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“Ya know, when you said to meet you at this park I thought you had a reason,” Chuuya snaps. “The height of summer is not an ideal time for a goddamn evening stroll.”
It’s quite possible at this point that he’d follow Dazai to hell and back, but despite its propensity for monsters and demons, they’re still in Yokohama. So sweating his ass off in leather pants, while Dazai looks cool as a cucumber in four layers, ain’t his idea of fun. Frankly, it sickens him how shitty Dazai is able to maintain his dramatically depressed aesthetic while Chuuya wants nothing more than to strip naked and lay in the grass.
Unfair.
It pisses him off, and all this bitching only adds to his body heat index.
“And yet here you are,” Dazai points out, somehow both smug and monotone. “If I knew you were so desperate for a date I would’ve brought a picnic.”
“Choke and die,” Chuuya bites out.
“Honestly, Chuuya, you should be grateful. I didn’t even take that low-hanging fruit of a height joke you perfectly set up for me. Though, I suppose low-hanging things are what you’re accustomed to.” Dazai sighs, forlorn, “Nevermind. Guess I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.”
Chuuya fumes, sweeping out a leg to kick Dazai in his wisecracking ass. “You son of a bitch—”
Dazai tuts as he easily hops out of the way of Chuuya’s attack, graceful and obnoxious as always. “Here I am, lending my aid to turn you into a proper mafia dog, sans kennel training might I add, and all I get is yapping. So little appreciation. So little… well, everything.”
Now it’s Chuuya’s turn to be smug. “We both know you can’t be talkin’ about my dic—“
“Anyway!” Dazai claps his hands, stopping in the middle of a park clearing void of civilians. Only crookedly grown trees and city lights off in the distance. “It’s time for a lesson. So listen carefully, and I might actually bring you a picnic next time.”
“I don’t want your goddamn—“
Dazai pivots, his face shuttering and inky black coat flaring behind him like despair itself, creeping over his shoulders and engulfing him whole. The swish of the hem is something of a lure; the temptation of succumbing to an end. Finality.
That, or like the cape of the world's shittiest magician. Abracadabra! He’ll pull a noose out of a hat. Alakazam! The trick is the other side is looped around his neck.
Instead, the only thing that appears from the black hole that is Dazai’s very being is a gun. Cocked and loaded. “Don’t deflect it.”
“The bullet?!” Chuuya shrieks, baffled. Surely Dazai doesn’t intend for Chuuya to just…get shot. “Of course I’m gonna fuckin’ deflect it! I won't just let you shoot me, asshole! What kind of lesson is that?”
Dazai blinks at Chuuya like he’s a particularly slow child, and starts speaking to him in a patronizing tone. “One day there will come a time when you’ll be helpless. When you won’t have use of your ability, or get caught unaware. Would you rather find out how to handle that mid-battle, or where you can relatively control the situation?”
“The situation being you gunnin’ me down like a wounded animal?” Chuuya asks sarcastically.
“Come now, Chuuya.” Dazai smiles prettily, lashes dark against his pale cheek as he flutters them demurely. His half-bandaged face does nothing to ruin the effect, and Chuuya recalls something about the devil and how he’s portrayed as beautiful beyond compare. How even Satan himself was an angel once. “You’re hardly wounded… yet. Just keep still. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Putting aside how the words come now, Chuuya sends blood rushing in two opposite directions. He can’t believe the fucking audacity of his partner.
Except he can.
Because even someone as cocky as Chuuya can understand the logic behind Dazai’s lesson. They can’t predict what circumstances they’ll find themselves in, or what other ability users Mori will pit them against. And ain’t that always the gut-punch of Dazai Osamu? How fucking logical he sounds when he isn’t spouting off suicidal bullshit.
But that doesn’t mean Chuuya has to just roll over and take it. “Fine. You wanna teach me a lesson? Let’s make a wager. If you can catch me, put your hands on my bare skin and nullify my ability so I’m as helpless as you say I’ll be one day, you get to fill me with lead.” Chuuya raises his chin defiantly. “You know the drill, partner. And you know the prize.”
Dazai’s tongue swipes his bottom lip as his finger completes the same motion with the gun’s safety. Both dangerous in their own right. Both weapons with deadly aim.
“Then run.”
This is when Chuuya realizes his mistake; how he played directly into Dazai’s bloodstained hands. Because why else would the boy, the predator who has cornered him into every decision since the moment they met, take Chuuya to the woods if not to continue making him his prey?
But it’s too late. He’s off, hair whipping around his face like a blaze darting between the scattered trees. Normally, he wouldn’t bother exerting more energy than a brisk walk, but underestimating Dazai once is more than enough.
