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Obviously, Chuuya doesn't want to go to a meeting when his pussy is wetter than a slip'n slide, but one of the Port Mafia's three rules clearly state, "Always obey the Boss's orders".
…And he forgot to put in his request for heat-leave, again, so now he must lie in the bed he's made.
Which is how he has ended up waiting on the sidewalk outside his apartment complex, sweating up a storm, slick gathering in his underwear, pre-heat symptoms at their very peak. Sure, if he just called Mori, he might be able to weasel his way out of having to go, but the idea of disclosing that, 'hey, I can't make it to this meeting because I have a violent, biological need to be fucked stupid right now', to his boss makes him feel like scooping his uterus out with a rusty spoon would be more pleasant.
The black car arrives five minutes later than it should've, and the prolonged wait has managed to put Chuuya in an even fouler mood — if that's even possible.
Without waiting for it to stop properly, Chuuya yanks the car door open and slumps down in the backseat. "Drive," he snaps at the Mailman, electing to not put his seatbelt on. Instead, he presses the button that rolls up a thick, tinted glass pane, dividing the seats in the front from the ones in the back. Once he's alone, he lets his head fall forward and bang against the glass. He hugs his middle, trying to breathe through a fit of merciless cramps that feels like they're torturing his uterus, strangling and stabbing it with a stake simultaneously.
The drive to headquarters from the apartment is around seven minutes without respecting the rules of the road, but if you take traffic laws into account, it could end up as ten, maybe even fifteen. 'Emergency' meetings like the one he's been called to usually don't take outrageously long, forty minutes at the very longest. Best case scenario, a ten to fifteen minute drive there, maybe twenty-five minutes of pretending to listen to whatever Mori'll say, a ten to fifteen minute drive back…
You'll be back in bed in less than an hour, Chuuya tells himself, burying his head in his hands and his teeth in his bottom lip. Just barely an hour, how hard can that possibly be?
His reassurance is interuppted by the last voice he'd ever want to hear in a moment like this.
"Well, don't you look lovely today?"
Chuuya turns his head ever so slowly, to give the universe a chance to say sike.
It doesn't.
Dazai is sitting maybe a foot away, resting an elbow on his knee and holding his chin in his palm, staring at Chuuya with an amused glint in his eye, mouth stretching into a lazy smile.
Lord, forgive me, for I am about to paint the road with this bastard's brains.
The bastard in questions opens his mouth again, "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the nes—"
He doesn't get the chance to finish his antagonizing before Chuuya pounces on him. The side of Dazai's head hits the tinted glass hard, but he can't voice his complaints because Chuuya slams his mouth against Dazai's to suffocate him — or kiss him, whatever people like to call it — the car jostling violently with their movements. Chuuya clutches at Dazai's suit with one hand, yanking at his hair with the other to pull him down into the attack, biting at his lips until they part for him. He pushes the bitter taste of blood into Dazai's mouth alongside his tongue, and he knows Dazai can taste it too, because he moans into the kiss.
The Chuuya in fifteen minutes will have to deal with the consequences, Chuuya thinks as he straddles Dazai's lap.
Dazai's hands fly down to grasp at Chuuya's middle as soon as he sits down, digging into the sliver of skin that is exposed whenever Chuuya moves his arms up. The glands on his neck and wrists throb and burn, prevented from automatically letting his scent out because of the blockers he put on before going outside. Dazai isn't wearing any at all, the only barrier between his scent glands and Chuuya being those stupid bandages, far from enough to keep his scent from flooding Chuuya's nose and throw his body into chaos. Even more slick leaks from his pussy, escaping the flimsy fabric of his panties and into his jeans, making them grow damp and mindblowingly uncomfortable.
"Are you kidding me?" Dazai exasperates, yanking Chuuya away by his hair, making him whine; if he was still clearheaded, he'd be bashing his brains against the window right now. "You're in heat."
"Preheat," Chuuya corrects, his chest heaving with effort. He bats Dazai's hands away from his hair to slip out of his sweatshirt, letting it fall on the seat beside them. Underneath, he's only wearing a white, seethrough tank-top that's already sticky with sweat, leaving nothing to the imagination. He'd refused to put on a bra because he'd been too tired to fight with the clasps earlier. As soon as he's done stripping off the worst of the layers, his hands start wandering down Dazai's body, undoing his belt and pushing his slacks down, nails raking over his hips before finding the waistband of his boxers. "Forgot to call in sick."
The smile on Dazai's face has gone from amused to strained. He undoes Chuuya's belt and unbuttons his jeans silently. "Preheat my ass," he jeers, pulling Chuuya's pants and panties down to the crooks of his knees. Then, without warning, Dazai's hand slips down and he pushes two fingers inside Chuuya, making him drop his forehead onto Dazai's shoulder, muffling a whimper.
