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Dazai and Chuuya crossed the park and approached a grey-suited man sitting on a bench. They stood before him, looking down at him with undisguised expressions of dislike.
“Ango!” Dazai sang. “And to what do we owe the honor of this summons?” Despite the cheerful enthusiasm of his words, his eyes were cold.
Ango looked up through his glasses, completely composed. “During the meeting that you held to announce your… new affiliation, and to request a Gifted Business Permit, you stated that anyone could hire you.” He set a briefcase on his lap and opened it with small, finicky movements. “The government wishes to retain your services for a small job,” he said, removing a folder and handing it over.
He closed the briefcase and sat impassively as Dazai leafed through the papers in the folder with Chuuya craning his neck to skim along.
After a few minutes, Dazai closed the folder and raised an eyebrow. “And you think this requires us? Why not ask the ADA? We haven’t even officially opened for business yet; we’re still in the process of trying to acquire office space.”
Ango reached up and delicately adjusted his glasses. “It is my understanding that you have already taken a case, for Takechi Daishi. Or is it the case that you are only refusing jobs from the government? I would hate to think that you obtained your Gifted Business Permit under false pretenses.”
Chuuya shoved his gloved fists into his pockets and snarled, “Look here, you-” and was smoothly interrupted by Dazai.
“I understand that the concept may be alien to you,” Dazai said patronizingly, “but we have at least a passing acquaintance with the concept of personal integrity.”
Chuuya sneered at Ango.
Dazai continued, looking down his nose from his full height. “That includes acting in our clients’ best interest by letting them know if someone else could provide a particular service better, or, as in this case, cheaper. Describing that as ‘refusing a job’ is disingenuous and manipulative.”
He cocked his head. “I wonder why you are choosing to behave in such an underhanded way.” He sighed theatrically. “If your motive is simply to verify whether we will accept an assignment from someone we neither trust nor respect, you should be pleased to hear that the answer is ‘if the assignment has merit’. Congratulations; you have retained our services. We’ll contact you when the job is complete.”
Dazai turned and walked away unhurriedly, back straight. Chuuya cast one last scathing look at Ango and walked away with Dazai, side by side.
By an unspoken accord, they didn’t discuss the meeting or the case on their trip home. It was only after they entered their apartment and the door closed behind them that Chuuya said, with all the fervent outrage and distaste of a muddy cat, “Fucking goddamn government assholes. Pieces of shit can’t do anything on their own, and then have the nerve to act like they’re better than us? Like we owe them?”
Suddenly his look of anger turned to one of concern, as he remembered what Ango owed Dazai. “Sorry,” he said cautiously.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m in full agreement,” Dazai sighed, folding his arms around his husband.
Chuuya recognized the gesture as a request for comfort more than an offer of the same, and he pressed Dazai against him securely as the taller man dropped his forehead onto Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya splayed one hand against Dazai’s lower back, holding him close, and slowly rubbed circles over his upper back with the other, soothing him.
“We never established rates,” Chuuya said in a low, calm voice. “We’ll add a twenty percent surcharge for ‘customer is an asshole’.”
Dazai snorted a laugh against Chuuya’s shoulder, and his breath was hot through Chuuya’s clothes as he murmured, “Fifty percent at least.”
Chuuya barked a laugh and squeezed Dazai tightly, then released him. “All right, I’m just gonna make us some sandwiches for lunch, and then we can get to work.”
Dazai raised his head from Chuuya’s shoulder as he stepped back and asked, “Do you want me to help with lunch, or go ahead and get started on the case?”
Chuuya made a face. “The sooner it’s over, the sooner we can forget about that shitheel. Get cracking.” He gave Dazai a light punch on the shoulder as he turned toward the kitchen, and Dazai returned him a wry look as he headed for the sofa.
Ten minutes later, Chuuya entered the living room carrying a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a pair of bottled drinks in the other. He set everything down on the coffee table and then surveyed Dazai, who was stretched out the full length of the sofa, holding the folder upright atop his stomach as he read through the documents once more, this time paying close attention to all the details.
He lightly bapped the back of his knuckles against Dazai’s upraised knee. “Hey, make room. We need to eat.”
Dazai grumbled briefly, but closed the folder and sat up, swinging his feet onto the floor. He tossed the folder onto the coffee table and looked at the bottles. “Which one’s mine?” he asked.
“Whichever one you want,” said Chuuya, grabbing his first sandwich and diving in.
Dazai reached out and picked up a bottle, opening it and taking a sip, and then selected a sandwich and ate considerably more slowly.
Once Chuuya was done with his second sandwich, and Dazai was well into his first, Chuuya took a swig of his drink and asked, “So, anything jumping out at you yet?”
Dazai humphed a little laugh. “What jumps out at me is how easy this one is. The ADA could finish it probably as fast as us. And with no ability users involved, honestly, any competent government intelligence asset should have been able to handle this. There was no need for them to resort to hiring outside contractors.”
Chuuya paused with one bite left of his third sandwich, and chirped, “Ten percent surcharge for wasting our time.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth as Dazai laughed.
“Twelve percent for giving me bad associations with that park,” he suggested.
Chuuya grinned. “Fourteen percent if we have to speak to him when the job’s over.”
Dazai’s smile widened, and finally reached his eyes. “Twenty percent for wasting taxpayer money.”
