Chapter Text
There's a knock on the door.
Dazai wipes his hands free of graphite with a rag that's seen better days. His home studio is small, mostly because it's not really its own room at all. Part kitchen, part living room, part balcony. Easels and textured paper are strewn over bookshelves and side tables. A set of oil paints lay open, more or less untouched, on the kitchen counter, like a statement bowl of fruit. But it's private. And when you're drawing from life, the models generally prefer some privacy.
He makes his way through the little apartment and there's a second knock. Dazai rolls his eyes. "I'm coming!" He opens the door just as the man behind it raises his fist to knock again.
Chuuya.
Dazai takes a moment to breathe it in. Auburn hair that skims his face and neck. Dress pants that hug his thighs maybe too well. A button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And that infuriating necklace.
"Am I just gonna stand in the hallway forever?"
"No, I invited you all the way here to slam the door in your face."
"You would. You're so fucking lucky I came down at all." Chuuya shoves past him anyway, catching Dazai's bicep with his shoulder. It lights Dazai on fire.
"Do whatever you want, I guess." He's gotten good at poker faces, but Chuuya smirks like he knows something.
"Where's your fucking studio?"
Dazai gestures vaguely. "Here."
It's Chuuya's turn to roll his eyes. "Professional. I'm doubling my rate."
"I'll fire you."
"Fine, whatever. I should've known. This one?" Chuuya points to an easel facing a large window. A warm afternoon glow pours in at an angle. Perfect for lighting studies. Dazai nods. Chuuya faces the window, too, examining the space and contemplating poses. Dazai gathers supplies, which takes much longer than it should. He's spending less time looking for pencils and paint and more time staring at Chuuya's ass. Chuuya's ass in those pants.
Dazai sits behind the easel, lowering it to get a better view of the man in front of him. He makes sure to re-roll his own sleeves, since they tend to fall down and get stained. "Whenever you're ready."
Chuuya hops up on the kitchen table in front of the window. "Want anything in particular?"
"I don't care. Look hot. It's for my portfolio, not for me."
Chuuya's smirk returns. He pushes himself to the edge of the table so his feet dangle in the air. His forearms rest on his thighs, hands hanging loosely. Chuuya lowers his shoulders, leaning forward, staring Dazai down.
Dazai swallows hard. He follows the line of Chuuya's neck, his arms, his fingers. Sketches out his confrontational position. Ignores the warmth in his own stomach.
Chuuya hopes Dazai can't tell he's breathing manually. He shouldn't have looked Dazai in the eyes, not at first. Dazai's one of the more demanding artists Chuuya poses for, and it's all he can do not to kill him. So when Chuuya got to pick a pose, he meant for Dazai to regret it. But he keeps having to glance away.
"Look back at me."
"Huh?"
"Eye-lines. When your eyes move, your head moves, idiot. You should know this."
"Fuck you." Chuuya pulls his gaze up from Dazai's shoes. Up along his pants, the apron that rests over his hips, his dress shirt, his tie. Only Dazai would wear a tie to paint. It's loose, too, hanging several inches too low and drawing attention to the flash of collarbone visible underneath his unbuttoned collar.
"Hey, eyes. Look at my face, not my neck. I know I'm hot, but you're here to work."
Chuuya huffs. "I'm here to get paid." He wrenches his eyes from Dazai's neck to his eyes. His stomach churns. Such pretty brown eyes.
"Just keep looking at me." Dazai glances between Chuuya and the drawing, flicking his eyes over Chuuya's body. He swipes at his forehead with the back of his hand, then runs it through his dark, wavy hair. He looks angry when he concentrates.
Chuuya should've kept his legs closed.
"Okay, next one. Be less... bold this time."
Chuuya pauses, then pulls one foot up onto the table, resting his elbow on his knee. The other leg gets tucked underneath. Chuuya turns his head toward the window, brushing his jawline with his fingers. His other hand rests just to the side of his crotch, on a thigh that may very well burst his pants at the seams. He lowers his eyes, staring at the table underneath him. And opens his mouth just a little.
