Chapter Text
The news isn’t shocking. This happens at least once a month. At least, it did back when the idiot was still mafia. The way in which it’s delivered, though, has Chuuya cautiously confused. And, worse than that, curious.
“Dazai’s been kidnapped,” Ranpo says over the phone. His laid back tone isn’t lost across the medium. If anything, the casualness of the words is only enhanced by the slight digital hum, even Chuuya’s expensive phone’s speakers not good enough to completely escape technology’s limitations. That, or the Agency’s famed detective is busy sucking on a candy. Just as likely. For a second, Chuuya wants to ask how the hell Ranpo got his number. And then he realises that’s a dumb question, just like how he used to ask how Dazai got into his house the first dozen times. Knowing won’t help in stopping it from happening the next time.
So Chuuya asks what he knows he can handle himself.
“Where?”
The line pops wetly. Definitely candy.
“Dunno,” comes Ranpo’s bored reply. Chuuya scoffs.
“Something even you can’t do?” he asks.
“Something I don’t want to do.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. Those two are more alike than he wants to think.
“I’m not doing your dirty work,” Chuuya spits out. He ignores how he has to clench the fist not holding his phone, already wanting to search through some nonexistent documents that’d help find Dazai. Ranpo laughs, a sudden, uncharacteristic sound.
“Maybe not dirty for you,” he says. Chuuya is sure Ranpo can sense how he lifts an eyebrow, questioning, because he continues without a beat. Or, he just likes the sound of his own voice and not for what Chuuya thinks. “I took one look at it and knew it was above my paygrade. Not even you could afford the desserts I’d want as compensation.” Chuuya’s brow lowers again, only for both to scrunch up, confused. “No offense,” Ranpo tags on offhandedly. More probably only to settle Chuuya so he can clean his hands of this.
Chuuya sighs heavily. The one day he finishes work on time.
“Fine,” he says. “What do I have to do?”
“Eh, go to the Agency,” Ranpo replies. Chuuya opens his mouth, ready to ask for what the hell is he supposed to do — he’s a Port Mafia executive, for crying out loud, not some lackey running around blind — but Ranpo overtakes him, no doubt sensing the argument. “Just go there, before I think about it too much and actually crack it myself. Ew.”
Before Chuuya can then ask what the hell that means, the line goes dead. Hung up. God, those two really are too much alike for anyone’s good. Chuuya ends the call himself and heads to the Agency building.
“Hmm, what about…” Kenji’s voice is clear even through the door, soft and contemplative as ever. It turns excited without a second’s warning, just as usual. “What about ‘sleep in’?”
“We’ve tried that,” Kunikida says, his own voice also just as clear, though much more frustrated. “Don’t you remember all the variations Yosano-sensei wrote out?” The groan — Kenji’s voice but weary in a way Chuuya has never seen the boy — is almost quiet enough that Chuuya doesn’t make it out over the chatter inside, voices quickly overlapping.
“Wait, wait,”—Yosano’s voice—“let me try ‘cheap’. Kunikida, find me some synonyms for cheap.”
“Oh!” The younger Tanizaki this time, her high pitched voice unmistakable. “What if it’s his tab at the cafe?”
“As if.” Kunikida scoffs roughly. “Can you imagine someone like him changing it as often as his tab increases?”
The voices don’t stop. If anything, they only get worse, like an audible tidal wave. It’s already pretty bad, standing outside. Chuuya isn’t looking forward to this. He opens the door without a knock, no doubt they wouldn’t hear anyway, and prepares for the full force of whatever the fuck is going on.
Kyouka is the first to notice him, standing off to the side. As observant as always. They’re training her well then, at least.
“Chuuya-san.” She nods at him, quiet. Polite. Chuuya nods back. It’s been a while. It’s almost enough for him to forget why he’s here in the first place, some part of him wanting to catch up and see how she is. Kyouka leaves no time for that though, already speaking again. And with exactly what Chuuya needs. “We need to get into Dazai-san’s laptop.”
Ah. So that’s what this is all about. Simple enough. Chuuya sighs, his body almost relaxing. Almost. There’s still one idiot to rescue and who knows how helpful the tip on there once unlocked will be. Knowing Dazai, it definitely won’t stay simple after that.
