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There were few things Dazai was not certain of, and even fewer that he couldn't predict. Chuuya, unfortunately, fell into both of those categories.
"We are not having sex, Dazai."
Those were the first words out of his former partner's mouth since the mafia dungeons.
Not 'what the hell are you doing here?' or 'get the fuck away from my wine, shitty mackerel'—despite the fact that Dazai had just picked his lock. Instead, it was a preemptive denial of something Dazai himself hadn't admitted to wanting.
Breaking and entering usually carried the expectation of a pleasant, well-deserved night, especially after the thrashing Chuuya had given him a few days prior. But he wasn't counting on being clocked so fast, let alone refused upfront.
"Now, now, Chuuya." Dazai kept his face smooth, burying the surprise. "Isn't it a bit bold to assume that's what I'm here for?"
Chuuya snorted. "You may think you're mysterious, but I know you." He sounded confident. "I knew you'd see the beating from the other day as foreplay."
A direct hit. Dazai did find their time in the dungeons enticing. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.
"Well then, slug, since you know me so well, you must've known what you were doing to me." Dazai kept his tone light. "You should take some responsibility and do something about it."
To his dismay, Chuuya didn't fold. The executive simply removed his hat, shoes, and coat. He walked into the kitchen and poured a generous glass of wine, not bothering to offer Dazai a drop.
Rude! Dazai thought, hopping up to sit next to him on the kitchen counter.
After what felt like ages of quiet sipping, Chuuya finally spoke. "You disappear for almost four years, bomb my car, call me once to let me know you're alive, turn up in a rival organization, and expect me to just fuck you as if nothing changed?" His tone held neither softness nor ice. Just a baffling curiosity.
"Well, yeah, pretty much," Dazai said. Because it really should be that simple.
Chuuya sighed. He stepped closer, catching Dazai's chin in a gloved hand and forcing his head up.
"I don't think you're that deserving, shitty mackerel," Chuuya murmured, a mean smirk cutting across his face. He let go and turned toward the hallway. "You can show yourself out."
Dazai was left alone. Not deserving? Oh, he couldn't let it end there.
For the next few days, Dazai kept turning over ways to be "deserving" of his former partner. He even went out of his way to search the internet and flip through a few questionable magazines for advice on how to make someone want you. But that wasn't quite right, was it? Dazai already knew how to make people want him. It was laughably easy. Men, women; he didn't mind, nor did he care.
Intimacy had always been a transaction rather than a pleasure. A tool to be wielded when there was a specific end goal. Back in the Mafia, he’d have his way with people when asked to—or rather ordered to—to extract information, secure blackmail, or obtain whatever else Mori needed.
That all changed the first time it happened with Chuuya. Chuuya, who had been a virgin back when they were seventeen. Chuuya, who had been pissed out of his mind when he realized how callously Dazai treated his own worth. Chuuya, who had been appalled when Dazai admitted he'd never actually felt anything during the act, and who stubbornly decided to change that fact, inexperienced as he was.
Dazai sighed, shoving the memory aside. As much as he wanted to have a fun time with the redhead again, sometimes these thoughts dragged up deeper things. Things he would rather not deal with. Not now. Not ever.
ɷ
"You know, staring a hole through that paperwork won't make the report write itself."
Yosano was standing at his desk, eyeing the neglected pile of forms.
Dazai turned his head, catching a dangerous glint in the doctor's eyes.
"Yosano-sensei." He slipped on an easy grin. "How can I be of help?"
"Actually, I was wondering if maybe you needed some help this time," she replied, resting a hand on her hip. "Ranpo seems to think I should drag you out for some drinks. What do you say?"
Dazai rarely said no to skipping work or free alcohol. He nodded, immediately pushing his chair back to leave.
Still, the fact that Ranpo orchestrated this irked him. It always did. Dazai knew the genius detective could read him, and that unnerved him more than he'd ever admit. His one saving grace was Ranpo's utter lack of normal social awareness.
There was no way Ranpo would figure out Dazai was actively plotting to seduce the Port Mafia's most dangerous executive. Right?
Dazai didn't mind when Yosano took the wheel. The fact that they were driving somewhere much farther from the Agency than usual didn't bother him in the slightest. He was confident in his ability to hold his liquor and navigate back to the dorms later.
