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Fresh fallen rain puddles in low areas of the roadway and the sidewalks that line it, catching the glow of the nearby neon lights. It illuminates the district further, creating a fairytale like effect that softens the look of the seedy bars and clubs known for housing all manner of illicit activity. Chuuya knows this area well, although he’s not here on business like in the past; this is purely for his own benefit.
He’d only been here once before for fun, years ago when he’d still been in his teens but knew he could go anywhere under the protection of other Port Mafia operatives who were looking for a good time. They’d bar crawled from one end of the street to the other, drinking and smoking and joking, flirting with pretty girls with questionable backgrounds and pretending to be the mafiosos of old legend. True, Chuuya had enough clout to stand up to anyone, which was probably the reason his older friends had brought him out with them to begin with, but their comradery was genuine. It was a fond memory, one that stung now all things considered.
A month ago Q had been kidnapped, his power turned loose on Yokohama. Many of their own had been killed in the ensuing violence. Many of those friends from that night had been among them.
Chuuya was all too familiar with losing friends like that; Kouyou had once warned him of the downsides of being too friendly with coworkers and subordinates, that the more likable he was, the more he was opening himself up to heartbreak. It didn’t stop him...he’d spend too much of his life already locked away from human interaction, and then questioning the allegiances of everyone he came across while alone on the streets. He liked belonging to a structured organization, one where he could trust the people around him to have his back. He liked not having to worry about things like that.
Why he was willing to put himself in this position tonight was a mystery even to him, but he wasn’t going to think about it too hard.
The club didn’t look like much from the outside; not rundown or dirty like many of the establishments around it, but simple and understated. Neat wooden trim lined all of the architectural features, a burgundy painted door the only standout against dark grey walls. Chuuya pushes through it, immediately hit with the sound of soft, sultry jazz and the smell of expensive spirits.
A suited man spots him the moment he walks in and takes in Chuuya’s appearance; apparently he judges him worthy of his attention, face shifting into a polite smile with a slight bow as he guides him to a table. If Chuuya had to guess, seating is determined by the sheer wealth the client exhibits, and suddenly Chuuya is glad he’d had the forethought to wear his best blazer and hat, the expensive Rolex on his wrist peeking out from under his jacket cuff. He gets a plush private booth in the back by the bar, out of the way enough that he can lean into the shadows and disappear if he wants to. He’s not completely sure what he wants right now however, but he’s open to figuring it out while he’s here.
From the sleek upscale bar to the cultured music to the clearly rich patrons that populate the space, no one would suspect that they’d just stepped into a sex club.
Chuuya and one of his friends had done just that years ago, after hearing what it was. They’d only been inside for a few minutes, just to see what it was like. He couldn’t remember what they’d expected, but it had seemed dull enough that they hadn’t been exactly impressed, but they’d giggled all the same after walking out, dashing back to their friends who were waiting a couple doors down. He understood now though, how sometimes people didn’t want titilation and debacery in their face, just a chance at an anonymous hookup and maybe a night to unwind. God knew that was why Chuuya was there.
The Yokohama attack, the Lovecraft fight, burying all those people. Chuuya could still feel the strain in all of his muscles from using Corruption for the first time in years, even if the fight had been weeks ago. He was also still mulling over the indignity of losing good loyal Port Mafia operatives while Dazai the damn traitor lived and breathed and came to save him again from said ability. Chuuya had rushed to defend Dazai from being torn limb from limb by that freak Lovecraft, but couldn’t do anything to save his people. It made his brain throb and itch just thinking about it. It set all of his nerves on fire, mostly because he was convinced that he couldn’t stand the man but also for all the times that night he’d felt a jolt of terror at the idea of him dying. It was maddening to say the least.
He was wound too tight. He needed a chance to relax. He needed to get his brains fucked out and then put back together again.
Attempting to shake those thoughts from his head and focus on achieving just that, Chuuya removed his hat and rose from the booth to sidle up to the bar. A pretty bartender waited for him, perhaps a few years older than Chuuya with long, straight raven hair well past her waist and large breasts that spilled from the top of her black button-up.
“What will you have, sir?” she asked in a sultry voice, as if she was offering more than just alcohol. Chuuya smiled crookedly back at her, rattling off a drink order while scanning the rest of the bar behind her. Another girl that could have also been a model took orders behind her, while a tall sandy-haired man with wiry muscle worked the opposite end of the semi-circle bar top. The people here looked similar in wealth to Chuuya, but perhaps a little older in average age. That didn’t necessarily bother him.
A minute later and Chuuya was being presented with his drink, the serving girl offering to add it to his tab. Chuuya murmured in agreement, spying the stirring sticks sitting off to the side; they have been cleverly arranged so that the color communicated what you were after. Blue for men, red for women, and purple for either. Chuuya weighed the options in his mind; he’d never been picky when it came to gender, as long as they fit his tastes aesthetically. Considering what he wanted tonight though, a clear answer presented itself.
