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The elevator pinged as it reached the top floor of the building. Sighing, Chuuya steps out, nodding at the guards that were positioned in the hall. Several of them inclined their heads respectfully; a few bowed.
He tries not to let the surprise show on his face. After all, he was an executive now.
Walking briskly down the hall to the boss’s office, Chuuya pauses, frowning.
How much time had passed since the last he was here? A month? Two? What was supposed to be a simple mission had taken much longer than anticipated—the bastards in Tokyo turned out to be re-selling Port Mafia arms to local drug dealers.
And Chuuya had taken care of that. Efficiently.
But now, as he knocked on the door, a tingle of apprehension ran down his spine. He pulled at the ends of his gloves nervously. Alarm bells were going off in his head and though he tried to brush it off as nothing, he couldn’t help but listen to his instincts—they’d had kept him alive longer than anything else.
And right now, they were screaming at him to run.
A voice from inside called out.
“Come in.”
Chuuya squares his shoulders and pushes open the heavy wooden doors, stepping into the familiar space. He inclines his head in greeting—more out of habit than respect.
“Boss.”
Dazai’s grin was predatory as his amber eyes raked down Chuuya’s form, like hands clawing through coals. He tries not to shiver under that intense gaze. It only lasts a moment though, because a heartbeat later, Dazai’s face contorts into a pout and he crosses his arms childishly.
“Chuu-ya,” he whines, drawing out the vowels of his name, “I thought you’d left me forever~!”
Chuuya resists the urge to roll his eyes. Dazai was the same manipulative prick—only now he was his boss. Nothing had changed. As he took in the debacle that was his partner, it became easier to brush off his earlier feelings of wariness.
“Shut up, asshole,” he growls in response, slapping his mission report down on the desk hard enough to dent the wood. Honestly, despite how lazy the bastard was, Dazai was a slave driver when it came to his second in command. Chuuya barely had time to shower and finish his report before Dazai was hounding for an in-person meeting.
Dazai purses his lips as he flicks through the pages idly, his eyes not even processing the painstaking notes Chuuya had written. The redhead’s eye twitches in annoyance. He’d worked really hard on that and his notes were meticulous and flawless and Dazai was a bastard for just glancing over it.
“Oi, shitty Dazai, you could at least read it…!”
“You got the date wrong.”
It was spoken so softly, it took the redhead a few moments to process the words, his brow creasing in confusion.
“Wha…?”
“You got the date wrong,” Dazai repeats, now walking around the edge of his desk towards Chuuya, “Today’s the 19th. Not the 18th.”
The redhead sputters in confusion.
“O-okay? I can change it I guess—”
He cuts himself off, eyes widening as he finally realized the importance of the date. June 19th. June 19th.
Dazai’s birthday.
“Oh,” he says quietly, bringing a gloved hand to his mouth, ocean eyes already drowning in guilt as he stares at Dazai, “I-I didn’t…”
There’s a look akin to hurt in Dazai’s eyes, but Chuuya blinks and it’s gone.
Dazai recovers quickly, stumbling forward and tossing his head back in an over-exaggerated display of hurt, his hand clutching at his heart.
“I can’t believe Chuuya forgot my birthday!”
He whines pathetically and Chuuya should just roll his eyes and stomp out of the room, but he can’t. Birthdays should be celebrated—birthdays should be remembered. Even for a bastard like Dazai. After an eternity, he responds.
“How can I make it up to you?” He asks quietly, blue eyes not rising to meet the taller man’s gaze.
Dazai stiffens beside him. Debating. Chuuya swears he can almost hear the gears clicking in the Demon Prodigy’s brain. He wonders for a moment if this was a good idea after all. Again, the sirens in his head are screaming at him to run. Again, he ignores them.
And then Chuuya can practically feel the lecherous grin growing on the brunet’s face.
“Well,” he purrs, his fingers yanking up Chuuya’s chin, “If Chuuya really wants to make me feel better, I might know a way…”
Chuuya moans, loud and erotic enough that the sound goes straight to Dazai’s dick. The mafia boss smirks, wrapping his fingers over the redhead’s hard length, running his thumb against his sensitive head.