The car ride was comfortably silent. In no time at all, they were sliding into a small table for two in a remarkably unnoticeable pub. Dimly lit, quiet, tucked away in a corner. Good. Somewhere inconspicuous where neither of them would be easily recognized—a location choice Dazai reckoned was mostly for his sake.
Drinks in hand, Yosano went straight for the jugular. "So. Tell me what's bothering that giant brain of yours."
Direct. No dancing around the point.
Dazai didn't feel like playing games, so he opted for blunt honesty.
"Say, Yosano-sensei," he started, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey. He leveled his gaze at her, asking the question as casually as if checking the weather. "What exactly would you do to get someone into your bed? Willingly, I mean."
He had decided to share his turmoil with her the second they walked out of the Agency doors. Over the past two years of working together, he had come to appreciate these people, even if he didn't fully trust them yet. His past, present, and whatever hypothetical future he had with Chuuya was absolutely no one's business but their own. But the Agency didn't know the slug. Most of them couldn't even begin to comprehend what Dazai being a former mafia executive actually entailed.
Yosano probably knew, though. She had her own history with Mori, and that shared shadow made him feel far more at ease around her.
"Oh!" Yosano exclaimed, a sudden sparkle lighting up her eyes. "So that's what this is about! It makes perfect sense Ranpo put me up to it. He knows I'm the absolute best person to go to for boy problems."
That gave Dazai pause. It was funny how she hadn't harbored a single second of doubt.
"Boy problems, huh?" he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I guess you could call it that. What gave it away?"
"You're a certified womanizer, Dazai," Yosano replied simply, leaning back in her chair. "There is no way on earth you'd be sitting here looking this conflicted if the issue was about a woman."
Dazai acquiesced with a small, conceding tilt of his head. Fair point.
Yosano took his silence as agreement. She leaned across the table and got right to work.
ɷ
The plan they came up with was simple, if not downright audacious. The core strategy? Make the bait so irresistible that the slug wouldn't stand a chance at saying no.
Because he couldn't get into the nitty-gritty details regarding his convoluted past with the object of his affections—desires! he corrected firmly—they kept the discussion strictly to the mechanics of seduction.
Dazai was confident he could execute it flawlessly. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the sheer shock of Chuuya rejecting him before he'd even asked, the detective never would have exposed his vulnerabilities at the pub in the first place.
If he was being honest with himself—which he frequently was, mostly to efficiently suppress anything useless—it was more than just the flat denial bothering him. It was unfortunate, really, but Dazai had been dealing with this specific itch since he was fifteen. He could go on like this. Provided he got it out of his system every once in a while.
Which was exactly why he currently stood in the middle of Chuuya's penthouse for the second time that week, dressed nicely for once. He had even bothered to wash his hair so the chibi couldn't complain he looked like a greasy stray.
He’d procured an expensive bottle of wine—some French vintage he vaguely remembered Chuuya mentioning years ago—and ordered risotto from that upscale Italian place the executive loved. Yosano had advised him to cook the meal himself to show effort, but Dazai never bothered to learn how. Besides, as much as he usually enjoyed getting yelled at for destroying kitchens, he really needed tonight to go in a very different direction.
The doorknob rattled. A sharp clink echoed through the entryway, signaling Chuuya had finally arrived. Dazai forced his heartbeat into a slow, steady rhythm and relaxed his shoulders.
The moment Chuuya walked through the door and froze, his blue eyes going wide with genuine shock at the candlelit setup, Dazai felt the familiar, thrilling rush of commanding the board.
"Welcome home, my petit mafioso," Dazai sing-songed. He didn't bother masking his tone, letting a low, unmistakable thrum of desire bleed directly into his voice. He closed the distance between them, coming to a halt right in front of the redhead, looking down at him expectantly. "Care to join me for dinner?"
Chuuya stilled in the entryway. He stared at the flickering candles, then at the steaming food, and finally leveled a deadpan look at Dazai.
"What. The. Fuck. Is this?"
Dazai refused to break character. Smoothly crossing the room, he took Chuuya by the elbow and guided the mafioso to his chair. He plated the risotto and poured the wine, highly amused by the way Chuuya’s brow was deeply furrowed as he clearly tried to calculate what kind of trap he had just walked into.
