like real people do

by oursorrows

Summary:

It’s not that Dazai doesn’t think about sex. He’s caught himself with his gaze fixed on the dip of Chuuya’s hips in the past. Chuuya, the unstoppable force of nature that found no qualms in introducing himself to Dazai at fifteen. Dazai, an unmovable object, with an entourage of fake friends and a silver tongue.

Chuuya, pretty with a sort of anarchic beauty you only find on otherworldly creatures; ethereal in ways no deity could dream to rival. Chuuya, loud and foul mouthed, just and compassionate. Also the greatest pain in Dazai’s ass.

Notes:

hello my dears! this one is quite an emotional ride.

i started writing this around the same time i was working on a thread for twt exploring dazai's relationship with sex, and that's how this was born. i'll link the thread at the end notes!

dazai experiences a whirlwind of emotions during the act, but chuuya is right there for him. i wanted to write the most achingly human part of sex, and i hope i managed to do it well for chuuya's and dazai's characters <3

enjoy!

“Have you had sex before?”

 

It takes Dazai a minute to compose himself. 

 

He’s sure his face betrays nothing, but the infuriating tilt of Chuuya’s lips means he’s failed, once again, at fooling his best friend. Only Chuuya could spring such a question up on him like he’s asking what they’ll have for dinner tonight. He says it nibbling around a slice of watermelon, and Dazai is decidedly not staring at his mouth.

 

Dazai wants to brag about all the men he’s taken to bed, but he’s an eighteen year old teenager on antidepressants that mess with his libido on the best of days.

 

The reality is, though, that in previous years, sex felt like one big hypothetical. The thing fictional characters did in movies—a heady kiss, then a terrible cut to clothes strewn on the floor panning to a straight couple laying panting and smiling like they just found out they’re inheriting Genovia, on a too pristine bed. The woman would have the comforter up to her chest, and it would just be concealing the man’s nether regions. Yuck .

 

It’s not that Dazai doesn’t think about sex. He’s caught himself with his gaze fixed on the dip of Chuuya’s hips in the past. Chuuya , the unstoppable force of nature that found no qualms in introducing himself to Dazai at fifteen. Dazai ,  an unmovable object, with an entourage of fake friends and a silver tongue.

 

Chuuya , pretty with a sort of anarchic beauty you only find on otherworldly creatures; ethereal in ways no deity could dream to rival. Chuuya , loud and foul mouthed, just and compassionate. Also the greatest pain in Dazai’s ass.

 

A disruption in his life. The day the planets aligned to bring doom upon Dazai. Or so he tells himself, much too aware of the sour taste of self deceit.

 

He has a reputation to uphold, though.

 

As soon as the first syllable of affirmation is out of his mouth, his best friend slash crush slash bane of his existence sniffs the lie on the tip of his tongue.

 

Chuuya snorts. “What are you so embarrassed about? I’m not trying to make fun of you here,” he says. Dazai shoots him a withering stare. “Shocker, I know.”

 

Confident as he looks, however, Chuuya’s cheeks are stained pink. He digs his thumbnail on a watermelon seed, three chewed rinds at his side.

 

“I’m only embarrassed at Chuuya’s childish question,” Dazai says as nonchalantly as he can, avoiding still Chuuya’s face. His hand curls into a fist, tense and quivering, digging crescents on his palm. “What are we, sixteen?”

 

“Jeez, Dazai. It’s okay if you haven’t.” Chuuya forces Dazai’s arm into his lap, and he’s always been the strong one of the two. It’s barely a struggle to get him to relax his hand—and Chuuya doesn’t let go. Dazai really should be thinking harder about the gesture. “I haven’t, either. By the way.”

 

“ What ?” Dazai’s eyes open wide as saucers for a fraction of a second. Enough to warrant laughter from Chuuya. He clears his throat. “But you’ve dated before.”

 

He knows they’re young. That there is no acceptable, minimum age to lose your virginity. But in highschool it wasn’t rare to see Chuuya followed by a line of suitors, both men and women; moony eyed and vying for a scrap of his attention. With the occasional outliers. Mere ants that, as he just learned, never managed to worm their way into Chuuya’s bed.

 

It was with a triumphant snicker that Dazai basked in the fact that, more often than not, Chuuya chose to spend his time with him .

 

Complaining and whining and bitching about it, just as Dazai does to this very day. A game of spewing hateful but meaningless words with no clear winner in sight.

 

“So?” Chuuya fiddles with the red beads of their matching bracelets. Yet another whim, but faded as they are, both of them have kept them in near pristine condition, three years later. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I—fuck. Okay, whatever. I never really felt… comfortable. With them. With my body, sometimes. God, why am I admitting this to you.”

 

A drop of blood dribbles down the chapped, abused lip. Before he can really process it, Dazai leans forward to catch it with his thumb so it doesn’t drip down his chin. And so they both sit paralyzed on the cold, wooden floor of Chuuya’s bedroom, a little too close; suspiciously close.

 

“You could’ve dated, too,” Chuuya mumbles as Dazai wipes his finger on the edge of his shirt. “Even a bastard like you had plenty of opportunities.”

 

Yes, Dazai didn’t lack suitors. They were too comfortable around him for his liking; sitting on his desk with jagged smiles that made his stomach churn, inquiring about his bandages, touching and dragging the pads of their fingers up the gauze. For the men, it usually ended with Chuuya’s fist connecting with their faces.

 

That got Chuuya a lot of detention. And what could Dazai do, except getting himself sent to detention as well?

 

Unfortunate, really. Being saved by Chuuya, who never once tried to pry the truth Dazai hides beneath the bandages until he very willingly offered it; on the sixteenth birthday they spent together drinking cheap wine on a rooftop. No judgment. Only an innocent curiosity that tugged at Dazai’s heartstrings.

 

Every single time Dazai tried to find reasons to get away from Chuuya, he gave him ten more to stay by his side.

 

“Of course. I could’ve had anyone I wanted,” he says, as if the very idea of going out with any of those past admirers didn’t fill him to the brim with dread and disgust. “I could have anyone I desire. Unlike poor Chuuya, stuck with the ugliest batch of snotty human beings.”

 

Chuuya flashes a wolfish smile. One that’s more teeth than lips, paired with a glint in his eyes that spells trouble. “I think someone’s jealous.”

 

“Me? And why would I ever want to date a slug, hmm?” Arms crossed over his chest, Dazai gives his own smirk and ignores the implication behind Chuuya’s words. “With how tiny Chuuya is, I bet I’d end up squashing him. I don’t want to be charged with murder”

 

“Born an asshole, always an asshole,” Chuuya snaps with no real bite to it. Dazai can tell something’s bothering him; he goes from playing with the bracelet to fidgeting with Dazai’s palm, still atop his thigh. He traces the crisscrossing lines. “So I was thinking…”

 

“What a discovery! Chuuya is capable of actual thoughts.” Dazai turns his gaze to Chuuya, searching, until the blue eyes soften. “I can finally complete my thesis on tiny slug brains and their contribution to the ecosystem.”

 

“I’m serious, jackass. Quit joking for a goddamn second,” he barks, and oh . Dazai shuffles so he can face Chuuya properly, mouth a thin line to convey a vow of silence, at least until he’s done with his piece. It isn’t all that often that he so clearly needs Dazai to listen . Chuuya sighs, “it’s so shitty to experience this—weird dissonance with my body. Like it doesn’t really… correspond. I don’t hate it, but I also don’t… I’ve done things. With myself, but I’ve never really, um— do not, Dazai. I know what you’re about to say. Shut up. For shit’s sake. Okay . I want—”

 

It’s always a little bit heartbreaking when Chuuya openly talks about his dysphoria. Dazai hums, mostly to let him know he’s here and present, listening, and Chuuya slowly exhales; full of relief. He’s dabbled a bit in his own issues with gender, but nothing that delves into the realm of his body . It pains him that there is no one he can sweet talk or bribe to make Chuuya’s difficult experiences go away.

 

“Chuuya,” Dazai prods, gently, squeezing Chuuya’s trembling hand. “Say it.”

 

“Fucking hell. Fine. I trust you, okay? You know I do.” Chuuya lays down on his back, and Dazai’s hand is still tightly clasped in his. Almost as an afterthought. The weight and warmth of him is grounding. “I trust you. I know you won’t be mean, since it’d be our first… And it’s—convenient, I guess. That we’re best friends. So we should. Ugh, why is this so fucking difficult. We should have sex. To get it over with. There . I said it. You can laugh now.”

 

Dazai isn’t sure if he’s ever expressed his conflicting feelings regarding sex to his best friend. He plops down next to him, using his hands as a cushion to prop his head up. Chuuya gives a noncommittal hum. 

 

Guilt often accompanies the murmurs in the back of his head when it comes to the pleasures of the body. He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s ever masturbated, always nauseous and desperate for it to end . Dazai can’t pinpoint just what about sex makes him want to vomit so bad. 

 

Senior year made him the object of desires, but Dazai doesn’t think he’s ever experienced that kind of heat.

 

Maybe. He’s not too sure, but all too reluctant to find out.

 

If it’s with Chuuya, though…

 

The only person he’s ever trusted enough to bare his scarred skin. The only person that sees him as more than his struggles with depression. The one that nearly plowed Dazai to the ground when he dared suggest he wasn’t human at all, earning him a black eye and a split lip. 

 

Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya .

 

Should he look closer, Dazai might just stumble into an epiphany.

 

Not today, apparently.

 

He takes a deep breath, itching to hide his flaming face on the back of Chuuya’s hand. “Okay.”

 

“Think about it as a science experiment, we—” Chuuya blinks; once, twice, thrice in rapid succession. For a room so vast they sure ended up pressed together like sardines. He has to wiggle a bit so he can turn to face Dazai, wide eyed and gaping. “What did you just say?”

