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This was where a true love would be found.
Suspects would be arrested, but there would be only one lucky winner.
Never have they said that joining the ranks of the noble tyrants was a glorious one, or even one others looked up to. No. Not in the same way that others envied celebrities for the money, sometimes the fame, but not always—and, of course, those who made a living feeding off their fame and the consequences it brought.
Chuuya had seen it firsthand. The times were few, but there: people led away in handcuffs, sirens echoing in the lonely distance, the glare of flickering blues and reds lighting up the night.
Tonight had none of that. Two shadowy figures stood out on the balcony overlooking Yokohama Bay, sparks sprinkling from a cigarette as one of them took a long drag. Skyscrapers stood tall and dark, the building blocks of the city’s business district. Over the horizon, the water called under the fading light of the evening. One of the two figures just outside threw their hands up in the air, the other leaned against a railing. Snow quietly covered two wine bottles and an ashtray. Someone partied really, really hard. Too hard.
Soft jazz played in the background. He didn’t hear any vocals, but with all the background noise of people huddling in groups of twos, threes, and more talking between each other, he couldn’t focus long enough to make out any words.
Potted blue forget-me-nots sat on a nearby table, petals perky. Sequins sparkled with the sway of dresses coming and going, disappearing around a corner and down dim halls. Someone, a man with graying hair, pumped a fist in the air, his face lighting up after being told some of the best news of his life.
Against the wall was a table stretching from one end of the room to the other with bottles lined up in a neat row. Dark as ruby, bright as diamond. And all those in between. Even the empty ones that no one bothered to toss away yet. Chuuya poured himself the last of a pale champagne, pink wrapper in tatters from rough handling of, oh, about fifty or so other patrons. Participants? They were participants in THE GAME. A large banner hung overhead by the entrance. HAPPY TEN YEARS. It hadn’t been quite that long for Chuuya; he was going on his second. He raised his glass to no one except the air itself. To the terminally bored.
The night of the year began like any other: a bouncer with wide open arms: welcome, welcome in. Welcome back to another year. Behind his back in a lower voice: Chuuya-san. In reverence. He did not look, and he did not feel the pair of eyes behind those sunglasses on him. The burly man stood straight and tall with hands clasped behind his back—staring across the street at a darkened building several stories high. A car pulled up and honked twice, a door opened and closed, and heels hit the ground. A middle-aged man with a face full of wrinkles formed by time approached and showed a badge, excusing himself past Chuuya. In a hurry.
Security ramped up this year. Though Chuuya shouldn’t be surprised after last year’s party ended prematurely with blood on the walls and a man’s head split open on one of those ruby red bottles. Partying too hard had always been discouraged, but that didn’t stop everyone. It was even a bolded guideline on the paper that came in the mail along with his invitation. No scents. No disco. No hard partying.
Right. Even as he stood surrounded by too many crowds than he could count on his fingers, the only smells that hung in the air came from those perky petals of the forget-me-nots he stood next to and the tart grapes simmering in his wine glass. Someone had been stopped on the way in, refused entrance because the cologne they had on was prohibited and might agitate the guests. Could also mess with the game if that cologne mixed with the scents of the would-be suitors. Voices rose, profanity was spat, and they turned around and disappeared into the night.
“These are…unimportant times, detective.” A woman put her finger to her lips, smudging some of her lipstick, then pointed. “You and I were born after the dust settled, a thousandth of a second too late.”
That same woman—with her hair over one shoulder and braided to the last strand tied together with a silk ribbon—Chuuya met his first time. Every year she changed the color of her hair, bemoaning how cruel aging could be, but not as cruel as being subjected to the game. She once told him in passing how she had been here since the start. Ten long, agonizing years of turning her nose up at all the horrible scents of the alphas rolling the dice and trying their luck. And the odds had been rigged against them from the start, but none spoke up about it to keep the masquerade going. They were supposed to be luring alphas in, not driving them off. Even if none of the guests had an interest in courtship from the start.
Chuuya included. His first year was because of curiosity. He was finally part of the elite and all the admiration and dazzling lights that came with it. Now, not even a peep as he became another number to blend in with the crowd. A younger lady around his age greeted him with a hug, but it rang hollow. Another man held his hand in an iron grip and shook it. The smiles did not reach their eyes as they said how glad they were to see him again. He did the same. It came with the pleasantries.
On the other hand, that detective worn by time also had a lot of stories to tell. Once, Chuuya kept telling his chauffeur one more hour, just one more, last one, I promise, because the detective went on into the wee hours about catching criminals and busting drug rings. Chuuya thought it fascinating when all he knew was school and being raised by butlers and nannies who came and went through a house too, too large for such a tiny, tiny child. Home. There was a time when Chuuya wouldn't question that word. Home was here in Japan, where his mother and father were. But now? Everything was different. Draped in absence, void, memories of the past. He would never see his mother again fixing her hair at the dressing table. No one browsing old books in father's study. And in the hallways, there was only the spirit of the carefree child who now tried to find himself in a new reality.
“What’s it like to miss someone, detective?” Chuuya asked as he set his glass down and leaned an elbow against the table.
To his left, the aging woman shot him a withering look as their conversation had been interrupted, but the detective shook his head with a small smile and tipped the rim of his hat down.
“What’s it like?” That was when he adjusted his bowtie. Two times too many to be comfortable. “Good and bad. An ache that brings you joy, because deep inside you have a reason why you miss someone?”
“It’s like a little alcohol and a lot of heartbreak.” The woman sighed and drummed her filed nails against the rim of her glass. Flecks of ruby red reflected on the surface. She smiled to herself, gazing upon what remained of her drink. In thought. “Here we are, and it’s never enough. They think of this as a game, you know—pitting these alphas against one another as we watch like we’re in some kind of gladiator ring and it’s a fight to the death. Even now my stomach turns at the idea of doing this again. I can already smell those vile scents.”
Here we go. Chuuya still didn’t know much about this woman, but what he did know was that she lived entirely in the past. Mourning static images instead of the living organism that was the present. He averted his gaze to a wall and sipped from his drink. Pleasantly strong. Burned a little at the back of the throat. Grapes tasting stronger than their aroma.
“Should it not be a crime to smell so terribly it can clear a whole room?”
The detective fired back, “It’s not a crime to be born, ma’am.” The lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned with a look of unsettling concern. “You’ve done this for how many years now? I think your standards are totally beyond your comprehension. Almost makes me think this whole thing has been rigged for a while.”
Maybe he poked a proverbial bear by inserting himself into the conversation, but Chuuya didn’t mind it much so long as he wasn’t the center of the gossip. Gossip was nice, interesting, in theory. So long as he wasn’t on either end. That may or may not have been one of the reasons he continued attending the yearly parties. He came away with blackmail-worthy material he had absolutely no use for because most of the other elites either kept to themselves or covered their tracks well, but it still made his head turn.
Last year, right before his very eyes, a marriage of two decades went up in flames because a man had been going behind his wife’s back about being an alpha when it couldn’t have been further from the truth. His suppressants just so happened to wear off by the end of the night and the rest? History. Neither had been seen since.