The slight slump of Chuuya's shoulders and the heavy drag of his boots gave him away instantly. The executive had suffered a long, brutal day. If Chuuya's exhaustion ended up serving Dazai's master plan, well, he certainly wasn't going to complain.
"Seriously, slug, it's going to get cold if you just sit there glaring at it," Dazai said, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice.
"Did you poison this? What the hell is going on, Dazai?" Chuuya demanded. He picked up his fork and started eating nonetheless.
It only took one bite for recognition to set in. Dazai watched the exact moment Chuuya realized it was from his favorite spot; the tension visibly bled out of his jaw, quickly replaced by a begrudging look of pure satisfaction.
Dazai chuckled softly. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself, chibi. I did put in some effort, you know."
That instantly brought the suspicion back. Chuuya's expression shuttered, and he set his fork down. "What is it you want?" His tone, however, was surprisingly calm. "My day sucked, Dazai. I'm really not in the mood for your games tonight."
Which was perfect. A tired Chuuya usually meant a more compliant Chuuya. Dazai took the opportunity to lean across the table, locking his eyes on the redhead, and dropped his voice into its most sultry register.
"Well, Chuuya, I just thought I haven't exactly been nice enough to you." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "After our last little conversation, I got to thinking about how unfair I've been."
It was a calculated line, strictly operating under the premise of getting Chuuya into bed. But digging deep down, a small, irritating part of Dazai actually did feel guilty about how he’d left things. It wasn't a past he could change, nor did he want to, but it would certainly make him feel better if Chuuya didn't hold quite so heavy a grudge.
Chuuya let out a long sigh, though he didn't seem bothered by the admission. "So that's what this is, then." A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You want to wine and dine me into your bed. Or, rather, into my bed."
It could have just been the wine, but Dazai could clearly see that Chuuya's cheeks were flushed. He looked good. Pretty.
It was irritating how gorgeous Chuuya could be. The way he could pivot from absolute, blood-soaked destruction to breathtaking in a matter of seconds was unfair. Dazai would have to be blind to deny it, and while he would never admit it out loud, he wasn't going to lie to himself.
It was equally annoying how quickly Chuuya could clock exactly when he was affecting him.
The redhead's smirk deepened, a dangerous glint catching in his eyes. He looked almost predatory now. "That's right, isn't it, you stinky mackerel? You thought you'd just throw some fancy rice at me and suddenly be deserving?"
Dazai, however, saw the silver lining. Chuuya wasn't angry. He wasn't shutting him down flat like he had three days ago. He looked interested. That was something Dazai could definitely work with.
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," Dazai said, dialing up the coyness. "Is it working?"
Chuuya tapped his chin, feigning deep thought with an expression so exaggeratedly dumb that Dazai had to actively bite his tongue to keep from pointing it out.
"Let's just say it's working... to an extent," Chuuya finally allowed. He paused to take another bite and washed it down with the wine. "It surprised me, you coming crawling back right after a no. I'm not exactly under the impression that you have a shortage of warm bodies to go to when you want to get laid."
He wasn't wrong. Dazai could easily go find someone else, but it wouldn't be half as satisfying as being with Chuuya. And Chuuya—the absolute asshole—knew it perfectly well.
"That's not very nice of you, slug," Dazai complained, sticking out his bottom lip petulantly. "Trying to force me to say things you already know."
"You're awfully quick to assume I know things," Chuuya countered. "What if I don't? Or maybe... what if hearing you admit it is exactly what will win me over?"
Dazai kept up the pout for show, but inside, a distinct thrill went through him. He really liked where this was going, even if it meant cracking the door to his head open just a fraction for the executive.
"I didn't want to go to anyone else," he confessed, dropping his voice into a quiet murmur.
"Well then." Chuuya's voice dropped an octave, heavy with teasing. "Seems like I'm the only one who can take care of the problem, huh?"
"Yes, Chuuya. You got me all worked up down in that dungeon. It's only fair you take responsibility." Heat pooled south at the mere memory of cold shackles and gloved fists.
Chuuya downed the rest of his wine in one go. The risotto was forgotten—what a tragedy—as he stood and closed the distance.
Dazai wasn't about to pretend he wasn't ecstatic. His body hummed, hovering on the edge of trembling. Chuuya stopped right in front of his chair. For the second time that week, a leather-clad hand caught Dazai's chin, tipping his head back until their eyes locked.
