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It is important to note that Dazai is not homophobic. Over the course of her 24-year old life, she has met people with all kinds of sexualities. Some she loved, others she hated but not because they were gay — the point is that it never mattered to her.
At least not until she comes home one day and finds her lesbian roommate with her tongue down someone’s throat.
The first thing Dazai registers is something wet and sticky. The second is a fist of hot-white suffocating wrongness gripping her sternum and squeezing so tightly her vision grows red. Then something drops to the floor and the two women spring apart like startled cats.
“Dazai, you’re — home,” Chuuya rasps out, running one hand through her disheveled hair, using the other to readjust her shirt. “And your milkshake... What happened to your milkshake?”
Dazai follows Chuuya’s gaze down to where her smoothie, not her milkshake, has formed a sad, little puddle on the laminate. “It fell.”
“I can see that. What are you doing here anyway? Thought you had an appointment.”
“It got canceled,” Dazai lies. There was no appointment. She just wanted to surprise Chuuya with take out food and a smoothie because Chuuya has been working a lot of overtime lately, and living with a Chuuya who is happy and satiated is more pleasant than living with grumpy, stressed out Chuuya. Clearly, Chuuya has been hungry for something else, though.
The object of her appetite, a chick with short, silver hair and a bunch of piercings, clears her throat when Chuuya returns from the kitchen carrying paper towels. “Should I just wait in your room?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a sec.” Kneeling on the floor, Chuuya raises her brows at Dazai as though to ask whether she is planning to help her anytime soon. Dazai pointedly steps over her. “Wow, you’re welcome, asshole!”
Dazai is too… disoriented to respond. That Chuuya is into women is a well-known fact — it was one of the first things she told Dazai when they first met — but in the one year they have shared an apartment, Dazai has not seen her be with another woman. Somehow, Chuuya always managed to sneak them in late enough that Dazai was asleep and early enough that she hadn’t yet woken up. Apparently, being aware of something and actually witnessing it are two different things because Dazai didn’t anticipate feeling so strongly about it. So revolted.
A sting of guilt follows. Though Dazai is no saint, she is not homophobic. Or so she thought.
Wrinkling her nose, Dazai drops the bag of take out food on the kitchen counter, her appetite gone.
“Sorry about… you know,” Chuuya mutters as she brushes past her, shoving wet paper towels into their trash can. “Didn’t expect you home until six.”
“I didn’t expect you using our couch to defile someone,” Dazai retorts before she can stop herself.
Chuuya pauses to shoot her a quizzical, vaguely amused, stare. “Defile? Really?”
“Our couch? Really?”
Chuuya’s eyes narrow. In an effort, to play off her annoyance, Dazai slides her gaze away from her face and lower to… where she can see the hint of a bruise — a hickey! — peeking out from her cleavage. Another wave of appalled surprise wells up within her like nausea.
Dazai promptly spins around. “I have to go.”
“Hah? Didn’t you say your appointment was canceled?”
“I have another one!”
***
Ultimately, Dazai decides to write it off as a singular incident. She goes out her way to talk to every gay person she knows the following week and is pleased to confirm that none of them evoke the same reaction as seeing Chuuya kissing a girl did. Chuuya leaving her room with a bird nest on her head in the morning or coming home all sweaty after a run is alright — Chuuya by herself doesn’t bother Dazai either, so it must have been something about that girl. Maybe her attitude. The impatience in her eyes when Chuuya dared to help Dazai clean up the smoothie mess. Yes, Dazai’s instincts were probably just trying to warn her.
So when Chuuya asks, “I’ll have someone over tonight. You good with that?” over breakfast, Dazai can only laugh because of how absurd such a question is!
“Why would I not be good with that? Do whatever you want, slug. I’m not your mother, or father, or your…” Dazai flaps her hand at her. “… girlfriend or something.”
“Just making sure.”
“Making sure of what?”
“That you’re alright with it.”
“I already told you. I am.”
“I know, I know,” Chuuya says, getting up to put her plate in the dishwasher. “You acted strange last time I had someone over, is all.”
“I simply prefer not to have a stranger’s bodily fluids on the couch.”
“You hate the couch anyway.”
“Yes, it’s yellow and hideous. Your point?”
Sighing, Chuuya throws a towel over her shoulder and turns around — there is a strange smile on her face though, and as confusing as it is, it is also unfairly disarming. Dazai has to force herself to look annoyed. “Alright, I get it. No more fooling around on the couch, I promise.”
“Good.”
And it is good. So good that Dazai stays home to prove how fine she is with it. When she hears Chuuya and her date chatting in the kitchen, she makes a point of venturing outside to introduce herself. The problem is that the moment she sees Chuuya touch the other woman’s hip, she is once again struck by an overpowering feeling of wrongness.
Just like that, her hundred-watt grin turns into a barely veiled grimace of disdain and her “Hello, nice to meet you” into “wow, I didn’t realize today was Halloween.”
Donning an unfashionable dress shirt — with ruffles and all — underneath an even more hideous black coat, Chuuya’s date might as well be a vampire from the 18th century. Yet Chuuya fires a glare so threatening at her, it’s as though Dazai has told the stranger to kill herself instead of simply pointing out the obvious.
Shooting her another dirty look, Chuuya gives the girl’s arm a squeeze. “Ignore my roommate. She never learned that jokes are supposed to be funny.”
“It’s fine. A lot of people make fun of the way I dress. I’m used to it.”
“Yeah, well, those people are miserable sons of bitches. You look great.”
“Chuuya has always had a thing for outcasts,” Dazai pipes in. “Have you seen our cat Miette? An ugly little thing, right? That was all Chuuya. She just had to pick the most —“
“Don’t you have something to do right now?” Chuuya cuts in, flashing Dazai a smile that isn’t very kind and not much of a smile at all.
