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Chuuya has finally stopped changing his locks and passcode every time Dazai breaks in, which is the next best thing to an invitation. Dazai picks the lock, taking full advantage, and slips inside to stand in in the dim entry of Chuuya's apartment while brushing damp hair out of his face. He'll have to steal Chuuya's umbrella on his way out if this rain keeps up, a prospect that makes him grin, because Chuuya hates it when Dazai absconds with his belongings.
That grin disappears, however, when he hangs up his coat and finds Chuuya's already in the closet. A quick check shows him Chuuya's boots and hat are also in their proper locations. Dazai narrows his eyes. Chuuya's supposed to be gone for another couple of hours on Mafia business and hadn't left any trace denoting his return and welcoming Dazai on his way up to the penthouse. Something had gone wrong, then, and he's pissed enough to be sulking.
So much for Dazai's plans to steal the rest of the chocolate cake before Chuuya gets home.
Dazai paces to the kitchen, where he finds Chuuya digging a fork straight into the remaining half of the cake with an overfull glass of wine at his elbow and a sharp tension in his spine that's just waiting to snap. When Dazai steps forward, Chuuya glances up, warily surprised at being interrupted. There's a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth that Dazai can't quite look away from as he considers the odds of convincing Chuuya to let him lick away the trace to taste Chuuya beneath it. Before he can move, however, Chuuya's wariness turns to rage and he glares at Dazai before taking a large swallow of his wine.
"Come to gloat, then?" he snarls.
People too often confuse genius with omnipotence. Dazai usually doesn't mind the assumption. After all, it's so much simpler to break people when they think there's no point in trying to resist, or when they spill every detail assuming he must already know them because he is—was—the Demon Executive of the Port Mafia. It's useful.
Chuuya's baleful stare as he pointedly shoves his fork into the cake again and eats the bite without ever breaking eye contact is less so.
Then again, he's one of the very few people who have spent enough time enough around Dazai to recognize that however quickly Dazai adjusts to new information or how well he predicts the behavior of others he is not, in fact, omnipotent, and it only takes Chuuya an instant to realize that Dazai does not actually know what happened despite Dazai's perfect, smiling mask.
Chuuya sneers and takes another gulp of wine.
How aggravating.
"No, I came to steal your cake." Dazai rummages around for another fork and then carefully sits out of stabbing distance of Chuuya's white-knuckled grip. Chuuya is remarkably inventive when it comes to weapons, and cleaning and caring for puncture wounds inflicted from the dull tangs of a fork of all things doesn't interest Dazai in the least. He shamelessly takes a swirl of chocolate frosting from the top of the cake and eats it. "Unfortunately, you stole it first."
"It's not stealing if it's my fucking cake, Dazai," Chuuya says, with the deliberate calm he believes will help keep his temper in check despite Dazai's prodding. It doesn't work, never does, but he persists in trying to use it anyways. It's always been amusing to watch, but these days it brings with it a queer warmth that Dazai can't decipher. "I bought it and I brought it home and it's mine and you're just a shameless freeloader who should leave before I kill you for existing."
"Chuuya's tried many times," Dazai sing-songs, and steals the bite of cake Chuuya was about to eat right off his fork. He can practically observe Chuuya's blood pressure skyrocket. "Chuuya loves me more than he wants to kill me, though!" He offers his most impish grin, the one that's driven Chuuya crazy a thousand times. "But if you're so upset, let's play a game! Let's see if I can figure out what happened to make you drown your sorrows!"
"Dazai," Chuuya says in warning. It's a good thing that Dazai decided to sit out of Chuuya's immediate strike range.
"It'll be fun!" Dazai promises, eyes gleaming. "To start—"
"Are you capable of letting anything go for five fucking seconds, Mackerel?" Chuuya interrupts with a growl. "Or are you just here as my personal tormentor for your own damn entertainment? Stop talking before I rip your tongue out." He finishes the glass of wine with something approaching desperation and drops the fork in favor of pouring himself more. Chuuya's temper is prodigious, but exhaustion settles over his shoulders and he sounds more defeated than anything when he mutters, "Leave it alone for once."
