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Sometimes Chuuya wonders why he even bothers trying to sleep…
Between living with Dazai - which is, in and of itself, a challenge bordering on the impossible – having random members of the Armed Detective Agency turning up on his doorstep at all hours of the day and night – usually looking for the bandaged bastard – mostly without prior warning and working for the Port Mafia which often requires him to be on missions at odd hours; sleep has become something of a half-remembered dream, memories on which he looks back with a fond sort-of wistfulness.
Take today, for example...Chuuya had practically collapsed from exhaustion after returning from a mission which, whilst not overly strenuous on his part, still involved being on high alert for a number of hours and dealing with the incompetence of others, which is enough to make his head ache at the best of times. Still, he had fallen into bed at around three, pausing just long enough to hang up his coat, and place his hat carefully on the dresser before shucking off the other many layers, completely uncaring of where they had deposited themselves in a crumpled heap upon the floor. Crawling into bed with a sigh he’d been greeted by a wide-awake Dazai watching him with dark eyes and a smirk on his stupid shitty face.
Chuuya isn’t sure how he’d upheld his end of the conversation whilst being half-comatose, but he must have retained some semblance of coherency through Dazai’s probably mostly one-sided discussion and eventually the bastard had let him curl up into an exhausted ball and drift off to sleep, wrapped embarrassingly tightly in both the duvet and Dazai’s arms.
He’s pretty sure it was sometime between eight and nine when the loud knocking started. He’s also pretty sure he blinked bleary eyes open to glare accusingly in the general direction of the door and spent a few minutes trying to ignore it (as, apparently was his ‘sleeping’ partner) before swearing loudly in three languages, dragging himself out of the warm cocoon of bed sheets and deemed pulling on his pants more than enough of a courtesy to show someone knocking on his door at eight-o-fucking-clock in the morning when he’s had less than 5 hours sleep.
It had been Kunikida-san (of course it had been Kunikida-san – a man with a fetish for deadlines like no person he had ever had the misfortune to meet before) with a rather apologetic looking Atsushi-kun hanging some way back down the corridor; obviously used to Chuuya’s particular brand of ‘welcome’ when having his precious sleep disturbed. It had taken a couple of deep breaths and counting to ten in four more languages before he had been able open his mouth without either swearing, or asking if Kunikida-san was as suicidal as the asshole in his bed.
Apparently all the blonde haired ex-teacher had wanted was a report that Dazai was supposed to hand in three days ago (and Chuuya had snorted inelegantly at this, because really, hadn’t Dazai’s partner realised yet that the bastard simply does not do reports, and that it’s far better to simply do them yourself rather than to rely on that bastard to ever complete such ‘boring and useless tasks’ on time) and that Kunikida-san had suspiciously not seen Dazai since said reports had been due. By some stroke of miracle (or magic, Chuuya would bet on magic rather than assume Dazai had actually done some work) the reports had been sat on the table in the living room with a big (and obnoxiously pink) label stuck to the front, with the words ‘To mom, love from Dazai’ scrawled messily across its surface. Chuuya had proceeded to hand them over, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from chuckling as Kunikida-san’s eye twitched behind the lenses of his glasses and Chuuya had heard him muttering something about useless waste-of-space partners under his breath and to be fair to the blonde detective, Chuuya couldn’t agree more.
The unwanted guests had departed after that, with Atsushi-kun trotting over to bow and mutter a quiet apology when his taller blonde superior had moved out of earshot...and Chuuya somehow always finds it difficult to be angry with the man-tiger because the kid is so naive and innocent it’s somewhat like scolding a puppy, which is altogether wrong considering his ability. Chuuya had merely grunted and closed the door in the kid’s face.
Wide awake yet still thoroughly exhausted is not a good feeling. It has irritation thrumming in his veins and a dull ache making itself known somewhere in the recesses of his overworked brain. It also had him stomping back to the bedroom to shove and kick Dazai until the bastard had woken up long enough for Chuuya to inform him that he could damn well put some clothes on and fuck off to the store because he is definitely making Chuuya pancakes for breakfast. Oh and whilst he’s at it fetch some coffee. Decent coffee, none of that cheap shit thank you very much.
