Archive of Our Own

“Please, Chuuya-san. You know I don't usually ask for favours.”

That much is true, at least. Chuuya stares at Akutagawa — the usually quiet, well-behaved freshman, whose eyes normally seem devoid of any emotions... And thinks this is the most genuine he's seen the boy in the year that he's known him.

Calling him a boy feels somewhat wrong, given Akutagawa's unusual mental maturity and undeniable talent, not to mention he's only 3 years younger. But what is Chuuya supposed to do? Since the day they met, the 19 year old (granted, he was 18 then) had never looked his age. Which was probably due to how little he ate and how much he tended to slump his shoulders. Honestly, the kid ought to be more confident in his abilities... Which is exactly why, seeing him so energetic, Nakahara doesn't have the heart to extinguish this sudden show of initiative.

Dark eyes stare at him expectantly, and Chuuya already knows what his answer will be.

Still, he can't help but wonder how he got himself into a situation like this. A top student in military school, somehow he managed to get roped into… whatever this was, on his senior year no less.

Sure, he'd cave, but that didn't mean he wouldn't bitch about it.

“I know you didn't just ask me to accompany you to a shitty Halloween party like it's the most important thing in the world, Akutagawa. You think I spend my days loitering around or something? I have a job, and the exam session's coming up soon...”

Chuuya paused. Then sighed.

“Why is it that important to you, anyway?”

“There's… this guy,” the other started, hesitantly.

And, honestly, what?

Nakahara couldn't believe his ears. This was the first time Akutagawa, a prodigy that never allowed himself respite from training, opened up to him about something so delicate. Honestly, he didn't know the guy had in him. He was never interested in anything other than perfecting military drills, let alone... Men. This whole situation felt like a fever dream.

A disbelieving laugh tore itself out of his throat, and he shook his head.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“I just want a chance to talk to him. Chuuya-san, you're the only person I trust in this academy, and I... don't know who else to ask.”

The freshman had the decency to look chastised. And now there was that pleading look again.

God damn it.

***

When they show up to the party, it's nothing exciting. Chuuya parks his motorcycle in a safe spot about a block away, and takes a whiff of the cool night air as they walk in silence.

The moon is obstructed by the clouds, Halloween decorations are stuck crudely in the trampled lawn... Each house on the street shines with colorful lights, muffled music coming from the inside, and people are dressed like the November chill doesn't bother them one bit.

They stand a small distance away while Nakahara smokes and tries to prepare himself mentally. He's dressed in jeans, not too tight, and a leather jacket draped on top of a simple red shirt. Akutagawa, for lack of better ideas, went for a classic vampire look. Though, Chuuya had to admit — the black cloak paired with red contacts suited him strangely well. Even without any face paint, he resembled a corpse sufficiently due to his pale complexion.

"So... What do you think I should do?" suddenly, Akutagawa asks.

"About what?"

"I don't know. What do people usually do when they get together like this?"

Chuuya gave it some thought. Knowing Akutagawa sometimes meant answering the most obvious questions ever, so Nakahara was long accustomed to explaining human behaviour to his kōhai. If anything, it revealed his sheltered upbringing, so he showed some sympathy.

"I guess... It's really about doing what you feel like doing. Get a drink, but don't get drunk too fast. Try to make friends. Fuck if I know. Just... be yourself. I guess."

"What about when I see him?"

"I was sort of hoping you had a plan for that part, considering that's the sole reason you dragged me here."

A few moments pass in silence. He lets out a long sigh.

"Alright. Listen, nothing good will come from overthinking these things. Just do the first thing that comes to mind when you meet. Don't try to be someone you're not, and you should be fine."

Akutagawa nods, Chuuya stubs out his cigarette, and that's the end of that conversation.

***

Chuuya isn't sure he remembers whose house this is, or if he even knows them. There's enough he can surmise from just taking a look at the huge two-story house the party is held in — whoever it is that took the initiative to organize the party, their parents are filthy rich, and they make sure to flaunt that fact to everybody in a three mile radius.

Not that he cares. He's here to (hopefully) find a glass of good wine to drink and a quiet corner to sit. Parties had never been his thing... Even as a teenager, he was strangely responsible, which was why his peers couldn't relate to him. But at least his adoptive parents were proud.

It didn't mean he felt awkward — not at all, he was just... detached. Still, he briefed Akutagawa on behaviors rowdy partygoers tended to display, and gave him as much mental support as he could. After a while, a guy about the same age as Akutagawa ran down the stairs and approached them with a bright smile plastered on his youthful face. The guy's bangs looked like a toddler worked on them with craft scissors, but besides that, his costume resembled a weird mix of a werewolf and a tiger. All in all, he seemed endearing.

"Akutagawa! I'm glad you could come!"

"Uh... yeah. Nice to see you, too." Akutagawa glanced at Chuuya awkwardly, clearly unsure if it was alright to leave him here.

"Go and have fun," he replied with a small reassuring smile. It seemed Akutagawa's focus was already somewhere else, so Chuuya's job was done.

And just like that, the two freshmans disappeared in a sea of laughter and trashy music.

Nakahara sighed, leaning back in his seat. He wished the next couple of hours would go by faster.

***

In the next thirty minutes, he manages to find a bottle of mediocre red wine and pour himself a glass. With nothing better left to do, Chuuya occupied himself with observing the crowd, rating the costumes with a mild interest. At some point, a girl came up to him, dressed as Jennifer from Jennifer's Body, and tried to strike up a conversation. It didn't go anywhere, though, and she ended up dancing with somebody in a Princess Peach costume.

Honestly, he should be amazed at how seriously people take this whole Halloween thing. He doesn't even want to try and guess how much money went into each attire, complete with the wigs and make up.

Another ten go by, with Chuuya debating if he should just go home, since Akutagawa was nowhere to be seen. He's halfway through shooting that message when he hears a laugh, and whips his head around.

Across the living room, a group of friends talk over each other so loudly he can't discern what they're saying. And still, he hears it. A high-pitched, melodic laugh. He knows this sound so well – it hasn't escaped his head for a while. It reminds him of pale skin and mischievous amber eyes; it makes his heart shudder.

With how tall Dazai is, he instantly sees his head poking out of the crowd. The shade of deep chestnut hair is still the same, and the irritating smile plastered to his face hasn't changed either. Dazai doesn't seem to know he's here, so that's his cue to leave before he has to admit he's staring.

Except that's when the girl Dazai had been flirting with steps away, giving Nakahara a full view of his costume, and Chuuya can't move a muscle.

The first thing he sees is a pair of milky thighs, barely covered up by a short, pleated skirt. High socks, pristine white, hug those same thighs tightly. His eyes fly up and he sees a... cropped shirt, resembling something a high school girl would wear. It leaves Dazai's flat stomach on display, as pale as the rest of him. His waist is so slim, and his legs are maddeningly long, and everyone else sees it, too. Chuuya's eyes dart around, as if transfixed, and the realization dawns on him.

The idiot actually wore a... a schoolgirl uniform to a gooddamn Halloween party?

Shameless. Absolutely unacceptable. Completely and uttely...

"To be honest, Dazai, I was surprised at first. But I'm starting to think it definitely suits you!" A remark reaches his ears, followed by drunk laughter from several people.