A shot rings out to his left, and a glowing red bullet halts mere centimeters from his flank, abruptly falling to the soft tufts of grass at his feet.
Chuuya has yet to turn around. Doesn’t need to. Smug, he barks a laugh over his shoulder, “Missed.”
“For now,” Dazai drawls, stride taciturn. A lion with a mouse’s tail trapped under its paw, his gun hangs at his side in a loose grip.
“That would’ve pierced my kidney, ya know!” Chuuya shouts. “I need that, you low-tide bastard.”
Dazai rolls his visible eye, “You have another,” then holds a hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh wait… you don’t, do you? Who knew sheep were such violent creatures? Or friends, for that matter.”
Chuuya veers left, sneering, “Guess you’ll never know.” Jumping onto a tree branch, he sits casually, like he has all the time in the world. “Aren’t you movin’ awfully slow for someone who’s trying to educate me by force? Or are you just that much of a lazy bitch?”
“Maybe,” Dazai answers with a shrug.
The bark feels rough, scraping Chuuya’s uncovered palms as they sweat under Dazai's inscrutable gaze. But he keeps his expression collected, refusing to put blood in the water for Dazai to sniff out. He’s seen those teeth up close. Shoved his head into the beast’s mouth. Sure, he doesn’t presume he’ll come out of this unscathed, but he can hold his own. He survived before, albeit after signing a deal with his own personal devil, but it is what it is. From his experience, life isn’t made to be fucking easy.
Chuuya childishly swings his feet, snorting as the next shot bounces off his luminous boot. “Your bullets versus the speed at which I can activate my ability? We both know I’m quicker on the draw.”
Dazai halts under him, scratching his head with the barrel of his gun. Insane. Dazai is insane, and it makes Chuuya hotter in the summer heat. He might not have been having fun at the start, but he sure is now. “Gee, I guess you’re right. Only—“
Chuuya feels it before his other senses catch up: the chain of his hat smacks against his cheek, broken and hot.
Dazai's eyes never left Chuuya’s face, but in his other hand is a second literally smoking gun. This one with a silencer on the tip. “Your sentimentality and arrogance makes you stupid. Which, honestly, Chibi, can you really afford to not use the few brain cells you have in that tiny orange head of yours? If I wagered, and we are, so I do, I’d say we’re evenly matched.”
Chuuya drops and once again attempts to roundhouse kick Dazai’s snide fucking face in, before the bastard hops out of the way. “Oi! That’s not fair!”
Dazai widens his eye innocently. It gleams maroon in the moonlight. “And here I thought we knew the drill, partner. Since when do I play fair? You never put a limit on my firepower; you’re lucky this is all I brought.”
“Am I?” Chuuya asks, but what he really means is, Is it?
The grin slashing Dazai’s face in half offers no reassurance. “Those pesky stipulations are important when striking a deal, and so far I’m two for two. That you know of, anyway.”
A growl leaves Chuuya's mouth, but Dazai’s right. Goddamn it, he’s right. Chuuya knew better, knew Dazai better. Hadn’t he just told himself not to underestimate him?
He doesn’t know what’s worse, Dazai playing him again or fucking deserving it. The other teen had been dancing around ability users long before Chuuya joined the Port Mafia, and his moniker is no joke. His sneaking and scheming are unparalleled.
Dazai didn’t show false bravado; it was real and earned, because brute strength is no competition for cunning in this city, as much as Chuuya loathes to admit it.
Looking from tree to tree, Chuuya inspects the coverage. It’s not great, so there goes his hope that maybe staying out of sight would leave Dazai at a disadvantage.
Which, of course, the asshole clearly took into account prior to picking their location. “Awe, too sparse for you? Why don’t you keep your feet on the ground, darling? I’m a wonderful dance partner, if given the chance.”
“You’re insufferable, is what you are,” Chuuya sneers.
“You love it,” Dazai says with a wink and another shot that Chuuya sends back his way without a word. He dodges and giggles, enjoying himself enough to crack his creepy veneer. “Well, I’d prefer flowers—”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“Hmm.” Dazai reloads a magazine. “A hanawa, perhaps.”
Chuuya scoffs, “Freak.”
“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love to crawl in my casket and have your dirty way with me.”
Chuuya imagines just that: the feel of Dazai stiff beneath him, a convenient lack of that thundering pulse that usually hammers as Chuuya fucks into him. Imagines the smell of formaldehyde and rotting petals and Dazai’s cold body completely at his mercy. His dick twitches in his pants and he bites his inner cheek. Fuck. He’s a freak, too; they’re both sick.
Dazai’s smirk hasn’t faltered. He knows it, too.