Now he’s just about finished drowning himself in the shower, the warm spray had been a blessing and he’s feeling just a little more human dressed loosely in fresh pants and untucked shirt as he towels the worst of the water from his hair. Still, his phone ringing from somewhere inside his discarded coat pocket fills him with a sense of foreboding; the familiar ringtone is loud and almost obnoxious - because when he’d had something French, classical and classy on there the bastard had taken to changing it to renditions of ‘I Like Big Butts’ until Chuuya had threatened him under knife point and they’d struck a bargain; how the fuck Dazai always manages to guess every single pin code still remains a mystery to him.
He abandons the towel in favour of pulling the phone from the hidden depths of his coat, casting his eyes towards the screen with trepidation and heaving a sigh of relief when it’s Kouyou-nee’s called ID blinking up at him. A voice of reason amongst the madness is almost welcome, even if he’s entirely unsure whether he can partake in intelligent conversation.
“Good morning Kouyou-nee.” He tries to sound upbeat, enthusiastic, awake, really he does. But Kouyou-nee has always had the uncanny ability to see through his charades.
“You sound tired, Chuuya-kun, are you alright?” Straight to the heart of the problem, with an accuracy that makes Chuuya physically flinch and he’s extremely thankful that Kouyou-nee can’t actually see the state of fatigue which now feels like it’s slapped a heavy hand on his head and is pushing him slowly to the floor under its suffocating weight.
“I’m fine Kouyou-nee, just –“ ...just sleep-deprived and under constant threat of nervous breakdown, nothing to worry about. Chuuya doesn’t say it, but his silence probably speaks volumes to the woman who practically raised him.
“Is that boy keeping you awake, lad?” The all-too-knowing tone in the voice of the person he considers his mentor, big sister, sort-of-mother-figure has his face turning red in a matter of milliseconds, the blush spreading from his cheeks and radiating outwards. He’s glad – for the second time in less than a minute – that Kouyou-nee isn’t actually standing in front of him, and even more so that Dazai isn’t here to smirk at him and wiggle his eyebrows in that stupid, irritating, suggestive manner.
“Wh-what? Th-that’s not...” He manages to stutter out before Kouyou-nee’s soft laughter rings down the line.
“Chuuya-kun what you do in your down time is no business of mine, if that boy makes you happy then I will reserve my disapproval, despite his numerous faults and betrayals.” She pauses for a moment, before her tone becomes slightly more like steel, infinitely more like the harsh Port Mafia Executive she is (and despite her beauty, her grace and her impeccable etiquette, Kouyou-nee is just a much a cold-blooded killer as he is, maybe even more so), “However, if he breaks your heart again, I will personally make sure he suffers for all eternity. Please do be a good lad and tell him that for me.”
At that precise moment, Dazai waltzes through the door with a wide grin and flourishes a paper bag in Chuuya’s general direction. “I’m hooome~” The sing-song tone grates through his skull like a thousand tiny knives scraping across the surface of his brain. “Ahh, Chuuya, aren’t you going to welcome me back, after I walked all the way to the store just to satisfy your unreasonable demands?”
Instead Chuuya bares his teeth and snaps, “Kouyou-nee says if I get tired of you she’ll make your life a living hell, bastard, so make the fucking coffee and shut up before I deny her the pleasure and murder you first.”
“Ahh Chuuya, I think that is the most romantic offer I have ever received.” Dazai clasps his hands together and practically simpers at him before winking. It’s a sign of impending harassment that he’s not quick enough to stop. “Hello oneesan~” Dazai calls out loudly, shortly followed by, “You need to tell our Petit Mafia to get more sleep. He’s beginning to take on the facial aspects of a panda!” To top it all off the bastard laughs and ducks out of the way as Chuuya sends a knife sailing into the doorframe. “His aim is fine though~” He calls from the kitchen and Chuuya’s blush returns full force.
“As...enlightening as this conversation is becoming, I need a report on last night’s mission. Was it a success?” She listens as Chuuya outlines the details of his mission last night – to gain information on an arms dealer unaffiliated with the Port Mafia who had not only managed to smuggle in a large number of weapons right under their noses, but had thus far also completely evaded any and all attempts at capture – the information deal had gone sour, a team of assassins had been awaiting them rather than the broker they had intended to meet with, however the hired mercenaries had been ‘taken care of’ with relative ease and those left alive had been left to the torture and interrogation squad.
“Do you think we will gain any of the information we require from these captives?” Chuuya can hear the clicking of a well-manacled nail down the line giving away Kouyou-nee’s line of thought.