"Ah, what can I say? I'm a man of many talents... Although, I admit, this top is a bit tight in the shoulders," comes a snarky reply, and Dazai twirls slightly, amusing the crowd as well as attracting a few more glances to his slender figure.

There's more of the annoying laughter, and more remarks from the many partygoers that seem to adore Dazai — not to mention he's somehow friends with every woman in the room — but Chuuya can't utter a single sound. His throat is dry, and he knows he's no better than every man and woman staring at his legs, but honestly, what else is he supposed to do in a situation like this?

Then, by absolute accident, Dazai's eyes lock with his. That same second, his smile turns coy.

Chuuya has a bad feeling about this.

Just as the time stilled a minute ago, it starts anew with a sense of urgency. As cold sweat forms all over his body, he turns sharply and starts toward the exit.

It doesn't matter, really. Whatever Dazai has planned, there's no way this... situation has anything to do with him. He won't let himself be manipulated into following the man's every whim, and he sure as hell won't play his stupid games today. Better to go home and stay away from all the drama, embodied in the form of a tall man with a slender waist, ruffled hair and amber eyes. Better to protect his peace, today and forever. Better to...

Suddenly, he feels something—someone collide with him from behind, and his line of thought is interrupted. The impact startles Chuuya, causing him to stumble. Luckily, it's probably just some drunk idiot that didn't look where he was going, and that means he can still continue on his way.

Except… In the next moment, bandaged hands snake around his chest, and he hears Dazai’s voice beside his ear.

“Hey, Chuuya… Can I tell you something?” the taller man sighs quietly. The exhale of hot air causes Nakahara to belatedly register their proximity. There's a warm weight pressing into his back, and he catches a whiff of that cheap sake Dazai consumes in bottles. This spells trouble.

He realizes that the bastard must’ve run up to him and jumped him from behind, but he has no idea what this is supposed to mean. Should he be prepared for an attack? A prank? Or perhaps—

“You know, I’m not wearing anything under my skirt,” Dazai whispers, and Chuuya’s mind goes blank.

Oh.

Wait… What?

Did he… Did he just say—

“Haha, well, that’s not entirely true. I’m actually wearing a plug that I bought just for you. I lied, Chuuya. So sorry.”

With that, Dazai finally stops running his mouth and places a light kiss on his cheek. Chuuya stands there, frozen, while the weight disappears from his back, and the provokingly short skirt is out of his sight. Chuuya can’t even gather his wits in time to follow the bastard.

What. The actual. Fuck.

***

Somehow, Chuuya finds himself in a completely different direction from the exit he was originally aiming for.

He's in a bathroom, washing his face with cold water and contemplating his entire fucking existence. There's lipstick on the mirror and random messages written on the wall with a marker.

"I can't believe I just stood there," he thinks, and it's exasperating. He must've looked like a complete fucking idiot, his emotions laid out in the palm of Dazai's hand.

It's nothing if not embarrassing to admit how much Dazai's antics still get to him. Despite them not being anything, and never having been anything, there's no denying it — every time Dazai wants to get a reaction, he knows exactly which buttons to push, and it drives Chuuya insane. He should know better by now, and he does know better, but that knowledge doesn't change a thing.

Ever since they met, it's been like this. Four years ago, when Chuuya had been young and naïve, he made the mistake of falling for the man. He'd thought Dazai felt the same way, with the way he smiled and clung to him at any given opportunity; and even though Dazai didn't reveal much about himself, he was surprisingly sincere when they were together. But then...

Just as things started to get serious, Dazai ran away, cutting all contact.

There had never been any explanation. Dazai left, and Chuuya felt stupid for even wondering how the bastard was holding up. Still, he kept going, telling himself he'd moved on. In reality, he didn't want to admit how miserable he felt, pining after someone that apparently saw him as nothing more than entertainment. But then, after two years of absence, he appeared again, and seemed to be doing just as well without Chuuya by his side.

He was a senior now, somehow, studying criminal justice and intending to become a detective. Chuuya would laugh if he didn't know how fucking genius that guy was. Even despite the stupid jokes, lazy attitude and poor health choices, he could really achieve it, and he'd be damn good at it. The only problem lay in the fact that the university Dazai chose was in close vicinity to Chuuya's police academy, so the students knew each other and often organized joint events. But that had been a coincidence; and it's not like Nakahara was friends with most of his classmates, so there was no way him and Dazai would cross paths.

At least, that's what he thought until six months ago, when he bumped into the brunette in a random bar that was fairly popular with young people. He'd been drunk by that time, and the only thing he remembers from the encounter is being pushed into a bathroom stall and being given the most mind-blowing blow job of his life. It wasn’t their first sexual experience together, but Chuuya was still disoriented and bewildered. So, he could only watch as Dazai wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and retreated from the bathroom, vanishing into the night just like that.

At the time, Nakahara thought it could've been a dream he deluded himself into, with how absurd and unexplainable Dazai's actions had been. But he wasn't in the habit of drinking himself into a stupor nor hallucinating.

He waited for a continuation from Dazai's side — some sort of sign that his gesture was anything other than a momentary whim. But who was he kidding? He didn't mean anything to the man. Osamu must've done it impulsively to try and get a reaction. That was all there'd ever be to it.

He got his confirmation a week later, when he saw Dazai again in a random twist of fate.

He'd stood there, trying to decide if he should say hi, when the man's eyes landed straight on him. But as quickly as he noticed him, Dazai's indifferent gaze moved away, and he kept walking without a pause. That was all Dazai had given him; silent proof of where exactly Chuuya stood in his life.

Unsurprisingly, they were back to avoiding and ignoring each other, as if that night never happened.

So, that was it. For the last couple of months he'd been aware of Dazai's existence, but he fully expected the man to ignore him. Which rose the question...

What was that?

Another temporary whim of the bandaged bastard? A goddamn cruel joke? He didn't know, and he wished he didn't care about the answer in the first place. But he could at least be honest with himself and recognize that he did. He really fucking did.

Because, intentionally or not, Dazai had made him an addict for this destructive relationship they had together. Chuuya was a slave for the risky sensations and the uncertainty. He had gotten accustomed to thinking about Dazai even when he was telling himself he wasn’t. Recalling past conversations they had and trying to understand where it all had gone to shit. Wondering if there was something he'd done to ruin everything, or something he hadn't done.

And, frankly, he was tired of it. So, he needed to know — was he Dazai's little plaything, or... perhaps, something more?

Somebody Dazai was thinking about late at night. Somebody whose favorite brand of wine he still remembered. Somebody he got reminded of randomly during the day.

The answer could change nothing. But, at the same time, it could change everything.

So... That was why.

That was why he needed to know.

***

It wasn't like Chuuya was going to sit and wait around for Dazai to approach him.

He pushed through the crowd slowly, although it had become difficult to navigate the huge house. It was almost completely dark everywhere, save for some pink and green lights coming from different directions, and glowing pumpkins here and there. People in various costumes with smudged makeup turned into a blur of drunk bodies, and the walls seemed to be vibrating with the beats of the tacky tracks that were played from several speakers on the first floor.

Once or twice, Nakahara bumped into people making out shamelessly in not-so-private corners of the house; there was a group of people playing cards in the living room, and a bunch of them were partially naked. In the hallway, some guys dressed like pirates were planning to push somebody into the pool, smelling of weed so strongly it was pungent.