Good thing that Dazai has filed down her self-preservation instincts a long time ago. “Like what?”
“Like going outside and walking into oncoming traffic!”
“Oh my. You seem upset.” Making an exaggerated face, Dazai pretends to lean closer to the date. “Anger issues. I keep telling her to go to therapy but that just makes her even angrier.”
Chuuya’s nostrils flare as she inhales before she, rather aggressively, grabs the girl’s hand and leads them past her.
Dazai’s smile stays burned into her skin even as she returns to her room. She doesn’t feel happy. Neither does she feel that psychotic spark of joy she occasionally gets from being mean. All she feels is a suffocating weight rendering every breath an exercise in endurance. It doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t have anything gay people, really, but the image of Chuuya and that girl, or the other one — or worse, the idea of Chuuya fucking them — it sickens Dazai. It’s so deeply, horrendously wrong she wants to climb out of her skin just to escape it.
However, not only is it impossible to flee from her thoughts, it also becomes impossible not to listen to the noises from the room next door. They begin subtly: occasional gasps and exhales that can be written off as innocent laughter… until they escalate into continuous, barely muffled moaning. It brands itself into Dazai’s brain, continuing to echo through mind long after she puts on her noise-canceling headphones. It follows her even into her dreams.
***
Chuuya doesn’t speak to her for three days after that incident. When she does again, purring out a “Hey, Dazai, I’d suggest wearing earplugs tonight”, it is with yet another girl at her heels and a sinister smile spreading across her face as though she knows it will set Dazai's innards on fire. Dazai does not make the mistake of staying home that time. No, she goes to a bar and even though the plan is to wash away her lukewarm interest in one night stands with liquor and bring someone home as well, she ends up complaining about Chuuya to the first man that approaches her. Later, she slips away while he is in the bathroom — but judging by how long he has been in there anyway, he doesn’t seem exactly keen on spending the night with her anyway.
In the morning, Chuuya brings her painkillers, water and a greasy breakfast before climbing in next to her, the strange tension of the past month suddenly forgotten. Hanging out with just Chuuya has never been the problem, though. It is easy, remarkably so, to get absorbed by their banter and the sound of Chuuya’s snorting laughter and how even their silences are more interesting than full-blown conversation with most people. The issue is the discomfort that nags at Dazai every time she sees Chuuya with someone else — and she can no longer deny that it has become a pattern.
For reasons she cannot explain, she feels like peeling off her skin whenever Chuuya brings someone home, and for reasons she also cannot explain, Chuuya starts doing it more and more often, trying to break some kind of world record. At some point, Dazai grows desperate enough to ask the Internet for advice. Surely she isn’t the first and only person in the world who has ever felt so peculiarly about gay people — or one lesbian woman in particular.
She regrets it as soon as the replies start rolling in, suggesting absurd ideas like “Have you considered you might be into your roomie?”
Dazai is not into Chuuya. Aside from the glaring fact that she, a twenty-four year old, would have noticed by now if she was attracted to other women, she could never be into that slug. It’s Chuuya. Her roommate and — well, not entirely friend, but… her Chuuya! She once made Dazai help her shave her butt hole. She consults Dazai when she orders sex toys. She pees while Dazai is two meters away in the shower! Dazai can’t like her, not romantically, not sexually, not like that. It’s not possible.
Except that from one day to the next, Chuuya stops bringing home girls and instead of celebrating it, Dazai starts panicking because Chuuya also starts spending less and less time at their place, too. On several nights, Dazai makes dinner for both of them, but ends up eating it alone. That can only mean so many things. Mainly: she has found herself a girlfriend. And that’s bad. Terrible. If Dazai can barely stand the idea of Chuuya having sex with someone, a relationship will drive them into the ground once and for all.
Of course, Dazai tries to subtly ask Chuuya about it, and, like the liar she is, Chuuya pretends not to know what Dazai is talking about.
So when one evening, Dazai is on her way to meet Oda and Ango for drinks and a bright smear of red on the other side of the street catches her attention, her first reaction is to find cover behind a street lamp. She watches Chuuya give some girl with scrappy platinum bangs a kiss — a deep, self-indulgent yet horribly gentle kiss, the kind that, Dazai imagines, would steal one’s breath — before leading them inside their apartment building. Is that the girlfriend then? The one who has been monopolizing Chuuya’s attention? The one that Chuuya has been hiding from Dazai?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dazai knows she shouldn’t…
And yet her feet start moving toward the place she just left and she doesn’t stop them.
“Chuuyaaaa,” she sing-songs after closing the door. “I’m home ~ did you miss me?”
Something seems to drop in the kitchen, followed by a hissed curse. Then Chuuya’s head pops out of the doorway, a surprised stare disguising her glower. “Weren’t you supposed to be out tonight?”
“My friends stood me up,” Dazai replies with a self-deprecating shrug. “Isn’t that just a terrible thing to someone? To lie and deceive them? And for what?”
“Yeah, just fucking terrible.”
Dazai pretends to be surprised when she waltzes into the kitchen and finds another woman in there. “Oh, you have a guest! You didn’t tell me that.”
“Didn’t think I have to,” Chuuya mutters and nudges her head between the guest and Dazai. “Atsushi, this is Dazai, my roommate. Dazai, this is —“
“Someone special of yours?”
“— Atsushi.”
Atsushi offers Dazai a bright, painfully genuine smile and a wave. “Hi!”
It makes Dazai sick to the stomach but before she can even attempt interfering, Chuuya is already guiding Atsushi away with a hand, bleeding for some reason, on her spine. “How about you wait in my room while I clean this up? Yeah, let’s do that.”
That obviously can’t happen.