"Nothing gets Chuuya angry like something happening to the Port Mafia," Dazai announces instead, watching with satisfaction as Chuuya's hands start to shake, drops of wine spilling over the edge of the glass. "Aren't you always the one chiding me for wasting good wine? I—"
"Shut up," Chuuya snarls, gripping the bottle of wine hard enough that Dazai's expecting it to shatter. He almost wishes it would, because picking the glass out of his hand would at least give Chuuya something to do, and he's never angrier than when he's useless. "Say one more fucking word, you disgusting waste of bandages, I fucking dare you, I'll put my fist so far up your ass that you'll gag on it!"
Dazai pauses for a minute, assesses. He weighs all his options in an instant before tilting his head and leaning forward, lashes lowering, a deliberate note of disbelief in his voice as he asks, "That's what you want? Really?"
Chuuya stares at him for a shocked moment, like Dazai's said something incomprehensible, but there's a hint of a flush in his cheeks that makes heat curl against Dazai's spine. He likes that he can so easily discover secrets Chuuya hadn't even known he was revealing, sometimes hadn't even known at all. He likes that he can use them to drag Chuuya ever closer. He likes the aroused and embarrassed flush that slides down Chuuya's neck.
He likes all that power and determination focused solely on him, and grins, a taunt in his smile.
The anger reasserts itself and Chuuya's over the table in an instant, pinning Dazai to the floor, breathing heavily as he's perched over Dazai. The Corruption-warped anger vanishes the instant they touch, Chuuya as human as he ever is, staring down at Dazai with hunger and fury swirling in his too-bright eyes. Dazai doesn't fight Chuuya's grip, shifting back to his artful demureness despite the attack, mostly because Dazai knows Chuuya likes how he looks when he's giving up control, even if it's an artificial state.
For now.
Chuuya narrows his eyes in suspicion. "No," he says, and it's a lie, and they both know it's a lie, so Chuuya narrows his eyes further in rage, fingers tightening around Dazai's wrists until the bones grind against each other, aching. "Yes," he amends, turning it into a vicious croon. "I want to stuff you so full that you can't say a goddamn thing. I want to stuff you so full that you can't get away from it. So I'm going to open you up until I can fit my fist in your ass and watch you fall apart because the intensity and pleasure is too much to bear. Is that what you wanted to hear, you waste of bandages?"
It's possible that Dazai has not thought through the ramifications of his words, and that he's going to have far too many regrets in the morning. "Or," he hedges, flexing his arms uselessly against Chuuya's hold. He'd wanted to distract Chuuya from his anger, but this was a decidedly suboptimal outcome. "Or we could...not. You could just fuck me the normal way."
Chuuya raises a brow. "Is that so?" Dazai watches as Chuuya visibly considers how to convince him; subtlety has never been one of his strong suits and Dazai would normally find it amusing, but his ass is on the line in a decidedly unappealing way. He could manipulate Chuuya and lead the conversation back to whatever angered him, but the suspicion that Odasaku would not approve keeps Dazai quiet, as does the curiosity as to what Chuuya will say to persuade him.
Therefore, Dazai waits, breathing shallowly as Chuuya gazes at him, blue irises almost eclipsed by blown out pupils. Chuuya's mouth twitches in a way that has Dazai's skin prickling, and then Chuuya uses two of Dazai's favorite weapons against him: truth and faith.
"Has sex with me ever been anything other than intensely pleasurable?" Chuuya asks, lips wrapping a silken heat around the words that Dazai knows all too well. His cock twitches, and Chuuya smirks. "Trust me, for once in your fucking life."
"No," Dazai whines, closing his eyes. "I don't wanna!"