They traded more and more ridiculous jokes until the sandwiches were gone.
After lunch had been cleared away, they migrated to the home office. Dazai stretched out on the loveseat, inducing a complaint from Chuuya about distractingly long legs, as Chuuya settled into his chair at the desk.
“I don’t know how the fuck you can type lying down with the fucking laptop balanced on your stomach like that,” Chuuya said, shaking his head.
“Talent,” Dazai said absently.
Chuuya took his turn reading through the contents of the file. After about ten minutes, he asked without looking up, “Are we taking the carrier’s word for it?”
“Any harder, and the blow to his head probably would have killed him,” Dazai replied. “So I’m inclined to trust his honesty. Maybe not his accuracy, what with the concussion.”
Chuuya grunted, and silence fell again.
“I doubt they took an Uber,” he said wryly a few pages later. “So-”
“Yep,” Dazai said. “They’d have had to go past this convenience store-” he raised his laptop precariously up in the air, tilted so Chuuya could see. He resettled the computer on his lap and his fingers typed quickly, and Chuuya’s email dinged. Chuuya opened the email and clicked the link to pull up the convenience store on the map.
“I’ve scanned the security footage for that intersection from 10 pm to 10:30 pm last night already and only found three cars that meet the description,” Dazai continued. “Can you look up the registrations and see what you can find out about the owners?” he asked, and Chuuya’s email dinged again, this time with car make and models and plates. “I’ll try to track the cars’ subsequent movements by hopping between security cameras. But if you can narrow it down to one suspect, that’d be great.”
“On it,” Chuuya said, clicking and typing. “Bear with me a bit, I’m used to the Port Mafia’s systems, and I haven’t gotten used to this new one you set me up yet.”
“No rush,” Dazai said, and the room was once again silent save for the sounds of mice and keyboards.
Forty-five minutes later, Chuuya said confidently, “Third plate you sent me.”
Dazai swore. “Of course it’s the one I hadn’t started on yet.”
As Dazai reset to track the third car instead, Chuuya briefed Dazai on the owner of the vehicle. “I actually remember this guy. He’s a real sleazebag, thinks he’s god’s gift to women, wants to be a player. Likes to have dirt on people, so this whole thing fits. A couple of years ago Kouyou was trying to decide whether to pull him in or shut him down or leave him alone. He’s not exactly in the business, but he runs these sex clubs. No professionals; they’re like nightclubs, but really exclusive and expensive. You gotta be hot as hell and have a shit-ton of money to get in, and they’ve got private rooms on site for people to hook up in. She decided since it was all customer-on-customer action it wasn’t competition, and she left him alone.” As he spoke, he compiled a quick email with Fujioka’s vital statistics, residential address, and the names and addresses of his various businesses and shot it over to Dazai. While Dazai traced the car’s route the prior night, Chuuya checked the man’s business’ websites and searched all his social media accounts. An hour or so later, Dazai sat up and swung his feet to the floor.
“Okay, given where he parked,” Dazai said, his eyes flickering over the screen and hands flickering over the keyboard, “it looks like he went straight to-” he paused to correlate the final security camera location to the nightclub addresses Chuuya had provided, and made a face- “Pulse.”
“Bleh,” Chuuya agreed. “Tacky. Any way to get the floor plan, so we know where the office is?”
“Sweetheart,” Dazai chided him. “I’m hurt. How could you doubt me so?”
Chuuya rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “Diva,” he accused conversationally. He rose from the desk and went to sit on the loveseat next to Dazai. It took perhaps twenty minutes for the strategist to break into the appropriate municipal systems and track down the architectural plans for Pulse.
“Here we go,” said Dazai. He clicked through files. “Site plan, floor plan, plumbing, electrical, HVAC, elevations, sections. Floor plan, then.”
They studied the layouts for the three floors. “Okay, so that’s got to be the main office,” Chuuya said, pointing at the room labeled ‘Office 1’ on the third floor.
Dazai checked the section. “I bet there’s a safe,” he said with certainty. “The trusses are a lot closer together than code would normally require. Probably to support extra weight.”
“Well, fuck,” Chuuya said. “It’s got a fucking window onto the fucking alley. A kid could do this fucking job.” He sounded disconsolate. “I probably won’t get to kick ass, either. Just fucking float up to the window, break it, pop in and pull you up, and you crack the safe and we’re back out the window.” He snarled in frustration. “Plus two hundred percent for being fucking lame!”
Dazai reached around and patted his shoulder. Trying to cheer his husband up, he said, “I hear that when a contractor doesn’t want to take a job, they just quote the customer a totally unreasonable price that they won’t want to pay, so they don’t get a bad rap for turning away jobs.”
Chuuya shook his head. “I’d love to, but come on, we’ve only put in four or five hours so far. I know I joked about it, but we can’t actually bill them surcharges for sucking.”
He humphed. “Fuck. Well, should we just go ahead and bang it out? Get this over with and behind us? Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
Dazai looked at the pout on Chuuya’s face, not just due to the frustration of working for Ango and the government, but also due to the boring nature of the job.
He looked at the plans again, and then minimized them and clicked over to the Pulse website. He scanned the pictures and blurb, and an evil smile crept onto his face. He returned to the architectural plans, paging through to the HVAC.
Laughing inside, he set the computer on the coffee table.
“But Chuuya,” he said, wide-eyed, his voice silky, “I don’t think you’re thinking this through clearly.”