"I'll take care of you, if that's what you really want," Chuuya said. The teasing vanished, replaced by a dark, deadly seriousness. "But we're doing this my way. Got it?"
Dazai could do little more than nod. This was better than good; it was excellent. He would never dream of handing the reins over to anyone else. But with Chuuya? He knew exactly how sweet surrendering control could be.
Chuuya's gloved hand moved slowly across Dazai's face. The rough pad of his thumb brushed over Dazai's lower lip, leaving behind the faint, familiar taste of leather. With two light, condescending taps to his cheek, Chuuya turned toward the hallway.
"Come on, then," he called over his shoulder.
Embarrassingly enough, Dazai was already hard. He pushed himself off the chair and followed the redhead into the bedroom.
He barely crossed the threshold before a hand grabbed his lapel, shoving him backward onto the mattress. Before Dazai could even catch his breath, the mafioso was in his lap, straddling his hips.
Dazai didn't waste a second. His hands found Chuuya's waist, pulling him down into a crushing kiss.
He hated whenever his thoughts drifted anywhere near sweet or sentimental. But kissing Chuuya? It felt exactly like coming home. They had kissed so many times over the years, yet every single time, it managed to knock the air right out of Dazai's lungs. He held on tight, dragging the executive closer until their chests were flush.
One of Chuuya's hands tangled into Dazai's hair, pulling hard at the roots to deepen the kiss. Dazai chased the lingering taste of expensive wine on Chuuya's tongue. The sharp pull at his scalp only made him run hotter.
Eventually, Chuuya broke the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of Dazai's throat. He settled right above the edge of the bandages, taking his time. He kissed, licked, and bit at the sensitive skin until Dazai couldn't bite back a heavy moan.
"Chuuya," Dazai whined, twisting slightly as the wet heat lingered just a bit too long for his fraying patience. "Did you finally just accept your dog-like personality? You're going to cover me in spit at this rate!"
He wasn't exactly known for his patience to begin with, and he desperately needed the slug to hurry the hell up.
In retaliation, Chuuya bit down hard, dangerously close to his jugular. Dazai yelped, a sound that instantly melted into another breathless moan.
"Keep talking and I'll leave you hanging," Chuuya warned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. To hammer the point home, he forced his hips down, grinding against Dazai's thighs. The distinct friction of their shared arousal brushing together felt way too good.
"But, Chuuya! You're taking too long," Dazai insisted, ignoring his better judgment.
Chuuya scoffed, shifting his weight and lifting himself off Dazai's lap. "Shirt off." It was half-request, half-order.
Dazai complied. He was only wearing a simple button-down, but his hands were unsteady, making the tiny buttons incredibly annoying to manage. Chuuya clearly thought so too. With an impatient huff, the redhead batted Dazai's hands away and efficiently stripped the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside.
With the fabric out of the way, Dazai was left with nothing but the stark white bandages wrapped tightly across his chest and neck. Chuuya motioned for him to lay back properly against the pillows. Dazai obeyed, watching in a daze as Chuuya quickly shed his own clothes until he was down to his underwear. Then, he climbed back onto the bed, boxing Dazai in and straddling him once more.
Chuuya paused. He looked down, his gaze raking over the gauze for a long, quiet second before meeting Dazai's eyes.
"Bandages on or off?"
That simple question almost brought Dazai to tears.
Well, maybe not literally. At this point, his mind was rapidly short-circuiting, melting down at a speed only Chuuya could ever provoke. But the question itself—laced with genuine concern and poorly concealed care—acted like an anchor, yanking Dazai back to himself for a split second.
He took a deep, grounding breath. He knew Chuuya. He trusted Chuuya. This was the one place in the world he could actually let go.
So, when he looked up and answered, "Off," there wasn't a single trace of hesitation in his voice.
Chuuya, bless him, didn't make a single comment about the open show of vulnerability. They had reached a silent understanding ages ago: between the two of them, some things were vastly better left unsaid.
The mafioso took his time, carefully unwrapping the gauze around Dazai's chest and arms until his upper body was bare. Then, Chuuya just looked at him. He stared for so long it made Dazai’s skin itch with a rare, uncomfortable heat.
"Stop staring," Dazai complained, his voice dropping into a soft murmur.