It's intoxicating. The curve of his hips. The twist of his shoulders. Dazai works quicker this time, moving from pencils to paints without Chuuya noticing. As he fills in the golden sunbeams illuminating Chuuya's cheekbones, Dazai's pants start to bulge. The only thing delicate about this pose is Chuuya's face. His mouth, slightly agape, practically begging. Chuuya needs to be more delicate.
Dazai stands, setting his brushes and pencils on the easel. He walks over to Chuuya, towering over him even as he sits on a table.
Chuuya looks up, half-confused and half-alarmed. "What's wrong this time?"
No answer. Dazai puts his hand on Chuuya's knee, forcing it to the table. Chuuya yelps.
"If you wanted me to move, you could've just told me so."
"Sit on your knees, then."
Chuuya gets chills. "Okay."
Dazai takes Chuuya's hands and puts one on his hip and one on the table in front of him. "Lean back. Collapse your chest."
It's not natural for Chuuya to be in such a compromising position. His knees point toward the wall next to him, but the hand on the hip means his center of gravity is tilted. Tilted toward Dazai.
"I said collapse your chest. I swear, it's not that hard." Dazai pushes Chuuya's chest in. Chuuya grunts, mouth falling back open. "If I weren't on a deadline...."
"You'd what?"
"I haven't decided yet. Murder might be too intense. Grave injury's still on the table." He sits back behind the easel and hides his face from Chuuya, pretending to search for a particular pencil. He's not half-hard anymore, and standing up was a questionable decision. His drawings become less practiced. More expressive. More erotic.
"Take off your clothes."
Chuuya's eyes glaze over, but his voice is harsh. "What the fuck?"
"Get undressed."
"No way. I did not sign up for that, I'm not getting paid for that." Chuuya pulls his legs out from under him and rubs feeling back into them. "I'm not staying for that."
"What if I did pay you?"
Chuuya snorts. "Pay me how? You're using me for job applications as we speak."
Dazai speaks sharply, every word made truth simply by virtue of the way he forms them. "There are other ways to pay people."
Something in that proposition makes Chuuya's dick twitch. He's never modeled naked before, even if he'd been asked to a few times. And there are worse-looking people to be naked in front of. He takes a deep breath, hands shaking. Whether Chuuya admits it or not, the thought of Dazai seeing him makes his head rush. He faces away and starts peeling off layers. Shoes, socks, pants, shirt. It's slow and deliberate because Chuuya is steeling himself, not because he meant to tease.
He is teasing, though. Dazai watches intently, all thoughts of artistic anatomy superseded by the muscles in Chuuya's back straining underneath his skin. Pulling taut as he bends over or stretches his arms. He's not nearly as small as he seems while clothed.
But he's still wearing his boxers.
"Everything. Off."
Chuuya turns to face him. "You can see plenty. You're fine."
"Nude modeling requires being nude."
"No."
Dazai clenches his jaw. He hates when Chuuya fights back, and he hates that he loves it. "I've seen the rest of you already, and I'm not jizzing my pants about it. It's an intellectual exercise." He's lying straight through his teeth. He almost wishes Chuuya weren't here anymore so he could just jerk himself off and get it over with.
"An intellectual exercise? Is that what you're telling yourself?" Chuuya grins.
"It doesn't matter when I'm telling myself. I told you I'd pay you."
Chuuya stares hard into the brown eyes, searching for a thread to pull on. An argument to make. But Dazai will not be manipulated. And he refuses to let Chuuya, of all people, manipulate him. If Chuuya really wanted to, he could leave and Dazai would let him. But he doesn't want to leave.
And Dazai's looking at him like that.
And he's already mostly undressed.
"Fine. Fucking whatever." He pulls down his boxers.
Chuuya's dick is very, very pretty and very, very hard. It's leaking precum. Dazai groans. His eyes lock on a vein running up the side, blood rushing with a fury. They both pretend not to notice.
"Draw me already. I won't look like this forever."
Dazai's head is swimming. "You have to pose."
Chuuya reclines, hips against the table, ankles crossed. He leans his head back, looking at the ceiling.