But still, no sign of Dazai.

He was starting to get frustrated. It was hard enough to try and remember which rooms he'd been in before — the smell of sweat and alcohol permeated the air in almost every one of them. But how was he supposed to find someone who managed to avoid him for two whole years? Maybe this really was a pointless affair...

"Hey, Chibi."

Chuuya whipped his head around, staring at the guy he'd been looking for all this time.

Dazai stood in the doorway, smiling with a strange look in his eyes. Hard to read, infuriating and unpredictable... Nakahara couldn't bring himself to be shocked anymore. Of course, the damn schoolgirl uniform was still there, except it looked like the skirt moved up his waist an inch or two (probably as a result of all that jumping and dancing he did to drive him crazy), making it even more revealing.

Suddenly, Chuuya began to sweat profusely. Trying to ignore the images popping up in his head, he took a step towards Dazai.

"Listen, you need to tell me what the fuck is happening here, cause I'm— hey!"

Instead of a reply, Dazai simply grabbed his hand and pulled him in. And stupidly, Nakahara lost his footing and let himself be led into a sea of dancing bodies. It was almost like he didn't train his strength and body control five days a week in the academy. Immediately, Chuuya was subjected to tactile contact with strangers moving chaotically to club music. Suffocating at first, but he adjusted with time, knowing he had to be on high alert in a situation that he couldn't predict — and with Dazai, any situation could go either way.

Once they were in the middle of the crowded dancefloor, Dazai finally halted and turned around. The moment was far from being romantic, or enjoyable in any way. They were pushed and pressed from every direction by the drunk partygoers, and Chuuya doubted Osamu would hear anything he said now, unless it was shouted in his ear.

However, Dazai looked straight at him, not paying anyone else any attention. And damn, they were pressed close... Almost chest to chest. It was hard to breathe, and even harder to tear his eyes away. Dazai's hand was still hot on top of his, and he felt the warmth from their proximity just as vividly.

Suddenly, the brunette grasped his wrist and pulled once more. In the dark, Chuuya didn't read his intention in time to do anything... And soon, the palm of his hand brushed against something soft and smooth, immediately breaking every cog inside of his brain. He was slowly realizing what Dazai had just made him do, but he had to see it to believe it.

Chuuya looked down to see he was now touching the man's bare stomach, without ever planning to go that far in such a public place. His heart skipped a beat.

He jerked back, but Dazai didn't let him take his hand off, pressing it firmly to his skin. When he spoke, somehow the noise didn't prevent Chuuya from making out the words; in fact, his voice was anything Nakahara could hear.

"Wanna know something, Chuuya?"

Fuck, it felt like he was lured into yet another trap. Too bad his brain refused to work. There just wasn't enough oxygen here, not to mention he was actively groping—

"I saw you staring at me before. It was hard not to notice."

Oh no.

"You really are a pervert, huh Chibi?"

Dazai leaned closer, to the point where Nakahara could almost feel his breath on his face. Even worse was the fact that his hand somehow ended up higher and was now resting under Osamu's cropped top, where the man's chest rose and fell with every short breath. The reality of caressing his bare skin was something akin to addicting... He couldn't bring himself to stop even if he wished to, now.

Yes, he wanted to step away, but he yearned to keep touching him even more. There was something about the simple contact of skin on skin that made Chuuya's breath hitch...

It was the prospect of having the man in his arms, of roaming his hands all around his body just like this and having Dazai let him do it that was incredibly alluring. From the moment he looked into those dark eyes, his fate was sealed.

"Just look at you. All those dirty thoughts in your pretty little head. You make it so easy, I almost feel bad..."

Dazai chuckled in the space between their lips, and Chuuya had no idea how he could possibly fall deeper, but it felt like he was.

The bastard would probably feel so smug, having elicited this reaction in such a short span of time... But fuck it. Nakahara had always been an honest man, and he didn't like to hide neither his desires nor his need. Especially since Dazai clearly reciprocated the sentiment.

Resigning himself to his fate, the redhead closed his eyes, bringing both of his hands to rest on Dazai's hips. This way, it'd be easier to pull him closer, pressing their lips together at last. There had never been any point in denying himself the pleasure — and with that thought, he instantly felt so much lighter.

Except... He forgot that Dazai was anything but an honest man.

"It's a shame you won't get anything today, Chibi," he finished with a devilish smile, and started to pull away. "Honestly, you don't deserve a treat at all. So it's all tricks from here on, you naive slug."

The motherfucker was actually showing Chuuya his tongue, like he was 10 years old or something — Nakahara was dumbstruck on the spot by the sheer audacity. He had no idea if he was supposed to laugh or to grab the idiot by the hair and make him regret ever pulling this stunt.

So it was no wonder Dazai slipped away and disappeared just as easily as the first time, leaving Chuuya confused, horny, and, primarily, really fucking angry.

***

He had been confused before, but now? Now, he was positively fuming.

He was not about to spend another hour navigating through a sea of idiots and letting his clothes to be soaked in the smell of vodka.

So why were his feet carrying him further and further? Why couldn't he just stop?

It was because he wanted to give Dazai a peace of his mind, and humiliate him in front of everybody just as the other did earlier, that's fucking why. He couldn't believe Dazai actually pulled the same trick on him twice. No, actually, he could believe it — which made the anger boil in Chuuya's gut even further.

Whether it was a stroke of luck or pure chance, he managed to stay on Osamu's feet. It was fairly easy to locate him in a small room by the stairs, and, interestingly enough, he wasn't alone. Dazai's voice combined with the honey-laced laughter sounded just as piercing when he was busy performing for one of his countless friends — some guy in a cheap werewolf costume.

"I'm telling you, haven't been able to get rid of him all night! I mean, should I buy him a collar or what?" he giggled, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. Then, he turned his head with a theatrical show of surprise, as if he didn't know full well Nakahara was following him.

"Oh hey, that's him again! It's like he comes whenever I say his name," Dazai exclaimed, gesturing for Chuuya to come closer.

The jock he'd been talking to smiled cluelessly.

"So, you're the guy Dazai told us about, right? His dog, or whatever?"

Chuuya couldn't answer that for a full minute. He was too busy being baffled by Dazai's audacity. Just what in the living fuck did he manage to tell people in the time they've been apart (some measly ten minutes)?

"What did you just say to me?" he got out raspily.

"Hey man, don't take it to heart. I'm just asking, is it true though? I've heard you're some... admirer of my friend Dazai here, or stalker is a better word, I guess? He told us you like to be called his dog. That's pretty weird... No judgement, though... "

And Dazai laughed, like it was the best anecdote he'd heard in his whole life.

"You're so quick to catch on, Arata-kun! Anyways, I'll go get something to drink. You boys get acquainted, alright?" The bastard winked, all the while Chuuya was still gulping air like a fish in sheer bewilderment.

The situation was more than absurd. Not only did the brunette lead him on and actively encourage Chuuya's advances, he was the one that kept touching him the entire night. So where the fuck did he get the idea to frame Chuuya as a stalker in front of so many people? What the fuck was his life?

