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‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾
It all started with an offhand remark Chuuya made when he was way too drunk:
“I saved the city from a goddamn dragon, I think I deserve some fuckin’ praise.”
It’s a joke, obviously; saving the city is Chuuya’s job, he doesn’t need to be praised for it.
…But there is some kind of truth to the joking jab. Though he’d rather be struck by lightning and die on the spot than admit that to anyone.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾
What had gone through Chuuya’s mind to agree to let Dazai Osamu, the most annoying bastard to ever betray the mafia and live, come back with him to his apartment?
It’s quite simple: He’d been blackmailed.
(“If Chuuya doesn’t let me follow him home, I’ll put up pictures of his ugly, sleeping, doggy face all over the mafia’s headquarters and then start giving out the ‘Chuuya is a sore loser’ magazine again~!”
“Jackass!”)
Obviously the encounter hadn’t started or was intended to be sexual, things just happened, as they tend to do when Chuuya is in Dazai’s vicinity.
One moment they were just taking off their shoes, the next Dazai was holding Chuuya’s hat above his head and he was trying to get it back while cursing at them, then before he knew it Dazai was straddling him on the couch and they were kissing.
Oops?
Well, at least the bastard is still fine at kissing.
…scratch fine, they’re fucking great. What a prick.
Well, they were great until they started to lick off the strawberry lip gloss from his lips like a goddamn dog.
“What the—“ A kiss, “—are you—“ another one, “—LET ME SPEAK-!” And another.
“Mm, but my little Prince Charming did such a good job rescuing me from that big, scary dragon, didn’t he? Doesn’t Chuuya deserve a nice reward for his hard work?”
Chuuya’s face is instantly set aflame once he realizes what they’re blabbing about. “You heard that?” he groans, hiding his face with his arms. How embarrassing! He’s never getting drunk without Dazai-proofing the area first ever again. Never ever!
(My Prince Charming.)
Dazai, ever the shitty menace, just chuckles and presses a kiss to Chuuya's cheekbone as their fingers slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt. “Maybe… but you weren’t wrong, y’know. Chuuya does deserve praise for saving the city, again.”
Why? It’s just my job, he thinks, but very pointedly doesn’t say. Instead he just turns his face away and stays silent, ignoring the way his chest tightens.
Noticing his pointed silence, Dazai stops undressing him and leans back on their heels. “Still with me?” they ask, voice laced with something that sounds like concern.
Chuuya nods, then he sighs. “Just not used to this anymore. To any of this.” It comes out a lot more quiet than he wants it to, but he doesn’t have time to lament over it before his shirt is opened, exposing him more than he expected to be.
“Been long?”
A shrug. “Haven’t had the time, or want.”
Dazai pauses in peeling off the shirt, eyeing him quizzically. “But you want this, right?”
“Yes,” Chuuya blurts out, too quickly, he can feel his face heat up with even more shame. “I do, just been a while.”
Four years, in fact, he very firmly does not add.
After hearing the affirmation of consent, Dazai finally pulls the entire shirt off and tosses it over their shoulder.
As if they can feel that Chuuya is about to bitch about his expensive shirt being on the floor, they shut him up with a kiss, making the complaint immediately die in his throat.
“I get it,” Dazai murmurs against Chuuya’s lips when they part for air, their cheeks now tinted pink, “‘s been a while for me too.”
Chuuya almost laughs, because what? Dazai Osamu not having had sex in a while? Sounds too good to be true.
Sure, as a teen they’d been just as much of an inexperienced virgin as Chuuya was, but a lot can change in four years, and with the way they shamelessly flirt with women now—
“You don’t have to lie,” he mutters into the crook of Dazai’s neck, his hands wandering over their still clothed chest, unsure where they should rest. “It’s fine if you have.”
“I’m not lying, Chuu~ya, don’t flatter yourself.” They get a pinch through their shirt for that, but they just laugh it off before kissing him again. “Haven’t had the want.”
“Leaving the mafia killed your libido?” Chuuya tries to joke, but he’s still not feeling confident enough to look into Dazai’s eyes again.