As soon as Chuuya enters the bathroom, Dazai grabs her wallet and finds Atsushi, obediently sitting on the edge of Chuuya’s bed, her hands folded in her lap. How sweet. She needs to go.
“Sorry, I forgot I owe Chuuya some money,” Dazai says, handing her a couple of bills. “Give this to her, will you?”
“Sure.”
Lacing her arms behind her back, Dazai smiles at her. “Soooo… you really like Chuuya, huh? You must to be so open about the whole thing! I’m glad!. She deserves it!”
Atsushi’s eyelids flutter. “The thing? What thing?”
“You know, the whole kid and mafia ex-con baby daddy thing. All of Chuuya’s ex girlfriends got scared off by the fact that they are technically still together — and you know, because he really hates cheaters — but Chuuya says she’ll eventually leave him, and I believe her!” Dazai pauses in exaggerated thought, tilting her head this way and that. “Although I guess the kid complicates the situation… I mean, he is the dad, after all.”
“I’m confused,” Atsushi whispers, her eyes wide and horrified. “Chuuya has a child?”
“And a husband. Isn’t that great? She has a whole family, and soon you’ll be part of it too!”
***
When Chuuya emerges, Dazai is lounging on the coach, kicking her feet back and forth as she plays a game on her phone, trying not to grin too hard.
“Oi. Did you happen to see Atsushi anywhere? I came back and she was just gone.”
“She took off five minutes ago.”
“Hah? Just like that?”
“I know! She seemed so eager to get out of here... Maybe she had some kind of epiphany.”
The suspicious silence makes Dazai turn her head. Chuuya has her phone pressed to her ear. Good thing that Dazai told Atsushi not to pick up if Chuuya calls her since that is how she almost trapped her last five girlfriends into a complicated, borderline dangerous love triangle with her (fictional) baby daddy slash husband.
… Dazai did not, however, expect Chuuya to grab her jacket.
“What are you doing?” Dazai asks, scrambling to her feet.
Chuuya shoots her an impatient scowl. “Finding her, obviously.”
“Why would you do that? She doesn’t want to be here obviously. Learn to take a hint, Chuuya.”
“I can take a fucking hint, but I still want to make sure she’s alright. I’ll see you later.”
And with that, Chuuya is gone, and Dazai is in deep, deep trouble.
Since it’s likely that Chuuya will either kill her or kick her out once she learns the truth, Dazai decides to commemorate her last day in this apartment — in this life, shared with Chuuya — with a can of sake and a bubble bath.
Maybe the heavens will have mercy and Chuuya won’t find Atsushi. The girl was pretty freaked out to hear about Chuuya’s turbulent love life. Surely she won’t just agree to meet her… right? Right.
Wrong, Dazai thinks, listlessly punching the water. The universe has never been that kind to her. Why else would it finally give her a roommate who doesn’t just make Dazai’s life not miserable but actually makes it better only to take her away? And for such a stupid, senseless reason, too. How is it possible to harbor such disgusting feelings about a person she likes so much?
It doesn’t make any sense. None of it does.
Dazai can tell that there is no mercy in store for her today as soon as she hears the aggressive slam of the door. Oh, Chuuya is pissed. Her anger rolls over the apartment like a blast wave —
“Dazai, you miserable piece of shit! Where the fuck are you?”
Cringing, Dazai sinks lower in the bathtub, wishing the water would shelter her from Chuuya’s wrath — or just drown her. That would work, too.
“Dazai!” Chuuya bangs her fist against the bathroom door. “I know you’re in there. Get the fuck out!”
“I’m not feeling too good,” Dazai croaks out, feigning the tone of a sickly maiden. “Let’s talk tomo—“
The door bursts open, drawing a startled shriek from Dazai. “Chuuya!”
In theory, she was aware that Chuuya, trained in martial arts, was capable of breaking in a door with just her foot. It doesn’t render the experience any less unsettling, especially given how exposed she is!
“You can’t just do that! I’m not decent!”
“I don’t care,” Chuuya snaps. “You told Atsushi I have a damn child and a mafia husband? Really? Fucking really? What the fuck is your problem?!”
“You barged in here while I’m naked and vulnerable,” Dazai screeches back. “That’s my problem!”
“Then get dressed!”
“I’m wet!”
Chuuya throws a towel at her. “So get dry, and then —“ She stabs a threatening finger at Dazai. “Then you will finally tell me what the fuck has been up with you, you crazy bitch, or I swear to god, I’ll call your mother and tell her to come visit.”
Dazai inhales a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You told my date I have a baby daddy, Dazai. Be glad I’m not trying to water-board you ‘cause, trust me, I’d be fucking good at it.”
Dazai’s skin throbs with heated nerves and trepidation as she towels herself dry and slips into her bathrobe. Eying the wreck that has become their bathroom door pulls her lips into a grimace. That will take time and money to fix…
Then again, it won’t be her problem considering Chuuya is about to give her the boot once and for all.
Finding a decent and affordable place to live in this economy and housing market is worse than playing the lottery; yet it pales in comparison to a future without Chuuya — without coming home to the smell of her cologne lingering everywhere, without sharing bottles of wine and horrible confessions that would make anyone else run for the hills, without competitions that make life just a tiny bit less gray, without rolling around on the floor as Chuuya’s voice quiets her fretting…
Dazai never thought sharing herself with someone could be so easy. Not even her past boyfriends ever managed to make it feel like a privilege rather than a burdensome chore.
And now she has ruined this, too.
“Listen,” she starts once she finds Chuuya pacing through the living room — but despite her intentions to beg Chuuya for another chance by handing her the truth, the truth refuses to get out. “It was for your own good. Atsushi — she kicked Miette. Yes, she just kicked her out of the way while you weren’t looking. Is that really someone you want to date? No, I don’t think so. I did you a favor by scaring her off.”