"No, no. Hold on." Dazai approaches Chuuya for a second time, significantly fewer layers of fabric between them. "On the table." Chuuya climbs back up. Dazai grips Chuuya's thighs. Chuuya shivers as Dazai props his legs up and spreads his knees apart. "Lean back." Chuuya starts to lay down gently, but Dazai shoves his shoulders into the table, eyes flaming. Then he turns and sits down at the easel with a smirk.
The table is cold and unyielding but Chuuya's body is electric. His face is numb. Dazai keeps touching him so casually. And there's a 92% chance that he felt a bulge when Dazai pushed him down. There's not much room for error when you're fractions of an inch apart.
"Now touch yourself."
Dazai watches Chuuya's dick flex at his words. Chuuya moves slowly, but it only takes a moment for him to obey. He uses precum for lube. His breathing gets heavy as the sun begins to set. His hips roll against his hand. His back arches off the table. Dazai does his best to capture the shapes and the movement, but it's hard to focus. His own dick screams to be touched.
"That's enough."
Chuuya can't stop. He's been waiting so long and Dazai looks like that and now he can't stop.
"I said that's enough." Dazai marches toward Chuuya's writhing body. Chuuya moans at the sight of Dazai's face above him. Dazai chokes back a moan of his own. "Stop it!" Dazai wraps his hand around Chuuya's dick, squeezing.
The breath catches in Chuuya's lungs. Chest heaving. Eyes screwed shut. Mouth open.
"Sit up."
Chuuya manages to prop himself up on his hands, but his eyelids are fluttering. Dazai puts two fingers of his free hand in Chuuya's mouth, and he doesn't have to say a single word. Chuuya starts sucking. His tongue runs expertly up and down Dazai's fingers. Drool leaks out of the corner of his mouth. The pressure pulls Dazai's fingers to the back of Chuuya's throat, but he doesn't gag. Dazai breaks the seal himself, wiping the spit on his apron.
"You disgust me." He lets go of Chuuya's dick long enough to untie the apron and pull off the tie. Just to be sure, he rolls up his sleeves again. Chuuya whines softly.
"Let me see you."
"No."
Dazai takes Chuuya's dick again, rubbing up the shaft, running the pad of his thumb along the pulsing vein. He squeezes a little harder, pulling his hand slowly toward the head. Chuuya shudders. He lets out a groan that comes from behind his navel, followed by a very small, very breathy, "Please."
Dazai’s eyes burn. His smile grows wide. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you ask for something before."
Chuuya struggles to hold eye contact. "Don't demean me."
"You're doing a good enough job of that yourself." Dazai presses his thumb to Chuuya's slit. Chuuya's eyes roll back. He ruts his hips against Dazai's hand, whimpering. His cheeks turn a shade darker.
But he doesn't stop.
"Say please again."
Chuuya moans. He lifts his hips off the table. Dazai takes his hand away.
“No, no, don’t stop. God, you have to touch me.” Chuuya shifts his weight onto one hand, pulling at Dazai's neck with the other.
Dazai pushes Chuuya's hand away, leaving a light trail of precum across his knuckles. “Say it.”
"You're demented."
"And you're very, very needy."
Chuuya would protest again, if he weren’t nearly bursting. “Please.”
Dazai wraps his hand around Chuuya’s dick again. It throbs under his fingers. Dazai’s own dick strains under his pants as their noises melt together.
“Ahhh, ah, just like that.”
“You’re so hard for me it’s pathetic.” Dazai pumps Chuuya faster. Muscled abs to pulsing head. A wrist flick every now and again. Chuuya's chest tightens. He draws deep, ragged breaths. And Dazai can't help himself. He leans forward and sucks on Chuuya’s chest. Makes his way from collarbone to nipple, leaving a trail of blooming bruises.
“Wait, no.” Chuuya twitches. “I’ll cum too fast.”
Dazai quits swirling his tongue just long enough to make it worse. “Poor thing.” He’s relishing it. Smiling against Chuuya's skin before sucking again.