 

Dazai huffs, trying to mask the sudden hitch in his voice with annoyance. “I said I’ll have sex with Chuuya. To teach him what real pleasure looks like.”

 

“Someone’s cocky,” Chuuya quips, one perfect eyebrow raised, readying himself to jam his elbow on Dazai’s side. “Maybe I will teach you something.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t take lessons from dogs.”

 

“You fucking asshole.”

 

They burst out laughing, and the sound of Chuuya’s mirth is melodious and contagious. Dazai is pulled into the chorus almost unwillingly; he’d rather watch and commit the crinkle of Chuuya’s eyes as he throws his head back and nearly bangs it on his closet. The urge to tuck a fiery curl behind his ear is overwhelming. The laugh that bubbles out of him is unexpected, but oh how he likes the way it harmonizes with Chuuya’s.

 

Heart thumping hard and fast in his chest, Dazai presses forward. Chuuya startles, but quickly recovers. He flits between Chuuya’s half lidded eyes and his lips, and there’s a quiet rumble in his belly that Dazai is not entirely sure has something to do with getting horny. Is there a way they could be further joined together, closer still?

 

His lips are chapped, but they look soft nonetheless. Dazai wants to touch, and touch, and touch. He wants to pinch the bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He wants to bring their mouths together for the sole sake of breathing Chuuya in; the aftertaste of watermelon and his minty toothpaste, the scent of sunscreen on his face from spending the afternoon outside.

 

Chuuya’s throat bobs when he swallows. “Now?”

 

“I—” Dazai cradles Chuuya’s cheek. He’s warm to the touch and so, so soft. Kisses have been far and few in Dazai’s life; good, if incredibly boring. He’s never seen the appeal of exchanging spit with someone else. And yet, the idea of kissing Chuuya doesn’t fill him with dread. He wants to kiss Chuuya, and he wants to so badly he can’t even come up with a single argument against it. “Yeah. Do you want to?”

 

He searches for the word that best describes this odd longing. Craving isn’t quite it; electricity runs all over the nerve endings on Dazai’s lips, but the hunger doesn’t come from a place deep and low in his belly. Oddly, he feels calm. Safe , in this pocket; in this prelude of affection. This body of his, the most relaxed he’s been in weeks.

 

“Do I ever…” Chuuya murmurs, low and rough, eyes fluttering closed.

 

It comes with a moment of hesitation—there and gone—, and Dazai tilts Chuuya’s jaw, getting a front seat view of freckles on sun warmed skin. He admires the smooth bridge of Chuuya’s nose, tempted to run his finger along the slant of it. His hand twitches before tightening ever so slightly on the bone, and leans closer.

 

Dazai doesn’t think about what’s to come after. Not the tangle of limbs, the ragged breaths, the sweat gluing them together.

 

He knows only this moment.

 

His lips barely brush Chuuya’s in the ghost of a kiss, and he thinks he makes a choked, whining noise. A hand tugs on the fabric of his shirt—Chuuya’s, smaller than his, insistent on his clothing. Dazai chuckles. Some of the tension leaves his tightly strung muscles. This is his Chuuya . Perhaps not his in the way Dazai suspects he may want him to be, but certainly the Chuuya that cracks a lopsided smile and reaches to close the remaining distance between them.

 

Then—

 

A door slams open on the first floor. With a yelp Chuuya springs backwards, dragging Dazai with him and knocking their foreheads together before shoving him to the opposite side of the room. He’s red all over; from his cheekbones to his neck and disappearing under the silver of collarbone exposed by his tank top. Chuuya doesn’t bother wearing binders at home, when it’s just the two of them.

 

“Chuuya!” comes the (unfortunate) cheer of Adam’s voice. A rustle reveals what’s most likely plastic bags from the grocery store. Dazai knows with certainty what he’s about to say next, “come help me put this away! Oh, Dazai-kun. I didn’t know you’d be visiting.”

 

Adam says something else that Dazai doesn’t catch. He’s too busy crawling towards Chuuya to check up on him, barely able to hear over the blood rushing to his ears.

 

“Chuuya,” he says, catching himself before he can flick the tip of his nose where the blush is reddest. Surely he isn’t any better, but Dazai is surprised to find he… misses something; and yet he’s not as upset as he thinks he should be. “Chuuya looks like a tomato. Ketchup even—the most disgusting sauce invented by man.”

 

“Says the one well on his way to giving grenadine a run for its money.” Chuuya sits up, bringing Dazai with him. They sit in front of each other, unmoving, but Dazai knows Chuuya is coming to his own conclusions. Namely, the fact that they’re not about to do anything today with Adam and his cursed, excellent hearing. Something akin to relief floods Dazai, followed by guilt. “Tomorrow? Dad is going out on a work dinner with his boss. Won’t be home ‘till late.”

 

Dazai smiles. At least, there’s nothing fake about it. What a terrifying effect Chuuya has on him. “Tomorrow.”

 

—   —   —

 

The near twenty four hours that separate Thursday from Friday go by in the blink of an eye.

 

It doesn’t help that Dazai stayed up well into the witching hour, but he’s used to it at this point in his life. Sleep eludes him on the best of days until, at last, he passes out from exhaustion. A healthy habit? Certainly not. There are little places, though, in which he feels safe enough to let go and let the realm of dreams claim him for longer than three hours at a time.

 

He purses his lips. That Chuuya’s bed and his fluffy comforter and his presence playing on his PSP in the dark by his side is one of those places is entirely a coincidence.

 

The trek between the apartment he shares with an old family friend—due to their passing—and Chuuya’s house isn’t all that long, but every step Dazai takes sees the path in front of him stretching and thinning around him until he has to take a break to try and breathe .

 

After almost half an hour that should’ve been nineteen minutes, Dazai knocks on his best friend’s door loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood.

 

“What the fuck,” Chuuya snaps as he opens the door and ushers him inside. Dazai sniggers, petulant, and Chuuya kicks him in the shin. Or tries, anyways, because he dodges and the blow ends as a mere brush of Chuuya’s foot on Dazai’s leg. “You know I can get in trouble for that, right?”

 

“The more reason to do it, Chuuya darling,” Dazai says. They’re still standing on the foyer, lit only by an open window on the far wall.

 

“Hm. You won’t be saying that when I get grounded for the entirety of college.” Chuuya tilts his head, radiating a smug aura that should not be so compelling. “You’d miss me far too much to risk it, am I right?”

 

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting for the day when I never have to see Chuuya’s ugly face again.”

 

Instead of taking the bait, Chuuya turns around in the direction of the stairs, a sway to his hips. His voice is low when he speaks before disappearing, “be my guest. The door is right there.”

 

And what could Dazai ever do, except follow?

 

Not without dragging his steps and complaining about Chuuya’s lack of hospitality, but following anyways.

 

When he arrives at the bedroom Chuuya is lying flat on his back on his mattress, gaze trained on the glowing stars in his ceiling and twiddling with the drawstrings of his navy hoodie. Dazai had tricked him into thinking certain arrangements belonged to made up constellations that he kept regardless; displaying them, even. A reminder of the fact that they share something, and it dawns on him that this is really happening .

 

He sets down the bag slung over his shoulder and pads the rest of the way to stand, awkward and scratching his elbow, right before the bed. Chuuya snorts, motioning with a crooked finger for Dazai to get closer. So he does. His knee on the comforter, then the rest of his leg. He inches closer until Chuuya yanks on his arm and he falls unceremoniously on top of him.

 

“Are you nervous?” Chuuya asks around his hair. Breathing out, Dazai heaves himself to a sitting position. “It’s okay if—”

 

“Why would I,” Dazai says, the perfect picture of composure, even though his brain fires and fires and stresses on his impending doom. Where Chuuya’s body is warm, Dazai’s is cold.

 

“You’re being the most massive tool right now.” Chuuya massages the bridge of his nose, but his gaze softens, and Dazai doesn’t deserve it. The gentleness there, one he’s cataloged and knows it’s directed at him alone. “Well, I’m nervous as fuck. You—we’re about to…”

 

“Never thought I’d see a stammering Chuuya.” Fuck it. He makes himself as comfortable as he can between Chuuya’s legs, unsure as to what comes next, what he should do now. “It’s endearing.”

 

Chuuya does nothing but watch him for long, hard seconds. The back of Dazai’s neck prickles at the uncomfortable scrutiny. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

Does he? 

 

Leave it to Chuuya to parse the tiniest of tells and just… realize something might be wrong.

 

Dazai hadn’t dared dwell on the possibility the night before, too afraid of discovering he might not… No. It wasn’t a lack of want, that much Dazai was able to surmise. He wants to be with Chuuya; he really, really does. It’s the, well, the aspects of the encounter that could be troubling him.

 

Chuuya is just so carefree in his ease to touch others, where the prospect of sharing the most minimal shred of intimacy made Dazai uncomfortable. It wasn’t like he couldn’t exchange physicalities with others—it is the perfect shield to create the impression that everything is okay, at all times—; it could be a necessary evil, but truly…

 

Funny. Chuuya has always been the exception, seeing right through him, and Dazai is not so dense that he couldn’t notice how there are certain displays his best friend reserves only for him . Holding his hand down the sidewalk, carding his fingers through Dazai’s hair when he falls asleep on Chuuya’s shoulder on the subway, never hesitating to share a bed with him when he stays overnight.

 

And it always comes as a choice.

 

“ Dazai . Do you—”

 

Dazai doesn’t think about it. He crushes their lips together; harsh and messy and for a fraction of a second Chuuya melts against him, opening his mouth to welcome him.

 

Then he pulls back.

 

“Give me a fucking answer, Dazai,” he hisses, mouth shiny with spit. “We’re not doing anything until you do. And don’t fucking lie to me.” Chuuya narrows his eyes, then adds, “please.”

