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It is entirely Chuuya’s fault that this keeps happening.
Despite his constant warnings, they end up being empty threats and, as such, he hasn’t changed his lock even when Dazai keeps finding excuses to visit his premises. The little gimmick with the hairpin is all but muscle memory at this point, and Dazai strides inside the apartment like he owns the place. If anything, it’s a tacit invitation.
The apartment is pitch black. Weird, considering Chuuya should be home by now and unwinding by catching up on his favorite show. So hilariously boring, but that sense of routine almost makes Dazai jealous—his evenings are all about tossing and turning and escaping somewhere he can outrun the painful thrum of his brain. Like Chuuya’s home, for reasons he refuses to disclose.
“Chuuya!” He calls, shuffling out of his shoes without a care in the world. “Are we playing hide and seek now? It’s no use, I know Chuuya is the kind of dummy that always hides in the closet. I’ll find you in three seconds and it’ll be no fun—”
It takes him a moment to make out the shape of Chuuya huddled and trembling on the far end of his couch, illuminated only by the intermittent, blue glow of the TV. He has to resist the urge to rush to his partner’s side. Dazai walks with measured steps, afraid to scare him, and kneels in front of Chuuya, who doesn’t notice the shadow falling over his body.
He doesn’t dare touch him.
“I should record this for posterity,” Dazai says. He swallows the concern bursting in his chest. This is nothing. He won’t fret or anguish over a little dose of ill Chuuya. “To remind Chuuya that he, too, is a puny mortal liable to get the achoo ’s.”
The thing is, Chuuya rarely gets sick. He has the immune system of a God, and boasts a record of three years without catching a cold. So unlike Dazai, who falls prey to springtime’s allergy season with far too much ease. As such, to find Chuuya red and feverish, eyes struggling to stay open, sends all kinds of alert systems in Dazai’s mind into overdrive.
Except, when Dazai reaches out to check his fever, Chuuya’s clammy skin turns out to be ice cold. Stormy blue focuses on him, widening at Dazai’s shameless intrusion in his apartment, and slaps his hand away. Pointy, claw-like nails graze his skin, where small droplets of blood bloom from a single scratch. Chuuya’s pupils swallow the irises until only the barest hint of sky is visible. His nose twitches, mouth parting to reveal sharp canines.
Ah.
So he isn’t sick at all.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Chuuya snaps, but it lacks the usual dose of annoyance reserved for Dazai’s antics. His voice is rough, unused. He wobbles inside the kitchen to get a glass of water, and Dazai only observes from his perch on the now empty couch. “Why are you here?”
“Am I not allowed to come check in on my partner?” Dazai pouts.
Chuuya shoots him a withering stare. Laughable, under different circumstances, at least for Dazai’s messed up sense of humor. “Don’t pretend you came here to take care of me, asshole. I’m not fucking buying it. Now go away .”
He coughs, back wracked from the force of it. Bracing himself against the counter, Chuuya presses his forehead to the marble. Unbothered by the awkwardness, Dazai makes his way to his partner. The lights from the refrigerator make his warm features eerie, a creature of the dark gleaming before its kidnapped damsel. He would be terrifying, perhaps even deadly, to anyone other than Dazai—who has seen this wretched look on him countless times before.
“Oh, but I do think Chuuya needs to be taken care of.” Dazai tucks a strand of Chuuya’s curls behind his ear, allowing the pads of his fingers to linger on the pierced lobe. He wants to tug at the black hoops, see how Chuuya reacts to this sort of pain. “And I would be delighted to provide.”
It’s not even subtle, and they both know it. Chuuya’s nostrils flare. The distance Dazai keeps between them is enough to secure his escape, should he want to. Then again, with Chuuya at full strength Dazai would be on his ass in the blink of an eye, which isn’t happening anytime soon. Not with Chuuya swaying and struggling and making no effort to kick him out; simply, because he can’t .
“I don’t want anything from you,” Chuuya snarls. Dazai doesn’t often get to admire his fangs—not that he’s ever imagined them on any particular places of his body, no —, for Chuuya never lets him close enough to, ahem , inspect them. For scientific purposes only. Chuuya falls back against the refrigerator. “I don’t have the energy to entertain you, mackerel.”
Dazai sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Stop being stubborn, Chuuya. You need blood,” he chastises, clicking his tongue. “I thought Mori had you hooked up to a legal bank for spunky vampires like you.”
Chuuya wrinkles his nose. “I don’t—like the way it tastes anymore,” he admits through narrowed eyes. What a revelation, Dazai thinks, cogs turning in his head. “I’m okay , dammit. I won’t actually die from this. I just need to—”
“Find a suitable, willing partner ?” Dazai’s lips curl into a smirk. He takes one step forward. “How long has it been since you last fed?” Another step. “It can’t be pleasant to spend the day curled like a sick puppy because you refuse to take care of yourself.”
“And what would the suicidal maniac know?” Chuuya retorts.
“Perhaps I don’t,” Dazai says. The remaining distance between them disappears in one, long stride, until Chuuya is flattened against the refrigerator, pale as death; and Dazai could cage him there, bear down on him. “Perhaps I’m a fool. But when have I ever failed Chuuya in taking care of him ?”
“Nullifying Corruption doesn’t count.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. Instead of cowering, however, he gets all in Dazai’s business—so close he could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. “Not for this , jackass.” After a long stretch of silence, spent with Dazai cocking an eyebrow at him, Chuuya says, “it’s been four months.”
Dazai wouldn’t be caught dead admitting he’s spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking about Chuuya drinking from him. More specifically, Chuuya overpowering him to claim every single drop of blood he might need. He doesn’t always indulge, no, because his partner already has a functional, sustainable system to keep him satiated and healthy. And now it seems to displease him.
When the circumstance presents itself, though, who is Dazai to deny it?
“Mmm,” Dazai hums, eyes dark and gleaming and dangerous. Chuuya swallows, and in the hint of contact that Dazai uses to redirect his head to face him, he discovers his partner’s heart is beating a mile a minute. “Indeed, Chuuya won’t die from a lack of blood. But you’ll be slow, sluggish, and weak. I don’t think Mori can afford to have you out of the battlefield for an undetermined amount of time.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Chuuya spits. “You’re not here out of fucking concern. Whatever selfish reason, whatever you think you can get from cornering me like this— I won’t fucking fall for it . Go, shitty Dazai, before I send your ass straight to the gates of hell.”
“Selfish? Hm, maybe I am being egotistical. However, can Chuuya call me selfish…” Without tearing his gaze from Chuuya’s, Dazai wets the tip of his thumb and gathers the dry blood on his hand. He presents the scarlet finger, pressing the pad against Chuuya’s lower lip. “When I am so willingly offering without asking anything in return?”
Chuuya’s mouth opens just the slightest. He flutters his eyelashes, little whiny sounds making Dazai’s toes curl. Anticipation builds in his stomach, but Dazai doesn’t quite know what to expect, then a plush tongue lays flat on his finger, but instead of licking away the remnants of the inflicted wound, Chuuya tackles him to the ground, landing on top of him.
Powerful thighs bracket his own, and Dazai finds himself trapped underneath the weight of a starved Chuuya, trembling; vibrating with the primal need to decimate his prey. He wiggles his arms behind his head to loosen his bandages, just enough for Chuuya to run his fingers down the ridges between scars. Dazai shivers.
Even as he falls to the throes of his vampiric nature, Chuuya touches him with featherlight reverence, mouth agape but holding back from connecting with the offered skin.
In their years of partnership, Dazai had witnessed countless times the sort of hunger born from Chuuya’s stubborn refusal at drinking from perfectly safe sources. It wasn’t until he found himself at the verge of collapsing that Chuuya accepted the packets Dazai forced upon him. Never had he suggested Chuuya should take from him, for they were partners—despite the fact that Dazai’s most delirious dreams involve soft lips burrowing into the crevices of his body and tearing them to his liking, for however long he wants.
A welcome sort of pain.
So Dazai folds Chuuya’s legs tighter around his body, urging him in a tacit plea to hurry the fuck up and complete what, unironically, fate brought them together to do. Every scrape comes with hesitation, and Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya fears; to break him, or to lose himself.
