Work Text:
Chuuya mourned the days when he could pour himself a glass of wine after work, kick his feet up on his desk, and sit in tranquility while the sun rose. While he was well-embursed for his work as a Mafia executive, the work was still mentally grueling. After a long night of barking orders to his subordinates and picking off enemy grunts, he wanted nothing more than to lay back and enjoy the sunlight starting to trickle through the tall glass windows of his office—and he damn well deserved it.
Unfortunately, ever since his current ‘partner’ had been recruited and assigned to his fleet, that kind of rest became a pipe dream.
Edogawa Ranpo, the Port Mafia’s leading strategist and self-identified “world’s greatest detective”, quickly became the bane of Chuuya’s existence in the busy weeks after his onboarding. It seemed like all the man did was laze around in Chuuya’s office, sprawled across his couch and littering the cushions with candy wrappers and crumpled documents.
Every morning Chuuya returned to his office battle-weary and dead tired, praying that the great detective had completed their latest case analysis or at least outlined a strategy for the next mission—but any God who cared to listen to Chuuya’s prayers must have been as lazy as Ranpo himself.
It was after a long night of breaking up a new drug-smuggling ring that Chuuya dragged his feet through the door of his office. Really, he was tired of dealing with these second-rate criminals who always insisted on cutting the mafia’s top-of-the-line product; this time, he hoped a lesson in earth-shaking gravity would drive the point home. Chuuya slumped in the red velvet chair at his desk, jumping back up with a hiss when his ass landed on a pile of blank paperwork.
“Edogawa,” Chuuya grumbled. He picked up the documents and chucked them over the back of the couch. “Stop leaving shit on my chair.”
Ranpo scoffed in faux offense when they scattered across the room.
“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Fancy Hat,” he said. Ranpo stretched over the cushions and tilted his head over the armrest to stare at Chuuya. His narrow green eyes were unsettlingly bright, his smile sharp and crooked.
“I told you to stop calling me that,” Chuuya snapped. He tossed his hat onto the desk and ran his fingers through ginger locks still messy with sweat and dust. Chuuya sank back down into his chair. “I’m not in the mood for your shit today, Edogawa.”
“When are you in the mood?” Ranpo snickered.
The short answer: never.
When Mori told Chuuya a few years ago that he was getting a promotion to mafia executive, he didn’t expect the position to come with an unruly house pet. Because that’s all Ranpo was, really—a bastard of a cat who did nothing but sleep, demand food, and knock shit over.
But Ranpo’s intelligence was unparalleled. He could solve any mystery in the blink of an eye, and read someone for filth quicker than he could learn their name. Ranpo noticed things that no one else could, too, and his strategies never failed. He was cunning, and had no hesitation when it came to sacrificing any pawn that didn’t amuse him.
He didn’t even have a special ability.
It pissed Chuuya off to no end.
Ranpo whistled as he turned onto his stomach. He propped himself over the side of the couch and rested his chin on folded arms, admiring the irritation written across Chuuya’s face.
“Someone looks stressed,” he said.
“Go fucking figure. Nothing passes by you, does it?” Chuuya ran his hands through his hair, massaging his temples with the hope that Ranpo could take a hint for once in his life.
“Nope!” Ranpo grinned brightly. “Hey, I’m hungry, by the way. What’d you bring for me this time?”
“Nothing,” Chuuya grumbled.
“Why not?”
“Because the black market doesn’t carry Kit-Kats,” he replied sarcastically. “Why do you think?”
“But I can’t work without any snacks,” Ranpo said, bottom lip sticking out.
“I’ve got a dime bag of laced crystal,” Chuuya said. “How do you like the taste of fentanyl?”
Ranpo groaned and slipped back down across the cushions.
Dramatic. Always. If Chuuya could go back in time, he’d kick his own ass for ever buying the man that first strawberry ramune. Ever since, the detective always insisted on Chuuya bringing him candy, chips, and everything in between. He simply wouldn’t cooperate without it.
“You’re a terrible leader,” Ranpo complained. “I can’t believe you’d let your most valuable asset starve.”
Chuuya huffed a short laugh.
“My most valuable asset?” he repeated. “More like the biggest pain in my ass. You’re nothing, Edogawa. I only keep you around on the boss’s orders.”