“Things were a lot different in the eighties…the revolution. The demand for omegas and betas to rise up in society because the alphas built their own empire all alone—and now here we are. Sipping wine, not even giving them the time of day, and determining their worth by scent. How the mighty have fallen.”
“And now here we are, playing games,” the detective corrected. “Maybe an alpha or two gets lucky and chosen by an omega. But that’s all this is.”
Pearls around the wrist jingled as the woman waved a hand and scoffed. “Is it just a game? I did not fail to notice the extra security hanging around the premises. Surely you have something better to be doing on this fine night than snooping around hoping to find some poor sap to put away behind bars this time.”
“It’s in the interest of all those attending.” Another adjustment of the bowtie by shaky fingers. The detective seemed to notice he tugged a little too hard on it, for he loosened the knot and fixed it around his neck again. “Rather I’m here to make sure everyone stays safe.”
“And you’ve volunteered the last however many years now,” Chuuya added, trying to steer the conversation back to what they had initially been talking about. The game. Not the pressure that hung in the air so thick it could be sliced through. The two of them stared, bordering on glares, and Chuuya found himself caught in the middle. Literally. “You didn’t have to accept the invitation if being around alphas bothers you that much.”
The woman turned to shoot Chuuya a look. “It doesn’t, but I simply tire of it. I’d never deign to share a heat with an alpha and accept them into my nest because why would I want the scent of someone who’s known tragedy and total annihilation to taint what I work hard for?” She heaved a sigh, the tension in her shoulders leaving. “The smell of sorrow has been steeped in many scents, and I do not want to be next. What if it’s infectious? And we’re all doomed?”
“If by infectious, you mean people getting dealt a terrible hand in life, sure,” the detective said. “Please do not speak of that here, ma’am. It has been debunked by the national health organizations that it’s not infectious. If you lost someone close to you, you’d find your scent tainted for the worse.”
Glass set down a little hard, the woman leaned over the table and rested her cheek in the palm of her hand. “I’ve lost my mother and a loved one. I still have their belongings stored away in the attic because I refuse to touch any of it. I don’t want to smell like them and remember.” Her eyes softened slightly, and she lowered his gaze. Lips twitched as she held back some unknown emotion. “I’ve been doing this for ten years because I don’t want the scents of my dead loved ones turned into some processed abomination to be marketed and sold. I’d be outraged if it ever happened, and I am very glad it hasn’t yet.”
“And you’ve done an impeccable job at masking that sorrow with the artificial scent of apricots, ma’am—but altering your scent will only take you so far.”
“I am not like them.” She cast her gaze across the room, to a wall where a group of tuxedoed men and dressed women stood, mouths moving, laughs in the air, glasses clinking. A toast to a fine evening, and a long, long night ahead of them.
Chuuya also turned his attention to the group. He…actually hadn’t paid any of them attention. That group of alphas hanging over there weren’t nobodies, but there was no point beyond attaching a name to the scents he’d smell later in the night. They’d come and go and never return. A new group would replace them next year. So the cycle continued until someone won. One of them, a tallish man with rather youthful features and brown curls framing his face, noticed the eyes on him and waved a little. The woman looked away in disgust. Chuuya didn’t know how to respond other than to also look away.
“Chuuya-san don’t pay them any attention. It’s not like you’ll see them again after tonight.”
He glanced back at the woman who no longer appeared to be fighting back a difficult emotion. Instead, she smiled again. Less confident than before.
“I didn’t think anyone bothered to remember my name.” The same couldn’t be said for all the other regulars he first met two years ago. Even the detective, who always flashed his badge under scrutiny, Chuuya didn’t have a name to call him by other than ‘mister’. None of them seemed to mind, because it kept them all just familiar enough to greet each other and catch up on what had been going on in their lives, but after the night was over and they all went their separate ways, that was it. Chuuya had never been told a more bald-faced lie than when that lady ran up and hugged him and mentioned how good it was to see him again.
“You say that quite confidently for someone who hasn’t looked in the mirror recently,” the woman lightly joked as she reached for her glass and swished around the wind. “The way I’ve seen you carry yourself and how you’ve treated the past games, I think you’ll be another lifer. You’re also not very interested in alphas, are you?”
“It has nothing to do with me. A lot of the others might have ulterior motives, but for me, it doesn’t go any deeper than getting out and seeing new faces. I’ve seen too many of the same ones when I was younger.” Chuuya slid a hand into his pocket and leaned against the table once more. “Anyway, what you both were talking about before—aren’t they recalling those kinds of medications? Medications from the black market have been cropping up, with rumors that they’ve been tampered with. Some other kinda substance.”
“They’re always getting recalled. Alterers, suppressants, blockers. Someone’s always making a scene in the bar when the alcohol kicks in and drowns out the pills.” The detective shook his head, the corner of his mouth curling in distaste. “And companies have the nerve to price their cheap perfumes at prices they know only we can buy. No, I am not interested in smelling like a famed politician. There’s a reason unique scents are a rarity, and these manufactured scents are a dime a dozen.” His hand balled into a loose fist at his side. “But companies also know how sharp our senses are and know we can pick up on the subtleties in scents. Three times now I’ve caught the same scent of three different alphas all smelling like the same burning cigar. Not a coincidence. A tragedy, all around.
“And nothing glamorous about being lab rats testing all these scents,” the woman added. “I will never pity an alpha wearing the scent of someone’s dead lover. Bad things happen to good people all the time. It’s a fact of life.”
Just as Chuuya opened his mouth to speak, a butler came in from an adjacent room and cleared his throat loudly, gaining the attention of several nearby guests as he spoke:
“Ladies and gentlemen, preparations have been made and tonight’s event is ready to commence. If you would be so kind as to enter the dining hall at your earliest convenience and take a seat so that we can begin, the staff would greatly appreciate it.”
Voices died down to murmurs as some waved farewell to one another and followed the butler down the hall to the dining room. The sliding doors leading to the balcony outside opened, and Chuuya caught a whiff of heavy cigarette smoke clinging to the suits of two men as they passed by. Pairs of footsteps rang all the way down the hall and along the walls.
Downing the last of his champagne, Chuuya left and took a seat near the head of the table. A sprawling chandelier with bony limbs hung above him; tiny, bright crystals almost as bright as the sun’s rays shone under the light. Every sway from the draft in the room caused a little more of that brilliance to reach his vision and when he could handle it no longer, he lowered his head and reached for the napkin in front of him, folding it into a square and placing it on his lap.
“Refreshments, sir?” a gravelly voice spoke from behind, bending slightly at the waist. He had a tray in hand with a few cans of sparkling water on them, along with a bottle of beer.
“Just water,” Chuuya answered, then he paused as he thought about it a little more and continued: “And a bit of lemon.”
The burly man who stood watch outside entered with a large chest in both hands, carefully setting it down on the table at the opposite end. Chuuya could not see from where he sat, but when the lid flipped open and people leaned over to get a closer look, he knew what was inside and what time it was. A nearby clock on the wall told him eight pm. A night still fairly young.
