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“Can you explain why number twenty-three is C? I don’t understand how the author is appealing to our ethos as opposed to pathos. Is he not trying to sway our emotional confidence by asserting his position as a professional on the topic?”
Dazai catches about half of the words before his brain blurs all sound into a jumbled mess or syllables and nothing more. He can’t even place the student speaking: where is their voice coming from? Somewhere in the back of the auditorium, given how quiet it sounds. Realizing that his students are now waiting on an answer, Dazai clears his throat.
“I’m sorry–how is the author appealing to ethos over pathos?”
“Correct.”
“What you’re saying is true, but if you look at this line in particular…” As Dazai presses the button on his handheld laser pointer and looks at the large presentation screen, the low buzz skyrockets and sends streaks of red hot pleasure through his body; so much so that he swears his hands go numb for a second. The red dot shakes across the screen before he’s able to compose himself enough to find the proper sentence to highlight.
“This verbiage of this line indicates that the author isn’t necessarily concerned with how we perceive him on an emotional level, simply that we understand he has the credibility to back up his claims. While that does influence how we feel about him, that’s not the main focus of pathos manipulation. If he were appealing to our pathos, he would be trying to sway how we feel about his chosen topic, not him.”
It’s amazing that he manages to get through an explanation without his voice cracking. The pleasant hum in his pants returns to a more manageable–but ever present–sensation and Dazai finally feels as though he can take in a full breath.
“So you’re saying that for an author to appeal to pathos, the target needs to be their writing and not themselves?”
“In most instances, that is correct,” Dazai puts the laser pointer down onto a nearby podium and takes a swig of water, hoping to soothe his parched throat. “That isn't consistently a requirement. Frustrating, isn’t it? There are always loopholes in this lovely thing we call literature.”
A few students chuckle, and Dazai gets ready to scroll down to the next batch of questions. They’re reviewing the most recent quiz and answering queries for students who remain unclear even after receiving their results. The bottom right corner of his screen displays the time: only six-fifteen.
How the hell was he supposed to get through the next forty-five minutes like this?
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Professor?”
Dazai is disintegrating, melting into a puddle of ooey gooey bliss on the waves of Chuuya’s husky voice in his ear. Blearily, he nods again and again until a firm hand stops the movement, and lips smash against his own.
“This is all your fault. You wanted me to stuff you full just before class started. How inconsiderate of you,” Chuuya tsks, teeth digging into the soft cotton surrounding Dazai’s neck. It’s an intimate tease: the way he nearly pinches Dazai’s skin, but purposefully pulls back before he can leave any tangible marks.
But Dazai wants bruises so badly. He wants to parade around campus with love bites plastered across his skin in a blatant show of possession. How many students and faculty would notice and raise questions about his cool demeanor while broadcasting to the world, ‘I’m taken, and he wants each and every one of you to see.’
The elder of the two groans and tips his head back further, trying to present as much of himself to this firecracker of a man as he can. His brain is practically shouting ‘claim me, claim me, make me yours.’ “Showing up at my dorm unannounced. What if someone saw you sneak in? What happens then?”
Dazai could care less who sees him using a premade key to enter Chuuya’s dorm right now: nothing matters when that man’s fingers are pistoning in and out of his hole at lightspeed, bringing him within arm’s reach of an orgasm that is sure to send his body into overdrive. Blissful static is what he’s aiming for, though slipping into such a vacant space before he’s meant to give multiple lectures is a dangerous game to play.
“Answer me.”
Dazai whimpers openly. “D-don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” a third finger prods at his insides and Dazai tenses. He can take it, sure, but he’s so damn close, the suspense is starting to kill him. “You could lose your job if the university finds out you’re screwing your favorite student,” Chuuya chuckles hotly then, dragging his tongue from Dazai’s shoulder to ear before sucking the plump lobe in between his adoring lips. “More like your favorite student is screwing you.”
