Thread by @H4NDKINK

Chuuya has a theory that rich people mirrors are built differently. Because all the mirror selfie’s he takes in his dorm room or in the bathrooms at clubs—

They’re /okay/. Decent, even, because he knows his angles and how to look good, but there’s always an undercurrent of +

https://twitter.com/bloodsvgarr/status/1307035131249455104

trashy to them. Like it didn’t matter how nice he looked or posed, it always could be /better/.

Now, that might have to do with the fact that the background in /those/ photos were dirty bathrooms or his almost-messy dorm room.

/Dazai’s/ mirror though, is floor length and +

beautifully plain. And the backdrop is Dazai’s bed, giant and sleek and /clearly/ expensive. Or if Chuuya tilts the mirror slightly, he can get some of the marbled bathroom in the picture.

Really, it’s just the sheer oozing wealth that elevates every picture that he takes and +

he’s not above taking advantage of it. Especially if it works out in his favor.

He’s kneeling on the floor, struggling to get the best angle to take a nice picture of his ass. There’s still a faint red imprint of Dazai’s hand on his cheek from his punishment two days ago, and +

he wants to showcase just how /nice/ he looks with the shape of Dazai’s hand over most of his ass.

He arranges the frilly pink lace over his hips, trying to get just a /hint/ of the lingerie in the picture without revealing the whole thing.

He just bought it a few days ago +

and Dazai hasn’t had the chance to see it yet. And what /better/ time to show him than in a texted picture when Dazai is off working?

(He /might/ be a bit bitter that Dazai left him alone in bed so early. Sue him.)

Eventually he manages to get the /perfect/ picture, with his+

butt sticking out enough to emphasize the curve, the shadows collecting on the softness of his inner thighs. The red handprint is more of a suggestion than anything.

It’s dark enough that the picture almost hides the lace entirely, except if you’re looking /very/ closely. +

And Chuuya is sure that he’s going to be looking /very/ closely indeed.

He opens up his messaging up, pulling up his thread with Dazai. The last message was from two days ago, asking about dinner.

Selecting the photo, he considers his message. Part of him wants to send a +

snarky comment along the lines of “having fun without you 😘”, but that might be a /little/ overboard. He wants something short,sweet,to the point and most importantly—

Tempting enough to make Dazai rush back home immediately.

CHUUYA: hope ur having fun at work, daddy☺️jpeg.
+

He waits a minute in the app, because Dazai has this /lovely/ habit of opening his messages almost immediately. The idea that Dazai drops anything and everything to respond to him makes him feel warm and cherished, especially because he’s seen Dazai leave others on read for +

days.

Weeks, even, in Fyodor’s case, but that might have something to do with the fact that the Russian flirted with Chuuya shamelessly, and Dazai is jealously possessive and /petty/.

But Dazai doesn’t answer right away, which makes Chuuya pout because he wants him home /now/,+

but at least it gives him time to take more pictures, this time of the way the lace layers nicely over the hickories over his collarbones, the way it emphasizes how small his waist is compared to how /big/ Dazai’s hands are.

Ten minutes pass like that, and now Chuuya has a +

gallery full of pictures of himself, soft and pink and pretty, for whenever he needs to use them as a distraction again.

Dazai hasn’t answered him yet. He frowns, opening the app again, because Dazai /never/ works that hard or diligently. He thrives on distractions and +

procrastinating—

The message was read five minutes ago. No response, no typing.

Chuuya scowls. He /always/ responds, even to Chuuya’s stupid rambling about the dickheads in class, but now that he’s dressed up, suddenly he’s silent?

/Rude/.

Because he’s petty, he snaps+

another picture. This one, of his shoulders up. He knows how much Dazai likes his sharp collarbone, so he lets the straps of the lingerie top fall over his shoulders,leaving his skin bare.

He manages to include his pout, sticking out his bottom lip even further to get the point+

across. He’s being /neglected/.

He moves to the bed, deciding to take some pictures with him stretched out and writhing on Dazai’s expensive silk sheets. The black really offsets his colors nicely, making the pinks and reds and blues stand out.

He adjusts the lace over his +

chest, making sure it’s lined up properly. His fingers brush over his nipple, made sensitive by the rubbing of the lingerie.