But just as quickly as he pushed in, he pulls out, wiping the slick from his fingers on the curve of Chuuya's waist. It's wetter and thicker than it usually is, the consistency more reminiscent of lube than normal slick. "You're leaking like a broken faucet."
In Chuuya's defense, he'd been asymptomatic right up until last night, and he'd assumed that he was just entering a bad preheat — God forbid an omega have an irregular cycle.
"You want me to believe that you didn't think of how you'd smell to everyone else?"
While scent blockers — as the name suggests — blocks his scent, there's no real way to stop people from smelling this much slick.
"Really, Chuuya's such a—" Chuuya shuts him up with another biting kiss, rolling his hips to press Dazai's barely covered erection to his dripping pussy, internally delighting when it twitches. He grins against Dazai's lips before reaching down to yank his boxers down.
"Wait." Dazai catches his wrist right before he gets what he wants. Chuuya tries to control his reaction, but his body is begging to just get fucked already, so he lets out a frustrated noise. "We don't have time."
"What, you can't make me come in ten minutes?" Chuuya pushes Dazai's hand off and pulls his underwear down. He looks ridiculous, a furrow in his brow and a scowl on his face, three-piece suit rumpled from Chuuya's pawing, pants pulled down just enough to let his dick out to play. He slips his hand around Dazai and starts pumping up and down, using the pre-cum beading at the tip as lubricant, taking the risk and licking a stripe up the sliver of skin on Dazai's neck that peeks out when his head falls back on the headrest with a groan. "It's fine, just pull out.”
Dazai's knot takes fifteen minutes to go down outside of his ruts, so if it decides to pop while he's inside…
Unlikely, but better safe than sorry! (A desperate Chuuya is a reckless Chuuya, and he is currently in desperate need of dick.)
Once he's had his fun, biting and sucking on Dazai's neck while he jerks him off just enough to not make him come, Chuuya raises himself up over Dazai's cock, aligning it with his eager entrance. But right as he's about to sink down, the head barely an inch away from finally getting what he so desperately needs, Dazai's hands grab onto his thighs, stopping his descent.
"We're not alone." He stresses the last word with a glance behind Chuuya. The Mailman is just one piece of maybe soundproofed glass away, potentially hearing any noise that he might (will) let out once he gets Dazai's dick inside him.
"Now you're getting shy?" Chuuya taunts, trying his very best not to scream in his face to just fuck me to death already. He tries to break out of Dazai's grip and sit on his dick with or without his permission, but the bastard has apparently decided that now is a good time to show that he is, in fact, not just skin and bones. Chuuya is frustrated — in all ways a person can be frustrated; he is being metaphorically fucked by his heat and not literally fucked by his partner enough, and when Chuuya is fucked too hard in the wrong way, he gets a terminal case of running his mouth.
"Is it about your dick?" he asks in a stage-whisper, looking over his shoulder, "'cause if you're nervous that he might see something if he rolls down the window… don't worry, he won't even notice—!"
It's obvious that Dazai's last thread of restraint has snapped when he yanks Chuuya down on his cock, fucking the insults right back into him. His eyes squeeze shut and burn, hot tears gathering on his eyelashes.
Dazai's dick is definitely not small, the impressive girth making up for any length that might be missed, and Chuuya can't stop the choked sound he lets out as his pussy stretches to accomodate the stupidly big intruder. It's a brutal stretch without any real prep, Chuuya knows that, and it should hurt like a bitch — but the heat has clearly managed to scramble his brain to mush already since all he can think is I need more. He wraps his arms tightly around Dazai's neck, head lolling forward with a delirious moan.
Chuuya wastes no time, not even letting his body get used to the feeling before he starts moving, moving up and down with an erratic, uncoordinated rhythm, helplessly trying to get the release his body so desperately needs.
After a few bounces, Dazai's decides to meet him halfway, thrusting up into Chuuya as his nails dig ditches on the fat of his his hips. The first thrust is hard, knocking the wind out of him. Dazai sets a brutal pace, his thrusts quick and hard, each one knocking the breath out of Chuuya and only getting rougher when he cries out in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks, his overstimulation and frustration making enough love to turn him into a sobbing mess, his pleas for mercy fucked into an incoherent chorus of 'ah-ah-AH—!'s.
Caution has been completely thrown to the wolves, Dazai bouncing Chuuya on his cock like he's nothing but a flesh-light — and Chuuya swears the car moves alongside them — fucking him hard enough that it feels like he's trying to carve a permanent space inside Chuuya's body fit for him and him alone, all the way down to the marrow, and all Chuuya can do when the tip of Dazai's cock suddenly hits a spongy wall deep inside him is scream, legs squeezing painfully around Dazai's waist as he leaves the moving to Dazai, even more slick gushing out of him, leaking around Dazai's cock.