Pushing aside future wet dreams, Chuuya counters, “You’re so frigid in bed, would I even know the difference?” Dazai cackles loudly, so Chuuya keeps going. “Though you shuttin’ the fuck up would be a first. I’ll try anything once.”
Time to up the ante.
This time when Chuuya saunters away, he does so with a sway to his hips, seemingly disinterested in the bullets licking his heels. With the intention to distract, he sensually shrugs off his coat first, then his vest. Making half-lidded eye contact over his shoulder, he asks, “Ready to go again?”
Dazai clicks the magazine back into place. “Are you?”
In lieu of an answer, Chuuya runs towards a denser part of the trees, kicking off one to hop into another, the chase back on as bullets fly through the night.
Dazai’s undivided attention brands Chuuya hotter than steel—hotter than the lead bouncing off his gravitational field—and intrusive thoughts beg him to let one through. To let slip a bullet like the dogs of war and end this with Dazai inside him, one way or another.
It isn’t until he’s grounded himself, peeking over the side of the tree, and giggling from the adrenaline high, that Dazai descends upon him from god knows where.
In the act of yanking Chuuya’s thin shirt from his body, Dazai allows the thick humidity to settle on his already sweat-drenched body, only to viciously latch his mouth onto the back of Chuuya’s neck like a lamprey and lap at the sweat gathered there. Yet despite maneuvering around his choker with ease, Dazai is merciless in how he roughly shoves Chuuya’s front against the jagged bark.
The cry Chuuya releases as his skin is torn to shreds is obscene. Too wound up from their game to care about future scars; too consumed by the blunt force pressure of Dazai’s teeth scruffing him like a pup to realize he has lost.
Chuuya’s fight or flight was always shit, a shattered vase hastily glued back together. This is not an act of kintsugi; Chuuya will always have visible cracks for others to exploit, and no amount of lacquered gold could ever replace his missing pieces. He acknowledges this as Dazai’s hands wander up his torso, his nails digging into the fresh cuts and agitating them further.
He feels flayed open, exposed, but it just makes his dick more uncomfortable where it's confined. A bloody hand trails up his chest to pinch a nipple, sending him arching into the touch as the other falls to his waistband, bullying its way past the leather and around his cock.
The grip is tacky and pace brutal, but it still has Chuuya groaning like one of Kouyou’s girls trying to make rent. Grinding his ass back, he hopes the friction hits Dazai’s clit and gets him as wet and frustrated as Chuuya is. He doesn’t even get through half a dozen rolls of his hips before Dazai uncharacteristically breaks, spinning Chuuya around and crushing their mouths together.
Dazai’s tongue lashes into his mouth like a whip, leaving behind a taste of metal that is familiar as it is bizarre.
Chuuya hates it.
He can’t get enough.
Their hips flush, a leg slides between Chuuya’s for him to rut against; and he does so eagerly, clutching his partner close and riding his thigh like the horny teenager he is.
“For someone who claims not to be a dog, you sure are humping me like one,” Dazai whispers in his ear, gloating.
“There you go,” Chuuya pants in a dazed voice, not really making a case for himself, “not shuttin’ the fuck up.”
Dazai presses their foreheads together. “I hate to cut this short, because god you look absolutely…” His teeth tug at his bottom lip as he watches Chuuya’s abs flex with every motion of their bodies. “Vulgar.”
“Fuck.”
“But Chuuya~” Dazai singsongs, his dark eye manic with victory, “aren’t you forgetting something?” And as the muzzle of a gun is pressed to his thigh, Chuuya registers just how helpless he’s allowed himself to become.
He was so fucking stupid, running and playing as if this were actually a game. A rabbit doesn’t play with hungry wolves, and it certainly doesn’t win. In the thrill of the chase, Chuuya had forgotten the first lesson Dazai taught him: you don’t trust the Port Mafia’s Demon Prodigy… You endure him.
You’d think he would’ve remembered that after getting stabbed by his best friend, all according to Dazai’s plan, but it seems Chuuya just can’t get enough of Dazai’s involvement with foreign objects entering his body.
Though, to be fair, some of those objects are more fun than others.
A bullet tears through meat and tissue, and Chuuya screams in a way that even betrayal and rat poison couldn’t provoke. “Motherfuck—“
Dazai immediately puts pressure on the wound causing Chuuya to screech again, this time the sound bitten into his arm. He won’t give this bastard the same satisfaction twice. “Shhh, you’re fine. It’s fine. I know it hurts, sweetheart, but it’s only temporary. We’re almost done, but first I need you to do something else for me.”