Dazai shrugs, resting their head against the side of Chuuya’s. “Ehh, I just didn’t feel like putting in that effort. But my mouth still works wonders though, for your information.”
Ah, so that’s what he does.
“How are we gonna do this, then?”
Dazai hums as they pull Chuuya’s body up a bit so they can begin pulling down his pants. “Tonight is going to be all about Chuuya, and I’ll show him how much I’ve learned.”
Chuuya doesn’t have a right to be jealous, he knows that. They weren’t a couple back then, and they sure as hell aren’t anything now, but he can’t help the pinch in his heart that he feels after realizing that other people have been treated like this by Dazai.
“So your mouth can do other things but spew bullshit? Dunno if I believe that just yet.”
Instead of replying to the taunt, Dazai just chuckles and throws Chuuya’s leather pants on the floor, leaving the mafioso in nothing but his bra, gloves, choker, and his— very embarrassingly wet— panties.
(He’s been pent up for years, of course he’s going to be soaked from the slightest bit of attention.)
Taking one of Chuuya’s hands in theirs, Dazai brings it to their mouth without breaking eye contact and takes one of his fingers into their mouth, lightly biting down before pulling the glove off with their teeth.
The action and the heated glint of lust that shines in their eyes as they do the same thing to the other glove makes Chuuya squirm, a familiar warmth growing in his gut and a flush growing on his cheeks. “Gross,” he mutters, “hate gettin’ spit on my gloves.”
Dazai notices his embarrassment, of course they do, the observant bastard. “Is Chuuya getting shy?” they tease before leaning down to nuzzle their nose against his cheek. “So cute.”
Eye twitching, Chuuya shoves their face away. He is a damn Port Mafia Executive. “I am not cute, I could fuckin’ kill you at any second, you stupid bastard.”
“I’m aware, we’ve known each other for so long, after all.” A pause. “Why haven’t you?”
It’s a stupid question— nay, it’s the stupidest question. “If you’re dead, my value goes down by miles, so I decided back then that keeping you around is better for me.”
It’s a known fact that Chuuya is as valued as he is because of his ability, but Corruption pumps that value up from a hundred to a thousand. It makes him invaluable.
When Dazai dipped, there was a period of distrust from Mori and a large portion of the mafia’s members, apart from a select few, and Chuuya’s value went down.
He could no longer completely level rival organizations with the drop of a hat, he wasn’t as powerful— as useful— anymore.
But now?
Now that the mackerel’s back on the radar and even willing to collaborate with the mafia against bigger threats to both their respective organizations, it means that Chuuya can once again use Corruption without it killing him once and for all.
Nakahara Chuuya is an invaluable piece on the Port Mafia’s chess board once more.
The silence that follows his confession is a bit louder than he’d expected, but Chuuya isn’t quite sure what he’ll see if he meets Dazai’s eyes again, so he keeps them firmly planted on a dot on the ceiling.
The dot looks like a heart. Interesting. He’s never noticed that before.
“Chuuya is more than just his ability.” Their words are spoken quietly, and as if they’re in major disbelief at something.
Chuuya can’t help but roll his eyes. “Whatever you say, detective.” Before Dazai can get another stupid word in, Chuuya sits up and pulls them down for a sultry kiss, nipping at their bottom lip and delighting in the sound of the gasp they let out. “Now, didn’t you say you’d show me what your shitty mouth can do?”
It’s a lousy attempt at avoiding conversation, but he doesn’t want to get into any of that tonight, he just wants to get this over and done with.
Thankfully, for once in their life, Dazai doesn’t argue and just complies.
Dazai palms him through his underwear, rubbing the heel of their hand where his clit is, two of their fingers rub at the wet fabric covering it and makes Chuuya let out a low, keening sound.
“More,” he commands. Dazai, catching up on what he needs, presses their fingers harder against him, rubbing him through his panties. It’s not enough.
Chuuya grabs their wrist and makes Dazai lend him another finger, then he forcefully increases the pressure and begins to rock his hips.
For a minute, Chuuya just ruts against their fingers, taking the lead and using Dazai to get what he needs, but it’s not enough... and he also starts to feel a bit weird.
