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One-two, three-four… Stronger. Five-six, seven-eight… Try harder. One-two... Come on!
“God, Chuuya,” Dazai's disappointed voice stuns. His heavy palms are crushing Chuuya's knees.
“Fuck.”
Chuuya closes his eyes. Might think: if the monster is not visible then it's not there. Well yes, of course.
“You piece of shit…”
“What?” Dazai clarifies affectionately, allegedly not having heard, and specially presses Chuuya harder, stretching him. For weight. The legs obediently move apart. Chuuya hisses.
From the other end of the ballet hall, Koe calls out to Dazai with displeasure. “You'll tear his ligaments.”
He brush aside her too, “No, Chuuya is very flexible.”
Mocking.
Chuuya will not confuse Dazai's grin with anything and he does not need to open his eyes to see her.
It feels at once.
Chuuya keeps silent.
A couple more minutes, and Dazai pat on the hip, “turn over.”
Chuuya rises, changes his position and hides behind his bangs from attentive brown eyes, almost whimper but rather out of anger, and even that at himself.
Dazai has always been a bastard.
Chuuya didn't want to come here at all. Fuck.
The leg up, to the side.
Chuuya's elbows rest on the floor and it hurts even through the gym mat.
Dazai leans on top again, and Chuuya gasps, almost falling, spoils important for proper stretching the body line parallel to the floor, but quickly corrects himself.
Dazai is dissatisfied with him, his successes — imaginary, from which there is one name — too, and this is noticeable, even too much.
Chuuya doesn't want Dazai to be disappointed in him, but, fuck. Fuck!
“Does it hurt?” Dazai asks. Frowns.
“No.” The muscles are pulling, Chuuya sweats and feels disgusting — counts the minutes to the end.
But the end will come when Dazai decides that enough.
He knows best, Chuuya asked for it himself, personally, was almost on his knees — and from now on has no right to complain. To step over the edge means to sign your own weakness and worthlessness, and hate yourself forever.
Chuuya will be thrown out. Dazai is still angry at him for his morning hysterics.
“Chuuya didn't want to come her at all.”
Dazai sighs and tickles the skin near Chuuya's ear with his breath. Lowers his voice to a half whisper, “Can you say something?” Chuuya twitches, leds his shoulder, him ticklish, “Let's change the pose.”
No! They're always done that. He's all right.
“We are going according to the program.”
“According to the program?”
The answer is incorrect. There is no true one.
And the voice is low, velvety — trashy. Estimating. Chuuya wants to hit him in advance, he's going to say shit for sure.
“You know, it seems to me that according to the program I should expect more from you than this”, contemptuously.
And without a miss. Chuuya is pathetic — he's been reaching for the vertical twine for two weeks now. Dazai is openly bored.
He wraps his thigh more securely and pulls, for edification, maybe to remind him what he feels worth. Does it strongly. Chuuya yells in a bad voice while Koe hurries to them: gives a slap Dazai on the back of the head.
“What are you doing to him? Chuuya!” and he gets the same, here without the right and the guilty, it's a sport, it's an injury, “What did you promise me? Be careful, attentive… Are you okay?” Koe turns to Chuuya, feels his hip, knee, while he's trying to crawl away from her. Mumbles, “Yes, all rights”.
Koe makes him stand up. Chuuya feels that everything is in order, but he is silent, bowing his head, glancing at Dazai from under his bangs. Dazai thaws, even lifts the corners of his lips in a slight smiling grimace, making Chuuya feel ridiculous hot awkwardness by his very existence.
Dazai sticks to the aching back of his head, and Chuuya's also hurts after the blow, but he's not such a loser. Koe are dissatisfied with them, of course, this is the ‘last warning’, ‘I will not let you on the threshold’, but Chuuya busy. He has a teasing ‘be-e-e-e’ and the middle finger towards the Dazai.
Dazai declares that Chuuya is a sheep — looks like, they say, bleating — and explains it all with gestures alone.
Chuuya, of course, would still kick and kick, but he was already put on his elbows in the position, “do”.