“I am not sure these hired idiots were even in direct contact with the supplier, it seems like we’re chasing a ghost...” He pauses for a moment, considering the options, “however, maybe they will have some kind of useful information for us to follow up on. A name, a location, an exchange point, anything is better than nothing.”
Kouyou-nee’s sigh of disappointment is worse than being scolded. Sure it’s not like it was his fault the information broker was a fucking stupid idiot who managed to get himself taken out by shitty assassins with less skills than even the most useless of Mafia slugs, still, it’s a failure and once again they are left with nothing but rumour, shadows and empty caches mysteriously cleared of goods bare hours before their teams arrive. “Perhaps you can persuade that boy of yours to talk to these captives...he always did leave quite an impression, even the torture and interrogation squad leaders refused to stay in the room when he got involved.”
Chuuya snorts in immediate dismissal, “I’m sure that’s not your most elegant solution, onee-san.”
“Most certainly not. Perhaps you should read him in to the situation...a fresh perspective is always helpful and Osamu-kun always did have a unique way of coming to conclusions, much as I thought his methods to be unacceptable.”
Chuuya can’t help but to roll his eyes, even now his ex-partner is more valued for his strategic masterminding that Chuuya will ever be. “I’m sure he would be delighted to help out the very organisation he betrayed...multiple times.” He turns to face the kitchen, from which Dazai is emerging with a cup of blessedly steaming black coffee and Chuuya raises an eyebrow, “Well, Osamu-kun, what do you think?”
Instead of making an immediate retort, as Chuuya had expected, even predicted, there is total and complete silence. Dazai is staring at him with wide eyes and an expression that looks like stunned shock, or like he’s seen a ghost hovering somewhere behind Chuuya’s head. It’s such an odd and entirely open expression on Dazai’s usually carefully constructed face that Chuuya struggles not to turn around to look for whatever demon has risen from hell’s fiery pit to come to life in their living room.
“Oi, bastard, are you going to answer the question?” Dazai blinks - pupils blown wide, the irises an almost-blood-red ring around pitch black - but makes no effort to speak, or even move save to lick at his lower lip. Even the air in his lungs appears to have halted as the bastard is clearly not breathing. It’s as if the asshole has made a parody of himself and frozen it in time.
“H-hey! You shitty fuck what the hell is wrong?!” Kouyou-nee is saying something in his ear but Chuuya’s brain fails to register the words as he and Dazai continue to stare at each other in some sort of strange stand-off and he really has no idea what’s going on; is starting to worry that maybe Dazai took something, or worse ate mushrooms again and is having a heart attack or some experience of psychosis, but surely the bastard isn’t that stupid.
In an instant Dazai seems to flicker from unresponsive shock to...something else...as he swallows dryly and gulps air like he’s forgotten how to retain oxygen. It’s almost surreal, the way he breaks eye contact to carefully place the mug of coffee onto the table before that old-blood stare is snapped back onto Chuuya and the bastard is closing the distance between them like some kind of dangerous stalking beast.
“Say it again.” The rough whisper sends a shiver down Chuuya’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as if sensing a threat. Dazai is still moving forwards, closer every passing second and Chuuya finds himself automatically taking a step back, pace-for-measured-pace.
“Wh-what?” Damn that fucking stutter to hell. Chuuya’s back hits the wall and there’s the sudden fearful realisation that he’s cornered with nowhere to run. The thought is illogical, this is Dazai, the stupid suicidal freak of nature he’s been living with for fucking months and who he’s known for fucking years, the asshole who has saved him from the all-consuming destruction of his own fucked up Ability multiple times. Still, his instincts are screaming at him that this is wrong and he should run.
He stands his ground, because running isn’t his style and whatever the fuck is going on here is nothing he can’t handle. “Oi, shitty Dazai, what’s going on?”
Instead of answering Dazai tugs the phone from Chuuya’s unresisting fingers, holding it up to his ear as a devilish smile creeps across his face. “Ahh, I am sorry to interrupt Kouyou onee-san, but your son and I have something to discuss.” With that he throws the phone over his shoulder, and Chuuya would have been furious but for the dark glint swimming in Dazai’s eyes. “Now, where were we~”
Dazai crowds him against the wall, and the tension almost crackles in the air between them, charged with an energy that’s almost frightening in its intensity.
“G-get off, bastard!” In a contest of strength Chuuya knows he can win hands down, but this, he’s not even sure what this is.
“Say. It. Again.” Dazai repeats, shifting closer still and yet keeping their bodies apart. The heat flickers between them like a flame, all it ever took was one spark to make them burn.
