Work Text:
Dazai is not a morning person.
Yes, he does, in fact wakes up early for work.
(Because skipping work and slacking off at work happens to be two entirely different things.)
But on any other day? He’s good.
If it could be helped, he would wake up at 12am and have lunch at 2pm. This is what actually happens on his weekends.
Again, if it could be helped.
Dazai wakes up to the sound of thunder crashing down somewhere in Yokohama. The sound startles him awake, too similar to a gunshot in the middle of an explosion.
(Sometimes he hates that most people wouldn’t even make that connection.)
The waking is terribly abrupt, but not enough to make him quit lazing around and actually get up. He stays in bed, the clock at the bedside table tells him that it’s not even 8am yet, so he’s fine. He can indulge himself and follow Chuuya’s advice on self care.
Chuuya, who’s always scolding him to eat better and to ask for the things he wants, isn’t here.
It’s been three months since they started living together and he’s already turning Dazai into a more functional version of himself.
He assumes that it is nice that he can’t count his ribs anymore.
The ceiling-to-floor windows are covered with blackout curtains, but that doesn’t stop the lightning from staining the darkness.
One, two, three, four, five seconds.
Oh, it wasn’t close to the building.
Chuuya must be working out, he realizes.
He’s a light sleeper, the thunder and lightning probably didn’t let him fall asleep again once they started hitting.
Chuuya has an organized routine, even during the weekend. He sleeps sometime after midnight and wakes up around 8 and 9am. He works out when he gets up; he says it makes him energized.
Frankly, why would someone that small even need a boost of energy? Maybe that’s why he’s so loud all the time?
Dazai thinks he should try depriving Chuuya from his morning workout session and see what happens.
He can hear the gym weights moving up and down, and the equipment of metal and chains being replaced by aggression exerted on a punching bag. Dazai counts the seconds between each lightning strike until rain starts to fall and he’s too bored and too awake.
Chuuya always looks unfairly good while working out.
The wood floor is comfortable when his feet touch it and he drags a whole pile of blankets with him. He could never understand why Chuuya insisted on having the AC on all the time, especially when the weather was rainy.
Dazai ignores the sounds of thunder that seem to rattle his ribcage and still his heart in order to focus on the sound of Chuuya’s punches. He wasn’t even using his ability, but Dazai is pretty sure that one of his punches could open a clear hole on a wall with ease.
(He never tells Chuuya how arousing the concept is.
He has appearances to withhold and weak spots to hide. Even from his boyfriend.)
“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice transmits through the dimly lit corridor, all windows on the apartment covered with thick curtains.
He agrees with the idea that it feels cozier like this, though.
The punches and kicks stop for a second and Dazai knows he’s been heard. Dazai arrives to see Chuuya eyeing the door and resuming his practice routine.
“It’s still early,” he points out, not even a ‘good morning’.
Go back to bed, his words say.
“It’s still early for chibis to be harnessing energy, too,” Dazai jokes as he fixes the blankets around him and props his waist on the doorframe.
Chuuya is still dressed just like he had fallen asleep, only having bothered to tie his hair to keep it away from his face. Other than that? The only fabric covering his body are the boxer briefs he slept with.
The good part of all of this is that almost every single inch of him is exposed to Dazai’s eager eyes.
And, oh boy, he felt eager when he caught Chuuya working out.
The smirk on Chuuya’s lips tells Dazai that he knows that, too.
Chuuya’s entire skin glistens, covered in a thin layer of sweat and turning flesh into gold because of the tan of his skin. The muscles are more apparent than usual, tensing and untensing as he places punches and kicks on his equipment.
He has a sweet dip in the middle of his back, the shape of his column going from the middle of his shoulder blades to his ass, that Dazai always took his time touching and pressing kisses onto it. He has back dimples too, the best place for Dazai to hold as Chuuya fucks him harder and harder as they delve into the night.
(More often than not, Chuuya has scratches on his back because of it.)
It’s unfair how round his ass is, but it’s an advantage for the times Dazai is the one inside Chuuya. It gives him something to grab on, one more way to make Chuuya moan shakily.
He can’t even start on those godly arms and hands.
(In any other scenarios, Dazai would never admit how much he thirsts after Chuuya.
But in the safety of their own home? He would gladly do that sacrifice.)
Chuuya has a lot of scars, of course he does. He’s a fighter in body and soul, he will never stay away from danger. It’s like his soul needs it to keep on burning as brightly as he does. Even the lines on his skin seems to make him more tantalizing.