More than that... How cruel and self-centered did he have to be to keep making Nakahara the butt of the joke, and why did he think he'd get away with it, like he wasn't perfectly capable of hunting Dazai down and giving the fucker his comeuppance?

"Dazai, don't you fucking go anywhere. This is the last time I'm warning you, you bastard—"

"Hey listen, doggy. Let's cool down, alright?" The dude, Arata or whatever, stopped him with a firm grip, effectively letting Dazai get away once more. "I think you should leave Dazai alone. Everyone in this party is his friend, and we don't want some weird guy following him, especially since you're acting so creepy."

"Let go of me right now, or you'll regret it."

He didn't have any patience left to try and dissuade this man into believing his story. It was hopeless, anyway. The anger inside of Chuuya was bubbling and sizzling, filling his ears with the sound of his own rushing blood.

"Sorry, man, that's not happening. How about you just leave—"

Arata's words were cut short as Chuuya's heavy fist collided with his solar plexus. Violence was the only language everyone understood. Even though he sort of hated resorting to it, Chuuya just couldn't be bothered with moral dilemmas right now.

Arata wheezed, sliding to the floor with a pathetic whine. Chuuya stepped over him, any semblance of remorse long forgotten. No werewolf strength after all, then.

Running out to the hall took a split second, the redhead grabbing the doorway like it would speed him up towards his goal. He rounded the corner just in time to see Dazai’s long legs go up the stairs as quickly as he physically could.

Motherfucker was trying to run and hide. There was no way he'd give him the luxury.

So Chuuya followed suit, jumping the steps three at a time. Having caught a glimpse of the schoolgirl skirt, he knew Dazai was hurrying to go up as well. And since he couldn't afford to give him any leeway, he grabbed onto the rails and kept climbing.

The trip to the second floor didn't take more than half a minute, though it felt longer. Now, Nakahara was standing in near absolute darkness — it seemed that the entire upper story of the house was untouched by partygoers. The sounds and vibrations of the music were muffled, and the only source of light came from downstairs. It illuminated a short stretch of the hallway, but besides that, the whole space felt like being submerged in murky water. After the sensory assault his ears and eyes had endured before, it was somewhat eerie.

Catching his breath and letting his eyes to get adjusted to the darkness, Chuuya stopped for a minute. Using basic logic, it became clear that Dazai had led himself into a dead end. Unless he slipped into one of the rooms in the hallway and jumped out the window, it was only a matter of time until he’d be in Chuuya’s hands. Briefly, Chuuya wondered: was this what he’d wanted all along? But it didn’t matter. Either way, this game could only lead to one outcome.

A subtle shift in the air made the redhead turn his head. He was quick to spot Dazai: hiding in the shadows, the man tried to move swiftly and quietly towards the end of the corridor. Whatever hope he was nursing to evade Nakahara's keen senses and escape unpunished, it was all futile.

Forcing his walk to appear calmer, Chuuya approached slowly. Dazai must've heard him too, seeing as he became frantic; he hurried further, trying every single door on his way, but they were all locked. And when he turned his head to check Chuuya’s proximity, the fear in eyes was so unmasked it made adrenaline run hot in Nakahara’s blood.

How menacing it must be — seeing the way Chuuya nears his prey as the darkness and silence overtake his senses. In this dark place, there's only the muted sounds of the party still ongoing somewhere far away, and Dazai's quick breathing. Nobody knows they're here, and nobody is coming. There's no reason to be in a hurry, as this little manhunt Dazai has incited can only end one way. Now, it’s Chuuya’s turn to take what he’s owed.

Suddenly, one of the doors Dazai checks gives in, and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to try to dart inside. Nakahara is there a split second later, grabbing Osamu’s hand and yanking him back into the hallway so hard Dazai stumbles over his own feet.

In the next moment, Dazai is slammed against the wall so hard he sees stars, and Chuuya’s hand is hot against his throat, not yet squeezing but instead looming there like an unspoken warning.

“You fucking slut,” he grits out, feeling his fury start to spill out, “do you have any idea what I’m about to do to you?”

The words come out harsher than he intends, mostly because Chuuya is still angry and annoyed but also quite worked up. However, it’s hard to miss the shiver that sparks up in Dazai’s body once they register. Osamu stares at him dazedly, eyes wide and mouth agape. It's as if he's still lightheaded as a result of Chuuya's rough mandandling, but now there's an unmistakable tinge of lust.

His whole body sags when Chuuya presses against him, and it’s clear how much he, too, thrums with wanting. And despite the way his legs weaken, he forces out a smug smile, knowing damn well he’s got Chuuya right where he intended from the start.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a pretty good hunch…”

He yelps as Chuuya’s hand smacks his thigh, the crisp sound echoing in the quietness of the hall. A whiny expression appears on his face and it’s clear he’s about to say something stupid, so Chuuya doesn’t give him the opportunity.

Good thing the idiot in his hands is actually a strategic genius. Here, they can put one of the guest bedrooms to good use.

***

"A-ah… Be careful with me, chibi… I'm quite fragile, you know…" Dazai whines, but doesn't struggle at all when he's forced on a bed face-down, with Chuuya sitting on his legs and gripping his hands tightly. The room they've ended up in had been just as dark and cold as the rest, but now the redhead could see quite a lot thanks to the bedside lamp that poured warm light all over.

Immobilized and helpless, Dazai keeps complaining; he doesn't sound at all anxious, and doesn't show any signs of protest. Still, Chuuya will be damned if he lets him escape now.

He doesn't know how the idea sparks, but he finds himself taking the black leather belt out of his jeans. Using it to secure Dazai's hands behind his back actually seems to surprise the guy, but he looks more intrigued than anything else.

And when he rolls Dazai around, so that he's looking Chuuya right in the eye, it's perfect for leaving him completely open. He's helpless in so many ways, and he knows it, too — it's clear from the glint in his eye that Chuuya guesses is something between excitement and nervousness.

If he wanted, he could touch every centimeter of skin that's visible, and uncover even more. Dazai, for his part, wouldn't be able to so much as flinch away, push him, or try to cover the expression on his face. What a treat... Nakahara would be a fool not to enjoy it thoroughly.

The first step is to study what he'll be working with. Dark unruly hair, expectant brown eyes, the ever present bandages on his wrists. And the outfit which started it all: a cropped top and a mini skirt, paired with white thigh-high socks. The damned uniform, designed to drive him out of his mind, worn for him alone, and yet displayed to everyone else... Chuuya feels his eye twitch.

But it's okay. They're alone now, and, for once, the situation is in his hands. So, really, there's too many scenarios to choose from, and no need to be hasty. The corners of Chuuya's mouth twitch upwards at the thought.

Even Dazai himself is affected, seeing the redhead smirk at him from above. The implications of their current position have him gazing up at Chuuya with an abashed expression, a subtle flush spreading on his cheeks. That delicious discomposure is somewhat hidden, but Nakahara can read the signs.

By this point, he'd expect the man to make a few snide remarks, however he keeps quiet, only swallowing and licking his lips in anticipation. Nakahara sees it for what it truly is: an attempt at obedience. Naturally, it's hard for Osamu to entrust his autonomy to somebody else, and yet, he tries to take it in stride. This... almost makes it seem like Dazai's waited, wanted to be at his will for a long time. It feels like a silent permission to go as far as he wishes. More than that... it feels like a plea to devour him.