“Okay. Thanks,” he says to Kyouka, quiet and just for her. She smiles at him, a small motion but large for her. They really do have to catch up when Chuuya has time. But… for now, Chuuya turns to the still bickering agency members and his voice booms like the crash of his ability. “Alright, shitlords, what have you tried already?”
The chattering stops immediately and they all turn around. Some with faces of indignation — Kunikida — and some only relief — Atsushi and, surprisingly, Yosano. She must be having a long day too. Most are just surprised.
“Took you long enough.” Yosano takes the lead, walking over to him, heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. She hands him a piece of paper, wrinkled in places. Considering the many, many lines of guessed passwords, wrinkled from frustration, no doubt. “Kunikida was about ready to storm out and drag back one of his own contacts.”
“Well,” Chuuya says, voice blunt and sarcastic despite how he still walks up to the laptop in need, “sorry for having a job that keeps me busy.”
Yosano only rolls her eyes. To Chuuya’s surprise, it’s Atsushi who pipes up.
“Never realised being some high grade criminal made you too busy to save your own boyfriend.”
Chuuya snaps his head towards the young man, taken aback. Granted, he’s not really spent much time around Atsushi, nevermind actually conversing with him, but the sudden outburst is uncharacteristic. Or maybe not. Looking at him, behind the flush of embarrassment, there’s a strange sense of confidence in his eyes. Maybe this is what Akutagawa is talking about when he’s complaining over their situational partnership. Still, it’s not the suddenness that has Chuuya’s cheeks heating up. He almost bites out a, ‘he’s not my boyfriend,’ before he realises how juvenile that sounds.
“Shut up,” he mumbles instead, lowering his face back to the laptop screen, telling himself that that response doesn’t sound juvenile in the slightest. Behind him, there’s quiet giggles. Yosano and the younger Tanizaki definitely. A lower one too, badly muffled. Kunikida maybe. Chuuya glowers at the screen and the piece of paper he’s put next to it. Whatever, it’s not like Dazai is his boyfriend. They just sometimes — most of the time — share Chuuya’s apartment and go out to restaurants or bars together and then fuck and sometimes — most of the time — end up sharing a bed to sleep in after that fuck. And sometimes — most of the time — end up sharing that bed even if they don’t.
Most importantly though, it’s definitely not Chuuya’s fault that they end up curled together by the morning. Or before that, before they’ve even fallen asleep. Dazai’s like an octopus with how cold he gets without his bandages, and there’s no stopping that bastard, so Chuuya’s learnt not to fight the inevitability of his role as little spoon.
But that’s neither here nor there, especially if they can’t get Dazai back (hah, as if they’ll ever be rid of that man). So Chuuya focuses on the paper of failed passwords. It doesn’t take long to skim them all. They’re mostly just variations on the same keywords, looking for the winner. The problem is, all the keywords Chuuya would think up himself are already there.
Chuuya squints, racking his brain. Unless…
God, he hopes not. He repeats that plea as his fingers begin to type. His cheeks heat up worse with every character typed. First version wrong, second wrong, third—
Third right. The laptop screen dims before the desktop loads up. Logged in. First goal complete.
Chuuya’s cheeks are on fire.
“Bordeaux?” Kyouka’s calm but inquisitive voice shocks Chuuya out of his embarrassment. And then right back into it, tenfold, when he sees her curious face. Of course she’d followed what he’d typed in. “Why bordeaux?”
“It’s nothing,” Chuuya replies, far too quickly. The laughter behind him dies at that too. He can feel the agency’s looks, just as curious, boring into his back as he starts looking through the laptop. It takes Kunikida picking up the device himself to make Chuuya realise he doesn’t even know where to look for any of the needed information.
By the time Dazai is back somewhere safe, Chuuya has forgotten all about the laptop incident. Somewhere safe being the spacious bathroom in Chuuya’s apartment, bath running slowly. It’s not plugged yet, the water splashing into the basin and right down the drain, but it doesn’t need to be yet. So far, Chuuya only needs the running water, rinsing a razorblade through it.
“Chuuya, come on.” Dazai pokes him with a foot, sitting where he is on the side of the tub, Chuuya between his bare legs and kneeling on the floor. Like this, unbandaged, the scarred lines — old and new, far too new — and bruises littering Dazai’s body shine under the bathroom’s harsh ceiling light. Another poke from Dazai’s foot, right into Chuuya’s ribs this time. Chuuya grunts, barely feeling it as he examines the wounds. “I’m not delicate, you know that,” Dazai says, gently annoyed. Chuuya doesn’t know if he’s referring to the injuries or how thoroughly Chuuya’s cleaning the razor after each stroke.