Dazai is well aware. Not a day goes by without unwanted anxieties that swirl around his stomach when his mind tricks him into thinking someone stares too long at the two of them interacting. Or when Kunikida’s questions become a little too specific for his liking pertaining to the redhead who sits three rows back smack-dab in the middle of the lecture hall.
“Well, I know nothing bad will happen to me,” Chuuya comments offhandedly as he jabs Dazai’s prostate with all three fingers and rolls the tangible bundle of nerves between his digits. His professor’s body responds instantly with a high pitched keen, fingers digging into the fabric of Chuuya’s loose fitting sleep shirt.
Just a little more, little bit more…
Suddenly, the stimulation ceases and a wounded cry fills the room. The junior’s bare hand slaps over Dazai’s open mouth, muffling his plea for more.
“Come on, Dazai. You don’t want people hearing you, right?”
I told you I don’t care, Dazai thinks harshly, sharp eyes carving metaphorical holes into the younger man’s face. He wants a damn orgasm, needs an earth shattering release of tension that will leave him unable to think about anything but Chuuya’s sweet cologne and supple hands.
Their bond isn’t just one of infatuation, as much as Chuuya likes to tease Dazai otherwise. The attraction Dazai feels towards Chuuya is something that surpasses his unfair looks and stretches into the kind heart that he’s seen the young man bear on display for all to see. Where Dazai feels heartless and cold, trapped in the cotton-wrapped confines of himself, Chuuya is gentle and warm, bridging a gap between a pointless life and something worth living for.
Before the redhead strode into his class sophomore year, Dazai’s novels were mindless and routine, lacking variety and excitement. Then Chuuya started staying behind after class to ask detailed questions about not only the curricular content, but Dazai’s published works as well. He dove between the lines of printed characters and gleamed meaning that even Dazai couldn’t conceptualize in the beginning.
Chuuya saw Dazai for who he was for the first time in his entire life and didn’t scoff in disgust. Instead, an open heart and kind eyes were all that Dazai had to cope with. He could put his guard down to accept praise and criticism without fearing unforeseen consequences or judgment. Never before had he felt safe enough to do that. Where Dazai lived in mundane monochrome, Chuuya’s bright red hair acted like a wildfire spreading color into every aspect of his day.
Then, Chuuya kissed him one random afternoon. He strode behind Dazai’s desk during office hours, grasped his face with both hands and connected their lips in a desperate show of affection. The kiss lasted mere seconds, but Dazai felt as though he was floating for days afterward. As quickly as he came, his student vanished and left Dazai reeling to understand what the hell happened between them. Thus began a restless two week break from class where Dazai is positive he didn’t sleep a wink.
Now, a year and some change later, they’re irrevocably intertwined in every single way and there’s no version of reality that Dazai sees himself without this man.
The only metaphorical wrench thrown into their love life is that Chuuya is still his student and will be for the next year until graduation. In essence, the question of whether or not maintaining this secret is worth it is a no-brainer.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Chuuya mutters hotly into the crook of his neck. Something cold and hard threatens to penetrate Dazai’s body and he groans softly. Not what I wanted, not what I wanted, please don’t be so mean to me.
“You’ll keep this toy safe for me. Not a peep while I do whatever I want to you during class. If you cum before I say so, there’ll be dire consequences to pay.” Chuuya lays out the ground rules like a parent speaking to their toddler, keeping them short and simple for Dazai’s addled brain to comprehend.
Ah, the object being eased into him is a toy. Dazai’s favorite, as a matter of fact. It fits snugly against his prostate and is controlled via remote control. Handing the remote over to his petit partner (boyfriend? Student? No title has ever felt right to represent what they are to each other, and Dazai has been too scared to broach the topic when they find themselves alone) to let him steer his pleasure completely is irresistible. Most days.
Now, the sleek silicone surface of the toy hugs his walls as Chuuya pushes it aaalll the way inside until it nudges against his prostate just so. Dazai gasps when the warmth he previously clung to disappears and Chuuya unravels himself from the mess of bed sheets and gangly limbs.