“Take what you need,” Dazai breathes, coarse and heaving, itching to drag his partner’s head to the sensitive areas of his skin. Desperation is not a good look on him, this he knows, and yet he has no problem throwing his reservations aside to let Chuuya replenish his waning, feeble energy. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Chuuya snarls, a hot exhale making goose flesh rise on Dazai’s neck. Pulling back, he eyes him warily. His head tips back and forth. “Dazai, you can tap out any time. I can lose control and—”
“I trust you, Chuuya.” Dazai cradles the back of his neck, gently guiding him to his prize. “You couldn’t ever hurt me, even if you wanted to.”
“I’m starting to believe you’re trying to stealthily stop breathing.”
“And the devil himself will be jealous that a hot vampire sucked me to my death.”
“For fucks sake.” Chuuya fists a handful of warm, brown locks. He tugs, hard , until Dazai’s scalp smarts and he’s left with no choice but to bare his throat. More strips of gauze detach from the fit around his upper body. “Can you get any more dumb?”
Dazai doesn’t get to answer.
Chuuya mouths at his pulse point, raking his teeth across the skin but not quite biting; almost teasing, but Dazai can feel his thighs quivering, frantic, holding back even after he gave him blanket permission to rip and steal and mangle. He can’t say he’s not nervous, but something about the idea of Chuuya needing him like this awakens a dark hunger he’d only ever explored with trepidation.
The line between want in the realm of physical desire and the want that answers to beating hearts is a thin one—and Dazai doesn’t know how to traverse it, not when it could cost him everything.
Strangled words make it out of his mind, but even if Chuuya is doing nothing more than toy with his unabashed needs, the way he growls and holds his stinging head steady clouds the rational part of his brain with mist.
Fangs puncture his neck, and Dazai is a goner.
First comes the pain; two pinprick points of entrance aching with the force required to break through the skin. The sounds of Chuuya’s mouth sucking in earnest at his blood have Dazai’s vision swimming. What starts as unavoidable agony soon morphs into something different, though, something he hadn’t imagined could happen for real.
He’d read about it before; high compatibility between the vampire and its partner makes the bite pleasurable, with endorphins and oxytocin coursing through their veins. Evidently, collecting empirical evidence was downright impossible, so Dazai left this scrap of knowledge to stew in the realm of the imaginary.
This, however, is very, very real. The air is punched out of him, stars exploding behind his closed eyelids as Chuuya sinks his fangs deeper, blood trickling down his neck and staining his button down. Chuuya cages him with his body; his free hand keeps Dazai’s convulsing torso from giving—as if Dazai could possibly want to ruin this moment, this delicious closeness.
Dazai wills his limbs to cooperate, and rounds Chuuya’s waist with his arms until their chests and hips are flush together. He wants Chuuya taking and drinking as much as he wants, even if it makes him dizzy with blood loss. Nothing compares to the rush of pure bliss making him shake and struggle to not cry out his partner’s name.
It feels like committing heresy. A forbidden act reserved for sinners shunned by God. If falling from grace means begging at Chuuya’s knees for eternity, he’ll welcome the flames of eternal torture any time.
At least, that’s what he’d do in the world of fantasy.
In the world of weak mortals he’d deny ever getting the hots from his little, perfectly backfiring stunt.
With Chuuya’s hips jerking against the bulge in his front, Dazai becomes aware of his cock straining in his pants and reacting to Chuuya’s beguiling motions with much too eagerness. Dazai tries to still the movements, hands clamped on Chuuya’s waist, but ultimately he joins the rhythmic grinding and angles his body to get more friction.
“Chuuya,” Dazai tries to say, discovering his voice is but a frail thread drowned in haze. “ Chuuya .”
Chuuya doesn’t stop sucking at the sore spot in his neck, but he hums his acknowledgment. The sharp teeth retreat from the place they pierced, but Chuuya’s mouth keeps sucking and licking on the remnants of blood.
“You really—” Dazai’s breath hitches. “Do nothing but torture me.”
A feral smile tickles the sensitive skin, sharp canines brushing the spot. Infuriating. And even if Dazai wanted to, he couldn’t punish his misbehaving dog in this state. Brain producing only white noise, body lost to the effects of Chuuya’s vampire powers—a lustful state that can only be possible because they’re compatible .
Chuuya turns to the other side of his neck, whining and digging for a bare strip of skin, and bites down again. This time there is no pain at all, only mindless pleasure making him weak and pliant and desperate for more .
He rocks his hips back and forth in stuttering, circular motions. Dazai’s cock pulses against the denim, and he wants so desperately to flip their positions and tease Chuuya until he’s a whimpering mess imploring for Dazai to fuck him, so he can find the thrill of denying him until he’s thoroughly broken and begging like his life depends on it. The fog in his mind is thick—the more Chuuya sucks on his blood the heat coursing through Dazai’s veins boils through him.
In a moment of clarity, Dazai trails his palms to the curve of Chuuya’s ass, admiring the firmness before forcing him to rut harder and faster, angling him just so to make Chuuya rub his clothed clit on Dazai’s lap. He whimpers, a high reedy sound, even attached to Dazai’s neck.
“Chuuya, baby,” Dazai coos, but he’s in no better condition himself. He can tell that Chuuya is about to unravel; legs melting on the floor, hands firm on Dazai’s arms. “Come on, Chuuya. I’m—”
With a pointed drag of his crotch against Dazai’s cock, Chuuya unlatches from his neck. Blood trickles down his chin, mouth stained red, and Dazai wants to taste himself in his lips. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“Not really,” he gasps, writhing but unwilling to walk away from his own personal madness. Any moment now, and Dazai will hurtle over the edge. “ Especially if it annoys you.”
So Chuuya solves the problem and clamps his hand over Dazai’s mouth. He grinds faster with a barely concealed flurry of moans, each and every single one music to his ears, head thrown back with a mess of curls spilling down his shoulder. Even in the near darkness, he’s so dazzling it makes Dazai’s heart jump.
Chuuya climaxes with a wordless whine, twitching, breath coming in quick, short bursts as he rides the high and falls against Dazai’s chest.
He thinks that’ll be the end of it, painfully hard as he is, but Chuuya seems to have other ideas.
Ideas involving splaying Dazai on the cold ground, hair tousled and bandages dotted with scarlet. The pressure around his hips eases as Chuuya shifts to kneel between his legs, and it takes him a moment to realize what’s about to happen. The tips of his clawed nails dig ever so slightly on Dazai’s thighs, palms exerting enough pressure to keep him rooted to the ground. In the absence of his gravity manipulation, Chuuya makes up with sheer, unparalleled strength.
“Don’t fucking move,” he orders. “Or I will nail you to the floor and leave you to bleed out.”
Dazai barks out a breathless laughter. “Chuuya wouldn’t.” He wiggles his hips. “He’d miss me too much.”
“I thought you were here to help me , shitty Dazai,” Chuuya retorts, alluring in the wicked smile he cracks his way. “Hearing you speak grates me to a point speeding into a tree might not be a terrible idea.”
“Threatening me with a good time, I see,” Dazay says, sultry. He’s not as lightheaded anymore, so he’s able to focus on Chuuya as he skirts the prominent bulge in his pants and instead scratches the fabric with his fangs.
“Be useful to me, or die.”
He’s promptly silenced by the zipper being torn from his pants, along with his underwear ripped at the front. His cock springs free, throbbing and flushed an angry red. If he doesn’t get some relief soon he might just set himself on fire. Alas, he refuses to beg Chuuya for the barest scrap, the barest brush of reprieve.
Plus, he wants to see how this will play out.
Chuuya hesitates between his spread legs, eyes level with the bulge on his crotch. Dazai can see the cogs turning, the brilliant mind at play. So whatever games Chuuya wants to play, Dazai will comply.
“Like what you see?”
Chuuya snags a black tie from his wrist and loops it around his messy hair in a high ponytail. “I like it when you’re so overwhelmed you zip your damn mouth.”
