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It’s near the end of class when Chuuya’s phone beeps with the sound of an incoming text. That’s not strange in and of itself— it’s getting near the end of the semester, so everyone he knows of is making plans for partying and vacations to celebrate, some of which he’s been invited to— except for one integral part:
He’s turned his phone to ‘do not disturb’ for all messages except messages from one specific number.
Dazai doesn’t usually text him during class. He respects that Chuuya needs to focus on his studies to keep his standing at the top of his year, so he usually keeps all communication for after he’s packing up and on his way home for the day. The few times he has texted him has usually been a warning that he can’t walk him home today, or that he’s busy with work and won’t be home until later that night.
Today’s text is neither of those things. No, instead it is one, ominous little message:
[ SIR ]: Run, little omega.
Immediately, his heart is jumping in his chest, energy rushing through him so quickly he has to forcefully restrain himself from jumping out of his seat. Excitement— mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety— pulses down his spine, survival instincts thrilling through every one of his nerve endings.
With that one message, the game has begun. The hunt is on, and Chuuya is the prey, the sweet morsel at the end of the chase that Dazai is going to sink his teeth into.
This isn’t coming as a shock to him. He’s known Dazai’s rut was coming for a little over a week, could smell the burgeoning pheromones in his scent, could sense the feral instincts beginning to rise every time they fucked over the last few days. His shoulders are sore with bites, his thighs feel overstretched from all the times Dazai bent him into any shape he preferred, his body aching with how ferociously Dazai has been staking his claim on him.
He offered to take a few days off of class, so they could spend the time intertwined in bed together. With his own heats, he can barely stand separation for more than a few hours. He constantly wants to be near Dazai, wants to be touching him and touched by him, wants attention in every shape and form he can get it in.
Ruts aren’t exactly the same as heats— and Dazai’s rut, in particular, takes on a form that Chuuya never heard of before:
He likes to hunt . Likes to run him down, like a predator with prey, reveling in the thrill of the chase. Likes the heart-pounding energy of pouncing on him and claiming him, the visceral satisfaction of watching Chuuya struggle against him just to catch him in the end.
It’s primal. Animalistic, feral in the most base of ways. All of his civility stripped away, all of those carefully chosen words and his normal self-control dissolving in the face of the raw animal that lives beneath. A beast that revels in fear and adrenaline and lust , that lives to prove himself better than his competition, and capable of outmaneuvering his target. A beast that likes to win, and loves to take his prize.
The first time Dazai bared his teeth at him and snarled at him to ‘ run’, Chuuya was almost terrified. It was the first time he’s been with an Alpha in rut, the first time he was with Dazai in rut, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. He wasn’t sure if it was a game, or if it was a warning that he should really be afraid.
That time, he didn’t make it far. He barely had enough time to high-tail it out of the bedroom, through the hallway and halfway through the living room before Dazai caught up to him.
He’d been knotted right then and there, pressed up against the wall, sharp teeth in his shoulder to keep him still, Dazai’s hips driving into him with a savage intensity, fucking him so quickly and intensely all he could do was was claw at the wall and take it as he came on his knot alone.
It was—
Absurdly good, almost. Sex with Dazai is never bad, but the fear and adrenaline just heightened it all. Turned it from sex between two civilized people to a claiming between animals, predator and prey, pleasure and fear and energy, thought ripped away and replaced with sheer sensation.
He couldn’t exactly put it into words why it was so different, and why it felt so good to be stripped down to animal instincts. It just was , and it quickly became one of his favorite aspects of Dazai’s rut. When he realized that his rut was coming around again, he was excited to experience it again.
And here it is again, the hunt starting anew. Except this time, the stakes are higher, because the game isn’t just in Dazai’s ridiculously large high-rise penthouse. Now the whole city is in play, and they’re in public .
Suddenly the last ten minutes of the class feels like it’s dragging on. Every noise that comes from outside feels like a threat, like Dazai might be just around the corner stalking him. He knows exactly where Chuuya is, at this moment, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility that he might be waiting for him outside.
