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There are few irrefutable truths in this world.
The sun rises in the east. Human greed is endless. Nakahara Chuuya is handsome.
Even during their teenage years, when Dazai spent most of their time together telling himself that his partner was a meaningless distraction, someone convenient to use, his pretty face had always been an undeniable fact, no matter how much that unspoken admission made Dazai cringe.
Now he not only knows better but also has the time and space to study this law of nature. He can put the sharp upturn of Chuuya’s mouth while he’s listening to people tell him hopeful lies under the microscope and determine that it’s deadlier than any dagger in the world. He can calculate how dangerous the elegant slope of his neck is when he leans back against the bar counter, head cocked to the side as auburn locks fall over one shoulder. He can note down that the pair of tight, ink-black trousers hugging his sinfully long legs should be forbidden to wear in places where ripping them off to worship the skin underneath is considered inappropriate, and…
And because they attract hungry parasites who are all but salivating to find a way inside.
“— should be able to bring in twice the amount of profit than before. It will revolutionize the current market.”
Dazai hums in reply, giving the woman, who has been trying to coax out his interest for the last ten miserable minutes, a false confirmation that he is still listening even though his one eye is fixed on two people on the other side of the room only.
Much like himself, Chuuya’s mission tonight is to mingle with the crowd and socialize. That’s why the person who is supposed to protect him in case anybody gets silly ideas, his personal bodyguard, is busy being fawned over by an irrelevant nobody instead of being by Dazai’s side.
Fine, perhaps the irrelevant nobody is actually a multi-millionaire that the port mafia has been trying to win over as an affiliate for a few months now, rendering every coy smirk that Chuuya grants the man a valuable business transaction. But when it comes to sharing the room with a god, no amount of money will make you appear less small. A god is a god. A multi-millionaire is boring and predictable: licking his lips, inching closer and closer to Chuuya, letting their fingers graze on the bar counter… all of it tragically cliché.
“Have you ever considered switching strategies?”
Dazai drags his gaze back to the woman to offer her a lazy smile. “All the time. I’m switching strategies in my head as we speak.”
“Oh,” she says, eyelids fluttering with puzzled surprise. “Already?”
“Yes! That is why you have to excuse me now,” he tells her and clinks their glasses together in farewell. “I have urgent matters to attend to.”
Over at the bar, Hideo Satoshi places one hand on Chuuya’s thigh—several centimeters too high to rewrite his fate—and leans in to whisper something in his ear, no doubt reeking of whiskey and sweat. Dazai sees Chuuya conjure up a heady smile, twiddle the hem of Hideo’s blazer between his gloved fingers, and respond to the invasion of privacy with liquid charm and bedroom eyes. But when he lifts his chin ever so slightly, his gaze flickers up and finds Dazai.
It’s the expression of a predator going in for the kill.
A beautiful thing.
In fact, the most beautiful one on the unending list of attributes that make Chuuya so attractive.
Striding through the crowd of criminals in suits and dresses, and past Hideo’s laughable mating dance, Dazai never pauses, not even for one second. He sees the man tense anyway.
After all, Nakahara Chuuya only ever comes as part of a package deal. Never alone.
Dazai is already long gone, not able to see his god and his sacrifice anymore, but the night is barely waking up. There will be plenty of opportunities to do so still.
****
“Are you sure this is –”
“Shush.”
The room is shrouded in thick darkness, the only source of light coming from a slit in the velvet curtains and painting a passage of moonlight onto the carpeted floor. It intensifies the sounds. The stumbling footsteps. The rustle of clothes as fingers tug impatiently. The slick noise of lips and tongues meeting, of breathing, of kissing.
Chuuya never steps into the light, gracefully avoiding it like he is aware that he has always bloomed best in the shadows anyway. The thump of a back hitting the mattress is not nearly as graceful; it’s loud and undeserving, the question that follows even more so.
“Really? Like… this?”