Chuuya stares at her for a couple of terse moments before she exhales a wry laugh. If Dazai didn’t know any better, she would think it sounds impressed. “God, you just can’t stop lying, can you? Even now.”
“I’m not lying,” Dazai insists even though she is — she can’t explain it either. It’s like her body is wired to avoid telling the truth under any circumstances. She opens her mouth and only lies come out.
“It was Atsushi you say?” Chuuya cocks her head to the side, a spark of scorn lighting up her eyes. “Fine, what about Tsujimura? What was so wrong with her you ‘accidentally’ gave her spoiled milk?”
“I caught her trying to steal money out of your purse. You want a thief in your bed?”
Raising her chin, Chuuya takes a step forward. “What about Dostoevskaya?”
“She kept interrupting you while you were speaking. Trust me, that woman was rotten to the core.”
Another step.
“Charlie?”
“Groped my butt in passing.”
And another one.
“Akutagawa?”
Chuuya steps, once again, closer and this time, Dazai’s spine hits the wall. She feels cornered, like prey, body tensing as she glares back at Chuuya, and still — it’s physically impossible to admit the truth because the truth is so irrational it cannot be right. “Have you considered that the problem is you? I mean, I’m all for sexual freedom but you’re a bit of a slut, Chuuya.”
“Cut the bullshit and admit it already,” Chuuya demands, holding her gaze so aggressively Dazai is incapable of looking away.
She can, however, step to the side —
Without breaking eye contact, Chuuya puts her hand next to Dazai, blocking her escape.
Sucking in a breath, Dazai parts her lips, scrambling for explanations and excuses, anything but the truth — the only thing that comes to her is smothering pressure against her ribs like they are about to crack open and all the abhorrent feelings that have been rotting inside of her will spill out and taint everything. Dazai stands there, struggling to breathe, until her lungs threaten to explode and it finally bursts out of her.
“I’m not homophobic! It’s just something in me that hates seeing you with other women!”
Chuuya’s expression goes slack with… shock? Fury? Disgust? Dazai can’t tell because the next thing she knows, Chuuya starts laughing. Laughing!
“Why are you laughing? Stop it!”
“You think you’re homophobic?”
“Well, no. I don’t hate gay people. It’s just you — you fucking women makes me feel… it makes me…” Dazai trails off, suddenly painfully aware of how her words must sound. Like a confession. “I’m… confused.”
As Chuuya’s face softens, Dazai’s stomach turns. She doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her compassion — or worse, pity. “It’s alright to be a little lost. Some people don’t figure out their sexuality until way later in life.”
“But I am straight. Really. I’m not saying that because I’m ashamed or scared, it’s simply the truth!” She has only ever had boyfriends. Only ever found herself interested in dating men. Sure, she finds most women more attractive than men but that has nothing to do with her and everything to do with men being allowed to care less about their appearance — and if she is honest, women sometimes scare her. They see too much. With men, Dazai can go on and on without disclosing anything. Women, more often than not, see through her facade. Talking to them becomes a petrifying game of chess. Chuuya scared her, too, at the beginning — but she intrigued Dazai even more. “And, come one, I certainly don’t like you. That is even more ridiculous.”
It’s the hurt flitting across Chuuya’s face that silences Dazai’s monologue. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the perspective shifts and allows her a new look at the entire situation, one that gives her the courage to blurt out, “But if I did, what would you think about that?”
“Hah?” Furrowing her brows, Chuuya shakes her head. “This isn’t about me.”
“Except it is.”
“I’ve known I’m lesbian since I was seven years old. I’m not the one having an identity crisis!”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“What’s the damn point of asking me when you’re convinced you’re straight anyway?!”
“Well, maybe I need a push,” Dazai hisses, voice snatching in her throat at the violence it takes to get the words out. “My entire life I thought I was straight and now I have this thing inside me and it — it feels like I’m dying inside my own body every time I see you with someone else, so a little help would be nice.”
“I’ve had feelings for you for a goddamn year, but because I like myself as a person, I ignored that I was in love with my straight roommate! I sucked it up and watched you date people instead of harassing them! Or you! There! Does that fucking help you?”
Dazai’s goes stock-still. For a goddamn year. A year. Chuuya has feelings for her? Has had them for the entirety of their relationship? It seems inconceivable that someone like Chuuya, human and light and warm in all the ways that Dazai is not, could love someone like Dazai.
Yet here she stands, chin raised as though daring Dazai to disbelieve her.
Not for the first time in her life, the human language fails Dazai, but her body, for once, picks up the slack, however tentatively. Dazai’s hands raise to Chuuya’s cheeks, cupping them shakily, before pressing their lips together. She feels Chuuya’s surprise against her mouth. She also feels it harden into something relieved, something hungry as soon as Chuuya kisses her back.
Dazai quickly finds herself pushed back against the wall, her body clenching and unclenching with every slide of lips. While Chuuya’s hands roam, from Dazai’s neck to her waist to her hip and back up again, her kisses are hard and demanding, taking, taking, taking until Dazai feels like her knees are about to give in.
“Wait, wait, wait —“ Chuuya draws away, panting just as heavily as Dazai. “This is a bad idea. You’ve just started to figure things out —“
“Don’t care,” Dazai murmurs and drags her back only for Chuuya to shove Dazai back with a hand on her sternum, fixing her in place. If that is supposed to keep her away, it backfires. Dazai’s breath catches and not from fear.
“Dazai.”
“Chuuya.” She tips her head to the side, and this time, she doesn’t miss the way Chuuya’s gaze tracks the movement with a borderline possessive focus. Oh. “What better way is there to figure out whether I’m into women than by fucking one?”
“Fucking?” Chuuya chokes out a laugh. “I’m here worrying that making out is too much and you’re already thinking about fucking?”