“You’re lucky I’m even indulging you,” Chuuya snipes back. Despite the harsh tone, his movements stay meticulously gentle, inspecting the razor for any left over hair. When he finds none, he brings it back to Dazai’s crotch, his other hand holding Dazai’s folds flat. A short, quick stroke and the razor comes back with short hair and shaving gel alike. “Should send you straight to bed after a shower with injuries like this. Not draw you a bath and fucking shave you.”
To make his point, Chuuya presses down against one of the bruises at Dazai’s upper thigh. Not anything to truly hurt or worsen the injury. But enough for Dazai to hiss. “See?” he asks. “Tender as a tangerine.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Chuuya snorts through his laughter, rough and low. He looks over Dazai’s crotch, spread open for him. There’s barely any shaving gel left and the skin bare of it is smooth. Just a few more swipes of the razor to go.
“Uh, yours,” Chuuya says, voice heavy with sarcasm. “You should be careful or I’ll start thinking you like me coming to your rescue. Your knight in shining armour.” Chuuya pulls the razor back, only to look over Dazai’s legs again. Still bruised up, a few stray cuts under thin hair. One deeper, crueler one. Still better than his stomach and the bruise blooming on his cheek. It’s then that he realises he feels just as tender, words matching a bit too closely. “Or some shit,” he adds on to fix that.
It doesn’t work. Chuuya finds himself leaning forward only to press a kiss to that same bruise he’d abused a few seconds earlier. Dazai hums pleasantly, his lips slipping into a lazy, feline smile.
“Hush,” he says, voice quiet but firm as he relaxes, leaning back as his hands reach out to the other side of the tub, propping himself up easily, “it all worked out. After all, here I am. Back home and doing exactly what we planned for tonight.”
“Don’t think ‘shaving your pussy’ counts as evening plans,” Chuuya murmurs, but the heat of it is lost as Chuuya avoids Dazai’s gaze above him. Instead, Chuuya focuses intently on that same bruise. There’s a cut just below it, fresh and angry red. Another one is above, though older and pale against Dazai’s skin, darker than Chuuya’s own. He said home, Chuuya thinks.
Dazai doesn’t hear him or, more likely, simply ignores the reply as he hums smugly. Chuuya’s about to throw out some more dulled snipes when one of Dazai’s hands finds his head, petting through the strands lazily. And really, that should make Chuuya want to complain more — being pet like some dog. Except it’s relaxing and soothing and Chuuya finds himself humming as well as he leans into it, the movement of the razor turning no less fluid despite how it’s now less conscious and more on autopilot.
He’s almost done now, anyway. Won’t take long. Except the next few strokes of the razor do become a little more difficult when…
“Dazai,” Chuuya asks, voice thick and slow with relaxation, “what’re you thinking about?”
“Hmm?” A languid, low sound. Dazai’s nudge to continue. Chuuya glances up and that lazy smirk is still there, but now, Dazai’s eyes are dark too, dilated as he lounges back on his arm and looks down at Chuuya working. Chuuya has to swipe his tongue out over his lips, mouth suddenly dry.
“You’re hard. And wet,” Chuuya says. Dazai hums again, smirk only growing. Chuuya feels the need to add on a, “It’s making shaving difficult.”
The hand in Chuuya’s hair slides lower, slowly running featherlight over the back of his head before cupping at his neck.
“Is that a problem?” Dazai asks, though the authoritative tone doesn’t let Chuuya mistake it for an actual question. Slowly, Dazai’s fingers massage at Chuuya’s neck, sending small sparks of warmth across his skin. Chuuya gulps. God, Dazai is far too good with his hands.
“No,” he breathes out, voice frail even to his own ears.
“Good.”
The breath Chuuya lets out comes more as a moan, quiet and wavering in the quickly warming air. Under Dazai’s intense gaze though, Chuuya can’t stay still for long. While Dazai’s fingers knead against his neck and head, Chuuya lowers himself back to Dazai’s thighs to continue kissing along the skin and bruises and cuts there as gently as he runs the razor down the last few patches. He’d normally be nipping and sucking none too carefully any other night, but right now, his chest tightens looking at the marked skin, no matter how he argues with Dazai that it wasn’t his fault anyway.