Chuuya looked up at him suspiciously. “What?” he asked.
Dazai gave him the most over-the-top faux-innocent look Chuuya had ever seen. “Well, we don’t want to be seen, do we? Surely flying up to an exterior window is far too conspicuous. We’d attract way too much attention. I think this calls for some very serious, very comprehensive undercover work.” He brought up the Pulse website, with a photo of the main room occupied by hot young expensive things. “We’ll have to make our way in separately, pretending to be patrons. We’ll pretend we don’t know each other, to keep our cover intact. Eventually, we’ll strike up a connection and head off to one of the private rooms, here.” He flipped back to the floor plan and pointed to the second floor, which held the private rooms. He then flipped to the HVAC plan. “Once we’ve got the door locked and an excuse to be out of sight for a while, we can go up through this duct to the third floor. There may be some security guards, so we’ll have to subdue them without being seen, and then we can pick the lock into the office, here, and I’ll crack the safe, and we’ll need to make our way back to our room without being caught.”
Chuuya’s eyes lit up as Dazai spoke. “You know, when we get back to our room, we might have to get frisky for a while before we leave, to be authentic,” he warned. “We don’t want people to get suspicious, if we look too put-together when we come out.”
“Of course,” Dazai said in a honeyed voice. “Now, that’s all going to take some time to prepare, and in order to be sure we’ll look good enough to get in, we’ll need to get some appropriate clothing. That’ll obviously be part of the expense report, along with the entry fees, drinks, private room…” he ticked off all the extra charges on his fingers.
“Cab fare for you,” Chuuya put in, “if we’re getting there separately. I can take the Ducati.”
“Yes,” Dazai agreed. “The Ducati definitely screams rich, sexy, and cool.” His eyes raked up and down Chuuya, and his smile turned wicked. “You know, we shouldn’t see each other’s outfits beforehand. It’ll be easier to look like we don’t recognize each other if we’re genuinely startled when we see each other. Dibs on Yuki!” He added the final sentence at high speed.
“Fuck you, no fair, she was mine first!” Chuuya complained humorously, but remembering his birthday the prior year, and the clothing that Yuki had picked out for Dazai, he was happy to let her do her magic and provide him with another round of mind-numbingly, mouth-wateringly, otherworldly sexy Dazai. Yeah, I can do this on my own, he thought. He eyed Dazai. Each to his own, he thought. Dazai’ll be fucking elegant as hell no matter what she puts him in, so maybe I should let him lean into the supermodel thing and I’ll go crazy runway shit with a sexy bad boy spin. Something like-
A feral grin overtook his face and he jumped up from the sofa and reached down, yanking Dazai to his feet. “Get the fuck out and close the door behind you, I need to call my stylist and see if she’s available,” he said. As Dazai laughed, Chuuya towed him to the door and shoved him through it, closing and locking it behind him.
Ha, we got the office soundproofed to keep ADA and Port Mafia business confidential from each other, but this is a better secret, he thought. He took out his phone and sent a quick text. His smile widened as it flipped to ‘read’ almost immediately, and he hit the call button.
Yosano sat in the infirmary with five minutes left on the clock, enjoying the fact that it was the first of May. April had been very delicious in her White Day calendar, with Kunikida seated on the edge of a desk with a schoolroom backdrop, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and shirt unbuttoned a little too far to be appropriate for a teacher. Perched on the corner of the desk like that, his slacks strained against his thighs in a way that Yosano had very much appreciated, and the look he had given the camera as he took off his glasses had been… moving.
But May was a delightful change, in classic firefighter mode, with Kunikida wearing a pair of nicely fitted jeans and nothing else, no shirt, no shoes, no glasses, just a lovely, shirtless, muscular Kunikida holding a puppy. Her eyes traced the familiar contours of his body, and she idly wondered whether maybe she should take the calendar home over the weekend.
Her phone dinged.
She set the calendar down and checked the phone, finding a text from Chuuya simply saying ‘Pick up’ with a winky face. A moment later the phone rang and, intrigued, she answered it.
“Hey Yosano, how’re you doing?” asked Chuuya.
“Fine,” she said, hearing the excitement in his voice. “How about you? You sound excited about something.”
“Yeah,” he said enthusiastically. “Look, I need your help. Dazai and I have a case, and I need to go undercover tomorrow night at a sex club and have to look rich and hot and stylish, so emergency shopping trip. You free tomorrow morning?”
“Wow, is it my birthday?” she asked. “That was a hell of a sentence. Sure. Are we going to the usual place?”
“Nah,” Chuuya replied. “Dazai called dibs on Yuki for his outfit, and we’re surprising each other, so I can’t go there. And anyway, I was thinking a completely different style. Something like your Halloween outfit.”
“Damn,” Yosano said, impressed. “Pinch me, I’m dreaming. All right, let me look up the exact address and their hours, and we can meet up in the morning.”
“Awesome, you’re the best,” Chuuya said.
“Hey, if you two are surprising each other, do you want to get ready at my place so he doesn’t see you?” Yosano asked.
“Oh, yeah, perfect,” Chuuya said. “If there’s time, I might get your advice on makeup, too. I think doing some sort of eye thing might up the look.”
“Do I get to take pictures?” asked Yosano. “I’m just asking to be polite, you understand. Pictures are going to happen, deal with it.”