“Oi, didn’t you say you’d take care of me?” He doesn’t need or want it, obviously, but the bastard said they would, so…
“I was trying to, but Chuuya started humping my fingers like the dog he is.” Chuuya stares them down with an angry glare, which makes Dazai let out a dramatic sigh. “Will you let me, then? Take care of you, I mean.”
Obviously the right answer here is ‘fuck no’ in any other situation. Why would Chuuya let himself be taken care of, first of all? He’s one of the strongest ability users in Japan, the best martial artist in the Port Mafia, he doesn’t need some traitor to take care of him.
...But right now?
Chuuya’s tired.
That’s the only reason why he lets go of Dazai’s hand and lays down, letting his back hit the couch once more.
As he lays back, Dazai begins to slip out of their own clothes to make the playing field a bit more even.
Their vest as well as their bolo tie gets discarded quickly and they roll their sleeves up, and not once do their eyes leave Chuuya.
When he’s done, he looks up at Dazai and very pointedly spreads his legs, making just enough room for them to kneel between, his cheeks blazing red.
Taking their place in the designated spot, Dazai leans forward and braces Chuuya with their arms, only to just rest their forehead against his, a giddy smile making their already pretty face even prettier.
Chuuya swallows dry when Dazai places a (not so) innocent peck on his jaw; he’s 90% sure that his cunt must be dripping at this point.
But of course, Dazai just has to ruin the moment, as they always do.
“Good dog,” they whisper, the charming smile replaced by a shit-eating grin, their eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Eat shit and die,” Chuuya spits before wrapping his arms around their neck and capturing their lips in an aggressive kiss.
He doesn’t exactly disprove the canine allegations with how he tries to lick into Dazai’s mouth, or with how he starts to nip at it when they don’t allow it instantaneously.
He’d forgotten how good it felt to be close to someone like this.
(Close to Dazai like this.)
Eventually, Dazai does manage to break free from Chuuya’s jaws and start trailing kisses down his neck and collarbone instead. Their hands slip down Chuuya’s sides, caressing the clustered collection of scars there.
One of Chuuya’s own hands finds itself nestled in Dazai’s curls, his grip increasing when they begin sucking hickeys into the sensitive skin on his neck.
“Ah- stop stalling,” Chuuya groans at a particularly hard suck on his neck followed by a nip of teeth. Dazai licks the area they bit apologetically, but the action is immediately followed by another, harder, bite. “Oi!”
It’s starting to get too hot; Chuuya’s still stuck in his underwear, and he’s starting to get even more impatient.
Dazai’s nimble fingers are just barely reaching past the waistband of Chuuya’s panties, teasing the sensitive skin underneath with their nails.
“If you don’t do something soon, I’m gonna kick you the fuck out!” He’s dead serious; Chuuya has no issues with kicking the bastard off his balcony and then masturbating furiously.
Seemingly understanding, Dazai lets out a sigh before pulling Chuuya’s underwear down, freeing his wet cunt from the uncomfortable pressure. “Chuuya is no fun,” they say with a pout.
“More like ‘Chuuya has better things to do than waste his time’,” Chuuya shoots back before looking back up at the ceiling, his hands fiddling with each other on his stomach.
When nothing happens, Chuuya looks up to meet Dazai’s gaze again, irritated. “You’re all talk, why aren’t you doing anything?”
“It doesn’t seem like Chuuya wants this,” Dazai says, a curious frown on their face.
Chuuya can feel one of his eyes twitch with annoyance. “I do, who are you to tell me what I want?” he barks, a bit more defensive than intended.
“That’s not what I meant.” Leaning back on their heels, Dazai rubs circles on Chuuya’s knee; it’s probably meant to be a soothing gesture, but to Chuuya it just feels like pity.
(The pads of Dazai’s fingers are stupidly soft.)
“I don’t want this to be just another thing for you to endure.”
He decides that he hates it. Hates everything about this. This isn’t the mood he wanted.
“I want this,” Chuuya says, firmly. “I just— I just don’t know what to do.” He uncrosses his arms and lets one of them flop down the sides of his couch, the other he puts over his eyes. “Can’t relax.”