Now gloveless, Chuuya reached out. Instead of answering, he traced the jagged line of a scar near Dazai's collarbone. "I'm just thinking about what exactly I want to do to you."
Dazai had agreed to play by Chuuya's rules, but if he had any say in the matter, they'd skip straight to the main event. Who topped and who bottomed honestly made zero difference to him tonight, as long as they just got on with it.
As if sensing his rising impatience, Chuuya’s lips curved into a wicked smirk. "You know, I think I'll make you finish without even letting you out of your pants."
God, he was mean! Dazai couldn't stop his eyes from going wide at the sheer crassness of the threat, nor could he stop the immediate, treacherous spike of heat pooling south in response.
"You wouldn't—" Dazai started to whine, but the protest died instantly as Chuuya pressed his mouth to his neck.
This time, Chuuya was intent on tracing the map of his scars. He left feather-light kisses over the faded rope burn at Dazai's throat, then moved lower. Down his ribs. Across his forearms. He even delicately caught Dazai's wrists, pressing soft, lingering kisses against the shallow, jagged cuts there.
Dazai's body felt impossibly heavy. He was breathing in loud, shallow bursts, his heart hammering so violently against his ribs that Chuuya could undoubtedly hear it.
He hadn't wanted this. He wanted tonight to be savage, desperate, and crude. He explicitly did not want to feel cared for.
And yet, his mind was already slipping, willingly surrendering to the devastating grace of Chuuya's touch.
But Chuuya wasn't about to let him get too comfortable. With zero warning, he dug his fingers into the sensitive peak of Dazai's chest, pinching hard, all while keeping his mouth moving gently against Dazai's abdomen.
The sharp bite of pain mixed with the soft caresses was maddening. Dazai groaned, his hips jerking upward involuntarily to seek some kind of friction against the mafioso. Chuuya immediately shifted his weight, dropping down to sit heavily across Dazai's thighs, pinning him in place.
"Yeah, mackerel. I think I'll just keep doing this until you come exactly where you are," Chuuya said. His voice dripped with dark intent, blue eyes blown wide.
Dazai’s breath hitched sharply as Chuuya moved higher, replacing his fingers with his mouth. The redhead alternated between teeth and tongue against his nipples. It was good—God, it was incredible—but Dazai needed more. He wanted so much more.
He strained against the weight holding him down, his body completely desperate for release, the heavy friction of his clothes entirely inadequate. It wasn't enough.
"Chuuya!" Dazai whined, completely abandoning his pride. "Not enough. I need more."
Chuuya stopped moving entirely. Which was, somehow, infinitely worse. Dazai let out a frustrated noise at the sudden loss of contact.
"I can give you a little more if you ask nicely," Chuuya teased. Through half-lidded eyes, Dazai could see the undeniable tent in Chuuya's own underwear. The absolute bastard was fully enjoying making him suffer.
Dazai tried to salvage a scrap of his usual bratty demeanor. "Come on, slug. Haven't I been good enough already?"
Chuuya’s only response was to lean down and bite him again, sharper this time. The sudden spike of pleasure was so intense Dazai’s vision actually flashed white. For a terrifying second, he thought he genuinely might come right then and there from that alone.
"I'm already being overwhelmingly charitable, Dazai," Chuuya scoffed, pulling back. "But fine. I suppose you've earned a bit of my generosity. Pants off. On your stomach."
Dazai fully grasped where the night was heading, and he was more than okay with the direction. He obeyed quickly, tossing his pants and underwear somewhere into a dark corner of the bedroom. He didn't feel particularly embarrassed about being stark naked, but he refused to drag the anticipation out a second longer. He quickly flipped over, pressing his front flat against the mattress.
Not being able to see Chuuya added a sharp, unfamiliar layer of anxiety to the mix. It left him blind to whatever the mafioso was plotting next.
And Chuuya definitely surprised him. The sudden sting of a slap to his bare skin made him jolt. It wasn't nearly as forceful as the blows they traded in their usual brawls, but it stung beautifully. Dazai let out a breathless moan, involuntarily rocking his hips downward to finally chase some of that desperately wanted friction against the sheets.
Strong hands immediately gripped his waist, hauling his hips up and away from the mattress.
"No relieving yourself yet, you cheat," Chuuya warned. "We are still doing things my way."
