fucking overrated,” are his first lucid words after that round.
After all, he’s starting to doubt that he could find someone else who’s this good at nailing all of his sensitive spots on the first try. And there’s no doubt that his soulmate cannot be some asshole like this, a smirk constantly on his face and some pretentious bullshit on his mouth whenever he’s not goading him.
That has Dazai blinking at him. “Oho? The thing that you need to do today is to view your soulmate assignment, hmm.”
He lets out a disgruntled noise, both at the reminder of today’s task and the fact that a lot of fluid leaks out of his ass the moment he tries to get off the bed. A bit absentmindedly, “I’ve already postponed it as much as I could.” He cringes again when each pad of his feet against the carpet is accompanied by come dripping out of him. “Goddamnit, just how much did you come, what the hell.”
“That kind of question is an invitation for me to check thoroughly, you know?”
“And you call me insatiable?” A heavy eyeroll. The advantage of the room being on the small side is that he doesn’t have to dirty the carpet too much on his trek to the bathroom. The disadvantage is that when the bathroom door is left open, their communication could still continue unhindered.
Dazai follows him. The bastard’s hands follow the trail of sticky white. One arm moves to wrap around his waist while he washes his hands after taking a piss. Dazai’s other thumb hooks over his still-puffy rim, lazily circling the inside, as if to encourage more of his come to flow out. With the same spirit of laziness, he murmurs against the back of his head, “I wouldn’t have expected that chibikko is already twenty-two. Your height is that of a slug’s, after all.”
One’s soulmate information is available the moment one turns eighteen. But there’s a given leeway of four years before making contact with their assigned soulmate. Taking more than four years to make contact supposedly results in the person losing their mind and descending into instability. The consequences of being ‘incomplete’—a term that Chuuya thinks of very loosely and unimpressedly—are so dire that even the most rebellious folks he knows don’t even dare to risk not meeting their soulmate.
Most of his elders tout the ‘opposites attract’ rhetoric. Chuuya thinks that it’s most likely going to end up with him being paired with someone so utterly boring. And having shit fashion sense. And probably too chicken to enjoy fistfights. In short: boring. Blergh.
Then again, is ‘boring’ really so bad compared to say, someone as annoying as the bastard who’s now fingering him in earnest while spouting unfunny height jokes? Urghhhhh.
“With how much of a brat you are, you’re worse than a two-year-old.” At least kids are cute and innocent. The man behind him is probably the filthiest person in the entire world.
“Mm, maybe I should go with you to the district office.” A pat to the middle of his back, wordlessly prompting him to bend over the sink. “It’s near my deadline too, might as well get it over with.”
“You’re actually younger than me, shitty beanpole?”
“And so much taller,” is the smug quip. Another pat to his back.
It’s quite irritating how he already knows what’s the other’s next plan before he even says it. Chuuya grips the sides of the sink, as he lifts his body high enough that he could rest his cheek against the mirror. A pleased sigh from Dazai, lining up that cock for him to sink down into, borrowing some assistance from gravity. He then lets go of the sink, arching against the other’s chest so that he’s speared on that cock alone, his feet a couple of centimeters off the ground.
He comes immediately, sinking bonelessly against Dazai who staggers under his weight. Thankfully, even though both their legs buckle, they don’t end up cracking their heads open on the tiles.
It would have been a national embarrassment. He could just see the headlines: “Local Guy, 22, procrastinates meeting his soulmate, cracks his head on the bathroom from having too much sex with a one-night stand. Remember, kids, meet your soulmate early so you don’t end up like him.”
With their limbs tangled on the floor, Dazai lets out a chuckle that’s rather infectious. “I think you broke my dick,” the mackerel whispers against his cheek. “You have to help me check if it’s still working.”
“Does that shitty line actually work?” Chuuya asks, and conveniently ignores the fact that he’s actually helping him check anyway.
They do it twice more—one as they attempt to make it to the tub for clean-up, and another while avoiding slipping over the wet tiles during a shower.
His annoyance at the other’s seemingly-nonexistent refractory period works as a nice-enough distraction for his impending doom. Changing back into their clothes is an experience, because he’s had to swat the other away from his ass too many times.
Nevertheless, perseverance has rewarded him. They both manage to stagger out of the hotel with skewed, crumpled clothes.
His other reason for going here last night is that this hotel is a few minutes’ walk from the district office where the soulmate assignments are stored. He’s previously thought of it as a matter of convenience.
Most people in the area assume that couples in the vicinity are soulmates too overjoyed upon meeting their fated one, so there aren’t any judgmental looks lobbied their way for looking too debauched together.
Chuuya’s entire neck feels like it’s one gigantic hickey attached to his face. He’s not sure whether he wants to be miffed that the people in the same sidewalk as them are thinking that he’s soulmates with this pestilence. The alternative is that they’d think they’re just a regular pair of horny people, which isn’t really any better.