Dazai is right there, always ready to help - to break a couple of bones in addition to what Chuuya has already received. At first, Dazai resisted: he, honestly and directly, wasn't going to train anyone. Chuuya still doesn't know why he agreed, but for four weeks now, maybe more, they have been going to the gym to stretch. Dazai supports him, insures him, helps him, is serious and focused, but not in the mood.
Tolerates Chuuya, his clumsy movements, fears, tears, shoddy character, and his terrible stretch after three months in a hospital bed — too. The hall is not even theirs, but a long-time acquaintance of Dazai — Koe, a choreographer, with whom it was not easy for Dazai to negotiate — but for the appearance of Chuuya to train at their sports center, Mori Ogai would bury both alive, and no one could even prove that Dazai here a victim of circumstances at all.
“Chuuya,” he insists, but Chuuya are determined to ignore him. Let it be, “I don't want to go to jail for breaking our brilliant debutant's light future”.
Chuuya has already broken it for himself.
“Chu-u-uya. Chuuya!”
“Huh?” he recovers. Assesses the situation, rolls his eyes and shouts, ”Stop it, sufferer. They don't put in jail for this at all. Or, wait—” he raises his head, looks around and measures Dazai with his gaze— “for intentionally causing harm, right?”
Dazai grabs him and slams his face back into the floor before Chuuya has time to raise the or to the whole hall: he has already rounded his mouth.
“Mmm-m!”
“That doesn't suit you,” Dazai snorts, “Chibi. Put your mouth busy with something better. A delicious rug? I was sitting on it, by the way.”
“Fuck you—” Chuuya spits. He wants to forget about the gratitude that has sprung up, pride pushes in the back, teasing — it's a shame. Dazai gently supports the leg, straight, stretch. Sings obediently:
“Whatever you say,” and even nods. And Chuuya gets twice as bad.
“Don't fucking paw me.”
“How not to paw?” Dazai is surprised and runs his palm along the inside of his thigh, “Right? Or so?”
Chuuya twitches.
Dazai grins and lowers his hand. “You're sixteen, idiot,” and then, pulling your on the best smirk, “Daddy will just wait until you grow up.”
It seems to Chuuya that he is setting priorities incorrectly. He runs the wrong way, trying to catch up the wrong person, and he needs in the opposite direction, and nothing good will come of it.
Next Chuuya remembers that there is no other way and he has nowhere to run.
“Old pervert!”; “Aw! Chuuya, I'm only twenty-three! Ay-ay! It hurts!”; “Fuck you.”; “Chuuya!” and the distinct sounds of a hot battle to the death.
Koe expels them from the hall, deafening with the slam of the door. Chuuya realizes that they are a circus for her. Red with anger, he pulls the elastic band from his disheveled hair, and kicks Dazai under the ass once more. For the prevention of fucking motherfucking.
Dazai squints with a sharp change of scenery, rubs the imprint of a blow on his cheek on the porch in front of the entrance, runs a couple of steps by inertia, to the end of the stairs and looks at the Chuuya from the bottom up — smiling, pleased to the point of impossibility, framed by dim sunlight.
A breeze runs through his still wet hair, trying to stir up Dazai and his lazy twisted tangled silk strands. Chuuya looks at the sky, cooling down. Nearby groan, asking for attention — ‘have pity me’, but Chuuya didn't beat him up so much that he could complained now — just ride a little over his face.
The evil redness will not come off the Chuuya's cheeks in any way. Dazai constantly squints at him.
Bangs strays to the eyes. Chuuya feels life in his legs, does not pull muscles, doesn't hurt the fused bone, like if an electric shocked — a charge of vivacity, sees the lights of the devils in the pupils of the shining brown eyes. The Chuuya is drowning — he an adrenaline junkie, not otherwise, but should will let go the same way grabbed.
And all the same — Chuuya falling forward, the his lungs are not endless, but there is a lot of air, that he staggers, and Dazai sits him on a dirty step, on which both of them trampled before, and Chuuya would have smoked, but who would him have given. His a daily dose, he spent still on morning psychosis about training in the kitchen.
Dazai squats down in front of him and looks into his face like worried. Nonsense, real nonsense. Actually Dazai grin at him, twist the keys of a luxury car on his finger and play in alpha. It's one thing that an actor is not a talent — mediocrity. Die of laughter, Chuuya would have done so if he hadn't been busy recovery breathing.