When Chuuya finally let go, Dazai had to bite his lip to keep from chasing the friction again. It was pure torture. A moment later, the redhead leaned over him. Hot, languid kisses trailed down the line of his spine, occasionally punctuated by the sharp scrape of teeth.
Overwhelmed, Dazai buried his face into the pillows to muffle his own embarrassing noises. That apparently pissed Chuuya off. A bare hand tangled into Dazai's hair, forcefully yanking his head back.
Dazai gasped, unable to stop himself from practically begging for more.
"So demanding, are we?" Chuuya’s voice was a dark purr right by his ear.
Another sharp slap landed on his skin, making Dazai squirm and cry out, only to be immediately soothed by the wet heat of Chuuya’s mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses right over the stinging flesh.
Still, nothing prepared Dazai for the sudden, searing shock of Chuuya's mouth moving lower, finding his entrance. A full-body shudder wrecked its way through Dazai’s frame.
"Like that?" Chuuya murmured, resting his weight heavily against the back of Dazai's thighs.
Dazai could barely string a thought together. Overwhelmed by the sensory overload, he managed to choke out a breathless, "Yeah."
That wasn't enough for the executive. Chuuya paused the torturous friction. "Tell me exactly what you want, or you're not getting another thing."
Dazai actively wanted to strangle him. But he also wanted—needed—that touch back with a violent intensity. He swallowed whatever scrap of pride he had left.
"I liked it, Chuuya," he rasped into the sheets. "Please. Keep going."
Chuuya obliged. The overwhelming stimuli of that wet, relentless heat sent actual sparks shooting through Dazai's nervous system. He started pushing back involuntarily, hips chasing the devastating rhythm. Chuuya's hands clamped down hard on his waist, holding him steady while the mafioso quite literally devoured him.
The moment Chuuya’s tongue pushed into his tight muscle, mapping him out, Dazai let out a loud, shattered moan. He unraveled, hovering right on the jagged edge of his orgasm.
Chuuya kept up the rhythm. Dazai could feel the slick muscle driving in and out of him, his control bound to snap at any second. His untouched cock twitched and leaked against the sheets between his legs. It was pathetic, really.
He wasn't above begging for more. If they were going this route, he wanted the mafioso to take him apart fully. Completely.
Dazai almost cried—for real this time—when the mouth suddenly left him. He was just about to twist around and demand an explanation when a sharp slap landed on his bare butt cheek. Then another. And a third.
That was what did him in.
Dazai saw white. He let out a loud, wrecked moan as the orgasm came crashing down on him, entirely untouched. His mind finally went dead quiet. Nothing remained but the rush of static humming in his brain.
He was so thoroughly out of it, in fact, that he missed the moment Chuuya grabbed his shoulder and hauled him over. The next thing Dazai registered was the sensation of Chuuya kissing him. Tenderly. Softly.
The sheer whiplash was almost too much to process. Dazai's knee-jerk defense mechanisms came kicking in, albeit a bit delayed.
"You taste like ass," Dazai mumbled against his lips, trying desperately to inject a scrap of humor back into the room.
Chuuya just let out a low, breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly before leaning down to kiss him again.
After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to catch Dazai's eye. "Want to keep going?"
Dazai could only manage a weak nod. "Yeah. Very much so."
Chuuya shifted his weight, motioning to reach toward the bedside drawer—likely for lube—but Dazai immediately grabbed his wrist, holding him in place.
"Just do it like this, Chuuya. Please," Dazai rasped. Operating on half a mind, he couldn't even be sure he was speaking coherently.
Chuuya frowned, considering the demand for a split second before shaking his head. "No. You'll only end up hurting yourself."
But wasn't that exactly the point? For all that Dazai actively despised pain, when it came to receiving it willingly—and from Chuuya only—he liked it. Craved it, even. With what little rational thought he had left, he knew he desperately needed Chuuya to just fuck him like this. Raw.
"Chuuya, please," Dazai borderline begged, his grip tightening on the redhead's wrist. "Please, just go on with it."
Chuuya stared down at him. The hard edge in his eyes slowly melted away.
"Alright, you baby," he responded. Softly. So, so soft. "But we're at least using the lube."
Dazai barely tracked Chuuya's hands. He vaguely felt the cold slide of lube, but that completely vanished the second Chuuya actually pushed in.