 

It takes him a moment to realize he’s been staring, hypnotized. He brings his thumb to trace the outline of his own swollen lips. That hadn’t sucked. Not at all. Not in the slightest. Some of the worry dissipates from his system, and he maneuvers Chuuya so he’s sitting on Dazai’s lap.

 

“I do,” he says. His arms circle Chuuya’s middle, and Dazai buries his face in the crook of his shoulder. Surely there is no need anymore to hide the rumbling of his heart. “ Chuuya .”

 

The following kiss is soft, a real introduction. Hello, how are you . They move together as if they’d choreographed this dance in advance, telegraphing each other’s movements and falling into a push and pull like the comings and goings of waves lapping on the shore. Chuuya licks at the seams of his mouth and Dazai’s lips part for him, breath hitching.

 

There is no rush. Dazai allows himself to enjoy the closeness. It nags at him that there should be heat in his belly where there is none; that’s what most books say anyways, but every sway as he chases Chuuya comes with a thrill and tingles on the tips of his fingers where he’s holding him steady. 

 

Yeah. He likes this. He likes the frustrated sounds Chuuya makes when he tugs on Dazai’s hair.

 

They part only to catch their breaths. Chuuya’s holding on to him with his arms lax around Dazai’s neck, panting and deliciously flushed. 

 

Dazai did that .

 

“Of course the waste of bandages is a good kisser.” Chuuya rolls his hips, strong thighs bracketing him, and for the first time Dazai feels a small inkling of fire in his veins. “I fucking hate you.”

 

“All I’m hearing is Chuuya thinks I’m so talented at basically anything and everything,” Dazai sings with his tongue peeking out, that is, until Chuuya bites down on it hard enough to draw blood. Humming, Chuuya soothes the wound with his own. “I knew it. Chuuya really is a dog.”

 

The corners of Chuuya’s lips quirk. He kisses along the edges of Dazai’s mouth, up his jaw and cheekbone, his nose and forehead; fleeting kisses that further add to the dust of red all over Dazai’s face. “You were the one practically slobbering all over me.”

 

Frowning, Dazai elects to ignore the jab and moves to dispose of Chuuya’s hoodie. Rather obediently, but still attempting to bite him one more time, Chuuya complies and raises his arms. He has no business being this cute. Or wearing one of his binders, since they’re alone. A pout makes its way to Dazai’s lips.

 

“What? Jesus, I went out earlier today,” Chuuya explains, all haughty and annoyed, ever the goddamned brat. He raises an eyebrow, the menace. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it off?”

 

Dazai scoffs. “Please. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

 

Turns out that wrestling him out of his binder is quite an issue, if it even can be called a wrestle . This one in particular comes with a row of clasps over Chuuya’s left side ( so I can get out of it faster , Chuuya’d taunts). Dazai’s one attempt at fumbling with a girl’s bra was only a half success and served as the immediate realization that he was very much not into girls. Or fumbling with bras.

 

Chuuya’s binder is a blatant offense against Dazai’s nimble and skilled hands, because this binder he wants to tear from his chest, though he doesn’t know exactly why . He runs a finger over the invisible seams. He’s seen Chuuya bare chested before—one of those small demonstrations of trust and vulnerability that never fails to make him emotional. On the inside, at least.

 

He can feel Chuuya getting impatient, flushed and squirming in Dazai’s lap. Even still, he does nothing to urge Dazai into acting. Finally, he goes for the first clasp; tugs, tries to unhook it, but it doesn’t give. A grumble bubbles up from the back of his throat. He does it again.

 

It becomes evident rather quickly that Dazai does not know what he’s doing. He can’t be faulted for this mishap when the cursed binder continues to conspire against him. Dazai wants… He—he wants to see Chuuya; all of him. Which won’t be possible if he doesn’t get him out of the garment.

 

“Chuuyaaa…” Dazai whines, giving his best and most acclaimed puppy eyes. The ones that always get him what he wants. “Come on.”

 

“Suck it, fucker.” Chuuya stretches his arms above his head, catlike and graceful. He peers down at him with a lazy smile. “You’re not getting any help here.”

 

So that’s how it is, huh. Dazai drives his attention to the unblemished skin of Chuuya’s collarbone, gaze roaming over the faint smattering of reddish freckles. His mouth replaces the trail he’d been drawing with his eyes, diving down to suck on the dip between the jutting bones out of sheer curiosity and—

 

Chuuya makes a surprised, garbled noise. Dazai latches on to the spot until a purple mark blooms on his flesh, and only then does he pull back to admire his handiwork. It isn’t so much the watercolor quality to it as it is the sight of Chuuya’s mouth hanging partially open, eyes glazed over that brings warmth to the back of Dazai’s neck.

 

His mostly uninterested cock twitches in his pants. Dazai hates how his body is not responding as he wants it to, when Chuuya looks so exquisite under his ministrations; Dazai’s mouth dragging out those breathy whines out of him with every suck. It feels like he should be at full mast already.

 

“It’s almost as if Chuuya doesn’t want me to fuck him,” Dazai says, and if he sounds too levelheaded for someone who’s supposed to be losing it, Chuuya doesn’t comment on it. “Flaking much?”

 

“The night is young.” Chuuya wrenches Dazai’s head up with a fist jerking on his hair. His scalp smarts, but he welcomes the pain. “It’d be nice for it to happen in this century, though.”

 

Dazai gives it one last shot, until about a third of the clasps are loose but the rest are still decidedly in place. His touch is so featherlight that Chuuya can’t seem to decide whether he wants to press into it or veer away, eyes alight with amusement. So Dazai goes for the next best thing and bites his clavicle. Chuuya’s hips buck into his soft dick.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chuuya seethes—or he tries to and fails deliciously. He doesn’t look too bothered, in Dazai’s opinion, for someone complaining about a little teeth on skin. “And I’m the dog? Fuck . Just—fuck.”

 

“Mmm… I think Chuuya wants me to do it again.”

 

Instead of answering, Chuuya guides Dazai’s hands with his own over the process of unclasping the rest of the binder. It’s slow and awkward with their fingers tangled together, Dazai busying himself by licking wet stripes up Chuuya’s neck. He seems to be rather sensitive there, Dazai notes with satisfaction. The dust of cherry wine on his cheekbones spreads all the way to his neck; an odd contrast to the uneven necklace of purpling nibbles on his skin.

 

At last, Chuuya slips out of the binder, breathless and grunting about Dazai’s lack of cooperation. He pulls Dazai in for a heady kiss, but it’s not enough to hide the tremor in his limbs. Dazai gingerly pushes him back to the mattress.

 

It isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, but there’s a different severity to this act of nakedness. 

 

Harsh summers like this one see Chuuya sauntering about the house in nothing but shorts. It hadn’t taken long for him to forgo binders and shirts altogether in front of Dazai.

 

A privilege.

 

“Dazai,” he murmurs, guiding Dazai’s palms to his exposed stomach. “You can touch me.”

 

The skin is soft under his hands, dotted with freckles and moles he could turn into constellations. Dazai takes this as the gift it is; running his fingers over every dip and crevice—the bone jutting from his hips, the juncture of his shoulders, the place where his arm flexes. Every caress comes with a gasp spilled from Chuuya’s lips, and Dazai drinks every single one.

 

Now, he wouldn’t be Dazai if he didn’t very purposefully avoid Chuuya’s breasts. They’re just the perfect kind of small, and he’s sure he’d be able to cup each with a single hand. The sensations in his own body feel so far away, almost like an afterthought; Dazai only knows the urgency and impatience in which Chuuya tries to force Dazai to touch him where he wants him to and the tingles in the back of his neck whenever Chuuya looks up at him.

 

When Dazai gets close enough to the underside of his jaw, Chuuya seizes the opportunity and turns to harshly bite his hand. “You’re staring.”

 

“You’re beautiful,” the words slip out without permission, but he finds he wouldn’t have been able to lie even if he’d tried. Chuuya sputters. “I’ve never seen someone quite so beautiful, Chuuya.”

 

“You—quit fucking dawdling,” Chuuya snaps weakly. They haven’t really done anything and he’s already worked up enough to fry an egg on his heated skin. Dazai wishes he could say the same about himself. The weight of his near nonexistent arousal is heavy on his shoulders, but really—he’s enjoying touching Chuuya like this. “Hey. Hey , Dazai. I can hear you thinking.”

 

Dazai nips Chuuya’s bottom lip, whispering against his mouth, “I don’t think Chuuya would know what thinking looks like, as he’s never produced a single thought in his life.”

 

“That’s not—” Chuuya shivers. “That’s not as sexy at all.”

 

This time, Dazai complies. His hands roam all the way to the curve of his breasts, watching ardently as Chuuya’s breath hitches and his legs part the tiniest bit, and he’d been right; he can fit his entire palm around them. That makes something stir low in Dazai’s stomach.

 

He runs his thumbs over the rosy, perked nipples; nails raking and catching and eliciting a drawn out hiss from Chuuya. With little hesitation, and before he can think about it, Dazai dives to take one of the hardened nubs in his mouth.

 

“ Fuck . Dazai—” Chuuya cries, fingers curling and uncurling around Dazai’s hair. He bites down next, and Chuuya’s hips cant up. “That—”

 

He licks around it before turning to lavish the other one in just as much attention, flicking and pinching the other nub with his fingers. Chuuya gasps, and Dazai leers, “Cat got your tongue?”

 

“You—you wish .” Chuuya bumps Dazai’s shoulders with his fists to get him to sit back on his heels. “You’re so fucking unfair. Bastard. Take this off.”

 

Laughing, Dazai slips out of his own shirt, left with the bandages around his neck and forearms. A ravenous Chuuya wastes no time sucking and biting at the skin below the gauze. He’s careless and hasty in his quest to mark and map Dazai’s shivering body with his mouth, and it feels… Dazai doesn’t know how to feel.