Chuuya laughed. “Sure, record it for posterity, just don’t post them to social media since I don’t want my cover blown, before or after.”
“Deal,” Yosano said. “All right, I’ve got to get going, I’m having dinner with Doppo.”
“Have fun,” Chuuya said, and hung up.
Yosano put her phone in her bag and looked at the calendar again. No, she thought. I’ll leave it here. There are still plenty of the office staff who haven’t been by to check out May yet. She stroked a finger across Kunikida’s chest, then rose and collected her things and headed out.
Dazai sailed through the door of the boutique with a messenger bag over his shoulder, eyes searching for Yuki, and lit up with relief as he saw her. Good, I don’t know if I would have had the same confidence in any of the other staff, he thought. He made his way over to her, noting that she looked very pleased to see him.
“Mr. Dazai, it’s lovely to see you again!” she said. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”
Dazai smiled charmingly. “Yes, please, Yuki, I was hoping that you would help me out again. Chuuya and I are going out tonight, to a very exclusive club, and I need to be really dressed to the nines. I have a shirt that I want to wear, and while it would probably work well with the leather pants you picked out for me last time, I’m guessing that he’s probably going to be wearing leather, so I’d like to find something else that would work.”
“You’re guessing that he’s going to wear leather? Has he not decided yet?” Yuki asked.
Dazai gave her an intimate smile. “We’re keeping it secret,” he said impishly.
“Oh, how cute!” Yuki said. “All right, may I see the shirt you’re going to wear?”
Dazai opened the messenger bag and took out a handful of stretchy lace.
Yuki looked at it thoughtfully. “Would you be willing to step into one of the fitting rooms and put it on, so that I can get a better idea of how it looks?”
“Certainly,” Dazai said, and followed her as she led him to a fitting room.
A minute later, he came out wearing the black stretch lace top that had been part of his stage-three Halloween costume.
Yuki clasped her hands together upon seeing him. The top was perfectly fitted, with a flesh-colored lining, and went high up his neck and low onto his hands, scalloped at the cuffs and collar, so that he didn’t require bandages.
“Oh, that’s lovely on you,” she gushed. She walked around him, carefully surveying him from all angles, and then paused again in front of him, arms folded and one finger pressed to her lips in thought.
Finally she smiled at him. “Do you trust me?” she asked, tilting her head.
Dazai didn’t have to think about it. He was able to appreciate expertise wherever he found it, and Yuki had established her bona fides the previous year. “Yes, I do,” he said.
Her smile grew. “Then come with me, please.”
Dazai followed, one eyebrow raised in interest rather than skepticism, as she led him to the women’s section.
Across town, Yosano led Chuuya into a shop with a garish neon sign and a very leather- and vinyl-heavy window display.
“All right,” Chuuya said enthusiastically, looking around the room. “Let’s have some fun.”
Chuuya and Dazai met up at home for a takeout lunch that Chuuya ate enthusiastically and Dazai ate sparingly. They teased each other with tantalizing hints about their outfits, reviewed the Pulse layout again, and had a shared bath that was almost more of a spa treatment, with what Dazai considered a bewildering array of skin care products. When it came time for hair washing, there were again multiple rounds of preparation, and Chuuya made sure that he used a different set of products than Dazai, so that they wouldn’t be given away by matching shampoo scents. Chuuya’s level of curiosity - and excitement - rose when Dazai stayed behind in the bathroom to shave his legs.
Around four pm, they both ate a very light meal, almost more of a snack, and Chuuya packed a messenger bag and headed down to the garage, where he pulled the cover off the Ducati and mounted it, driving to Yosano’s dorm, arriving around five pm.
Yosano greeted him at the door. “Ready?” she asked as he entered.
“Yeah,” Chuuya said. “Hey, Kunikida,” he added, waving to the tall detective ensconced at Yosano’s small kitchen table.
“Hello, Chuuya,” he replied. “Yosano tells me you have an undercover assignment tonight.”
“Yep,” he said. “Gonna be a blast.”
Yosano pointed him toward her bedroom. “I took everything out of the bags and laid it out on the bed so it won’t get creased,” she said. “Go ahead and change, and then come back to the table and we’ll get going on your hair and makeup.”
“On it,” Chuuya said, saluting her, and headed into her room, shutting the door behind him.
At six thirty, Chuuya headed out the door, leaning back for a hug from Yosano, and waving goodbye to a faintly wide-eyed and flushed Kunikida.
As he mounted the Ducati and drove off, Yosano turned back into the dorm room and closed the door, noticing Kunikida’s expression.
“I’m sorry that I can’t dress like that for you,” Kunikida said haltingly.
Yosano cocked a hip and placed a hand on her waist as she eyed him with exasperation. “I’ve told you, people have different styles,” she said. “His just happens to be in-your-face. It works for him. I don’t need it to work for you.”
He scanned her face. “I know,” he said, but there was still a hint of wistfulness on his face.
“Oh, dear,” Yosano purred, her voice going dark. “Don’t tell me that I’m going to have to rip your clothes off again to remind you what I actually want,” she said, prowling forward and grasping a handful of his shirt as she looked up at him, eyes smoldering.
A matching dark light flashed in Kunikida’s eyes as her hand pressed against his chest. “No,” he said, his voice deep and filled with conviction as he reached down to sweep her off her feet and into his arms.