By the time he’s done, placing the razor to the side so he can get both his hands on Dazai, he’s almost forgotten all about the bath part of tonight.
“That’s it.” Dazai’s voice brings him back, soothing like the fingers at Chuuya’s neck. Chuuya flickers his gaze up to Dazai again, lips smoothing over another cut from today. Dazai’s smirking still, but there’s the hint of tenderness alongside it. “Good boy, Chuuya.”
Chuuya hums his reply, muffled by the skin of Dazai’s leg. The sound turns sour when Dazai leans away, twisting to grab something from the bathtub he’s sitting on. And then it turns to a shocked gasp when the hand at Chuuya’s neck turns suddenly firm. Not painful, but a warning nonetheless.
“Now, now,” Dazai says. “Well trained dogs aren’t allowed to be possessive.” Dazai’s hold turns softer, back to its comforting massage again, before he adds on, quieter and more casual, “Just putting the plug in, baby. Bath, remember?”
Chuuya nods, too far gone to complain about the dog remark. He can’t, not when Dazai’s looking down at him with those dark, intense eyes, licking his lips as Chuuya mouths a little higher to the sensitive juncture between thigh and folds. His lips come away wet, the thin skin there, leg hair sparser, already covered in Dazai’s slick, and even Dazai can’t mask how his breathing picks up in anticipation.
When Chuuya finally lets his fingers skirt back up to brush against Dazai’s cunt, folds now wet and plush with arousal, he can’t help but whine. And then he’s whining for an altogether different reason when Dazai grips borderline painfully around his neck again.
“No hands,” Dazai says easily, watching Chuuya with sharp, amused eyes. They soften quickly though when Chuuya looks up at him. After all, Chuuya knows he must look a sight. He can feel his cheeks running hot and his eyes are heavy, half mast. Not to mention his mouth. He can feel Dazai’s slick coating his lips, enough that there must be a light sheen, with a few stray flecks wetting his chin and jaw too.
It most definitely isn’t because his eyes go wide or because his bottom lip trembles lightly, begging. Nakahara Chuuya doesn’t beg. He’s a Port Mafia executive. He gives orders, he doesn’t beg.
Except when Dazai starts talking, it’s too easy to remember that Dazai used to be an executive too.
“Not yet anyway,” Dazai says easily. It’s much softer, but no less firm and commanding. If anything, the softness makes it more assertive. Like Dazai knows he doesn’t need to be mean about it — Chuuya will do what he says regardless. “You were doing so good with your mouth before. Come on, earn it.”
Chuuya whines high in his throat, but does what Dazai’s instructing. With a slow, hesitant motion, his hands come to rest in his lap. Dazai’s smile twitches up, almost fondly. “That’s it,” he murmurs. The hand at Chuuya’s neck comes back up a little again, stroking through Chuuya’s hair only to start pulling lightly at the strands. “That’s my good boy.”
Chuuya preens under the praise. And he preens again when Dazai’s praise ends in a sigh as he leans forward and swipes his tongue up across Dazai’s cunt, from wet opening to hard clit. Before Chuuya can even try pulling away, the hand in his hair turns rough, keeping him in place. Dazai rocks back against him and Chuuya’s eyes nearly roll back into his head as his lower face is pushed against Dazai’s wet, warm folds. Searching out for Dazai’s clit is almost second nature at this point in his life, quickly finding it and bringing it between his lips to suckle carefully. With every broad stroke of Chuuya’s tongue against it, Dazai groans lowly and they quickly build up a rhythm; Dazai grinding his hips against Chuuya’s face with every lick.
“Fuck,” Dazai breathes, pride and satisfaction dripping from the curse. “You look so good like this. Kneeling at my feet. Letting me fuck myself against your face.”
“Dazai,” Chuuya says, moaning. It must go straight to Dazai’s clit because Dazai only clutches at his head harder, grinding down harshly enough that the clit between Chuuya’s lips slips free. Dazai doesn’t seem to mind though, dragging his wet cunt and swollen clit against Chuuya’s face. Chuuya tries to catch that clit again, missing the feel of lapping over it already, but Dazai’s movements are too rough. Too demanding.
Chuuya feels owned. As he sits there, obediently in place with his hands in his lap, his whole body vibrates with that feeling.