Chuuya has no doubt that Dazai can and would knot him in front of every one of his classmates, to stake his claim so publicly that no one could ever question it. He’s possessive in a very loud and obvious way, wanting everyone to know that he owns Chuuya in every possible way.
A part of that is appealing, in a very primal way, but he doesn’t want to be fucked here . Logically, he knows that’s a terrible idea that will end up with very bad consequences for him, even if it would feel fantastic in the moment.
It’s that thought that has him gathering up his belongings five minutes before the class has even ended, hiking his backpack high on his shoulders and thrumming with energy as he waits eagerly for the professor to release them. There’s a few dirty looks shot his way, and the person nearest to him silently rolls his eyes—
But Chuuya doesn’t care about them right now. He doesn’t even care that he’s being rude and missing a few critical pieces of information. The only thing that matters to him right now is what is about to happen.
It’s a good thing Chuuya is wearing scent blockers today. Not Dazai’s military grade ones, the ones that completely erase all scent, but strong enough ones that muddle the scent of rising adrenaline and arousal. He doesn’t need anyone knowing that he’s starting to get excited in the middle of class. That’d be embarrassing beyond words.
When Kouyou-sensei finally releases them to leave her class, Chuuya is the first one to bolt out the door. He skids out into the hallway, frantically looking both ways to see if he can spot Dazai nearby—
And when he doesn’t, he takes off down the hallway at a sprint. He doesn’t know where Dazai is , he could be anywhere. Just around the corner, waiting outside the building, or on the train.
Chuuya has to get out of here quickly before he’s caught. It doesn’t matter where Dazai is right now, all that matters is getting out of his college before he’s found. His heart is pounding, half-fear and all arousal, an intoxicating combination that drives him out of the building faster, his heart surging.
Run, little omega .
And he does, sprinting out of the building and through the campus. He doesn't really know where he’s going, mind whirling too fast to keep up with, he’s just following his instincts. He doesn’t have a plan , he just has the inescapable need to run.
People stare as he passes. Some of them are obviously concerned, others are angry, a few more are just shocked and interested at watching him bolt through the campus like he’s being chased.
Doesn’t matter. He needs to keep going, he can’t stop now, he can’t worry about anyone else.
The train station isn’t that far from the college campus, only a fifteen minute walk on a good day. He turns in that direction, thinking that it’s probably best to lose himself in a crowd of people. It’s only Thursday, not a very busy day, but the train station is always busy. There’s always tons of people coming and going, and he can cover his tracks in the crowd.
He doesn’t know how Dazai is going to find him. Maybe he’s already keeping an eye on him, and he’s just going to follow him until he tires himself out? Maybe he’s stalking around the city, eyes glinting rut-red, mouth open to expose sharp teeth as he draws air over the scent glands on the roof of his mouth to find Chuuya’s scent. Maybe he’s tracking him with the security app he convinced Chuuya to download.
There’s so many options, so many things to think of, but at the same time, none of it matters. Dazai will find him. It’s only a matter of time, and there’s no point in thinking about how he’s doing it or how it’s going to happen. There’s nothing worth thinking about at all, nothing more important than his pounding heartbeat driving his footsteps, the adrenaline making his decisions for him.
He almost makes it to the train station. That’s his entire plan for the moment, and he figures he’ll be able to make a game plan when he gets there—
But he never makes it there.
There’s a little alleyway just before the steps that lead down into the train station, an alleyway that he has to pass to get to the stairs. He’s pelting toward it full force, glad that the streets are relatively empty for this time of day, eyes fixed on his target—
Dazai steps out of the alleyway and directly into his path. His hands are stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket, and he looks deceptively casual with windblown hair and a simple outfit.
Casual, except for the scent that rolls off him, so heavy and thick it feels like a wall. His eyes are like burning red embers underneath the shadow of the overhang, practically glowing at him.
Chuuya skids to a stop, heart leaping in his chest, eyes wide. He’s here , he found him so quickly, is he going to grab him, right here? In the alleyway? He can smell the sweet-heat of lust pouring off him, thai chilies and chocolate-sugar, backed by the deeper, iron taste of blood. The smell of an Alpha in full rut. The smell of danger and lust and fear.