He let out a wrecked moan as Chuuya bottomed out. It burned. He definitely should have prepped better, but right now, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Still, the second Chuuya shifted his hips even a fraction, Dazai hissed.
"Hey, idiot. All good?"
Chuuya sounded tight. Restrained. The sneaky little chibi had been so focused on getting Dazai off that he was practically shaking with the effort of holding back, and Dazai had been too out of it to reciprocate at all.
He couldn't wait any longer. "Yes, Chuuya. Please move." He forced a breathless grin. "Do your worst."
Chuuya's eyes went dark. He didn't need to be told twice. He started moving, setting a punishing rhythm that guaranteed Dazai would be sore by morning.
Chuuya was everywhere. Every patch of skin where they met felt hot. He hit that maddening spot inside Dazai every other thrust just to make him squirm, effortlessly snapping back and forth between gentle and rough. Kissing him senseless one second, biting him hard enough to leave a mark the next.
Dazai had already come once, but he wasn't going to last long like this. Chuuya. Chuuya. Chuuya. The name was a physical chant, drowning out the usual noise in his head.
Chuuya was groaning right by his ear, breathless and rough. Amidst the friction, he kept up a steady stream of praise.
"That's it, Osamu. You're doing so good. Taking it so well for me."
Dazai—Osamu—clung to his back in response. He kissed his face, his jaw, his shoulder. Anywhere he could blindly reach.
He missed this. He missed it so much he almost said it out loud.
Chuuya pulled his torso back just an inch. He freed up a hand and wrapped it firmly around Dazai's throat.
"Tighter," Dazai choked out.
Chuuya obliged. The sudden restriction of air was intoxicating. Dazai's already cloudy head emptied out completely. A welcome, total blankness. Nothing existed but the man above him.
"God, you're a freak," Chuuya rasped, grinding relentlessly into him.
"Only with you, Chuuya," Dazai confessed, his voice wrecked. "Only ever for you."
"Oh, fuck."
That did it. Chuuya's rhythm stuttered. He let out a low, guttural moan and came, spilling hot inside of him.
Dazai tipped over the edge a second later. How couldn't he, when he was finally full of Chuuya?
With his mind entirely blank, his body feeling pleasantly heavy and light all at once, Dazai could do nothing but hold Chuuya close to his chest. He wasn't sure if he'd actually voiced the desire for Chuuya to stay buried inside him a little longer, or if, like so many times before, the mafioso just instinctively knew exactly what he needed.
Chuuya held onto him just as tight. He was whispering sweet nothings that Dazai couldn't even begin to process. Exhaustion was rapidly claiming him, a battle he was definitely going to lose.
He let his eyes fall shut, managing to force out the words he had meant to say earlier.
"Missed you, slug," he slurred.
And then everything faded to black.
When Dazai finally woke up, he was thoroughly cleaned up, though still completely bare. Chuuya was fast asleep beside him, an arm thrown heavily across Dazai's middle.
Last night had definitely been something. Staring up at the ceiling, Dazai couldn't help but wonder if he had bitten off a bit more than he could swallow.
Or maybe not. He had been playing this exact game with Chuuya since long before their first time together—since the very day they met. Dazai knew perfectly well that nothing good would come from sleeping, to put it lightly, with an executive of an enemy organization.
"Stop thinking so loud, mackerel. I'm trying to sleep," Chuuya grumbled, his voice rough and heavy with sleep.
Dazai couldn't help a quiet laugh. "Sorry, slug. I'll leave you to your beauty rest. Who knows, you might even grow a few centimeters."
Chuuya pinched the side of his hip hard in lieu of an answer. He didn't say another word, keeping his eyes shut even as Dazai eventually slipped out from under his arm and got dressed to leave.
This was fine. Dazai would be back in a couple of days, and he was absolutely certain Chuuya knew it, too.
ɷ
Dazai had barely stepped foot into the Agency when he heard the whistling.
Ranpo didn't even look away from his snacks, simply shooting Dazai a bright, knowing thumbs-up from his desk. Yosano didn't bother hiding her amusement. She looked him dead in the eye as he stiffly made his way across the floor.
"Nice limp!" she called out, laughing to herself.
Well, yeah. Defenestration was definitely starting to sound like a fantastic idea.