It’s still morning, too early for him, but he wants Chuuya to stop working out and play him like an instrument.
The heat pooling at the bottom of his stomach weighs on him even more.
Dazai wets his lips. “Chuuya.”
One word, only his name, spoken in a mellow voice, not sugar coated enough to annoy Chuuya but enough to grab his attention. To voice out his needs .
That’s all it takes to get Chuuya’s attention on him, one eyebrow raised and blue eyes glowing.
“Come back to bed.”
Chuuya’s abs are just, there, in a clear point of view as Chuuya lowers his arms and understands the exact implications of what Dazai is asking. One simple movement and Dazai can see the muscles on his torso, the pectorals, every single one of his abs and the trapezius on his shoulders.
Dazai’s hands turn into fists around his own blankets and, honestly, he’s a creature of simple needs.
And right now? The only thing he needs is Chuuya’s body against his. It’s a simple, primal thing, nothing tricky.
Dazai walks back to the room without checking if Chuuya is following him or if he will take his sweet time into giving in. Either way, Dazai doesn’t care, because he will get what he wants at some point in the morning.
He always does.
The sound of thunder accompanies them to the bedroom.
Chuuya closes the door behind him, and rests his back against it. He’s still breathless, that damned Dazai.
Showing up when he least expected, looking adorable with bedhead hair and covered with their thick blanket, cheeks still holding prints from the pillowcase. Ridiculous. He had no right to use that voice on him.
As if he is the one to usually call the shots, the spoiled brat that he turned out to be in bed.
Dazai sits in the middle of the bed, crawling to that spot with his ass high up in the air still hidden by the blanket. He knows how to play and how to entice, even if he’s half asleep. They stay there, one sitting two meters away from where the other stands, in a deadlock.
Chuuya narrows his eyes and controls his breathing, even as Dazai’s legs peek out of the blanket and a smile entices him. Sometimes he’s entirely the image of a siren as he’s painted to be.
“Won’t Chuuya come?”
He stretches his ankles as he speaks, toes curling sweetly, with the intention of drawing Chuuya close very clear on the edges of his muscles.
Such a brat, Chuuya sometimes regrets teaching Dazai all the little quirks that he liked to see. He gave ammunition to his own killer by doing that.
The walk to the bed is made with unhurried steps and he even stops by one of the curtains to open it up, bathing the room with dim light and the occasional lightning strike. As Dazai wants to get attention in a good way, he doesn’t even dare to complain.
“It’s so early and you’re already this demanding,” Chuuya says as he crawls and cages Dazai underneath him.
The closer he gets, the more Dazai lays down in bed, arms stretching behind him to support his weight. There’s want glinting in his eyes and breathed out of his lungs through parted lips. He retreats until he’s laying in bed, head over a pillow.
Chuuya parts the blanket with a hand and Dazai doesn’t arch to the touch, but almost. “How can you get this aroused simply by looking at my body?”
It’s unfair, Chuuya knows it. He knows how weak Dazai is for displays of strength and he’s not ashamed to push any of those buttons. He secretly wished for that outcome the moment he got up from bed and walked to the gym, anyway.
“I fucked you so good last night and you already woke up craving more?” He mouths the words on Dazai’s neck between kisses. There’s a mocking tone under his words, a display of possessiveness hidden in there.
Dazai wants and wants, but the one he wants is Chuuya.
In fact, it gets him to curve his head and expose his neck and submit.
“‘Bet you’re still stretched.” He sucks a mark on Dazai’s neck and Dazai intertwines a hand with Chuuya’s hair “But no harm will come from doing it again, right?”
Chuuya’s words are like bombs being set off in his brain. The words run away from Dazai, scattering, and he can’t form sentences.
But there’s a solid, warm body between his legs and he wonders who’s the real powerful one between the two? Because at the end of the day he’s the one that has Chuuya’s pure trust, and he’s the one who can relieve him from the hell that is Corruption.
“How long will you keep teasing me?” Dazai pulls Chuuya’s hair for good measure.
“You complain, but you like it.”
Chuuya gets away from his neck only to show off a smirk.
Dazai huffs and frowns, tries to ignore the smile but fails. Every time he turns his head to the side, Chuuya goes with him, always the focus of his field of vision like a very annoying child would do.
“God, so annoying!” Dazai huffs and closes his eyes.
The amused giggle it gets out of Chuuya is pretty worth it.