 

Bursts of pain make him chase Chuuya’s ministrations, but it lacks that… that— bliss he’d seen on Chuuya’s blown pupils. It’s the sloppy enthusiasm Chuuya exhibits that steals Dazai’s breath away.

 

“Mmh—you… Chuuya can take the bandages off,” he says, almost desperate to be just as bared. Chuuya has seen every single one of his scars, has patched up a couple of them in those rare occasions in which Dazai calls him for help. There is no need for barriers between them.

 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Chuuya hums. He sweeps his nose against Dazai’s. “This is different from those times.”

 

Dazai cracks a small, private smile. “Please. I want you to.”

 

“ The Dazai Osamu being polite? Saying please ?” Chuuya gives a smile of his own and unwinds the white strips of cloth carefully, first revealing the rope burn scar around his neck, then the textured skin of his arms. Dazai watches, transfixed, as he brushes barely there kisses over the thick lines. Every single one of them. Something blooms in Dazai’s chest. “I’m really, really happy you’re alive, Dazai.”

 

Overcome with sensation, he arranges Chuuya back against the mattress. He could easily spend the rest of the day gazing up at him, admiring the way he gleams in the afternoon light, but this isn’t what they came here to do. Chuuya is getting antsy, and one pointed look at his spread legs reveals a wet patch in his underwear. Dazai traces the outline of the wetness with his finger, barely pushing in.

 

“Stop—fuck. Stop fucking, ah , teasing me!” Chuuya snarls, but it’s more a breathy wail than anything intimidating. He slams his heel against Dazai’s lower back. “Either get going or I will— shit .”

 

Dazai yanks at the underwear and nearly tears it in the process. He doesn’t particularly care, not with Chuuya flushing even darker, panting, eyes flitting between his navel and Dazai’s own eyes fixed on the slick entrance, and oh . This is Dazai’s doing. Inexperienced as he is, Chuuya looks just about undone from a bit of heavy petting at Dazai’s hands.

 

He’s never been quite able to connect with his own purely physical pleasure. Always a sort of far away hum. He’s never felt the need to explore that side of him. Seeing Chuuya like this, though; so perfectly broken at Dazai’s hands, refusing to beg—it might be something close to his undoing.

 

Trepidation courses through his veins when he spreads Chuuya’s legs further. He wants him to feel good. That’s more than enough for him.

 

It feels natural to kneel between Chuuya’s legs. A quintessential part of life. So he drags himself to the edge of the bed and descends so he can be face to face with his pretty, fluttering cunt. Chuuya opens his mouth to say something, but Dazai beats him to it. With single minded focus he drags his tongue from the frenulum to his glistening folds. 

 

The taste of his slick overcomes him.

 

“Da—Dazai, ngh , you—” Chuuya makes a high, reedy noise that makes Dazai’s blood sing. After a minute or so of lapping at the labia he gently breaches his hole with the tip of his tongue. “You— fuck . Fuck, shit. God—”

 

Dazai didn’t know one could be so starved for the taste of someone else. He doesn’t resist when Chuuya starts pushing his hips against his open mouth; he welcomes the opportunity to fuck him deeper and deeper with his tongue and draw out more needy sounds.

 

For the first time he feels a real spark that makes his cock twitch, but he doesn’t pay any real attention to it. His sole focus is bringing Chuuya to completion.

 

“Chuuya, baby,” he says, mouthing around his clit, and it makes Chuuya release a filthy moan. Slick dribbles down Dazai’s chin. “ Chuuya .”

 

He draws slow circles on Chuuya’s hips with his thumb, keeping him in place, sucking hard on his clit and dipping a single finger inside his cunt. He’s so tight and so warm it makes Dazai gasp, who finds Chuuya falling apart around him is a current of near blinding electricity on his core. Dazai teases him before probing for his most sensitive spot. It doesn’t take much to find it. Chuuya’s wanton shriek is loud in a way Dazai didn’t think possible.

 

Chuuya cards through Dazai’s hair and holds on to the messy locks. Dazai’s scalp smarts, but it’s a pleasant sort of spark—not to mention he’s too busy to notice the pain anyways.

 

“Oh God— Dazai , mn —fuck, fuck, fuck,” that seems to be the only word swirling in Chuuya’s brain. He grinds against Dazai’s face as he nips at his clit and pushes a second finger inside him. “ Dazai , I think—I think I’m going to—ah, ah . Fuck—more, please, I—”

 

It doesn’t take long after that. He keeps mewling Dazai’s name like a prayer until a well timed thrust against that spot with his mouth on his clit has Chuuya climaxing all around Dazai. His fingers, his tongue, his mouth; Chuuya trembles with the aftershocks, fisting Dazai’s hair to bring him further against the heat of his cunt. So he keeps licking at the slick dribbling out until Chuuya’s hips settle back against the mattress, breathing heavily.

 

Careful, Dazai runs his lips up and down the stretch marks on Chuuya’s inner thighs. Nothing more than a reverential brush of his mouth, peppering light kisses until his breath evens out and Chuuya drags him closer with an insistent hand on his head.

 

“What the absolute, everloving fuck, Dazai,” he croaks, voice raspy, trying too hard to sound angry and failing. Dazai gives a noncommittal hum and slithers a hand back inside Chuuya’s cunt, who tenses around him before sighing his content. “I didn’t think it was possible to come so fucking hard.”

 

He has to smother a grin on the crook of Chuuya’s neck. “I am a man of many talents.”

 

“How on ea— shit . Yes , yes, Dazai, keep—” Groaning, Chuuya fucks himself back against Dazai’s fingers. He mostly skirts the place Chuuya needs it most, but two kicks on his shin later and he’s rubbing the spot over and over until Chuuya comes again with a quiet gasp. They trade lazy kisses for a while. “Holy fuck. How on earth do you know how to…”

 

Ah. A question he’d rather not answer, especially not between Chuuya’s legs and the slick sticking to his skin. “Perhaps I’m simply a natural. It’s okay, Chuuya. I got stuck with the heavy crown of proficiency, and one of us had to be the comedic relief.”

 

“Fuck you,” Chuuya spits. Teeth sink on the shell of Dazai’s ear, and he keeps on sucking until Dazai whines. “Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

 

That makes heat rush to Dazai’s face. It’s a thinly veiled threat; Chuuya’s specialty, and one of Dazai’s weaknesses. Not that he’s ever voiced as much. Not that he cares to slither away from his grasp.

 

“Did you fucking lie about being a virgin or something?” Chuuya growls, dripping with rising anger. “‘Cus if you did, I swear to God your days are fucking counted, Dazai.”

 

“I would never lie!”

 

“Don’t even get me started. That shit’s pathological.”

 

“I would never lie to Chuuya ,” Dazai grumbles. It’s perhaps not entirely true, but the fact is he truly doesn’t lie to him about the things that matter. There are no secrets between them. “Ugh, okay . I did some… research.”

 

Chuuya narrows his eyes. “Is this you telling me you watched porn to learn how to eat me out?” he asks, incredulous and a little mocking. Dazai bullies his clit with the pad of his thumb.

 

“No, you dimwit. I’m not a vulgar peasant,” Dazai says, frankly offended at the implication. It’s fair, he guesses. Men his age are deep in the throes of hormones. More often than he cared for he was asked by his classmates about his favorite kinks , going as far as to quote gay sex to get him to answer. To him, porn is more off putting than enticing, and a massive waste of time. “I searched for testimonies of trans men on testosterone. And what they—find pleasurable. In bed.”

 

Silence reigns for so long Dazai fears he’s fucked up. This isn’t like him . He’s an effortless genius, for Christ’s sake—it comes without saying this he should be able to conquer without a hitch. And yet, the thought of disappointing Chuuya made bile surge up his throat. So he went down a rabbit hole and stayed up past three in the morning reading studies and watching interviews.

 

Why would it bother him so much what Chuuya thinks about this?

 

“Shithead. Come here.” Chuuya brings Dazai for something that’s not quite a kiss. Their mouths hover less than a breadth in front of each other, moving together in a rhythm so familiar one would think they’d been doing this for a long time. “I like you better when you’re a pretentious jerk,” he breathes, but his voice cracks at the last syllable. Dazai chuckles. “Dazai Osamu being considerate gives me the creeps.”

 

“I didn’t see Chuuya complaining before.” Dazai sucks another mark on the place where Chuuya’s jaw meets his neck. “He was actually quite docile with my mouth buried in his pussy. And loud .”

 

“And now you’re good at dirty talk? You have no idea how much I hate you,” Chuuya groans. It takes him longer to throw Dazai off his chest in his post orgasmic haze so he can fiddle with the belt loops of his jeans. “Off. I—I need you.”

 

Okay.

 

It’s finally happening.

 

It hits him suddenly that he’s only half hard and buzzing with the wrong kind of nervous energy. And Chuuya splayed right before his very eyes; flushed and ready and breathing hard, looking at him through wet eyelashes. He’s so perfect it’s almost soul crushing.

 

Saying yes hadn’t been a whim. Dazai doesn’t do things with little consideration of the consequences, but he has to admit that maybe… he’d gotten carried away while faced with the possibility of making Chuuya happy.

 

Does he want this? Sitting between Chuuya’s spread legs, lapping at the musky taste of him, he’d thought for more than a fleeting moment that he would give anything to see him fall apart like that again. Is that the same as wanting to sleep with him?

 

Dazai shimmies out of his jeans, flinging it towards the pile of clothes on the other end of the bed. The head of his cock is flushed, beads of precome beading on the tip—and not fully hard. Certainly, he thinks, it can’t be possible with someone as deliciously hot as Chuuya at his mercy.

 

“How—” Chuuya struggles to sit up, eyes dark with something that can only be hunger. Hairs rise on the back of Dazai’s neck. Slowly, Chuuya pumps him with gentle strokes, thumbing his slit and licking his lips. The sight is downright obscene. It’s the single minded focus on his eyes that fills Dazai’s cock to full hardness. “That’s not going inside me.”