Chuuya leans down and kisses Dazai's pulse just above his bandages before sucking at the sensitive skin with a hint of teeth that Dazai can't possibly resist. "Are you sure?" Chuuya breathes. "Not even a single attempt? I'm sure I can make it good for you, you know I can. You've enjoyed everything else I've convinced you try." He kisses up to Dazai's ear and nuzzles it, shifting one thigh between Dazai's legs so that Dazai has something to rock against as he's pressed harder to the floor. "Don't you think I've earned the chance to at least try?" There's a certain sharpness to his voice, because Chuuya has earned a lot of reparations from Dazai over the years, but this is the biggest one of all—the chance to have Dazai completely at his mercy, by Dazai's own choice. They both know that Chuuya alone can use pleasure to crack open the mask to reveal the emptiness inside.
An emptiness that, fumblingly, they have both begun to ease, for all they will never fill it. Just as they attempt to calm the rage that exists inside Chuuya, for all they will never extinguish the flames completely.
It's something of a compromise, and neither knows whether it tastes more strongly of victory or defeat.
Perhaps it's simply, staggeringly, human.
Dazai's fingers twitch again, lips parting, eyes sliding open. Chuuya steals away any chance at reason with a kiss, hard and deep and intended to overwhelm Dazai. He shivers, letting Chuuya's tongue press in, slick and hot, bringing with it words of promise that Chuuya might never speak but Dazai can taste all the same. Dazai relaxes in Chuuya's hold and Chuuya breaks the kiss, spit leaving his mouth glossy. "Are you sure you don't want to even try?" he asks again. "If you say stop, I'll stop."
He would too. It's one of the reasons he's dangerous, because when he offers his word to his people, he will keep it even when it's inconvenient, even when he has nothing to gain from it.
"Fine," Dazai sighs, wrinkling his nose a little, and Chuuya ducks down for another sharp, sweet kiss. Dazai will entertain Chuuya's obscene desire only so long as it's not unpleasant, and for now, it's not. For now it's a series of progressively filthier kisses as Chuuya lowers his body atop Dazai's on the floor, palms sliding from Dazai's wrists to his hair while Dazai's fingers make quick work of Chuuya's buttons until he can shamelessly dig his nails into Chuuya's ass and swallow down the gasped curse that escapes him. Dazai makes himself smile with all the self-satisfaction of a cat until Chuuya bites his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
When Dazai whines, Chuuya soothes the mark with a caress, then pulls away. "Bed," he commands, and drags Dazai to his feet. Although he puts up a token resistance, Dazai allows Chuuya to pull him to the bedroom and shove him back onto the silk sheets and pillows. "Undress."
Dazai doesn't listen, more interested in the sight of Chuuya rummaging around in their bedside table, pulling out lube, gloves, and the biggest anal plug Dazai's had in him thus far. That much, at least, is familiar, and Chuuya's mouth quirks as he turns back to Dazai. "Well? I said undress." He waits expectantly. Dazai feels the urge, as always, to torment Chuuya for his kingly behavior. Reluctantly, he removes his clothing instead, dropping each item to the floor as Chuuya watches, and then lets the bandages unravel and fall in a heap. Sex always inspires patience in Chuuya, which is simultaneously pleasing and perverse.
He flops back on the bed, bare, and gazes at Chuuya through lowered lashes. "There. I'm naked," he announces, petulant. "Aren't you going to..." He makes a face and gestures vaguely, eyeing Chuuya's hands with new skepticism. His fingers are slim and elegant, but his palms are broad. While they're hardly out of proportion with the rest of him, Dazai can't help but notice how large they are, which makes this whole enterprise sound like an increasingly poor idea every moment.
Chuuya rolls his eyes and pulls on a set of gloves, lubing up his fingers and the plug before setting the plug on the bedside table. "Yes," he confirms, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to..." and he waves his hands as Dazai had, mocking smile on his face. "If you're lucky, I'll..." He makes an obscene gesture and Dazai narrows his eyes.
"You have to be nice to me, or I'm not going to let you anywhere near my ass," Dazai says.