Chuuya lets out a sound between a gasp and a moan. Dazai's skin. He needs to touch Dazai's skin. He buries a hand in Dazai’s hair. The other digs into Dazai’s hip, slipping beneath his shirt, dipping under his waistband, pulling him closer. He snaps the elastic of Dazai’s boxers, which draws out a low groan.
Dazai swipes his thumb over Chuuya’s slit again, brief enough that Chuuya doesn’t lose it but hard enough that the need is unbearable. It’s a warning.
“Do that again and you’ll have to finish yourself off.”
Chuuya seizes the opportunity to be cocky now that Dazai’s stopped sucking his nipple. “You wish. You started this whole thing. You need me. Worse, you want me. You couldn’t leave me hard if you tried.”
Dazai’s expression darkens. “I don’t need you.” With every word, he pumps slower. Covers less length. It's cruel, and Chuuya likes it. “I don’t want you." Chuuya whimpers, breath catching. "I own you.” Chuuya thrusts into Dazai's hand, begging for friction. “You get off when I say you get off, how I say you get off.”
Chuuya’s limbs shake with the effort of chasing his high. Dazai straightens, then stops moving altogether. Chuuya desperately fucks into Dazai’s fingers. “Oh, God, please. Dazai, please.”
“There’s that magic word.” But he refuses to help.
“Touch me!” Chuuya’s body threatens to give out on top of the table. He balls his hands into fists, including the one in Dazai’s hair. Dazai suppresses another groan.
“Make me cum first.”
Chuuya whines. He stops thrusting, untangles himself from Dazai and leans back on his hands. Dazai keeps his fingers curled carefully around Chuuya's dick.
“You’re the best I’ve ever had.” His first attempt is half-hearted, and they both know it.
“Cliché.”
“Your cock keeps me up at night.”
Dazai hums, eyes half-lidded. “Better.” He caresses the vein running up Chuuya's dick. Chuuya's pretty mouth falls open again. But he knows better than to move against Dazai's hand so soon.
“I like it when you threaten me.”
Dazai chokes a little. Chuuya pulls him forward by the belt loops, crashing their hips together. It takes all of Chuuya’s strength not to make an unholy sound himself.
“Almost.” Dazai’s voice is strained. The veins in his neck pop. Chuuya targets them for a few moments, scraping the skin with his teeth. He twists his hands roughly into Dazai's dark hair. Dazai jerks underneath him.
Then Chuuya makes his voice low, resonating from behind his sternum, but barely above a whisper. Dazai has to lean into Chuuya’s shoulder to hear it. “I need you.”
And Dazai’s done for.
His muscles tense, all the way across his shoulders and down his arm to the hand around Chuuya’s dick. Dazai throws his head back, letting out a genuine, long, shuddering moan. The bulge in his pants twitches continually. He cums without Chuuya undoing the zipper.
Chuuya does his best to keep his eyes open. Dazai's grip is tight, but his expression is unmatched. Chuuya has to watch.
When he's done, Dazai rests his head on Chuuya's shoulder. "Good," he mumbles. He releases his grip on Chuuya's dick.
His weight pushes Chuuya back onto his hands, with Dazai pressed against him inch for inch. It takes every muscle in Chuuya's body not to grind on him. "My turn now?"
"Your turn now."
Chuuya can only moan.
Dazai snakes his fingers, still sticky with precum, under Chuuya's choker, pulling him forward. "Speak up."
Chuuya burns with embarrassment. With arousal.
Dazai brings him closer. They're nose to nose. He tilts his head and breathes the words, "Tell. Me."
Fuck it. Chuuya grinds on Dazai's hips. Hard. "Make me cum."
Dazai breaks into a terrifying, soul-eating grin. For a moment, Chuuya worries he'll lose it right then. "How?"
He'd spent so much time with Dazai's fingers wrapped around his cock that he'd started to miss the feeling. "Hands. Your hands."
"What? My hands here?" Dazai lets go of the necklace but grips Chuuya's neck instead, mocking. He squeezes. Chuuya's hips buck. Dazai takes note.