 

“Is Chuuya scared?” Dazai taunts, wolfish grin on his features. Chuuya’s achingly human struggle makes Dazai shake off some of the deep seated dread in his chest. “So many things out there in this dangerous world to be scared off and he’s terrified of a dick .”

 

It hadn’t occurred to him that he is rather big. Dazai has never been the kind to ogle at the other boys changing after P.E class, or exchange that kind of unnecessary information with other kids during sleepovers. He swallows the thick knot on the back of his throat. Snobby and pretentious boys like them made Dazai more prone to committing hate crimes.

 

So he’s big, apparently. Big, in Chuuya’s eyes. The declaration makes his navel prickle, hot and uncomfortable. Dazai wishes now that he’d at least pretended to care about some of his classmates to hang out with them and better navigate whatever sex is supposed to be.

 

All he knows about sleepovers is staying at Chuuya’s place—not even sleepovers at this point; movie nights and huddling together; the only way Dazai manages to sleep more than three hours at a time.

 

“I’m not terrified , asshole,” Chuuya spits, but his fist is still wrapped around Dazai’s cock, lingering on the spot where the head meets the underside. “I can fucking take it.”

 

Dazai rolls his eyes. “I promise I will be good to poor, tiny Chuuya.”

 

“You better put your money where your mouth is, then.” And Chuuya has the gall to wink.

 

Dipping back to the floor, Dazai rummages through his bag for a pack of condoms and a small bottle of lube, and crawls back to his spot between Chuuya’s legs. He’s so wet the slide inside his cunt is fast and smooth. Chuuya whines, swatting his hand away with a growl. Hm. That sort of makes Dazai hungry and a little desperate, too. He doesn’t know what to make of all these conflicting feelings.

 

“What’s the lube for?” Chuuya eyes the bottle with suspicion, and as understanding dawns, Dazai’s face flames red. “I’m not sure I’m into—”

 

“I don’t want to hurt Chuuya,” he explains, cutting Chuuya off before he can say it. Dazai can only handle so much mortification when Chuuya can see right through his best attempts at concealing it. “Especially since he’s a scaredy cat. That’s not right. A scaredy puppy .”

 

“I didn’t say that!” Chuuya cries, snatching the condom wrapper from Dazai’s hands and tearing it open. That’s when the next problem arises. Neither of them has used one of these, ever. It slipped Dazai’s mind; and once more, alarm pools where pleasure should swirl. They remain still as a rock until Chuuya takes the initiative. “I won’t be defeated by a fucking condom. Why do I even need to ovulate? If I didn’t then you could fuck me—”

 

“Raw?” Dazai tilts his head with the most innocence he’s able to muster. Which is a lot, if it means he gets to rile Chuuya up.

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Chuuya rolls the condom down Dazai’s cock with the tip of his tongue just peeking out of his mouth in concentration. Dazai leans forward to capture his lips and gently nip on the muscle, earning a yelp. It’s Chuuya’s patience what makes him think that maybe this won’t totally suck, so Dazai sits back on his heels and waits for Chuuya to lay back down.

 

He coats his cock in a generous amount of lube, stalling, and doesn’t realize his hands are shaking. This isn’t like him. This isn’t—

 

“Dazai.” Chuuya guides Dazai’s hands to his waist. The smile that greets him is small, cheeks pink, throat bobbing as he gulps. Of course he’d be just as nervous, if not more. Dazai exhales, but he doesn’t know if it’s out of relief or fear. He places a pillow beneath Chuuya’s hips. “Ready?”

 

No. Or maybe yes? He isn’t entirely sure. After all, isn’t this supposed to be the ultimate level of intimacy one can reach with another? The pinnacle of closeness? That Chuuya trusts him with this; the body he struggles to accept, means so much that Dazai is frantic to be good for him. To draw out every possible sensation from his petite form.

 

Dazai lines up, and ever so slowly pushes inside. Heat envelops the head as he slips into the fluttering walls. It feels—good, he thinks. Warm and slippery. The lube makes it all easier, and inch by inch Dazai breaks past the resistance in his cunt. Chuuya’s face is scrunched up, eyes closed tight as he adjusts to the intrusion, squirming in Dazai’s hold. It takes them a couple of minutes, since he really doesn’t want to make this painful for Chuuya, until he’s finally buried to the hilt.

 

It’s… okay.

 

“Chuuya, Chuuya ,” Dazai calls, nosing at his cheekbone until he opens his eyes; cloudy and hazy. “Good?”

 

“Yeah. Yes. Fuck, you’re big. What the fuck,” he breathes, warm air fanning across Dazai’s cheek. The way his heart flutters is almost too agonizing. “You can—you can move. I’m not made of glass.”

 

He complies. Gentle at first; shallow thrusts in and out, working his cock and fishing for that same spot that made Chuuya see stars. That’s all that matters to Dazai, the only anchor point tethering him to the material world as his mind becomes muddier. Chuuya’s walls squeeze his shaft and it’s almost suffocating, something coiling in his stomach even though he doesn’t feel attached to his own body.

 

Legs wrap around his middle, heels digging on his back to force him to rut faster, harder.

 

His vision swims. Dazai tries to establish a steady rhythm and meet Chuuya’s hips as he fucks himself against his cock, moaning something that sounds like Dazai’s name, but Dazai’s legs are putty and every breath he heaves feels like lead filling his lungs. He can’t quite see Chuuya’s expression, but Dazai hopes it’s one of pleasure. The rest will come, he’s sure. It can’t be all that rare that he feels disconnected from the rest of his body. That he can’t feel anything at all.

 

Chuuya moans a high, broken sound. Good . He yanks Dazai down for a bruising kiss and he fucks him at an almost brutal pace; never too much—he doesn’t… He doesn’t—want to hurt Chuuya. They kiss like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do on this plane of existence, or at least it feels like that to him. Dazai can’t hear anything. Not even his own heartbeat.

 

Dazai’s head drops to the crook of Chuuya’s neck.

 

He can’t breathe.

 

He can’t—

 

He—

 

Nails rake across his back hard enough to leave pink, throbbing welts in their wake. It snaps Dazai out of the murky waters, and he tries to take in a shaky breath. It takes him a moment to realize he’s crying and still rocking inside Chuuya’s entrance even though he’s soft.

 

“Shh, I got you. I got you ,” Chuuya murmurs against his temple. His voice is much too soft, too kind, too patient. Dazai doesn’t deserve it. “Dazai. Come on. Hey , you’re safe. You’re with me. You’re safe.”

 

Lies. He just ruined the one thing Chuuya asked of him.

 

Chuuya rearranges them so they’re laying on their sides facing each other, Dazai burrowing into the sweaty skin of Chuuya’s shoulder. Hiccups wrack his back and he can’t form any thoughts, let alone coherent words to try and explain a phenomenon Dazai himself doesn’t understand.

 

“Come back. Talk to me.” Chuuya runs his fingers over the swollen lines on Dazai’s back; the stark contrast makes the pain tingle in a pleasant way. A kiss on the crown of his head, then another. Dazai sobs, and sobs, and sobs. Chuuya, sweet Chuuya; he doesn’t mock him for it. “We’re okay—hmn… Well. You can come the fuck back or I’m biting your ears off.”

 

Choked laughter bubbles out of him. It hurts to try and breathe the more the fit of manic giggles takes over him, until the tears are but a salty trail on his cheeks and he’s able to look up at an unbelievably fond Chuuya; eyes blue and clear and without a single trace of pity. Chuuya kisses the tip of his nose.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—Chuuya, I’m—” Dazai hiccups, and this isn’t like him. He can’t remember the last time he cried at all, let alone this hard. “Are you m—”

 

“Don’t you dare say it.” He pulls back the tiniest bit and tilts Dazai’s jaw to better look at him. “I’m not mad. Of course I’m not mad. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

 

It takes Dazai a while to answer. The panic has dwindled to the ghost of a flame on his chest, but he’s still flighty and ready to bolt, and he knows Chuuya can sense it. His legs wrap around Dazai’s, effectively pinning him to the bed. Dazai hums, thinking. The worst case scenario came true, and he didn’t even know sex could be so disastrous. Chuuya has every damn right to hate him.

 

“Chuuya didn’t finish,” Dazai mumbles at last. The words taste like salt and regret. Chuuya twists one of his nipples, dragging a hiss out of his mouth. “What was that for, you brute?”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Another twist on the abused nub. At least Chuuya doesn’t seem to actually be angry, loud and foul mouthed as he is. It’s embarrassing that Dazai is being held so tightly after a panic attack—he hasn’t had one of those in months —, but it’s somehow… nice, in Chuuya’s arms. “You made me come twice , jackass. Or did I imagine the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had?”

 

“But—”

 

“But nothing, Dazai. I liked everything you did to me, okay?” Chuuya scolds him. The admission eases the heavy weight crushing Dazai’s chest. Even if… Even if it hurt, for him, Chuuya had fun. It tickles at him that there’s definitely something wrong with his thought process, but he doesn’t want to dwell too much on it. “I don’t know about you, though. Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened?”

 

Well. So much for ignoring his feelings. It’s exactly everything he hates and loves about Chuuya, how he puts him on the spot when it matters most. Dazai sighs.

 

“Can I not answer?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

Dazai tucks his head under Chuuya’s jaw and speaks right against his clavicle, almost too low to catch, “I don’t—” he pauses, shivering at the feel of Chuuya’s fingers drawing random patterns on his sensitive back. He could easily fall asleep here. “It felt like an out of body experience. I thought sex was—supposed to be different. But I was barely there . I couldn’t feel anything at all. And then—and then I was—”

 

It’s Chuuya’s turn to pause. The thump in his chest is an anchor, and Dazai breathes in the smell of sweat and Chuuya’s coconut moisturizer, eyes stinging with unshed tears. He doesn’t think he’ll cry again today, but it’s a near thing. The silence stretches, but it isn’t rare for them to sit together in long bouts of quietness, each in their own bubble. That is Dazai’s safety net; that he can be his odd self and be judged only for his taste in chips.