“If it ain’t rippin’ the head off your shoulders, I’m not interested!” Chuuya shouts, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Did you know,” Dazai whispers, lost in whatever morbid fascination he has with death and suffering, “you’re even prettier like this than as a whore? Scared and shaking under my bare hands. No ability, no Arahabaki…” They’re pressed so close Chuuya can feel Dazai’s heart pounding through his now disheveled clothes. “So very human.”
There are times when Chuuya wishes that were true.
This is not one of them.
“The last thing I am is fuckin’ scared of you.” Chuuya gasps out the meager protest as red-hot agony lances through his body. “Now tell me what else you want before I wring your skinny neck. Make it fast, ‘cause I don’t need my ability for that.”
“As soon as I take my hands off you, use Tainted to remove the bullet.”
“Hah?!”
“Would you rather I dig it out? Or would you rather know how to do it quickly and efficiently yourself for future reference?” Chuuya hates how unaffected Dazai sounds with his steady voice and focus, as if they weren’t just knee-deep in foreplay a second ago. What a manipulative piece of shit.
“Once I take it out, you better run, asshole. Cause I’m gonna put your fuckin’ name on it. Next place of residence is your goddamn skull.”
Dazai lifts one hand, takes the blood from Chuuya’s leg, and kitten licks it off his own fingers. “You don’t have to spoil me, baby. I’m already yours.”
“No,” Chuuya grinds the threat between his teeth, “but you sure as shit will be.”
Dazai looks ecstatic at the thought. Chuuya despises him. “Ready?”
“Get your goddamn hands off me before I bleed out, freak.”
Chuuya must’ve blacked out for fuck knows how long. Everything between when Dazai dropped him to activate his ability and the moment he yanked the embedded bullet, is a blur. When he comes to, he’s exactly where he started the night wishing he was: dewy grass seeping into the naked skin of his back, further dropping his already shock-induced body temperature, and Dazai bouncing in his lap like he’ll die on every upstroke if he doesn’t get to sink down once more.
“Chuuya is so mean for getting me all worked up and not taking responsibility.” The words fall from that awful mouth, so pretty and stained crimson, parted as Dazai tosses his head back on a particularly well-placed thrust. His pale body on full display and a right mess as Chuuya cranes his neck and notices the carnage covering their entire lower halves.
Dazai from his knees up to his belly looks like he was dipped in a massacre and Chuuya, well…
Dazai follows his gaze downward, moaning as the continuous blood flow from Chuuya’s thigh gets fucked into him, the mixture of their fluids keeping the glide slick and devasting. “I-it’s so red,” he stutters, mesmerized.
“Of course, it’s red,” Chuuya hisses. “With that many bandages, I thought you’d know what fuckin’ color your blood is.”
“Silly Chibi~” Dazai smirks, his pussy tightening as Chuuya’s thrusts get sloppier from the adrenaline crash setting in, the blood loss, and he looks ethereal under the moonlight. “I thought you knew. I only bleed black.”
Chuuya’s eyes roll and it has nothing to do with the dark tinge creeping into the edges of his vision.
Dazai’s having none of it. “Don’t go fainting on me now, puppy. I haven’t cum yet.” He shoves his finger into the raw flesh of Chuuya’s empty wound, heightening his pain to excruciating levels. Ripping the hole wider, Dazai adds a second, scissoring his fingers and fucking them in and out. He keeps a ceaseless rhythm with his shuddering form, riding Chuuya fast and dirty into the ground.
Chuuya doesn’t quite know if he wants to cum or die. All he knows is that he wants it to— “Stop! Dazai, stop! Please…Dazai…” he sobs, “Please, stop—”
“But we had a deal,” Dazai says simply, halting Chuuya’s desperate pleas. He sounds genuinely confused, and tilts his head, damp bangs sticking to his forehead. “Don’t be a sore loser now. Behave and accept your consequence,” he scolds, and adds a third finger.
And despite it all, if he dies here tonight, he at least feels a bit of triumph at the fact that he got Dazai to break a sweat. It’s the last thought he has before finally succumbing to the darkness pulling him under.
Under the current circumstances, Dazai doesn’t think it’s so terrible of him to keep going after it’s lights out for Chuuya. What is he supposed to do, climb off a perfectly hard cock when he’s so close to cumming? Absurd. Why waste what little blood Chuuya has left?
“W-what a useless pet,” Dazai laments. “Uh-tterly useless. Have to—mmph—do everything myself.” He places a filthy palm flat to Chuuya’s chest for stability, because if he can’t have it mentally, physically will just have to do.
So driving himself downward over and over, and using his other hand to rub indulgent circles onto his clit, Dazai cums with Chuuya’s name on his lips and his blood so deep inside he finally feels like life could be worth living.