Chuuya reached out and took one of the blue stir sticks; the girl behind the bar almost looked disappointed.
Back in his seat, Chuuya took out a cigarette and lighter, savoring his drink along with it. He didn’t often smoke, but when chances like this presented themselves, he took it. People trailed through the area surrounding the bar, couples who were clearly in the process of moving their activities elsewhere in the club, singles prowling for a partner, and some that looked like they were simply enjoying the atmosphere. One or two men that Chuuya wouldn’t have minded chatting up passed by, their eyes lingering on him in interest. A tall blond in an impeccably fitted suit took in the color of the stick in his drink, emerald eyes cutting up to favor Chuuya with a smile that he returned. Unfortunately the blond never returned, and Chuuya was doomed to finishing his cigarette and first drink in solitude.
A minute or so after finishing said drink, the bartender from before approached his booth, another drink in hand. At first he wondered if the girl was still trying to butter him up, but smiling she explained that a man at the bar had sent it to him. Chuuya was tempted to crane his neck around and figure out who it had been, but thought better of it. If he accepted it, the man would no doubt take that as a sign that he could approach him. Chuuya smiled back, taking the glass and thanking her for her hospitality.
It wasn’t until he studied the drink that his interest was truly peaked; it was a French 75. Chuuya’s favorite cocktail was a French 75.
Instantly his suspicions rose; was he being trailed by an enemy who knew enough about him to try to draw him in this way? Did he have a stalker? Did someone from Port Mafia know he was here and was now teasing him? Whatever the case, Chuuya wasn’t content to sit around and wait for trouble to come to him, he was going to head it off himself.
With the drink in hand, Chuuya rose and traced the edge of the bar area, keeping to the outskirts far enough that the light couldn’t illuminate his approach. He would be able to sneak up on the man this way, or at least observe him from afar for a bit. That was his plan, to hang back and watch the target for a bit and try to discern the man’s intentions, or determine that this had all been a big coincidence. That goes out the window the moment he spies the familiar silhouette standing across from him, his back to Chuuya. The executive’s teeth clash together, a growl caught in his throat as he stalks across the floor in his direction.
Dazai Osamu turns to meet Chuuya just as he reaches him, a brilliant smile on his face.
“Ahh Chuuya, I was wondering when you’d come to see me~”
”Why the fuck are you here!?” Chuuya hisses.
Dazai leans against the bar, the very picture of relaxation, like he doesn’t have one of the most dangerous men in Yokohama standing in front of him, ready to kill, “You’re not the only one who likes to have fun, ya know.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Chuuya that Dazai might be here for the same reasons as him. It makes sense; Dazai’s always kind of been a whore.
“I’m kidding,” Dazai finally relents, grinning, “I’m here canvassing for the Detective Agency.”
“Oh fuck you,” Chuuya growls, ready to throw his drink in Dazai’s face.
“But why are you here, shorty? Hmm?” Dazai prods, leaning into his personal space, “This isn’t exactly your scene…and about the outfit change…”
Chuuya’s forgotten that he’s wearing a wine-colored button-up, the topmost buttons undone so as to show a flash of chest definition. The black slacks he wears are even more form fitting than his usual pair, and his choker’s been swapped out for a new one, shiny black leather with a single silver o-ring sitting at the center as if waiting for a leash.
“I wanted a quiet place to drink, alright?” Chuuya lies, “I knew no one who knows me would be here...or at least, I thought no one would be,” his eyes narrow as if daring Dazai to argue.
Dazai looks thoughtful, as if considering the possibility. Dazai indeed must be on assignment, he’s not wearing his usual clothes; the suit he wears reminds Chuuya of the one he’d worn while at Port Mafia, although this one is better fitted, and he fills it out nicely. It’s a dark navy color, not the stark black of the past, and that feels like some sort of statement on Dazai’s part.
“Interesting explanation…” Dazai muses, pulling Chuuya’s attention back to where he’s worrying at his chin in contemplation, “Except for the fact that i’ve been here long enough to catch you making eyes at Tall Blond and Dumb over there.”
Chuuya grits his teeth together, expression murderous, “And what does that have to do with anything?”
Dazai’s smiling now, softer than before but with a glint in his eyes, “You’re not worked up from all the overtime Port Mafia’s had to do lately? Looking for a little fun to unwind, hmm?”
“And what’s it to you?” Chuuya asked, sharp as a blade, “Jealous?”
Dazai looks surprised for a second, staring back at Chuuya before breaking into laughter. It only raises Chuuya’s already nuclear temper.
“If you think i’m going to let you ruin my night, you are dead wrong,” Chuuya vows, knocking back the drink Dazai had sent him in one go. Dazai makes an appreciative noise at the display of defiance, leaning back against the bar again.
“Who said that I was intending to ruin your fun?” Dazai asks, golden-brown eyes going lidded while watching Chuuya lower the glass to the bar top.
“Well you’re certainly not helping things,” Chuuya grouses.