He suddenly felt a pair of eyes on him, but when Chuuya lifted his head and looked between all of the guests and suitors, no one looked back. Some passed a glance or two as they made small talk, but it was not the same feeling as being watched—like he was being studied from afar. When a glass of water was set down before him, he detached himself from that thought and took a sip.
Farther down the table, a woman with a scarf draped across her shoulders gagged and held her nose.
“I’ll pay twenty-thousand yen to whoever’s scent this was I had to smell, for them to leave at once. I think I just smelled a dead body!”
“You can’t just bribe the suitors!” a man in a beret hissed beside her. “I think you’re highly overreacting. It smelled sweet. Nothing like death.”
“And I think you need to get your nose checked out.”
The woman pushed the cork back in the vial, holding it out far, far away from her with her head drawn back as she passed it to the next person. Her face continued to twist in disgust even as she moved onto testing the scent of the next vial. The man in the beret shook his head and went back to sampling his own vial. Among the sea of faces, Chuuya swore he saw someone visibly deflate at that outburst. Probably the dead-smelling alpha having the hope crushed out of them. They would not be winning the game if they already had someone voting against them.
A small clink drew Chuuya’s attention away. In front of him, a small vial. Translucent bubbles swished around inside the glass. Calling. The first of many. Perhaps too many? Chuuya could not tell how many alphas graced them with their presence tonight, but he counted at least a dozen vials in the hands of the guests. He unplugged it and held it close, waiting for the scent to reach his nose.
First impression: it smelled like a dead sea creature, tangled in graying strands of seaweed. That extremely wet and salty smell of slime and ocean life. Rather disgusting. But Chuuya only wrinkled his nose and quickly sealed it back up. It must have spent quite some time in the water before the tide deposited it ashore. That was not the smell of love.
Just as he handed it off, another was placed down in front of him. They were all getting passed around one by one, most of the guests remaining stoic with excellent poker faces that did not crack under the intensity of some smells.
The second: a faint stink of burning rubber reached his nose. A short-circuit. His lips moved. “On fire?” whispered to himself. No. Surely not. Nothing like that at all. But smelled like it. Like a demonstration out on a windy day, and a tire burning at the heels of the people. This one would also not win any favors from him.
The third came wrapped as a gift from nature itself: this was the smell of dying reeds, of longing crumbling into the water. Also, the dew after heavy rainfall. He imagined himself underwater, a hundred-legged arthropod scuttling along the murky silt at the bottom of the sea—where the longing came from. And a hint of dreams being ground down. The stench that something horrible happened to this suitor, but they dusted off and proceeded, regardless. It might win them a favor from someone kind and sympathetic who knew what it was like to love and be loved and for it to go missing, but Chuuya could not relate to this one’s struggles.
“…seagull shit,” someone muttered next to him, voice dripping with disgust.
If Chuuya had been drinking from his glass, he would’ve choked on the water.
After smelling marshlands, dead sea creatures, and the dew following heavy rain, he hoped for something more stimulating. Every scent so far put him in imaginary places in time surrounded by nature—near a roaring waterfall, refuge under a canopy of trees in the rainforest, watching fireflies glimmer around him in the twilight. He hoped for some of that sweetness others either revered or complained about. An elderly man went on about how his wife was deathly allergic to coconut, and that the alpha who had that scent would not win any favors from him, but nonetheless, it was a breath of fresh air.
The memo had been taken too literally. Alphas were encouraged to come natural, but to advertise themselves in a favorable light. Right now they came packaged as carbon copies of one another—a sea of black and white as far as the eye could see and a deluge of earth, wind, and rain the nose and mind could never forget.
How disappointing. Chuuya began to chalk up this year’s party to be another swing and a miss. He reached out and unplugged the vial, holding it close and letting the scent within waft out.
A pinch of cinnamon? His initial thought as that sweetness he hoped for seemed to come to life. Eyes fluttering shut, he let the scent flood his senses, expecting to be whisked away to another plane of existence. Maybe this time out on a raft over the ocean as he caught salt. Not as salty as the brine of the sea wind across the coast of the bay, but close.
Then, leather, and some kind of wood he couldn’t put his finger on. Strange. This one had multiple scents rather than just one. It screamed artificial. This was a culprit, not a suitor. And the police would hear about it.
But the longer Chuuya focused on trying to dissect the different scents, a sickly, uncomfortable wave of warmth washed over him, and white noise crackled in his head, muddying his thoughts. He sat there, frozen, unable to move except for the trembling of his hand and sweating fingers losing their grip.
A crash. The vial fell to the floor. Glass cracked and spilled everywhere. Around him and across the hardwood floor.
Silence. Heads turned. Eyes, too many eyes looked at him, most in question, some with a terribly knowing look. A hand came upon his shoulders and fingers snapped in his vision. Someone’s muffled voice reached his ears, but they were six feet too far under for him to make out any words.
“What was that?” Chuuya finally asked.
“I said, are you quite all right, Chuuya-san? You suddenly dropped the vial you were holding.”
Something crunched underfoot as he squirmed in his seat and he realized, right, he focused perhaps a little too intently on picking apart the scents of this one alpha that he…became so lost in his trance that he lost his grip? That didn’t seem right, but the glass stuck to the underside of his shoes said otherwise. Chuuya was acutely aware of the smell of grapes simmering in someone’s drink. Ripe and pearlescent. The lemon wedge attached to the rim of his glass reeked of the same sourness as it tasted. Until it reached his nose again. All those scents. The leather. Wood. His hands shook again, and he placed them in his lap away from sight.
He was all right, he’d tell the man, but the words didn’t come out. That warmth returned, less sickening and more flushed in the face. Like a fever. That scent—the one he couldn’t even begin to describe, such a wonderful anomaly to brighten up this bleak day—he wanted more of. Chuuya’s eyes darted between all the faces continuing to watch him, alphas and omegas mixed together creating a sea of not just black and white, but with sparkles too. No one spoke up except for hushed whispers. None wore an expression that screamed GUILTY, he had found the one.
“Perchance, are you…experiencing your heat, sir?” the same man lowered his voice to a whisper only they could hear.
“I’m fine, goddammit!”
Several butlers abandoned their posts by the doorway and set down trays in a rush to distract the onlookers, offering extra refreshers, refills on champagnes, and enticing some with appetizers.
The man backed away, his hands held out in surrender. “I apologize, but if you really are, then I think it may be in your best interest to—”
“I said I’m fine, enough!” Chuuya snapped and abruptly got out of his seat, leaving the room.
He stopped at the end of a corridor, flicking the hallway light off and clutching his head. His senses sharpened to needlepoint sensitivities that became unbearable. Even around the corner where light shone, the glow made his eyes ache. A jolt ran through his head, and he winced. He shouldn’t be smelling anything right now. He was far, far away from the others. From the spilled vial. But it was as if he had never left at all, the scent following him, unknown wood and leather and sprinkles of cinnamon promising the touch of summer mocking him. Chuuya’s head spun. He wasn’t getting off this ride.