A show-off.
“Do you need a ride home?” offers to him. Very generous.
“Have you decided to completely kill me?”
It seems to Chuuya that only the blind and deaf in their city do not know whose car is constantly skidding around corners. Dazai doesn't know how to drive at all, and why, it's not clear at all: he's a fucking genius by all indicators.
Dazai is pouting: instantly feels in which direction the thoughts have jumped. Under such pressure, it would be possible to give up, but Chuuya your life is more expensive than the imaginary forgiveness of this fraud for an imaginary offense. Blink — the effect of puppy eyes is no longer the same. Dazai licks with the look of a cat aiming at a fat bird. Chuuya here the sparrow. So in the end he just gets up and wanders towards the station. He, in general, is not too far from home from here: a half-hour drive and even without transfers, which is fortunately.
Dazai gallops after him, bounces when loses his step, periodically runs forward thanks to the long rake that he has grown instead of legs, and also periodically returns, waiting around the corner. He snorts at some thoughts of his own, clearly wants to say something — and Chuuya has no idea why he dragged himself to see him off, leave the car in the yard at the back door of the gym. The overgrown fool. Sometimes Chuuya feels older.
One ‘but’.
Why Chuuya never knew how to stop — he is ‘without brakes’. Dazai likes it, not very much like the director of the sports club Mori, who is responsible for his with his head. His Chuuya could call ‘daddy’ without any sexual overtones, but Dazai will tear off his head, because he believes that the status of this position has long ceased to be vacant and she is occupied by him.
Dazai has brakes. Dazai doesn't have a bike and never has. Therefore, Dazai is a champion, who will go to the competition and win his gold first at the Grand Prix, then at the Four Continents Championships. Just like all five years before. Chuuya broken an imaginary fuse this spring and now trying to recover from a fracture that can destroy his entire career to the dick and swallows pills for neurosis.
Shit. Absolute and trouble-free. He had the title of the best debutant from the juniors, there was one single ‘adult’ medal and a fuchsia-colored motorcycle was also there. And Chuuya loved him.
But now he couldn't even physically bring myself to look. And there's nothing there — everything was smashed totaled against the wall. Chuuya jumped off — but the motorcycle flew forward. He didn't have brakes either.
They refused.
Chuuya doesn't even know where they put him after, and that's probably for the best. It is possible that otherwise he would have rushed to sob over the remains. And it is not clear why and to what specifically: whether over the best friend, even if iron and repainted more than once, but real, or because of his almost ruined fate and career. Difficult.
But a new season has begun, passed — Chuuya tries not to think about the events of almost five months ago. Dazai is good at helping with this. Promotes. Even now, galloping along, like a mountain goat, and doesn't interfere in thinking, because the brute is with tact and feeling.
Chuuya interests in what he forgot here, but not so much — or on the contrary, just enough — to ask about it. It is possible that he sees this as a sign — and is not yet ready to give up the only unsinkable island of his life. Dazai is useful.
Only jokes stupid — well fucked up. And he's a ‘smart guy’ himself. Dumb-ass asshole, really. But Chuuya a sin to complain, as if he's better — and it's worth reminding yourself of this more often.
In fact, their assholes is so fundamentally different that they infuriate each other right to the impossible. Chuuya breaks down constantly, the character is nasty for others, rude. Dazai is shifty. When need it — honey. In fact, the sadist and doesn't hide it.
At least, with Chuuya. Is that supposed to flatter? Chuuya snorts. Well, maybe yes.
Dazai looks at him curiously from the height of his giraffe height. Even if he bends somehow, nothing will happen to him. Uncomfortable. Chuuya can't look him in the face even standing on her toes.
How did he get into figure skating in the first place with such a height? Fuck knows. And after all, the a champion…
It turns out that they have already arrived at the station. Twilight is gathering and the place blown from all sides. Dazai clacks his teeth, almost bouncing on the spot. Chuuya always felt amused: he's so hot, it's a pleasure to snuggle up to his arms or torso, but himself freezing. Do bandages really not warm at all?
“Give you a jacket?”
Dazai smiles a little, but looks past, completely absent-mind. In this form, he may even seem somehow… Kind, or what? Sincere? Chuuya does not know how to beautiful metaphors, not his profile.