They hold eye contact for just a few seconds before Chuuya's eyes spot the way the other man's mouth is agape in bewilderment. It's so pink and inviting, and suddenly he's crushed with a realization – in reality, he's been craving this. He just hasn't admitted it, trying to bury the need under the ocean of hurt. All those nights he spent alone in his bed, trying to shake off the memory of his warm embrace...

"I guess... I must've really missed you," is his last coherent thought for a long time.

He dives in and Dazai meets him halfway, parting his mouth readily. Their lips touch, then slot into place, and it's like a wild flame ignites his every sense. Despite his pliant demeanor, Dazai's lips are hungry and desperate, and the Chuuya is no better; they kiss in a way that lacks any coordination, but somehow, it is the most perfect thing.

Sparks of pleasure override Chuuya's senses. Everywhere they touch feels hot, and it's so good he never wants it to stop. There's no shame, and no doubt in his mind whatsoever; only the certainty of what he needs to do next.

Drinking Dazai's breathy moans from his mouth, stealing his voice, biting his soft lips until he gasps and shudders – all of it is a divine experience, a delicious feast offered to a starved man with no resistance whatsoever. The meeting of their tongues is joyous and absolutely dirty, and soon the room is filled with unmistakable wet sounds, with the occasional long groan and whimper from the brunette.

Chuuya can feel how hard Dazai is already, grinding up on him desperately, and stops to examine Dazai's flushed face. It's beautiful, complete with red cheeks and glossy eyes; the man under him is gasping for air, mouth wet with saliva. However, Chuuya is confident in his ability to wreck him further. Sick and tired of Osamu's schemes, he wants to—no, he's going to shatter his mind and make him a slave to his own pleasure. Pleasure that he will only get if Chuuya decides he's been good enough.

And this? Certainly not the most polite behavior.

So, he resists the urge to give in to the lust, and instead smacks Dazai's ass, which earns him a yelp. This time around, it's an impulsive decision, but it seems to work quite well. The sound rings across the room when Chuuya commands, his tone cold:

"Open your legs."

For a second, Dazai looks up at him in disbelief; but there's no mistaking the way his breath hitches and ears burn. Chuuya can just read his mind — Dazai must think complying with the request will bring him the release he's so desperate for.

Abashedly, he turns his red face to the side, as if he wasn't the one who started this in the first place. Unsure, he bends his long legs in the knees; they're still clad in the light fabric. Since this was worn to please him, so far the redhead has no plans to take them off.

There's a slight twitch in his muscles when he finally parts his thighs. Dazai's feet slide in opposite directions, white socks on white sheets. All to give Chuuya a good view...

And the sight is enough to make him salivate.

The skirt is bunched up on his skinny waist, sliding up the alabaster thighs. Just as Chuuya remembers, Dazai's form is a beautiful silhouette, constructed from sharp edges and long, bony limbs. Maybe some idiot would have called it ugly, but Nakahara has always found this kind of figure unique; if it weren't for how unhealthy it was, he'd even admit it was incredibly enticing.

Dazai's hipbones protrude on his skinny frame, and there is a thin trail of hair snaking down from the bellybutton. Speaking of which... thanks to the pose, the man's hardened dick is now on full display. In fact, it's even pushing up the hem of the skirt, engorged and begging to be tended to. It is, like the rest of Dazai, long, flushed and pretty.

Chuuya admires the scene for a few moments; the way Dazai's flat stomach moves when he breathes, and the eager way his dick twitches under Nakahara's hungry eye. Everything about Dazai's body language screams "touch me, touch me, touch me", and that's exactly why Nakahara keeps his hands to himself.

"Wider, pet," he says, at last.

Dazai's eyes dart to his face, and he blinks owlishly. No doubt, he is in absolute disbelief at being treated this way, especially since he expected the other to devour him with no second thought. And Chuuya will, except... this time, he'll be patient.

"But..."

"Did I stutter? If you want me to touch you, you need to work for it, Osamu."

A whiny expression creeps its way onto Dazai's face, and he shuts his eyes tightly before complying. This time, he slides his legs even wider apart, to the point where it might be uncomfortable to hold the position. Now, his body is splayed out in the dirty and humiliating way that evokes a low rumble in Chuuya's chest. He caresses Dazai's inner thigh appreciatively, and coos a quiet reassurance, which only makes Dazai more flustered.

Finally, his gaze trails down, and Nakahara sees it. A pretty, silver plug is inserted all the way into Dazai's obedient body, and even from here there's no mistaking how his reddened rim shudders and convulses around the intrusion. The thought of replacing the toy with his dick is promising, but they've still got time until that happens. Still, he knows this view will pop into his mind more than once for months to come.

Fulfilling his promise, he reaches out and wraps his hand around Dazai's cock. It's hard and heavy, as well as hot to the touch. Dazai lets out a loud "Ah!" and tries to move his hips to get some friction. This earns him another smack on the spot on his ass that's already red and tingling. Afterwards, he waits for Osamu to restrain himself. Naturally, some discipline is in order.

Dazai pouts, but finds no pity in the brown eyes staring him down. There's no choice other than taking the hint, now, so he breathes loudly through his nose to try and calm down. Of course, even though Osamu puts up a show of trying, he wouldn't be Dazai if he didn't make it painfully clear through his demeanor how much he hated having to do it. But, since his hands are still tied behind his back, he's not the one calling the shots.

After Dazai stills, Chuuya tightens his hold and starts to move his wrist in slow, dragging movements. At first, it's rough and dry, since he doesn't deem it necessary to even spit on his palm. Dazai cries out a low sound, and there's a clear slutty edge that tells Chuuya to keep going.

It's not long before the slide becomes smoother with the precome that comes dribbling out. It's no surprise Dazai got off from the initial overwhelming sensations so much he almost drove himself mad. The promise of getting ravaged by Chuuya was all he needed to get himself going.

Portion after portion of clear liquid keeps leaking from the head with every pump of Chuuya's fist. It's almost wet, which is just pathetic after only a minute of stimulation. Filthy sounds echo in the room, yet it's nothing compared to how perverted and unrestrained Dazai's moans are. Where there were low occasional groans, there's now desperate keening and an occasional plea.

Soon, he gets even closer to his release, and Chuuya can almost taste the pleasure in his voice. But the pace stays the same — unhurried and measured. It's not nearly enough for the man to come, but it's surely enough to throw his head into a frenzy. And as Dazai's moans get higher and higher, he starts to mutter the word "please" like a mantra, saying his name and begging so urgently.

"Chuuya... Ah... Chuuya... Ah, mmh! Please, pleasepleaseplease..." he whimpers over and over again, and it's as if he's in pain.

However, Nakahara is unrelenting in his torture. He doesn't stop dragging it out, wholeheartedly enjoying playing with his body. Touching Dazai's most sensitive parts, pushing him to his limits and making him grovel... Now, isn't this one of life's sweetest pleasures?

Same as before, he sets the pace and jerks him off leisurely. He resigns from responding to any of the pleas. Every time Dazai tries to take control, Chuuya stops altogether, so the brunette teaches himself to be still, regardless of how desperate he is for attention. In his mind, he begins to register the simple truth: he has no choice but to take whatever he is given, and he will comply.