Around seven that evening, Dazai alighted gracefully from the back of his taxi and walked past the voyeurs who were avidly watching the club-goers outside Pulse. As he moved lightly and elegantly toward the line of hopefuls, the doorman crooked a finger to him. Dazai bypassed the line with a catlike smile, handed the doorman a wad of cash, and floated into the nightclub as cameraphones flashed behind him.
Pulse had two main rooms, both on the small side due to the exclusive, low-occupancy nature of the club. Per their plan, Chuuya had arrived first and made himself at home in the room with a dance floor. Despite the fact that the doorman allowed only the most attractive young things in, Chuuya still owned the room, seductive on the dance floor and charismatic off it. He was sensual and confident and extroverted, and even those who weren’t interested in him as a prospective bed-partner enjoyed watching or conversing with him. He flirted and danced with men and women alike, accepting casual touches, and prayed in the back of his head that Dazai would be able to keep his shit together when he arrived, and not get possessive and give the show away. When not dancing, he made sure to either stand, or sit in one of the armchairs, avoiding the loveseats so that no one could get too cosy with him, as a number of the loveseats were already occupied by people engaging in far more extensive PDA than he and Dazai usually conducted.
After an hour had passed, Chuuya announced his intention of acquiring another drink, and made his way back into the first room, where the bar was located. The room was much quieter, with no dance floor or music. Instead there were tall seats at the bar, and merely more of the same sort of small tables around the room with either pairs of comfortable armchairs or loveseats as in the dance room. Many were already occupied by prospective couples tête-a-tête.
As he made his way to the bar, scanning the venue, his eye was arrested by the sight of Dazai, leaning on one hip on the arm of a chair, one long hand supporting him as the other gestured gracefully as he spoke to the chair’s occupant.
Oh, fuck, I’m gonna have to just put Yuki on a fucking retainer, he thought as his eyes locked on his husband. Dazai was wearing the stretch lace top from his fallen-angel Halloween costume, along with a pair of flat-waisted pants in some silky draping fabric that clung to his waist and hips and then billowed out, cinched tight again with a drawstring just above the ankle. The pants were open all the way down the outsides, with one tie near the knee. As he perched on one hip, with one long leg crossed over the other, nearly the whole length of his remarkable leg was on display. His hair was beautifully done and he was wearing heavy eyeliner. He was androgynous and elegant and, in Chuuya’s opinion, the sexiest fucking thing Chuuya had seen since - well, since his birthday photo album.
As the slight check in Chuuya’s movement caught Dazai’s peripheral vision, the brunette turned to see what the motion was, and he stilled, his posture radiating interest, as his eyes traveled hungrily up and down Chuuya’s form. Chuuya fastened a predatory smile on Dazai, licked his lips, and resumed walking toward the bar, eyeing Dazai boldly as he went.
As soon as Dazai entered the club, he glanced around openly as if evaluating his prospects. He allowed his gaze to linger on a chosen few, gracing them with the smallest quirk of a smile upon his lips, before making his way to the bar. He hitched one hip up onto a barstool, deliberately leaving his other foot on the floor, leg outstretched so that the silky fabric fell away, leaving a long line of skin on display.
The attentive bartender managed to reach him before the first interested party did.
“Whiskey on the rocks, thank you,” Dazai said in a low voice. As the bartender said, “At once,” and turned away, a six-foot tall man with a slender build, a glimmering blue outfit that Chuuya would have approved of, and long ash-blond hair stepped up next to him and addressed the bartender.
“Please, put it on my tab,” he said, and turned to smile at Dazai. To his credit, he managed to keep his eyes on Dazai’s face rather than his body.
“It’s not often that I have the pleasure of meeting someone as sophisticated and exquisite as you here,” he said. “I feel positively gauche, inflicting my presence upon you. Aoki,” he added, offering his hand.
Dazai reached out and shook it. “Kai,” he replied dulcetly, and his smile grew slightly as Aoki’s hand tightened spontaneously at the sound of his voice. Apparently Chuuya’s not the only one who likes my voice, he thought.
Aloud, he continued, “I don’t find you gauche at all.” His grip softened, and he allowed his hand to remain in Aoki’s an extra moment before he reclaimed it. As the bartender set his whiskey down in front of him, he raised the glass to Aoki and said, “My thanks.” He took a sip, holding the blond’s eyes as he did so, and then lowered the glass and licked his lips slowly. “Lovely,” he said.
After five or ten minutes of conversation, Dazai made his excuses and made his way around the main room, having a few intimate chats with the women and men who seemed most interesting, and gently deflecting the attentions of the ones he found grating.
After half an hour or so, Dazai allowed Aoki to reclaim his attention, and they carried their drinks over to one of the tables. As Aoki seated himself in an armchair, gesturing to the one next to him, Dazai instead draped himself on the arm of Aoki’s chair, watching as the blond’s pupils dilated, and kept up an engaging conversation as he counted down the minutes until Chuuya was targeted to leave the dance room.
Finally, about ten minutes later, his eye was caught by a sudden stoppage of movement to his left, and he looked up to see Chuuya. His husband was looking at him like a tiger confronted with a gazelle, but Dazai nearly missed it, his breath caught by the sight.