“Be a good boy for me today and I’ll reward you. I know you can do it, Professor,” his voice is practically a purr that shakes Dazai to his core. “But if a single person catches on, I won’t hesitate to put you in your place right then and there. Am I understood?”
Dazai nods dumbly, sparing a glance to his very obvious, borderline painful erection. “C-Chuuya…” he clears his throat, “isn’t going to help me now?”
Chuuya, the vixen that he is, simply grins and shrugs. “I have homework to finish before my other classes today. And you’ll be late for your first lecture if you stay any longer.”
Dazai dresses himself with a huff, cursing the name Chuuya Nakahara. That is, until the shorter man crowds him against the door from behind and rolls his hips into the crease of Dazai’s ass to reveal a hard-on that will no doubt require assistance to get rid of this morning. “Try not to get caught on the way out.”
Class all day has been arduous and incredibly slow. With the constant pressure of the toy shifting inside of him, Dazai hasn’t been able to sit comfortably since he left Chuuya’s dorm. Thankfully though, the vibrations could only be controlled when the remote was in relatively close range, so that meant there were no sudden jolts as he tried in vain to fulfill all of his duties.
Until his last class started and Chuuya strode through the door with headphones on and a friend hovering over his shoulder. It’s that little Tachihara boy who’s taken quite a liking to Chuuya through the semester. Dazai has watched as they went from exchanging notes during class to studying together in the library, and even grabbing lunch in the on-campus union hall. Dazai doesn’t want to admit that he’s jealous per se, but…
They played their usual song and dance at the start of class, not even giving each other so much as a wave in greeting. Dazai spoke with other students (particularly a young woman who often brought gifts and ravings over his novel) and then finally pulled up the quiz on the overhead screen so they could go through it as soon as the clock struck six.
That’s when the toy came to life.
It provided a low, constant hum before he reeled in his student’s attention, but it was enough for Dazai to falter and grab the edge of the podium. The moment passed before Dazai schooled his features and corrected his posture, forcing the tension from his shoulders. Dazai was faced with a coy, knowing grin from that particularly familiar face in the audience.
The game was on.
After reviewing the remainder of the quiz, Dazai could only think of one thing: taking Chuuya home and letting him tear him apart from the inside out. The illogical, irresponsible part of his brain almost wanted to end class early as a “surprise gift” to head start the weekend with. But no, Chuuya wouldn’t like that. It would be similar to cheating through the entire premise of their arrangement.
Instead, he adjusts the microphone clipped to his shirt and offers the class a broad gaze.
“Today will be more of an informal class,” he explains, leaning against the podium and crossing one leg over the other. “You all have quite a few projects with impending due dates and I’d like to take this time to work-shop your processes. I understand that you weren’t expecting to share today, but for those of you who have even a vague outline, I want to hear about them.”
A hushed murmur overtakes the class as Dazai skims their heads and tries to pinpoint the student who looks like they may have already gotten started on something—anything, really. Their upcoming large scale project was a creative writing assignment focused on imaging yourself as an inanimate object—a fly on the wall—and to describe a life altering event from that object’s point-of-view. An obscure idea, sure, but Dazai loved keeping his students on their toes with seemingly illogical subjects. How are they to expand their writing if they don’t think outside of the box?
Tachihara’s dreaded hand is the first to go up in the air, and Dazai wishes he were blind so that he could have an excuse to ignore him.
Calm down, he chastises mentally, inhaling a slow drag of air before nodding. “Tachihara.”
“I decided to write about being a supply cart in a hospital. When I envisioned its position, I figured that it would be in a hallway or something. A place that gets lots of traction.”
“That makes sense,” Dazai muses, half focused on the idea and half focused on the way the vibrator clearly goes up a few notches. “And what… events might you see from that vantage point?”
Tachihara blinks, then furrows his brow in concentration. “I dunno, I’ve never been in a hospital.”
Of course you haven’t. Why would you choose to write about something you have no experience with?
“Alright…” Dazai bites his tongue. “Why did you choose this topic, then? What kind of research do you think will be attainable?”