Finally, he fits his hand around his cock, tugging at the base before establishing a tortuous rhythm. Sarcastic and fiendish, he can’t hide the pupils blown wide and the lips licked clean—not from Dazai. With a sigh, Chuuya lowers his head and wraps his lips around the head. The tip of his tongue rolls against the slit in choppy, back and forth motions, gathering the beads of precome and swallowing them with greed.
Just a little bit of teasing and Dazai is so worked up he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to last—and he’ll be damned if he comes so fast he won’t be able to savor it. And surely Chuuya will make fun of him for the rest of eternity, and then some.
Pinned on the ground, however, he’s left at Chuuya’s mercy and his devious ploys to prove himself the cause of Dazai’s ultimate downfall. Not a villain threatening the safety of Yokohama and its inhabitants, but rather his partner’s feline eyes quirked and half lidded like a siren’s as he takes the rest of his cock in one go.
He bobs his head up and down without breaking eye contact, licks a stripe from base to tip and sucks on the head until Dazai keens, desperate, and shoves a fist in his mouth to avoid giving Chuuya the satisfaction of hearing him fall apart. Dazai wants to grab his hair and force him into a faster, headier rhythm; to use him and wreck him and flip their positions to give Chuuya a taste of his own medicine.
Even if he had the strength and the lucidity, though, Dazai finds he… doesn’t really want to be elsewhere but on Chuuya’s floor, half mad with pleasure and gasping around words he can’t blurt out, reeling at the feel of the flat of his tongue working his shaft. His movements get faster and faster, and he looks so at home between Daza’s legs. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.
Chuuya shifts, and Dazai gets a glimpse of his fingers working in and out of his soaked cunt. Dazai groans, teeth chipping the inside of his mouth. God , he wants to touch. To get a closer look. Anything .
And he can’t. Delirious, helpless. Happy to melt against Chuuya’s perfect lips and tongue.
Chuuya isn’t done with the torture—he hollows his cheeks with tears in his eyes and moans around his cock, and the sound reverberates all over Dazai’s nerve endings. He only knows this moment, this feeling; pain on his hips where Chuuya keeps him pinned to the ground, helpless, and hot, all consuming bliss spreading from the crown of his head all the way to his toes.
And whatever they share now, whatever the bite and the blood did to them, Chuuya releases his cock with an obscene pop right before he can unravel, clamping his hand at the base. It hurts ; he’s throbbing and standing so far at the edge a gentle breeze could tip him over, and yet Chuuya chooses to dangle the prize and snatch it back before Dazai can claim it.
He’s so infuriating Dazai should be doing something about it. It’s the lightheadedness, he tells himself. The blood loss, and nothing more. Certainly not a newfound craving for powerlessness.
Chuuya sits back on his ankles and wipes the spit and the precome from his mouth with the back of his hand, a shit eating grin on his face. “I guess you’re not too terrible. Cute, even, when you don’t get what you want.”
“Chuuya doesn’t sound so convinced,” Dazai says. He raises himself to lean on his forearms, still below Chuuya’s line of sight, blue eyes peering down at him with pure hunger. Goosebumps rise on his skin.
“That’s because I’m not done with you.”
Anything Dazai could’ve said or done could not prepare him for the next couple of seconds. Chuuya shifts out from between his legs, crawling to straddle Dazai’s hips, legs spread and kneeling just above his flushed cock. Sometime between the stellar blowjob and Dazai’s near passing out from the numbing torment, Chuuya shuffled out of his pants and underwear. He can’t see past the slick dripping from his pussy and over his thighs, but a hand on his chest leaves Dazai pressed back against the floor.
His arms are pinned with an iron grip above his head. Chuuya peers down at him, sneering, and mouths at the underside of his jaw, nibbling and licking the drops of blood before he reaches the shell of his ear to murmur, “Don’t fucking move.”
“Or what?”
“Are you sure you want to find out?”
Chuuya eases the strain on his wrists, lingering for just a moment before pulling back. Half naked, disheveled, holding Dazai’s composure in his fist. Expectation burns through him. He’s about to fuck—or rather, be fucked by Chuuya. It wasn’t anywhere near his to-do list for this year.
Without warning, Chuuya sinks down; effectively impaling himself on Dazai’s waiting cock in the blink of an eye. Pressure envelops him. He’s so hot and tight and spasming as he adjusts. A three course meal in its own right. He braces himself on Dazai’s chest, and surely he can feel the erratic pulse there, haywire from more than just sex. Surely he can—
He starts moving his hips. Dazai knocks his head on the tiles as he throws it back, mouth agape in a silent scream. Chuuya fucks himself hard and fast on Dazai’s cock, just as wrecked and unfiltered, filthy moans and little ah, ah, ah’s blending with his cries for more, as if he wasn’t in complete control of the situation. It’s overwhelming, bordering on too much.
“Chuuya, ah , wait—” Dazai cants his hips up, unable to help himself. “Slow—down.”
Chuuya does. His eyes flit from Dazai’s lips to his eyes, and back to his lips. It could be a question, or a request. “Do you want to stop?”
They’re both clearly frenzied with want, vibrating with it. “ God , no. No, Chuuya—”
“Then be silent and take it like a good boy,” he says, resuming the tortuous twirl of his hips. He rises, letting the head slip out of his cunt and staying just out of reach. “Or you can go home.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
In different circumstances, Dazai would. He’d rile Chuuya up and feign innocence. Bait and prank him. Now, though, he lays flat on the floor and watches his cock be devoured by wet heat, with Chuuya finding purchase on his torn vest and arching his back to find the angle that best nails his sweet spot. The moment he does, a guttural cry comes out of his mouth that goes directly to Dazai’s balls.
So Chuuya does it again, and again. His motions become sloppier, thighs quivering, but he doesn’t stop for a single second—chasing his pleasure. Not for Dazai’s meaningless pleas, or his attempts at getting some leverage. He has to, quite literally, sit back and take it like a good boy . And maybe—he does want to be good. Used.
At last, Chuuya climaxes with Dazai’s name on his tongue.
He rides the rest of his orgasm grinding his hips on his cock, and slips out right before the thread holding Dazai together snaps. For the second time.
“Are you edging me on purpose?” Dazai asks, more begging than inquisitive. He is much too desperate at this point. “It isn’t very considerate of you to wring me like a ragdoll and not let me come.”
“Maybe—” Chuuya takes two fingers and plunges them up his pussy. Wet and glistening, he brings them to Dazai’s mouth until he gets the hint and licks them clean, one by one, lingering on the webbing between the digits. “I just want to see you suffer.”
“Chuuya keeps acting like a hotshot,” he complains, drunk on the taste of Chuuya’s slick. “As if seconds ago you weren’t struggling to keep yourself upright while fucking yourself like a slut on my cock. Like my pretty little personal cocksleeve.”
“Mmh,” Chuuya considers it, smirking like the spawn of Satan. Dazai should wipe it off his lips—he will . “And yet it was you begging me to keep taking you just like this. It seems that annoying, cocky facade of yours falls apart when you’re dominated .”
“Apparently I quite enjoy it when Chuuya’s in charge.” Dazai bites the tip of Chuuya’s fingers, playful. The narrowed eyes Chuuya flashes at him are not enough to deter him from his desires. “Still… I can’t let you go around thinking you can just treat me like this without consequences .”
They’re both sweaty and panting. Chuuya’s eyes are glazed over, chin streaked with saliva and traces of blood. Dazai himself is a complete mess, but somehow he finds the strength in his wobbly limbs to sit up, wrap Chuuya’s legs around his middle, and stand up without knocking them both back to the ground.
All of those instances of breaking into Chuuya’s apartment prove useful when he becomes able to find the bedroom without much brainpower. He flings the door open, palming the wall for the switch to get the lights on. If they’re going to keep doing this, Dazai wants to see it all; he doesn’t want to miss a single thing. Chuuya busies himself marking his neck and being enough of a nuisance that Dazai can’t drop him on the bed until he rips his limbs away from his middle.
Spread on the covers, hair fanning across the pillow, Chuuya is the perfect portrait of every single fantasy Dazai’s ever had about him. He’s hard and ready, but Dazai wants to take a moment to admire the splash of constellations all over his body, the whitened scars and the evidence of countless battles. If he were to kiss them all, one by one, it’d take him the rest of the night to finish the task.