Chuuya’s hum is mocking in its innocent tone. “Something wrong with that?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s – mhpm….”
More kissing. Then there is the sound of leather snapping and tensing.
“How do you feel about me tying you up, hm?” His voice is less human, more purr. “I’ll make it good, I promise.”
“Okay,” is the slightly hesitant answer. “Okay, yeah.”
One, two, three seconds pass.
Dazai finally pulls on the string that makes the lamp snap to life and banish the darkness with a violent abruptness.
“AH, FUCK!” If not for the leather bondage keeping Hideo in place, he would have probably jumped off the bed like a startled cat by now. “THERE IS A – THAT’S – WHAT –”
“Relax,” Chuuya says casually and pats his chest with his palm, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.
His flat amusement reflects in Dazai’s curved mouth when he gets to his feet and saunters over to the bed with a hand in his pocket. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Terribly.” Chuuya’s gaze is still fixed on Hideo, whose eyes dart between the two of them, but he melts into the hand that Dazai places on his shoulder to give him a gentle squeeze. “If only our guest wouldn’t look so scared. Is something the matter, Hideo-san?”
The man’s throat bobs heavily as he swallows, probably working up the nerve to reply. “Is… is this an ambush? That what this is?!”
Chuuya snorts. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t need you tied up in my bed to kill you.”
“Then what the hell?!”
“I thought Chuuya just told you not to play dense,” Dazai warns him softly, fingers dancing their way up over his partner’s neck and to his face until they can cup his cheek in a grip that is neither firm nor violent but no less possessive. “You know exactly that stealing the bodyguard of the boss is impolite… which is why you wanted it all the more, of course. I bet you thought you’d be the exception. The only one who accomplishes the impossible, huh?”
Because everyone knows that Chuuya’s place is by Dazai’s side. Whether it’s as his bodyguard, his right-hand man, the underboss, the plaything he keeps around for entertainment, or the only person who manages to make him fall asleep–it doesn’t matter what rumor you choose to believe in. It all boils down to the same thing. They come together or not at all.
“I didn’t –” Hideo shakes his head, droplets of sweat forming on his temple before he jerks his chin in Chuuya’s direction. “He said it’s okay!”
“Hey, hey, no one likes a tattler,” Chuuya reprimands him and tightens the leather around his wrists. “And it is okay. Doesn’t my boss look pleased to you? I think he looks pleased.”
With the bondage in place, Dazai can finally snake both of his arms around Chuuya, pressing his lips to the hollow spot between shoulders and collarbones. “I’m very pleased.”
“I will keep my promise and make it good too…” Chuuya’s chest falls with a deep sigh as Dazai’s mouth travels higher and fixates on the delicate line of his jaw. He lifts one hand to find Dazai’s cheek, claiming it the same way Dazai was claiming him a minute ago. “I never said it will be good for you.”
It comes down to the fact that the whole world believes that Chuuya is Dazai’s priced possession. What they don’t know is how much Chuuya enjoys playing around with that belief, coaxing people into trying to steal him despite the whispers only to make them watch just how wrong they are.
What they don’t know either is that Dazai is Chuuya’s as much as Chuuya is his.
Hideo’s eyes must bulge in shocked realization, but Dazai would be a fool of his caliber if he were still looking in his direction instead of Chuuya, whose false patience snaps when his fingers dig into Dazai’s face and yank him down to meet his mouth.
The kiss burns with adrenaline and the knowledge of being watched. Chuuya gets off on arching his back because he knows how obscenely good it makes him look, adding heavy, wet breaths to the slick melody of lips colliding and parting over and over, and rubbing himself back against Dazai’s slacks, addicted to the dirty thrill that putting on a show chases down his spine. Dazai, on the other hand, revels in the fact that Hideo must be clenching his legs in his desperate wish to be in his place right now, revels in showing off how godly Chuuya moves in his arms, and revels in the knowledge that no matter how many people want Chuuya, it is only Dazai who gets to have him at the end of the day.