Ranpo hummed as he contemplated Chuuya’s words.
“I could always go share that feedback with the boss,” he said. “But I don’t think Mori will be very happy to hear that his top executive is too lazy to provide for his own people.”
“I’m lazy?” Chuuya asked incredulously. The worst part of all this was that Mori would absolutely side with Ranpo. He’d tried several times to get the strategist transferred, but each time, Mori only met him with a bemused smile and a quip about how if Chuuya could handle Dazai as a partner all those years ago, he could surely handle Ranpo.
Defeated, Chuuya rose from his chair and trudged over to the sleek fridge in the corner of the room. But when the door swung open, he found it woefully empty.
“...You already finished all the sodas?” Chuuya asked. “And the cake. What’s wrong with you, huh? I just bought it last night.”
Ranpo shrugged. “I was hungry.”
Chuuya shook his head tiredly and slammed the fridge shut, moving to grab a bottle of merlot and a single, long-stemmed glass from the cabinet. Ranpo watched with boredom as Chuuya poured himself a tall, expensive glass of red wine. Chuuya took a generous sip—finishing a third of the glass—before releasing a long-held sigh.
“If you don’t have anything to feed me,” Ranpo said, “then maybe you can give me something else.”
Chuuya swallowed. Does he mean…?
He turned back to see Ranpo sprawled along the couch. The detective’s vest was open and his fingers fiddled with the topmost button of his shirt. He smirked amusedly and pushed raven-black bangs back just to eye him up.
He does.
Chuuya abandoned his glass on the desk and stepped toward the couch.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he asked, fingers already working to undo his shirt. The ensuing grin he earned from Ranpo made him want to laugh, or to choke him out. Maybe both.
Chuuya stopped an arm’s reach away from the couch and stared down at the detective. Ranpo lifted his hands above his head, shirt halfway unbuttoned. A sliver of tanned skin revealed itself as the cream fabric slipped to the side.
Chuuya leaned over. His breath came in heavy, uneven swells. Perhaps this was just what he needed to burn off some of the night’s stress.
“Freak,” he growled to Ranpo, who hummed in delight, reaching up. For a moment, Chuuya thought the hand would graze his cheek. But instead two fingers hooked themselves between his skin and the leather band around his neck.
“I’m the freak?” Ranpo mused as he pulled Chuuya closer. “I’m not the one collared like a dog.”
“It’s a choker, idiot,” Chuuya managed to grumble before Ranpo tugged again, harder, to press his lips against Chuuya’s.
As usual, the detective’s movements were clumsy and fervid—he kissed like he was drowning. Ranpo’s teeth clashed against Chuuya’s as his tongue slipped between wine-stained lips, a sloppy but effective attempt to draw Chuuya closer.
The kiss tasted like vanilla buttercream and desperation. Ranpo’s eager fingers unhooked from the collar and wound into Chuuya’s hair instead. His hands were warm against Chuuya—hands that had seen cruelty but not combat, fingers that pushed buttons but didn’t pull triggers.
As much as Chuuya resented the man, as much as his relentless observations and criticisms irritated him, he also admired Ranpo: admired his fathomless intellect, his brilliance, his sheer resilience.
Ranpo admitted to him, once, that he’d spent several years wandering the streets of Japan, homeless and alone, rejected by every shelter, fired from every job that dared to hire him. And while Chuuya could understand why no one would want to keep Ranpo (that attitude of his was filthier than Chuuya’s mouth, and that was saying something), he also found himself wondering why anyone would ever let him go.
Chuuya growled into Ranpo’s mouth when the detective bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. The tip of his tongue teased the grooves, and when the taste of vanilla mingled with that of iron, Chuuya couldn’t help but bite back.
The quiet whimper it earned him was delicious in every sense of the word, and Chuuya swallowed it down without hesitation. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Ranpo’s shirt. He could feel the heat of him through his gloves, could feel the way Ranpo shivered at the feeling of the cool leather trailing up his chest.
Chuuya pulled back, chuckling lightly at the way Ranpo tried to lean up to chase his mouth, but he wouldn’t have any of that—Chuuya loosely wrapped a hand around Ranpo’s neck to pin him down.
“Let me up,” Ranpo whined, squirming against the cushions to try and gain leverage.