“Wh-what do you think?” Chuuya attempts to think of something he’d said that could rile up the usually unrufflable bastard in this manner. He’s drawing blanks across the board.
“Mmmm, no, that’s not it Chuu-yaa.” His name drips from Dazai’s lips like warm honey and sin.
Oh...OH…
“O-osamu?” It’s barely more than a stuttered whisper and shaping of sounds on Chuuya’s part, but the reaction is almost immediate as Dazai presses closer, hands falling to Chuuya’s hips as he pulls their bodies together.
Leaning down Dazai’s mouth is against Chuuya’s ear as he practically growls, “Again.”
It’s Chuuya’s turn to swallow as his mouth goes suddenly dry, eyes flickering shut involuntarily as Dazai’s breath huffs out against his neck. He tilts his head back against the wall, inhaling shakily as he tries to pull up his usual cocky confidence.
“Osamu...” It’s still nothing more than a low murmur, sounding wobbly and desperate to his own ears, but Dazai is burying his face into Chuuya’s neck and groaning in frustration, hips rocking forwards and suddenly they’re both pressing forwards, seeking more. He buries fingers in Dazai’s hair, yanking the bastards head back until they are staring at each other, no more than a few inches of space between them, and now Chuuya knows what this is about, understands the rules of this new game, a smirk tilts one corner of his mouth as he tests the name on his tongue once more.
“Osamu...” He likes the way it sounds, drawled low and rough, with a thick, almost palpable need that he knows will be answered.
The reaction this time is predicted; Dazai licks his way into Chuuya’s mouth with a sound of frustration and lust that sets a fire in Chuuya’s blood. Their kisses - their displays of affection in general - have always bordered on something like violence, but this is something entirely different, a feral clashing of tongues and teeth and lips in an open display of want that is written in every taut muscle, in every perfectly matched line, in every shift, in every unconscious movement between them.
It doesn’t take long for Dazai’s hands to shift from his hips to his ass, pulling Chuuya closer still and urging him wordlessly to move. Chuuya has no problem breaking the kiss to shift his position, leaning his weight on Dazai’s shoulders and hopping up to wrap his legs around Dazai’s bony hips, pressing their groins together as Dazai’s body pins him against the wall. In the next moment he has his fingers back in soft brown hair and Dazai is whispering against his lips.
“I think I will have to ban you from ever speaking my name again, Chuu-ya.” In this moment, the feeling is definitely mutual as Dazai’s low rough tone vibrates through his very core and sends a jolt of awareness to ripple down his spine.
“Oh?” He manages to sound more confident than he feels, trapped against the wall at the very centre of Dazai’s attention. The intensity in sharp red-brown eyes will be his undoing and he’s still really not sure what Dazai sees in him to warrant being looked at in such a way, but he’s not about to complain, will take whatever Dazai will give until the bastard has had enough and leaves him broken and alone once more.
Dazai brings him out of his short-lived moment of self-deprecation by nipping at corner of Chuuya’s jaw, the sharp sting of pain snapping him back to the present. “Mmm. It’s not at all conducive to my wishing to do anything worthwhile.”
There’s a flash of hurt somewhere deep in his soul, a flickering doubt in the pit of his stomach which he struggles to cover as it threatens to crack his careful mask of confidence. He yanks hard on the bastard’s hair until Dazai’s lips twist in a snarl. “Hmmm…you think that fucking me until I scream your name isn’t ‘worthwhile’?”
Dazai’s smirk is like darkness incarnate as his pupils blow wide, almost swallowing what’s left of his irises. “Touche mon petit Mafia. Is that a challenge?”
Chuuya mirrors his smile leaning forwards until their noses bump together and refusing to break eye contact. “Pourquoi? Ne pensez-vous pas que vous êtes prêt*, Osamu?”
*why, aren’t you ready?
Dazai’s response is to bite a trailing path down his throat, growling into the skin as Chuuya’s breath escapes his lungs and it suddenly feels like there isn’t enough air in the room to keep him alive and breathing. In the next second Dazai has pulled Chuuya away from the wall, their position precarious enough that Chuuya slams back into his senses to wrap his hands around Dazai’’s neck and squeeze his legs a little tighter in order to stay upright which in turn has both of them hissing at the friction.