He pauses there, pressing his finger over his nipple to flatten it. It doesn’t feel as good as Dazai’s hands do, but the lace adds another layer of +

sensation, rough and textured. It makes arousal twist in his gut, gentle and warm.

It makes him want more, and the promise of Dazai returning (eventually, at least) makes it that much better.

He breathes out a little shakily, rubbing his finger over himself in small circles+

to tease himself. His phone falls to the side, forgotten.

His other hand joins the one on his chest, working both nipples between his fingers. He squirms against the sheets, making himself pant as he rubs and pulls and twists.

One of the things he didn’t consider is how +

/different/ the feeling of himself filling out in frilly panties would be. Usually, when he’s wearing lingerie,it comes with the added sensation of Dazai’s hands and teeth and tongue all over him. It makes it hard to focus on the little things, when Dazai is holding him down and+

sealing his lips over his cock through the lingerie, determined to melt his mind with every lush stroke of his tongue. Or when he’s got Chuuya on his lap, kissing and kissing and kissing him, stealing his breath until the only thing he can think about is the next devastating +

stroke of his tongue inside his mouth and the texture of Dazai’s slacks against his thighs.

Now though, he’s alone, and the thoughts of Dazai has fanned the flames growing in his belly. He can feel himself hardening, thickening, sensitive skin against rough-giving lace. +

His hand drifts down, brushing soft fingertips over the lines of his stomach and imagining them as hands that are /bigger/. He teases himself, just like Dazai would, pressing on still-tender bite marks and rubbing just above the places he /really/ wants touched, building himself+

up slowly but surely.

The waistband makes him feel just that little constricted, reminding him of what it felt like for Dazai’s hands to be wrapped nearly all the way around his waist, holding him still for him to fuck into, or encouraging his rhythm as Chuuya rides him— +

His fingers find the jut of his hip, tracing over the bone and finding the hollow it makes. He bites his lip, anticipation building upon itself until he’s waiting with bated breath at his own movements, shaky.

His erection is burning hot underneath the lace, and the edge of the+

skirt brushes teasingly over the very tops of his thighs, whispering friction sliding over him.

He bites his lip, moving his hand inward. The pressure of his palm curling over himself, slightly grinding the lace harder onto himself, makes him give a choked moan. Fingers light, +

he strokes upward, following the curve up to the head.

There,he rubs his thumb gently over the sensitive tip,whining at the feel of lace wet with pre-cum.He pulses in his grip,and he rubs again, harder, pressing against the slit—

“Well, isn’t this a sight worth a billion yen?”+

His breath catches, heart freezing in his chest. Adrenaline surges through him, half from the shock of being interrupted--

And the other half because he's /recognizes/ that voice, all low, purring rumble, dark and inviting. Just the sound of it makes his stomach tighten. +

He sits up on his elbows, feeling his face heat up.

Dazai is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest. In the darkness of the room, his black suit nearly blends into the shadows, turning his silhouette into into something vague and obscure. The white of+

his shirt and bandages stand out starkly.

A smile, sharp and white, grows on Dazai's face. His eyes are pools of black, light glinting off them. It feels predatory, almost, the darkness itself looking back at him.

"Oh, don't stop on my account, sweetheart. You looked like you +

were enjoying yourself."

Chuuya's face heats up. Obviously he /was/, but now he feels put on the /spot/. He wasn't putting on a show before, he was just /enjoying/ himself. He wasn't being alluring or pretty, he was just being /himself/.

He /wants/ to be pretty for Dazai, +

that's why he did this whole thing. He just wasn't /prepared/,

Dazai tilts his head, grin growing darker. His jacket has been discarded somewhere, leaving him in a stark white shirt with the first button undone. His tie, if he ever had one, has disappeared. "What's the matter? +

Isn't this what you /wanted/?"

Well, yes--

But not exactly like this. He wanted hot, and /heavy/, with Dazai all over him and pinning him down. He still wants that.

Black gloved hands find his cuffs, unbuttoning them slowly, with an ease that suggests how natural the action+

is.