Before he can even register what’s happening, Dazai has slid forward, partially around Chuuya’s back to keep him pinned at the bar. His mouth draws level with Chuuya’s ear, and immediately the hair on the back of his neck stands up. Dazai’s lips practically brush against the shell of if, words quiet and slow.
“Would you like me to change that?”
Chuuya’s so shocked he can do nothing but stand there, eyes wide.
He thinks he can feel the curve of a smile on those lips, and not knowing if Dazai is teasing him or not, Chuuya tries to keep his cool, schooling his features and the rapid beat of his heart.
“What the hell could you do?” Chuuya asks snidely, “What would you want to do?”
Dazai is definitely smiling now, Chuuya can tell from his words, “Are you sure you want to hear that?”
“Try me,” Chuuya growls, turning his head far enough that a single eye can catch Dazai from the corner, just as the blood in his veins begins to pump a little faster.
Dazai presses forward again, and now his lips are definitely touching his ear, low and sultry and just out of Chuuya’s range of vision, “I want...to take you in one of those rooms in the back...strip you naked...make you do whatever I dream of, degrade you to the point where you can’t even look yourself in the mirror, make you love it and beg for more...before having you in every way a man can take another man.”
This isn’t happening. Chuuya is having an out of body experience based on the way he goes light-headed, not believing what he’s just heard. There is no way this is happening.
It’s not exactly out of the question for Dazai to still be attracted to Chuuya; they had been sexual in their younger years, not exactly “together” in the sense of a real relationship but they’d been exclusive in their bedroom activities. But this...this was something Chuuya would have never expected out of the other man. To honestly express his desires - no matter how filthy - to Chuuya...what kind of game was he playing?
“You...really expect me to believe that?” Chuuya’s voice sounds weaker than he’d wanted, his unsureness seeping into his words. Dazai slides a hand around him, effectively trapping him against the bar further. When he shifts this time, Chuuya feels it; the telltale press of an erection against his hip.
“I expect you to obey,” Dazai whispers back, breath skirting the delicate flesh of Chuuya’s neck, “I expect you to let me fuck all of that tension and worry out of you...That’s what you want, isn’t it?...Hmm, Chuuya?” Dazai asks, just as Chuuya’s eyes flutter shut.
There’s a safeness and a familiarity in Dazai despite his betrayal and the years of anger and sorrow he’d inspired. He’s a dirtbag to the core and a traitor but he’s not a stranger who doesn’t know how to handle him. He knows exactly what to do, where to touch, for how long. He could play Chuuya like a fiddle if he wants to, and it seems like that’s exactly what he’s trying to achieve. Better the devil he knows than the one he doesn't.
It doesn’t take Chuuya long to decide, because after this the idea of trying to pin down an alternative in this club and get what he wants sounds near painful. Mouth dry, he turns to stare at Dazai, spending only a moment trying to decipher his intent from his expression and judging it true.
“Let's go then.”
Dazai’s lips curl up even further.
There’s a sharp click just under Chuuya’s chin; startled, he looks down and is immediately confronted with a silver piece of metal hanging from his choker, attached to the long strip of leather Dazai’s holding in his hand.
He did it, he actually did it… Bastard had this planned.
“Alright then. Let’s go, kitten.”
***
They’re given a handsomely furnished room that includes a lounge and attached bedroom; it somehow looks more like an upscale hotel room than part of a sex club. The lighting is low but not dark enough to obscure the occupant’s vision. A pair of sleek suede sofas sit facing each other with a glass coffee table between them. There’s a self service bar in the corner and a gas fireplace along the wall that separates the room from the bedroom, and that Chuuya is pretty sure is double sided. He doesn’t see anything to complain about, aside from the fact that Dazai makes a b-line for the bar the minute they’re alone together.
“Do you want anything?” Dazai calls, shoveling ice into a martini shaker, “Do you need to be drunk for this or-”
Chuuya rolls his eyes from his place on one of the sofas, the obnoxious leather leash Dazai had insisted on putting on him hanging off the back, “I’d rather be in control of myself during this, thanks.”
Dazai smirks over at him from across the room, working the shaker back and forth in his hands, “Cute,” he mocks.
It’s not that he thinks Dazai will take advantage of him while drunk; Dazai’s made it clear he doesn’t need Chuuya drunk to get whatever he wants out of the other man. Chuuya’s just always been cautious about being sober in sexual situations, not for self preservation but just as a precaution so he doesn’t end up accidentally killing his partner. Maybe Dazai’s a little safer in that regard considering his ability, but Chuuya’s not taking any chances.
It is interesting that Dazai suggests Chuuya be intoxicated for this...despite everything, Chuuya’s not having a lot of problems reconciling the fact that Dazai and himself are going to fuck. This was why he’d come to this club in the first place, so to play the scandalized maiden now feels cheap. That it’s Dazai means little to him; he’s a warm, attractive body that he knows can satisfy him, that’s all he needs. He’ll deal with the morality of it all later.