When Dazai speaks, his teeth flash in the shadows, bright white. A promise, and a reminder of what they feel like buried in Chuuya’s shoulder to keep him still. “Wrong way, little omega. You’re not running fast enough .”
He doesn’t reach for Chuuya though, even though he’s towering over him and only a stride away from getting his hands on him. In fact, he doesn’t move at all, keeping his place solidly in the center of the sidewalk.
He’s not chasing him with the intention of catching him just yet— he’s herding him. Blocking off the ways he doesn’t want him to go, subtly nudging him into the direction he wants him to go, elongating the chase by driving him like an animal towards his chosen destination. Proving how smart and capable he is, showing off his skills in restraint and predicting his actions.
The next beat of his heart feels so hard it might burst in his chest, a throb that is full of feral arousal and instinctual fear, so tangled together he can’t tell them apart.
Taking his cue, he whirls around and bolts in a different direction. He has an idea of where Dazai wants him to go— his private penthouse— but it wouldn’t be any fun if he went straight there without any prompting.
He wants to play before he gets his reward.
So instead of taking the most direct route, he takes the first street that leads slightly away from his penthouse. The house is near the business sector of the city, about a half-hour walk from the college, if the traffic is good and he’s walking quickly. Even less time now that he’s running.
He takes a winding route there, diving down a few side streets and crossing sidewalks in the opposite direction to make it seem like he’s running the wrong way while keeping in the same general direction.
Every time he gets a little too far from the path Dazai has chosen for him, the alpha is making an appearance again. Stepping out of an alleyway, crossing the street right in front of him, leaning up against a street light in his way.
Each time he looks composed, but his eyes get brighter. His breathing gets heavier, his teeth seem whiter, his smell starts to get wilder and headier. So much so that people start to avoid him on the street, shooting him wary or irritable looks. Alphas in rut aren’t necessarily violent, and many of them aren’t, but the stereotype remains.
They are, however, right in being wary of Dazai. He’s not violent for the sake of violence— he’s possessive to the point of violence, another aspect that sends a thrill through Chuuya. He can, will and has hurt someone that has gotten too touchy with Chuuya for his tastes.
Eventually Chuuya, exhausted and heart pounding so hard he can barely hear anything past the roaring of blood in his ears, has no choice but to return home. He’s run himself ragged, and he can’t keep up the pace anymore. Dazai’s worn him out completely.
He’s half-expecting Dazai to be lingering in the lobby when he creeps in, waiting for him to show himself. He’s not, and the mostly-empty lobby seems all the more ominous for it.
He has to be around here somewhere . He’s shown up in every place so far, like he’s tuned into Chuuya’s very existence and he can’t take a step without Dazai knowing about it. He knows everything about him, from his civilized thoughts to his animal instincts, every part of him known and cataloged and predicted.
It’s only a matter of time, and the clock is ticking down. He can practically feel every second passing by with agonizing slowness, every sense on high-alert as he creeps toward the elevator. He’s just waiting for the moment that Dazai pounces on him, anticipation singing through his veins.
There’s no one in the elevator lobby, and nothing happens when he presses the button to call the elevator down. The lobby is terribly quiet, beyond the odd shuffle of the door man working the desk and the lyricless music playing faintly in the background. The sound of the front door opening again never comes, the sound of Dazai’s boots doesn’t echo through the lobby.
He’s alone.
At least, he is until the elevator door opens to reveal Dazai standing inside.
Before he can do anything other than stare blankly in shock— how did he get here so quickly, Chuuya was running the entire time, how did he know what elevator he was going to call— Dazai is reaching out to fist his hand in his shirt and drags him inside.
Dazai’s eyes look so red in the light that it almost looks like blood, boiling over with heat, focused and intense. The lethal jungle cat that’s finally caught his prey and is ready to devour.
The elevator doors slide shut behind him, locking them in together. There’s no escape for him now, even if he wanted to run again.