 

(Unfair, coming from Chuuya. Only dogs like him mint chocolate chip ice cream.)

 

Now that he’s had a taste of this warmth, pressed so close together to the boy he absolutely has a massive crush on, Dazai finds he doesn’t want to be anywhere else, ever again. As if reading his mind—because when does he not?—Chuuya clutches him tighter.

 

“Were you forcing yourself the entire time?” Chuuya asks, and his voice wobbles. Panic builds again in the pit of Dazai’s stomach. This was never his intention, but his brain had to go and mess everything up.

 

Black spots dance at the edges of Dazai’s vision. He can feel his throat closing. “No, no . Chuuya—no. I—”

 

“Baby, breathe ,” Chuuya chides with an almost playful pinch on Dazai’s ass. They breathe together; their chests rising and falling on the same tempo, until Dazai is able to shuffle back and gaze up at him. Dazai prides himself in his sense of direction, but yeah , he could get lost in Chuuya’s eyes. “That’s it. Good boy.”

 

Dazai gleefully ignores the way the praise makes him feel hot all over.

 

“I really liked making Chuuya feel good. I was enthralled watching you come on my mouth. Adding my own body into the mix made it all… I don’t really know how to explain it,” he admits. “Huh. I’m unused to not having all the answers.”

 

“Dazai, you researched how to make it good for me. You went the extra mile so I’d be comfortable. I— fuck ,” Chuuya stammers, so uncharacteristic it makes Dazai pause. He wonders what’s so unusual about caring for your partner’s enjoyment; it felt as natural as breathing to do this for him. “Fuck, this is so lame. I lied. This wasn’t about—about convenience, at all. I—” His eyes close, teeth biting down on his lower lip until Dazai eases them away from the swollen flesh. “I just. Wanted it to be you. I wanted you to be my first.”

 

It’s a surprise that Chuuya doesn’t cry out for a defibrillator, considering how long Dazai’s heart stops beating. Or maybe that’s his own perception of time distorting around him; blood running cold on his veins before restarting the flow of warmth in his body that makes a home in his cheeks, his nose, the tips of his ears. Chuuya huffs out a breath and lightly kisses every inch of the skin set ablaze.

 

“I’m not so sure how I feel about sex— yet ,” Dazai confesses, and it rings true. It feels good to say it out loud, to let go of the dark swirls in his mind knowing Chuuya won’t turn tail on him. “I admit I was… unsure. It had never really crossed my mind, I guess.” He smiles, corners barely tipped up. “But Chuuya has a way of making me feel things. Which sucks most of the time, mind you. Chuuya’s dog brain cannot do this to his owner—but—I thought that if I was going to find out, it’d be with you.”

 

“Oh, Dazai. You should’ve told me, you fucking bastard.” It’s cute that Chuuya tries to sound aggressive, here, but it comes out so fond it tears something open in Dazai’s chest. Is that really how Chuuya speaks to him? “I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Dazai says. It’s his turn to bring Chuuya flush against his body, so close their lips ghost over each other, refusing him a kiss. “I made it so Chuuya couldn’t realize. Though I wasn’t counting on the whole panic attack thing, so I didn’t even bring my SOS meds.”

 

They close the remaining distance between them, Dazai’s arm on Chuuya’s waist, and Chuuya’s hand tangled in Dazai’s wild curls. Their mouths slot together in an angle that makes them both sigh in content. This kiss is a kiss without the destination; moving and rocking together just for the sake of it. Every other sensation in his body melts away, leaving behind only the places where they touch and tingles travel up Dazai’s spine.

 

The yellows of the afternoon bleed into the pinks and oranges of the sunset, but neither of them realize. It doesn’t really matter to them right now, the passage of time. They remain willingly stuck in that single second that stretches and stretches as they kiss without any intention of stopping.

 

Dazai drinks in every needy whimper that comes out of Chuuya’s mouth, unable to contain his own groans when his partner licks at the seams and Dazai parts them for him, and lets Chuuya’s tongue trace the roof of his mouth.

 

It’s a little wet and messy, but soft in the intimacy Dazai isn’t all that sure he’s experienced much in his eighteen years of wretched living. Chuuya’s name is the only thing he knows. Chuuya ; his eyelashes brushing Dazai’s eyelids, his nails lightly digging on the back of his neck.

 

“Fuck,” Chuuya grunts. Dazai whines at the loss of his lips. “ Fuck .”

 

Dazai laughs. Even if Chuuya doesn’t mention it, the wetness coating Dazai’s thigh is undeniable. And honestly? He likes it. He likes that pleasure drips from Chuuya, that it leaves an imprint on his own skin.

 

“Can we try again?” he asks.

 

Chuuya blinks away the haze. “Having… sex?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you sure? Really sure? Because I’m not asking anything of you, Dazai. You don’t owe me this. Or anything at all,” Chuuya says. His voice comes out breathy and desperate. Dazai nips at his jaw, eliciting another pleased sound. “I just want—you. We can stay here and watch something. I think there’s a horror movie marathon thing going on.”

 

“I want to,” Dazai stresses. In a second, he flips them so he’s on his back and Chuuya sits atop him. “I want to do this. With Chuuya , where it’s safe.”

 

Something flashes in Chuuya’s eyes, and then the brightest smile Dazai’s ever seen glows on his freckled face. This is enough—Chuuya sharing this splash of happiness with him. Naked and exposing the body he half likes on the best of days. Maybe, Dazai thinks, this might be the ultimate expression of trust; and he wants to give back to him, so he relaxes against the mattress and watches as Chuuya shimmies down to sit between his legs.

 

He’d entirely forgotten about the condom wrinkled around his soft dick. Chuuya quickly discards it, and after a subtle nod from Dazai, he moves to the white strips of cloth on his thighs.

 

“If you want to stop, we stop . Tap whatever part of my body is closest twice and no matter what we’re doing, no matter how much pleasure you think I’m in— we fucking stop . Am I clear?” Chuuya asks, pressing open mouthed kisses on the scarred skin of his thighs. Dazai swallows. His cock twitches, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh? You like being told what to do?”

 

Dazai doesn’t answer. Does he? Usually he’s the one dishing out orders at his dog .

 

The hitch in his breath is enough of a statement.

 

It takes an embarrassingly short time to get Dazai going again, stronger this time than it had been before. Chuuya tucks a wayward strand of hair behind his ear and—

 

Leans down to lick a stripe up the half hard flesh. It burns with the remnants of overstimulation, but it’s a welcome sort of pain that Dazai relishes as his cock springs back to life. Chuuya is enthusiastic in the way he tries to swallow him down, sloppy and gorgeous as he gets frustrated when he can’t fit more than a fourth of his shaft in his mouth. The sight is so obscene it makes Dazai moan, struggling to keep his hips still.

 

“Chuuya…” he gasps, glad to feel his body on fire. He can’t say he isn’t a bit unsure, but the slight uneasiness vanishes as soon as Chuuya raises his head to check in on him, and he looks so fucked out already, eyes glazed over just from going down on him. “Okay. Yeah. Keep—keep going.”

 

Chuuya swirls his tongue around the head, running the tip across the precome beading at the slit, mewling around Dazai’s cock. He tries to take a deep breath, “I thought it would taste different.”

 

“Uh. Different how?” Dazai snorts. Every single website he visited last night reminded him in big, bold letters that pussy doesn’t taste like candy, so he guesses the same applies to dicks. Not that he’s interested in finding out.

 

“I don’t know,” he hums. “No. Actually, I thought it’d taste like shit. Do not say anything.” Chuuya twists the flesh of Dazai’s tummy, softer now that he’s gained some weight on Chuuya’s (and Adam’s) orders. “You good?” Dazai nods. “I need a verbal answer, Dazai.”

 

“Yes . I’m good, and I’m sure that I want to do this,” Dazai says, pausing between each word for emphasis. His body doesn’t feel floaty anymore. Rather, he feels tethered to the places where he and Chuuya come into contact, skin prickly with sweat. “I know Chuuya will catch me if I fall.”

 

That earns him a half hearted kick on his shin.

 

Chuuya dives for another condom and the bottle of lube. It’s easier this time to roll it down Dazai’s length; faster, too. The lube comes next, cold even through the latex, but Dazai barely registers it with the buzzing energy coursing through his nerve endings. Before, he’d been so obsessed with getting through with it that he’d forgotten to live in the act and share it with Chuuya. So he reaches out to link their hands together as Chuuya raises himself to kneel right above Dazai’s cock.

 

“Crap. Okay. Fuck,” Chuuya heaves a shaky breath. Dazai squeezes his palms tight enough to jolt Chuuya out of the spot in his brain where he’d retreated, and Dazai might be a little bit in love with him. “I don’t even know where you hide this… huge monstrosity.”

 

Without more preamble, he sinks down on Dazai’s monstrous cock. Maybe Chuuya’s just so small that anything seems a tad too big for him—

 

Inch by inch he sucks Dazai’s cock into the heat of his cunt, right until his ass is flush with Dazai’s hips, and he’s so tight Dazai feels like his shaft is being crushed. And then Chuuya starts moving, without giving them both a chance to accommodate, like this isn’t still Chuuya’s first time. It’s honestly kinda hot. Dazai barely manages to conceal a hiss. Slick runs down the rest of his navel.

 

“I want—,” Chuuya tries to say, already out of breath. He moves his hips in slow, circular motions; too slow. Dazai can just about make the outline of his cock distending Chuuya’s stomach. “Oh God. Fuck, yes, yes . I— Dazai . I want—”

 

The words dissipate in a strangled moan.