Dazai eventually joins him, setting up across from Chuuya on the other couch, drink in hand, an unreadable smile on his face. There’s a bit of a stare-off before Chuuya finally speaks.
“Ground rules?” Chuuya askes. Dazai’s smile deepens, taking a last sip from his glass before lowering it to the table.
“I imagine you’ll be the one to set most of those,” he teases, but his face takes on a serious quality, “I think we can agree that no mention of tonight leaves this room, to anyone.”
Chuuya huffs, “That should go without saying.”
“Also…” Dazai seems to grow a little cagey, fingers worrying over the lip of his glass, “I’d appreciate it if we could keep the personal jabs and mentions of our history out of this.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow at that, studying the man across from him. It’s true that Chuuya has gone out of his way the few times he’s seen Dazai recently to rake him over the coals about his betrayal. He hadn’t really thought about doing so tonight though...if Dazai is such a bad person, then what does that make Chuuya, if he’s willing to go to bed with him?
“Fine. Keep the short jokes to a minimum as well then.”
Dazai muffles a snort of amusement, “Hard, but fair I guess,” he shrugs.
Chuuya continues staring at Dazai, weighing what to put on the table and keep off. Finally, he comes to a decision.
“I have a right to turn down anything you want, but I should be comfortable with most anything...you know that,” Chuuya turns a little red, remembering everything he’s already done with Dazai, “Proper prep has to be observed. Nothing that will leave obvious marks where I can’t hide them. Nothing...gross,” Chuuya’s nose crinkles at that.
Dazai does laugh now, rising from his seat to drift back to the bar, “And I think you know that you don’t have to worry about any of that.”
“Well...just setting the rules.”
Dazai hums, pouring himself a shot in the corner, just outside of Chuuya’s range of vision. He’s starting to feel a little antsy now, that Dazai is taking his sweet time instead of jumping right to the action when Chuuya needs just that. He’s probably stringing him along, and Chuuya shouldn’t take the bait but his leg bounces impatiently, arms crossed as he waits for Dazai to come around.
“I do have one more rule,” Dazai calls, lowering his now empty shot glass to the bar top.
“Oh?” Chuuya asks, although he sounds largely uninterested.
“Yes…” Dazai is closer than he’d been the last time he’d spoken, surprising Chuuya as he drifts closer to the sofa he’s sitting on, far enough behind him that Chuuya would have to sit up and turn his head to follow him, and he’s not going to give Dazai that satisfaction. The leash at his throat is pulled tight, and suddenly Chuuya doesn’t have a choice, head yanked back so that he’s staring up at Dazai, throat bared and at his mercy. A sudden bolt of both instinctual fear and heat flares through his body. Dazai’s smile is crooked and dark, eyes lidded and Chuuya can’t help but think of the old days when Dazai had always looked like this.
“You obey every last thing I tell you to do…” Dazai whispers low, keeping a tight hold on the leash, “You do everything I say.”
Chuuya’s eyes are wide but he makes no move to argue, and Dazai takes that as an agreement. He bends forward, pulling the leash tighter so that Chuuya has nowhere to go, his lips pressing to the other man’s, Dazai’s free hand winding down to stroke over collarbone, chest, and stomach in one tantalizing sweep.
Chuuya allows Dazai to plunder his mouth, a wave of heat rising in his blood wherever the other man touches him, only for it to all pool in the pit of his stomach and stoke his desire higher. Dazai’s hand ends right at the edge of Chuuya’s slacks, thumbing at the closure in promise of things to come; he swallows the soft groan Chuuya releases into his mouth.
When they part Dazai lets go of the leash, a satisfied smile traced by the sweep of his tongue across his bottom lip. Chuuya watches him cross back to the other couch, sitting back with his drink in hand again, arm stretched across the top of his seat. He gazes at Chuuya as if weighing his options, considering him quietly before issuing his first command.
“Unbutton your shirt.”
Chuuya’s a little slow to comply, but his fingers find the first button and slip it from it’s hole, trailing down his front to do the same with the rest. He pulls the shirt free from where it’s tucked into his pants, finally revealing the muscled chest and abs he’s hidden beneath. Dazai stares appraisingly for a moment, once Chuuya’s finished, as the redhead sits waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Play with your nipples.”
Chuuya nearly jolts with arousal. He’s quick to get himself under control though, quick enough that Dazai doesn’t spot the millisecond widening of his eyes or the sharp intake of breath he draws through the nose. There’s a moment of hesitation on the part of pride, but there’s also a desire to obey, because Chuuya’s so tightly wound that the promise of pleasure, be it from his own hand or someone else is intoxicating.
He swallows thickly, slowing raising his hands to allow his thumbs to drift across the already peaked surface of his nipples. He resists the urge to groan out loud at the first sweep, the rough pads of his fingers caressing the sensitive skin there. It pebbles and grows harder at the first touch, becomes more receptive the more he worries at them. Chuuya takes his nipples between thumb and finger to tweak and pinch gently, and now he does moan, eyes fluttering shut softly. His head lulls back against the top of the sofa, as he rubs and pinches, each touch sending a hot jolt of arousal down his spine and between his legs.