Chuuya’s eyes fall to the movement, biting his lip. He’s never been particularly subtle when it comes to his /admiration/ of Dazai’s hands. Big, long-fingered, teasingly quick and strong enough to hurt, even if Dazai /never/ hurts him on accident.

It seems like calculated+

teasing, making Chuuya watch as his forearms flex as he begins to fold up one of his sleeves. It’s slow, methodical, measured to draw his attention and keep it centered.

Then he pauses, eyebrow arching and that’s when Chuuya remembers—

He asked him a question. Dazai /loves/ +

verbal responses, loves to hear him stumble over his words or lose his train of thought mid-sentence. Loves to watch him /struggle/, nearly-incoherent with thick longing.

Dazai loves to make things as difficult as possible, and Chuuya has a feeling this is about to be one of +

/those/ times.

He swallows thickly. Lust thrums through him, heating up his body and turning his brain to mush. “Yes,” he murmurs quietly, not sure if he’s speaking for Dazai or /about/ him.

The hands resume their task, folding his cuff up neatly. Suddenly, the feel of lace +

brushing over his hyper-sensitive skin is almost too much to bear. His panties are stretched to the limit with how hard he is and he wants them off /now/.

Dazai hums, making Chuuya’s stomach clench. He always makes that sound when he’s deciding on what’s he’s going to /do/ to +

him.

“You like being the center of my attention, don’t you?”

Not exactly an embarrassing question in itself, but it still makes his face heat up and his eyes drop. He /does/, it’s true. He feels like he comes /alive/ underneath Dazai, opening up in ways that he barely even +

knew were possible. It makes him feel untouchable, powerful, drenched in sweat and lust and skin.

He /loves/ being Dazai’s favorite toy to play with. “Yes,” he murmurs again, and if his thighs spread just a /little/ more, he’s just following his instincts.

Another fold up, +

exactly the same width as the fold before, and Chuuya’s breath is speeding up at the reminder of Dazai’s attention to detail. Not a single thing gets overlooked when he’s /focused/, and in the back of his mind, he’s sure that the way his thighs are rubbing unconsciously against +

the sheets, luxuriating in the feeling of silk against skin.

“I dropped everything for you, came running when you called, so—,”

Done with one sleeve, Dazai moves onto the next. This time, Chuuya can /see/ the way his forearms flex with each movement, can almost /feel/ the +

restrained power, coiled and waiting.

Chuuya shifts in place, and one of his hands brushes his side. The sensation itself is no stronger than before, but with Dazai’s eyes on him, liquid with heated intent, it feels almost /electric/.

The embers to a fire Chuuya knows /very/+

well, settling into his skin. It wouldn’t take much to fan them higher, brighter, /hotter/.

A flash of teeth, sharp and wicked. “So make it worth my while, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

His fingers whisper over his side in rhythmic motions, spurred on by the +

weight of Dazai’s focus, the heat of it. It doesn’t feel like /enough/, so he creeps higher, finding the lace edge of his top and slipping under—

/There/. The air itself seems to sharpen with Dazai’s intensity, sparking with electric heat. He can feel his gaze like a /physical/+

thing, like a predator locked onto it’s prey, unerring and dangerous.

And he /does/ feel hunted, pinned flat to the bed of his own volition and begging to be devoured.

“Put on a show for me, princess. Touch yourself.”

With a barely-there whimper, Chuuya gives into him. +

He falls back onto the bed, freeing both his hands. He wiggles a little, turning his head so he can see Dazai’s silhouette in the doorway and goes for the /gold/.

Dazai has always had a /fascination/ with his chest, sucking and pulling and pinching on his nipples until even the+

brush of air feels like rough fingertips. He’d spend /hours/ there, if Chuuya would let him, building him up until he felt ready to snap with tension.

He drags up the remembered sensations, layering it over the /real/ sensation of his finger rolling and pressing over his +

nipple. With how worked up he was before, and the feeling of Dazai /watching/ him, it only takes a few pinches before Chuuya is starting to squirm, his belly clenching.

The lace grinds over his opposite nipple, just rough enough to turn him /sensitive/. When his fingers slide +

over, giving his other side some attention, he shudders and whines at the shock. The combination of pleasure and overworked irritation works down his spine, pooling in his belly and making him crave /more/.