“God, I love you like this,” Dazai groans. His other hand comes to join the one in Chuuya’s hair, leaving Dazai precariously balancing on the bathtub’s edge as he starts pulling Chuuya’s face into every grind. At this point, there’s very little Chuuya can do than go where Dazai’s tugging him, simply letting Dazai use his face. He laps at whatever skin his tongue can reach, trying to participate in any small way he can.
It’s definitely not for nought when he manages to catch Dazai's opening, sinking in and feeling Dazai pulse around him with a loud moan. It’s barely a second before it’s over, Dazai’s thrusts not letting up. That doesn’t mean Chuuya gives up though, tongue inquisitive and reactive, searching out more and more as he moans with the taste of Dazai.
Dazai’s eyes catch his, gaze intense despite the lust clouding them. “So good for me, fuck,” Dazai says, voice starting to strain. “Such a good boy for me, huh? You’re my good little slut, aren’t you?”
Chuuya groans deeply, body jerking in place. He realises then that his hips are moving, small rolling motions that do nothing to relieve the pressure building in his crotch. His trousers are tight, almost painfully so around his heavy, straining cock. It feels nice — too nice — in the same way as Dazai’s rough grip is nice. He’s losing himself to it, and he far from minds. Chuuya’s mouth moves, and he doesn’t even know if Dazai can hear him properly, muffled as he is.
“I love you like this too, god, I do. Wanna make you come, please, wanna feel you come—”
Dazai’s grip turns harsh, almost desperate as his groans peak, high in his throat. And Chuuya knows that sound, has that sound committed to memory, replays it in his head whenever he’s horny but completely alone except for his own hand. Dazai’s next groan is a deep, guttural thing seeped in tension, enough that Chuuya swears it vibrates through his own body too.
“That’s it, that’s it, baby,” Dazai grunts, hips rutting fast and hard. Chuuya’s face is starting to go numb. He doesn’t care though, not for anything that isn’t Dazai getting closer and closer— “God, I’ll let you fuck me too if you get me to squirt.”
And that’s what has Chuuya’s restraint almost snapping. His hands grip painfully into his trousers instead, clawing at the material in his lap as his cock jerks in its confines. Small, desperate noises like whines and bitten off sobs fall from his lips, still being used by Dazai to fuck against and find his own pleasure. Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut until colour bursts out under his eyelids. The image is too much. Of Dazai, legs spread, cunt and thighs with a light sheen of his own release, ready and welcoming for Chuuya to finally find his own climax.
At the same time, it’s almost cruel. So far away. So impossible to obtain like this. Chuuya’s pitiful noises don’t stop even as he tries to catch Dazai’s opening with his tongue again; tries to fuck into Dazai and find some way of getting him to squirt like they both want.
Dazai’s laugh is breathless but full.
“Okay, okay,” he says easily, hips slowing down in their grind slightly. Even he’s not unaffected though, letting out a light groan, orgasm no doubt escaping him. Chuuya can feel the pulse of denial against his face. He takes in the breath he didn’t know he’d been missing in quick gasps and whines again. “You can use your hands.” Dazai continues with the slow rocks against Chuuya’s face, but now far less messy, Chuuya’s able to open his eyes and catch Dazai’s carefully schooled face. “You better make me squirt though,” Dazai says coolly.
Chuuya laughs against Dazai’s wet cunt, uneven but honest. When has he not?
With the first, almost hesitant touch of his fingers to Dazai’s folds, they both moan in anticipation. Chuuya’s first finger slips in easily, burying inside Dazai without any resistance until Chuuya’s hand is flush against him. Chuuya barely has to move it, Dazai’s own movements turning jerky for a second, but more than doing the job of shifting the digit inside him fluidly.
Chuuya moves himself anyway, eagerly feeling out Dazai’s soft, wet walls. Like this, movements from Dazai softer now, it’s easier for Chuuya to catch Dazai’s clit again, this time flattening his tongue where the foreskin hides its base and rolling against it with every one of Dazai’s grinds. Chuuya pulls his first finger out, Dazai growling, only to slide it back in along with a second, plunging deep and hard. Dazai gasps, clit and body jerking, and throws his head back with heavy, audible breaths.