“And why would I do that?” Chuuya asked. He shifted slightly to pull himself up on the couch, where he laid across Ranpo’s hips, effectively straddling him. Chuuya leaned down until his lips were a breath away from Ranpo’s ear. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Ranpo tried to respond, but the hoarse words and hot breath against his neck made him shudder, and Chuuya’s hand tightened around his throat. Ranpo’s fingers untangled from Chuuya's hair to grab at his wrist.
“No more talking,” Chuuya muttered. “You know how to be heard. Now, answer me—isn’t this what you wanted?”
Ranpo nodded weakly. His hand slipped down Chuuya’s wrist to tug at the edge of his glove.
Take it off, he was saying, and Chuuya scoffed in response. When Ranpo realized he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he dug his nails into the skin beneath the leather.
It was always cute when Ranpo tried to resort to violence in getting his way. Did he really think a few scratches would do the trick? He acted like Chuuya hadn’t been stabbed, shot, tortured, and everything in between.
And this was Chuuya’s problem: he couldn’t stand working with the guy, but Ranpo looked so lovely like this, obedient but never meek, wanting but never getting. When Chuuya was in the mood, Ranpo also looked lovely on top of him, playful and greedy and hungry, always knowing exactly where to tease to get the best reactions.
But not today.
Chuuya grinned as he slowly activated his ability. Ranpo’s eyes flared at the realization and he gasped when Chuuya squeezed his throat in tandem.
Ranpo sank into the cushions as the weight of his gravity multiplied. Like a weighted blanket, the pressure forced his body to loosen, the muscles in his abdomen and legs unclenching as Chuuya pressed him down. He rolled his hips only once, making Ranpo groan, eyes fluttering back for just a moment when he realized he couldn’t push back.
The detective’s face flushed with anticipation, humiliation, and, as evidenced by the twitching beneath him, pleasure. Chuuya pressed a thumb into the notch of Ranpo’s neck, applying just enough pressure to make Ranpo’s eyes widen with panic.
After all, Ranpo was painfully inexperienced when it came to anything combat-related, and it didn’t take much force to scare him. Chuuya hummed at Ranpo’s whimper, his hand tightening while he reveled in the sight. Ranpo’s eyes fogged with dizziness, pupils blown as they tracked all of Chuuya’s movements. Even now, Chuuya knew he was being analyzed, that the prick beneath him was probably trying to figure out exactly how and why Chuuya would let aggression guide his intimacy.
It didn’t matter; Ranpo liked it. Something thrilled him about the desire laced with fear, the knowledge that Chuuya could—but never would—go too far. Despite their arguing, Ranpo still trusted his partner completely, allowing himself the sensation of slipping under the mafia executive’s control and preening as the other played rough.
And Chuuya: the rush that came with watching a man so brilliant go dumb under his touch was like nothing else. To hear him gasp and cry out Chuuya’s name, to see him reduced to a whimpering mess from nothing more than a bit of light choking? Of course he liked it.
“Chuu-” Ranpo panted beneath him, mouth trying to form the words but too heavy to move, too lightheaded to waste the air.
“Shhh,” Chuuya hushed. “You can handle a little more.”
Ranpo whimpered in response. He sank further into the cushions, and as the effort of holding his hands up to grab Chuuya’s wrist grew, he couldn’t help but give up and let them fall.
Fully pinned and unable to fight back, no matter how weakly, Ranpo whined, a sound that Chuuya found far more pleasing with the detective at his mercy. Blood beaded at the half-moon marks beneath his gloves.
“Is that the best you can do?” Chuuya teased, leaning down to scrape his teeth at Ranpo’s neck, just below his curled hand. “Really?”
Ranpo’s lashes fluttered. The golden-brown skin of his cheeks turned a pretty shade of red as he was unable to even nod.
“You’re lucky to have me for a boss,” Chuuya mumbled against his skin. “You’re lucky I’m patient enough to deal with your bullshit. Lucky that I’m nice enough to put you in your place like this instead of beating your ass.” He sucked a bruise into his neck to drive the point home.
Ranpo wheezed lightly as his vision blurred.
Lucky indeed. He couldn’t handle a fraction of what Chuuya was capable of, and throughout their time together, it was clear that while a bit of roughness excited the detective, it was the gentleness he appreciated the most. Gentle hands; gentle words; gentle lips. A few lines of genuine praise were far more effective in shutting him down than insults or degradation.