Dazai hums, their hand still on Chuuya’s knee. “If you aren’t ready, we don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”
For what feels like the nth time of the evening, Chuuya sighs. “I know, okay?” he grumbles. “I want to have sex with you, shithead. It’s just that I can’t relax. It feels like my brain is gonna fucking explode from doing nothing, or something.”
Chuuya’s body and brain can’t stay idle for too long, he’s known about this ever since his days with the Sheep.
He doesn’t know what it is, his brain just can’t stop thinking, and if he’s not doing something, then it starts thinking even more.
It makes his hands fidgety, and just gives him a major urge to move, to just do something.
“Mhm,” Dazai hums again, scratching their chin in thought, their other hand still touching Chuuya. “Maybe you need to be a bit more in control?”
Another sigh. “Tried, felt weird.”
He wouldn’t have been able to predict what would leave the mouth of his idiot of an ex-partner next:
“Do you want to sit on my face?”
“… …” Staring up at them, raising himself with his elbows, Chuuya blinks and blinks for a good while. Then, “What??”
Dazai snorts, probably at how stupid his face looks. “Never heard of face-sitting?”
Chuuya frowns, brows wrinkling. “…Is it really a sex thing?”
“Yep! You just—” They grab his waist, and before he can protest, Chuuya is easily manhandled onto Dazai’s lap, then they fall down on their back. “Better. Okay, so—”
They get a punch in the chest before they can continue. “The fuck!” Chuuya exclaims, halfheartedly struggling in their grip for a moment before going slack. “Don’t just grab me like that, jackass!”
The fish-faced bastard just chuckles and pecks his forehead. “Sorry, sorry,” they mumble. “But to sit on my face you’ll have to actually sit on my face.”
Chuuya blinks. “Wait— so it’s not just a name?”
Another chuckle, this time followed by a kiss on his nose. “Mm, nope! So, I’ll lay down here, and you’ll kneel right above my mouth— you have to watch the weight a bit, though, or else I might suffocate— and then I’ll eat you out.”
“…I swear, if this is some new kind of suicide method—”
“It’s not, it’s not! I swear on my life!”
Chuuya stabs their chest with a finger. “That’s not worth shit!”
“Okay, fair. Uh— I swear on my favorite sweater?” Dazai says through a laugh.
Swallowing— his nerves or his pride? who knows— Chuuya rolls his eyes before crawling up to kneel over Dazai’s chin. “Like this?” he asks, face burning.
Dazai grabs the back of his thighs, pushing him up a little bit further. “Perfect.”
Getting eaten out for the first time by Dazai was not the best experience of his life (it was shit, honestly), and after that Chuuya didn’t let them anywhere near his pussy with their stupid mouth.
But now, as Dazai keeps a firm hold on the back of his thighs and he can feel their warm breath fanning over his cunt, he finds himself wanting it— no, needing it— inside him.
“You alright?” Dazai asks, their nose nudging the skin between their partner’s thighs.
“Yeah, yeah just do it,” Chuuya mutters, putting his hands on the armrest and making sure not to put too much weight on their head. Dazai just hums in confirmation and pulls him down a bit further.
When he feels the first swipe of a warm and wet tongue on his clit, Chuuya’s grip tightens until his knuckles go white.
It feels so fucking weird.
Not bad weird, more in a this-doesn’t-feel-as-bad-as-I-thought-it-would kind of weird.
Definitely a big improvement since they were seventeen, because at least this time Dazai’s not fucking biting him.
The fingers digging into his thighs are grounding, No Longer Human keeping Chuuya from accidentally ripping through the couch’s leather skin to the bone when he feels Dazai’s tongue slip inside him.
Their tongue starts moving and Chuuya can feel himself getting wetter and his aching heart beating throughout his entire body. Dazai makes a moaning noise that almost feels like it vibrates through his insides when Chuuya spreads his legs more to take them deeper.