“Oh, let’s not pretend that you’re against having sex on the first date.”
“Those women weren’t baby gays — and this sure as hell isn’t a — shit, date.” Chuuya would sound more convincing if she didn’t gasp as Dazai’s mouth found her neck. “Dazai…”
“Please, Chuuya,” Dazai whispers. “I want this, want you, so much it’s driving me insane...”
Chuuya’s resolve breaks with a ragged noise. Then her lips are back on Dazai’s, and the weight of her body replaces the hand that has kept Dazai pinned. Dazai can’t help but moan as she feels Chuuya’s chest pressing against her, can’t help but try to bring her even closer either — there is this need within her, this horrible, wonderful pit of hunger that threatens to swallow her whole if she doesn’t climb into Chuuya’s soul this very second.
Dazai’s fingers find Chuuya’s waist, slide underneath her top, touching skin, miles and miles of skin. Chuuya retaliates by suckling at her neck. Gasping, Dazai holds onto her like a lifeline, but it’s useless. The wild staccato of her pulse only escalates. Every place Chuuya touches buzzes. Her arms. Her belly. Her ribcage. Her breasts. She has never felt so — so lightheaded and scatter-brained from pleasure. So weak. Sex has always been a game, something to figure out and master. This though — Dazai isn’t playing, she is being played, and Chuuya is holding the pieces. It is as unnerving as it is exhilarating.
Usually, she would be embarrassed by the needy rock of her hips. Now she can no longer remember the taste of humiliation and shame, her unmistakable desperation only arousing her even harder. Though it pales in contrast to the bolt of heat that runs down her spine when Chuuya’s hand travels underneath her skirt and, finally, her underwear, grazing her folds. “Holy shit.”
She swallows heavily. “Something… the matter?”
“You’re — fuck.” Instead of speaking, Chuuya holds up the same digits that have just been fondling Dazai’s most intimate places. A glossy sheen covers them. “This doesn’t look straight to me.” Then she goes ahead and slips them between her lips, licking them clean with an obscene hum in the back of her throat. “Doesn’t taste straight either.“
“Heh… I’m full of surprises?”
“You should be full of me.”
Dazai’s laugh dissolves into a moan as Chuuya brings her two fingers back to Dazai’s cunt, and slides them into her. There is no resistance, only pitiful eagerness. “I agree. Best idea you’ve ever hadohmygod—!”
Chuuya rubs a spot so sensitive Dazai jerks like she has been electrocuted; her legs wobble dangerously.
“Good kind of oh my god or bad kind of oh my god?”
“Do that again kind of oh my god!”
Chuuya does so, repeatedly, until Dazai has to clutch her shoulders to remain upright, her entire body, from head to toe, shaking from mounting tension.
“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” Chuuya’s heavy breath, ghosting across Dazai’s neck, mirrors her own.
“Tell me...”
“A lot. A thousand times. A million times.”
“That is… a lot, yes,” Dazai agrees right before her voice fissures into a moan. Chuuya’s thumb settles heavily on her clit, massaging it in firm, slow circles, forcing Dazai to grip her even tighter. “Oh god, I’m so close —“
“Not once did I think you’d be so easy,” Chuuya taunts softly, but Dazai is too busy grinding back against her hand to be offended. Chuuya could call her anything right now, a pathetic slut, a bitch in heat, a train wreck of a human being, and Dazai would nod with the enthusiastic submission of a marionette. “Who’s the whore now?”
Case in point: Dazai whimpers and, several toe-curling flexes of Chuuya’s fingers later, she comes.
For a blinding moment, the entire world tilts and flickers, and Dazai sways along with it, the orgasm poised to undo her from within. She clenches and clenches and clenches, and Chuuya talks her through it so calmly, a dazing combination of compliments and encouragements, that her voice becomes just as overwhelming as the continuous grind of her fingertips —
The instant Dazai’s legs clamp shut around her, Chuuya relents with a murmur of, “I’ve got you. You’re alright.” Even though she winds an arm around Dazai to steady her, she ends up sinking to the floor anyway, resting her forehead against her wobbly knees.
“Dazai…” Chuuya touches her thigh, massages it, gives it a squeeze. “Oi, talk to me. You good? Need anything?”
“I’m trying to get my brain to work again,” Dazai mumbles. “Give me a second.”
To her surprise, Chuuya accepts that without any complaints — and without pausing her stroking, which, somewhere in the back of her flayed mind, Dazai appreciates.
Once Dazai manages to lift her head, it is with a dazed giggle. “Your fingers. They’re…”
Chuuya raises her brows. “They’re what?”
“Proficient. They’re outrageously, insanely proficient. I feel like you just rebooted my entire nervous system.”
“Thanks. I’ve had lots of practice.”
Dazai flashes her a smile that hopefully reflects the spasm of rage that seizes her. “I’m going to pretend you mean that you’ve been masturbating a lot.”
“That, too.”
“No, only that.”
Chuuya huffs out a tentative, almost shy, laugh. “Alright.”
Then her eyes flicker to Dazai’s mouth, and all the air in her lungs seems to rush out again, replaced by a burning need to —
Chuuya kisses her.
To do that, yes.
Dazai uses both of her hands to cling to her, keeping her close for as long as possible. It’s strange. So very strange. Sex usually makes her recoil once it is over, all the skin and intimacy — it’s exhausting. She needs her space afterward. Privacy. Now the mere thought of being alone, rather than with Chuuya, leaves her aching.
“Up for a few more orgasms?” Chuuya murmurs eventually, close enough that Dazai can answer by pressing her lips to hers, humming into the kiss. She is not only up for more, she wants it. Needs it. Needs to touch, see, taste Chuuya in return, her inexperience be damned.