“D-Dazai…”
He pants, rocking his hips up into Dazai’s hand, chasing more of that delicious friction, but the brunet swiftly draws away. A desperate whine escapes the executive’s lips and Dazai momentarily considers throwing his plan to the wind and just taking him over the desk right then and there.
“Ah, ah, Chuuya…” He shakes his finger disapprovingly, “Behave.”
Chuuya groans, falling back against the desk, his thighs trembling from the stimulation. It’d been a month, okay? He deserved to be a little overwhelmed.
Dazai drinks in the sight of his lover, dressed in nothing but his dress shirt and choker. His blue eyes were blown wide with lust, lips swollen from Dazai’s teeth. He looked absolutely wrecked as he laid back on his desk, small feet dangling just barely on the ground.
Dazai could worship him.
So he sinks to his knees.
Chuuya sits up immediately, startled.
“Dazai, what are you—oh, oh god, oh god, yes,” he moans as Dazai takes him in his mouth, lapping at the beads of moisture leaking out of his head. He has to fight to keep his hips from thrusting into that wet heat because he knows Dazai will pull away the second he does.
The brunet licks up his shaft, smirking at the noises leaving Chuuya’s mouth. Whimpering, Chuuya bites down on his bottom lip in an effort to keep his moans in.
Dazai decides he doesn’t like that. Not at all.
So he takes Chuuya completely in his mouth, until he’s gagging around the redhead’s dick, and sucks. Hard.
Immediately, Chuuya lets out a choked sob, his hips bucking up so fast that Dazai has to pin him down with his hands. Nonsensical words slip out of the executive’s lips, muttering reverent praise like he’s praying and Dazai groans.
He feels Chuuya stiffen underneath him.
“D-Dazai, ngh, god, Dazai…!”
His toes curl and push against the grain of the desk, now freely moaning as he climbs higher and higher. But just as he’s about to tip over the edge, Dazai pulls away quickly, a trail of saliva connecting his lips to Chuuya’s painful arousal.
He cries out, his hips arching vainly and Dazai is so close to dropping back to his knees. Chuuya whimpers, pushing himself up on shaky elbows. Dazai greedily drinks in the sight of his redhead, eyes cloudy with lust and body shuddering like an addict in withdrawal.
“You’re, hah…you’re a bastard, Dazai.”
Dazai smirks as he leans down and captures the smaller male into a searing kiss. Chuuya shivers when Dazai slides his tongue against his, tasting himself in the other’s mouth. The brunet’s hands slip down to tease his nipples and Chuuya arches his back into his touch, sighing as Dazai plays with the hardened nubs.
He moans when the mafia boss replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking and biting until Chuuya’s a writhing mess against him. The redhead shifts to alleviate the pressure growing again at the base of his spine, grinding against Dazai’s hips shamelessly.
Dazai growls low in his throat, nipping at his chest in warning. Chuuya doesn’t stop though, panting as he works against the other’s clothed arousal. It’s only when Dazai suddenly presses a lubed finger against his opening when he stops.
Chuuya groans low, gasping out when Dazai slowly works him open with his finger before slipping inside his tight heat.
“You, ngh, you keep, lube…a-ah…in the office?” He manages to pant out, rocking back slowly against Dazai’s finger.
“Just in case, chibi,” Dazai replies casually, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when Chuuya stiffens.
Chuuya doesn’t respond and Dazai doesn’t push him. He lets his redhead think that he’s fucking around with other people, lets him believe that Dazai doesn’t value him, that he’s replaceable, when nothing could be farther than the truth.
It was easier that way.
Dazai curls his finger and Chuuya grinds back against him, a loud moan escaping his lips.
“Hah…d-do that again.”
Dazai brushes right beside his prostrate, enough to cause a shudder through the executive, but not enough to relieve the coil of heat at the base of his spine.
“What’s the magic word?”
The words are purred out and husky, like smoke and gin. Chuuya bites on his bottom lip, hands digging into the wood underneath him as Dazai repeats the motion.
“Fuck you,” he spits out.
“Maybe if you were a little taller,” Dazai snickers and Chuuya opens his mouth to retort but then—
“D-Dazai…!”