Why did he react so strongly to that scent when no one else seemed to? Even the concerned man who passed him the vial after smelling it for himself didn’t bat an eye. And here Chuuya was, weak in the knees, leaning against the wall for support, teeth itching. After the vial broke and the scent flooded the air…still, no one reacted. As if none of them smelled it. Was he imagining the whole thing?
Low voices grew louder, almost deafening in his ears. Like words being screamed at him as footsteps met carpet and the detective appeared in his sight. Blurry, but Chuuya could make out the man’s aging features—the tobacco-stained fingers as they waved around. He blinked and scowled.
“You reacted quite strongly to that scent, what happened?”
“Whose scent was that?”
Brows furrowed in concern; the detective hesitated for a moment and looked down the hall. “The alphas are supposed to remain anonymous—”
“Just tell me!” Chuuya growled, grabbing the man by the front of his suit and yanking him close. He narrowed his eyes and continued in a low voice: “Give me a name. Now.”
The detective shot him an apologetic look and pried Chuuya’s hands away. “I cannot. You’re not in a rational state of mind right now, I can tell. And I don’t want to jeopardize the safety of the alpha in question.”
“If you don’t tell me right now, I swear I’ll—”
“…Someone call the police, quick!”
A voice shouted by the hall’s entrance, startling Chuuya. He quickly looked for the source of the voice, but it was empty.
“Just take a deep breath and stay right here,” the detective said cautiously as he reached in his pocket and pulled a phone out. “We’re going to have someone come and check you out to make sure you’re okay because you’re acting unusual.”
Instead, Chuuya shoved the detective aside and ran down the hall, turning several corners until he entered a bathroom and slammed the door behind him, locking it and crumpling to the floor. Soap. Light and airy as flowers. Someone had just washed their hands. But it did not make the scent haunting him go away. It followed. And he could swear whoever it belonged to was right here, with him, shoulder-to-shoulder and sitting on cold tile in solidarity. He couldn’t be more alone.
As he caught his breath, he stared at the wall across from him, trying to clear his mind and sort through his thoughts. He got up and gripped the sides of the cold sink in white-knuckled fury before splashing water on his face. He refused to look at his reflection. Whatever lay on the other side, it wouldn’t be pretty. Too much chaos. Everything went up in a blaze of unglory, and just as he put the last piece of the puzzle in, it burned down to nothing. He needed to know who it belonged to. At any cost. There was something about that scent that had him like a moth to a flame, and he was burning up trying to make sense of what was going on.
A cold streak ran through him at this realization: he wouldn’t know who it belonged to. Because the alphas made themselves anonymous in more ways than one. None of them had scents coming in. A sure sign of some kind of scent blocker unless they all happened to be masquerading as betas. No. Too coincidental. And a scent so potent that made him react before he could process it could not come from a beta.
Coherent thought drifted away by the minute, cast out to some unknown sea and he wouldn’t know if he’d get them back. But in his struggle to keep everything under control and keep the scream within from tearing itself out, he remembered the feeling of being watched. Eyes upon him, watching his every move. No one met his gaze at the time, but could it be the one he was looking for…?
As if they knew this would happen.
“…over. He’s nowhere in sight. I’m moving through the crowd now.”
Chuuya held his breath and pressed up against the wall, straining to hear the last of the officer’s words until they, too, drowned in the sea of wordless speech. A cacophony of sounds knocking on the door to his mind, banging, demanding to be let in. Soaked in. And he wanted to scream. He needed to find the source of that scent. Fast.
Footsteps echoed away into another part of the building, but he still heard the phantom crackling of a voice over a radio. He heard too much of everything and plugging his ears made it worse—then the ghosts of the suitors and the guests circled him, wailing and bemoaning what a pity it was that yet another year had been ruined, but nothing to do about it now for the hunt was on.
Swinging the door open, Chuuya raced down the hall, heart lurching in his throat when he heard a ‘there!’ but couldn’t trust if it was someone’s actual voice or another figment of his imagination in overdrive, flailing and wanting out. He dashed up a staircase and turned down another corner, crashing into someone and causing him to stumble back.
A hand shot out to hold him steady and keep him from hitting the floor—firmer, different from the detective’s. And Chuuya heard no phantom radio playing. He breathed a heavy sigh and glanced up, meeting the gaze of a tallish man who blinked and leaned in close, analyzing Chuuya up close with a tilt of his head.
“You almost took a fall there. What are you in the rush for?”
That face seemed familiar. Not familiar enough for Chuuya to know who it was at first glance, but one of the many faces that had attended the party. The uncomfortable proximity made him ease back and eye the other man warily. Then, it dawned on him when the hand lifted from his shoulder: this was the one who, well, caught Chuuya looking at him and waved in kind. One of the many suitors who had come to attend, judging by the tuxedo he wore and missing scent.
This already didn’t seem fair. Chuuya couldn’t identify him, but he could identify Chuuya by scent alone.
A hand flew up to cover his neck, but after a few seconds, Chuuya realized it was too late and useless. The scent was everywhere. In everything. And his running around while trying to find the one who captivated his senses exacerbated that.
…something was off about this one. As Chuuya fixed his attention on the man and eyed him from top to bottom, he thought it strange that someone just happened to be hanging out upstairs when screams and the stampede of a crowd could be heard throughout the entire building.
“What are you doing up here?” Chuuya asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Hey, I asked you first,” the man said with a cheeky smile. Whatever panic rained down upon them, it did not concern him.
Still, the party was over. It was time for everyone to go home. No winners this year, and Chuuya just happened to blow it. Every slam of a downstairs door struck Chuuya like cold water to the face. Right. He was getting distracted and needed to find the owner of that scent before…before they left for good, and he’d never know who they were.
“Fine.” The man sighed when he realized neither would back down and leaned in again to get a closer look at Chuuya. His nose twitched. “I’m up here because I just so happened to be looking for a panicked omega, and I think you might fit the bill.”
Oh, oh no. Chuuya was getting a bad feeling—dread creeping up his spine. “Who are you?”
“Technically, I’m not supposed to say—”
Grabbing the man by the collar, Chuuya tugged him closer. “Who are you?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing for several excruciating seconds that Chuuya thought maybe this man had been stringing him along and feeding into that panic for fun. He was about to let go and return to his search until hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled them away.
“I guess I can say since things have been canceled.” The man rubbed his chin in thought and smiled again, more genuine this time. “Dazai. The one you also just happen to be searching for.”
A mix of confusion and realization reached Chuuya’s features. The realization grew terrifyingly large when he connected the dots. He felt cold. Too many words tried to claw their way out of his throat but all they did was strangle him as he stood there.
He turned and ran.
* * *
He heard movement on the other side and felt a pressure as if someone sat down with their own back against the door. Chuuya inwardly sighed and crossed his legs, tilting his head back. The night began quietly and ended even quieter, only this time he truly wasn’t alone. Almost made him want to go back to those few minutes in the bathroom when he just thought someone was there. Worst of it all was he knew who was on the other side.
“Why aren't you leaving? I said, go.”