“Ah— fuck,” Chuuya gasps as the bastard begins to fuck him with that silver tongue of theirs, and he feels one of their hands leave the back of his thighs and creep between them instead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Really, he’s tried to pick people up before; in bars, at clubs, he even tried to just go to a cafe and see if anyone was interested in him.
And people were interested, mostly in his body, but interested nonetheless.
He never managed to do it, allow anyone close enough to feel the true want to let them have him in that way.
It was more frustrating than anything else, why was it that his damn self couldn’t imagine himself to actually be normal?
All kinds of people had one night stands all the time, so why couldn’t Chuuya?
Now that Dazai was touching him in the way that they knew Chuuya wanted, now that they were back with him again, he knew what the problem with him was.
The problem was that no person he’d ever tried to be with was Dazai. None of them had what Double Black had together.
That fucking bastard had ruined him.
As he felt the heat in his stomach grow, Chuuya cursed them to hell in his mind, his grip on the armrest tightening even further as Dazai sucks on his clit relentlessly while also curling their fingers inside him.
“Right there, right there—” he moans when one of Dazai’s stupidly perfect fingers manage to finally hit his g-spot, “—keep going, right there…!”
Chuuya feels Dazai smile against his dripping cunt as they stop to breathe, presumably, and it makes his cheeks burn.
Their fingers don’t stop though, they keep hitting that spot inside him that feels so good and keeps going even when their mouth gets a break.
He’s going to die if he doesn’t come soon.
But it’s just not enough— he needs more.
But more of what, exactly?
When Dazai begins lapping at his wet entrance again, Chuuya realizes what it is that he needs.
He distributes his weight more equally, just so he can hold himself up on his knees instead of his hands, and then he begins to grind down.
If Dazai’s nails were any longer, it would've hurt when they begin to dig into the skin where they are holding onto Chuuya’s thighs.
Before long, Chuuya is pretty much riding Dazai’s face, his hips rolling in tandem with the skillful flicks of their tongue and thrusts of their fingers inside of him, his breathy moans of ‘more’ and ‘Dazai’ only increasing as they go on.
With one last drawn out, almost teasing drag of their flattened tongue from Chuuya’s entrance all the way to his swollen clit, he falls apart.
The taut heat in Chuuya’s gut snaps like a bowstring, his hips come to a stuttering halt and his toes curl enough to crackle as his orgasm washes over him, but the fact that he’s came doesn’t deter Dazai.
They continue to fuck him through it, their tongue lapping up every single drop of him that’s being released as if they’re a traveler in the desert dying of thirst.
When he comes down from his high, Chuuya immediately gets off Dazai’s face just so he doesn’t choke them, but the post-orgasm haze in his brain makes him forget where on the couch they’re at, and that is all it takes for him to fall.
Chuuya hits the floor with a loud thud, which is then followed by a deep intake of breath and then a loud cackle, courtesy of his asshole of an ex-partner.
Dazai Dipshit Osamu clutches at their stomach, laughing until they’re gasping for air. “Y-you should've seen your face—!” they exclaim between coughs of laughter, wiping at the tears that’s forming in the corner of their eyes.
Chuuya gets up on his unsteady legs with a loud snarl and stares daggers at his idiotic guest before jumping at them.
“You stupid fuck!”
Dazai just keeps laughing even when their collar is grabbed by two rough hands and their attacker begins to shake them. “I- I thought that this made me a good fuck? Y-y’know, cus my head was so good that it made you fall for me—”
“God, please shut the fuck up,” Chuuya groans before dropping his head into the crook of Dazai’s neck, “you fucking asshole.”
For a moment after that, there is just blissful calm, and Chuuya can almost feel the delayed effect of his orgasm finally hitting him, and his entire body goes slack.
But, of course, his relaxation is interrupted by Dazai, as it always is. “Chuuya.”
When they don’t get a reply, the immature asshole begins to tap Chuuya’s name in Morse code into the skin of his waist as they repeat it verbally as well.
“Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya, Chu—”
Chuuya’s patience snaps. “Fucking what! What the fuck is it?!”
“…My face and fingers are drenched in slug slime,” they say completely seriously, the idiotic words accompanied by a childish pout.