“Let’s grab some food first, Chuuya,” whines the other man a few meters away from their destination.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re either penniless and want to mooch off from me. Or you’re also procrastinating wanting to meet your soulmate.”
“Can’t it be both?” A shrug. “There’s nobody else who’s as sexy and charming as me, with the same amount of brainpower, so whoever I’m paired with is going to be a… pfft, gigantic disappointment.”
He laughs despite himself. “They do say ‘opposites attract’, right? I’d love to meet whoever gets paired with you. They’re probably the sanest, most angelic person in the whole world.”
“You can call me devilishly handsome, it’s okay.”
“Or I can call you a shitty mackerel.”
They continue bickering as they detour to the café nearest to the district office. By tacit understanding, they buy take-out, cups of coffee and a bunch of pastries that they munch on as they walk in meandering circles around the block.
Procrastination at its finest.
In the end though, Chuuya isn’t the sort of person who runs away from things. Not permanently, at least.
They enter the district office together. Most people who go here do so in the mornings, apparently too excited to learn about their fated one’s identity that they want it done immediately. As such, there’s nobody else in the waiting room in the late afternoon.
There’s a bunch of information pamphlets, and there’s a very helpful staff member who gives them the ‘orientation’. Stuff about how the government can help them with booking special flights in case their soulmate happens to be in another city. Reminders about how this is a very wonderful thing and that everyone should be happy to fulfill their destiny.
Chuuya frowns the entire time. Dazai is rigid beside him, their arms brushing together.
Even the ‘orientation’ can’t last forever.
There are several booths that they could get into. Each booth as a machine that will read their information off their fingerprint, before displaying their soulmate’s identity on the screen. It shouldn’t take more than a minute to decide his fate.
They pause near the front of the booths.
“Shitty mackerel—”
“Little fairy—"
Chuuya feels his heart lurch inside his ribs, as they talk at the same time. He watches the look on the other’s face. He thinks it’s probably the same expression that he has right now.
Unlike the look of smug confidence from last night, Dazai looks lost and flustered now. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, mussing up his hair. It’s something that he mimics too, a habit that he’s had since youth.
“My soulmate is probably very boring,” Chuuya ends up saying, knowing that it probably isn’t the wisest course of action to insult the system while he’s inside the system’s headquarters. “And you… are irritating, but…”
“I don’t think it’s possible for this kind of thing to be pre-arranged.” Dazai’s cheeks are a bit pink. “If things such as fate and destiny, as pain and happiness, could be predicted and assigned so easily, then there really isn’t much of a point in living as a human being.”
It’s said a bit too dramatically for his tastes, but he bites his lip. He agrees with the sentiment, after all. “Whatever the result is, I—”
“I want a seafood buffet for dinner. And a Chuuya for dessert.” Such irritating words, but the expression on the mackerel’s face is like a billion-yen masterpiece.
He grumbles out a, “You’re really such a poor mooch,” but he’s smiling when Dazai leans down and kisses him, slow and sweet, before they part ways to enter their respective booths.
It’s not like he’s going to promise his entire lifetime to a shithead or anything. But, dealing with Dazai is surprisingly fun. He’ll just have to explain to whoever his assigned soulmate is, that he’s really not looking for a relationship with them. That he’s the tiniest bit interested in someone else, that’s all.
He presses his thumb against the fingerprint scanner.
He’s almost apathetic now towards the result. He’s almost bored as he waits for it to load.
After all, can something read off his fingerprint really be a good match? Can a system algorithm really predict the kind of person who’d be his best partner for a lifetime? Can something like having a partner affect someone so much that they’d break down if they don’t meet with a soulmate?
Can a system-assigned soulmate even hope to compare with—
He kind of wants to shake the machine. The sooner he knows the result, the sooner he can contact them and the sooner he can return to—
…
….
…
…
…
…
…
Chuuya stares at the result.
Stares.
Stares.
Stares at it some more.
Blinks. Pinches his neck.
The photo in front of him looks even smugger after gaping at it for ten minutes. The reality of him supposedly needing to stay in contact with his soulmate for the rest of his life.
The embarrassing scene at the hallway, where they’ve pretty much promised each other to disregard whoever they’re assigned with, in favor of being with each other instead.
Thinking of how the mackerel is waiting for him outside, and how this means that having a sore ass and dozens of hickeys is going to be his permanent state from now on.
Chuuya takes a deep breath, and punches the screen.
As he’s thought, this soulmate system is really a steaming pile of bullshit!!!
(They live happily ever after anyway.)
-
end
(is dazai-san 100% innocent and unaware that he’s soulmates with chuuya? or did he already know ahead of time and stalked him so they could ~coincidentally~ meet & get to know (lol) each other in a more ~natural~ (lol) manner? fufufu~)