Perhaps, then, Chuuya would ask him to stay; yawning and sleepy, welcoming him inside the blankets as they did when they were teenagers.
Dazai bites the juncture of Chuuya’s shoulder. Not hard enough to draw blood; he’s not a vampiric creature of the night after all, but deep enough to leave imprints. And he won’t be able to hide them. It gives Dazai a smug sense of fulfillment.
“What the fuck!” Chuuya snaps. He fails in retaliating, as Dazai, nose wrinkled, easily dodges his advances. Completely see through as ever. It makes him giggle. “Shitty Dazai, that’s not hot. Not when you do it like— ah !”
He doesn’t look up from his spot, burrowing into the crook of Chuuya’s neck. Right where he seems to be rather sensitive, and Dazai laves the ring of tooth shaped bruises with his tongue, over and over, until they shine with spit. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” he grits out, fangs peeking out in a growl, and yet his hips rise ever so slightly to grind against Dazai’s thigh. “Bandaged freak.”
Chuuya’s cheeks are tinted with pink, and he looks more alive than he did thirty minutes ago. The things more than a little bit of blood and mind blowing sex do, right? And Dazai isn’t done, not even close. Certain things swirl in his gut, and none of them belong in the Bible. Now that he’s tasted him, now that he’s been thoroughly ruined—Dazai discovers he’s famished and greedy for every reaction he can wring out of him.
Dazai wants to make him scream.
His first instinct is to kiss him, but Dazai doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. The inherent intimacy of a kiss might send their midnight arrangement crumbling, pieces broken and scattered where they can’t reach them.
He’s hard and throbbing and aching, veins peeking out from the reddened cock that’s been worn out without a single ounce of reprieve. Chuuya, the damned gremlin, discards all traces of shame and claws at Dazai’s leg for extra pressure on his cunt. An unabashed devil set on destroying him from the inside out.
Need is a dangerous thing, truly. Dazai has never felt it before, not like this; his usual flings are but excuses to satisfy the body and quiet the mind, at least for a single night. Never has he actually slept with someone he so deeply cares about.
It occurs to him that, maybe, this is nothing but a spell; a mirage, even, and that they’re both panting and rutting against each other, dizzy with want, because of the bite. A kind of drunkenness, senses diluted and narrowed down to focus only on the places that throb and call for release. Alarm bells ring in his fuzzy brain.
“Tell me that you want this,” He pleads, suddenly cold and nervous. “Tell me that I’m not taking advan—”
“Are you stupid?” Chuuya laughs, bright and airy, and guides his hand to the place where he’s wettest. Warm and soft beneath Dazai’s fingers. A declaration. “I want you .”
“Chuuya is the stupid one,” Dazai says. It’s weak and mumbled, face heating up like a tomato. “He shouldn’t be allowed to speak.”
“Make me, then,” Chuuya suggests, head tilted to the side. He looks almost angelic in his mock innocence, but his leaking pussy betrays something darker. “Or are you a fucking wimp?”
“Quit getting on my nerves, slug.”
“And if I don’t?”
It’s a taunt, a brazen one at that. Two measly words that have Dazai dragging Chuuya smack in the middle of the mattress, where he has an easier access to his body. A body that Dazai will make sure is unable to move properly for a couple of days.
Dazai maps Chuuya’s body with his hands, slow and reverent. His partner’s complaints fall on deaf ears as he brushes his fingers along the dips and crevices, scars and muscle. Then his mouth, tentative at first in the light kisses he peppers all over the freckled skin. Dazai grows bolder, mouthing along his hip bones but skirting the place where Chuuya needs it most.
Not a single inch of his body is left without worship. Chuuya’s words don’t match his actions; every caress is followed by mewls and curses, and when Dazai knees between his legs running his mouth over his thighs, adoring, he finds Chuuya’s gaze darting between his eyes and the side of the bed.
Adorable is not the appropriate word to describe a vampire, but he comes close.
After minutes of kissing and licking, Dazai flips Chuuya so he lands on his stomach, and without giving him the time to process it, grabs his waist and forces him to present his supple, beautiful ass. In the arch of his back, he finds dimples right at the end of his tailbones that he simply has to kiss.
And suck, and bite, and thumb along the dip of them.
“What’s gotten into you,” Chuuya murmurs. “So— sappy . It 's…”
“Chuuya doesn’t like it?”
“Do you have to ask so many questions, mackerel?”
“Of course.” Dazai scolds. He parts Chuuya’s cheeks to get a better look at his sodden, dripping cunt. At this point, he’s even salivating. “How can I best please my loyal dog if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?”
“You know what I want,” he snarls, hips jerking at the fingers just dipping on his outer folds. “I— fuck . This isn’t too fucking terrible, okay? But I also want to be fucked on this century .”
“Ah. Your wish is my command, then.”
Dazai rubs the head of his cock against the swollen, sensitive clit, drawing out shaky moans from Chuuya’s mouth. He disregards his pleas for more, please, I just need— and claims his shoulder blades to press lingering kisses that suck pretty bruises on the expanse of perfect, freckled skin. There for Dazai to paint a picture of ownership. He wishes the brush of his lips could leave indelible marks, so whoever comes next knows Nakahara Chuuya is no one else’s but his.
“What sort of— fuck ,” Chuuya rasps, chest heaving. So worked up, and Dazai is yet to absolutely wreck him. “— monster are you? You freak. Mnh —fucking animal —”
“Excuse me, it’s called art,” Dazai says, petty in his attempt at seriousness. It’s a job that must be completed no matter what. He huffs, digging his nails on the flesh. “And I don’t appreciate Chuuya insulting my craft.”
His body is a canvas, and Dazai is intent on sucking as many watercolor hickeys as he can. Dazai wants to carve a gilded frame masterpiece and draw a masterpiece, a classic oil painting on Chuuya’s ass. He wants, and wants, and wants .
As he bites and rakes his fingers over every bit of flesh he can find, cock throbbing between Chuuya’s folds, he sneaks a hand to pinch his overly sensitive clit.
Chuuya shrieks, turning to him with tears streaking down his flushed cheeks, panting; and he’s so magnificent like this, presenting his ass for Dazai to ravage, back bent in an unnatural angle, begging in the throes of overstimulation for a scrap of something more than just the tip. No can do, of course; Dazai has the reins now, and denying Chuuya a greater pleasure elicits a kind of perverse glee in him.
His partner comes after half a dozen thrusts against his clit and folds, stifling his cries on the pillow until Dazai tugs on the mess of curls and has Chuuya’s head falling back over Dazai’s shoulder. Like this, trembling from the effort, Chuuya can’t help but release a slew of moans, spilling from his hoarse throat. Dazai fingers his twitching, soaking cunt to coax a second, weaker orgasm out of him. Chuuya’s chest heaves, and he cranes his neck to look at Dazai through unfocused eyes.
Dazai gathers the wetness at his center—he can’t waste a single drop of Chuuya’s ambrosia after all—and cleans it off his fingers with his tongue. Chuuya whines, following the motions with ravenous eyes.
“You’re delicious,” Dazai rasps. He can barely contain himself and the urge to wreck him, but these games are better played when the other is stewing in agony. Plus, Dazai has to get back at him. “Has anyone told you this?”
The answer comes in a minute, controlled shake of his head.
“Use your words, Chuuya.” Dazai’s lips brush the shell of Chuuya's ear, ghosting a bite. He takes his earlobe in his mouth and sucks, tasting the metal of his earrings. Chuuya mewls. “Has anyone told you how utterly sweet you are, here? I could feast on you and never grow tired.”
He traces the trickle of slick up his inner thighs, circling his folds with the pads of his fingers but never quite breaching his entrance. Chuuya rolls his hips, chasing the friction that Dazai refuses him. The more he teases, the wetter he becomes. So perfect, so ready for Dazai to take. But not yet. He wants to take his sweet time; stretch whatever this is to last beyond the confines of a single evening. At the very least, Dazai wants Chuuya to remember this as the best fuck of his life.
“No—“ Chuuya hiccups. Dazai rewards him with a single finger dipping inside his cunt past the second knuckle, pumping with slow, deliberate motions. “You, shit . Ah , you—think too highly of yourself, ba —bastard.”