 

After a minute of grinding against Dazai’s navel, dragging his clit all over the wiry hairs there, Chuuya starts bobbing up and down his cock. There’s a moment of panic where Dazai’s vision wobbles, legs cold and stiff and he thinks he’s going to have yet another attack, but Chuuya drags a callused palm from Dazai’s cheek to the curve of his neck and leans down to, of all things, bite the tip of his nose. And it works . Tiny gasps come out of Dazai’s mouth.

 

“So good, baby, so— ah , mhn—fuck, fuck, I—” There’s little coherence to the words spewed from Chuuya’s lips, but Dazai doesn’t mind one bit. Warmth envelops his cock. Chuuya surges up until only the tip remains inside his entrance and quickly drags himself back down to the hilt. He does it again, and again; making them both groan. “Dazai, Dazai, Dazai— yes , more, more— please .”

 

Dazai can’t think , but there’s nothing unpleasant about it. His gaze is fixed on the drip of sweat down Chuuya’s exposed neck, the muscles of his thighs quivering as he lifts himself up to chase his pleasure, the curses spilling from his mouth; and he really is the most beautiful person Dazai has ever laid eyes on. He gives an experimental roll of his hips to watch Chuuya throw his head back and wail profanities.

 

It’s difficult to hold himself steady and fuck into him at the same time, but Dazai does his best to meet Chuuya’s stuttering movements.

 

“Keep going, please ,” Chuuya begs, and oh, how nice it is on his lips. A profanity. “You can— fuck , why are you— ngh —good at this …. ? I—ah, ah , yes. Shit, Dazai —you can go— harder !”

 

Reaching deeper and deeper inside him, Dazai builds a steady rhythm of ramming against Chuuya’s sweet spot. It drives him crazy. Crazy to watch as Chuuya falls apart on his cock. It’s still a little daunting, but Dazai feels more connected to his body than ever. Sparks explode behind his eyes.

 

Chuuya is reckless in his abandon, bouncing hard and fast on Dazai’s lap.

 

“Chuuya—oh God,” he pants, sitting up to be level with Chuuya’s scrunched up face. Dazai fits a hand between their bodies and circles his thumb right on Chuuya’s swollen clit, using his slick to make it better. Blue eyes open wide to glare, unseeing and unfocused. Dazai can tell Chuuya’s energy is waning, so he takes over, spurred by the sheer desire to get him— them —to the finish line. “Fuck. You—you feel so good .”

 

It’s not a lie, or dirty talk for the sake of riling Chuuya up further. It’s not an attempt at fooling him to keep going.

 

“You’re so per— shit —perfect. Mm… You— Dazai , oh my God, holy shit , you—” Chuuya moans with every pointed thrust of Dazai’s hips. He’s all uncoordinated motions, barely able to match Dazai’s pace. Dazai acts on instinct alone and wraps one hand around Chuuya’s waist and uses the other one to roll his nipples. The resounding gasp is melodious; a symphony, a concert in its own accord. It’s clear Chuuya is getting close to the edge, so Dazai plants his feet on the bed and tries to fuck him deeper, aware of his own limbs trembling with the effort. Chuuya speaks, “Mine, mine, mine —”

 

Chuuya convulses around Dazai’s cock as he climaxes, mouth agape in a silent moan. Dazai works him through it, nervous about his own release and the heat swirling low in his belly; the sight of his partner breathing heavily on top of him, so blissed out, sends Dazai hurtling into his own unraveling. His heart leaps to his throat, and everything around him is fuzzy and hazy.

 

They stay glued to each other long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

 

Chuuya’s words ring in his ears through the static trying to take over. Mine . He doesn’t dare bring it up, terrified at the idea that it could be nothing more than a hallucination. He’s never wanted to belong to someone so much.

 

Dazai gathers Chuuya in his arms to press a kiss on the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. An echo of his earlier actions, Chuuya runs his nails across the expanse of Dazai’s back in reminiscence. He’s almost too overwhelmed to stay put—not at the sex itself but the plunge at the sheer depths of vulnerability he just experienced. 

 

And Chuuya pulls through; in his post orgasmic haze he holds a Dazai whose eyes are pricking with tears, and this time he lets them fall and drip into Chuuya’s skin.

 

“That was quite something,” Chuuya pants. Gentle fingers draw circles on the small of Dazai’s back. If they weren’t a mess of sticky fluids, he’d choose to stay here until dawn. “Are you okay?”

 

“I…” he hiccups, teeth sinking on the flesh so perfectly presented to him. Not hard enough to leave imprints. Somehow, anchoring himself to Chuuya’s body like this grounds him. “Yes. I’m as good as one can be with slug fluids all over my body.”

 

“One of these days I’ll throttle you in your sleep. Mark my fucking words,” Chuuya gasps. And what can Dazai do, except turn to kiss him? “This is your fault. So you’re going to carry me to the shower.”

 

“But why ,” Dazai whines, as if he weren’t itching to clean the stickiness away. “Chuuya is strong enough to walk on his own.”

 

“You just fucked my virgin pussy into oblivion. Take me to the fucking bathroom.”

 

So it’s settled. Dazai pretends to be weighted down by Chuuya’s oh-so-heavy body, swaying with every step, though it isn’t all pretend. He feels tired all of a sudden, and it’s more than just the physical exertion. The visceral nature of the exchange catches up to him. They reach the bathroom tangled together. As gently as he can, Dazai sets Chuuya down on the stool by the shower and goes to dispose of the condom.

 

By the time he gets back, a spray of warm water falls from the showerhead. Chuuya stands beneath it with his eyes closed, humming a tune Dazai doesn’t recognize. It’s easy to sneak up on him like this, tiptoeing to circle his waist and hold him close; close enough to become one, singular creature.

 

“Sit down,” Dazai murmurs against the wet curls.

 

“Nope. I’m cashing that in later.” Chuuya shakes his head and pushes Dazai until he trips and lands with his ass first on the stool. “I’m taking care of you today, so I never have to do it ever again.”

 

They both know it’s a lie. If there’s a language that’s achingly familiar to them both, it’s the practice of taking care of each other. Through Dazai’s stubborn unwillingness during his depressive episodes. Through the flares of Chuuya’s dysphoria. If there’s something they intrinsically know —even if they don’t say it out loud—, it’s that they’re sticking together.

 

It was quite a revelation. Dazai is astounded every single time that Chuuya all but slams his door out of its hinges to remind him to eat and drink water.

 

Dazai obliges, though not without a pointed glare with narrowed eyes. “Why do I feel like Chuuya has a secret agenda.”

 

“My secret agenda is getting rid of all those ratchet tangles on your hair,” Chuuya says. One of the most infuriating things about Chuuya is his hair care routine. Mostly because it takes up a lot of time. And it becomes quite clear that he plans on using every single product on him. “It’s unflattering, to say the least. Wouldn’t want people noticing how ugly you are up close.”

 

Chuuya goes through the motions of shampooing and conditioning his hair. Fingers massage his scalp to the point it’s almost painful, nails scraping the dirt and sweat gathered there, and the smell of something citrusy almost lulls him to a peaceful sleep. They don’t talk, relishing the shared silence.

 

“I think I want to keep exploring what… sex means to me,” Dazai murmurs. Chuuya gives a hum of acknowledgment. “With Chuuya.”

 

“With me ?” Chuuya coughs. How is he so surprised? Dazai isn’t all that sure just about anyone would hold him through a panic attack with his soft dick inside them. Maybe… “Dazai, I had fun. I—okay. You better not be secretly recording this, asshole; but… I felt fucking seen, okay? If you think we have to keep doing this out of some warped sense of duty, then—”

 

“I despise the idea of anyone else touching me so intimately,” he cuts Chuuya off before he can spiral. Grace is all but absent when it’s Dazai’s turn to handle his own mental diarrhea. Woozy and sleepy, he doesn’t want to fuck up if Chuuya stumbles into his own dark corners, as well. “Touch has always been abhorrent for me—shut up , Chuuya. I don’t want to hear your yapping. So maybe I’ll find that I hate sex, okay? I haven’t decided yet. I know that I really, really liked doing this with Chuuya. So I want to do it again, because I trust Chuuya. With everything.”

 

“Asshole,” Chuuya says, spraying water directly into Dazai’s face. He kneels in front of Dazai to lather his front with his expensive, bubbly soap. Happy with his handiwork, Chuuya peppers Dazai’s face with barely there kisses, and pulls back whenever he tries to chase after him. “It’s like you know I can’t match your fucking speeches.”

 

Chuuya readies himself to go and try to make Dazai more emotional than he already is—

 

“Wait.” Dazai discards the stool and drops to his knees directly in front of Chuuya; bone against bone. “Now we’re the same.”

 

And it’s not a jab at Chuuya’s height, for once.

 

They are the same, after all (in spirit. Dazai is certainly not a dog).

 

“You need to stop doing that thing, I’ll really fucking die one of these days,” Chuuya groans and quickly pinches Dazai’s nostrils when he tries to mouth please do . “I will cherish this privilege,” he says, bringing their foreheads together, and the rest of the world disappears. “You fall, and I catch you. I fall, and you catch me. Whatever. Right?”

 

If this keeps going, Dazai is liable to become addicted to Chuuya’s kisses. He anticipates Dazai’s moves before he himself even knows what he’ll do, teasing and flicking the tip of his tongue right where it makes Dazai sigh. Sometimes it’s too much. The right kind of too much.

 

“Sometimes I don’t really like existing in my head,” Dazai breathes against Chuuya’s mouth. “And it’s so unfair. My psychiatrist promised me the antidepressants would fix everything.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not what she said. So you better keep taking your damn happy pills or I’m shoving them up your ass.” Chuuya pulls back to stare with a fondness Dazai has come to realize has always been there . Flaunted like a dozen suns made into a bracelet just for him. The little menace grips Dazai’s face between his hands, squishing his cheeks. “For what it’s worth, though, I like your stupid head.”