It’s true, their face is shiny presumably both from Chuuya’s slick and their own spit, but—
“You couldn’t just let me rest for a bit??”
This is why letting Dazai near him is a bad idea, because it’s going to give him dangerously high blood pressure that’ll definitely kill him before he’s thirty.
Dazai chuckles while discreetly (not discreet enough) wiping his slicked fingers on the couch. “I have to keep my dog on his toes, right~?”
“… …” A beat, followed by a defeated sigh. “I fucking hate you.”
Humming disbelievingly, Dazai hugs him closer to their chest. “Sure you do, buddy.”
Chuuya scowls, but doesn’t try to move away. He’s too tired. “Ew.”
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾
After cleaning Dazai’s face and the couch (Chuuya refused to do anything else before it was thoroughly cleaned), they enter the apartment’s master bedroom together.
It’s luxurious, as is the rest of Chuuya’s apartment; and just as the rest of his place, there’s lots of memories all over.
Framed photos from different points in his life; a lot picturing Chuuya among the Flags, some of him and Kouyou, of him and Adam, and even some older ones— much older ones— that show a younger him alongside members of the Sheep.
Chuuya watches Dazai closely inspect the shelf containing the latter while he undoes his bra and throws it in the laundry basket along with his underwear.
They don’t say anything about most of the photos, they just move on and begin to poke at the ones that feature themself instead.
Yes, Chuuya has pictures of Dazai, a traitor to the very organization he’s sworn all of his loyalty to, on a few shelves in his bedroom, judge him all you want… as if he himself doesn’t do that enough.
Dazai lets out a chuckle as they let their fingers ghost over a photograph that they took with Chuuya’s camera. The picture shows a distressed, fifteen-year-old Chuuya sitting at a table and being forced to learn algebra with Kouyou.
His experience of learning ten years worth of basic education fundamentals in less than four months was probably the worst time of his life, discounting the actually traumatic worst times.
“Ane-san really was intense,” Dazai says with a fond smile dancing on their lips as they turn to look back at Chuuya, “but I assume all that suffering was worth it?”
Chuuya scoffs, his arms crossing over his bare chest. “Psh, barely. She was a damn tyrant,” he complains. “Anyway, I don’t think we’re here to discuss her, right?”
Rolling their eyes, but with that smile still present, Dazai begins to unbutton their shirt, then it’s their slacks’ turn.
Chuuya turns to watch with interest as they’re left in nothing but their underwear and bandages.
It’s no secret that Dazai has always been attractive to him; even when they were just fifteen and the poor thing was stuck with braces as well as a truckload of acne, Chuuya still found them somewhat appealing.
Now they are adults, real adults; sure, Dazai has some acne scars on their face, and their teeth still aren't that straight, and they are still always wrapped in bandages— and Chuuya is unfortunately even more attracted to them now than before.
Almost curly brown hair, big dark doe eyes that look like they hold stars in the right light, a finally well-nourished body, and that stupidly charming smile.
Chuuya had already fallen in and out of love with Dazai Osamu at eighteen, but now he found himself falling for them all over again.
God fucking damnit.
He hates it, he fucking hates it, and he hates Dazai even more for being the cause.
(But he loves them, too.)
“Chuuya’s staring at me awfully much, am I really that pretty?” Dazai almost purrs.
Their words shake Chuuya out of his own head. He can hear the underlying insecurity that lays beneath the teasing.
He sighs, stretching his arms over his head. “Just thinking, that’s all,” he mutters. Snatching the clothes out of Dazai’s hands, Chuuya throws them on the chair by his vanity before walking over and grabbing hold of their waist. “I want my gift, now.”
Lanky arms wrap around his shoulders, pressing Chuuya’s face into a bandaged chest. He wrinkles his nose at the texture. “But Chuuya already got his gift earlier, didn’t he?” Dazai teases. “Such a greedy dog that I’ve got in my arms.”
“That was my gift?” Chuuya scoffs. “That was basically all me in the end, because you are a lazy fucking bastard.” He ignores the fact that his face is absolutely burning and just buries it further, despite the icky texture of the bandages. “I want a refund. Or just another one.”
