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This was, on all counts, unbefitting of the boss of the Port Mafia.
“Harder,” Dazai gasps, cheek pressing hard against the wall. It’s cool underneath his skin.
This was most certainly beneath him.
“Shut up,” Oda says behind him, digging his nails into the flesh of Dazai’s ass. It’s sure to leave a mark to match the bruising on Dazai’s knees and the back of his throat.
Oda fucks him like he’s useless, all but shoving him into the wall with each thrust. Shame courses through Dazai even as pleasure assaults him from all sides. This is unbecoming of his status, this is a disgrace to the organization. He moans again.
“Yes, yes,” Dazai pants, jerking up the wall with every snap of Oda’s hips, “Odasaku, yes, please-”
“Don’t call me that,” Oda grunts, smacking Dazai’s ass cruelly. It makes him moan anyway, eager to take anything Oda is willing to offer him. His hands scrabble uselessly against the wall, sweat slicking his face and back. Oda’s hands are everywhere, squeezing his ass, his sides, sliding up into his hair to tug his head back, exposing his neck, dragging his face away from the wall. Dazai’s cunt flutters at the rough treatment, clenching around Oda’s cock and drawing a groan from the man.
Every jerk of his hips has Dazai shaking, pulse pounding in his ears. He’s sore all over already, and he’ll likely regret this in the morning, but he arches his back harder into Oda’s next thrust, doing everything he can to make himself look more enticing to the man behind him. Even if he knows it’s really no good, he can’t help himself.
“You sound like,” Oda says breathlessly, “You sound like a whore.” It’s spoken with an irritated edge, not the kind of reserved neutrality Dazai is used to from the man. “You’re a disgrace.”
Dazai only trembles all the more, whimpering. To hear those words from Oda is a delicate kind of torture, both igniting the fit in the pit of his stomach and dimming it. Still, he tosses his own hips back into the next movement, trying his best to be good for Oda. To be good for something, at least. It’s pathetic to hope that this angry, righteous version of Oda would ever want him for anything other than this, but at least this, Dazai can do.
Oda groans, the sound echoing around Dazai’s head. More whines and gasps tear out of him with every rock, and he can feel Oda’s pace stuttering, dick twitching against Dazai’s walls. Dazai isn’t even close to orgasm-- usually, he needs some kind of stimulation to his clit to get there, and Oda hasn’t bothered-- but he still feels like he’s about to fall over some emotional precipice, to dive into the unknown alongside Oda. It makes him tremble, wantonly moaning when Oda lands another hit to his ass. The sting webs along his skin, the sound rising to match the lewd, wet noises coming from where they’re connected.
Oda folds forward over Dazai until he can brace his own arms on the wall beside Dazai’s, caging him in. His chest presses to Dazai’s bandaged back, his breath washing over the side of his face. Dazai feels euphoric at the contact, surrounded by Odasaku on all sides. Low moans filter right into his ear, and Dazai can hear the other man’s breath hitch when orgasm overtakes Oda. Hips stuttering and jerking erratically, he spills inside the condom. Disappointment and elation war in Dazai’s chest-- he revels in the soft groans Oda continues to let out against his ear, in the feeling of his heart beating against his back, but longs for the feeling of Oda spilling inside him.
There’s something empty left in him when Oda pulls away, detaching himself first from Dazai’s back and then from his cunt, stepping away from him entirely. Dazai suddenly feels very cold, straightening up awkwardly, face flushed. He’s aching everywhere, back sore and cunt clenching uselessly around nothing, begging for release. He can still feel his heartbeat between his legs when he turns to peer cautiously at Oda over his shoulder.
The man has his head bowed as he works at getting his pants closed, condom already discarded. He looks almost embarrassed in his haste, not looking up at Dazai as he says, “Don’t contact me again.”
Mutely, Dazai nods. Oda’s hands are shaking as he closes his belt.
“I mean it,” He says finally, looking up at Dazai. His expression is twisted and tense, and Dazai purses his lips in a firm line to keep from saying something stupid. He straightens his shoulders. Forces his body to relax, to look like he isn’t two seconds from crumbling inwards as Oda puts a hand on the doorknob.
“I know,” He says in his best faux casual, like he doesn’t care at all. He’s a very good actor, apparently, because Oda nods as if they’ve reached an agreement, turns, and closes the door behind him.
The moment the last echoes of sound are gone, Dazai crumples against the wall, slotting a hand between his legs. His fingers curl upwards into his own cunt, thumb working against his clit, but the stimulation feels hollow, now that he’s alone. He comes without a sound, eyes squeezed shut so he doesn’t have to look at the door any longer.