Chuuya spins around to grasp Dazai’s belt, working at snapping it open even as his mouth parts breathlessly. The slick brush of their tongues elicits a moan from the back of his throat. He has always been rather good at multi-tasking though, so his palm is already slinking inside Dazai’s trousers a heartbeat later, cupping the bulge that’s hidden underneath with hasty but adroit touches that rob Dazai of patience and air alike.
Still, he forces himself to wait, to focus on responding to Chuuya’s greedy mouth, swallowing every sound he makes like a starved beast, because right now, Dazai is merely a performer on the stage that belongs to Chuuya. Much like Hideo himself but better.
That is the deal. Tonight belongs to him. He is the direction. The one who decides where to stand, what to say and how to say it. Other times, it’s Dazai who writes the script that dictates their play, taking Chuuya apart—or letting Chuuya take him apart—in every way that this rotten heart of his desires. And on rare but not sporadic occasions, they both hold the pens, letting the rough draft write itself in the act, sometimes fighting one another for each word like rabid wolves, other times working together, hand in hand.
But the reason why they make it work so well in the first place is that whether they are holding the pen or not, they have always been experts at reading each other—and that makes for exceptional teamwork.
Chuuya breaks their kiss to breathe and listen to the soft hisses he coaxes out of Dazai with his fist wrapped around his growing length, tight, slow, and dry—the perfect combination of opposing sensations. Then he places the flat of his hand on Dazai’s chest and pushes him backward.
His eyes lazily flutter open, taking stock of Hideo—flushed and sweating like a pig as he isn’t able to tear his eyes away from the sight—before following the direction that Chuuya has broken out into.
Their destination is the wide armchair in the corner, its cushions velvety-rich and soft when Dazai’s bottom lands on them. Not wasting any time, Chuuya swings his legs around him and cups his face before crushing their lips together once more. The groan that slips out of Dazai, when Chuuya’s ass comes down hard on top of him, bleeds into his mouth like they are playing whisper down the lane and their individual enjoyment is the message, getting passed back and forth until one of them breaks and loses.
Except in this game, there are no losers. This game, they both play to win.
Chuuya’s panting breaths wash over his cheek as he reaches into the pocket of Dazai’s jacket to retrieve a travel-sized tube of lube. Not one to be left behind, Dazai uses the moment to unbutton Chuuya’s skin-tight leather pants, drag down the zipper, then the waistband as far as it gets, which is his thighs. Bare skin greets Dazai, though only in bits and pieces as Chuuya comes back to steal slick kisses from his mouth every few seconds. His legs are not unmarred, not silky softness either. There are scars, some thick and jagged, others thin threads. Dazai loves that. He loves running his hands over them and being able to trace all the ways in which life has shaped Chuuya, the same way it has shaped him. Loves digging his fingers into bruises until Chuuya’s lips turn into teeth with a warning growl, setting into Dazai’s own flesh and drawing blood the same way Dazai draws pain from his bruises. Loves finding the rich strip of leather curved around Chuuya’s thighs, his favorite way of showing off his body: collared, chained, and claimed—none of them able to actually hold him.
When Chuuya bites him again, his neck this time, Dazai listens to the silent command and lifts his hand, spreading his fingers, so Chuuya can squeeze out a thick, shiny blurt of lube onto them. Letting go of his partner’s body completely is a necessary sacrifice that he has to make to diligently coat three of his digits in lube. Gripping Dazai’s shoulders, Chuuya watches him like a hawk, like he is going to tear him limb from limb any moment now. His inquisitive stare turns into a happy noise in the back of his throat when Dazai presents the finished product. Chuuya’s lips attach to his jaw, hips rolling against his crotch, creating a pit of hunger in the base of Dazai’s stomach that will only be sated once he buries himself inside Chuuya.