“Well, I thought that I could ask my mom-“
As his student drones on about an asinine plan to ‘ask around until I find someone who knows how a hospital works’, Dazai’s body starts to shiver. Chuuya is fiddling with the controls on the remote, switching the vibrations up a couple of notches and then down until there’s almost no stimulation. The contrast is striking and easily derails any train of thought that Dazai might be trying to keep on track.
Beside Tachihara, Chuuya is stupidly skilled at maintaining his poker face while the hand in his pocket puts his professor through mental and physical anguish. Why did he agree to this? If Dazai had thrown something remotely similar to a fit, flailed his arms and demanded an orgasm, Chuuya would have caved and given him what he needed. Yet, Dazai thought it would be an intelligent idea to go along with this plan cemented in the promise that Dazai would inevitably be unable to keep his voice down and make some sort of indicative sound.
“I guess it wouldn’t be a horrible idea to look it up on the internet, too.”
“T-the internet has a bountiful supply of reliable resources if you know how to look for th-em-“
The vibrator once again goes from a silent hum to an aggressive buzz inside of him and Dazai’s voice lifts into a pathetic, high pitched octave before he can remind himself where he is. Chuuya’s mouth quirks at the corner, but the rest of him remains unwavering. To cover his embarrassment, Dazai coughs into the crook of his elbow and rubs his eyes.
“My apologies,” there is a vibrator in my ass pushing me towards an orgasm that you students shouldn’t be subjected to. “I haven’t been feeling the best today. Forgive any of my… vocal issues. Tachihara, please continue. Tell me more about the inspiration for this project.”
Tachihara, blessedly unaware, resumes his chatter while Dazai manages a shaky sip of water and cements his gaze anywhere but Chuuya. If they lock eyes, he isn’t sure that he’ll be able to contain it. It’s like riding a never ending, tumultuous wave of pleasure that Dazai is helpless to get off of. No matter how badly he might want to.
On the other hand…
Gods, he almost wants to hate himself for the way his stomach flops at the idea of someone catching onto his predicament. What happens if they hear the buzzing underneath his pants, or realize that his wheezy sounds are from pleasure and not some undisclosed illness? The thought makes him ill with desire and longing, shameful as it is.
Deep down, he likes to think that Chuuya would claim him if the moment arose, unafraid of repercussions that come from toying around with their upstanding professor, but who could blame him if he threw his hands up in defeat? Fed Dazai to the wolves of corporate education?
”Professor?”
Dazai snaps back to reality with a shocking realization that he’s been squeezing his eyes shut with the sole focus of calming his breathing. “Sorry, I…” once again, he grasps at straws to maintain his sanity as Chuuya pushes the speed up, up, up, until-
“It might be best that we leave early today,” Dazai stumbles through, catching out of the corner of his eyes how sharp Chuuya’s gaze becomes. Like a predator zeroing in on a pathetic piece of meat intended for its next meal. “I’m sure you all won’t mind, hm? Get a head start on the weekend.”
Punishment will ensue from his cop-out, but Dazai is willing. In fact, he’s more than ready to end this day and let Chuuya take him to a whole other world. “Don’t forget to work on your projects this weekend, we’ll continue our talk next Wednesday.”
The students take that as their cue to filter out and—oh, Dazai thinks he might be suffocating. Chuuya is relentless and unforgiving, and pops the device onto its highest setting as he leaves and removes the remote from close enough proximity. Now, it’ll continue to attack his prostate until they get close enough for Chuuya to turn it back off.
Dazai cums in his slacks just as the last student leaves the auditorium with nothing but a bitten off moan and pathetic whine.
Given the disappointed aura that Chuuya radiates, he isn’t happy with Dazai’s performance. They’re together in his office, isolated from the rest of the world by a few thin walls and a singular wooden door. It’s so late on a Friday evening that Dazai doubts that any of his colleagues remain in the building — aside from a few overworkers.
Chuuya sits perched on the edge of Dazai’s seat, legs crossed as he gazes critically down at the man by his feet. It’s been thirty minutes since the impromptu end of class, but the vibrations are only just now falling to a low, persistent buzz. Already, his brain is a cacophony of mushy, lovey thoughts after three orgasms in his pants.