Chuuya practically shrieks and Dazai adds a second finger, pummeling right into his prostrate and sending racking waves of pleasure raking down his spine.
“What’s the magic word, Chu-uu-ya?” He whispers tauntingly.
This time, Chuuya doesn’t hesitate.
“Please,” he gasps out, “Oh, please Dazai—just…I just…”
“Hmm…?” Dazai grabs his chin roughly, pulling it up just so he can see those watery blue eyes drowning in lust. “I couldn’t hear you, chibi. Try again.”
Chuuya whines, sensual enough to send a wave of heat right to Dazai’s groin, but he doesn’t disappoint.
“P-please, Dazai.”
The brunet pulls him into a fiery kiss that pools liquid heat into the center of his core. Dazai fucks him hard and fast with his fingers, always hitting that spot that makes the redhead sees stars. With each stroke, Chuuya spasms in ecstasy and his moans increase in volume until he’s a writhing mess against Dazai.
“Oh, you want to come so bad, don’t you?” Dazai mocks, adding more pressure to Chuuya’s prostrate until he keens, “Can you come from just this, Chuuya, hmm…? I think you can. You look so pretty right now, fucking my fingers.”
Chuuya lets out a broken moan in response, hips stuttering as Dazai pushes him closer and closer to the edge.
“D-don’t...oh, god…hah! Don’t—stop,” he begs, tears gathering in his eyes, his mouth wide open and gasping for breath.
Dazai slips another finger into him, amber eyes rapt in attention, studying the way Chuuya’s body tenses up, his back arching beautifully as he tries to chase his release. Immediately, Dazai pulls away, smirking salaciously.
A hiccupping sob wrenches out of Chuuya’s chest, his entire body shaking from the exertion.
“No more,” he pleads, looking more broken than he’d had ever seen him, “I-I need you.”
Dazai acts like he doesn’t hear him, humming as he traces a hand up the redhead’s calves, to his inner thighs, almost to his weeping shaft—before sweeping up his ribs, causing Chuuya to cry out incoherently.
“How long has it been,” Dazai murmurs, kissing down the pale column of Chuuya’s neck, “Since I’ve had you?”
Chuuya’s breath hitches, the tears slipping out from the corner of his eyes.
“P-please,” he begs, “Dazai, please.”
Happy with his response, Dazai finally relents and kisses the redhead gently. He unbuckles his pants enough to free his erection, but keeps the rest of his clothes on. Everything was a power play and nothing was more powerful than a near-naked Chuuya writhing against him when he was still fully dressed.
Dazai presses against Chuuya’s opening, grinning as he feels his petite mafia mewl and buck up against him. His grip tightens on Chuuya’s slender waist as he starts to slip in, and Chuuya sobs, shoulders shaking because finally, Dazai was done teasing him and—
A shrill sound echoes through the room, making Dazai hesitate. Chuuya whines, gyrating against the hardness at his backside, but Dazai’s fingers dig into his hip to keep him still. The phone rings again, sharp and clear. Dazai swears colorfully. He slips out of Chuuya with a moan and releases him, the redhead stumbling back in confusion.
“Dazai, no, no,” he pleads, voice bordering on tears. He’d teased him to hell and now he was stopping? Dazai tries to soothe him with a kiss to his head before reaching for the phone.
Dazai’s voice is raspy and pissed as hell when he answers the call.
“What.”
The secretary on the other phone pauses for a moment, obviously aware of the boss’s mood and debating the best course of action to stay alive, before he answers.
“Um…sir, your three o’clock is here. T-the meeting, with the dealers from Nagoya?”
Dazai swears again, groaning and cradling the phone in anguish. His lust-fogged brain clears quickly though, and he knows that as much as he’d love to bend Chuuya over his desk and fuck him until he’s sore for a week, this deal was important.
Important enough for him to take a step back from his redhead and buckle his pants back up with a painful wince.
“Alright,” he responds with a huff, “Send them in—and bring a candle.”
Chuuya whimpers softly when he realizes that Dazai’s not going to be fucking him anytime soon. Dazai groans at the noise and turns to Chuuya with a dark promise in his eyes.