Sometimes they stay with each other like this, fooling around and playing, even though the barbed words might get them hurt. It’s morning and still early for his weekend standards, Dazai doesn’t mind fooling around a bit.
It doesn’t feel like they’re 24. Sometimes it feels like they’re younger, regaining the time they lost while hurting, killing people.
(Sometimes, when your first kill came way before your first kiss, there’s a lingering pain etched into it.)
And then lips are on his and he doesn’t feel like playing anymore.
(The first time that they kissed, Dazai was deeply surprised about how soft Chuuya’s lips were, opposed to his own chapped ones.
Now, Dazai knows that they can’t be anything but soft.)
Dazai sighs with lips on his, muscles untensing. Chuuya is still fairly amused, because the next movement he does is to place Dazai’s other arm around his shoulder.
I could pinch him right now, Dazai mulls.
Of course he doesn’t.
Instead he presses his lips more insistently, whining at the back of his throat when that terrible smirk stays there. Chuuya’s cold hands touch his ribs and it’s hard not to squirm, hard to stay still when your most sensitive spot is under attack.
“Chuuya,” Dazai whines again.
Chuuya pays him no mind. He takes his sweet time to kiss him, kisses deepening slowly until they start to fit over each other with Dazai's bottom lip slotted between Chuuya’s ones. Dazai bites Chuuya’s lower lip and soothes it with his tongue. Chuuya complies, amusement falling away.
Dazai could spend hours like this.
Chuuya’s kisses were very good, no matter if they were chaste or filthy Dazai enjoyed every single second of it, arousal going down his spine every time their tongues brushed together and their lips moved with a soft wet sound. He had always loved when Chuuya’s caress turned into groping, a hand shamelessly sneaking to his ass or pushing his hair slowly.
And he does just that. Chuuya sucks on his tongue and Dazai moans quietly, dizzy and hot and completely fuzzy already. That seems to turn a switch on Chuuya, because the next moment he has a hand on Dazai’s hair and he pulls . His action is slow, each moment getting stronger and stronger until Dazai arches towards his hand.
Dazai isn’t in a particular mood for rough things, but the hair pulling always gets him. There’s something with the fact that it’s Chuuya and the action isn’t done to mean harm. He hates pain, but he doesn’t hate it when it’s Chuuya.
That’s almost a dangerous thing to think about, but he doesn’t mull on it too much.
Instead he focuses on Chuuya, body between his legs, warm and solid and smelling like sweat and Chuuya .
Thunder echoes through the air and Chuuya moves his hips with it.
Their erections are pressed against each other, Chuuya latches onto his shoulder and presses his fingers on Dazai’s stomach. Purposeful or not, his hand is right over the surgery from removing the bullet from his encounter with Dostoyevsky. There’s no clear motive for his touch but Dazai can feel the underlying possessiveness more than he can see, from the way the fingers trail the path of healed stitches.
The sensation gets Dazai twitching under Chuuya, not daring to even make a noise other than: “Chuuya, hurry!”
Chuuya snorts in such an aggrieved way that Dazai furrows his nose.
But he gets on with it.
Another sequence of kisses are pressed onto his lips, one after the other until Chuuya’s mouth strays and lands on his temple. Chuuya gets up one second later, searching for the lube.
(On different days, Dazai could’ve made a noise of disgust from the affection. Today, he doesn’t feel like it.
Something inside him wants to bask in the attention.)
Chuuya comes back to kneel between his legs completely undressed, bottle of lube in his hands. Good thing that when Chuuya got up, Dazai decided to make the job easier and remove his own underwear.
He’s furrowing his eyebrows. Chuuya does that, Dazai noticed in their early stages of partnership. He does it when he’s particularly focused on something, no matter how big it is. If he didn’t know that before, seeing Chuuya frowning at a bottle of lube would have been a little bit of a mood killer.
But with a body like that in front of him, Dazai would never get not aroused.
Those hip bones are begging for some scratches, Dazai muses.
He’s so focused watching Chuuya ’s body that he only comes back to himself when Chuuya has one knuckle in.
“So relaxed like this, do you really think you need stretching?” To prove his point, he sinks a finger almost till the end with little-to-no resistance.
Dazai considers telling him to shut up, to do it faster, but Chuuya is already on it. He moves his finger in and out a couple of times before adding another.
This time, the stretch is delicious, a small part of what he’s been craving. Chuuya is scissoring his fingers inside of him while the other busies itself with pinching Dazai’s nipple. It feels good like this, it feels like devotion and Dazai can’t hold down the small moan.