Dazai moves them almost effortlessly in the direction of the bedroom, both of them failing to notice the discarded phone, lying carelessly where it had fallen, the call still connected…
Chuuya is somewhat preoccupied with kissing a messy line down what is visible of Dazai’s bandaged throat when the bastard practically throws them both onto the bed hard enough for Chuuya’s breath to escape from his lungs in a surprised whoosh of air, and in seconds Dazai is kneeling between his legs with their faces so close they are breathing each others air.
Dazai isn’t gentle, is barely considerate as he strips the clothing from Chuuya’s body, efficient and precise in the way he undoes the buttons and pushes the crisp white shirt off Chuuya’s shoulders, pausing for just a moment to run his hands down Chuuya’s sides in a way that makes him wriggle and let out a huffed whine of impatience. Then he’s moving to Chuuya’s pants, flicking the button open and the zipper down before yanking them off -along with his boxers - in one smooth movement leaving him rather unfairly exposed and trapped under an avid, devouring gaze.
Dazai leans back, eyes travelling across every inch of Chuuya’s skin, which feels like it’s burning up as a far-too-familiar flush settles across his face and begins to spread across his chest – even now it’s hard to feel comfortable under the intense scrutiny.
Dazai removes his own clothing far slower, it’s almost torturous as he picks the buttons open one-by-one, all methodical poise and long-fingered grace. Chuuya knows this is for his benefit; still he can’t bring himself to look away despite Dazai’s knowing half-smile.
“See something you like, Chuuya?” The lanky bastard almost purrs at him, eyelashes lowered as trousers and boxers finally lie discarded on the floor.
Chuuya looks him up and down, with what he hopes is an air of disinterest, even as he takes in every detail, every shift of wiry muscle beneath skin, every revealed silvery scar. With a sharp grin he shakes his head, “Not at all.”
“Liar.” Comes the low returning whisky-smooth murmur as Dazai leans across him to pull open the drawer on the nightstand and retrieve a familiar bottle, pausing on his way back to lower his mouth to Chuuya’s chest and bite down hard on his nipple. Chuuya can’t help the indignant yelp that escapes him as his hips buck, nearly (but not quite) succeeding in throwing the bastard off the bed (not that it would be any less than what he deserves).
Dazai isn’t gentle as he prods at Chuuya’s side, wordlessly commanding him to lift his hips and Chuuya huffs in annoyance but shifts his hips so Dazai can situate a pillow under his lower back regardless, because in the end it’s one step closer to what he needs out of this.
The snap of the cap is loud in his ears, and Chuuya can only watch with a sort of trembling trepidation as the clear gel-like liquid drips from the lid, falling through the air to hit his body with an electric shock of cold. Dazai only smiles as the lube continues to drizzle from the bottle, running a snaking line down Chuuya’s sensitive cock and he bites his lip hard enough to feel the coppery tang of blood and hisses at the overriding sensation of ice on heat.
“Fuck!” At least warm it up first, bastard. Is what he means to say, but those long fingers smearing cold lube down his erection is enough for his mind to short circuit and all he manages is a choked off moan as his head hits the pillow, eyes squeezed shut.
The touch is barely there and gone almost as quickly as it started. Instead those elegant digits are tracing circles around his entrance, teasing the flesh with feather-light touches.
There is no slow beginning for them, no gentle pressure, no consideration for pain (not that Chuuya can’t take a bit of pain here and there, not that he doesn’t enjoy it sometimes). Dazai goes straight for two fingers, pushing his way into Chuuya’s body and he can only shake and shudder and bare his teeth as he tries to force himself to relax around the abrupt intrusion. He gulps on air, breath halting somewhere in his throat as his muscles go taut, fingers digging into the sheet to claw handfuls, trying to ground himself to something.
“Shit...ah...fuck.” His entire focus is centred entirely on the fingers burying themselves in his ass, sending both a charged heat and a dull ache through his confused body.
“Always so eloquent, Chuuya~” Dazai’s fingers shift, dragging against his inner walls as the set a rhythm which Chuuya’s oxygen deprived brain struggles to keep up with. “Relax...” Dazai mutters, and all at once Chuuya releases a panting breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “There, much better.” Dazai’s free hand is stroking slowly against his hip and he adjusts his fingers to match the slower pace.
It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Ahhn...d-don’t...don’t you have...w-work to do or...something?” He manages to grate out between pants, his entire body winding like a coil around the pressure of Dazai’s fingers now scissoring inside him, stretching his body out like pliant dough.