Dazai knows damn well that Chuuya’s always been sensitive here, and he shows no mercy in making him touch himself like this. He begins to flush, from cheeks down to the top of his chest, his nipples turning redder as well. Chuuya wonders how long Dazai will keep him going like this, his eyes drifting open to find Dazai staring at him from across the space, taking in each and every movement with relish.
“Does that feel good?” Dazai’s voice is husky and dark.
Chuuya can only manage a nod, too afraid of what his voice will sound like otherwise.
“Good...you can keep one of your hands there…” Dazai allows, sipping from his drink before adding, “I want the other one rubbing yourself through your pants.”
In any other situation Chuuya would have probably reacted with vitriol to Dazai’s flippant command. Not here, not now. Instead he bites down on the reedy moan that threatens to escape him, unsteady hand working it’s way down his strained abs to reach the front of his slacks. He doubts himself for a half second, not knowing exactly what Dazai wants to see, but this is just as much about Chuuya’s pleasure as the other man’s...His fingers curl over the bulge that’s begun to form in his pants, the heel of his palm rubbing down across the head of his cock; his eyes crash together immediately, moaning sharply. He doesn’t see the way Dazai’s fingers tighten against his liquor glass.
Chuuya allows himself to let go and savor the feeling. Like this, with his eyes shut tight, there’s only him and his own self gratification. He rocks his hips into the pressure of his palm, bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he chases the euphoria each caress promises. He’s still playing with one of his nipples, arching away from the sofa back in a chase for more contact, and he’s so caught up in it all that Dazai’s gaze doesn’t even register.
His eyes sweep up and down Chuuya’s body with great interest, torn between wanting to see more and wanting his hands to replace Chuuya’s own.
Chuuya continues to fondle himself, but Dazai’s already made up his mind. He sets his drink aside and with a stern voice he calls out again.
“Strip.”
Chuuya freezes, taking a moment to understand what Dazai wants now. It’s an easy enough command, and he’s too overworked now to honestly care about modesty. This just means that things are moving along to Chuuya’s desired conclusion, so with a sultry gaze in Dazai’s direction, Chuuya removes his hands, rises from the couch in a single graceful action, and allows his already unbuttoned shirt to slip from his shoulder without care.
He pins Dazai to the couch with his eyes, hands roving down his torso to his belt that he undos with practised ease, the clack of the metal buckle ringing loud in such a quiet room. It slides to the floor, and Chuuya takes his time, fingers playing over the edge of his slacks that sit low on his hips, giving a belt loop a tug before moving to his fly. The rasp of the zipper coming undone seemed to issue out longer than it has any reason to, like Chuuya’s drawing out the action just to aggravate Dazai. He’s not aggravated though; Dazai’s eyes gaze right back at Chuuya’s, a softly amused smile playing on his lips like he’s enjoying the show.
When Chuuya finally wiggles the material from his hips, Dazai’s treated to the sight of a pair of black bikini cut briefs, before Chuuya thinks better of leaving them on and pulls them along with his slacks. He makes a show of dropping his pants, bending over and arching his back until they’re down far enough that he’s able to step out of them. It doesn’t occur to Chuuya that he’s doing all of this to impress he supposed nemesis, too wrapped up in the eroticism of the game they’re playing to care. He’s left standing before Dazai, cock hard and straining against his lower belly, wearing only his new choker and the leash, daring the other man to make his next move.
Dazai eats him alive with his eyes before speaking, “Back on the sofa, legs spread,” he demands, “I want you to play with your cock.”
Chuuya hopes Dazai doesn’t catch the way his dick twitches a little at that, but if he doesn’t, he most definitely sees the way Chuuya’s eyelids droop a bit more, how his lips part around a moan that never leaves his chest. He complies, leaning back into the sofa and propping his heels up on the edge of the seat, thighs wide. Dazai’s treated to a view of everything this way, especially when fingers find the base of Chuuya’s cock, thumb tracing a line up the underside to curl his palm around it and rub at the head. Chuuya’s moan is soft and needy, eyes closed as he begins working himself up and down at a restrained pace. His other hand finds the inside of his thigh, fingers sweeping down across the taunt milky white plains until he finds his balls, cupping and rolling them while he continues to stroke himself.
The first prickle of orgasm begins to show now, a building in the base of his spine that curls around his loins as his hand spreads the precum leaking from him all over his cock. It makes it all feel that much better, wetter and hotter, and Chuuya finds himself thrusting up into the circle of his palm and fingers unconsciously. His eyelids part again, heavy with lust and the gaze he meets in Dazai mirrors his own. Dazai’s torn between watching the movement of Chuuya’s hand on his dick and the minute changes in his face at how it feels. They both think of all the times they’ve touched each other, or watched each other, or simply derived some sort of pleasure from the other man. It’s safe and it’s familiar and Chuuya knows now that he’s made the right choice.