A pause. A deafening pause louder than the blood rushing in his ear and the thumping of his heart. Maybe he assumed wrong, and that movement was Dazai leaving and heading out the door like all the other guests and suitors. He should get going, too, but the pain shooting up his spine suggested that the ride back home would be a living hell if he wanted to brave it.
“Do you really want me to leave?”
Dazai sounded more confused than anything when he asked, and Chuuya wanted to laugh. Of course he wanted to be left alone. This was completely undignified—he sat on the floor resisting the urge to draw his knees up and hug them as his mind continued to race. Why this happened. He even carefully planned everything down to this very night: prolonging his pre-heat by a few more days because he wanted to do some good and help catch some criminals. And it backfired spectacularly. At the time, Chuuya wanted to slap the pitying expression off the detective’s face so no one would ever look at him in such a way again. That, or turn away in shame.
Chuuya was so sure, too, that Dazai was among them. The criminals. He didn't have the years of scent testing under his belt like the aging lady did, but he still tried his best. His nose had never failed him before, but there was a first time for everything, huh? Weakly chuckling to himself, he gazed up at all the little dancing lights beating down on him. Baking him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and patted around his hairline.
“I think it's best if you go,” Chuuya finally said as he opened his eyes, squinting from the sudden flood of light. “It's over: the party's over, the night's over.”
Fabric rustled on the other side. Shoe scraped carpet. A soft hum of thought. “And you have a long one ahead of you, huh? You don't smell good.”
Gritting his teeth, Chuuya rolled his eyes. Dazai had a lilt to his voice like he was enjoying this. Every bit of it. Chuuya pushed, and Dazai pulled. Some unspoken tug-of-war waged between them as they found themselves at a standstill and Dazai couldn’t be more delighted by the thrill of the hunt.
“Gee, I can't imagine why. Thanks, asshole.”
Dazai sounded on the verge of breaking into a fit of laughter when he stifled a high-pitched noise. Chuuya imagined his shoulders shaking from the bottled laughter threatening to spill.
“No, no. That's not what I meant.” “I mean, you don't smell good, but not in the traditional sense.” He trailed off and a light drumming of fingers tapped the bottom of the door. One, two, three. One, two, three. “You smell pained.”
“Yeah, thanks, you're not making this any better,” Chuuya repeated.
He heard a knock at the door and the knob jiggling, the person on the other side testing to see if it was unlocked. Then, a defeated sigh. “I can help if you'd like.”
“You don't even know me, why do you care? Just go.”
“Because it's partially my responsibility and also, I think it's common sense to want to help someone if they're hurting, no? Or do I have it wrong?”
“You don't have it wrong.” Chuuya paused and tucked away the handkerchief, stretching his legs out in front of him. Across from him was a bed up against the wall. Large. Inviting. A nice place to crash because he wasn’t sure if he could trust his own two legs to carry him home right now. The sheen of white silk reflected under the room’s lights. “But I don't need you. And I certainly don't need your pity.”
“Is it pity if I'm going out of my way to offer my help?” Dazai leaned his weight against the door again, a sudden movement causing the knob to rattle again. “You know, when I signed up for this, I signed up knowing the terms. I'd be a coward to walk away.”
“You don't have to be a coward if I'm telling you to leave.” Chuuya could no longer prevent the irritation from seeping into his voice as he scowled at no one in particular. Maybe at himself. He should blame Dazai, it seemed like the most logical conclusion considering what happened, but mostly Chuuya was disappointed with himself. All the people that had to witness that moment. “You have a death wish if you think you're gonna force your way inside and force me to spend my heat with you,” Chuuya warned.
“You do sound like you want to bite my head off,” Dazai lightly joked. “I'm not doing a very good job at this, am I?”
“No.”
A long stretch of silence passed between them. Chuuya fixed his gaze on a ceiling fan that spun infinitely around in circles before closing his eyes, willing himself to transport back to one of those places in time from before. Suddenly, floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean didn’t sound so bad. Or the splash of the waterfall wetting his cheeks. But the longer he sat there, the longer they sat there, the worse that coiling burn in the pit of his stomach became. He squirmed for some sort of relief until a pain shot up his back ache and he winced, giving up.
“…What do I smell like to you right now, Dazai?”
“Like pain and suffering and sleepless nights,” Dazai said after a while. “In a less abstract way: nothing good. You smell like the sea, like someone who's been in the sea for too long, baking in the sun.”
No, he needed something real, something he could hold on to with all his claws and teeth. Painting pretty, meaningless pictures did nothing for him if he couldn’t have a taste. Chuuya scoffed at the explanation. “Now I, too, smell like the half a dozen alphas I had to go through tonight? Don't make me laugh.”
“What do you think you smell like?”
“Nothing good,” Chuuya quickly said. “Because it hurts.”
Another stretch of silence lingered between them for too long. And in that silence, he strained to hear the quiet jingling of a wristwatch turning over a wrist, the dial being played with, a metal button clicking. Tiny, metallic nails on a chalkboard ringing in his head. Chuuya heard every little noise, every shrieking bug outside, every wind howl—he also smelled the leather of new shoes, carpet shampoo, fresh linen. All put together making his brain short-circuit. It couldn’t process being pulled in ten different directions at the same time and it, too, wanted to throw its hands up in the air and disappear into the night. He needed the quietest, darkest, loneliest room he could find, and he chose poorly.
“You know, I don't think you're cut out to be a bloodhound.”
“You know, I think you're talking a lot of smack for someone who barely knows me,” Chuuya snapped.
“Well…if you aren't even in tune with yourself, how are you going to help others? Help yourself before you help others, that jazz.”
“What I smell like doesn't matter. I'm not the participant. You are.” Then, after a moment, Chuuya lowered his voice: “Or you were.”
He still wasn't sure who was supposed to be the winner and who was supposed to be the loser. Games always had a winner and a loser. A tie? Go again and again until someone won. They’d get off this carousel one way or another. Things didn’t work out this year, but there was always the next one. And the one after that until Chuuya either had enough or found the one. The actual winner.
So he hoped it wasn't the last thing he would do in Yokohama, Chuuya got up and unlocked the door, swinging it open. He looked up and met Dazai's gaze briefly before grabbing him by the hand and pulling him inside. Chuuya shoved him against the wall and pinned Dazai's arms down at his sides.
Dazai blinked, taken aback by the sudden move, then his features softened. A chuckle left his lips. “Hey, you can calm down, all right? No one's coming to get you—it's just us.”
“No.” Chuuya shook his head and narrowed his eyes up at Dazai. “You don't get it. Any of it: what you did.” Chuuya's grip did not budge. He reached up and craned his neck to nuzzle the crook of Dazai’s neck. Nothing there. At least, not at first. Pressing his face against the skin brought that earthy scent back to the surface. Faint, a whisper away, but there, nonetheless. “Is it a lie?” he whispered, brushing his lips along the column of Dazai’s neck. The answer could be discovered in a single bite. But that was a last resort. “Or is this what your scent really is?”
In the kindest words Chuuya could manage without accusing Dazai. Yes, he was pointing a finger and assuming Dazai had one of those artificial scents people kept going on about and getting put away for. Scents that got people killed, a dangerous game.