His other hand finds the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thigh and +

it’s /purposeful/, the way he spreads his legs until his muscles tremble with the strain.

Dazai shifts in the corner of his eye, leaning more fully against the doorway. He doesn’t look like he’s any closer to closing the distance.

Chuuya will just have to work /harder/ then.+

He pulls his panties to the side, exposing the curve of his ass. He keeps his erection trapped inside, because the lace provides a rough, almost-enough friction that builds him higher and higher.With every brush against him, he can feel his sensitivity building,taking his breath+

away.

Teasing himself with gentle fingertips, he imagines hands much rougher and /bigger/ than his own, brushing random patterns over his inner thighs and up to the crease of his ass.

He can feel himself getting impatient though, rocking his hips to get his hand closer to +

where he wants it, hissing at the friction the movement creates on his cock.

He pulls his leg up, pressing his knee to his chest, and whines wordlessly for more friction, more pleasure, more /attention/.

A low, rumbling chuckle floats through the air. “Cute, but I’m not +

convinced you’re desperate enough. /Show/ me, darling.”

Chuuya wants to /bite/ him. Dazai’s playing with him like prey already caught, and normally Chuuya /enjoys/ that—

But not when he’s across the room and refusing to /touch/ him.

He rolls over, searching for the lube he’d+

stashed somewhere under the pillow. He’s going to need it.

When he finds it, he sits up just far enough to squirt a generous amount onto his fingers, rubbing it in to warm it up.

Then he arches his back, spreads his legs and pushes his face into the pillow. He /knows/ how much+

Dazai likes this position, how much he likes to shove Chuuya’s head into the soft pillows and /hold/ him there until he’s dizzy with pleasure. He /knows/ how hard Dazai can fuck him like this and he wants it desperately.

He reaches back with his hand, pushing his panties out of+

the way again and finding his entrance with two slick fingers.

He rubs over the muscle, again and again, forcing himself to relax into the motion and feeling himself twitch under the pressure. It’s not /enough/ though, this barely-there touching, so once he’s coated his rim +

with enough lube, he lines up his two fingers and presses them in.

The pressure makes him moan, shuddering as his muscles fight to adjust. He’s done this often enough that it doesn’t /hurt/, but the stretch is far enough that his body automatically chases for more. It /aches/,+

deeply, satisfyingly, grounding pressure that fills up all his empty spaces and makes him feel /full/.

He could’ve started with one, but one of Dazai’s fingers is almost /two/ of his, and if he wants Dazai inside him as quickly as possible, he doesn’t have /time/ for a slow +

build up.

He makes sure to make it a /show/ though, arching his back to emphasize how flexible he is, thrusting his fingers in all the way and drawing out /slow/, until his thighs are shaking and he’s near-mindless with the pleasure of it.

Almost unconsciously, he sinks in a+

third finger and /this/ one makes him keen into the pillow. He rocks backward, taking his fingers deeper and deeper. His inner walls twitch, squeezing and clenching around him whenever he finds a sensitive spot.

Panting into the pillow, Chuuya crooks his fingers up, searching+

for that spot that feels like fiery pleasure inside him—

He nearly buckles when he finds it, his cry muffled by the pillow. He massages his prostate, trembling as the knot in his stomach grows tighter and tighter, making it hard to /breathe/ past the mounting pleasure. +

But it’s /still/ not enough, and Chuuya has never been able to come from fingers /alone/, and while fingering himself into mindless oblivion on Dazai’s bed does have a certain appeal—

He wants to cum. He can feel the urge building inside him, every muscle pulled taut and +

fighting for every ounce of pleasure. It feels /good/, but Chuuya wants to feel /great/.

So he pulls out his fingers again, finding a steadier rhythm that gives him what he needs but is still /alluring/. Whenever his knuckles grind against his rim, trying to sink deeper, he +

groans, imagining Dazai’s hands instead.

Dazai’s hands are /longer/, /thicker/, reaching deep inside him and filling him up to bursting. It feels like he can grab Chuuya’s heart in his hands, squeezing and stroking him at the right pace to get /exactly/ the reaction he wants. +

Dazai has become a /master/ at dragging out the reactions he wants, talented hands plucking and pulling in his strings until Chuuya has melted into a boneless, moaning mess for him.