“Chuuya, darling, I already got what I wanted—” Dazai murmurs, brushing past Chuuya’s sweet spot. “But I won’t do anything else to you until you say it,” he adds.
Chuuya wobbles beneath him. “I hate you,” he says. “ I hate you . Don’t act— can you, fuck —like you don’t already know the fucking answer .” Slick dribbles down his bruise marred inner thighs. “No one’s ever…”
“I’d say that’s a shame,” he hums, stilling a writhing Chuuya with a firm hand on his hip. The other one fits around the back of his delicate throat, dotted with lovebites. Chuuya squirms, but Dazai is unrelenting. “However, I find it fitting. I'm going to ruin you, Chuuya. For anyone else that comes after.”
That makes Chuuya pause. He blinks, his lovely blush spreading down the slant of his neck. Whatever he seeks, Chuuya doesn’t give any indication that he found it. “What kind of porn do you watch, God .”
He tries to nip at Dazai’s jaw, scratching at the skin with his claws and gathering the droplets that bubble from the cuts and bringing them to his mouth. It makes Dazai gasp the kind of curses that would have a sailor cowering, and a part of him wants to beg for more .
Tortuous and playful, Dazai toys with the hood of Chuuya's tender, oversensitive clit. He slots his aching cock between Chuuya’s asscheeks to rock his hips and find some semblance of pleasure as he continues taking Chuuya apart.
“Please, Dazai—”
“Please what?” Dazai asks, feigning ignorance even as he plays with his nipples, twisting the buds to his liking. Chuuya moans through pursed lips. That won’t last long. “If Chuuya gets to use me like that, do all sorts of devious things, it’s only fair that I get to ravage you, yes?”
His breath comes in labored huffs. “Stop being an infuriating tease and fuck me, shitty Dazai, or I swear to God I’ll—”
“We might need to fix that foul mouth of yours,” Dazai tuts. “I would much rather have you moaning my name.”
“Just fuck me already! You bastard —”
Without warning, Dazai lines up and slams his cock inside Chuuya's cunt, bottoming out in a single thrust. The tight heat envelops him, Chuuya’s walls clenching around the intrusion, and Dazai slows down to let him adjust to the sudden onslaught. Chuuya falls back into the mattress on his forearms, keening, and right when Dazai thinks he’s going to tap out, his partner turns to him, tangled curls framing his face, and gives him a murderous gaze that can only have one meaning. Dazai laughs.
So very predictable, even during sex. Dazai is happy to discover their compatibility goes beyond the battlefield and that one moment of bloodlust. Chuuya wants this, that much is obvious, but something about his shameless command sends tingles down Dazai’s spine. If Chuuya can’t be his , at least Dazai can take and take and hope to give him a night of pleasure.
He picks up his pace with measured thrusts, finding Chuuya’s sweet spot and angling his cock to hit it with every roll of his hips. Dazai has to fight the urge to whine; gripping Chuuya’s waist hard enough to bruise as he fucks him the way he wants to, mindlessly hard and fast.
Chuuya meets him with every thrust, gasping for breath, and whatever filter keeping him in check is long gone. If he’d been loud before, this Chuuya moans and whimpers like a pornstar, babbling garbled curses. It makes Dazai’s blood boil, and he wonders how it would taste on Chuuya’s lips; if it’d be as sweet as he’d claimed, and if he’d find it unforgettable enough to ask for yet another sip.
“You’re being so good, so perfect,” Dazai breathes. He doesn’t know how much of it is meaningless dirty talk and how much of it is actually true. “I think Chuuya was made for me.”
“Shut up,” Chuuya snarls. His fists fist the wrinkled blanket like a lifeline, knuckles white with exertion. Dazai wants to break him further. “Shut up, shut up, shut up —”
Dazai angles Chuuya’s face until their eyes meet; steely, defiant blue versus depthless brown. “It’s adorable when Chuuya pretends he doesn’t like to be praised.”
“I—do not .”
“Don’t you?” Dazai rakes his nails across Chuuya’s back, rocking slowly in and out of him. “Look at you, being so obedient for me,” he muses, low and husky. “Gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off you.”
Chuuya’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It is more than enough confirmation.
“No one compares,” he continues, drunk on the feverish gleam of his partner’s eyes. “You should’ve seen yourself, swallowing my cock like that. Alluring. Exquisite. Fascinating .”
Slick dribbles down Chuuya’s cunt and thighs, sticking to Dazai’s navel. The wet sounds of his balls slapping his skin is downright obscene, and the more Chuuya tightens around him the heat pooling in Dazai’s belly thickens, sending him closer to the edge. He fucks him relentlessly, ruthlessly ; pounding his pussy to his liking. It feels too good—the warmth, the chorus of Chuuya’s wailing. Dazai wants Chuuya to remember this as the best night of his life.
He spreads his cheeks apart. His pretty, abused cunt glistens from his slick and Dazai’s precome, flushed and swollen and taking his cock so well, pushing his hips back to match the pace, breathless as he is.
“I— hah , fuck, mhn ,” Chuuya stammers. His fangs peek out of his open mouth, drool dripping down his chin, cheeks dotted with tear stains. “I can’t— ah , please. You’re going to—break me.”
“You can take it.” Dazai leans down to lick the salt away from Chuuya’s face, kissing the corners of his eyes. Chuuya shivers. For just a second, he stops ramming his cock where he knows it makes Chuuya see stars. “You will.”
That’s all he gives him; a murmur in his ear, brushing away his hair; and then Dazai dives back, sheathing himself deeper in his spasming cunt. He palms at Chuuya’s front with featherlight touches, dipping past the pubic hair to pull back the hood of his clit and stroking it leisurely. It makes Chuuya groan, and he bites down on the drool soaked pillow.
The sight is almost enough to send him tumbling. Dazai hoists Chuuya’s hips to bring them flush against him, slamming into the inviting heat of his cunt. His eyes focus on the place where they’re joined together, watching his cock disappear in and out of Chuuya’s entrance with rapt hunger. Craving is a dangerous thing, but Dazai would break all of his personal rules for this night of sin with Chuuya.
“Chuuya— mh , Chuuya is so tight.” Sweat beads at the back of Dazai’s neck. “You’re, fuck . I want to devour you. I want—”
Dazai gets closer and closer, and he can tell that Chuuya does as well. Even if he tries to hide his moans, his body doesn’t lie. Neither of their bodies do.
Without breaking pace, Dazai brings his index to Chuuya’s mouth.
“Suck,” he instructs, and instead of complaining, Chuuya opens wide for him, swirling his tongue around the digit. “Make it nice and slick for me, love.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen, but he obeys nonetheless. He sucks it in all the way to the last knuckle, eyes glassy and unfocused, lapping it with spit. Satisfied, Dazai retrieves the now shiny finger and circles Chuuya’s puckered rim with it, teasing and giving him the opportunity to protest—but the objections never come. Instead, he brings a shaky hand that claws at his own ass, as if presenting a gift. Dazai has to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from fucking into his hole with no prep.
Instead, he dips that finger past the ring of muscle, testing Chuuya’s reaction to the intrusion before thrusting it further, no preamble, until his hole swallows the entirety of his index. Dazai doesn’t have to do much; fucking Chuuya’s cunt like he’ll never get another chance, relishing the softness wrapped around his cock, playing with his hole at the same punishing rhythm, teasing his clit.
“Dazai! Dazai ,” Chuuya screams, and Dazai hopes everyone in the neighboring blocks can hear the raw pleasure as he shrieks a broken litany of both profanities and his name over and over; unbroken, unable to muffle them. “Dazai, fuck , Dazai , I’m going to—”
“I got you. You can come now, Chuuya,” Dazai orders, and Chuuya climaxes with a strangled moan.
He clenches around Dazai’s cock, limbs twitching as he struggles to keep himself from slumping over, sobbing from the overstimulation. It’s enough to send Dazai tipping over the edge; the wave crests and he takes the juncture between Chuuya’s neck and shoulder in his mouth and bites down as he empties his cock inside Chuuya’s cunt.