Dazai snakes both his arms around him, dragging him down by the hips and grinding their crotches together over and over until Chuuya’s fingers turn to claws around his neck. Then his hands slip lower, to his ass, digging into the skin before spreading his cheeks apart, giving Hideo an obscene view that he does not deserve, yet gets the privilege of seeing anyway.
He doesn’t have to check whether Hideo is watching. Dazai knows that he is, that his dick is probably hard and twitching in his pants already, and that he would be furiously jerking off if he wasn’t bound to the bed. Chuuya is just as aware of this fact. But it’s something else that drives him when he moans, arches into Dazai, and tilts his head over his shoulder, long, wild hair spilling like red flames down his spine, to look at their audience.
Dazai doesn’t often wish to be someone else, has long since made his peace with the person that he is, but at that moment, just for one fleeting second, he wonders what it would be like to be Hideo. To watch Chuuya straddle him and push his ass against the fingers tracing his fluttering hole as he fills the room with little breathy gasps and meowls—a striking contrast to the man that once leveled half a city, yet no less lethal.
It would be a wonderful sight, Dazai is sure of it. And maybe someday he will ask Chuuya to let him play the role of the spectator for a change, observe the sensual but savage way in which Chuuya’s hips move when he rides someone to completion, and commit the sight of Chuuya getting bent over the desk, eyes rolling back in his head, from the front to his memory so he can replay it every time a meeting drags on for ages. And if it turns out that Dazai’s possessive nature overpowers his wish to explore every side of Chuuya, then he will simply have to do it the old-fashioned way and ask his partners to make a sex tape with him.
At any rate, he does not, nor will he ever wish to be anyone other than the one who gets to slide in two of his fingers inside Chuuya, feel his walls flutter around him, and then inhale the moan, low and shuddering, that it earns him.
“Yes,” Chuuya hisses against the corner of his mouth. In no time, he’s already raising his hips to rock back, meeting Dazai’s thrusts effortlessly while, at the same time, demanding more, more, and more. Such a glutton of pleasure, this man.
If they were being technical, Chuuya wouldn’t even need this. They fucked less than ten hours ago—a sleepy, breathless romp to start the day. For once, they most likely could get away with tearing off their clothes and fucking without much prep. But this—his fingers driving into Chuuya as he bounces on his lap—is less about being careful and more about showing off, building up to the climax of their performance, and making it last.
And, oh, what a build-up it is.
Chuuya’s panting loudly against his cheek, arms curled around his neck, and fingers rotating between clawing at him like an animal when he wants it faster, and clutching him when it’s just right, all while rolling his ass back to meet the rhythm of Dazai’s fingers, three of them now, over and over. The air is hot between them. The friction of Chuuya’s weight against his neglected cock makes Dazai hiss every time Chuuya grinds against him. His own need grows with each second, digging deep into his flesh until he has to grit his teeth and his fingers into Chuuya’s sharp hipbone to breathe through his restrained arousal. When Chuuya at last pauses and forces his fingers to come to a stop by pushing him back in the love chair, Dazai lets himself relax shamelessly.
What spares him from an irritated glare is Chuuya’s need to gloat. Turning, he shoots Hideo a glance over his shoulder, the smoldering smirk on his lips visible even from this angle.
“So what do you say, Hideo-san? Enjoying the show?”
Hideo’s spellbound expression wavers and twists in the darkness of the room, but he does not say anything because they all know what the answer would be if he did. Of course he is enjoying the show.
“Hm, is that a no?” Chuuya wonders out loud, rocking a little against Dazai’s crotch, ever so generous with his attention. “Or are you just shy?” His head turns back to Dazai, tilting. “What do you think, boss?”
“I think he swallowed his tongue,” Dazai plays along and drags Chuuya closer to press his lips to his jaw, his cheeks, and his chin with a hand on his lower back. “Maybe he’ll get it back if we show him a little more.”