Somewhere in the haze of desire wafting around him he hears Dazai again, but his cloudy brain can’t distinguish the words. Something’s tossed his way though, and that’s what finally clears the fog, opening his eyes to see what it is.
A tube of lube sits waiting next to his foot on the sofa. Chuuya glances the other man’s way, the smirk on his lips unmistakable. Chuuya doesn’t need him to clarify his request...it’s obvious.
With hands that shake, not with nerves but with suppressed desire, Chuuya takes the tube, twisting off the cap to coat his fingers. Dazai murmurs a request that Chuuya lay down, something that he’s grateful for. Reclining like this, Chuuya has plenty of room to spread his legs, still allowing Dazai to see what he’s doing from this angle. Fingers slick, he presses them to his entrance, only now realizing how laboured his breathing sounds in his own ears. He wants it so bad he can feel himself twitch against his fingers…
“You can manage two fingers, right?” Dazai asks teasingly, “You’ve always liked pushing your limits…”
Chuuya thinks that might be a slight violation of the “no speaking about the past” clause, but he’ll let it slide since the mention of his little size kink sends his pulse racing a bit faster. Instead he moves to fulfill the instructions, placing two fingers against his entrance and pressing inward to test himself. It’s easy enough to slide them in, although it’s been a while and the strain of two fingers burns slightly, stretching him enough that he hisses through his teeth. It feels good however, a thick and heady heat seeping into him and up between his legs at the sensation of being filled. Chuuya sighs, head falling back against the arm of the sofa as he begins to move, fingering himself in slow, firm strokes against his inner walls, just short of his prostate.
Dazai watches the way Chuuya’s body udulates like a serpent, rolling down to meet the subtle thrust of the fingers inside him in a way that feels painstakingly slow to himm. Chuuya sighs with each inward press, and Dazai can’t help but be seized with a sudden madness to cover those lips with his own, knock his hand away and bury a few of his own fingers inside him just to feel how hot and tight he is. It would be stupid for him to deny how much he wants to possess Chuuya like this, has always wanted on some level, even when they were vowing to hate each other forever. He’s the physical embodiment of everything Dazai lusts for, and like hell he’s going to let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers.
Dazai raises the stakes with another finger and Chuuya obliges him, moaning around the added width. He slides deeper, seeking out the stimulation that will drive him closer to completion and cries out when he finally finds it, hips stuttering as he brushes his prostate. His cock has been hard and leaking for so long that it’s all he can do to rock down on his digits, rubbing at himself until there’s a near constant stream of gasps and whimpers falling from his lips, mind a blur as he chases after that perfect feeling of being right on the edge. Like this, he’s only distantly aware of Dazai watching him pleasure himself, the added voyeurism contributing to the heat but only around the edges. Chuuya’s a trembling mess by his own hand afterall.
He never hears Dazai’s voice like this however, continuing to push until he’s sure he’s about to cum all over himself. Dazai speaks louder this time, and Chuuya’s hand stills immediately, lust clouded eyes parting and finding his partner again.
“Tsk, tsk, Chuuya…” Dazai draws out mockingly, with just a hint of malice, “I told you, you were to obey every last order I gave you…”
Chuuya blinks back at him, mouth opening to argue but Dazai’s shifting on the couch, firmly planting his feet on the floor and sitting up straight. He crooks a finger, beckoning Chuuya in his direction.
“You’ll have to come to me for your punishment...crawling, of course.”
Chuuya stares at Dazai for a second, before remembering that this is a game.
Despite his desire to cum all over himself in that moment, despite the humiliation that rises in the back of his brain at dropping to the floor on all fours, Chuuya perseveres. He slinks across the floor on his hands, back arching and rolling as he crosses towards Dazai, moving a little slower to draw out the action into something erotic. If the glint in Dazai’s eye at watching him says anything, he’s successful. Chuuya comes right to Dazai’s feet, waiting for his next instruction like the good little pet he’s playing. Dazai takes hold of the leash, drawing it up between his fingers and giving it a soft tug to pull Chuuya up on the couch. He’s not quite sure what’s happening until Dazai pushes him down over his lap, hand running the length of his spine before coming to settle against the curve of his ass. Chuuya’s eyes fly open.
“I’m sure you understand what comes next...you’re allowed to make noise if you need to,” Dazai’s voice is poison honey, and Chuuya can’t even react before the man pulls his hand away, just to bring it back down against his ass, hard.
He’s thrown off, but Dazai’s only rewarded with a stifled gasp for his efforts. The smack stings against Chuuya’s ass, but the force of if also drives his wet cock against Dazai’s thigh, marrying the pain and the pleasure together instantaneously. His mouth runs dry. He doesn’t know if he wants it to stop or continue.
Dazai delivers another sharp spank, although Chuuya’s a little more prepared this time. He knows what to expect but it still hurts, and again he rubs himself against Dazai’s thigh, relishing the fading tingle of the smack at the same time he’s stimulated. it’s almost worth it, the rough slap that hits all of his masochistic kinks and then sinks into pure pleasure. He can’t help but arch his back a little, anticipating more.