"Chuuya... Aa-ah... Mmh! Ah, ah, ah!"

More time passes, although there's no telling how much exactly. Dazai's head thrashes wildly among the sheets. His hair is a mess now, while his chest is convulsing with every rapid breath. Soon, Chuuya registers that Dazai's moans have risen in pitch. More than that, he's overheated and breathless, as well as completely out of his mind. Moisture is brimming in his eyes.

"So, he must be close," comes a detached thought.

Apparently, even this torturous pace is enough to make the bastard come. No doubt, he must think that, after all the humiliation, he's earned it. And just as Dazai begins to whimper and shake like he's seconds away from climaxing, Chuuya stops. He abandons Dazai right there near the peak, simply wiping his hand on the bed and watching with an indifferent expression.

At first, Dazai's body keeps going by itself, and he doesn't quite understand his orgasm's been ruined. He's so riled up that, for a few seconds, his hips continue shaking in attempt to chase his release. But when nothing ever comes, Dazai inhales and begins to quiver like a fish out of the water. His eyes fly open and he wails.

"N-no! Nononono! Chuuya, Chuuya, why did you stop… Fuck!" he screams, and oh, wow.

He's actually crying now. It's full-blown, complete with rapid sniffing and big fat tears of self-pity. Chuuya thinks he's never seen his ex cry like this, wet streaks streaming down his red face. Apart from nontangible sounds, Osamu doesn't seem to have the ability to say anything; his chest convulses, a telling sign of Dazai having lost control of his emotions.

An unknown reaction stirs in Nakahara's chest. This display, it's something between startling, pitiful and... cute? Hot, even. Honestly, he can’t say. Chuuya almost feels bad about the fact that this is just the beginning.

Without warning, he flips Dazai over to lay on his stomach, whilst the man is still sobbing in his arms from the awful feeling of a ruined orgasm. The sudden movement disorients him, yet he can't do anything but snivel, reminding Chuuya of a child that's been denied a toy for the first time in his life.

"Listen to me," Nakahara grits out right next to his ear. "You cum when I say, and only when I say. You're not getting anything until I'm satisfied, understood?"

Dazai doesn't answer, gulping air helplessly.

"Now, lift your hips for me."

This time, he complies silently, burying his head in the sheets. Chuuya doesn't waste any time, reaching for the plug. He twists it, plays with it, watches as Dazai's hungry glistening rim sucks it back in; but not for long. When he takes it out, a portion of clear lube escapes the twitching entrance and trails down Dazai's balls. It dawns on Chuuya that the brunette must've put that much into himself in preparation for this exact moment – Dazai wanted to be in this exact position. And oh, he's going to get it.

Moving his hips, he slides his cockhead in the right spot, relishing the anticipation that's brewing in them both. And when he pushes in, slowly but mercilessly, Dazai' head jerks up.

"Chuuyaaaah..." he croaks out, and opens his mouth wide, in a louder cry than he's able to produce.

Chuuya goes on, unhurried yet determined. His eyes burn with resolve, and he doesn't waver when Dazai makes choked little sounds, sliding in and in until it's almost painfully tight.

Dazai's body has no choice but to give in. And when it's clear that pushing the alien object out is not an option, Osamu's innards begin to suck him in, almost like a vacuum of sorts. Inch by inch, his cock invades the deepest parts of the man, carving a place for itself, forcing his guts to make way. Painfully slowly but surely, they do.

And fuck, does it feel good. The redhead begins to sweat, struggling against the impulse to fuck Dazai hard and fast; to get him to come once or twice, and kiss his stupid mouth as much as he wants whilst spilling inside. But no. Maybe he'd do that later, but now is not the time.

So, he keeps going. Somewhere halfway, Dazai lets out a small cry of pleasure mixed with pain, and Chuuya is sure he's overwhelmed. He can't imagine what it's like: being claimed in such a physical way, feeling himself being pressed down and ruined.

With his hands bound and legs weak, Dazai has to lay down and just take it.

"Good," he thinks. A second later, his hips finally meet Dazai's buttocks.

He's fully inside now. Closing his eyes, Chuuya revels in the feeling of his cock being buried in tight, wet heat. All around him, the velvety walls of Dazai's pliant ass spasm, letting him feel every little pulse and twitch. On top of the physical sensations, the whole experience is almost like coming home. Without realizing, he's wanted to be one with his ex-partner in so many ways and for such a long time. And now that they're here, it's as if something clicks into place. His chest floods with a warm feeling, and he knows: this is right. It's exactly how they're supposed to be.

He looks down at where they're connected in the most intimate way. Dazai's rim envelops the base of his cock tightly, abused to the point of no return. Even if he pulled out now and left him alone, he doubts the hole would close all the way, for a long time.

Chuuya gives the man no respite, moving his hips backwards. On the way out, he feels Dazai convulse and tense deep inside, as if refusing to let him go. But he needs Dazai to be ready for him, to accept him like a cockslut is supposed to. So, he drags his cock out, then pushes back in, and keeps sliding deeper and deeper. He does it again and again, easy does it, holding Dazai's hips in place as he opens him up further and further, until he's completely and utterly imprinted himself in Dazai's body, and then just holds it there.

By that time, both of them are breathing deeply. Dazai lets out a long groan, sounding thoroughly wrecked with a slutty edge. He's much more relaxed now that his muscles are settled in a way that accommodates Chuuya's girth. There's no resistance and not a shred of wariness – at least in this way, Dazai just takes him as he is.

Osamu's body is loose like a doll with its strings cut, but Chuuya still holds him up by his hips. It's to ensure he stays in place to receive the fucking, as well as to prevent his dick from getting any friction. From this position, he can see some of Dazai's face, smushed into the bed, and he can tell he's drooling. Dirty sounds escape uncontrollably from his open mouth, while his eyes contain none of that infuriating slyness. In fact, there's nothing much in them at all, glossy and mindless as they are. That is also good.

"Mmh... Chu-u... Mn..." the man tries, but it's nothing coherent.

So, Chuuya simply begins moving at a pace that suits him best. Since both of them are close, it soon turns into a quick and merciless pounding on Chuuya's part. He's fucking Dazai hard, fucking him well, and he holds him tightly through every thrust. Gripping him, like there's any way the brunette can gather himself and resist now, but Chuuya can't help it. He moves almost erratically and drives deep, overcome with pleasure and emotion.

Dazai doesn't have the strength to moan now. His mouth is hanging open as if he's choking; occasionally, a stifled sound or two come out, but anything he might say would get drowned out by the violent creaking of the bed and the slapping of skin against skin. It gets overwhelming quickly; Chuuya can tell he's close to his limit, whilst Dazai is long past it.

Nakahara groans and pants, feeling his control slip. He fucks the brunette a few more times, deep, powerful thrusts. His teeth find a pale shoulder and he bites down, unable to rein in the impulse.

Then, Chuuya starts shaking, and the pleasure takes over his senses like an explosion, wiping out every thought from his mind. He spills his load in Dazai's ass, painting his insides thoroughly with hot gushes of come. The sheer thrill of it almost blinds him; it's the best orgasm he's ever had.

It takes him a long time to stop grinding into his ex-partner blissfully. But when he does, his heart is beating so hard in his chest it's almost painful. He feels sticky all over and overheated still, like not all of his passion has been extinguished yet; however, he's fucking exhausted, too.