He doesn’t, though. His knees are like jelly, thighs trembling and his chest heaving for air that never seems to come. Partly because he’s been running for a while — or at least, it feels like it’s been a while, but he doesn’t know how long it’s actually been— and partly because of excitement.
Despite the game and the playful fear, he is exactly where he wants to be. Trapped between Dazai and a hard surface, waiting for the devouring to begin.
The hand in his shirt slides up, tripping easily over his collarbone on its way to his neck. Elegantly long and strong fingers wrap around the width of his throat, a man-made collar that exerts complete control over him. It’s not a threat so much as it is a reminder.
Dazai could hurt him, but he never has and he never will. Never in a way that Chuuya didn’t expressly enjoy, anyways.
His chin is forcibly tipped up, vulnerable throat pushing into the palm of Dazai’s hand. Their eyes meet, and Chuuya feels burned by the heat in them, a matching fire springing to life in his stomach.
“Caught you,” he purrs , voice dark and addictive like chocolate. His mouth tips up at the edges, his signature lopsided smirk, made all the hotter by his half-lidded eyes. Somehow, his double set of canines seem brighter and bigger than they have before, a delicious threat hidden behind a set of full lips. “Now I’m going to take you.”
It’s a promise and a threat.
In the next instant, he’s being crowded back against the doors. Dazai is a wall in front of him, huge and pushing into his space with a careless authority that speaks of his expectancy for Chuuya to bend to him. Behind him, his backpack presses hard against his upper back, curving his spine inward and pushing his chest out.
It’s the perfect position for Dazai to swoop down and devour him in a fierce kiss. It’s instantly hot, claming, Dazai sucking his bottom lip into his mouth just to set his teeth into sensitive skin until it stings. Dazai’s smell is all around him, his nose full of it, the taste of it all over his tongue. He can’t take a breath without feeling Dazai on him, in him, claiming him so completely and thoroughly that he feels owned with it.
Gasping, his hands come up to hook in Dazai’s leather jacket to hang on. Responsive heat is boiling up inside him, the fire to Dazai’s gasoline. He only ever needs a spark to turn into flame, and Dazai always has matches.
Chuuya gets treated to a long, delicious slide of a clever tongue pushing inside his mouth, hot and wet and talented. It drags over his gums, rubs against his own tongue, presses against his canine teeth until a spot of blood wells up.
It’s the taste of blood— or perhaps the taste of his blood on Chuuya’s tongue— that inflames Dazai further, sending him soaring to the next level.
With a growl Chuuya can feel in his chest, Dazai is ripping himself away. His hands drop to his shoulders, forcibly spinning him around and pressing him face-first to the elevator doors. The metal is cold against his cheek, the first grounding element he’s experienced since this game began.
The backpack gets ripped from his shoulders with almost vicious intensity, his shoulders twinging as they’re yanked backwards. He winces when he hears his books clatter carelessly to the floor, kicked out of the way and forgotten.
“Tell me, little omega,” Dazai starts, a burred edge of command in his voice. It’s embarrassing to be turned on by being called his designation, but the searing heat with which Dazai says it makes it impossible to react any other way. It’s humiliating and Chuuya revels in it. “Are you wet for me?”
Again, embarrassingly, he is . He can feel wet slick beginning to collect between the apex of his thighs, caught by his underwear. It’s not enough to be smelled— yet— or to ruin his underwear, but he knows.
He ducks his head, pressing his burning cheek against the cool metal as he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t want to say it, even though it’s probably glaringly obvious in the way his hips are pushing back against Dazai, his body silently begging for attention.
Dazai tsks in mocking annoyance, fingers diving underneath his shirt. He’s been remarkably composed so far, but Chuuya can feel that control beginning to unravel. His fingers are carelessly bruising as they wrap around his hip to tug him into a sharp curve.
There’s no leverage to hang onto, no grip for his fingers to latch onto, no leverage for him to struggle or fight or get his own friction. All he can do is scrape his fingers along the smooth metal of the door as Dazai’s hand slides down the back of his jeans.