Chuuya laughs and settles between his legs, pushing them wider with the back of his hand so he doesn't get lube everywhere. Then he regards Dazai with a brief frown and says, "Put a couple of pillows under your hips, it'll make things easier and more comfortable, especially for this."
Dazai really shouldn't be surprised by anything involving Chuuya and sex anymore. After all, in the Port Mafia, Mori cared only that Dazai had enough experience to seduce a target if necessary and not be stupid enough to fall in love; Chuuya, evidently, had spent his teenage years and the time after Dazai's departure discovering every possible limit to the human body's ability to experience pleasure, up to and including the relative merits of being fisted. Taking a couple pillows from his side of the bed—he has a side, which is something he'll deal with later—Dazai slips them under his hips and then wriggles around until he's comfortable, hips angled upwards.
"Good," Chuuya soothes, still careful of his slick fingers, then rises to kiss Dazai once, twice, a half dozen times before he shifts his attention from Dazai's lips to his jaw, his throat, his nipples, ribs, stomach, hips, cock. This, at least, is familiar and Dazai relaxes as intended, even offering a few soft sighs for Chuuya as he runs his tongue back and forth beneath the head of Dazai's cock. Chuuya pulls off with a filthy pop and praises, "Very good, Osamu," in a rough voice that makes Dazai jolt. Hearing his given name from Chuuya's mouth it enough of a novelty that Dazai's skin prickles. He's mostly hard, as much from Chuuya's heat as his touch as hearing the undeniable intimacy of Chuuya speaking his name.
Chuuya lavishes more attention on Dazai's cock until a gasp is startled out of him, then murmurs, "There we go." He presses a kiss to the very tip of Dazai's dick as he slides the first finger inside of Dazai, immediately finding his prostate and stroking it gently. Dazai narrowly bites back another sound, only for Chuuya to tut in disappointment and press his finger firmly against the gland. The pressure makes Dazai's cock jerk, a drop of precum sliding out as a whine hisses through Dazai's teeth. He squirms, trying to get both more and less sensation. "There we go," Chuuya repeats, but it's smug this time and Dazai scowls.
He slides a second finger into Dazai, ignoring his expression as he stretches Dazai. The ache makes Dazai shakily exhale as the pleasure ebbs. He stares up at Chuuya's ceiling. They both know that nothing gets under Dazai's skin like pleasure, for all it's more fleeting than pain, because he never quite manages to grow accustomed. Chuuya kisses the side of Dazai's knee, and it's awful and raw and perfect and he hates that Chuuya's dangerous tenderness exposes Dazai utterly.
With the addition of a third finger, Dazai starts to feel the ache, body shivering and shuddering and his mind can't prevent it. It's overwhelming. Even worse, or perhaps better, the haze of rain muffles the city noise, so Dazai can hear their breaths and the pounding of his pulse with crystalline clarity, hyper aware of the silk clutched between his fingers and sticking to his back from the building sweat on his skin. Chuuya's meticulous, never letting Dazai get worked up enough to actually come, but also never letting him relax long enough to think properly. Dazai rocks his hips down against Chuuya's fingers, and they press thrust in a little harder, stroking over his prostate and making him moan again. His cock oozes more precum, and Chuuya turns his attention from the oversensitive scar on Dazai's inner thigh to clean it from Dazai's stomach, sliding in a fourth finger while Dazai's stomach twitches.
"Chuuya," Dazai says, both a protest and a request, and Chuuya stops fucking Dazai with his fingers, fumbling to strip the other glove off with his teeth. He drops it to the sheets and pets Dazai's thigh while Dazai tries to breathe.
"It's alright," Chuuya reassures, "I'm not going to do any more until you're ready." His nails rake lightly over Dazai's skin, and Dazai closes his eyes, arching a little as the pleasure rolls through him.
The movement amplifies how wide he's spread, how vulnerable and full he is already. He can't imagine having more inside him, even as Chuuya pushes his fingers incrementally deeper. Dazai's muscles quiver. His chest heaves. His heart thrums in his throat. Despite everything, he wants.