No: Ranpo could play off hostility, but he was helpless in the face of affection.
For someone who craves approval, Chuuya thought, Ranpo sure is difficult.
He was a mess beneath Chuuya, heaving and weakening and perfectly immobile. His unruly black hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Teary eyes gazed up at him, lips having given up on forming words.
Finally, Chuuya lifted his hand from Ranpo’s neck, allowing him to breathe—at least, as much as he could with the force of heavy gravity weighing on his chest. Ranpo gasped as the euphoric dizziness gave way to a rush of adrenaline, and he shuddered with pleasure, a guttural moan slipping from his lips.
“Is this what you wanted?” Chuuya asked softly. He raised a gloved hand to his mouth and caught the tip of one of the fingers between his teeth before slowly peeling it off.
Ranpo’s eyes tracked his hand’s every movement as it was bared. Bruised knuckles, slender fingers. Hands too soft for a mafia executive, especially one so infallible. He nodded weakly.
“Good boy,” Chuuya grinned, his voice low and teasing. “I can’t believe this is all it takes for a brat like you to follow orders.”
He cupped Ranpo’s cheek with his hand, and Ranpo sighed happily as he let his head tilt into the touch. A thumb brushed against his bottom lip. Obediently, Ranpo let them part, lathing Chuuya’s thumb with the tip of his tongue.
Ranpo grumbled in protest when Chuuya pulled back again, but his objection didn’t last long. Chuuya’s fingers trailed down Ranpo’s chest. His touch ghosted beneath the fabric of his dress shirt, brushing against a nipple. Chuuya smirked when his breath hitched slightly and the skin pebbled beneath his touch.
Ranpo was difficult, yes. Difficult to deal with, difficult to refuse. But take away his ability to think, and Ranpo really was too easy for his own good. He felt exquisite to the touch, hot and shivery and wanting beneath Chuuya.
His hand continued down until it hovered over the detective’s belt buckle, and suddenly Ranpo was whining again, trembling under the effort of trying to squirm while gravity kept him pinned.
He made quick work of unfastening Ranpo’s belt and sliding his pants down.
“Here’s what’s going to happen:” Chuuya said. “I’m going to give you what you want. And in return…” His fingers lightly circled Ranpo’s hips, trailing down the crease of his thigh until his palm rested between his legs, pushing them open. “You’re going to follow all my instructions for the day.”
Ranpo’s breath shook when the soft red glow from Chuuya’s hand cast a leaden warmth over his skin. Chuuya’s ability, Upon the Tainted Sorrow, dragged his thigh down to the couch until his legs were nice and open. Ranpo’s eyes strained as he watched the glow seep across his skin. The heat prickled like static in all the best ways.
“You’re going to do whatever I ask, no hesitations, no arguments,” Chuuya murmured into his ear. Warm fingers finally wrapped around the base of Ranpo’s cock, and he hissed in pleasure. “Fail to follow through, and I will never get you off like this again.”
He squeezed until Ranpo gasped, a silent promise that Chuuya meant everything he said.
“Do you understand?”
Ranpo wheezed when his tight fist stroked up and down once, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. Chuuya’s word was his bond—this was well-known amidst the Port Mafia and all those they dealt with—and Ranpo knew the threat was legitimate.
“Yes,” he cried, but Chuuya just clicked his tongue.
“Yes, what?”
“Fuck you,” Ranpo spat weakly, and then gasped when the gravity holding him down seemed to double. He swore he could hear the frame of the crouch groaning beneath their weight, but more importantly, his muscles felt like they were tearing beneath the pressure. Shivers of pain bled into the pleasure.
“Yes, what?” Chuuya’s eyes glinted.
“S-Sir,” Ranpo whimpered. “Yes, sir.”
Cute, Chuuya thought. And his hand started pumping in earnest.
Weak moans and whiny mewls filled the office, music to Chuuya’s ears. He retracted his hand to spit on his palm before continuing his ministrations, setting a slow, tight-handed pace that had Ranpo’s fingers curling into the upholstery and his eyes rolling back in his head.