At this moment, Chuuya regrets wearing regular briefs. He thought about wearing skimpy underwear, but he wasn’t expecting his rut to come today. He expected to go to class and then come straight back, so he favored comfort over aesthetics.
A choice he’s regretting now, because Dazai’s reaction to find him wearing a thong would’ve been priceless. He’s always loved when he wears any sort of lingerie or anything pretty. It drives him wild, pushes him to his limits. Doubly so when he’s already half out of his mind with rut.
Still, he doesn’t seem bothered by it. His hand is diving down, long fingers pressing into the wetness of his ass teasingly. He doesn’t press in, not yet, just traces around his rim indulgently, spreading the wetness around.
Excitement pulses through him, heady and intoxicating. The more Dazai touches him, the longer he drinks in his scent, the more heated his body grows. Arousal is like an electric storm, dancing along all of his nerve endings, hovering on the horizon and threatening to consume him whole.
He wants it. Wants it so bad he aches with it, hips tipping back to push harder into Dazai’s hands. He doesn’t even care that they’re technically in a public elevator that anyone can call, slowly rising up to the penthouse floor. As far as he’s concerned at this moment, Dazai can knot him on live television.
Shame and embarrassment are far-off concepts to him, an idea he’ll have to deal with later. Right now, all he feels is a wildfire want burning him to ashes. He needs more and knows that Dazai will take care of him.
He always does.
Without warning, two fingers are curling to press inside him. Even with how wet he’s starting to get, it still feels like a dry stretch, his knuckles burning as he forces Chuuya to take them in. It hasn’t been that long since they last fucked— maybe sixteen hours, if he’s generous— but it still feels like a struggle to take them in. His fingers are long , wide even though they are pressed together, and he’s had no prep. It’s good, skating on the edge of too much too soon.
He makes a breathy noise, warm air shuddering out of his chest and steaming up the metal in front of his face. The next breath in is full of sugar and flame, hot and addictive.
His response is visceral, eyes going half-lidded, body going limp. The tension in his spine melts, hips tipping forward instinctively into the perfect presentation arch. The next beat of his heart feels heavy, squeezing through his chest, and is followed by a gush of slick over his fingers.
“Ah,” Dazai says, sounding like the cat who got the cream, primal satisfaction radiating off him, “I thought so. Little slut, so wet even though I’ve barely even touched him.”
Something about that— being talked about like that , like he’s a thing and not a person, like Dazai doesn’t care to address him directly, like he doesn’t care about him— is so casually degrading that it sends another pulse of heat through him. It’s true , he is wet, and Dazai has barely even touched him.
Still, Chuuya isn’t one to go down without a fight. The game isn’t over yet, and he refuses to give in so easily. He’s going to win by pushing Dazai past the limits of his obviously thinning control.
“Yes,” he gasps, uncaring that he’s admitting to something embarrassing, throwing his pride completely out the window without a single care, drowning in too much lust and desire to even care about things like that right now. “ Sir.”
There’s a moment of silence where Dazai processes what he’s said, tension snapping and sizzling in the air. Even his hand has stilled, two fingers buried to the second knuckle inside him. Behind him, his frame is completely still, wired with tension, seconds away from the pounce.
It happens in an instant. One second Dazai is practically vibrating behind him, so still it doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing—
And the next, the fingers are being yanked out of him with a carelessness that makes him yelp in reaction. He flinches forward, not hurt but shocked—
A hard hand is clamping around his hip, forcibly pulling him away from the wall and up onto his toes. The other hand— the one with the wet fingers— is pressing against his mouth in the next moment, practically forcing its way inside.
Chuuya could bite down, if he wanted— but instead he melts for him, jaw dropping open easily under the pressure. The taste of himself is thickly sweet and salty on his tongue, filling his senses. Beyond that is the taste of Dazai, a hint of spice, a dash of sugar-flame, completely addictive.
He sucks, drawing his fingers in until he’s almost choking on them. His tongue flexes, rubbing against the pads of his fingers to get every inch of skin, eagerly cleaning off the taste of skin and slick.