"Chuuya," he whispers, voice touched by desperation. It's not a request for Chuuya to stop, so Chuuya distracts him by stroking over Dazai's prostate again as he grabs the plug, eyes dark and eager. Dazai moans and jerks again as just the thought of having it inside him, tightening around Chuuya's fingers. "I..." He doesn't know how that ought to end.
"Ready?" Chuuya asks, and Dazai's mouth opens and then closes again. "Osamu," he coaxes. "I need you to answer me. I need you to tell me yes." He slowly begins fucking Dazai with all four fingers, which scatters Dazai's attempts at reason. "Osamu," Chuuya murmurs, a note of command now in his voice. His pace is slow and steady and Dazai scrabbles for something to hold onto. Chuuya presses in far enough that his thumb teases at Dazai's entrance, and the words burst free of him.
"Yes! Chuuya—yes!"
Chuuya pulls his fingers free, sliding the plug in the instant he has Dazai's agreement and Dazai's mind unravels, caught between how close he is and the fact that it's not Chuuya inside him and his own harsh breathing and the white noise of Chuuya's reassurance. He stammers something incomprehensible, shuddering. This is the biggest plug he's had inside him, and Dazai can feel it even when he's just breathing, pressed firmly up against his prostate. He shifts his hips mindlessly but it doesn't relieve the pressure. Instead, the plug rocks, leaving him strung out, desperate for more sensation.
Before Dazai can say a word, Chuuya takes Dazai's cock in his mouth, hands pressing Dazai's hips firmly into the pillows beneath him. His mouth is viciously hot and tight and his tongue slides against the length and his nose brushes the curl of hair at the base and his nails dig crescents into Dazai's skin and Dazai comes instantly.
He scrambles to grab Chuuya's shoulders but that only presses the plug harder against his prostate and coming feels like it lasts forever as he chokes on Chuuya's name. The pleasure devastates him. Chuuya's mouth keeps working around him until he's in a strange, fuzzy territory between pleasure and pain, and then pulls away, a string of spit connecting Chuuya's mouth and Dazai's cock. It's enough to make desire roll down his spine afresh and Chuuya licks his lips, catching the come that had spilled.
Collapsing back on the sheets, Dazai's throat works around stillborn, scattered words.
Chuuya never gives him the chance to recover, however, kissing him deeply as he straddles Dazai and rests his weight on Dazai's hips with a smile Dazai can taste as sharply as his own come on Chuuya's lips. Dazai's arms wrap around Chuuya, pulling him closer, letting him find every noise Dazai held onto and Chuuya savors them behind his own teeth. "Feel a little more relaxed?" Chuuya purrs. "How does the thought of my fist in your ass sound now?"
A grumpy protest escapes and Chuuya laughs low in his throat. The plug inside him is horribly distracting, nearly as distracting as the way Chuuya keeps rocking his hips against Dazai's groin and Chuuya's amusement vibrates in the next kiss. Worst of all, Chuuya's right—Dazai feels near boneless at the moment, but the heat hasn't disappeared from his gut thanks to the continued pressure inside him and instead of being intrusive, the breadth of the plug feels almost normal now that he's come. Just as Chuuya had planned, Dazai is sure.
Dazai scowls.
Unconcerned, Chuuya gets off Dazai and grabs a fresh pair of gloves, pulling them on as Dazai blinks slowly at him. This time, Chuuya spreads lube all the way up to his wrist, and Dazai's calm starts to wear away as his rational thought musters its strength, right up until Chuuya settles back between Dazai's legs and jostles the plug inside him and he hisses, back bowing as he squirms helplessly. "Fuck," he breathes, and Chuuya rewards him by thrusting the plug a few times. Dazai whimpers, tightening around it as his dick twitches, but Chuuya's planned for this, too, and bites at the scar on Dazai's thigh.