“Chuuya, please,” he says, and Chuuya knows he’s just as upset because Dazai never begs, “This—this will only take a second. I…I just…”
His voice trails off and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair and Chuuya sees just how wrecked his partner is, so he nods slowly, crossing his arms and relenting, even though he’s so hard and sensitive he can barely think straight. Dazai gestures to the desk and Chuuya snarls softly, crawling down and ducking underneath the wood. He doesn’t bother to put his clothes back on and Dazai just kind of kicks them behind the desk.
He debates jerking himself off quickly and leaving before Dazai’s meeting but a look from the mafia boss tells him he knows exactly what he’s thinking. And it promises sweet revenge if Chuuya follows through on his thoughts.
“If this takes more than ten minutes, I swear to God Dazai—you won’t touch me for a week,” Chuuya threatens warningly.
Dazai nods eagerly—because he’d already been celibate for a fucking month now—and coos, “Yes, yes love, I’ll wrap this up quick and then maybe I’ll let you ride me, yeah?”
Chuuya gives him the finger before ducking beneath the desk, right as the doors open, revealing two tall mafia members and a tiny secretary. He has to suppress a snicker—he did bring a candle with him, after all.
Dazai nods, his eyes focused and sharp. To the gang from Nagoya, he’d look like he was seriously thinking over the bargain.
But Dazai’s been in the business long enough to know how to fake it. Because really, how can he think about gun trades and re-establishing control over some rogue mafia members when Chuuya’s giving him a blow job from underneath his desk?
His hands dig into the armrests of his chair as Chuuya smirks, dragging his tongue over the head of his dick like it’s a lollipop, looking so innocent with his big blue eyes and his mouth wrapped around his shaft.
The redhead looks up, eyes blown wide and lashes brushing against his cheeks and for a moment, Dazai can’t even hear what they were discussing—a fact that soon becomes apparent because the mafia members look at him confusedly.
“Um…Dazai-san?”
With that, the brunet tears his eyes away from Chuuya, clearing his throat and refocusing his attention back on the meeting. He’s proud of himself when his voice hitches only a little.
“Ah, yes—I think that’s a great idea, Daisuke-san. We could revise the plan a little bit with…”
Oh, the chibi was going to get his later.
Dazai hears himself speak but frankly, he’s not really sure what he’s saying. His mouth has gone on full autopilot now. He assumes his words have some semblance of intelligence because the mafia members nod slowly, digesting his ideas.
He wants them to leave.
Chuuya bobs his head and takes more of him into his mouth—that sinful mouth—and Dazai has to disguise his groan with a cough. He feels Chuuya’s smug smile against his shaft and he threads his hand into that red hair, not sure if he wants to pull him closer or tug him away.
He needs them to leave.
So he talks numbers, fast and how many guns would be needed and how many members he’d send from Yokohama to deal with the uprising and then they’re talking ability users (Dazai makes a mental note to leave Chuuya in charge of this mission) until finally, finally, they’re start to stand up and shake hands and leave.
Dazai yanks Chuuya’s hair back, releasing his dick with a wet pop—which he prays that no one hears—and he crouches low, hiding his arousal behind his desk as he shakes hands and smiles and basically ushers them out of the door with his words.
They give him a couple of weird glances—because what kind of mafia leader hunches over his desk like that? —but still manage to shuffle out the door with promises of further communication in the future.
Dazai counts down the seconds until the door clicks shut.
And then he all but drags Chuuya out and spreads him out on his desk, pulling him close and devouring his lips. He groans softly when he tastes himself on the other’s tongue.
Chuuya wriggles against him, smiling wickedly.
“So, am I forgiven?”
“If you bend over this desk right now, I might consider that chibi.”
His voice is hoarse and throaty and saturated in need, but thankfully, Chuuya doesn’t comment on that. Instead, his redhead throws him a sultry smirk and leans over the table, legs parted wide so that Dazai can see every inch of him.
Dazai is a patient man. Every plan he makes is planned meticulously down to the last second. And though a part of his mind tells him he should savor the image of Chuuya willingly bent over his office desk (because who knows when this will happen again?), he throws all of his renowned logic and brilliance to the wind as he grabs Chuuya’s hips and thrusts inside with one swift motion.