Chuuya looked like a creature made of flames. His coppery curls contained gold and crimson highlights, and he wore crimson leather that Dazai would have guessed Yosano had a hand in, even had he not known in advance, simply on the basis of how little was present. Chuuya’s arms were bared except for gold bands around his biceps, and while his back was covered, the front of the - garment, for lack of a more precise word - covered his throat, and came in with a slight v on each side of his chest, just enough to cover his nipples, with the v’s being held in place by an asymmetrical strap with a gold or brass buckle. The rest of his torso - collarbones, the rest of his pecs, his lean but defined abs - was entirely bare, skin glowing milky against the crimson backdrop. The leggings were red leather, but only covered one leg, with the other leg cut short high on his thigh and replaced with crimson leather straps with similar buckles the rest of the way down. The ankle boots were crimson leather and had medium heels. He wore outré red and gold eye shadow, and a devilish smirk that would be the downfall of nations.
As Dazai eyed Chuuya with parted lips and undisguised lust, Chuuya looked Dazai up and down and licked his lips, then proceeded on toward the bar.
Dazai raised himself from his lounging position and uncrossed his legs, coiling one underneath him and raising his other slipper-shod foot to rest on top of the arm of the chair, knee in the air. As he assumed the position, and the draping fabric fell away, exposing his entire thigh, Chuuya’s eyes burned, and he licked his lips once more.
Dazai watched out of the corner of his eye as Chuuya reached the bar and spoke to the bartender. Aoki made a valiant effort to regain his attention, but the look in his eyes was resigned as Dazai excused himself to go get another drink.
Chuuya stood at the bar as the bartender poured his wine, and could feel Dazai approaching behind him. As he reached out to take his glass, Dazai moved up next to him and leaned his elbows on the bar, his back slightly arched so that his glorious, supple ass was prominently displayed. His knee was artfully bent so that the slit down the length of the pants fell open.
The bartender turned from Chuuya to Dazai and asked deferentially, “What would you like,” and then trailed off, uncertain which honorific to use.
The corners of Dazai’s mouth turned up. His outfit had already led to a number of people delicately attempting to ascertain his gender identity, and he had been amused.
Chuuya turned to look at him, unashamedly perusing his face and form.
Dazai gave him a provocative look and then reached out, his fingers wrapping over Chuuya’s on his wine glass. “This looks good,” he said in a sultry voice. Hand still wrapped over Chuuya’s, he raised the glass to his lips and drank, and then released it, his fingers stroking over Chuuya’s as he did so.
Chuuya smiled darkly. “Then, by all means, please accept it.” He reached out and took Dazai’s hand in his own and wrapped it around the glass. With both of his hands covering Dazai’s, he moved the glass over and set it down in front of Dazai. Turning to the bartender, he said, “Another, please,” and then turned back to Dazai.
“And what’s your name, beautiful?” Chuuya asked.
“Kai,” Dazai said, holding out his hand, palm down.
Chuuya took it in his own and raised it, leaning forward to brush his lips over the back of Dazai’s hand. “Higami,” he introduced himself.
Dazai’s eyes devoured Chuuya, head to toe. “I can’t imagine that anyone could embody the name more aptly,” he said in a husky voice.
Chuuya drank deeply from his glass, and a drop of wine remained on his lips.
Dazai’s eyes riveted on the drop, and he reached out, his index finger tracing Chuuya’s lips to capture the drop just as Chuuya licked it off, the tip of his tongue brushing Dazai’s fingertip.
Dazai brought his fingertip back to his own mouth, his lips closing over it as if to catch the drop of wine that he had missed. Removing it, he dropped his hand to his throat, and then traced it down his chest, Chuuya’s eyes following.
“You are so bright,” Dazai said. “How can it be that I didn’t see you before this?”
Chuuya shrugged, and Dazai didn’t fail to notice how the hollows of his collarbone deepened with the motion. “I’ve been over in the next room, dancing. Have you been in there yet?” He nodded his head toward the other room.
Dazai shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I don’t really dance much.”
Chuuya allowed his gaze to admire Dazai’s beautiful face and willowy figure. “That’s such a shame,” he said regretfully, and drained his glass and walked away with one long backward glance.
Dazai watched him leave, feigning a look of indecision.
Chuuya strode casually back to the dance room, confident that Dazai would eventually follow. He was greeted by various of the people he’d been mingling with throughout the evening, and he fell easily back into conversation with them, occasionally gripping someone’s arm for emphasis, or placing a hand on their back or shoulder in agreement. He laughed at jokes and accepted the hands that touched him in similarly innocuous places.
Chuuya caught it in his peripheral vision, the moment that Dazai stepped into the doorway and paused, and he waited until a number of eyes turned to Dazai before he allowed his own to do so. He allowed an eager expression to cross his face, lips parted in anticipation, and just then one of his more enthusiastic suitors reached out to touch his chest.
He decided to kill two birds with one stone, keeping Dazai’s possessiveness at bay while giving himself an excuse to go talk to him. As the very tall lady’s hand (did she share a passport description with Dazai? Coincidence, surely, hah!) neared his skin, he performed the nikyo technique Kunikida had taught Dazai, and she was suddenly kneeling before him, hand and wrist twisted at an unusual angle.
Chuuya smirked down at her as various bystanders gasped in surprise. “Darling, you look lovely on your knees, but I’m afraid you’re not what I’m looking for this evening. Best of luck, though,” he said with all sincerity. As the bystanders broke into titters and, in one case, applause, he released her hand and turned, making his way over to Dazai, who had progressed further into the room during the little byplay.