“God, you drive me crazy ,” Dazai hisses into his ear, on the verge of sounding aggressive, sending satisfaction arching through Chuuya. The hand on his hip has resorted to hooking the fingers into his waistband and dragging downwards until they’re sliding over his ass. His underwear is caught up in the mess, tangling tightly around his upper thighs, keeping his legs pressed together.
Keeping him tight and pretty for Dazai, the swell of his ass emphasized by the material banding right below. Just the way the alpha likes.
Another moment, another pulse of the tingling-electric smell of arousal, Chuuya’s entire being hanging in the balance, feeling so ashamed at being so turned on and wet in such a public place but never trying to stop it, never saying no, wanting it so bad he feels like he might break under the strain of his desire, melt into a puddle shaped expertly by Dazai’s hands—
The sound of Dazai’s zipper sliding down is loud in the silence, interrupted only by their combined harsh breathing.
The sound makes a flash of anticipation bolt through Chuuya, body tightening. He rises up on his tiptoes, pushing himself back into his hands, silently demanding he take him. With the fingers in his mouth he can’t beg, but he doesn’t need to use his words to get the message across.
Dazai’s hand slides down slightly, his thumb digging into the soft flesh of his ass and pulling it apart. The head of his cock, when it rubs against him, is hot and hard and huge and dry .
The sheer size of it— and the knowledge that Dazai is probably going to just push in dry, with little consideration to their size difference or proper preparation— is intimidating, even though he’s taken him a dozen times before. A hundred times before, practically lives and breathes while bouncing on his knot. At this moment, it feels different. It feels impossible , because Dazai barely gave him two fingers. That was a tease, but now he’s wrapping his hand around the base of his cock to line himself up and beginning the agonizingly slow press in.
Maybe he should be glad he gets that much consideration, because he’s sure he would just slam in without thought if Dazai thought he could, but it still has him clawing at the metal. God, it’s so big , and even though his body is starting to drip with wetness, every inch feels hard won.
He makes a breathy noise when the head pops in through the first ring of muscle, half whimper and half overstimulated whine. He can’t help the way his hips flinch away at the burn, contracting sharply at the pressure. It’s so much , he doesn’t know if he can handle it, want and aching soreness warring inside him.
The noise makes Dazai’s hand tighten on his face, fingers pressing down on his tongue to silence him.
“Shh,” he murmurs, dark and commanding, a force of nature unto himself, like a storm made flesh to wreak havoc on Chuuya. “Take it. You can take me, beautiful.”
He knows that, he knows he can. His mind is agreeing but his body is struggling to keep up, building up a harmonic of frantic tension that grows and grows every time Dazai pushes in deeper, forcing his body to accept him—
And eventually it snaps, mind cracking under the strain.
His thoughts go blank, replaced by a steady buzzing of burning pleasure, brain turned to mush. All the tension drains out of him, melting into Dazai’s hands. A pretty doll made for nothing but pleasure and sin, taking whatever is given to him without complaint.
“There you go,” is purred into his ear smugly, Dazai’s hips jerking forward on the last few inches to bury himself to the hilt. The head of his cock bounces hard off his prostate, the resulting slice of pleasure making his mouth drop open further in response. “ Made to take my cock.”
At this moment, Chuuya can’t do anything but agree. There’s a part of him that always wants to rail against authority, wants to bite and snarl and be defiant—
Oh, but when Dazai pushes him past that and into complete submission, it feels divine . It really does feel like he was made for this, a huge cock buried to the hilt inside him, slick on his tongue, heat and rut and lust and the hunt. Caught, a mouse in the cat's claws.
The first drag of Dazai’s hips backwards feels life-changing. An emptying pressure that feels like it creates a vacuum inside him, a new space that’s neatly filled up with hunger and pleasure. Every inch of his cock feels endless, hotter and harder than usual, throbbing with the life the rut brings to him. He’s in prime breeding condition, at this very moment. Chuuya feels dizzy with the knowledge, slick dripping out of him wetly, his entire body in flames.