When Dazai smacks his ass again, Chuuya moans this time.
He can feel Dazai pause for a half second, muted laughter punctuating his pause.
“Well, well...should have known you’d act like a little slut, even when getting spanked…”
The finishing flourish of his words is another slap, delivered to the fullest part of Chuuya’s ass. He jerks, gasping, but pushing back against the hand that’s settled against his abused flesh. Dazai squeezes, almost in reassurance, and Chuuya knows that if Dazai wants to give him more, he’d gladly accept it.
He gives Chuuya a couple more swats before rubbing at the reddened skin tenderly, dipping lower until he’s tracing the puckered rim of Chuuya’s entrance. Almost on command, Chuuya’s back bows further, pushing back against the fingers, a moan muffled into the surface of the sofa. Dazai takes his sweet time playing with him, a breath away from penetrating Chuuya at any second, but just short of the prize. There’s something else he wants, something he’s been craving since they first began, and as he presses slightly, just short of entering him, he gets his well-earned reward.
“P-please…” Chuuya gasps low, just loud enough for Dazai to barely make out.
Bingo.
Dazai slides his middle finger into Chuuya deep, his already lubricated walls parting for him easily. Chuuya moans, relishing the sudden intrusion, already squeezing around him. Dazai resists the urge to moan himself, sheathing his finger in unbelievable heat. He twitches in his pants just from the thought of burying his cock in Chuuya, the anticipation of just such action sending a thrill up his spine. He continues to finger him lazily, until Chuuya’s bucking back against his hand in a demand for more urgency. Dazai can’t help but grin, another idea formulating in his brain.
“Chuuya, sit up,” Dazai instructs, but it’s softer than any of his previous commands. Chuuya complies faster than he’d expect, obviously desperate for more. He pulls Chuuya into his lap to straddle him before reaching back through his legs to push against the ring of muscle there. Chuuya can’t help himself, groaning as his eyes slip shut, sinking down on Dazai’s digits.
“That’s it,” Dazai whispers, allowing the other man to rise and fall, “Ride my fingers for me, love...let me see how much you want it…”
Chuuya doesn’t need to be told, already bouncing up and down on two fingers before Dazai can even finish his words. Like this Dazai can truly admire him, watching the sweat roll down his toned body in rivulets, rocking back on his hand while his cock oozes against his abs obscenely. His hair sticks to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, gasping with each roll of his hips. He’s got his hands planted back against Dazai’s knees to steady himself, and god knows he needs it from the fervent way his fucks himself on Dazai’s fingers. Dazai takes hold of the leash again, giving it a little tug every so often to keep Chuuya in the moment, and because he loves the way his dick twitches every time he’s jerked around.
It’s good but it’s not near enough; Dazai gives him another finger, but that only satisfies Chuuya for a little while.
“D-Dazai…” Chuuya gasps, not pausing for a moment, hazy eyes parting to gaze down at him in appeal, “Dazai, I- ahh! P-please…”
“Mmm? What is it, kitten?” Dazai asks sweetly with just a knife’s edge hint of heat.
“Please, I want...Hah…J-just fuck me,” Chuuya breathes, dragging his tongue against his lip, “Fuck me, please just...fuck me…” Chuuya’s voice is calm and soft but the desperation is unmistakable, and it stokes the fire in Dazai more than anything in the world possibly could.
It takes everything he has not to flip him down against the couch and slam into him immediately, but he resists. Instead he delivers a couple well placed jabs against Chuuya’s prostate, distracting him enough that he can locate the lube sitting on the coffee table. He does move Chuuya then, gently pulling him by the hips to direct him onto his knees, hands planted against the arm of the sofa so that he’s partially bent over it. Dazai doesn’t allow himself to admire the view, too busy pulling himself from his pants and applying lube. Nothing’s said between them but the intensity coming from both is palpable. Dazai can’t help but tease a bit, dragging the head of his cock against the clef of Chuuya’s ass, a promise of what’s to come.
To Chuuya’s credit he doesn’t go to pieces like Dazai thinks his might; he growls instead, rolling his hips backwards. Dazai grins at that, unable to deny the fact that Chuuya’s always been his favorite in bed for little reasons like this.
He presses inward slowly, because he knows Chuuya wants to savor the stretch. He’s right; Chuuya’s head falls between his arms, a deep moan reverberating up from deep in his chest as he’s penetrated. His cock twitches between his legs at the first slide of Dazai inside him, and he distantly wonders how long the other man expects him to last after all of their little games. Hopefully not long.