“Fake scents don’t trigger an omega’s heat.” An imperceptible shiver ran up Dazai’s spine and he shrugged Chuuya’s grip off. “Will you let go of me now?” Anticipation and a bit of hope lightened his voice—tempered with expectation. Hope was different than reality. He knew this.
After a few seconds, Chuuya clicked his tongue in annoyance and let go, but he refused to move away from where he stood. Dazai had been a little too compliant this entire time, and whatever initial fear Chuuya had that Dazai would turn his back and shut the door behind him on the way out also disappeared into that boundless sea where the rest of his thoughts went to die. And being this close, he could feel the warmth radiating from Dazai. With it, a dash of strange comfort Chuuya hadn't known. It reminded him of the way those who worked for his parents would get down on one knee and pull him into their arms after he had stubbed his toe and burst into tears. Mechanical, but the intent was there.
While lost in that thought, hands cupped his face and pulled him closer. A pinch of familiar cinnamon tickled his nose, and Dazai became the touch of summer Chuuya yearned for from the first moment. Those eyes did not scorn him, they even looked playful with the trick of the light casting a glimmer in them. Dazai had a slight smile as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Chuuya's forehead. Lingering.
“I'm honored that you chose me,” Dazai whispered, pulling away.
Chuuya closed his eyes at the gesture, exhaling shakily. “Is this how the game ends?”
Did Dazai win? Or was Chuuya the winner?
“It's never been a game. There's nothing fun about gambling with other people's lives.”
Chuuya dragged Dazai over to the bed and shoved him down, crawling on top and leaning in close, nuzzling the crook of his neck. “Now that I have your name, Dazai,” Chuuya emphasized with a chaste kiss to the skin, “tell me. Why is your scent the way it is, and why shouldn't I brand you a phony? I've never known anyone to smell like so many different things without some other kind of reasoning behind it. An illegal one.”
“Maybe you're thinking way too hard about it when the answer is simpler: everyone interprets things differently.” Dazai sighed softly and carded a hand through Chuuya's hair. Rough fingers. Nails chewed in a nervous fit. “You're the only one who reacted the way you did. From what I saw, everyone else either frowned or looked completely unfazed by my scent. Just means you happened to like it.”
“And look at the mess you caused as a result,” Chuuya shot back. “The police got called. The party's been ruined. And you're smiling about it.”
“I'm definitely not smiling at the fact you still look like you're about two seconds from biting my head off,” Dazai joked and idly twirled a lock of Chuuya's hair around a finger.
Chuuya gritted his teeth and nipped Dazai's neck, the body beneath him flinching slightly. “Because I'm in pain, asshole. I feel like I'm on fire.”
Dazai hummed in acknowledgment and slid an arm around Chuuya's waist. “I saw it in your eyes. And I'm offering to let you do as you please to let it out. It's the least I can do.” Then, his breath tickled Chuuya's ear as he whispered: "I never got your name, you know."
"You don't need to know."
"No, maybe not, but I'd like to have something to call you by that isn't just 'pretty omega'."
"You call me that and we're done here." Chuuya paused and looked away for a moment. "...Chuuya," he grumbled. “Because I don’t want to hear that again. You’re on thin ice.”
Hands ripped Dazai's tie off and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, exposing the column of his neck. Enticing. Chuuya wanted nothing more than to graze his teeth along Dazai's pulse point and bite down. All over. Everywhere. Decorating the skin with bruises made in his name. Smother himself in that strange diamond of a scent that might never appear before him again. Someone else could’ve had Dazai, and oh, what a terrible thought to run through his mind. He reached out and pressed a finger against Dazai's neck, pulse fluttering underneath. He chose to share his heat with Dazai who had nothing but adoration in his eyes and a hint of care lingering in their depths. Even his hands moved slowly along the plane of Chuuya's back, rubbing circles into knotted muscle and skimming fingertips over the spine, causing Chuuya to shiver.
He was in control. And if he so desired, at any moment Chuuya could kick Dazai out and sever their connection. Permanently. They'd become two parallel lines that would never cross paths again and this night would become nothing more than a fleeting memory of what almost was.
Somehow, his heart ached at that. Dazai's scent was steeped in the familiarity of a bygone past. Chuuya would like to think if he ever saw Dazai in the last few years at the parties, he'd remember him. Remember that boyish smile full of mischief and the twinkle in his eyes promising the ghost's kiss of something more. Of two bodies melting into each other's embrace and sharing a searing kiss. That kind. All he had to do was dive in. But Chuuya couldn't even confidently agree with himself. He didn't remember Dazai. This was their first time meeting. A cold, snowy night right by the coast.
Dazai tilted his head to the side and lightly pressed down on the back of Chuuya's head, urging him to keep going, to have his fill. A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, and when Chuuya looked up, he noticed the fine pink dust spreading across Dazai's cheeks.
Foolish, foolish. What an idiot, Chuuya wanted to say, but these words didn't come out. Dazai had too much trust that Chuuya wouldn't bite down and tie them together. Misplaced trust that had no home here, but Chuuya found he was most frustrated with himself instead. Still.
He wanted Dazai to fight back, not caress bare skin and leave him longing for more. Even that pitiful “hey” Dazai told him, their faces inches apart and breath tickling skin, had some kind of painful tenderness that left Chuuya tiring of it all instead of fueling the frenzy instinct tried to goad out of him. Maybe the trust came from there—from something Dazai saw that Chuuya didn't. After all, he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror earlier. Who knew what kind of sorry expression he had?
“Go on, I'm all yours.”
Chuuya exhaled shakily and kissed down the length of Dazai's neck. He brushed lips across collarbone, the arm around his waist tightening ever so slightly. He reached between them and palmed Dazai through his pants, squeezing his hardening erection and earning himself a hitched breath of surprise. Breath fanned against his skin in a soft pant, and hips rose up from the bed to meet his hand for more of that sweet friction. Dazai had gotten a tiny taste and wanted more of it—a lot more. But this night was not his to own.
Unbuckling Dazai's pants, Chuuya tossed the belt aside and pulled the rest of his clothes off. He scooted back and straddled Dazai's lap, skimming fingertips along the underside of Dazai's cock and over the knot at the base that began to form.
The slightest touch caused Dazai to squirm and fist the sheets. Even dragging a finger down the length of his cock made Dazai hold his breath for a beat, letting it all out in relief only when Chuuya pulled his hand away entirely. The body shied away from the touch, but a sort of mute plea lingered in Dazai’s gaze. Eyes glazed over with lust and wanting more of whatever Chuuya had to offer, at any cost.
More clothes fell to the carpet in a heap. The watch Dazai wore landed on the nightstand beside the bed with a heavy thud.
Chuuya wrapped a hand around Dazai's cock and pumped it lazily, swiping a thumb over the tip. A part of him struggled to hold back from climbing on top of Dazai and fucking himself into oblivion until they climaxed together, and the other part of him thought how hypocritical it was that he wanted to draw this out. The pain coursed through his veins, and it throbbed all over. Ceaselessly. The fire went from a low burn to scorching and he could do nothing except burn up in the flames until he gave in and allowed himself the taste of pleasure or suffered alone in its wrath.