Chuuya comes down from his high gradually. He focuses his vision once again, realizing he's pressing Dazai down with all his weight; his dick is still buried deep inside. After a second, his hearing comes back, and he registers Dazai's aroused, laborious breathing.

"Ngh... hah... Chuuya, come on, let me cum now..." Dazai babbles, turning his head to gaze at him with dilated, expectant eyes. After everything, it seemed that his earlier tamed behavior was nothing more than a temporary truce, and in truth, he was still of mind that Chuuya would give him anything he asked for eventually.

So, letting go of his previous plans, Chuuya glared down and answered coldly.

"No."

Dazai's eyes widened.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked in a whiny, disbelieving tone. Perhaps he still thought they were messing around, saying things they didn't mean just to spite each other.

Chuuya scoffed, lowering his face until he looked Dazai right in the eye. He took him by the chin somewhat roughly, spitting out:

"You still don't get it, do you? You're my slut. Whatever I say, goes. And if I wanna use you the whole night, you'll take it all, 'cause that's what you're for. So you're not coming until you learn your lesson. Get it through your skull."

In truth, he didn't think he was cruel enough to use Dazai without ever letting him cum; after all, he also enjoyed stimulating the other, forcing him to react earnestly and say his name over and over again. Seeing Dazai's usually heightened senses get clouded by a sweet fever of pleasure was even more rewarding than getting his dick wet. However, he'd just been fed up by the man's attitude. Fickle like the wind, Dazai never took his feelings seriously, seemingly viewing him as a tool for his own satisfaction. For years, he'd appear in his life, take whatever he wanted and disappear, effectively playing him like a fool.

In his mind, today was no different. Clearly, he took Chuuya for a hot-headed idiot, thinking he'd rile him up with cheap manipulation tactics, get fucked just how he liked it, then vanish in the night as he always did.

Well, there was no way Chuuya'd let the story repeat itself. Tonight, he'd do anything to own Dazai's body and soul, and make him understand that whatever happens next would happen on his terms. If he couldn't make Dazai surrender his heart, he'd settle for making him his bitch; and if Osamu refused that, too, Nakahara would simply reach the end of his patience.

Silence settled in the room, and Chuuya asked again, all the while holding firm eye contact.

"Get it now, bastard?"

And suddenly, the gears in Dazai's head clicked into place. His shock turned into anger almost immediately.

"Why not? Why not! I was good, I was so good for you!"

Shouting with a raspy voice, he rolled onto his back and tried to kick Chuuya with his knees. His attempts were not only weak, but also futile, since his legs were still shaky from the thorough fucking he received, and his hands were still bound with Chuuya's belt behind his back. Angry tears glistened in his eyes.

The thing about Dazai had always been that he refused to give up even a sliver of control. He liked every situation to go exactly as he wanted, through any means possible, and the same went for his emotions and relationships. Even held down on a bed and pounded into the mattress, he was technically the mastermind, since it was the exact outcome he wished for.

And when he didn't get his way, he'd try to manipulate Chuuya into rashness. Then, he'd get whiny, or cross, and finally, he would get mad as a spoiled child. At his core, that's what Dazai had been all along — a stunted child, one that adored Chuuya's attention, and knew on some subconscious level that he'd get it no matter what. He wasn't completely wrong, but he'd gotten on his last nerve today, and, on top of that, he underestimated Nakahara's resolve.

It was comically easy to stop Dazai's resistance, but not as easy to calm him down. Dazai thrashed and cursed, refusing to shut his mouth, and holding him down didn't help one bit.

"I did everything you told me! You stupid slug, let me go! I'll find someone else, who can fuck me better, you heartless idiot! Get off me!" he cried, as Chuuya got closer to him and scooted over.

He didn’t pay any mind to the pathetic meltdown, and instead pressed his cock to Dazai's lips, softened now but ready to get hard again. The length of it was smeared with lube and come.

"Clean it up," he ordered simply.

"Fuck you—", Dazai started, but once his lips parted, Chuuya's dick was forced through with no consideration of his wishes.

Osamu gagged slightly, wincing. Then, looking up at him with a withering glare, the brunette began working his tongue over the cockhead. It seemed he was willing to do anything to get out of his situation, or maybe he simply had no strength to fight back — either suited Chuuya just fine.

"Just like that... Come on," Chuuya smiled, tilting his head, and guided himself to slide deeper.

"Mmh!" Dazai moaned, brows knitted and expression somewhat panicked.

"Relax your throat. Let me in... Don't worry, just like with your ass, we can train it to accept me," he assured.

At his words, Dazai's eyes turned into two caramel-colored slits, and the last signs of his earlier attitude vanished. Chuuya could practically see how it turned him on — the thought of his mouth being used in accordance to Nakahara's wishes. Say what you want about the man, but he was always receptive to wrecking himself in any way he could; and especially, he enjoyed it when the redhead took control and did it for him.

Slowly, Dazai took him in, and successfully cleaned up the mess from the shaft. Now, the cock that was once inside of him was glistening with saliva and hardening anew. With his come-stained lips wrapped tightly, Osamu began sucking earnestly, so Chuuya moved his hips shamelessly. They worked in tandem to open Dazai's throat, and eventually, they reached that goal.

The man was truly talented, the prettiest, most perfect whore, swallowing more and more with each minute, letting the other fuck his face with little to no breathing breaks. And even though Chuuya was still not fully inside, he could feel waves of pleasure cloud his judgement, making him stutter and push Dazai further and further.

He was amazed at how heavenly it felt to fuck such a wicked mouth.

"Listen carefully," Chuuya guided whilst his cock slid back and forth on Dazai's hot tongue, cockhead teasing the back of his throat. "From this point on, I don't want any objections. Your mouth... your ass... your dick... every part of your – fuck!...body. It's mine, so I decide what to do with it. I decide if you deserve pain, and I decide if you deserve pleasure. Remember this well."

Looking down, he noticed Dazai looking at him once again, and his breath hitched.

The way he was gazing up... Read exactly like full acceptance, deference, submission. It could be said that Nakahara knew the man underneath better than anyone else, and in that moment, there were no schemes and ulterior motives in his mesmerizingly docile eyes.

He never thought he'd see the day.

Chuuya felt his abdomen tighten, and knew he wouldn't last much longer. His head was swimming in glee and fondness, so he couldn't deny himself; finally, he drove his hips forward, and pushed his cock all the way into Dazai's throat. He felt the man's nose end up in his pubic hair and threw his head backwards, savoring the moment with a raspy groan. He was almost there, almost... But not yet.

After a few moments, he felt Dazai begin to gag. Merciful, he pulled out, hearing his voice come out raspy:

"Who's my pretty little slut?"

Dazai's hair was a mess. His cheeks were red and damp with tears. His mouth was abused, saliva dripping out and pulling in strings. He looked like a man defaced, taken apart and built up anew. And with his trusting, obedient eyes, he was a picture Chuuya would forever store in the corner of his heart.

Shakily, he smiled and answered, his tone watery:

"Me..."

"Good boy," Chuuya praised lovingly. "Open your mouth and show me your tongue."

Dazai complied without a second thought.

And just like that, Chuuya leaned down and spat onto the waiting tongue.