Chuuya melts against him like water, rewarding his dutiful and civil behavior by finishing what he started half an hour ago already: unclasping the belt around Dazai’s hips and freeing his aching cock from the confined space of his slacks. “I like this idea,” Chuuya practically purrs into his mouth before he lowers his eyes to what’s happening below them, his fingers making a fist around Dazai’s length and stroking him slowly, thumb digging into the slit and smearing the fat drops of precum that have gathered there over his tip whenever he reaches the top.
After the long climb, Dazai doesn’t mind that his hand is dry. He enjoys the sting it creates even, always a fan of mixing pleasure with pain as both of these things are remarkably similar. And the way Chuuya greedily drinks in the sight of his cock, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, makes up for the agonizing lack of speed.
“I think Hideo-san will come to like it too,” Chuuya murmurs after another moment. He squeezes Dazai’s dick gently, then lets go of him in favor of pulling off his red silk shirt.
Now if Dazai was the perfect partner he would help out. As it is, he wraps his own hand around his cock, and stroking himself, he lies back to watch Chuuya strip, even the simple act of undressing a performance in graceful sensuality. He doesn’t miss the annoyed glint in Chuuya’s eyes, fleeting but there. If they were alone, Dazai would probably get an earful about how selfish he can be sometimes, but the one thing that has let them crush entire empires of wealth and blood together is that in front of others, they are a team. Always.
Chuuya lets out a satisfied sigh when he’s naked, save for the collar around his neck and the leather harness around his thighs, though he only gives Dazai a handful of seconds to appreciate the sight before he shifts on the chair, turning his back to him, so he can straddle Dazai the other way around.
“Oh, yeah, he definitely likes it,” Chuuya says as he raises himself up on his thighs and grabs Dazai’s cock with one hand to guide it to his entrance. The other one curls around Dazai’s jaw, a little possessive, but also tender and yearning like he wants to make sure Dazai is still there.
Dazai is.
He promised to always be, come hell or high water.
Which is why he leans to Chuuya’s ear, making his voice low but not low enough for Hideo not to hear, when he says, “Show me how much exactly he’s enjoying himself, love.”
Chuuya’s breath shudders. Whether it’s because he is in the spotlight or because the head of Dazai’s cock pushes inside and he begins the slow and maddening slide down, Dazai does not know. Probably both. What he does know is that his own groan, coming from the depth of his chest, is due to the tight heat that grips his cock.
So fucking tight that it feels like Chuuya’s walls are trying to squeeze the soul out of his dick. And if that were possible, to die buried inside his lover, Dazai would not hesitate a second to go into the light.
The keening whimper that flutters out of Chuuya’s mouth once he’s fully settled on his cock, hips twitching and squirming a little, mirrors the feeling in Dazai’s core. That sensation of a need so primal and devastating that it aches. And just like with pleasure, he does not know how to handle such pain, overwhelmed by something so intense after a lifetime of tasting grey. The only thing he knows to do is to bury his face in the hollow spot between Chuuya’s neck and shoulder and twist an arm around him to tease his cock with strokes that are too slow.
Chuuya moans, shivers, and finally moves. Pressing himself back against Dazai, lips parted around a never-ending gasp, he pushes himself up on one foot and sinks back down. “Fuck,” he mutters, breath ragged against Dazai’s face. “Feels… so good.”
“Yeah?” Dazai decides to be nice this time and slides his hand down to curve around the back of his thighs and help out with his pace. “You love letting people watch you ride me, huh?” he murmurs in his ear, grunting when Chuuya’s walls squeeze around him on the dropdown. “Letting everyone see just how big of a slut you are in bed, bouncing on my cock like your life depends on it.”
Chuuya whines in reply, pace growing quicker and a note more frenzied.
“Come on. Say it,” Dazai prompts, fingers seizing hold of Chuuya’s jaw. “Say how much you like whoring around in front of other people.”