“Do you think you earned a reward today? Look at what you did. Ruined those pants—my favorite pair on you.”
The authoritative tone to his voice makes Dazai shiver, mind conjuring a plethora of sinful phrases he could easily berate him with. But Chuuya is too sweet, too kind hearted. At least, most of the time.
“Well?” He prompts expectantly, the tip of his sneaker applying constant pleasure to the teacher’s aching groin. That coupled with his prostate being poked and prodded makes Dazai want to crumble to the ground.
“N-no.”
“Being honest for once, are we?” Chuuya chuckles darkly, fingertips threading through the strands of his hair obscuring the view of his steely face. “I agree. Part of me wonders if you wanted this punishment. Maybe you misbehaved just to piss me off so you could get here. On your knees, begging like a whore.”
Dazai’s head shakes violently. No, of course he wouldn’t try to irritate Chuuya on purpose. He needs Chuuya, wants their atoms to intersect until there’s no way of telling ‘Chuuya’ from ‘Dazai’. The last thing he’d long for in this world is his fury.
“Chu-”
“I didn’t say you could speak.” Lithe fingers find themselves threaded in between Dazai’s dark brown hair strands, fisting his head backwards until his entire neck is exposed and vulnerable. Both of Chuuya’s elbows now rest on his thighs so that he’s bent slightly forward, a foreboding presence that makes Dazai’s body ache with need.
Oh, the things he could do to me…
The briefly harsh touch turns soft and velvety as Chuuya pets his professor’s head. Instinctively, Dazai leans into the addictive sensation. “I’m disappointed in you,” the redhead mutters under his breath, voice dripping with mock enmity. “I knew that you were weak, but that? That performance was simply… abhorrent.”
Need, need, need. Desperately, Dazai begins thrusting his hips with what little range of motion he’s granted, whining airily at the miniscule, burning hot stimulation that the bottom of Chuuya’s shoe provides to his throbbing cock. It’s been ignored all day, now is the time to give it some much needed attention. Chuuya doesn’t seem to agree, though.
“Tch. Unbelievable.”
Dazai’s finger tips dig into the meat of Chuuya’s calf, trying in vain to secure an avenue for his impending orgasm.
“You look like a pathetic little puppy humping my leg,” The redhead muses with a playful lilt. “So fucking horny. Does the little puppy need something to keep his mouth occupied?”
It’s a shame that the mockery makes his dick twitch in excitement. Dazai’s senses are on overload, autonomy removed from his hands and thrown into the tsunami that is Chuuya Nakahara. The redhead stands swiftly and unbuttons his pants, pulling both them and his briefs down to his ankles before lounging back in the chair. With an open hand, he beckons Dazai in, and the brunette goes willingly.
This man’s touch is a thing of beauty, encompassing all that it means to live and love. Against his cheek, Chuuya’s hand revitalizes. Slowly, his dangers dance across his skin and hair until they wrap around the base of Dazai’s skull and pull him in. His lips end up pressed against the thick, hard line of the redhead’s cock.
Dazai knows better than to take without permission, though. Instead, he remains quiet with pliant lips, eyes gazing at Chuuya with all the desperation that he can muster.
His expression curls into a devious one. “Good boy, Osamu,” Chuuya purrs in the back of his throat, thumb of his other hand tracing the round edge of Dazai’s lip. “Go ahead, have a taste.”
Without preamble, Dazai wraps his lips around the tip of Chuuya’s dick and sucks, like an animal searching for a few scant drops of milk from a teat. The salty, hearty taste has him groaning in pleasure, now stimulated on three fronts. A vibrator rubbing against his prostate, the heavenly taste on his tongue, Chuuya’s foot pressed against his own weeping erecting—it’s all too much.