Ignoring the intrigued individuals who had beaten him to Dazai, and who were futilely trying to gain his attention, which was solely on Chuuya, Chuuya stepped in close, reaching up for Dazai’s hand, which the taller man gave him without a moment’s thought.
“Lovely Kai,” he said, in a voice like the cat that got the cream. “I thought you didn’t dance.”
Dazai murmured, “Perhaps I thought that I should broaden my horizons,” and accompanied the words with a bewitching look that flushed heat through Chuuya’s body.
Chuuya allowed the warmth to reach his eyes, and said, “Self-improvement. An attractive trait.” He grinned even wider as the song changed to one of his favorites to dance to, and noted that Dazai, consummate actor that he was, didn’t betray his knowledge of what was to come.
“Well, darling, the dance floor calls,” Chuuya drawled, and releasing Dazai’s hand, he turned, already flowing into motion, and danced his way back to the dance floor as Dazai watched, lips parted.
Attention riveted on Chuuya, as most of the other dancers were simply swaying a bit to the beat, as he ate up the entire dance floor. He directed his dancing at Dazai, much to the chagrin of the hopefuls who had been swarming him, and several attempted to dance with him, making it necessary for him to maneuver around them so that they didn’t walk into a kick or disrupt his balance during a backbend.
Partway through the song, Chuuya glimpsed the blond in blue looking into the dance room through the door, and he amped up his performance. The blond scanned the room, eyes locking on Dazai. Upon seeing his gaze fixed on Chuuya, and watching Chuuya’s dancing - sensual and athletic without being crude- his face relaxed into a rueful smile. Chuuya smirked at him, and the blond waved a hand in concession, and returned to the more sedate room.
You’ve got good taste, thought Chuuya, amused, but fuck you, he’s mine.
When the song concluded, Chuuya made his way to one of the armchairs, closely followed by his fan club, who vied for the other armchair. As he spread his arms comfortably, Dazai slipped through the bystanders like a snake and coiled himself up onto the arm of the chair, his bottom a breath away from Chuuya’s hand.
“That was stunning,” Dazai said, pulling out the Voice.
No fair, thought Chuuya, and his hand immediately rose to rest possessively on the swell of Dazai’s ass. He met Dazai’s eyes, his own heated, and his voice was a low growl as he said simply, “Thank you.” His hand began to move, and Dazai leaned into it.
Ignoring the others around them, Chuuya looked up into Dazai’s face and suggested, “Aren’t you uncomfortable there?”
Dazai smiled wickedly and leaned in. “Do you have a suggestion for somewhere more comfortable?”
Chuuya spread his knees.
Dazai slithered to sit sideways across his lap, wrapping one arm over Chuuya’s shoulder, and Chuuya laid an arm across Dazai’s lap, his hand stroking up and down Dazai’s bare thigh through the slit in his pants. “You’re right,” the brunet said in a low, throaty voice that made Chuuya’s entire body tighten. “I like this seat much better.”
Chuuya’s entourage dispersed, disappointed, as Dazai bent his head to Chuuya’s.
In Chuuya’s lap, Dazai kissed his husband warmly, hungrily, as Chuuya’s hand fumbled at his knee briefly and then slid higher and higher up the back of his thigh. Dazai twisted in Chuuya’s lap, tipped up onto one hip, and Chuuya took advantage of the new position to reach higher and knead Dazai’s buttock. Dazai clasped the base of Chuuya’s skull in both hands as the kiss intensified, and within a few minutes both men were fully aroused.
“Now?” Dazai asked quietly as he nuzzled Chuuya’s ear.
Chuuya curled his lips in a smile and murmured, “Almost.” He slipped his hand back inside the slit of Dazai’s pants, and they continued making out in the armchair until the song changed.
Chuuya pulled his head back from the kiss and gently urged Dazai off him. Dazai obediently rose to his feet and held out his hand. As Chuuya took his hand, Dazai turned to lead him toward the door and then turned back, startled, as Chuuya planted his feet and didn’t move.
Dazai raised an eyebrow and shifted his weight sinuously, drawing Chuuya’s - and several others’ - attention to the erection that the women’s pants he wore were not designed to confine or disguise. “I thought you might want to take this conversation somewhere more private,” he said seductively.
Chuuya smiled, and it had teeth in it. “Dance with me first,” he said, very conscious of their observers.
Dazai’s eyes widened. “I - don’t know if I can,” he said. “I saw how you danced. I don’t know how to do that.”
Chuuya stepped forward, slipping an arm around Dazai’s back and pressing close against him. “You said you wanted to broaden your horizons, Kai,” he reminded him. “I want to see if you’re willing to get outside your comfort zone. It’s a good way for me to tell how… adventurous… you are.”
Dazai swallowed, fully in character. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” he said.
Chuuya pulled him down for a thorough kiss, and then released him. “Good,” he said, mouth curling. “Then if you don’t want to disappoint me, you’ll dance with me.” Without another word, he turned, his arm around Dazai’s waist, and ushered him to the dance floor.
Dazai’s stalling tactics had managed to get him past the first minute of the song, and he kept the fake expression of nervousness on his face as they began dancing. As he had in the past, Chuuya drew their hips together, placing his hands just below Dazai’s waist, and guided Dazai into motion. Also as Dazai had before, they were soon moving sensually in tandem. The dance was much more tame than Chuuya’s solo dancing, but it was still a visual and tactile treat.