“Why doesn’t Chuuya unwrap me, then?”
Thoughts screeching to a halt, Chuuya pulls away and stares up at the audacious bastard that’s currently sticking to him like glue. “…You’re seriously calling yourself a gift? Does that pickup-line actually work?”
“It actually does, thank you very much.”
Chuuya almost groans out loud. “Should’ve just put a ribbon on your dick, because that’s the only part of you that I like.” It’s the worst lie he’s ever told— not the worst as in the meanest, but as in ‘this is a lie not even that farmer kid in the ADA would believe’.
The shitty lie earns Chuuya a kiss on his hair and a snickering laugh. One of Dazai’s hands snakes around Chuuya's and pulls it to rest behind their own neck.
“Maybe I did do that, you won’t know if you don’t unwrap your gift~”
(Chuuya hates that he has to lean up to reach.)
“You’re more like a bag of coal,” Chuuya mutters, but he does find the pin keeping the bandages on their neck in place and slowly pulls it out, letting them unravel. “Okay?” he asks when they fall, his voice quieter.
“Perfect.” The response is said with such fondness that it almost makes Chuuya’s knees weak.
After letting the first layer of unraveled bandages fall to the floor, Chuuya soon moves on to the ones on their chest, then their legs.
(The gentle kiss he presses to the long, gnarly scar going diagonally across Dazai’s torso goes unmentioned by both of them.)
“Arms too?” Chuuya asks once the pile by his feet has the layer of gauze that covers Dazai’s stomach added to it, too.
Dazai doesn’t reply verbally, instead they just peck Chuuya on the forehead.
He takes that as it is: A silent ‘yes, please’.
A moment later, Dazai’s body is bare of any white strips of gauze, all their scars on display. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, bite marks, needle wounds, rope burns. Each and every one carries a story, and Chuuya doesn’t know any of the new ones yet.
(He finds himself wanting to know them all.)
As Dazai’s lips find his once more, Chuuya’s arms wrap around their torso, his hands finding the latest addition to the collection of scars on their body, a not yet healed stab wound from a knife laced with poison.
Chuuya has a near identical one on his own back, right down to the poisoned blade.
He both hates and loves how easily he melts in Dazai’s arms, how easy it is to let their tongue enter his mouth, to let them softly nip at his lips, and how natural it feels for his body to be held by them.
Before he can complain, Chuuya finds himself pushed down onto his bed and caged between Dazai’s arms.
When they finally part, both of them flushed and breathing heavily, Dazai gently tucks a bit of Chuuya’s hair behind his ear.
“You have no idea how good you look right now,” they mumble before leaning down and kissing him again, the honesty in their voice makes Chuuya wish for the earth to swallow him immediately.
How can they just say things like that?
Instead of his brain (over)thinking about it too much, Chuuya just scoffs and reaches one of his feet up between Dazai’s legs, rubbing against the growing bulge in their boxers. “I don’t care,” he shamelessly lies, “give me my gift.”
Before they can sass back, Chuuya puts even more pressure on their crotch, internally preening at the moan Dazai lets slip past his usually so guarded lips.
Grabbing the offending limb, Dazai mutters, “Didn’t think aging would make Chuuya even more of a brat. Hasn’t dear Ane-san taught you that patience is the most important virtue?”
Chuuya sneers, cheeks burning. “Don’t bring her up when you’re about to fuck me, you’re killing the vibe.” He uses his other foot to toy with his ex-partner’s waistband. “Give me what I want, now.”
“As my prince wishes.” That’s all it takes for Chuuya to retrieve his captured foot and then finally release his prize from its confines, but he immediately comes to an abrupt halt when he sees it.
Pause. Record scratch. PAUSE THE FUCKING MOVIE—
“Did you get fucking bigger??” Chuuya blurts out before he can stop himself, and— surprisingly— his blunt words make Dazai’s cheeks flush.
Okay, look. Taking Dazai’s cock for the first time when they were younger had been a challenge and a half, because apparently the bastard was enough of a dick for it to transfer to their actual dick, too.