Gradually, Chuuya sped up, the sensitive skin of Ranpo’s dick squelching beneath Chuuya’s bruised, coiled fingers. He clearly couldn’t handle much more: between the choking, the gravity manipulation, and the painful ache between his legs, Ranpo’s oxygen-deprived brain had him euphoric and dizzy. He groaned as he approached his climax, and Chuuya went faster just to hear his voice break.
But just at the edge, when Ranpo tipped his head back and prepared for the wave of relief to crash over him, Chuuya stopped.
“Nn-no-” he whimpered, eyes desperately flicking between his legs to watch Chuuya’s dark smile. He felt his cock twitch in Chuuya’s hand, the skin still hot and slick with spit. Precum dribbled from the tip, and Chuuya hummed as he dragged his thumb through, making him twitch again. “Fuck- please, Chuuya-”
“Who?”
“Please, sir-” Ranpo babbled, “I need it-”
“What you need,” Chuuya said, “is a little more respect for your superiors.” His thumb circled the tip, and Ranpo wailed.
Really, this was nothing. It was pathetic how little the ‘world’s greatest detective’ could handle before melting into a helpless puddle.
“I could stop here,” Chuuya mused. “And leave you like this. Horny, messy, and pinned by gravity. How does that sound?”
“Please,” Ranpo cried, tears pricking the corners of his emerald eyes. “I-”
“Sure would be nice to finally get some rest without you whining about needing snacks and attention. How long do you think it would take before someone finds you?”
Ranpo shook his head and moaned at the thought.
“Now that wouldn’t be very becoming of the world’s greatest detective,” Chuuya whispered in his ear. “Would it?”
A few more strokes was all Ranpo needed to get back to the edge. He keened when Chuuya peppered kisses across his neck at the same time, gentle grazes of lips across bruised skin.
“Please,” he whimpered. “I-I’ll be good!”
“You will,” Chuuya agreed, hand tightening. Up, down. “Or I’ll never let you live it down.”
Chuuya twisted his hand as he increased the pace. He started rolling his hips again, grinding against one of Ranpo’s legs just because he could, reveling in the way his jaw went slack at the attention.
Ranpo came with a strangled cry as Chuuya whispered sweet nothings into the crook of his neck. He continued to work the detective through his orgasm until he felt his hips try to arch away the barest amount, still immobile beneath his ability.
Chuuya’s hand came away sticky. He licked the mess from his palm. Delightfully, Ranpo’s foggy eyes tried to track it all despite his exhaustion. Chuuya leaned down, smiling wickedly as he approached Ranpo’s still-hard dick with an open mouth.
Ranpo’s eyes snapped open, but he found himself unable to do much more than mewl when Chuuya wrapped his lips around the oversensitive tip.
With methodical precision and a teasingly slow pace, Chuuya started to lick the mess between Ranpo’s legs clean. Each swipe of his tongue made him twitch and whimper. Ranpo squeezed his eyes shut when he swirled his tongue around his cockhead.
White-hot pleasure scraped up his spine as his vision went starry. Chuuya kept the touches light and unbearable, taking his sweet time to watch Ranpo fall apart from overstimulation.
Finally, Chuuya pulled off, making sure to suckle the tip before pressing his lips against it in a gentle—but unapologetic—kiss.
He deactivated his ability with a simple wave of his hand. Still, Ranpo couldn’t move. He stayed sprawled across the couch, panting and trembling for a while, basking in the post-orgasmic peace of the morning as the sun finally rose above the horizon.
Ranpo’s eyes had just started to slip shut when he yelped, a stack of paper smacking him in the face.
“Enough slacking, Edogawa,” Chuuya said. “You’ve got paperwork to catch up on. And pull up your pants.”
Ranpo glared tiredly at Chuuya, who grinned like a wolf in response. The detective grumbled as he gathered the papers into a messy pile. As he sat up to start sorting through the documents, Chuuya couldn’t miss the quiet hiss through Ranpo’s teeth, proof that he would feel the effects of Chuuya’s touch for a long while to come. He half-heartedly tugged his pants back up, leaving his belt untouched.
Chuuya leaned back into the fluffy pillows on the couch. He didn’t remember them being this comfy—Ranpo’s lazing around really must have broken them in.
Well, no complaints from him. Laying back like this, eyes drooping sleepily as he watched an oversensitive, still-flustered Ranpo finally following orders?
Yeah. This was the best way to unwind after a long night.