 

Pause.

 

An all teeth grin from Dazai.

 

“Which one?”

 

“You think you’re funny.” Chuuya tilts his head. So innocent, so sweet— “I’m going to sew your mouth shut.”

 

Only after an extra ten minutes of splashing water and squirting Chuuya’s valuable hair products at each other do they manage to step out of the shower—clean, refreshed, giggling like five year olds.

 

—   —   —

 

Baking cookies is next on their itinerary. Or trying to, at least.

 

Despite Dazai’s uncanny talent for baking, he chooses to drape himself over Chuuya’s to act as the most incompetent person on the planet. He directs Chuuya on what to do and how to do it, happy to tap a rhythm with his fingers on Chuuya’s stomach, now dressed in one of Dazai’s shirts that he forgets at Chuuya’s house.

 

“The useless princess act will only take you so far,” Chuuya grumbles, smearing cookie mixture on Dazai’s cheek. The grainy texture of it is itchy on his sensitive skin, but Chuuya quickly fixes the issue by licking it clean with his tongue, leaving Dazai to wonder just when he became so forward. “I know you don’t like touching this goopy shit but you better keep an eye on the damn cookies when they’re in the oven so they don’t fucking burn.”

 

“Now, Chuuya,” Dazai tuts. If he could weigh Chuuya down harder without ruining half an hour of work, he would. “Be nicer to me.”

 

“I just had your dick in my mouth, so I get to treat you however the fuck I want,” he snaps without any real bite. Dazai hugs him tighter; so tight Chuuya struggles to turn his head to kiss Dazai’s temple. The gesture makes him all sorts of giddy. “Close your mouth, dickhead. I’m not feeding you cookie batter. Last time you spent three days puking your guts out.”

 

Dazai does keep a dutiful watch of the cookies while Chuuya does the dishes. A quick glance reveals a new set of yellow gloves for when it’s Dazai’s turn to help with the disaster they often make in the kitchen. He hadn’t said anything; he doesn’t even remember how it happened. Only that Chuuya seemed to be more keenly aware of Dazai’s sensory issues than anyone else. Perhaps even Dazai himself.

 

The weirdly shaped balls turn into the perfect, crunchy cookies after about fifteen minutes. Dazai has to go through the whole ordeal of letting them cool. Chuuya has to act as a guard dog to prevent him from munching down on his handiwork in a matter of seconds.

 

“It’s like Chuuya actually hates me.” Dazai sticks his tongue out and Chuuya flicks it with his fingers. The whine that comes out of Dazai’s mouth is an exaggeration of petulance. “Food is meant to be eaten.”

 

“Don’t come wailing when you burn your fingers.”

 

“Mm… So Chuuya should chill them for me,” Dazai says. He points to the closest cookie. “Blow.”

 

Chuuya doesn’t blow cool air on the sweet treat, but that’s okay. Testing the heat with the back of his hand, Chuuya rips a small bite and feeds it straight to Dazai. It’s all he can do to stop himself from blurting out something as embarrassing as a love confession.

 

They make themselves comfortable in Chuuya’s bed—made anew with clean, fresh sheets—and turn on the TV to flip through the channels until they land on The Exorcist. Horror movies and the sheer idiocy of white people in ghost related scenarios was one of the first things the two bonded over. Japanese movies had a better aura, but it’s hilarious to this day to watch Western movies and their silly, religious imagery.

 

And Dazai is never, ever scared.

 

(He is.)

 

Dazai props his body against a backdrop of pillows, and Chuuya slings his legs over one of Dazai’s thighs to burrow closer to him, head tucked on the juncture of his shoulder. This is new—maybe not quite, but new as a consequence of the most emotionally ridden afternoon Dazai has experienced in a while. Not even counting the sex. He’d never considered the possibility that even the body can bring a sort of new, wonderful intimacy Dazai isn’t sure he wants to reject. At least not with Chuuya.

 

Without even thinking about it, he picks up one of the cookies from the bowl and offers it to Chuuya.

 

Chuuya makes a questioning noise. “But you hate it when the chocolate melts on your fingers, dummy. Let me—”

 

“Hush.” Dazai wiggles the cookie in front of Chuuya’s lips until they part for him, nibbling around it and swallowing with a pleased hum. “Chuuya did everything for me. Gross, obviously. Though I’m not so… inconsiderate that I can’t return the favor.”

 

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my Dazai Osamu,” he barks, but Dazai can feel Chuuya’s eyelashes tickling his jaw as he rolls his eyes; and maybe the thing blooming in his chest is a flower, or a whole garden. “ Leave it , dick. I’m not letting you hurt yourself like that. Not on my fucking watch. Now give me the stupid cookie or I’m biting your hands off.”

 

“Case in point,” Dazai giggles. “A dog, through and through.”

 

Chuuya does bite Dazai’s thumb the next time he gets close enough to his mouth with the rest of the cookie. It’s a wonder he didn’t break skin. The imprint is a reminder of a claim Dazai didn’t know he needed, one he gets to keep until the dips left by his teeth fade. He relinquishes the bowl of cookies and happily chews on the round delights. With the lights turned off, only the intermittent glow of the movie illuminates their faces.

 

Dazai isn’t watching the movie at all.

 

It hits him like a truck.

 

“Are we dating?” He asks so bluntly, so suddenly ; the Dazai that thinks every move on the chess board a thousand times over—submitting to the deepest epiphany.

 

Chuuya all but chokes on the bite he’d been chewing. “You kiddin’ me?” He shifts back to meet Dazai’s clear, unblinking eyes. Whatever he searches for, whatever he seeks ; Dazai isn’t too sure, but he’s not afraid. At last, Chuuya releases the most beautiful, breathy laugh. “Yeah. You’re fucking stuck with me.”

 

“No takebacks?”

 

“No takebacks, dumbass.”

 

There’s something familiar about the way they lean towards each other at the same time. The inescapable pull of the moon on the waves against the shore, the ever present pull of gravity on every body known in the universe. It’s only natural that their lips meet halfway. They slot together and Chuuya’s taste is so sweet on Dazai’s tongue; chocolate and brown sugar, quiet mirth and joy. He knows this because Dazai is the same.

 

Being reborn on the inside as they kiss without hurry, without heat, mouthing each other’s names for they refuse to part even for a tenth of a second.

 

Dazai’s hand trails to the flesh of Chuuya’s inner thigh, tracing the stretch marks on the warm skin. Chuuya charts each row of Dazai’s teeth with his tongue and gasps against his lips when Dazai takes the muscle in his mouth. Dazai could get drunk on this.

 

“Bastard,” Chuuya mumbles, weak and reeking of an adoration Dazai is yet to get used to.

 

“Yes?” Dazai chuckles, not unaffected himself. He feels like he’s run two marathons in a row.

 

It’s in that cocoon that they don’t notice the insistent knock on Chuuya’s door. Almost too soft at first, and at the lack of answer two extra times to get the teenagers’ attention currently fixated on much more pressing matters.

 

Dazai shifts to nip on Chuuya’s jaw.

 

The door opens without creaking.

 

“Kiddo, I was just wondering if you boys had dinner or—” Adam’s eyes flit between Chuuya, Dazai, and back to Chuuya again. His eyebrows are just shy of reaching his hairline. Under normal circumstances, Dazai would find it hilarious, maybe even make a comment about it that he knows would make Adam laugh. Now, though, as his brain reboots he can only grip Chuuya’s thigh tighter, mouth a thin line.

 

He knows what kind of picture they make.

 

The two of them pressed so tightly together in the dark they’d have to battle for the same oxygen particles. Chuuya’s lips swollen and slick with spit. Dazai’s hand nearing the seams of Chuuya’s boxers. A movie completely forgotten.

 

“—I brought leftovers from tonight’s corporate dinner. That’s all I wanted to… say,” Adam gives an awkward cough, averting his gaze, but doesn’t actually demand the boys to separate. “Dazai-kun, I take it you’ll be… spending the night?”

 

Dazai blinks to dispel the haze in his eyes. “Yes.” Chuuya elbows his side. “Sir. Yes. Thank you.”

 

“Thank you, dad,” Chuuya says. The fact that he doesn’t put distance between them is a bucket of butterflies on Dazai’s stomach; maybe not the best companion to the dregs of embarrassment coiling there. “We will go, uh. Grab some later.”

 

Without further ado—and further words to aggravate the shameful nature of being caught sucking face—Adam leaves Chuuya’s bedroom, closing the door behind him. They wait a couple of seconds, until his steps disappear down the stairs. Then Chuuya sags against Dazai’s side and tucks his flaming face in the crook of his neck.

 

“Jesus fuck.”

 

“He totally knows we had sex—ow!” Dazai rubs his chest, where Chuuya twisted and dug a nail into one of his nipples. “I’m starting to believe Chuuya has a kink for maiming me.”

 

“Don’t even , shithead,” Chuuya sighs. Dazai think’s that’ll be the end of it when a smile lights up Chuuya’s face, and he moves to cradle Dazai’s cheeks. The bridge of his nose is painted an adorable pink; freckles a shower of constellations visible against a sunset. They share shit eating grins that become snorts that become trying to catch their breaths to speak. Chuuya brushes his nose against Dazai’s, “Come here.”

 

So maybe antidepressants don’t fix everything .

 

It’s not like Dazai even needs them to unfuck all of his problems anymore, though.

 

So Dazai goes.

Notes:

what a ride, wasn't it?

here you can find my thread on dazai's relationship with sex and the potential he has on exploring it with chuuya <3

and you can find me on twitter! @TW1NDARKNESS

as usual, comments (let me know what you thought!) and kudos are appreciated.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of the history of firsts