"Unclench your muscles," he commands, but the delight of watching Dazai fall apart has softened all his sharp edges. "Right, yes, just like that." He pulls the plug free and sets it aside as Dazai is made abruptly aware of the unwelcome emptiness inside him. Three fingers slide inside him before he can mourn the loss and after a few seconds a fourth is nestled beside them, once more stretching Dazai to the point of discomfort, leaving him exposed. "Alright?"
Dazai nods, and shakes his head, and Chuuya teases Dazai with his thumb again until Dazai makes a dangerously soft, hungry sound and Chuuya trembles in response. He rocks his hand against Dazai's ass slowly, knuckles teasing Dazai's hole until with a sudden filthy squelch they press in past the ring of muscle and Chuuya's hand slides deep inside Dazai.
For a long moment, Dazai can't respond. Everything is focused on the way Chuuya's hand feels inside him, stretching him in every conceivable fashion plus a few inconceivable ones, and he can barely manage to breathe, let alone anything else. Chuuya's saying something again, but the fuzziness from earlier is back, making his blood feel syrup-sweet in his veins, pulse throbbing throughout his body. He moans, struggling to adjust, and Chuuya's free hand strokes Dazai's belly and thighs, trying to ease the tension. Dazai sucks in a shaky breath, and then another, and another. Chuuya's voice slowly filters in, crooning praise and describing just how lovely Dazai looks. Blearily, he focuses on Chuuya, whose cheeks are flushed, pleased as he stares at where his hand disappears inside of Dazai. His gaze flickers to Dazai's face, and with almost painful slowness as he meets Dazai's eyes, his hand moves inside Dazai, curling into a fist.
It's so much.
It doesn't hurt, although there's an undeniable ache in his gut, but it doesn't feel good either, despite the way Chuuya's fist is pressed against his prostate. It's simply and totally overwhelming, and when Dazai blinks, his eyes sting in a way that's entirely foreign.
Chuuya's fingers on his skin are so gentle, but in combination with every other sensation, they're enough to leave Dazai feeling cracked open, mask stripped away as Chuuya leans down and presses a delicate kiss to Dazai's hipbone, lashes fluttering against the curve of it. A warbled attempt at Chuuya's name slips free, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he bites his lower lip.
Chuuya can't easily kiss him from this angle, so his thumb brushes over Dazai's lower lip instead, trying to coax it away from Dazai's teeth. When Dazai releases it, a cry slips free as Chuuya's hand shifts minutely within him. "Shh," Chuuya whispers, and even that admonishment seems too loud for the quiet of the room, broken only by Dazai's panting breaths. "I promised, didn't I? I will stop if you want me to stop. Do you want to stop?"
Somehow, Dazai croaks, "No. Chuuya, please."
Chuuya says nothing at all, but he doesn't need to. His hand moves from Dazai's jaw back down to his belly, which he rubs gently, and he presses another series of kisses across Dazai's skin, not along the sensitive scar, but along Dazai's balls and up his cock to the steadily leaking head. He hadn't even realized he was hard again, but he is and now that he's aware of it, every time he exhales and tightens the slightest bit around Chuuya's fist, his dick jumps. He almost wants to laugh, drunk on pleasure, and Chuuya just smiles at him. The usual traces of anger is absent from his face, and in its wake is left a kind of sweetness and affection that Dazai wants to cling to with whatever tiny scraps of decency he's managed to forge over the years, and with every selfish bone in his body.
"I've got you, Osamu," Chuuya promises.
The fuzziness spills out of his mind and down his spine, coiling around his heart, his lungs, his groin, and somehow he's wholly at ease, floating and warm and surrounded by Chuuya. "Oh," he rasps, which is a rather ridiculous response, but Chuuya's gaze is another caress, and leaves Dazai's whole body tingling. "Chuuya," he says, helplessly. "Chuuya, Chuuya."
"Osamu," Chuuya murmurs.
Dazai can feel the minute movements as Chuuya thrusts his fist and more warmth blooms beneath his skin, which ought to be an impossibility and yet here he is, helpless and exposed and he cannot regret it. Will not regret it. Dazai swears he can feel Chuuya's pulse inside him and he wants to keep it until he dies, safe and sound and tucked somewhere in his core where he can grab hold of it at any time.