As they danced, Chuuya guided Dazai to turn around, and pressed gently down on his hips to get him to sink down Chuuya’s body, at which point Dazai discovered that the fumbling at his knee had been Chuuya untying the fastening holding the slit closed. Without the tie in place, Dazai’s pants opened along the slit, the fabric slipping down between his knees, leaving his legs completely bare, and then once again shrouding them as Chuuya guided him back to his full height.
At the end of the song, Chuuya reached inside the slit for the back of Dazai’s knee and raised it to his hip, so that as the last notes died away, they stood, bodies molded together, with Dazai’s long, naked leg wrapped around Chuuya’s hip.
Chuuya stroked Dazai’s flank, and Dazai slid his hands over Chuuya’s chest, curling his fingertips under the strap holding the front of his outfit together.
“Was that adventurous enough for you?” asked Dazai provocatively.
With one final caress, Chuuya released Dazai’s thigh. Wrapping an arm around Dazai’s waist, he said, “Yes,” and escorted Dazai from the room.
As they made their way through the first room and to the stairway to the second floor, arms around one another, Aoki’s eyes flickered to them, and he sighed inwardly with longing, before returning his attention to the far less heady and enticing charms of his second choice.
As the door to the private room closed behind them, Chuuya said fervently, “God, you are hot as fucking hell. You are fucking killing me.” He separated himself from Dazai, and the taller man began retying his pants legs as Chuuya floated up to the ceiling and moved the access panel out of the way.
“Ready?” Chuuya asked, and Dazai nodded. Dazai placed his hands on Chuuya’s shoulders and one foot in Chuuya’s laced hands, and then Chuuya heaved him upward. Dazai easily caught the lip of the access panel and climbed inside. Free of No Longer Human, Chuuya floated back up into the access panel and left it open behind him.
Dazai led them unerringly through the vent shaft, and carefully removed the grate at the end. The two men stepped out onto the third floor. Chuuya used his ability to turn a security camera to face the blank wall, and Dazai led them once again toward the office.
Looking around the final corner, they saw their first security guards. The two men were looking in the opposite direction, expecting any infiltration to come via the stairs or elevator. Chuuya turned another security camera with Upon The Tainted Sorrow and then nodded to Dazai. They moved silently through the hallway and took the guards out, Dazai via a choke and Chuuya via a blow to the back of the head.
Chuuya stood guard as Dazai picked the lock to the office, and then peeked through the door and turned the remaining security camera. They slipped inside, and Dazai had the safe open in under a minute.
“Easy peasy,” Dazai said, after rooting through the safe and locating the SD card. As he did so, Chuuya stripped the SSD from the laptop on the desk to play it safe, leaving the shell of the laptop intact. Dazai tossed him the SD card and Chuuya used his ability to crush them into a tiny ball of crumpled metal and splintered plastic which he pocketed.
Carefully exiting the room, they quickly made their way back down the hallway to the vent through which they’d entered the third floor. Dazai unlatched a window at the end of the hall and opened it, to make it appear that that was how the intruders had gotten in, and then they quickly returned to their private room.
Chuuya squeezed past Dazai at the end and lowered himself with his ability, then reached up to steady Dazai as he jumped down. Floating back up, he replaced the access panel, and they grinned at one another.
“Much better than just going in through the third-floor window from outside,” Dazai said earnestly.
“Yeah, they’d have probably had people waiting for us in the alley when we left,” Chuuya added with a snort of laughter.
“So,” Dazai said, voice sultry once more, as he swayed over to Chuuya. He reached out and curled a finger underneath the strap across Chuuya’s chest. Chuuya decided discretion was the better part of valor, and decided that what Dazai didn’t know wouldn’t kill anyone else, and refrained from mentioning just how many people had tried slipping fingers under the straps of his outfit that evening.
Dazai reached Chuuya and pressed his body close. “We should probably work on our cover now,” he said invitingly. “We wouldn’t want people to guess what we were really doing all this time.”
Chuuya slid his hands through the slits in Dazai’s pants. “Absolutely,” he said, his lips hovering a breath away from Dazai’s neck. “We need to cross every t and dot every i so we don’t raise any suspicion. I’ll write up the report tomorrow. I’m sure the government will be grateful that we’re being so professional.”
He stretched up to taste Dazai’s smile as his husband twined his lace-clad arms around his neck.
Epilogue:
Monday morning Ango walked into his office to find a manila envelope resting on his desk. He sighed in exhaustion at Dazai’s antics. Breaking into a government office is a felony, he thought to himself. He opened the envelope and found a crisply professional mission report, undoubtedly written by A5158, along with a small chunk of debris and an invoice.
The hourly labor charges were perfectly reasonable, but Ango choked at the expense report. He scanned through it twice, then dropped it and reached for the mission report, reading it through in detail.
Once he had finished, he laid the report down on his desk. He took off his glasses and dropped them on the desk, then propped his elbows on the table, dropped his head forward, and massaged his temples. Soukoku, he thought, and the word was resigned and not a swear. He sighed and sat upright again. Putting his glasses back on, he logged onto his computer and paid the invoice, and then began recording a memo regarding the cost/benefit analysis of utilizing Soukoku’s services for government work.