"No, no." Chuuya can't look at him. He takes Dazai's wrist and Dazai relaxes. Chuuya leads Dazai's hand down his body, over his bruised chest and glistening abs, brushing his happy trail. He's trying not to hyperventilate, but Dazai's deft fingers don't make it easy.
Dazai teases up and down his dick, barely grazing the skin. The tip of his finger just brushes the slit. Chuuya squirms. Dazai laughs.
"More, please. Please."
"More? So greedy."
He whines. Coherence is slipping from his grasp. "My neck. Kiss my neck."
Dazai leans forward painfully slow, eyes dark. He's still smiling. "Like this?" Dazai drags his tongue up the length of Chuuya's neck. Chuuya pushes into it, moaning.
"Bite."
Dazai doesn't need to be asked twice. He takes the thin skin between his teeth, leaving deep, angry marks. Chuuya shudders. Dazai presses into him, putting his free hand on Chuuya's thigh for balance. Chuuya feels like he's ablaze. Dazai nips at Chuuya's ear, which makes him see stars. He works up and down, between Chuuya's jaw and shoulder, forming hickeys the size and color of plums.
Moans and whimpers rock Chuuya's body. He pulls Dazai's hair with one hand and supports himself with the other. Dazai groans into the crook of his neck. Chuuya pulls harder. His thighs shake. His mouth hangs open. He hooks his legs around Dazai's waist.
Finally, Dazai wraps his hand around Chuuya's dick again. No wrist flicking this time. No technique. Just good, old-fashioned friction.
Chuuya thrusts into Dazai's hand, shaking the table on its legs. "Fuck me. Oh, God."
"I'm your God," Dazai growls. He swipes his tongue over a hickey and makes Chuuya quake. Chuuya shuts his eyes tight. "No! You look at me." Dazai disconnects from Chuuya's neck to stare directly at him. "Look at me when you cum."
He can't answer with words, just sweet noises and rutting hips. Chuuya untangles his hand from Dazai's hair and leans back, blinking away the beginning of tears to get a better look.
Dazai rams into Chuuya's hips with his full body weight. The veins in his arms pulse. His sleeves threaten to come unrolled, and Chuuya is sure Dazai would let them get stained. His chest heaves with effort. His neck is shiny. His jaw....
"Look at my face, Chuuya." Dazai's expression is angry. He's concentrating. Dark hair sticks to his forehead, weighed down by sweat. "There we go."
Brown eyes drill into him. Chuuya thinks his heart might explode.
A shadow of a smile crosses Dazai's face at Chuuya's agony. "Just like that."
Chuuya gasps. White ropes of cum stain Dazai's shirt, Dazai's pants, Dazai's table. They weave their way over Chuuya's abs and chest and thighs. He moans. Loud and long and desperate. His whole body feels numb and feverish at the same time. Dazai's still pumping his dick. He thrusts his hips. Sweat rolls down his back. A spark runs up his spine. His arms collapse and his back hits the table.
"That's what I fucking thought." Dazai climbs up and straddles Chuuya, who squirms under the pressure. He leans down and leaves another hickey or two on Chuuya's ribs, furiously working his cock well after he's done. The embodiment of smug.
Chuuya writhes. A drawn-out string of whines and curses fall from his lips. Tears run from the corners of his eyes down into his hair. He thinks he might pass out when Dazai finally lets go. His legs spasm and his head pounds. Fireworks explode behind his eyelids every time he blinks.
Dazai slides off the table, managing to look suave and overdressed while covered in cum. He picks up his tie and pulls it taut between his hands. Teasing. "Take your time. You'll probably need a while to recover. But you better be gone when I'm out of the shower."
Panting, Chuuya turns his head to follow Dazai. "What about payment? You said you'd pay me."
Dazai laughs. "That was me paying you." He tosses his tie into the bedroom, then unbuttons his shirt. Chuuya swallows hard. "Seriously. Until I'm out of the shower."
"Good luck with your portfolio, then." Chuuya's voice is rough. "I doubt much of that is admissible to a corporate job."
"Then I guess we'll just have to do this again."
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
As soon as Dazai shuts the bathroom door, he grins.