This time, Chuuya doesn’t move much himself, Dazai’s hips taking the initiative. They grind long and roughly against Chuuya’s face, doing all the work with the only complaint being a light tremor in Dazai’s thighs. That, though, could just be Dazai getting close. Because Dazai does look like he’s getting close again.
Like this, face buried in Dazai’s warm, wet folds, Chuuya has the perfect view of Dazai’s building orgasm. He can’t see Dazai’s face, the pleasure he knows is etched in his fallen mouth and furrowed brows, but he can see his body. And just as much, if not more, is written there.
Dazai’s whole body is taut, back straining into an arch. It highlights how hard Dazai is breathing, chest rising and falling harshly. And Chuuya may not be able to see the blush that must be covering Dazai’s cheeks, but he can see that in Dazai’s body too with the dark flush that’s reaching over Dazai’s chest and shoulders. It’s only broken by the odd mole or much less odd old scar or newer cut and bruise and, of course, his nipples, raised to hard buds above the two most prominent, well cared for scars.
For a moment, Chuuya doesn’t even care about his own promised release. All he cares about are the groans and gasps coming from Dazai’s mouth, how he can see Dazai’s jaw moving and throat bobbing with them, and the hands in his hair, clawing and kneading in equal measure. He doesn’t even care about Dazai coming per se. He does, vaguely. But he’s more concerned with the here and now — with getting to see Dazai like this. Getting to be the one who he shares it with.
And then Dazai’s movements against his face turn frantic and Chuuya can’t wait.
The first thing that happens is Dazai falls silent apart from heavy breaths, jaw tensing in concentration. His movements become more focused though no less hurried, finding the spot and angle that has him feeling the most, clit rolling against Chuuya’s tongue. All Chuuya has to do is grind his fingers against Dazai’s insides, making up for the lack of movement now and rubbing over exactly where he knows—
“Shit, oh, shit, oh, shit…!” Dazai freezes against Chuuya, stuck in place, only for him to break into trembles a second later. His cunt convulses, both against Chuuya’s face, clit jerking heavily, and around Chuuya’s fingers too, clamping down in waves. Chuuya doesn’t stop, fingers rubbing against Dazai’s g-spot and tongue now moving to flick over Dazai’s clit. Dazai’s hands in his hair grip hard, yanking and clawing as gently as Dazai must be able to muster, before he’s bowing his back to curl over Chuuya’s head instead, body restless under Chuuya’s ministrations.
When a long, broken moan breaks free from Dazai’s throat, cunt seizing like a vice around Chuuya’s fingers, Chuuya moans too as he feels Dazai release against him. It hits his lower jaw in a splash, and Chuuya can vaguely feel it drenching both his face, his hand, and the expensive shirt he’s still wearing. It far from dissuades him, pushing him to work Dazai harder.
“That’s it, fuck, just like that, baby boy…!” And it especially doesn’t dissuade him when Dazai’s talking like that. He continues to pump his fingers into Dazai, mouth working at Dazai’s clit, and moans deeply as another gush of warm liquid hits him and Dazai’s noises turn high pitched.
He only stops when Dazai yanks at his head, prying him back by force with a shaky grip. Chuuya whines, partly at the pain that shoots across his scalp and partly at how good everything feels. He lets his tongue flick out one last time, catching the droplets of Dazai’s release that still cling just below his bottom lip. And finally getting to see Dazai’s face at the same time is nothing short of mind numbing.
The smirk on Dazai’s face has been wiped off, cheeks flushed darkly and eyes getting even darker as he watches Chuuya’s tongue clean his orgasm up. He pants steadily, regaining his breath and composure before, slowly, his smile returns. This one, though, is a lot more content than smug. Dazai sighs, body slumping gently as he comes down. Dazai’s grip goes back to petting soon enough, humming with each stroke through Chuuya’s hair.
“God, Chuuya,” he says, sighing contentedly. “I really needed that.”
When he twists in place sluggishly to turn off the bath’s tap, Chuuya realises he’d forgotten all about what they were supposed to be doing in the first place. The water shuts off quickly, a few drops falling into the tub, now just above half full. Coming back to himself, Chuuya realises he can feel the soft warmth of the water from here, only making his thoughts harder to parse in his haze. It always takes him a while to get out of this headspace, and this is definitely not helping.