Dazai cums yet again with a muffled moan, his world going fuzzy around the edges. All he hears is the static hum of Chuuya’s airy voice, all he feels is his muscles twitching as his body tries to cope with the rapid release of tension. Surely, he doesn’t have much left to give, but his body continues to spasm through it until he goes borderline limp.
Distantly, he can hear Chuuya cooing, “such a pretty little thing for me.”
Remembering the cock in his mouth, Dazai hums and resumes his little suckling motion, eager to see Chuuya meet a similar end, but a little too fucked-out to pay attention. As precome begins to drip onto his tongue, the teacher’s sounds grow louder and louder. Slowly, the foot that’s been providing constant pressure on his spent dick comes back to life and resumes its application of deliciously overloading pressure.
It borders on too much, and not enough all at once.
“Quiet, Osamu, we’re in public,” Chuuya mutters under his breath as he pets Dazai’s hair, seemingly more focused on his pleasure than his own. “You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you? The door’s open.”
Is it?
He can’t waste valuable brainpower on checking. Not when there’s drool dribbling down his chin and Chuuya’s symphony of angelic noises are funneling into his brain and reducing his capacity even more.
“Hah, unless you do want someone to hear us,” the man ponders aloud, voice teetering between blissed out and self-preservative. “Would you like that? For someone to walk in and see you on your hands and knees choking on my cock?”
Listlessly, Dazai nods. He wants that so fucking bad. To be claimed, marked, treated like a common animal at the heel of its owner who’s good for nothing other than being a warm, tight hole to fuck.
“Perfect, obedient boy,” tiny thrusts shove Chuuya’s cock further down his throat and Dazai swears that he sees stars behind his closed eyes. There’s no need to worry, no need to even think when all that he has to be is good for Chuuya. “That’s it, let me use that brilliant mouth of yours.”
He’s beginning to lose his composure, moans going up an octave, pleasured sounds dripping from his lips like honey into the endless bowl of Dazai’s satisfaction. Chuuya’s thrusts are becoming erratic and needy, and the hand that pets Dazai’s head burns with affection.
Gently, Dazai is nudged off of his treat, eyes shooting open in surprise and worry. His mouth feels achingly empty, and that just won’t do. Yet Chuuya grins and plants a kiss to his lips that makes him forget all his woes. Passionate, all consuming affection drifts in between the slide of the lips, and Dazai feels as though he could drown right here and now.
Chuuya licks into his mouth, tongue grazing his top palate. He’s playing Dazai like a puppet on strings wrapped tight around his fingers, and the brunette is helpless to do anything but follow his detailed, rehearsed choreography. The spit they share is messy and rubs all over both of their chins, but it’s impossibly hot.
“Don’t you give me that look,” Chuuya mutters into the damp air between their mouths, twirling a piece of Dazai’s hair around his thumb and forefinger. “I want you on the desk. Can you do that for me, darling?” Where his words were poised to bite just a few minutes ago, the redhead is now soft around the edges and working Dazai deeper into this mindless collection of vacant thoughts.
Wordlessly, he nods and stands on shaky legs. For the first time in what feels like forever, he has the bodily autonomy to realize that the vibrator has been shut off entirely. Chuuya’s reverent hands unbutton his slacks and remove them—plus the soiled underwear that sticks to his thighs on the way down—in one efficient motion that leaves the man bare from waist to feet.
A hand draws Dazai’s attention to the desk with a few simple pats. “On your stomach, ‘samu.”
He’s pliant, doll-like and willing to be arranged however Chuuya sees fit. Cool mahogany of his desk is a welcomed contrast against his hot skin as his cheek rubs against it, but it does little to bring him back to reality. At this point, Dazai doesn’t want to be present, he just wants to be what Chuuya needs.
The toy is eased from his aching, sensitive hole accompanied by a shallow hiss-turned moan as two lubed fingers replace it. Dazai doesn’t need any preparation and the sensation is more painful than pleasurable, but he knows it’s a step that Chuuya isn’t willing to skip.
“P-please..?”
“Please, what?”
Dazai whimpers, fingernails digging into the flat surface of his desk. The sound they make grates against his ears. “Inside.”