He shakes at the concept, at having a piece of Chuuya he can keep, except for how he can't, and it doesn't make sense but Dazai would do anything in that moment for it anyways as the pleasure builds inescapably and Dazai cannot do anything except survive. Chuuya's fingers are brushing Dazai's cheeks, his chest, beneath the head of his cock, the rim of Dazai's hole where he's stretched around Chuuya. It's so good. Chuuya is so good.
He tries to express the sensation, share the calm warmth cradling with Chuuya as he gasps out, "Chuuya's good, warm and here and good," but a part of him fears he doesn't make sense. That fear dissolves instantly when he blinks and sees the smile lighting up Chuuya's face, unbearably fond and the edges of the abyss within Dazai ache as they're soothed away for a moment beneath Chuuya's overwhelming presence. "Good," Dazai chokes again, and comes.
His nerves are so overstimulated that he doesn't recognize it for what it is at first, even as Chuuya licks his come before it drips to the sheets. He can't stop trembling and the pleasure never eases, just winds tighter in him again as Chuuya's fist keeps moving ever so slightly within him, rubbing against his prostate, filling him up, and the sensation of being held and surrounded intensifies as the warmth builds yet again.
Chuuya's talking but Dazai can't understand, and it doesn't matter anyways—Dazai trusts Chuuya enough to strip away all Dazai's artifice and expose the places where he's not quite right, so he trusts Chuuya enough to make sure he's okay, too. He comes again, dazed, and drifts easily in the heart of all that contentment as he loses track of his surroundings for a while.
Chuuya's there, and Chuuya's making him feel good. That's enough.
Dazai breathes easily.
The first thing he becomes aware of that isn't warmth or the pleasure that unravels him is when Chuuya pulls his hand free carefully. Dazai moans at the loss but is too limp to do anything except lay there, quivering with aftershocks. Chuuya occasionally brushes his skin to let him knows he's still present as he moves around the bedroom, and Dazai twitches at the touch, caught somewhere between needing more of it and being engulfed by it. The fuzziness still clouds his brain, which would be concerning under other circumstances but every time he tries to string words together, thoughts of Chuuya and his warmth and his touch and his goodness scatter Dazai's concentration and leave him drifting again, content.
He blinks slowly, and Chuuya's there again, leaning over him, and offers slow kiss that makes Dazai whimper. "Are you okay?" he asks, concern in his voice.
Dazai opens his mouth, but he blanks every time he attempts to speak, and settles for nodding while wrapping his fingers around Chuuya's wrist. It's more difficult than it ought to be, but he doesn't want Chuuya to wander off. Chuuya doesn't fight it, sitting on the side of the bed and brushing the hand that Dazai isn't keeping captive through his hair. "How's a bath sound? Just nod or shake your head."
A bath sounds nice. Dazai nods.
Chuuya lifts Dazai into his arms like he weighs nothing at all and carries him to the bathroom. Dazai's gradually becoming more aware of his body, the curl of Chuuya's breath against his temple, and the places their skin touches sets Dazai's nerves to sparking. It's still so much that Dazai exhales, shuddering. His knees don't seem to be working any better than the rest of him, so there's a moment of struggle before Chuuya eases him to the floor with a towel to protect him from the cold tiling until the bath is finished running, and then gets him settled inside the hot water, complete with bubbles.
Stupidly, Dazai's throat feels tight just looking at them, and he pokes a few of the mounds until the bubbles pop.
Chuuya tugs him until he's leaning against the side of the bath and runs his fingers through Dazai's hair. His mouth leaves its mark on Dazai's temple, the curve of his shoulder, even Dazai's fingers as Chuuya lifts them from the water. Dazai half turns, and Chuuya's right there, that rare smile still curling his mouth as he glances at Dazai. It makes Dazai swallow. He wants to keep that smile as much as he wants to keep Chuuya's pulse someplace safe. Chuuya kisses him, rests their foreheads together, and their breath mingles with the hot steam from the tub.