She doesn’t expect Chuuya to slide her arms underneath her and pick her up. It draws a surprised, albeit not unhappy, yelp out of Dazai.
“My room, please and thank you.” And when Chuuya takes the wrong turn, Dazai tugs at her ear lobe. “Hello! I said my room!”
“My room has the equipment — and stop pulling at me, you brat.”
“Your room probably also has twenty different STDs and —“ Dazai shrieks because Chuuya, the brute, throws her onto the bed! The heat that crawls up her neck isn’t all indignation, though; the way Chuuya holds her gaze while gathering her flaming locks of red hair into a ponytail after tossing her around like she weighs nothing makes Dazai feel dizzy from arousal.
“You were saying?” Chuuya asks, crawling onto the bed with the deliberate slowness and grace of a panther that is about to have Dazai for dinner.
“Your room’s a —“ Dazai’s voice hiccups as Chuuya slides her hand under her tee to palm her breasts and lowers her mouth to give her nipple a self-indulgent lick. “A brothel.”
Chuuya punishes her by twisting the other nipple between her terribly capable fingers. “And we’ve already established that you’re a whore. So where’s the problem?”
Staring up at her, Dazai gulps down a heavy breath, not even sure what they are supposed to be arguing about anymore. Not sure it matters either. Parting both her legs and her mouth for Chuuya when she leans down to her lips is much more important. As Chuuya kisses her stupid, Dazai makes it a mission to find a way to Chuuya’s tits, shielded by a marvelous but impenetrable corset top of pink lace. She fails. Miserably.
“This isn’t fair,” Dazai whines, scrunching up her nose. Gone are her skirt and underwear; meanwhile Chuuya is still clothed. “You’ve already had your turn!”
“You spent the past two months terrorizing me. Why should I give a damn about what’s fair?”
“Because this is supposed to help me figure out whether I’m attracted to women!”
“This,” Chuuya says and brushes the pad of her thumb across her slit, gaze locked onto Dazai’s, “solves that mystery. Again.”
Even without looking, Dazai knows she is wet. She feels it. Her core throbs as Chuuya’s attention falls from her face to her cunt, shamelessly drinking in the sight of her. There is something perversely erotic about being so exposed. Dazai barely suppresses a choked moan when Chuuya gives her clit a pet. “Shit, I’m going to spend the whole night with my face buried in your pussy.”
“Chuuya,” Dazai chides, though she doesn’t manage to suppress a giggle.
“What?”
“You’re so —“ Dazai’s breath snags in her throat. Leaving her thumb on Dazai’s clit, applying gentle but wonderful pressure, Chuuya kisses her way up Dazai’s body. “So vulgar.”
“You aren’t exactly the picture definition of decorum either.”
“You’re the one touching me all inappropriately.”
“And I’ll touch you even more inappropriately.” Chuuya’s eyes flicker up to her, asking for permission.
Forming a coherent answer, though, is pretty hard when she plays with her clit at the same time as playing with her nipples, each brush of fingertip and tongue worse than the last one. “Touch me inappropriately h-how?”
“I could fuck you.” Demonstrating how that works, Chuuya sinks two fingers inside her heat. A stuttered breath falls from Dazai’s lips as they quickly find that spot again, the one that makes her hips jerk. Chuuya really is too good at this. Not a single one of the men in her life ever managed to make foreplay feel like the main event — then again that has mostly been rather lacking either and —
Chuuya lets up on her so suddenly, Dazai groans at the ceiling. “Oh god. What are you doing to me?”
“Getting you all nice and relaxed,” she answers, adding a third finger.
“That felt neither nice nor relaxing.”
“Is that so? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn I felt you clenching.”
Dazai ignores her. “Are you planning to fuck me with one of your toys?”
Humming, Chuuya does some more of her obscene finger magic. It is weirdly relaxing to lie here and chat while Dazai’s roommate slash friend (slash something more than that?) is all but massaging her insides.
“But —“ Dazai has to start her sentence several times before she finally forms a sentence that doesn’t dissolve into incoherent moaning. “But not something you’ve used on someone else. I don’t want to be just one of your many sluts.”
“Fine,” Chuuya drawls. “You can be my only slut.”
Dazai’s heavy eyelids flutter a little. “Really?”
That sounds a lot like a permanent position, which Dazai would like, yes — Chuuya just says it so casually. It can’t be that simple.
“Do you want to talk about this now or do you want me to fuck you? It’s either or.”
“Fucking first,” Dazai quickly replies. “Everything else later.”
After Chuuya deems her ready, she presents their options to her.
“This one.” Dazai points at a decently sized and slightly curved toy. It’s also bright pink, matching Chuuya’s corset. “Are you sure you haven’t used it on anyone else?”
“Only on — I mean, yes, I’m sure.“
“Only on whom?” Dazai demands with a scandalized scowl. No one means no one. She does not want anyone else’s leftover come inside of her!
Chuuya chooses that moment to strip out of her pants and… Dazai swallows… lingerie, and say, “Only on me. Is that a problem?”
“That’s the opposite of a problem,” Dazai breathes out, feeling her brain malfunction at the dizzying combination of Chuuya’s abs and her pierced belly button, her long, beautiful legs and the place between them, and the knowledge that the toy about to go into Dazai has been in Chuuya before. Then she blinks. “Unless someone else used it to fuck you. Did someone else use it on you?!”
Chuuya’s pony tail sways from side to side as she shakes her head, an indulgent smile flickering across her face. “Nope. Just me.”
“In that case, no problem. No problem at all.”
Chuuya makes even maneuvering the harness around her waist look like erotica, though Dazai has no doubt it’s intentional, since she pretends to pick something up from the floor just to show off the leather snaking around her ass and thighs, to tease Dazai.
Well, it works.