“Hmm? Probably.” Dazai’s smile is sharp, his eyes fixed on Chuuya’s face with an intensity enough to make him blush harder and it shouldn’t be possible, it’s a miracle he hasn’t passed out already. “But I found something far more worthwhile.” A twist of those expert fingers has Chuuya crying out, hips bucking involuntarily. The reaction he gives only makes Dazai press harder, push further until Chuuya is a moaning mess with not a coherent thought left in his head.
Except…
“I s-swear to God...if that f-fucking...partner of yours...starts b-banging on the door again...I’ll m-murder you both...and b-burn the evid-dence.” Dazai’s fingers pause in their quest, leaving Chuuya struggling to regain his grip on reality and his senses as the blood-red of Dazai’s eyes flicker with amusement.
“Mentioning another man’s name whilst I’m playing with you is a no-no, Chuu-ya~” The fingers are removed completely, with a suddenness that leaves Chuuya feeling empty and mildly bereft.
“Fuck...what? You-” The words have escaped him, and all that’s left are his eyes, watching Dazai drip lube to pool slowly between his fingers before he slicks his erection, watching Chuuya the entire time with an fervour that burns.
“Chuu-ya~” The breathless whisper has Chuuya swallowing automatically as his tongue flickers across his lips in anticipation. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you wont remember anyone else’s name but mine.”
“D-Dazai--” Chuuya’s toes curl in the sheets as the brunette positions himself between Chuuya’s spread legs.
“Mmmm...nope. Wrong, Chuuya. Try again.” The darkness in Dazai’s eyes is mildly terrifying coupled with an excitement that sets Chuuya’s blood aflame until he is nothing but fire and ash burning up under the cold sun.
“Fuck me...Osamu...please.” Voice devolved to a breathless whine, Chuuya can do nothing but throw his head back and bite his lip as Dazai pushes into him in one swift movement, burying himself to the hilt in Chuuya’s willing body.
“Bien mieux, ma petite Mafia*.” Dazai’s accent in Chuuya’s native tongue has never been that good, and his word placement is often wrong and mispronounced, but fuck if it doesn’t sound sinful here and now, whispered into his ear as Dazai leans forward, pausing in his movements for Chuuya to adjust. “You look so beautiful spread out beneath me.”
*Much better, my little Mafia
Chuuya twists his head to bite at Dazai’s lips before licking into his mouth and spelling out his desire with slow strokes of his tongue. This time it’s less a war and more a preclusion of what is to come.
“So, are you going to make good on that promise?” He manages to pant out, tilting his hips as much as their position will allow and feeling Dazai slip a little deeper. “Or do I have to show you how it’s done?”
Dazai pulls out, a slow languid movement that seems to last an eternity until just the tip of his erection remains, stretching Chuuya’s entrance in a pleasant if not slightly infuriating way. “Much as I love it when you take control, this time you’re mine.” The words aren’t just for show, Chuuya can see that hint of possessive jealousy that sometimes rears its head between them, the darkness and the shadows set free from their cage in the recesses of Dazai’s broken soul to roar and rage and stampede until they are satiated...and Chuuya has no problem in satisfying them now.
Dazai’s movements are rough, with no pattern or rhythm that Chuuya can discern, keeping him always on the edge of surprise as Dazai moves between short sharp thrusts to deeper unhurried strokes to pauses and frantic rutting and he can do nothing but lie there and take it; fingers clawing in the sheets or clawing at Dazai’s back so hard he pulls the bandages wrapping Dazai’s torso loose and claws bloody tracks across old scars. The pain only forces Dazai to retaliate, biting hard on Chuuya’s collarbone and pushing deeper into Chuuya’s body and he knows it will leave a mark, inside and out, that he will never be free of Dazai’s ownership of him.
“Chuuya...” Whispered in his ear.
“Chuu-ya...” Breathed against his neck.
“Chuu-yaa...” Bitten across his jawline.
“Mine...” Kissed against his lips.
He pushes back, as far as his thankfully lithe body with let him,back arching from the bed so he can bury his face into the crook of Dazai’s neck, feeling the familiar scratch of bandages against his skin.
“Fuck me...like you mean it...damn it” His words caress cotton doused in antiseptic, the scent familiar and grounding.
“I always mean it when I tell you that you’re mine.” Is Dazai’s snarled reply, his movements as sharp as his words and his cock brushing against Chuuya’s prostate on every stroke until he’s seeing spots and it still isn’t enough.