Suffer. What a weird way for him to put it. But the first thing that came to his mind. He never suffered during his heats until now. Until knowing Dazai. They came and went like a series of bad days that Chuuya just stayed at home for. Not any worse than the flus or colds he'd caught over the years. But this was…this was some other ungodly torture and Dazai's hands were the ones stoking the flames until they became an inferno that couldn't be put out.
“Chuuya…” Dazai whined and rolled his hips up against Chuuya's hand. When he finally opened his eyes again, he peered up at Chuuya through his lashes.
A vocal plea for more, increasingly urgent as Dazai thrust up into Chuuya's hand and reached out to wrench some of that control from Chuuya until he swatted Dazai's arm away. This was Chuuya's domain, and unlucky Dazai had to play by his rules.
Dazai didn't even hide his look of disappointment as he sank back against the sheets, sighing through clenched teeth that sounded more like a hiss of restraint than reluctant compliance. He wouldn’t know what it was like to truly be driven wild unless Chuuya shared some of that torture by grazing fingers along his knot, maybe kissing it and giving it a flick of the tongue before getting up and walking away.
But that would be cruel.
Chuuya sat up on his knees and leaned over to capture Dazai's lips in a bruising kiss. He didn't want to hear any more of those kinds of sounds. If Chuuya had to kiss him breathless and bite lip until skin broke and a more primal growl of pleasure escaped Dazai, so be it. Except Dazai didn't match his frenzy. Not in the same way. Chuuya was all teeth, nibbling and pulling on Dazai's bottom lip, seeking entrance to continue devouring the man who he couldn't get enough of and his body screamed for.
Dazai simply followed along. Chuuya led, and Dazai treated it like a dance to lose themselves in instead of a race against time. He licked into Chuuya's mouth and sucked on his tongue, drawing a soft whimper that he greedily swallowed. His hands wandered along Chuuya's trembling thighs, holding them steady until he was sure Chuuya wouldn't collapse against him, boneless, and reached behind to squeeze his ass.
A startled noise tore itself from Chuuya's throat, but Dazai prevented him from moving away and breaking the kiss. The lips against his moved and curved into a smile as fingers teased his entrance and swept lower, along Chuuya's own neglected cock.
Teeth grazed over Dazai's scent gland. That unbearable itch in the teeth to bite down returned tenfold, and the soft noises of want and desire like a chant in Chuuya's ear for him to have Dazai pushed him to the edge of the cliff and right there, almost over—
Hands moved in a blur, and he was suddenly pinned down against the bed, Dazai looming over him.
“Stop, Chuuya,” Dazai warned in a low voice, expression hardening as he held Chuuya's wrists above his head. “You need to slow down, or else you're going to hurt yourself.”
Dazai brushed his lips over Chuuya's scent gland and nibbled on the skin, sending a jolt of pleasure up Chuuya's spine. His breath caught in his throat each time Dazai bit a little harder, tempting fate by toeing a dangerous line between lovers for the night and partners for eternity. And also, something much worse. Separation and pure resignation for what could've been if they had played their cards right. Chuuya tensed up as teeth grazed his neck, and Dazai whispered against the flushed skin in a soft, tender voice, “Do you trust me?”
The haze prevented Chuuya from thinking much more beyond the need for release and how tightly wound his body was as if about to burst if he didn't get it now. At least, until lips pressed against his neck and Dazai flicked his tongue over Chuuya's scent gland, alighting every nerve ending in his body all over again. The tremor rippled through his entire frame, and he arched up against Dazai.
Now he understood. Trust not to sink his teeth in. The same trust Dazai placed in him that Chuuya thought him a fool for because Chuuya didn't trust himself.
Dazai nuzzled his neck, continuing to patiently wait for an answer until Chuuya could make enough sense of the static noise buzzing in his head to speak.
“You wouldn't be here if I didn't.”
Like this, if Dazai wanted to, he could bite down before Chuuya could react. The control rested in the palms of Chuuya's hands, but even control was a fragile trick of perception.
The answer seemed to satisfy Dazai. He soothed the bites with kisses and leaned back, tossing aside the rest of Chuuya's clothes and dipping his head lower to nip the inside of Chuuya's thigh.
“Just relax and focus on me, Chuuya. I'll make all the pain go away soon,” Dazai murmured, circling the tips of his fingers along Chuuya's entrance before sliding two deep inside to the knuckle and slowly pumping them. His free hand moved to play with a nipple, pinching and teasing it, causing Chuuya to gasp and squirm under the relentless assault.
Fingers curled inside of him and brushed against his walls as they sank in deeper, grazing that sweet spot that tore a strangled whimper from Chuuya's throat. Close, but not close enough, and he wasn't sure if Dazai was doing it on purpose. Breath tickled his skin, and he cracked an eye open to see Dazai bent over between his legs and mouthing kisses along his hip, trailing lower, lower until he reached the top of Chuuya's thigh and nipped the skin.
The sheets were too slippery for him to hold onto as Chuuya clawed uselessly at the bed before reaching out to grab a handful of Dazai's hair and push his face down. The lips gliding across his skin were a kind of heavenly bliss he'd never known, and Dazai weaved velvety touches with teasing bites that did break skin and would bruise later, but in the most intimate spots only Chuuya would come to know, and Dazai leaving with the memory of a particular warmth between the thighs and in his mouth.
Dazai lifted a leg over his shoulder and bit the sensitive inside of Chuuya's knee, simultaneously sliding a third finger inside him and thrusting them faster. Chuuya's eyes screwed shut again from the overwhelming sensations, mind going numb and panting as Dazai's broken name spilled from his lips and he tightened his fingers around the hair still in his hold. A muffled growl against the leg served as a warning and a reminder to relax as he reluctantly let go and squirmed, trying to distance himself from the relentless assault on his body. It did the opposite. Every time he moved, and his hips twitched, Dazai's fingers slid in deeper and rubbed the spot that made Chuuya want to scream. Instead, all that came out was another broken moan and a quiet plea between breaths for Dazai to knock it off and hurry up.
Obliging, Dazai withdrew his fingers and eased back, that same soft twinkle of amusement in his eyes before he looked away and reached for the lube again.
That did it. Something in Chuuya snapped, and he got up and shoved Dazai down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. His half-hearted glare held little bite, but Dazai did not protest as his hands rested on Chuuya's hips, fingertips pressing into the skin.
Dazai might’ve been putting on an act because beneath Chuuya, he looked about as blissed out and on the verge of coming undone himself, and the miserable lie of amusement did nothing to hide the blush staining his cheeks, how kiss-swollen his lips were, and the blooming love bite just under his jaw. So, so close to that spot that would've had them seeing stars at the moment, but every time Chuuya nuzzled and kissed Dazai's scent gland, he felt muscles tense up and heard Dazai's breath catch. He played with fire once already and got burned for it in kind.