“Do you think I'll fit the clothes of a chibi like you?”
Chuuya orders himself to forget everything he just think. Cretin. Idiot. Burn. R-r.
“Actually, it's yours, I forgot to return it,” he unzips the lock of the sports bag, groping for the soft fabric, “but as want.”
Dazai snatches the clothes right out of his hands, not shy about anything and Chuuya remains standing with outstretched hands before his hair is ruffled with a wide palm with long fingers, and Dazai happily exhaling into a high collar.
It seems, he was really very cold, if he buttoned up to his throat. And it seem to be warm — the end of September…
“You're welcome,” Chuuya mutters in response to gratitude and moves away, emerging from under a gentle hand, “it was yours anyway”.
Chuuya found her in the house not so long ago and, in principle, had vague ideas about how she got to him. It seems that Dazai stayed the night with him then?..
Dazai squints at him and is silent. The face is blissful, well, really, like an imbecile. Chuuya even is twitching and shameful to knock with teeth. Dazai it see even tries to pull off his jacket to put on the Chuuya — another one, in fact — but he clearly explains to Dazai that him not cold. A poke in the ribs.
Dazai shrugs his shoulders and is not offended. He peering into the sunset distance, but there is still no bus.
Tick-tock — the electronic watch on the hand flickers. A blue elastic band peeks out from under the sleeve, Chuuya tucks it back in. The time is coming.
Both of them are in tracksuits, and they have the same suits with Dazai — green, a white stripe along the sleeve. ‘Japanese 01’ and ‘Japanese 07’. Spare ones from the training ones, Chuuya was already used to go Tokyo in it somehow — so he didn't change his habit in Yokohama.
Dazai loves that they wear the same clothes, so let.
This week, the scarecrow sported only pants: he put a T-shirt on top, white and that's it. Bragged about his muscles - as if there was something there.
That is, of course, there is, like any athlete, just his show-off and clowning frankly amuses. Dazai smiled only at him mysteriously — and once he got in the jaw for questions annoying and disturbing the lava of a volcano somewhere lower abdomen.
Chuuya really admiring?
Chuuya said “no”. And told myself not to stare. At least not so obvious. Dazai was grinning — a familiar pattern.
Only now he understand that Dazai kept silent about the lost jacket, nothing more.
And nothing new, Chuuya should have guessed it himself. They call it ‘don't ship’. Annoying, because absolute injustice goes like a train in one direction. With him, such a trick does not work — Dazai needs to know everything about him and at once.
But behind this side of life — the one in which Chuuya is a direct participant — Dazai was a stranger, unfamiliar, and scary.
And the darkness thickens over them just as calmness is lost, twilight comes — no time to look back. The wind is whistling, cold, incomprehensible, Chuuya's hair fly in different directions and up, he spits from them, and swears already in a voice.
His hair is long, Dazai says that he likes it that way — on the next weekend, Chuuya will cut them off.
Dazai take the rubber band from him and stand behind him. He deftly pulls them into a tail, smoothes the stray patches into a decent look. Then Chuuya exhales — can live.
Getting tired of expectation, Dazai tugs Chuuya behind so that he shakes. And a little satisfied ask, “what?” responds laconically:
“Let's go by car.” After adds, “You're driving.”
As if he seriously fears that Chuuya will refuse.
He just squints. Well, why not, actually…
According to the law, it is impossible to drive a Chuuya — in fact, he has done this more than once, and on the very car to which they wander back, driven by the deteriorating weather — thrown beside a closed gym.
There won't be problems. As he approach, he feel starting to pound — this is ‘costs’. Dazai grabs his shoulder with his hand and seats him to the driver's seat, fastens him, and checks the belt for strength. Chuuya adjusts the chair to reach the pedals. Only then does Dazai nod, satisfied. Slams the door it behind him, climbs into the passenger seat, and feels quite comfortable there: he doesn't really want to drive it.
Chuuya doesn't get it, why then the s-class and the rest of the tinsel. Idiocy is not to love such a crumb. This car is already like his own, only the seat after the long legs of Dazai constantly has to be adjusted to his height.