“I like it,” Chuuya hisses. “Like when people… ah, watch me…”
Dazai lets his small laugh wash over his cheek before he nuzzles his neck and lowers his hand to his dick, throbbing against his abs. “I know.” He doesn’t want this to end just yet, wants to revel in the bliss of Chuuya’s tight walls for a few more minutes, so he just thumbs at the tip of his cock, enough to elicit little whimpers and noises but not to push him too far. “I can feel you get tight around me when you think about it.”
As if responding, Chuuya’s hole flutters around him. Dazai’s smirk grows wider, and he lets his partner feel just how sharp it is. “Yeah, just like that.” Then he nudges him with his nose. “Come on, look at him. Look at the trash that gets to watch you fuck yourself silly.”
Chuuya resists at first because he would not be Chuuya if he didn’t, but it only takes Dazai to wrap his fingers around his poor cock, form a fist, and give him exactly one slow stroke to demonstrate what the reward for his compliance will feel like—a warm, tight cage to fuck into—and Chuuya’s already dipping his chin forward, making himself look.
The reaction is instant.
Chuuya’s walls tighten. So does Dazai’s grip around him because fuck, it’s so incredibly tight. His rhythm stutters too the longer he looks—not because Chuuya’s suddenly grown bashful but because facing his audience has made him that much more aroused.
Dazai would be lying if he pretended to witness some worthless businessman have such an effect on Chuuya, his and only his Chuuya, didn’t make him taste the bittersweet tang of jealousy. But much louder than that twitch of envy is the pulsing heat, bouncing on his cock, spreading in his stomach, and pumping through the blood because, in the end, Chuuya is riding him. Not Hideo. Not anyone else. Him. Dazai.
And if Chuuya wants to let someone else watch him do it—even if he wants to let the whole damn world witness this, then Dazai is all too happy to get him everything that he asks for as long as he keeps making these sounds.
“I’m so close,” his partner whispers in a feverish frenzy, fingers scrambling to touch anything that belongs to Dazai. “I feel so… ah, good, Osamu… feel so damn good.”
“I know, baby. I know,” Dazai murmurs back. “Do you want me to get you there? Want me to make you come all over yourself?”
Chuuya nods, his face flushed and sweaty with feverish frenzy. “Please.”
It takes the self-discipline of a saint to make Chuuya slow down on top of him with a firm grip around his hipbones, so he can push his thigh down on the chair and slowly spread his own legs, forcing Chuuya to sink and stretch that much deeper around him. Chuuya’s moan is a keening, hysterical thing. His spine arches forward and back at the same time, squirming on his lap like he doesn’t know how to handle an angle this deep. They both know that he can though.
“Well?” Dazai prompts, a little provocatively and traces his fingertips over his feverish skin, stopping at his chest to roll one pierced nipple between his digits. “That what you wanted?”
Chuuya has apparently lost all sense of communication, just panting, whimpering, and trying to find some sort of purchase behind him. The need to come though—that he hasn’t lost. As soon as his hands manage to curl around Dazai’s waist behind him, feet planted on the floor, he raises himself and promptly falls down again with a shuddering breath.
The bounces are shallow and quick but deep, grinding against his prostate each time. Feeling Chuuya tighten up, Dazai seeks out every hypersensitive place on his body to help out, make him twitch harder, groan louder, and fuck faster until the room is filled with the primitive sound of squelching skin slapping together and their rough, labored breathing, synchronized, even in this.
Chuuya is so worked up at this point that even the mere whisper of a hand near his cock makes him jerk and whine, wild and desperate, his mind too far gone to realize what he is asking for, but his body determined to get it. It would be cruel to deny him any longer.
So Dazai wraps one arm around his torso until they’re pressed together, back to chest and thighs to thighs, leaning down to his ear. “Come on, baby, you’re almost there, aren’t you?” He thumbs at the tip of his cock, smearing the precum leaking from the slit down his pulsating length. “You’re there. Let go. Just let go.”