Draped over his back, Chuuya whispers into his ear, “as you wish,” before easing his lubed cock past his stretched rim. Time is moving quicker than the brunette can handle. Dazai can’t find it in himself to react more than the weak groan that slips past his lips, eyes remaining shut to the outside world.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Chuuya whispers fervently as the slow drag of his cock turns Dazai upside down with desire. It’s too good, too much on his already abused body, but he needs to feel this man cum inside of him and flood every fiber of his being. “So tight, baby.”
Helplessly, Dazai nods and lets his mouth hang open for unbidden moans to spill from the depths of his chest. Chuuya’s hips drag in slow, sensual circles, in direct contrast with his promise for punishment earlier in the night. Perhaps the onslaught of intense pleasure is the punishment that Dazai had been promised. Regardless, he feels like he’s floating on air right now.
For a moment, the languid thrusts stutter and Chuuya’s voice comes out a little pitched. “Keep those eyes shut for me,” he instructs as a hand wraps around the back of his skull and keeps his face pressed to the desk. Not that Dazai would have the strength or mental fortitude to disobey anyway. There’s no way to distinguish a sound of acknowledgement from his needy keens. “Perfect, that’s it. Squeeze me nice and tight, show me how much you love when I fuck you like this.”
“Ch-Chuuy-ah.”
“That’s right Osamu. Say my name again,” the pressure on the back of his skull is beyond tantalizing and Dazai feels himself growing more and more dizzy as the seconds pass. Reality slips in between his slack fingertips with every single thrust that lands like a bullseye on his prostate. ”Tell him who you let put you in your place.”
The syllables of Chuuya’s words are jumbled together into a mess of sound that Dazai could care less about trying to comprehend. All he knows is that Chuuya is asking him for one thing, and he’d better deliver.
“Chuuya, Chuuya-“ he gasps out in pitiful puffs of air. “C-Chuuya, oh Chuuya!”
It’s the only word that Dazai can formulate. His entire body seizes as he cums dry, convulsing periodically through the intense bolts of pleasure and unbearable overstimulation. Tears drip down his plump cheeks and leave droplet stains across the desk, but Dazai doesn’t feel anything besides grateful. For Chuuya: the way he curves around his body and empties inside of him in spurts that Dazai can feel against his abused walls. His husky moan chimes like bells in his ears until all he can think is thank you thank you thank you.
Chuuya’s thrusts eventually taper off into shallow gyrations, like nails against the metaphorical cheese grater of Dazai’s senses. Finally, his brain is euphorically numb and silent, save for the sweet terms of endearment that pour from his student’s lips.
Tachihara’s heart pounds in his ears as his feet carry him in a frantic race away from the hallway of offices. What he’d seen, the way Chuuya’s eyes conveyed so much without a single word shared between them: Tachihara doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from.
All this time, he thought he was getting closer to Chuuya, nearly connecting the bridge between friends and potential love interests. The fleeting glances between student and professor always seemed so trivial and routine until this very moment. When he opened the cracked door to find their professor babbling into the hardwood surface of his desk while Chuuya stood behind him thrusting into his very interested body.
They locked eyes for mere seconds before Chuuya sent the message clear as day.
Look at what’s mine. See what you’ll never have.
Through any haughty attempt at wooing Chuuya, Tachihara would never acquire what he just witnessed. The loving, protective, possessive gaze of his classmate, ready to pounce if Tachihara showed even the vaguest notion of being a threat.
“Tell him who you let put you in your place,” Chuuya had spoken like a threat, aimed directly at Tachihara in the doorway. And when Professor Dazai continuously whimpered his name aloud, riding on adrenaline and ecstasy, Tachihara found himself turning on his heel and sprinting. Little did Chuuya know that it wasn’t Dazai he wanted, it was him.
It’s unfortunate, how sharp of a turn their relationship took in a matter of seconds, shattering any semblance of hope that still remained. One thing is for sure: Tachihara will never say a word about what transpired, lest he want to face Chuuya’s blind fury.