Dazai might be of the same mind, if the way he thrusts forward to fully sheath himself says anything. Chuuya moans at being taken so deeply, the angle perfect. Dazai doesn’t waste any time in setting up a steady pace, allowing himself to operate on animal instincts and roll his hips as his body dictates, chasing down his own orgasm and the beautiful sounds spilling from Chuuya’s lips. He can feel the other squeeze around him with each slide of his cock, touching something deep inside him that makes him see stars. Chuuya does an admirable job keeping somewhat composed, but Dazai wants to see him lose it completely. He wants to inspire the same level of wild abandon he sees Chuuya achieve every time he goes under Corruption’s influence, the mindless dedication to one purpose. He wants that same loss of control, because he can’t touch Chuuya when he’s in that grip, but he can sure as hell touch him now.
Chuuya jerks back to meet each of Dazai’s thrusts, hitching gasps and moans caught in his throat. It’s sweet and lovely, but Dazai wants more, can’t stop himself from getting greedy in this situation. He leans forward to cover Chuuya’s body with his own, lips worrying at the flesh of his neck just under his ear. Dazai doesn’t know if it’s unconscious or planned, but Chuuya turns his head to allow him more space to mouth at, moaning softly. He takes what’s given and more, sidling up to the other man’s ear.
“I forgot just how tight you are…” he whispers, words warped by his harsh breath, “When’s the last time you let someone fuck you like this, hmm? Or have you been waiting for me…”
Chuuya’s groans stutter in response, but he lifts his head all the same “I-Is that what you want to hear?” he pants, still working his ass back on Dazai’s cock, “That i’ve spent all this time pining for y-your cock?”
Dazai can’t help but grin, excited that Chuuya can dish it out as well as himself, even while getting pounded, “We both know no one else can fuck you as well as I can...I wouldn’t blame you, Chuuya,” he teases, teeth finding the flesh of the other’s neck again, “You were begging for it just seconds ago.”
Chuuya goes a little redder, and Dazai can tell from proximity that he’s clenching his teeth, “J-just shut up and do your job, dumbass.”
Dazai uses this opportunity to roll up into Chuuya’s prostate head-on, dragging the head of his cock firmly against it until he felt the tremors grow and spread through Chuuya’s body, a choking sob interrupting his pants.
“Your wish is my command~” Dazai teases.
He’s distracted enough now that Dazai uses this as his opportunity to strike; Arms wind under Chuuya’s to pull him backward along with him as he rises, back still flush to chest. Dazai sits back, pulling the smaller man down onto his lap, and by default his cock. Chuuya arches against him like he’s been struck by lightning, unsure if he’s ever had anyone this deep inside before. Dazai keeps himself buried, hands vices on Chuuya’s hips no matter how hard he wiggles to get away, in love with the hitching whines coming from his mouth with each accidental brush of stimulation.
When he’s done torturing Chuuya, Dazai moves his hands down under his thighs, just short of the knee joint for leverage. Like this, it’s easy enough to bounce him up and down on his dick, and it’s made even easier by Chuuya’s trembling hands bracing himself on either side of Dazai. He thrills at Chuuya’s easy compliance, although judging from how red and sticky his own cock’s become, he’s probably a hair short of desperate by now. Like this, he’s practically milking Chuuya’s prostate; he won’t have to wait for long.
Chuuya arches against Dazai’s chest, head thrown back against his shoulder like this. It’s deep and it’s hard and Dazai’s sliding so easily now, and each thrust seems to force another wave of slick to slip loose from his cock, until it’s practically dripping from him. Later he’ll think about how this is probably the most fucked-out he’s probably ever been, moaning deliriously against Dazai’s neck, a thousand little gasps and pleas springing forth. Dazai silences him by turning to take his mouth, and Chuuya’s so greedy and gone that the other man’s tongue finds refuge beyond his lips easily. It’s like that, with Dazai swallowing down all of his sounds that Chuuya finally finds release, jerking down on Dazai’s cock, hips twitching erratically with each pulse of his cock. Capitalizing off of the moment, Dazai pushes Chuuya down to take him as deep as possible, his walls squeezing around him until it’s Dazai who’s coming with startled jerks, releasing hard.
Chuuya loses track of time, only becoming aware again with his forehead pressed to the side of Dazai’s neck, the both of them collapsed backwards into the sofa. He’s sweaty and uncomfortable but for the first time in several weeks he’s not thinking of all his responsibilities and trauma, he’s sated, and he’s relaxed. That he’s also with Dazai is just an annoying byproduct, although he’s reluctant to pull himself out of the other man’s lap.
“Did you make the right choice then?” Dazai asks a few seconds later, the smile in his voice unmistakable. Chuuya rolls his eyes, loathe to pay him any compliments.
“I got what I wanted, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Hmm….no regrets, then?”
Chuuya turns to look at Dazai, who seems to be basking in the afterglow without a care in the world, even if he’s just fucked his enemy stupid of his own volition and would probably never hear the end of it from the Armed Detective Agency if they found out. Chuuya’s weighing something in his mind, and finally it seems he comes to a decision.
“We’ll see how the rest of the night goes,” Chuuya responds, fingers digging into the collar of Dazai’s shirt. His eyes go a little wide, but so does his grin, and Chuuya thinks that maybe he did in fact make the right choice after all.
They have the room for a few more hours, why not make the most of it?