Chuuya’s legs give out first, and Dazai follows soon after. They fall together on a heap atop the bed; Dazai almost crushing Chuuya, catching their breaths without saying a word. Dazai’s softening cock slips out of his pussy, cum dribbling down in thick beads—staining Chuuya’s legs and the mattress beneath him. Dazai buries his face in the crook of Chuuya’s neck, inhaling the smell of sex, sweat, and something that might be Chuuya’s cologne—woody and citrusy.
He does his best not to collapse on top of him, but the effort made his entire body feel light and floaty, and while the mess is not inviting the fold of Chuuya’s frame around his definitely is . Dazai wants to stay right here, before the bubble breaks. He wants to stretch this moment so they can bask in the bliss of their joining for a second longer.
Chuuya inspects the stickiness between his legs, slick from his own pleasure and thick, white ropes of Dazai’s cum. He frowns, sour, and despite Dazai’s own mess of fluids, he makes no effort to crawl away from him. The sigh that escapes Chuuya’s lips is laced with exhaustion, and something that Dazai can’t place. He doesn’t speak, but the uneven pattern of his breathing is a sign that he’s still awake.
Dazai doesn’t know what to make of it.
He hums. “It’s Chuuya’s fault we’re both sticky.” He wiggles to the side, curling his body around Chuuya’s back, pulling him snug against him, and peppers open mouthed kisses all over the available skin.
Dazai knows he’s testing the limits of their little tussle, edging the boundaries that would hurl them back to their usual dynamic—quips and banter and clandestine meetings that they both claim they hate. Whatever the truth is, if there is an uncharted truth there, he has no idea how to explore it. Everything about Chuuya has always been complicated— no , everything about them even now, after seven years, continues to carry a sort of uncertainty that alleged hatred can’t hide.
Something lies underneath. Dormant.
Chuuya finds a pillow and smacks Dazai’s face with it, rolling to face him and hit him squarely in the forehead once more. Dazai squawks, but at such a close distance he can’t evade the onslaught. Not that he would; they’re both laughing and giggling, and he retaliates by trying to tickle Chuuya’s sides. Childish and playful. A bit jarring to experience after nearly two hours of rough sex.
The struggle doesn’t last long. Dazai can tell Chuuya is weary—no one’s fault but Dazai’s , although he doesn’t regret it—, and as the night comes to an end so does their unspoken arrangement. Retrieve your clothes, find a semblance of his easygoing nature, and go back home and hope to send this to some far and dark corner of his mind.
At least, that’s the sensible thing to do.
“Come on.” Dazai picks Chuuya up with a hand securing the back of his knees and the other rounding his shoulder. “Let’s get us cleaned up. I shall act as your knight in shining armor for a little bit, so I can use it to make fun of you later.”
His ministrations are met with a surprising lack of reaction. Chuuya eyes him with narrowed eyes, but he rearranges his limbs to a more comfortable position and rests his head against Dazai’s chest. He doesn’t say anything; not a single word to complain about Dazai being a massive ass, or something even more colorful.
He worries he might have done something wrong—pushing Chuuya too far, perhaps in the heat of everything being unable to see the signs. However, just as he’s about to backtrack to set him back on the bed and take his leave, Chuuya’s nose brushes Dazai’s bared throat, humming as he finds a spot to his liking to mouth at it with canines scraping over the two dots where he’d sucked on his blood.
“Chuuya…” Dazai hesitates. So many things he could say, but the words fade and swirl and he finds himself unable to form a coherent sentence. “Are you okay? Was I—”
Fangs sink on the delicate skin, drawing a trickle of blood. It is nothing more than a slight press of that sharpness, but it makes Dazai yelp nonetheless. When Chuuya cranes his neck and forces Dazai to meet his gaze with a hand firm on his jaw, ocean blue and lips curled in a pout present a crystal clear answer. It’s too adorable, and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
What is he going to do with him?
“It’s hard to believe that rash and proud Nakahara Chuuya likes being carried bridal style,” Dazai says with a snicker. “If only I could snap a picture of this moment.”
Chuuya smacks him, but there is no real force behind the blow. If anything, Dazai gets the impression that he’s urging him to go to the bathroom once and for all. He can’t do anything but comply, because apparently mind blowing sex and having Chuuya feast on his blood is enough to make Dazai realize he might just lead a life catering to Chuuya’s every need.
Hypothetically, of course. Wishful thinking, if he allows himself to be honest.
“So bossy,” he complains.
The bathroom is massive, but that is not shocking—for Dazai has spent an insurmountable amount of time in Chuuya’s penthouse. He lowers Chuuya down on the tiled floor of the shower, earning a bite on his arm. It doesn’t hurt, not like it did the first time. If anything, the rush of oxytocin comes faster, and Dazai has to brace himself on the glass doors to avoid tumbling down.
A tap on his shoulder, calluses brushing the ridges of his skin in between the bandages.
Right. Dazai doesn’t shower with the bandages, he’s not that much of a weirdo, even if the sight of the scars sometimes makes him want to hurl. It means he should flinch and avoid Chuuya’s touch; but instead a sort of giddy warmth blooms in his chest, and he lets his partner remove the gauze. The silence isn’t an uncomfortable one. If anything, Dazai can sense the quiet devotion that propels Chuuya’s actions.
“My poor heart can only take so much, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s shower has buttons instead of faucets. It’s frustrating for a second before Dazai figures out the perfect combination of warm water and a decent pressure. In his momentary struggle, Chuuya snorts and presses the final button that kickstarts the rain above.
“Why does it have to be so complicated?” Dazai asks, drawing Chuuya towards him. He bristles as the water comes into contact with his skin, but soon enough Chuuya melts against Dazai’s open arms with a satisfied exhale. “Dogs can’t be smart enough to use this on the daily.”
The vicious reaction doesn’t come. Chuuya wraps his arms around Dazai’s middle, tipping his head to give Dazai better access—so pliant, so malleable; putty in his hold, and Dazai gets an idea of what’s going on. He cups Chuuya’s cheeks, and his partner’s eyes flutter closed as Dazai brings their lips together for a soft, lingering kiss.
Chuuya’s lips hold the aftertaste of blood, but Dazai finds he doesn’t care. He slots their mouths together, seeking the angle that best joins them closer still; two bodies tied together by an invisible string. It isn’t like being connected by heat and sex, no. Something about being flush together like this, in the ancient language of intimacy, makes Dazai question everything he knows to be real about their relationship.
There is no hurry, and as such they lay holding each other under the spray, trading the kind of kisses one would see in a movie; except this is actually happening . It is not a fictitious delusion, or a set of scratched words in a diary. Chuuya whimpers softly, nipping at Dazai’s lips until they part, giving him access and permission to explore his mouth at his own pace. It is tortuous and delicious, and Dazai dreads the moment in which he’ll have to let go.
It is a long time before they break apart, breathing hard and fast but still encircled in a tight embrace.
“Chuuya is so unfair,” Dazai murmurs, tracing Chuuya’s cheekbones with his thumb. “What am I going to do with you?”
Chuuya doesn’t need to say anything. The glint in his eyes is a challenge, or perhaps the answer he’s been looking for. Dazai remains unsure, but he’s certain nonetheless that Chuuya consents even in this post overstimulation exchange.
And being babied. A whole twenty two year old wanting to be treated like, well, a princess. But no , Dazai is the whiny one.
“Chuuya better remember my kindness in the future,” he adds. “I want multiple favors to cash in.”
Dazai cleans the inside of Chuuya’s thighs, lathering them with lavender soap before doing the rest of his body, then Dazai’s own. He’s about to turn off the shower when he thinks better of it, and scrubs Chuuya’s curls with shampoo and conditioner, getting him squeaky clean and ready for bed.
Dazai likes this, pampering his partner. He likes taking care of a Chuuya that so willingly offers his vulnerability. Kind of like nursing him after nullifying Corruption, but with much more naked skin and a brand of trust that goes beyond the spirit of battlefield. Chuuya’s faith in him to catch him once the matters of the bedroom are settled makes the dead butterflies in Dazai’s stomach find a breath of fresh air once more.