Dazai asks Chuuya drowning in a jelly of viscous thoughts, “again about the motorcycle?”
Chuuya answers calmly and crystal honestly: “no.”
And he freezes in front of the ignition key, which Dazai hands him, because involuntarily it turns out that ‘yes’. Somehow. Chuuya hates these moments: he's really scared and starts shaking, shaking. In May it was hot, but in the evenings... Chuuya cut the cool air with his bike, like a knife in butter, increased the speed the tracks, squeezed out a hundred in the city, and it cost him nothing. It seemed.
Dazai only later told him that everything has its price. Chuuya was angry at him for that — becouse he could have done it earlier. Before.
At that time Chuuya laughed a lot. The doctors called it post-traumatic syndrome and shook their heads with concern. Prescribed a psychologist — he didn't go. Dazai propped up the door of Chuuya's ward with himself and swearing about it with Mori. He and Chuuya had their own agreement.
“I have a police post at to the house before the turn, we can't go around,” Chuuya inserts somewhere into the conversation, and, obviously, it's out of place, but Dazai himself is like that, even more: two psychos gathered, line up along the wall, so don't care by and large.
“Okay, let's go to my”.
Chuuya seemed to be hovers somewhere in the direction of the hospital, ivs and citrus fruits with love, caring Dazai, phantom pains in the healed knee with a seam, but in the end returns to the present.
Acquaintances all their lives, not a day of it, they were not ’friends’. From staying away from each other, they became ‘acquaintances’ under the pressure of futile empty persuasions, came to ‘friends’ already of their own accord, got lost and confused between ‘loved ones’ and ‘loved ones’, being neither one nor the other in fact. They've always been... strange. And Chuuya just let everything go as it went. And he liked to call Dazai ‘old’.
But he wasn't old. Dazai was an adult.
He wandered around nightclubs where Chuuya was not allowed, getting drank, despite the fact that Mori was terribly furious about it — don't give a fuck, no one can forbid something to Dazai and never — and he clearly smelled of whiskey when he snuggled up to Chuuya at nights.
Calling it ‘adult entertainments’ Dazai did not look happy. But, to be fair, he never looked like that at all.
And... well, Dazai was popular. Not like Chuuya, who handed out autographs to his fan club at extremely rare meetings, but really popular. There were always people around Dazai, he was surrounded by them, plastered like flies. And Dazai fucked. Often. Bringing his girlfriends from a nights out — and everytime necessarily new one.
They did not talk about this topic at all, and Chuuya himself did not understand why he suddenly clung to this fact.
But when Chuuya became really bad and thoughts were suffocating, and he turned out to be a lump squatting under Dazai's door, Dazai cost him nothing to throw away these mutts back where they came from, seasoning them with a kick for lack of resistance and unnecessary conversations, to clamp Chuuya against the wall — and here it is, the heart, touch, beats, and yours, too, do you hear? In unison.
In his place, Chuuya would be afraid for his reputation — Mori ate his whole soul with this — but Dazai had no reputation at all, and all this as long as he knew him. Dazai Osamu didn't give a fuck what people were talking about him.
And on such nights, Dazai could even pour him, however, no more than a glass — no matter how much he drank, it was impossible to get more out of him. It's devilish some. Chuuya drank only wine — and Dazai was often presents wine, so he spent his reserves on those in need of reassurance. Stroked his head.
Chuuya once tried to steal a bottle from him out of boredom, but Dazai saw through this case — give him a ragging. Chuuya yelled loudly then. Okay, although Mori didn't say, but this is understandable in principle: firstly, he is far from a good boy to contact Mori on such a problem, and secondly, Chuuya him in response will also immediately hand over.
Then they talked. Monstrously much, for hours, but about nothing; most often moving to the bed and falling asleep in an embrace on it. The light was never turned on: the darkness is more comfortable, although it was easy to get hit Dazai's collarbones or shoulders. The only thing that infuriated Chuuya was that he constantly fell asleep first. But Dazai has serious problems with sleep and it's rare to catch him doing it.
And now he's staring. Chuuya feels it with his whole skin. Not that it's unpleasant, just somehow... somehow.
Dazai asks him, “What?”