Chuuya alternates between rolling his nipple between his thumb and index finger, and raking his nails across Dazai's torso until his legs. There’s a trail of fire and goosebumps in his wake, and Dazai is most definitely not trembling.
He surely isn’t gasping too, because Chuuya decides that it’s a good idea to suck bruises on the inside of Dazai’s thigh as he fingers him. No, he’s not.
But then the fingers go deeper, and Chuuya knows exactly where he’s going because his fingers meet the spot that makes Dazai go hot white with pleasure.
Dazai moans and his breath is caught, hips moving of its own accord and he seeks more, he wants more.
More, deeper, stronger, faster.
Chuuya doesn’t give him any of those things. Instead, he goes lower and lower until his mouth is right over Dazai’s cock.
Chuuya licks the underside of his cock, tongue flat and pressing strongly against it and it feels so good that Dazai wishes he had Chuuya’s entire mouth around him as he’s being fingered. Dazai doesn’t voice his thoughts. Of course he doesn’t.
He had been fucked so well, round after round until he didn’t even want to entertain the idea of getting hard again. Dazai is pretty sure he can’t handle coming twice this morning.
A third finger and Dazai is also pretty sure that he can’t take any more of that teasing.
“I’m stretched enough,” he whines, chest heaving up and down and he feels good, so good, but he needs more now.
“I know.” And then Chuuya’s fingers aren’t in him anymore.
He’s not busy enough with coating his own erection to miss Dazai lazily stroking himself, face flushed and lips parted. His hair is a complete mess, probably full of knots from how much he tosses and turns whenever they have sex.
Dazai has his eyes closed, savouring instead of acknowledging, and Chuuya kisses the hollow of his throat as he positions himself.
The first stretching has Dazai’s mouth open in a soundless intake of breath.
He’s always going after Chuuya for his looks, but Dazai wasn’t a single step behind. He looks mesmerizing, clinging to Chuuya’s back (where he can sure as hell feel the telltale of scratches), groaning or moaning, and sometimes even crying out Chuuya’s name when Chuuya takes him far enough.
Chuuya watches Dazai’s tense forehead relaxing when he bottoms out, getting used to the feeling of Chuuya’s cock. He’s completely immersed, just the way Chuuya likes to make him. He likes when his smart boyfriend is reduced to a moaning mess, when he can’t even form phrases and wants to simply follow after pleasure.
Two light taps on his shoulder tell him to move.
He starts slowly at first, a simple rocking of his hips, shallow and slow until Dazai taps his fingers on his shoulder again, twice.
(It’s been some time that they decided to create this silent communication, light taps to signalize what Dazai wanted. Two meant go ahead, and four meant slow down.
Dazai wasn’t particularly fond of speaking during sex, and more often than not, he couldn’t find it in himself to do it.)
Chuuya thrusts once, hard and deep and fast, and Dazai cries. He holds him tightly and his body tenses. Dazai feels so good around him, he’s hot and sucking him in, being so good for Chuuya and he tells him that.
He weaves words, all the one he wants to say but doesn’t. It’s easier like this, in the heat their bodies create, mind fogged and drunk in pleasure. It’s easier to make the words come out, neither have to overthink it and they’re just busy with feeling.
Dazai sinks deeper and deeper with each praise he gets and with each time Chuuya rams into his body. He never tells Chuuya he loves him. He’s always saying it silently, with kisses on his head and cups of coffee, with banterings and disguised praises. He never says it but this time he’s bursting.
He’s bursting with affection and pleasure and everything at once, he’s made of desires.
Hand going down on his erection, Dazai strokes himself at the same pace as Chuuya’s thrusts.
Chuuya’s face presses right next to him, cheek to cheek. He can hear his shaky breathing and the quiet, deep moans Chuuya makes.
He listens to Chuuya and Dazai is sure Chuuya will hear him too.
“I love you.”
Dazai cums to Chuuya’s reaction, breath getting caught and a sob wrecking past his lips. Chuuya rides him out of his orgasm at the same time he chases his own, but the words whispered by Dazai are like explosions taking off his balance.
Later, as they bask in the afterglow, Chuuya would look Dazai in the eyes and say the words back to him. After that, he would take a very flustered Dazai to the shower and repeat the words to him until Dazai would say it back, this time with Chuuya looking at his face as he does.
The way that even his ears blush is priceless.
But all of that happens in a later time, since after all, the day is barely starting.
They have all the time in the world.