By the time she climbs onto the bed, Dazai feels like someone scooped out all her brain matter and replaced it with stupid, horny goop.
“How do you want me?”
What a terrible question. It would be easier to ask how Dazai does not want her.
When she fails to answer, Chuuya squeezes her knees, though not without huffing. “Fine. How do you usually like it?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Seriously?”
“Maybe I want you to figure it out yourself. It would be a bit unfair if I was the only one doing all the discovering today, no?”
“God, you’re such a fucking brat,” Chuuya mutters before unceremoniously parting Dazai’s legs with her knee. “Lift your hips.”
Stifling a pleased smile, Dazai obeys. Chuuya places a pillow under her butt, then shuffles between her thighs, the strap-on grazing Dazai’s pelvis in the process, eliciting a small shiver. That is about to be inside of her. Chuuya is going to fuck her. It’s surreal. In a good way. A fantastic way.
“You can’t just ask for something like a normal person, always gotta make a damn mind game out of it, huh?”
Dazai is too busy admiring Chuuya’s beautiful face, glaring at her from above, to respond. Something that Chuuya doesn’t appreciate, judging by the way she grips Dazai’s chin. “Don’t just hum at me — and don’t disappear into your head either.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already given you my consent,” Dazai drawls, leaning into the cup of Chuuya’s hand. It’s so warm. Everything about her is.
“Yeah, thanks, but you’re going to be present the first time I fuck you.”
And… oh.
Dazai only has time to blink before Chuuya moves her fingers to her short hair and yanks at it, hard, wrenching Dazai’s head back. Chuuya swallows her gasp, kissing her like she is trying to reach her heart. When her hips move, Dazai braces herself for the first rough thrust. Instead, the toy only slides across her folds, causing her to moan in both surprise and need as it grinds against her clit.
Chuuya lowers one hand to Dazai’s thigh, pushing it further aside. It opens Dazai more and yet the next roll of Chuuya’s hips still evades her entrance. Huffing unhappily, Dazai arches up, or at least she tries to — Chuuya swiftly pushes her back down.
“You wanted me to call the shots, now lie back and let me call the shots.”
“I didn’t know you’d do it so —“ The ‘slowly’ disintegrates into a stuttered exhale as Chuuya eases the strap into her.
“Fuck.” Chuuya traces the tips of her fingers over her swollen cunt, watching the toy slide deeper and deeper. “Look at you. Taking it so well.”
“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes out, suddenly feeling like she is on the verge of something. It can’t be an orgasm already. Too soon. But Chuuya is staring at her with so much naked desire in her eyes, touching her so reverently, and that this is happening at all makes Dazai feel dangerously close to coming undone in seconds.
Then Chuuya’s thumb grazes her clit and the twitch it elicits shifts the strap inside of Dazai, punching a starved moan out of her. Releasing a heavy exhale, Chuuya draws her hips back to push them forward again. The lazy drag against her walls is nice but not — it’s not enough. She needs more. Needs not to think. Dazai’s frustrated squirming only stops when Chuuya bends over to capture her lips, soothingly stroking her cheek.
Little by little, Dazai relaxes. They trade heavy, heated kisses as Chuuya builds a steady rhythm, each thrust ending with a circular grind against Dazai’s deepest spot, sparking a fire that leaves her raw and tender with the ache for more.
It’s good, terribly so — perhaps that is precisely what makes it so frustrating: it’s good and slow and thorough and Dazai has to endure every single monstrous second of it.
Chuuya’s muffled giggle doesn’t help.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Dazai whisper-mutters, giving Chuuya’s shoulder a punishing squeeze. “This isn’t funny.”
Chuuya presses her smile against Dazai’s collarbone, then her left breast. “It kind of is. You’re so desperate I can smell it on you.”
“Chuuya…” Then, more lowly, because Chuuya, at the same time as bringing a finger to Dazai’s clit, swirls her nipple and sucks it into the wet heat of her mouth: “Chuuya!”
Chuuya leans back with a wolfish glint in her eyes. “Yes?”
“You’re being mean. Mean and — and evil. And sadistic. Are you a sadist? Do you enjoy making people suffer?”
“I enjoy watching you suffer, yes,” Chuuya admits shamelessly — but before Dazai can complain about it, Chuuya grabs her hips and pulls her down onto her strap. “I also enjoy hearing you whimper.”
The sound that comes out of Dazai as Chuuya repeats the movement does sound a lot like a whimper. Not that Dazai cares. As long as Chuuya keeps doing what she is doing, keeping the pace rough and quick, Dazai can debase herself as much as Chuuya wants her to.
“But most of all, I want to see you come again…” Pinning Dazai’s thighs down to the bed, she leans her weight on them, and pulls back her hips. She pauses, as if to make sure Dazai is fine with the stretch. Only then does she finish her sentence: “So, let’s make you come again.”
Even though Dazai was asking for this, begging even, she isn’t prepared. Not at all. Because Chuuya starts fucking her so hard the bed begins to bang against the wall, and yet it doesn’t remain the loudest thing in the room. No, the sounds that Dazai makes as Chuuya slams into her over and over will probably get them in trouble with their neighbors and Dazai couldn’t care any less.
Her arousal, climbing at a violent speed, escalates as Chuuya starts rubbing her clit. Arching off the bed, Dazai’s legs helplessly try to close around the strap to escape the pleasure threatening to split her apart, but it only lets Chuuya slide deeper, making Dazai sob. Undeterred, Chuuya fucks her faster, harder, massages her clit as though Dazai isn’t wailing like a maniac underneath her.