Chuuya clings to the steering wheel, but he can't keep silent over what has been gnawing for a long time.
“You're in Tokyo soon. At the competition”.
Dazai arches an eyebrow questioningly, “And?”
Chuuya gives out, “And nothing,” and stares stubbornly at the road. ‘Nothing’, he says to himself. ‘Nothing’.
Dazai leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. Chuuya yawns too, but immediately corrects himself: he's driving. He's really jealous of Dazai right now. When they arrive, they 'll fall asleep right away, of course.
“Chibi, come with me,” Dazai gives voice.
“Where to?” Chuuya doesn't understand.
Dazai arches an eyebrow again, but this time clearly with a hint of mockery, lifts the corner of his lips.
“In Tokyo.”
Chuuya presses on the brakes. It's good that the road is relatively empty, as the car accelerates, wobbles, and after straightens up — after all, he does not have enough harsh experience for a car.
“Why would that be?”
“You want to,” Dazai answers easily. Chuuya frowns and feels stuck — like a bath leaf to the great and beautiful Dazai, fuck.
“Who told you that?”
“Your expression.”
Chuuya is grimacing. Dazai often answers him like that, on this very face, he says, everything is written.
Chuuya outraged by the fact that he can't read Dazai's face like that.
“It seemed to you,” he replies and adds a vindictive, "idiot."
It comes out weakly.
“No, really, Chuuya. Go.”
Dazai climbs onto the seat almost with his feet and thinks seriously, tapping his fingers on his knee. Chuuya sighs.
“Well, for what money?”
Dazai looks almost surprised. It seems to Chuuya that he orchestrated this conversation of theirs three days before.
“On my, of course.”
“You're an idiot,” Chuuya snorts, exhales. They're burning lanterns, “Exactly an idiot. No options at all.”
“What's wrong with that?” Dazai frowns.
Chuuya shrugs his shoulders and looks at the road. Just at her.
“Nothing.”
Meanwhile, Dazai is thinking out loud, “Mori won't be a problem. I'll arrange it. You're bored and lonely alone, you're going to watch the competitions and cheer for me. And we won't even lie, after all,” Dazai himself is surprised at his genius, “I'll get you a room. We can check into one room,” he grins, “but it's unlikely to be inter preted correctly…”
“And how is it right?” Chuuya interrupts him. It breaks out quite involuntarily.
Dazai advises not to ask questions that he don't want to hear the answers to.
Chuuya doesn't kick particularly out loud, but he not going to drive anywhere.
He can't explain this to Dazai: he feels like a real freeloader and a stickler: nowhere without him.
Dazai trains him, Dazai accompanies him to the bus stop, Dazai gives him a ride in the car, Dazai calms him at night. This and that. And now to pull more money from him? Fuck.
“Chuuya, you know how much I earn. It's not difficult for me to rent a room for you and it's not difficult to pay for the flight either. There's nothing to spend it on anymore, you know?”
Chuuya does not answer: conversations of such content are a long-standing thing for them. Dazai is not interested in the amount of money spent, the policy of ‘not homeless, and okay’ in action. There is nowhere to spend money, it turns out. Chuuya would never have thought of it in his life.
As a result, Dazai inflates and begins to trump. Chuuya decides to agree with all the arguments before they move on to the ‘closest person’ stage, because Dazai can also say something else.
They drive up to the house quietly.
Chuuya expects them to fall asleep quickly and at once, but Dazai hungry and starts cooking dinner, and while they are doing tofu in the kitchen, there is no sleep in one eye.
But they go to bed anyway, and the furniture in Dazai's bedroom is really cool, everything is royal, but without Dazai himself, it's disgusting on it. He immediately remembers the numerous girlfriends for the night. Chuuya even caught them like that once, fuck, that's another sight. Dazai didn't kick him out - put his girlfriend out, and he went to the shower himself. Chuuya really became awkward, as if he didn't understand at what point he interrupted them. Dazai grinned, saying that he was to blame — to leaved the door to the apartment wide open. He stroked Chuuya's head and half jokingly — half-mockingly - inquired about mental health. Chuuya sent him to fuck and still blushed all night. Out of anger. Phew.