“Prove...it.” Two words whispered into the air between them and a change ripples across the room like a wildfire; Dazai rears backwards, pausing just long enough to pull Chuuya’s legs until they rest on his shoulders and it’s a good thing Chuuya is flexible or that would fucking ache. The new position allows the bastard to push in just that little bit further and Chuuya can’t contain the string of broken profanities leaking through bitten lips; Japanese, French, English, Russian, maybe German, he’s lost count of how many languages he can swear in these days but the bastard deserves them all.
“Now now, Chuuya. There’s no need for such course behaviour. Use your words~” The bastard promptly takes away Chuuya’s ability to speak at all when long fingers wrap around his neglected erection, and his eyes fly open to meet blood-red dipped in a lust so deep it’s hard to tell where his need ends and Dazai’s begins. The fingers move in time with Dazai’s cock stroking inside him and it’s too much, too sudden, and he’s moving towards the cliff’s edge faster than he can let himself fall and their eyes are still locked, blood-red-on-blue like circling predators waiting for the other to surrender first.
“Haa...I can’t...” He’s not even sure what it is that he ‘can’t’ but the pressure building at the base of his spine is about to fling him off the edge of a precipice to plummet to oblivion.
“Say that you’re mine...Chuu-yaa~” Dazai’s grip on him is unrelenting, not just the fingers around his cock and the dick in his ass, but the brand on his soul, alight with a black fire slowly consuming his body and mind – a taint worse than Corruption can ever hope to be.
“Y-yours...” He whispers, almost broken, because the shitty bastard that Dazai is always gets what he fucking wants.
“Mmm. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me~~” It shouldn’t make his adrenaline and his lust spike, it shouldn’t be fucking sinful and hot when Dazai says these things. It should be disturbing, it should ring warning bells in his head but all it does is leaves him feeling safe and he’s all kinds of fucked in the head and in far too deep, but he can’t stop this trainwreck from reaching whatever destination Dazai deems fit. He never could.
“Now...Dites mon nom, petite Chuuya. Dites-moi qui vous appartenez*.” It’s the end of him. Chuuya falls willingly: his life, his love, his heart in Dazai’s hands.
*Say my name, little Chuuya. Tell me who you belong to
“Dazai Osamu...J'appartiens à Dazai Osamu*.” He screams as his vision goes white and his cock jerks in Dazai’s firm grip, pumping out his ecstasy on Dazai’s hand and across his own stomach, feeling Dazai follow him in his ascent to the gates of oblivion.
*I belong to Dazai Osamu
~ ~ ~
As Dazai waltzes back into the room with a fresh cup of coffee, Chuuya’s heart drops almost to the floor upon seeing the bastard cradling Chuuya’s own phone to his his ear, chatting amiably with a spark in his eyes that reeks of trouble. As Dazai deposits the steaming mug of what looks like heaven onto the nightstand the red-brown eyes rise to meet Chuuya’s own blue reflections and the bastard actually winks.
“Ahhh, here you go, Kouyou onee-san. It really was a pleasure to talk to you again.” With that the bastard thrusts the phone in Chuuya’s direction and he yelps and almost drops it to the floor in his haste to catch the small device.
How much had she heard? What was he supposed to say? How could he even look at her after this?
“Kouyou-nee, I’m very sor-” He begins, meaning to apologise before he is almost immediately cut off.
“Chuuya-kun, judging from what I heard the both of you had fun. Although it’s bad manners to keep a lady waiting, I thought I had taught you better.” Kouyou-nee’s voice is like smooth elegant silk and Chuuya can glean nothing of her thoughts (or what she had managed to hear) from the light cadence which is her dignified way of speaking.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t...I...” Chuuya is feeling less and less like the terrifying Port Mafia Executive and more like a set upon younger brother every second.
“I think both you and Osamu-kun owe me your thanks, in some way or another.” Now Chuuya can almost imagine the sharp smile cutting through beautifully sculptured features, a look of pure Mafia-bred ingenue coupled with a ruthless intelligence that got Kouyou-nee the position she has now. Beautiful and refined she may be, but Kouyou Ozaki is a vixen with claws and teeth as drenched with blood as any other Mafia Executive.
Resignation rings through his entire being, no doubt Dazai will not give a shit about what Kouyou-nee may or may not have heard, but Chuuya has the uncomfortable feeling that his bastard ex-but-not-ex partner will be dragged into whatever scheme Kouyou-nee is hatching regardless. “What did you have in mind?”