So he towels Chuuya and blow dries his hair, giving special attention to get the curls to fall the way he wears them. He guides him back to the bedroom, and a sleepy Chuuya picks up his own pajamas; navy blue sweats and an oversized Babymetal t-shirt. Dazai shimmies into his boxers—strips torn from the front—and goes to find the rest of his clothes scattered around the apartment. At least, that’s what he meant to do.
A warm hand wraps around Dazai’s wrist. Half closed eyelids sport an unusually steely gaze, and Chuuya drags him to the king sized bed, hopping under the soiled blankets and forcing Dazai to scoot right next to him. He tucks them both nice and snug. The mattress is more than big enough for them to sleep in separate corners—that’s what makes the most sense.
Except the little gremlin has other plans, and it may be due to everything they just shared; that he still craves a deeper closeness, so he yanks Dazai’s arm until they’re lying next to each other, and Chuuya wraps his limbs around his frame like an octopus. He has half of his body on top of Dazai’s, one leg swung over his hip. Comfortable, like they belong together.
“Is this really okay?” Dazai asks. “Shouldn’t I leave?”
Reject me .
Renounce me .
Let tonight be a shred of selflessness mistaken for arousal .
Chuuya snickers. He buries his face in the crook of Dazai’s neck, and soon enough his breath evens out. Dazai cradles the back of Chuuya’s head, carding his fingers among the fiery curls. It soothes him. He mumbles a song that used to calm him down as a child.
What if this is nothing more than Chuuya coming down from the high?
The last thing Dazai hears after a long while of lying awake, before succumbing to Orpheus’ magic, is Chuuya’s lips mouthing against his neck.
Idiot .
—
Dazai wakes to the smell of eggs and coffee.
The other side of the bed is empty and cold, sheets rumpled to reveal the divot where Chuuya should’ve been clinging to him. It feels like a capital offense to wake up alone, but the rest was refreshing, much more than the scraps of sleep he usually gets back home on the best of days.
He crawls out of the covers, shivering from the cold. Dazai figures his clothes must be wrinkled and dirty—enough of an excuse to call a cab to get back to the dorms.
Not yet, though. Dazai believes he is at least entitled to breakfast.
Entitled is not the correct word, neither is deserving . Everything said and done was out of his own free will, and Chuuya really does not owe him anything. There’s a chance that he might just kick him out at the first glance of his face, and he’ll have to deal with it.
Dazai does take some extra minutes to snoop around, of course.
“Finally,” Chuuya says, an unwelcome sarcasm dripping from his words as he walks out of the bedroom, blinking the sleep out of his bleary eyes. “The sleeping beauty awakes from her fucking slumber.”
“Well it’s not my fault a certain, rabid dog decided to maul me into the astral plane last night,” he complains, arms crossed. Whatever Chuuya is doing with those eggs really does smell amazing. Dazai’s stomach rumbles. “Plus, it’s only eleven . It’s a criminal injustice to wake up this early on a weekend.”
“You mean a Tuesday,” Chuuya corrects with a raised eyebrow. “As in, a weekday .”
“The government is forcing Chuuya to be a stinky liar.” Dazai sticks out his tongue and saunters over to the stove, peeking at the eggs over Chuuya’s shoulders. Bits of ham and bell pepper dot the mixture. “If it really were a Tuesday, then why is Chuuya home?”
“Wow, you really are stupid. It’s something called a day off .” Chuuya grabs a spoonful of the eggs and feeds it to Dazai. “Which I’m sure is not the case for you.”
He’s tragically right. Now that he thinks about it, Dazai should be working with Kunikida on an investigation for a kidnapping case, but he’s mostly already solved it—so perhaps he’ll grace his friend with a morning without Dazai. The perfect gift.
“The Agency can handle itself,” Dazai says, snaking his arms around Chuuya’s lithe waist. He hadn’t been able to properly appreciate it last night, what with the desperate hunger to claim Chuuya. The muscle is firm under his forearm, cinched just so, perfect for Dazai to grip. “Plus, I can’t leave without my clothes, slug.”
Chuuya tries to shake him off. “I was gracious enough to throw them in the washing machine, asshole,” he snaps, still stirring the eggs. “They’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes, so you can get out of my fucking sight.”
“Fifteen minutes,” he croaks, and dips his fingers under the elastic of Chuuya’s sweats with slow, teasing motions. “Whatever shall we do?”
“We can—” his breath hitches. Chuuya shivers, gooseflesh rising on his neck. Dazai holds him tighter, bruising. “Breakfast.”
“I agree.” Dazai kisses Chuuya’s temple, lingering there and inhaling the smell of the earthy shampoo. He rocks his hips back and forth, grinding his cock between Chuuya’s cheeks. “ Breakfast .”
Dazai bends Chuuya over the kitchen counter with little protests; it seems that he had similar ideas. He rucks up his shirt, leaning down to press his lips in a trail of kisses down Chuuya’s mouth, all the way to the little dimples under his tailbone, biting down on the flesh so hard it leaves imprints.
Then he sinks to his knees, savoring the gasp that flies out of Chuuya’s mouth. His legs are taut with effort, but he still spreads his legs unprompted, just for Dazai. He gets rid of the sweats and the underwear in one go, baring Chuuya’s sopping, wet cunt.
Dazai is yet to do anything, and yet he’s already dripping with slick.
“Naughty,” Dazai mumbles. The sight alone makes heat stir in his gut; so perfect, so willing. Ready for him to do as he pleases. “Splayed for me like a whore. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“Ah—fuck you,” Chuuya barks, or at least he tries to. The last vowel melts into a whimper as Dazai mouths at his perineum. “If you’re going to, mhn , keep talking I’m— Stop being such a fucking dick .”
“Where are your manners?” Dazai chides. It’s hard to keep himself from surging forward and wrecking Chuuya, but he has an agenda here. He traces his outer folds with a single finger, trying to provoke him. “Tell me, Chuuya. What do you want? Or should I stop?”
He blows hot air directly into Chuuya’s sensitive cunt, just shy of giving him what he so desperately needs. Slick dribbles out of his entrance, and Chuuya sobs.
“I’m murdering you in the most painful way possible if you stop,” he threatens, and it really shouldn’t be this hot. Dazai grinds his clothed cock against his palm, hiding a groan by biting Chuuya’s inner thigh. “Now— God . You can eat me out or you can say goodbye to your dick.”
Fuck teasing him, Dazai dives in and swipes his tongue around the labia, lightly sucking before drawing a path to the swollen clit. He pulls back the hood to expose the head, latching on to it, grazing with his teeth. Chuuya mewls, clawing at the counter, seeking purchase, and Dazai refuses to give it to him. Right now, he wants Chuuya begging and frantic.
Dazai eats him out like a man starved, punishing in his pace, relishing the feel of Chuuya’s slick running down his face. Breathless moans turn into full blown shrieking the more he pushes his tongue past the clenching walls of his cunt, where he can thrust in and out of it and flick directly into his sweet spot, eliciting a slew of curses drowned in whines.
“You really do taste too good,” Dazai rasps, barely holding himself steady. His breath comes in short bursts, and he’s so hard it borders on painful. Now, though, Chuuya’s pleasure comes first. “Heavenly. Would you let me do this all day long?”
“You— fuck ,” he hisses, fist banging on the marble. Dazai doesn’t let up and laps with renewed enthusiasm. “How are you so —”
Dazai grins. “So good at blowing you?”
“ Shit —so good at getting in my, hah , in my fucking nerves.”
Dazai spreads Chuuya’s legs further. He hadn’t been lying; he really could spend an entire day buried between his thighs, preferably crushed by the weight of them. Chuuya soon starts fucking himself on Dazai’s tongue, pushing back his hips to meet his thrusts. Eventually, Dazai lets Chuuya control exactly how he wants to be taken apart, gasping, and Dazai does nothing more than add to the fuel by circling his abused clit with his thumb knowing full well just how much it makes Chuuya go insane.
He drinks every sound, every curse. It’s a litany he might never get to experience again.
It doesn’t take long for Chuuya to break. He comes with Dazai’s name on his lips and calling out for mercy, clenching and tightening around his tongue. Chuuya rides the rest of his orgasm rocking against Dazai’s face, filter gone.