Then, when the ridge of his cock tugs at Chuuya’s rim, threatening to pop out, he slams back in, burying himself back to the hilt in one brutal thrust. It makes Chuuya wail, fingers clawing at the door, body clenching down on the sharp rush of pleasure.
The pace Dazai sets up is nothing short of savage. He expected nothing less, but the feeling of being fucked against the wall, pleasure being forced carelessly into him, is, is—
He doesn’t even have words for it. All he knows is mindless rapture, taking what’s being given to him. Rocking up on his toes to make the angle better, muffling his shocked cries by sucking on Dazai’s fingers like he’s thirsty for him, shivering at the feel of slick wetting the inside of his thighs. It’s so good, ridiculously intense, all his thoughts and civilized veneer stripped away to reveal pure animal instinct below.
It only gets better when Dazai’s knot comes into play. His senses are on overdrive so the pleasure hits him quicker, and his knot starts to swell only a few minutes in. Still, it’s like he doesn’t even notice. He’s still pulling back almost all the way with each thrust, pushing back in completely.
Chuuya’s body is forced to accommodate the growing knot sliding in and out of him, muscles stretching under the force. It adds just an edge of pain to the sea of sensation drowning him, taking away what little self-control he has left.
He’s climbing rapidly to orgasm, even though his cock has been touched once during this whole interaction. Just the feeling of being hunted down like vulnerable prey was enough to have the tension winding tight along his nerves, and now being fucked like this is sending him careening towards the edge.
Every time his knot grinds against his prostate, it feels like every nerve ending is being seared with direct electricity. It’s too much but also not enough, his mind needing more touch, more sensation, more pleasure, but his body fighting against the overwhelming surge. The tension threatens to break him into pieces.
The knowledge that the only option he has is to stand here and take it only sends him rocketing higher. There’s something inherently appealing about being outsmarted, overpowered, pinned and fucked and made to orgasm. There’s something inherently appealing about having his choices taken away, if only in a pretend situation.
There’s an unhinged snarl from just behind him, followed shortly by the sting of teeth sinking into the back of his neck. It hurts for a moment, but then the rush of endorphins from the bundle of nerves there getting direct pressure makes him melt.
His world goes soupy for a moment, pleasure overwhelming him so thoroughly he barely feels like he can contain the feelings, small in the face of the wave. Even his breath feels cotton-thick, his entire body tingling.
One, two, three thrusts later, the knot growing and growing inside him, and he cums. Everything feels so good that he can barely even recognize the release of pressure, the blur of orgasm melting into building pleasure. The only sound he makes as his muscles clench and tremble, is a breathy whimper muffled against the metal door.
That’s enough to send Dazai careening over the edge as well. With a grunt muffled against the back of his neck, his hips snap forward one last time to bury himself as deeply as possible. His knot finishes swelling as quickly it almost hurts with how big it is, locking them together.
The spill of cum inside him feels fire-hot, adding to the sea of heat boiling him alive. He almost feels burned by it, sticky-sweet heat filling him up to the brim. It’s only because Dazai is securely knotted inside that none of it spills out, and he feels full with it.
The frantic pace of the hunt finally calms down. The heart-pounding adrenaline and flash-fire pleasure finally fades away, replaced by the sound of their panting as they both struggle to come down.
The peace won’t last long, Chuuya knows that. In only a few moments, they’ll have to awkwardly waddle from the elevator to the penthouse. Dazai’s knot won’t go down for a while, but as soon as it does , he’ll likely get riled up again just from the sight of his cum spilling out of Chuuya’s abused hole.
Then they’ll go again, wherever they happen to be, Dazai knotting him again and again, fueled by the instinctive and desperate desire to breed. They’ll repeat that for days, until his rut starts to fizzle out.
Then Chuuya’s heat will probably come, induced by the sheer amount of sex and orgasms and pleasure and pheromones he’s about to experience. They’ll start all over again, except with Chuuya being the one desperate to be fucked.
But for now, it’s just him, sated and panting, with Dazai a warm solid weight on his back.