Dazai laughs, no doubt seeing it in Chuuya’s relaxed, glazed over face. With that, Dazai brings his hands back to the tub and slowly lowers himself into it, groaning as he hits the warm water. Chuuya follows, shuffling to the bath’s side and resting his head on the tub’s edge, peering over at Dazai.
“Dazai…” he says slowly, voice strained but quiet. Begging. Because okay, maybe Port Mafia executive Nakahara Chuuya does beg, but only in specific situations for specific people. Very specific. When Dazai’s serene, smiling face only meets his unspoken question, Chuuya groans painfully. “Osamu, please. You said…”
Dazai’s laugh hits Chuuya as potently as the steam and he finds himself biting his lip, waiting. Dazai nods as he relaxes into the tub.
“Why do you think I didn’t fill the bath up any higher?” he asks, face relaxed but coy. And, really, that’s all the invitation Chuuya needs
Although, if he was any more cognizant, he’d be pleased with the slight surprise that fills Dazai’s face when he gets in with his clothes still completely on. The clothes he often makes a point of reminding Dazai are expensive whenever Dazai’s the one to make a mess.
The surprise quickly turns to laughter as Chuuya settles into the tub between his legs, Chuuya whining and pawing at him. “You know,” he says, seemingly unaffected by Chuuya’s desperation, “you might need to take your pants off if you’re gonna fuck me.”
“I know, I know,” Chuuya mutters, hands stumbling in the water to undo his belt. It takes a few tries, but when he manages it, he doesn’t even take it off fully, only opening it enough that he can get at the button and zip of his trousers and pull them open. He sighs in relief, body temporarily relaxing, when he pulls his cock from out of his briefs, the water warm and almost soothing against him.
The want comes back soon enough when he looks back to Dazai only to see the man ogling down at him. Dazai licks his lips, reaching across to get his fingers on Chuuya’s cock.
“Always so thick.” His grip isn’t tight, barely a grip at all. He’s more running his fingers over Chuuya’s length, light touches curious and teasing. Dazai licks his lips when he kneads his thumb against Chuuya’s frenulum, a bead of precome dribbling from Chuuya’s tip and floating off into the water. Chuuya’s about to replace Dazai’s hand with his own, shuffling forward to finally line himself up, before Dazai stops him with his own firm hand and a firmer look.
“Dazai…” Chuuya whines, a desperate sigh falling from his lips. Dazai clicks his tongue, smiling far too freely for it to mean anything good.
“Chuuya, sweetheart,” Dazai says in that sickly sweet tone of his that promises nothing but more torture. “You’ve shown how good you are even without your hands. How about a little longer, huh?”
“Dazai.” Chuuya doesn’t let go of his cock, but he doesn’t move any further forward either. Dazai’s spare hand comes out of the water, cupping Chuuya’s cheek with wet fingers. “Please.”
“Don’t need to ask me, baby,” Dazai says smoothly. “Just need to do what I’m asking and you can.”
Chuuya wants to argue. He wants to call Dazai out on how ridiculous this is. Instead, he finds himself letting his hand fall from his cock, edging up to Dazai with another, soft whine. Dazai’s smile softens, but it’s still as infuriating as ever. Or it would be if Chuuya’s balls weren’t about ready to fall off from neglect. When his cock brushes against Dazai’s thigh, he can’t help the moan that slips free.
“There we go,” Dazai says. The words brush against Chuuya’s ear as he comes to nuzzle against Dazai’s neck. He can feel the smile on Dazai’s lips. “Good boy.”
“I hate you,” Chuuya groans. He bites down the rest of his sounds when he starts grinding against Dazai’s thigh. “God, I fucking hate you.”
“I know.” Dazai bites at his ear, pulling the flesh taut before letting it snap free. A few, quick repositionings and soon enough, Chuuya’s cock is sliding between Dazai’s folds. Every thrust catches at Dazai’s clit, the man moaning softly with each pass as he relaxes into the tub, hands gently coming round to grip at Chuuya’s back, massaging into the tense muscle under Chuuya’s soaked button up. “Hate you too.”
And it’s difficult, but so is anything when it comes to Dazai. Chuuya thrusts against him, all but humping him like a mutt for what feels like minutes on end before finally managing the right angle. Chuuya slides inside, both moaning together. It barely takes him more than a dozen thrusts before he’s moaning and trembling through his orgasm, Dazai whispering sweet nothings against his ear and holding him with firm tenderness.