Now, his clear saliva glistened in Dazai's mouth. It would soon begin to drip down into his throat, but Osamu's clouded eyes never left Chuuya's face; he looked so ready and willing to comply that the mere sight was enough to ruin Nakahara's composure.

He groaned slowly and stroked his dick a few times. It wasn't long before another orgasm hit him, this one not as cathartic as the first but pleasurable nonetheless. Even more satisfying, though, was spurting his load onto Dazai's pretty face. Some of it ended up in his hair and on his cheek, but most of it now was resting on his pink tongue, where he'd spat moments before. It was a proper mess.

In Osamu's wrecked mouth, Chuuya's come was mixed with his saliva in a way that just felt right; the ultimate claim that made the possessiveness inside of him stir dangerously. It seemed that Dazai felt it too, which was why he kept his tongue stuck out obediently and took every last drop of Chuuya's sperm as it landed on his face. He wasn't fast to do anything without Nakahara's approval at this point — a wise decision.

Chuuya looked down at the brunette's shameless display of obedience. He knew he should've allowed him to swallow, but he was enjoying himself way too much. After a minute, he couldn't help but whisper his thoughts aloud:

"Fuck… You're perfect. I fucking love to see you like this, Osamu."

He didn't expect what happened next.

Upon hearing the praise, Dazai trembled with a full body shiver, and his eyes rolled back into his skull. Since he didn't receive a command to swallow, he kept his mouth wide open, so Chuuya could hear how fast and hot each breath came out of his fucked out throat. Withing a few seconds of being praised, the brunette shook and moaned, and then... he came.

He actually came, without Chuuya having to touch his dick even once.

It was a precious thing that Dazai let him witness; Chuuya watched it all. He watched as Dazai quivered and the muscles on his stomach contracted. He looked like a used up whore with his tongue out and his eyes rolled back, not to mention the come that stained his face and stuck to some of his hair. Yet, surprisingly, for someone who never succeeded in shutting up, he was mostly quiet save for labored breathing that sounded like it was punched out of his lungs.

Finally, he went limp. Chuuya let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his head swimming and his heart full. Upon seeing Dazai's obedience and trust, he felt he couldn't keep up the game they were playing before. So, he lowered the man on one of the pillows, and let him breathe for a minute; then, he undid the bounds around his wrists and threw the belt on the floor.

"How are you feeling, baby? What do you need? Tell me," he whispered, caressing a pale thigh gently. The pet name came out so naturally he didn't even notice.

Luckily, Dazai followed his voice and opened his eyes slowly. His pupils were still dilated, gaze empty. Whatever this state was, Dazai was in deep.

"Chu-uya... More," he got out, weakly grabbing the redhead by the shoulders and pulling him in. "Please, fuck me, it's not... Not enough..."

Nakahara didn't resist, melting right into the warm touch. His heart was beating fast once again, and he didn't think at all, simply following its calling. He pressed his body close to Dazai's and kissed him sweetly, petting his stomach and thighs. Sucking hickeys onto his neck, hearing the man he loved moan loudly with every touch... It was so good he felt drunk. He didn't think he could come again, yet here he was, fondling Dazai so eagerly and having no intention to stop at all.

He reached down and took Osamu's dick in his hand. This time, however, he was merciful, drinking every cry of pleasure from the other's mouth and never stopping until he came all over Chuuya's hand with a cute whine.

It didn't take long for Dazai to orgasm, but by that point Chuuya was already yearning to be inside once again. Finding the right position of his hips, he slipped his cockhead past Dazai's rim and slid home with a happy sigh.

They both groaned, and Dazai's eyes rolled back. He was clearly too far gone, but so was Chuuya.

They began moving together, slow at first, then faster, once the heat made them desperate. Nakahara embraced the brunette and felt the other hug back desperately, as if Osamu was trying to merge them together; it was almost hard to move, so Chuuya rocked back and forth with his head buried in the juncture of the pale neck he peppered with kisses. He could hear Dazai mumble his name over and over again, calling out to him in a way that felt like love.

After a minute, Dazai's breath hitched and he arched his back, coming with a shudder. Chuuya stayed inside and sucked on the man's pink lip slowly, waiting until he came to his senses. And soon, he began to thrust once again, knowing neither of them were ready to part nor satisfied.

They kept going like this for a long time; Chuuya lost count. Dazai was so pliant and sensitive he just kept coming, unable to stop. And for the redhead, it was even harder to give up the feeling. Holding Osamu close, intertwining their fingers; feeling the man's insides shudder as he was driven to another dry orgasm. Kissing Dazai all over, looking into his empty, trusting eyes and touching him again and again.

He thought he remembered fucking Dazai on his side, all the while jerking his cute engorged dick. Entwining their tongues, whispering words of love and praise as the brunette cried silently from the pleasure. Pushing his fingers into his mouth and resting them on his tongue. Finally, spilling inside for the umpteenth time and knowing he would never go back to the way things were before.

He didn't know how much time had passed in the haze. However, eventually he could see Dazai was exhausted, and he was no better.

"Sleep, Osamu. I'll take care of you," he whispered after a quick kiss. And just like that, Dazai's eyes fell closed and he was fast asleep.

Chuuya had to breathe for a minute, still not fully comprehending the state of mind that overtook him earlier. Though he was tired, he stood up and fetched a washcloth from the bathroom that was joined to the bedroom they occupied. Dampening it with warm water, he cleaned Dazai's bruised body with care, and put him under the covers. Feeling his eyes begin to close, he laid down next to Dazai and placed his head on his chest.

Despite having thought himself exhausted, he ended up laying in the dark with his eyes open for quite some time. For a while, he listened to the distant sounds from the first floor, where the party was clearly far from being over. Earlier, he couldn't focus on anything other than what was happening between them, desperate to hear and witness every reaction of the man currently sleeping in his arms.

Now, though, he turned his attention to Dazai. Dozing off in such a peaceful way was so unlike him. He did look like he hadn't gotten much sleep lately, and he was skinny as ever, so it's no wonder he'd lost his energy so quickly. Not to mention the weird fog that clouded his mind — all of it seemed like a completely different side of a man that hid behind a hundred masks.

So many emotions swirled inside of Chuuya when he thought about Dazai. He was infuriating, irresponsible, manipulative. But he was also a fucking genius, and he seemed to know Chuuya better than anyone else did. On top of that, he was simply ethereal and damn near irresistible. Fuck, it was almost disgusting how in love he was.

Most of all, even after all the hurt and grudges Nakahara still held in his heart, he knew he would never be content with his life if Dazai wasn't in it. He had long since resigned himself to dealing with the occasional bitterness in order to drown in the sweetness of having Dazai. Knowing Dazai. Letting him rely on Chuuya only. Having him breathing and existing by his side.

Maybe Chuuya really was Dazai's loyal dog. Maybe he was too trusting and forgiving, and followed the brunette's scent far too willingly.

However, Osamu would have to take responsibility for taming him. He could keep the collar around Chuuya's neck, but if he ever let go of the leash, he'd get his damn hand bitten off. Nakahara would make sure to get that simple rule into Dazai's maze of a head.

With that final decision, Chuuya laid back and let out a contented sigh. He was out like a light in a matter of minutes.

***