He’s rewarded with a loud moan as Chuuya trembles beneath him.
“Ngh…impatient, aren’t we?” Despite his attempts at sounding confident, Chuuya’s voice is as shaky as his arms and Dazai knows it.
He doesn’t bother responding as he fucks into Chuuya, deep and fast, looking for the spot that will make his lover see stars.
Pushing Chuuya farther up the desk until his toes dangle off the ground, Dazai pummels into him. Suddenly, Chuuya’s back arches and he cries out.
“T-there! Dazai, right there, oh god,” he moans, pushing back against the wood in hopes of planting his feet back against the ground.
“I don’t think so,” Dazai growls, stilling to fuck him torturously slow as his hands keep him braced against the desk, inches from the ground, “You can’t do anything but take it as I fuck you into this desk.”
Chuuya sobs, his nails digging into the grain of the wood as Dazai saws in and out of him sluggishly. He writhes in vain, trying to buck back against him, but Dazai steels his fingers into his hips and takes him slowly, his cock barely brushing against his prostrate. As the brunet stares at curve of Chuuya’s back where their bodies meet, lewdly echoing around the room, he decides this is how he wants to die: buried inside of his petite mafia.
“D-Dazai, please…!”
It must be a record, he thinks, in how many times he’s made Chuuya beg in the span of an hour. After a few more slow strokes, Dazai kisses Chuuya’s neck gently, soothingly.
And then he pulls out and thrusts back in, hard.
Chuuya screams, crying out shamelessly as Dazai makes good on his promise and fucks him fast. He’s almost positive that there will be bruises where bandaged hands dug into his waist and where his hips were slammed against the table.
He decides he doesn’t care.
“Hah! Ngh, please, please—I…!”
Chuuya’s words dissolve into incoherent cries and Dazai groans, burying his nose into the nape of his neck, hips driving again and again into the spot that pulls Chuuya closer to the edge.
“Don’t stop, d-don’t stop, Dazai!”
Chuuya sounds wrecked and Dazai wants to see his face so bad. He feels the heat in his belly pooling and spreading and he knows he’s reaching his limit almost embarrassingly fast. Flipping Chuuya over, Dazai thrusts in deep, moaning softly when he sees the tears prickling at the corner of Chuuya’s eyes, the way his mouth is curled up into an ‘o’, the incomprehensible noises he’s crying out.
He’s so close, but he needs Chuuya to come first. So he wraps a hand around the redhead’s shaft, pumping up and down in time with his strokes. He sees the signs of his lover’s imminent orgasm: his name repeated over and over like a hymn, his back bending so much he wonders if it’ll break.
Dazai barely recognizes his own voice as he croaks out one last command.
“Come for me, beautiful…come Chuuya.”
And his redhead does, crying out loudly as his orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, arching gorgeously against Dazai and clenching tight around him to drag him over the cliff too.
Dazai groans, biting his teeth against Chuuya’s pale neck as he finishes inside him, pumping him full of his cum. His arms give out and he slumps forward, into Chuuya’s chest, his eyes shutting closed as he basks in the post-coital glow, utterly sated.
After a minute, Chuuya squirms against him and Dazai pushes himself up, grinning at the moan Chuuya releases when he slides out of him.
“You didn’t have to come inside me, asshole,” Chuuya grumbles, but without the usual sharpness to his tone.
“Eh? But Chuuya forgot my birthday…!”
Chuuya shoves him half-heartedly and crosses his arms.
“I always set a reminder on your birthday…” his voice trails off as his eyes focus on a calendar in the back of the room. All the dates are checked off, including June 17th…
His eyes widen as he realizes; at that same moment, Dazai chokes on a laugh, doubling over.
“You bastard! You made me think I forgot your birthday!”
Dazai wheezes, wiping a tear at the corner of his eye.
“I wanted my gift early~!”
Chuuya punches his arm again, swearing in a plethora of languages and vowing never to trust Dazai again.
But despite all of that, he doesn’t pull away when Dazai wraps his arms around him and hugs him to his chest.