“Chuuya was perfect.” Dazai leans back just enough to start licking the wetness dripping down Chuuya’s thighs, making sure to leave not a single spot without cleaning. He swallows the taste of sex, so perfect he’s liable to become addicted. “So good for me.”
Chuuya swings around, heaving and deliciously red. Without warning, he pushes Dazai against the cabinets and forces his legs apart so he can kneel between them. His pupils are blown, more black than blue.
“Do I have to make you shut up?” Chuuya asks, and then he frees his aching cock and wraps his callused fist around the girth.
“Only if you—”
Dazai throws his head back, barely registering the pain from bumping against the wood. Chuuya thumbs at the precome gathered at the tip, lathering the length with it; and the friction makes Dazai see stars. Chuuya strokes him slowly, and then faster all of a sudden—all it takes is three pumps before Dazai tips over the edge with a whimper and climaxes so hard black spots dance in his vision. Blood rushes to his head, and he finds himself unable to say anything.
Blinking, he struggles to focus on his partner.
Finally, Dazai realizes Chuuya is bringing the hand dripping with cum to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he sucks on every single finger, then his palm; eating Dazai’s pleasure with a sort of taunting elation that drives him insane. He doesn’t stop until the rest of his hand is clean, swallowing every single bead of cum. Dazai almost climaxes again.
“Chuuya really is full of surprises.” Dazai caresses Chuuya’s cheek, drawing circles on the flushed skin. “He has to be careful, or I might just get attached.”
So it seems the little menace isn’t done. Dazai doesn’t get to wind down—because Chuuya turns his head to kiss his palm, humming, holding him in place. The pecks come with just a hint of teeth, until he reaches the edge of his hand and sinks down his sharpened canines on Dazai’s flesh. Chuuya’s eyes flutter closed, and he drinks Dazai’s blood as if every sip could be his last. The pain soon morphs into bliss as endorphins flow in his veins.
Chuuya takes and takes and takes.
When he’s done, he runs his mouth over the pinprick wounds, eyes closed. Chuuya breathes in, and when he looks back at Dazai he seems to glow with a golden aura, holding himself with a quiet, striking intensity that steals Dazai’s breath away; a deity in mortal flesh. The little splinters of his crystal halo lodge in the chambers of his heart. This isn’t sex anymore.
“Fuck,” Chuuya curses, and he bends forward to place the back of his hand against Dazai’s forehead. “I didn’t mean to drink so much. Are you feeling lightheaded?”
Dazai captures Chuuya’s lips for a lingering, searing kiss. It’s not fancy or sophisticated, but they fit together like matching puzzle pieces, even in the chaos. Chuuya sighs his surprise, but soon he drags Dazai closer to reciprocate in earnest, almost battling for dominance—and they’re both bound to lose.
“It seems Chuuya just found himself a personal blood bank.” Dazai twirls a curl of fiery red around his index, tugging. Chuuya slaps his hand away.
“That doesn’t sound as sexy as you think.” Chuuya pushes himself up, swaying on his feet. Dazai follows. It seems he was right; a tad too much of carmine is enough to mimic the effects of alcohol. And Chuuya has always been a lightweight. “You don’t know what you’re saying, asshole.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad way to go.” Dazai wiggles his eyebrows. “Being useful to—”
“Well, I don’t want to be charged with murder.” Chuuya goes to scoop the omelet's on the stove that he’d turned off before Dazai could feast on him. “The personal blood bank shit isn’t a thing anymore.”
“We can be trendsetters!”
“So now you’re willing to be at my fucking beck and call? To come whenever I need you?” Chuuya asks, eyes alight with something akin to fury. Tentatively, as if facing a scared kitten, Dazai goes to surround him in a tight embrace. “I really could kill you.”
Dazai buries his smile on the crown of his head, placing a kiss there. “Chuuya would never. I know it.”
That drags a groan out of Chuuya. How stubborn, Dazai thinks. Mori’s wicked schemes at fifteen did give them an unbreakable partnership—Dazai isn’t grateful, not really; if he had to guess, he knows he would’ve found Chuuya anyways. The whole speeding up the process is commendable, though, reticent as he is to admit it.
Chuuya eyes him with suspicion. “You can’t take it back, shitty Dazai.”
“What, do you think the first thing I’ll do after I leave is post an ad on Craigslist to get a new vampire partner ?” Dazai snorts. It almost brings tears to his eyes; the extremely hilarious idea that he would replace Chuuya with someone else. And he wants him to know as much. “I only want to be sucked dry by Nakahara Chuuya.”
“Don’t be disgusting, for fucks sake.”
They eat their breakfast in silence, but the shared looks and the kicks under the table are an entire conversation. Dazai steals bites from Chuuya’s very identical omelet and whines for more orange juice when his runs out. It’s a childish setting for children in adult suits.
“I kind of did feel very connected to you,” Dazai says, cogs turning in his mind. He gasps. “Is this some sort of alpha, omega thing in which we’re eternally bound together?
“You—” Chuuya’s mouth is wide open, and the shock melts into a blush. “It’s not really—”
“So we are bonded.”
“I’m burying you alive.”
Chuuya retrieves his clothes, clean and soft and smelling of lavender soap. Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat when he finds out that Chuuya fixed the zipper he had violently shredded the previous night. It’s a tiny, tiny detail, and yet Dazai can’t help but leap—or try to—at Chuuya’s arms; though he ends up falling on his ass when he swiftly avoids the avalanche. Chuuya really is a cruel, mean, insane, perfect partner.
“You know…” Dazai muses as they walk to the door, meaning today’s adventure has come to an end. Before Chuuya can open it, though, Dazai cages him against the wall. He could never get enough, now that he knows what Chuuya looks like when he comes. “I think next time you’ll have to use that pink strap on me.”
“You went through my stuff?” Chuuya’s eyes are wide, cheeks beet red, fangs peeking out of his open mouth. He tries to push Dazai away. “How much more of a—”
“Is that a no?” Dazai counters. He knows, with gleeful amusement, that he has already won the argument. Alas, it’s always fun to rile Chuuya up until he snaps; and maybe use that violence for different purposes. “I can take it back.”
“You think you’re funny.” Chuuya stabs his finger on Dazai’s chest. The claw-like nail pierces his clothes, all the way to the first layer of skin. “Let’s see how long you’ll keep that up when I have you stuffed and gagging on my toys.”
He licks the drop of blood on his nail before it can spill on the pristine floors, moaning around the digit in a way that makes Dazai surge forward in an attempt to flip him over and—
Chuuya’s hand finds Dazai’s neck in the dim foyer.
Maybe oxygen is overrated.
“The Agency must be worried about you.” Chuuya pecks his lips, as if seconds ago he wasn’t about to let himself be wrecked again. Dazai whines in protest, but it gets him nowhere. “Best to not keep them waiting.”
“Chuuya clearly hates me.” Dazai pouts as Chuuya shuffles out of his hold. “He’s mean and rude, and doesn’t want me in his life anymore.”
“I hate you so much, mackerel. With a fucking burning passion.” Chuuya offers a devilish grin, and Dazai’s heart stops. He wants the image seared all over his body, his brain, his essence. Who would’ve imagined abstinence from a person could be so painful—and they haven’t even parted yet. “Every time I see you a part of me withers to dust. You are the cause of my migraines. And I like it when you kiss me like you can’t get enough of me, and when you lull me to sleep with the same silly songs from our teenage days.”
So Dazai kisses him soft and sweet, lingering in the unsaid promise. Chuuya smiles against his lips and Dazai savors the taste of black coffee on his mouth. He lets him nick his tongue and drink from the wound. It stings, but it isn’t an unbearable kind of pain. Dazai relishes the closeness.
“You have way too much leverage over me.”
“It’s not my fault mackerels are this level of pathetic.”
The lock clicks shut once Dazai leaves after a dozen kisses or so, and he whistles a tune as he makes his way to the Agency.
ugly slug
are you free next saturday?
dazai
for you? obviously not
ugly slug
fuck you
meet me at 8 pm.
Dreams come true at the oddest of times. Blood sucking related dreams, that is. Mouths on necks, lips on skin.
Anything else—well. How could Dazai say no?