The noises made when their bodies meet are obscene and filthy, and it only gets worse as Chuuya's sobs join the choir, struggling to breathe as tidal waves of pleasure start building in his gut. As if reading his mind, Dazai reaches between their bodies as he continues to thrust into Chuuya on his own, pinching Chuuya's aching clit between his fingers before he starts rubbing it with intent, the pace sloppy because of all the slick making him slip, but effective all the same.
"Dazai!" Chuuya wails, body quivering violently as it prepares for the climax, nails dragging down Dazai's shoulders. Dazai's cock is hitting his cervix with every thrust now, the barrier softer because of his heat, eager to welcome an alpha cock inside. He should be horrified, or in pain, but the stars he sees when, for a split second, the head of Dazai's cock almost pushes past that barrier and nearly touches him as deep as he can possibly go all while he's touching his clit — they are blinding.
Chuuya comes with a choked cry, pleasure hitting him in brutal waves, his pussy clamping down on Dazai's cock while he bites his shoulder, tearing through the fabric of the suit with his fangs to try and satisfy the instincts of his that scream at him to claim. Dazai doesn't stop fucking him, even when he starts going limp with exhaustion, though the slick just keeps coming through the aftershocks, coating Dazai's pants until they're unsalvageable.
As he fucks Chuuya through another, weaker orgasm, the base of Dazai's cock begins to swell. Dazai's cock is already thick, but his knot is worse, and even as it's just starting to form it pushes against Chuuya's g-spot maddeningly perfectly, making him whine. But the knot isforming, and the feeling of his walls being stretched even further is what brings Chuuya from his state of cockdrunkenness and back to reality — fucking shit!
"Pull out," Chuuya gasps, begs, but his legs seem to have a mind of their own and just tighten around Dazai's waist without his permission, trying to stop Dazai from being able to pull out. "Pull out—!"
Dazai curses, but rather than use Chuuya's heat-induced weakness to throw him off, he thrusts one last time, shoving himself as deep as he can go; his knot pops inside of Chuuya with a filthy squelch, forcing his insides to embrace his fat cock and knot tightly, the weight of his thrust pushing the head of his cock past the barrier of Chuuya's cervix, lodging it inside a space that's hot as flames and tight as anything.
Chuuya sobs as his body is seized by yet another orgasm when the knot locks them in place. Hot cum releases from Dazai's cock, flooding straight into Chuuya's womb, through the opening he managed to force open — with the help of Chuuya's own traitorous body, of course. Dazai's knot pulses painfully as he comes harder than he's ever done outside of a rut. He comes and he comes, until he's spent and trembling, chest heaving with effort, knot sitting in its rightful place: locked deep inside of Chuuya's greedy hole, preventing any of Dazai's spend from leaking out.
…
The car comes to an abrupt halt, jostling them both into motion, forgetting that they were just locked together, the tugging on Dazai's knot making them both groan.
They don't look each other in the eyes, keeping their heads down; Chuuya knows he'll be the one whose brains are ending up on the highway — by his own hand — if he does look.
One of his hands release their grip on Dazai's shoulders to feel his stomach, finding and feeling a curve. His abdomen has distended ever so slightly; due to the sheer amount of cum Dazai emptied inside of his goddamn womb, combined with his thin frame, he now looks like he's expecting.
Lord, I need to die.
But before he can try and say anything—
Tap, tap, tap.
Someone hesitantly taps on the window of the door at the opposite end of the backseat, then there's a voice saying, "Dazai-dono, we're here."
"Take one more trip around the whole block."
Chuuya blanches.
The mailman seems to do so as well, because there's a long pause before he speaks again. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Dazai drawls, recovering admirably quickly, running a hand through his hair before completely letting go of Chuuya's waist to button his shirt and jacket back up. Then he looks up at Chuuya, who's still drenched in sweat, his face flushing a bright red all the way up to the tips of his ears. But rather than tell him to get off, his hands slip down to Chuuya's clit, finger ghosting over the sensitive bud. Chuuya shivers, involuntarily tightening around the knot still lodged against his g-spot, accidentally moving and pushing Dazai even deeper — if that's even possible. He tries to muffle a hiss with his hand, but Dazai catches his wrist before he can.
Dazai grins up at Chuuya, fangs on full display, and he repeats himself:
"One more trip."
Then he adds, as an afterthought, "But hurry up, we don't have all day."
Dear Lord, Chuuya thinks when Dazai pulls him into a heated kiss, groping his tit as he does. This is not what I asked for!
***