It's intimate. Real.
Dazai breathes slowly, the usually sharp edges of his mind coming back into focus slowly and with great reluctance. Chuuya's touch brings him back to the surface, though, until Dazai's fingers and toes feel like his own again. The calm lingers, however, which is as surprising as it is, well, nice. A lot of things feel nice right now, with a simplicity that is usually wholly out of Dazai's grasp.
"Back with me now?" Chuuya inquires slyly, a hint of a laugh in his voice.
"No," Dazai mutters, petulant, and the laugh escapes Chuuya completely.
"Well, in that case, let me get you cleaned up, and then I'll get us some food and water until you've returned." Chuuya doesn't wait for Dazai's answer, just get his hair wet and massages first shampoo, then conditioner into his hair, nails scraping and thumbs sliding down his neck. Dazai closes his eyes and lets Chuuya lavish attention on him as he switches from Dazai's hair to the rest of his body, washing him slowly and thoroughly before finally draining the water and wrapping Dazai in what feels like a dozen fluffy towels until he's squirming to try to get free enough to breathe.
"Stop that," Chuuya says, and carries him back to the bed. Dazai would complain, but he suspects that Chuuya knows that his knees are still involved in a coup against his brain. Clean and dry, the towels are exchanged for fresh sheets and blankets and Chuuya eyes him critically. "Are you going to be okay if I leave?"
Dazai takes stock of himself for a moment and then nods. The urge to grab Chuuya and keep him captive has passed, insofar as it ever truly passes.
Dazai's selfish, after all.
"I'll be fine," he sing-songs, and Chuuya rolls his eyes, ruffling Dazai's damp hair before disappearing.
He listens to Chuuya work in the kitchen and the smell of hot chocolate fills the air. Chuuya's pleased then, if he's pulling out Dazai's favorite treats. A little echo of that fuzziness and warmth blooms in his belly and his mouth twitches with a hint of a smile that feels as natural as any emotion ever does. He exhales slowly, glancing outside where it's still pouring, and Dazai's mind is still quiet instead of spinning wildly on a dozen different tracks as he traces raindrops until they disappear. He savors the stream of light from the hallway, the sounds of Chuuya's efficient movements, and the heat from the blankets.
Chuuya returns with two mugs of hot chocolate. Dazai makes grabby hands for it, but Chuuya shakes his head. "Sit up, the last thing I want is to try getting hot chocolate out of that blanket." Dazai groans but obeys, shoving some more pillows behind his back. Only then does Chuuya reward him with the hot chocolate and sits cross-legged next to him.
Dazai savors this, too. The vulnerability between them, the taste of the hot chocolate, and the almonds warming him from the inside out as the rest of the world is kept at bay for a little while longer.
Chuuya's fingers tuck a few of the curling strands of hair away from Dazai's face and linger. Dazai looks up, lips parted. "I didn't think you wanted them in your drink," Chuuya says gruffly. There's a trace of color in his cheeks.
Dazai hides his smile behind his mug. "Chuuya's so thoughtful," he hums. "And lucky to have me around to put up with his sexual deviancy!"
Chuuya snorts. "That'd be a lot more effective a taunt if you hadn't practically passed out from coming so hard." He looks away, and the flush in his cheeks deepens. "Move over, it's cold." It's a thin excuse, but Dazai lets Chuuya set their mugs aside and crawls underneath the covers until he's pressed up against Dazai's back, wrapped around him and inhaling the scent of his soap on Dazai's skin.
Suddenly, Dazai can barely keep his eyes open and tries to turn in Chuuya's arms, fighting to stay awake. Chuuya holds him fast, says nothing, but kisses the mole on Dazai's shoulder like that will be enough to steady him. Dazai whines in protest, and Chuuya's grip tightens. "Sleep, Osamu," he commands softly.
With a sigh, Dazai does.