Dazai, of course, assures that he changes his linens after each one, and in general, he is picky, but in the coffin, Chuuya saw his pickiness: you'd think it wouldn't be so disgusting.
Dazai removes his bangs from his eyes and stretches his raking paws in advance, getting ready for bed. Maybe it's already being sleeps.
Chuuya often notices this state of semi-drowsiness behind Dazai. Presses his back against him.
Muscles tense up, as if with a cramp. The heart freezes. Him scary, someone else's skin feels all over the surface, Chuuya wants confirmation of his power and rights, and just can't to relax.
“A kiss. Me.”
Dazai is silent at first. Chuuya fiddles with the edge of his home T-shirt for sleeping and does not look. Doesn't look. It seems to him that Dazai knows everything about him, and he has a pain in his chest, so much so that the room floats before his eyes — what kind of betrayal, why not a single word in response, why?
Chuuya swallows the air until stars above its head.
“Why?” Dazai rises above him, on his elbow, hangs over him, his eyes are completely cloudy, tired, mocking, the tone makes shiver, but he looks at the Chuuya carefully, burns the lights in someone else's eyes, “Why do you need it?” and he's in no hurry to do.
Chuuya burns them too. Drowns and surfaces — he gets chills, shivers to the bone with shame, awkwardness: it hurts, it hurts. He want to lick his dry lips, but Dazai's wandering gaze stops at them, and Chuya does not dare.
Dazai smiles at him stiffly and Chuuya doesn't have a single chance to read his thoughts.
“No reason! No reason!” Chuuya explodes and no longer holds his gaze, buries his face in the pillow, “Fuck off.”
“Chuuya,” says Dazai. By the tangled locks, he turns him to himself, holds his jaw. As in a vice, “explain yourself.”
“I'm need,” Chuuya says through his teeth and does not look into his eyes, “I needed. No more.”
Dazai doesn't let go and doesn't comment. It's bad, so bad — fucking, fucked up, shit, what a humiliation, Dazai, motherfucker — he kicks and even manages to hit Dazai on the shin, but, apparently, somehow it's not sick. Not a very convenient starting position — let go, fuck you, and it's better to get the fuck out of here altogether.
Dazai hems, and it's comes out somehow cheerful. He lets go him, and Chuuya falls back on the pillows. And Dazai falls after him, on top of him, presses him to the bed, Chuuya shudders and huddles.
“If you needing it's necessary,” Dazai says affectionately. And presses his lips. Chuuya's head is spinning again, but this time it's nicer.
Dazai doesn't even get into his mouth, he crushes his lips a little, and stares with curiosity, without hiding, but he is so hot, his lips are also a little dry, cracked, Chuuya tries to repeat after him and feels Dazai's smile in a kiss. His heart is pounding like mad, it's hot, but he just want to squeeze in harder, Chuuya this does not deny myself: he grabs his shoulders, pulls him to her, and Dazai, burying her forehead in his forehead, tears off her lips, lightly smearing her tongue at the last. Chuuya wheezes in protest, trying to gulp more air, and Dazai allegedly sympathetically says that you need to breathe through your nose.
“Everything?” Dazai smiles, but the smile is float, drunk, Chuyya thinks ‘fucked up’, he sees Dazai like this for the first time, “Then go to sleep.”
“Huh?!”
Chuuya isn't in the mood to sleep, Chuuya is in a completely different mood, he reaches out to Dazai for affection and tenderness and Dazai shakes his head, presses, touches his lips with a light kiss, and then quietly kisses him on the forehead.
“Good night, chibi,” and hugs him like favorite plush toy. It's warm, hot even, good, and Chuuya falls asleep doesn't rebellion. Does it first again: Dazai lies for some more time, exhales a quiet ‘fuck’ at the ceiling, looks at the edge of the neck bare with a T-shirt, attentively, even too much, rests with his gaze, touches in the end: a little bit at all, leaving no traces, stopping himself and getting angry at himself for it, stares into the void again and even grimaces: wants to go and jerk off on memories, while it'a fresh, but Chuuya hugged him and Dazai don't wants to distirb his sleep. “Tomorrow,” he says to himself and grins. “Tomorrow I'll get up and get my ears kicked. Chu-u-uya.” Sweetly. And then he falls asleep.