“You're going way too fucking slow,” Chuuya muttered as he tossed aside the lube and gave Dazai's cock a few strokes. He'd rather give Dazai the benefit of the doubt that he was trying to help and not trying to prolong the agony, but this wasn't going to work. Chuuya thought he'd burn alive in the most uncomfortable way if he continued letting Dazai set the pace. With an idea in mind, he shot Dazai a look and smiled coyly. “We're doing this my way now since you're just making things ten times worse.”
Dazai's eyes fluttered shut, losing himself in the sensation of Chuuya's fingers working him. He let out a breathless chuckle cut short by another set of fingers skimming over the swell of his knot and lightly squeezing it. A violent shudder ran through his body, and he thrust up into Chuuya's hand for more—denied when Chuuya withdrew entirely and pushed Dazai back down, causing him to groan in frustration.
“So now you're teasing me?”
Chuuya leaned over until their foreheads touched and rocked into Dazai's lap, a pleasant shiver going up his spine as Dazai's cock slid between his ass.
“No, I'm not teasing you,” Chuuya said in a low voice. He pressed a forceful kiss to Dazai's lips before reaching behind and guiding the tip to his entrance. “Here's what you're going to do,” he whispered against Dazai's ear and grazed his lips along the shell of it, “you just lie there as I fuck myself, and all you have to do is fill me up.”
Without waiting for a response, the glimpse of a predatory gleam in Dazai's eyes was enough confirmation as Chuuya sank down onto his cock and crashed their lips together. The two shared a low, satisfied moan, with Chuuya breaking away and nearly going boneless at the feeling of being stretched open around Dazai. He planted his hands on the bed for support and continued pushing back until Dazai bottomed out inside him and the knot caught on his rim. He had half a mind to slam his hips down and take it all—anything, everything, just to make the pain go away—but he managed to hold off for now. But the frenzy gnawed at his thoughts, a persistent temptation to just give in, nothing bad would happen, only good, wonderful things. And it was true. All of it. Except the control would fall in Dazai's lap again, where it didn't belong. He just had to lie there pretty and weaving melodies with his moans while Chuuya chased the end.
Dazai's grip on his hips tightened, bruising, as if also struggling to keep from thrusting up into Chuuya and locking them together. Chuuya felt the way his fingers trembled against skin. Ready to snap, but Chuuya was already far, far gone. The moment lips met skin.
Burying his face in the crook of Dazai's neck, Chuuya rocked against him, lifting his hips halfway and sinking back down, setting a tempo neither too fast that the end was already near, nor too slow that'd make him cry out in pain. That pain all but left, completely receded into a forgotten part at the back of his mind where it belonged and never should've come out from in the first place. All he could focus on was Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, and relished in the way Dazai also seemed to be in a different kind of pain. One where he fought the urge to flip them over and fuck Chuuya with reckless abandon.
And part of that pain came with the knowledge that he was all Chuuya's. Dug himself that wonderful, wonderful hole of torture as he met Chuuya's grinding with desperate thrusts of his own. Shallow, stuttering thrusts. But his resistance rapidly came undone every time Chuuya sank down onto his lap fully, teasing the swell of his knot but refusing to take it in.
“Fuck…” Chuuya hissed, his hands clawing at the sheets. Every stroke of Dazai inside brushing his sweet spot sent electricity through his veins, prickling skin and making toes curl. A vicious, delightful cycle of Dazai being buried to the hilt and Chuuya tightening around him with the slightest brush against that spot.
A hand curled around his hair and Dazai pulled him down for another kiss. There was no longer tenderness in Dazai's nibbles. He bit and bruised lip the same way Chuuya did, returning every passionate, angry gesture in his own name. Taking it out in their messy kiss distracted him from the incessant need clawing at him to thrust up into Chuuya and push his knot inside.
It would come when Chuuya's body was ready to accept it.
Chuuya licked into Dazai's mouth and rolled his hips, grinding against the swell of the knot until hands dug into his thighs and Dazai growled against his mouth. Every little whimper torn from Chuuya’s throat was greedily swallowed up, their bodies moving in sync as Chuuya rode him at a steady pace. He broke off from the kiss to cry out in bliss when Dazai angled his hips just right and abused the sensitive spot that made him delirious with pleasure. All over his skin prickled as if ablaze. Chuuya welcomed the flames—welcomed everything Dazai had to give so long as they got to burn together.
He threw his head back in a silent scream when Dazai thrust up into him a final time and the knot popped inside, snug. A shudder shot through Chuuya, and he squirmed at the sensation of being so unbelievably stuffed full and stretched open around Dazai’s knot. The warmth of Dazai spilling inside him was enough to push Chuuya over the edge and he slumped forward, panting heavily as he came down from his high, lazy satisfaction softening his features and quelling the pain. Dazai’s mouth grazed over the shell of his ear and across his jaw, planting kisses on skin in a slow, soothing manner.
“I'll fill you up as much as you want until you're satisfied,” Dazai murmured, fingers stroking the column of Chuuya's spine.
The shivering aftershocks of his climax caused Chuuya to tremble, body gone pliant as they lay there, connected.
“…Chuuya?” A voice rough with sleep pierced the silence along with a drawn-out yawn.
Chuuya hummed in response but remained still, goosebumps flaring on his skin as an arm snaked around his waist and a blanket was tossed over his lower half.
“It’s my turn to ask.” That playful lilt promising a little more beyond what Dazai spoke returned and he pressed himself closer, resting his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder. “What do I smell like to you?”
Dazai barely finished the question before Chuuya’s lips moved in response. Easy, he mouthed in the quiet darkness, but then he retracted that before it could come out. No, silly of him, of course it wasn’t easy. He still couldn’t figure out that earthy wood scent, let alone what kind of wood and if the wood of a tree or that of the floor. The finer details mattered not, but he attached a different kind of sentimentality to them that warmed him like a winter’s fire. An ache. Both the good and the bad kind that somehow still made him smile. Chuuya pondered upon an endless winter that covered everything in ice and snow, and what a struggle it would be. Not here. Winter's grip on the city was loosening. The spring thaw would come.
“Like a campfire in the middle of winter.”
The flying sparks, soft crackles, tendrils of smoke escaping into the air. All of it. Even the stories told late at night in hushed voices that faded when the fire went out. Chuuya would rub his hands together and breathe on them for a little warmth before holding them over that same fire. Close for the warmth, but not enough to burn this time.
Another scent of nature that too many seemed to have made him sick. Predictable. If Chuuya could imagine himself in the exact moment where it all went wrong for someone before the change for the worse, it would be an automatic pass. He couldn’t predict some of Dazai’s final moments before a change because maybe there weren’t any to begin with. What a terrifying thought, to be…to be so identityless. All he knew was that it was summer, and he couldn’t take that dive.
Now he wanted to know for himself. He did not go up in flames, but the hopes and aspirations of becoming something greater, becoming a bloodhound just like the aging woman or the detective did. It would be no more, for it ended here and he had won.
“That works,” Dazai said after a while, letting out another quiet yawn. He nuzzled the crook of Chuuya’s neck, curls lightly tickling skin. “Tomorrow’s the first day of spring. Maybe you’ll change your answer by then.”
“When summer comes, I’ll have a better answer for you.”