A desperate, keening noise breaks out of Chuuya, and he shakes his head, wordlessly trying to demand more because he thinks he can’t come untouched.
“Come on,” Dazai says, pressing his lips to his neck, his jaw, his cheek, then sucking his earlobe into his mouth. “Of course a little slut like you can come untouched.”
There is one last broken whimper, then Chuuya locks around him, hands slipping down to grip Dazai’s wrist and dig his nails into it as he tumbles over the edge. The moment his orgasm overcomes him, his body breaks out in wild, twitching tremors, squirming on top of his cock. And that’s when Dazai strikes.
He makes a tight fist around Chuuya’s length and jerks him through his climax in quick, dirty strokes to make it last. It makes Chuuya go wild, thrashing like a man possessed, head tossed back and his parted lips making the most obscene sounds known to humanity. His hole gets so tight that it makes Dazai’s head spin, makes him bite down on Chuuya’s shoulder to hold out for at least a few more minutes, the insane pleasure pumping through his system like a drug that’s too good to let go of just yet.
They both groan when Chuuya’s cock twitches with a final string of milky white cum coating Dazai’s fist; though Chuuya’s quickly shifts into a pained whimper because Dazai doesn’t stop pumping him, determined to milk him completely dry and boneless before he lets go. But overstimulated torture has always been something Chuuya enjoys, no matter how much of a whiny, loud brat he turns into whenever he’s forced to endure it, so he continues to fuck himself down on Dazai’s cock even as his poor thighs clamp down and spread again in quick succession, so mindless that he doesn’t even know what he is doing anymore.
Finally satisfied, Dazai releases his softening cock and smears his palm all over his abs, making a mess of him. He is approaching his own climax at a dangerous speed, the rush of it all making him dizzy and light-headed until he feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest. Luckily Chuuya, wonderful, perfect Chuuya, is always there to drag him back to earth from the clouds. He places his hands on top of Dazai’s and squeezes, urging him on with little grinds of his ass that make Dazai rush to the peak that much faster.
In the end, he ends up curving both of his arms around Chuuya in a tight grip and then snapping his own hips upwards in quick succession. Up, up, up. Until the coil inside him quivers and tenses and finally breaks, and he is no longer chasing his orgasm but being swept up in it.
Chuuya leaves marks on his arms as Dazai’s cock throbs inside him, releasing wave after wave of his release that gets pushed deeper with every weak thrust. But Chuuya never stops clenching around him to help Dazai ride it out, never tries to break free, and never leaves him to fend for himself, no matter how much hypersensitive agony he is in.
When the last wave of pleasure recedes and leaves him exhausted but sated, he finally relaxes and lets himself rest against the seat. Chuuya squirms, still twitching, but his breathing is slowly evening out as well, head lolling bonelessly against Dazai’s shoulder.
And suddenly, a pathetic noise comes from the bed.
Chuuya grunts under his breath, blindly reaches into the pocket of Dazai’s jacket, and pulls out a gun that he aims at Hideo, who is too desperate with arousal to even notice what is happening before it’s already too late.
A second later, the man lifelessly slumps back on the bed.
Chuuya’s next sigh is much more content as he tosses the pistol to the floor and draws his legs up to shift and snuggle up against Dazai, fingers petting his chest.
“That was mean,” Dazai murmurs with a fond smile that he presses to his partner’s hair. “Making him die with blue balls.”
“Blue balls are a myth,” Chuuya lazily mumbles back. “You of all people should know that, shitty Dazai.”
He is right of course. If blue balls were a thing, then both of them would have died a long time ago what with how much they enjoy dabbling in edge play. So Dazai relents with a hum, letting his eyes flutter closed for now before they will be forced to return to their responsibilities.
“Besides,” Chuuya adds after a few peaceful minutes of sweet silence, “he was going to betray us.”
And what crueler punishment is there than this?