It’s when a familiar pressure starts to swell within her that Dazai, for the first time today, feels a flash of actual fear. “Chuuya, I — stop, stop, stop —“
However, the moment Chuuya does slow down, Dazai whines and shakes her head harder. “No, don’t stop! I just — oh god, I’m gonna —“
“Come? You’re close?” Resuming the brutal pace, Chuuya kneads her flesh. “I’ve got you. Just let go. It’s alright. You can let go.”
Gripping the sheets like a lifeline, Dazai clenches around her, inconsolable with the need to come yet somehow terrified of letting go and spilling over in all her naked, hideous glory. The relentless slam of Chuuya’s strap doesn’t give her the choice to escape. It just pushes her further and further and further —
Until she reaches her peak and squirts all over the toy.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Chuuya murmurs and massages Dazai’s clit, coaxing even more wetness out of her cunt. Dazai can hear it even while squeezing her eyes shut. “Such a good girl. So fucking perfect.”
Releasing a cry of both shock and relief, Dazai throws her head back as the orgasm ripples through her in long, soul-shattering pulses. The pace slows into a deep grind that milks one final gush of fluid out of Dazai before she goes limp.
Breath by breath, everything slowly begins to settle: Dazai’s pulse, the wild spasming of her walls, Chuuya’s fingers — everything except for Chuuya’s hips.
It takes all of her strength to lift her head to complain when she realizes that Chuuya isn’t trying to fuck her to death, but that she is grinding against the base of the toy strapped to her hips. Her throat bobs as their eyes meet. For a moment, Dazai loses herself in the arousal reflected in Chuuya’s gaze — and impossibly, she feels her clit throb yet again.
Then Chuuya lurches forward and they are kissing, panting against each other, grasping anything they can touch. The toy slips out in the process, so does Chuuya’s corset top. Dazai finally, finally gets her mouth on those beautiful, heavy tits of hers, moaning as she sucks and licks and bites at them. Unfortunately, her attempts to do the same with the harness don’t succeed.
“Chuuya, a little help,” Dazai whines, uselessly tugging at the leather straps. “How do you get this thing off?!”
Chuuya exhales a shallow laugh before gently pushing Dazai’s hand away. “Let me.”
The fingers that expertly pull at the harness shake, which is why the moment it’s off, Dazai drags Chuuya forward and against her. She isn’t really sure what she is doing or whether this is something people actually do and not just a porn thing, but Chuuya doesn’t stop her, nor does she complain when their cunts meet each other. On the contrary, Chuuya moans, loud and beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful thing Dazai has ever heard.
“Fuck, Dazai.”
“Does it feel good to you because —“ Dazai’s words hiccup as she feels Chuuya’s wet folds slide and press against her. “It feels good to me.”
Chuuya laughs, then she groans. “Feels good, yeah. Will feel even better if I…” Shifting, Chuuya throws one leg over Dazai’s and grabs her other thigh. The next grind has both of them shuddering. “Fuck, yeah like that. I’m so close already…”
“Take whatever you need,” Dazai rasps out, nodding repeatedly. “Anything.”
Chuuya’s thrusts are obscenely slow and sensual at first, producing lewd sounds that have Dazai biting into her own palm to keep herself tethered. The orgasms have left her so sensitive that each self-indulgent drag of Chuuya’s cunt against her feels like a mini climax.
When Chuuya picks up speed, growing desperate for relief, Dazai endures the overstimulation by touching any part of Chuuya she can reach. Her waist. Her breasts, undulating with each heavy breath. Her flexing thighs. The sight she paints as she all but hugs Dazai’s leg and pushes her cunt forward is more mesmerizing than the art hanging in the Louvre.
And still, it’s nothing compared to the glazed look of blind lust in her eyes when her gaze finds Dazai’s. She has never seen Chuuya in this state, delirious, desperate, a breath away from unraveling and gripping Dazai’s thigh and looking at her with such frenzy it’s like she needs Dazai to watch her to come.
When it happens, Chuuya’s eyes roll back in her head, her spine arches, her mouth opens around a string of hiccuping little breaths. The sight is so hypnotizing it drags Dazai right along with her; a less violent, though no less pleasurable, climax shudders through her body as they rut against each other. The room fills with their panting, and their exhausted grinding, riding out the aftershocks until the raw pleasure softens into a gentle hum in her belly.
Somehow, Chuuya manages to rearrange Dazai’s leaden legs into a more comfortable position before she collapses next to her, absently massaging her hip. Dazai wiggles closer, craving something that she cannot articulate just yet, and making a happy noise when Chuuya throws one leg over her waist and curls around her back. She feels warm and squishy. Dazai can’t help but press her nose against her wrist.
Chuuya huffs, squirms a little, though doesn’t tell her to stop, so Dazai stays there, inhaling the scent of sex, sweat and trapped sunshine, absorbing her light like a plant.
“You never told me you can squirt,” Chuuya eventually murmurs, brushing her lips against Dazai’s neck.
“There is a lot of things I haven’t told you… yet.” And since she is already naked, she might as well lay herself bare even more: “It doesn’t happen very often. Never with others.”
“Never?”
“Well, not until today apparently,” Dazai replies, wrinkling her nose. It’s a little embarrassing but the way Chuuya casually pets her thigh, like it’s hardly something to even think twice about, is both reassuring and mildly infuriating because it means one of Chuuya’s whores has either done that to her or gotten it from her as well. Dazai can’t decide what she hates more.
Chuuya’s next response drags her wandering mind quickly back to the present, though.
“We’ll work on that.”
There it is again: the future tense, implying there will be more of… this, of them.
“We will?”
“If you want to,” Chuuya murmurs.
“I do,” Dazai tells her before she can think too hard about it and ruin everything. “I don’t know how the whole being gay thing works, or what it really means, but I do. I really do.”
Releasing a belly-deep sigh, Chuuya snuggles closer. Dazai feels her smile against her skin. “Good. I want it too.”