He’d measured it afterwards and looked online: Dazai had been above average for most teens their age.
Now they were twenty-two and about halfway there, and Chuuya could see that it was bigger— both in length and girth— than he remembered.
Why did this fucker get so many growth spurts???
Without saying anything, Chuuya rolls off the bed and stomps over to his closet.
Dazai, who up until this point had been fairly confident in what was about to happen, suddenly felt extremely unsure. “Chuuya?” they call, eyeing their partner curiously.
They were hit with the need to hide. God this was such a bad fucking idea— why didn’t they just insist on just using their mouth??
After a minute or two, Chuuya comes back to the bed and pushes Dazai onto their back.
“C-Chuuya?” they squeak when the man in question straddles their thighs. “What are you doi—”
“Shut up for a second,” Chuuya grumbles. Dazai feels like their entire body is going to go up in flames as Chuuya grabs hold of their shaft and just looks at it.
All that Dazai wants right now is to die, quickly and painlessly, and not from shame.
Chuuya barely doesn’t groan when he brings the now fully erect cock to his stomach. It reaches his belly button. This fucking thing is going to be the thing that kills him, for fucks sake.
Not only is it long— lanky freak— it’s pretty thick too, and Chuuya absolutely despises himself for how his mouth seems to water the longer his hand lingers on it.
“I hope you die in a ditch,” he eventually says, brows furrowed and his mouth almost twisting into a pout.
Dazai blinks, extremely confused. “What did I do now??”
“Your dick is too fucking big, and I hate you.”
“How is that my fault?” Dazai exclaims, confused and frustrated— sexually— they know that Chuuya is nervous, and just looking for an excuse not to open up. Again.
Chuuya lets go of their cock, not enjoying how his throat tightens when they let out a quiet, mournful moan at the loss of contact. “Why is all of you so big? It’s not fucking normal.” He stares up at the ceiling. “You’re gonna kill me!”
It’s yet another weak excuse; even if he does run the risk of getting split in half, Chuuya still wants to have it inside of him.
Seventeen-year-old him would be so disappointed in him for thinking that, but that little dumbass can’t judge present Chuuya because he’s the one who got them into this situation to begin with by letting Dazai stick their dick in him in the first place back then.
This kind of intimacy is the thing that’s been scaring Chuuya for all of his adulthood; the thought of someone having power over him in a vulnerable moment like this is absolutely terrifying.
(He knows the potential cost of trusting the wrong person all too well.)
But… would it be so bad for them to try again? For him to let Dazai be the sole exception?
He’s already been forced to give them the key to his best utility— the bastard practically controls Corruption— and this is another important thing to him, one that Chuuya has already given them before.
Can he really bear to give it back to them?
“… …” The ceiling suddenly doesn’t feel as interesting anymore. He looks back down at Dazai, and he makes a decision.
“If— if we just don’t tonight, can we try again tomorrow? You don’t have work, neither do I.” It sounds so stupid, Dazai’s going to laugh in his face and—
“Alright.”
Chuuya blinks, taken off guard. Really? “You’re not… you’re not upset?”
Dazai sits up and takes his face in their hands, squishing Chuuya’s cheeks together and snorting when his face twists again.
The look that Dazai is giving him is full of nothing but understanding and affection.
“I’m not gonna force you; as long as you don’t mind me powdering my nose for a bit, then we can try again tomorrow. It’s fine.”
A beat. Then, “You’re stupid,” Chuuya mutters before turning his face and hiding his flushed cheeks behind Dazai’s hands.
“Stupid for you~”
“Shut up!”
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾
In the end, it’s fine.
Chuuya is surprised to find his mind so very uncharacteristically quiet when he begins to lose himself to the realm of dreams, all while in a secure embrace.
He loves how his heartbeat slows to match the one belonging to the one person Chuuya has ever let hold him like he’s something precious, like he's something worth protecting.
Chuuya smiles softly against the warm chest by his face, his arms holding onto Dazai's neck just a little bit firmer.
When he wakes up the next morning, it is in a pleasant tangle of his limbs and the limbs of the person— partner— he loves.
It’s all fine.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