Wiggling his fourth finger in puts aching strain on his wrist, and in this position, he can’t do+

much more than flex his fingers awkwardly, rubbing along his insides. He can /barely/ reach his prostate like this, and it’s /frustrating/. His hips press backwards to help with the angle, but it’s not /enough/.

“Beautiful,” Chuuya hears faintly over the sound of his +

increasingly desperate moans.

He rises up on his elbow, peeking underneath him to see what Dazai is doing. He’s adjusted to the darkness by now, and the faint red glow of the lights underneath Dazai’s bed is plenty to see by.

Dazai is still leaning against the doorway, +

still too far away, but his eyes are locked on Chuuya’s form, devouring him with an intensity he can /feel/. His hand has drifted down, palming himself over his slacks in time with Chuuya’s short thrusts.

Chuuya groans at the sight, desire spiking. He can almost /taste/ Dazai+

on his tongue, heavy, thick, /overpowering/, invading his every sense like a conquering king.

His next thrust is more of a grind, pressing as deep as he can in order to get closer to that aching fullness he can only feel when Dazai is balls-deep inside him and /ruining/ him.+

At the same time, he whines out in his neediest, brattiest, most /endearing/ voice, “Dazai, please?”

The energy /shifts/ in the room, becoming darker, more intense. Seconds later, a hand clamps down on Chuuya’s wrist, stilling his fingers inside him.

He gasps out, arching +

into the hold. He’s close enough to the edge of the bed that he can feel Dazai behind him, radiating heat and an aura that’s almost /menacing/.

Dazai leans forward, pulling his fingers out of himself achingly slowly.

Chuuya thinks he’s about to get what he wants, that he’s +

finally said the right thing, fucked himself for Dazai’s pleasure the /right/ way and now he’s going to get pressed down into the mattress and /pounded/—

But then, in a low, rumbling /growl, “What did you call me?”

Chuuya /freezes/. +

It’s not like he isn’t /allowed/ to call him by his name. Dazai likes his name, likes /Osamu/ whimpered into his ear, likes the occasional ‘babe’. It’s just that,on certain occasions, particularly during the more /intense/ encounters, he only likes to be called—

“Daddy?” Chuuya+

tries, even though they both know that’s /not/ what he said.

Dazai tsks, and his voice is like molten tar, slick and /melting/ and branding Chuuya with the sort of dominance he doesn’t ever want to escape. “That’s not what you said, doll.”

He pulls on Chuuya’s arm, guiding +

him to shuffle around on the bed until he’s facing Dazai’s direction. Then he lets go, reaching up to grab him by the shoulders and flip him over roughly.

Chuuya finds himself on his back, staring up at Dazai, who is looming over him. He blocks out the rest of the room, placing+

himself firmly in Chuuya’s sight and attention, so the only things he can think off is the fall of disheveled curls over his forehead. The glimpse of red-black-blue ink peeking out through his bandages. The width of his shoulders, the flexing of his forearms as he tugs Chuuya +

even farther forward.

He’s still wearing his gloves, the scent expensive form-fitting leather filling Chuuya’s nose as Dazai rubs his thumb over his lip.

He presses /in/ and Chuuya opens for him automatically, pulling his thumb into his mouth to suck on it lushly. +

Dazai’s other hand falls to his slacks, unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper agonizingly slowly.

From this angle, Chuuya can see how nicely Dazai’s bulge fills out his underwear and his mouth /waters/.

“Let me teach you to use your mouth /properly/, doll.” +

Excitement thrills through Chuuya. They’ve done this before, but each time is slightly more addicting than the last.There’s something so /pleasing/ about sitting here and taking whatever Dazai gives him, his mind drifting as his body is used for Dazai’s pleasure.

And afterward,+

Dazai /always/ makes it good for him. Wrings him dry, and makes him shake until he’s /sore/.

Dazai’s thumb hooks under his bottom teeth, leveraging his mouth open as wide as it goes. It’s nearly impossible to swallow like this, so saliva quickly pools on the roof of his mouth.+

He wiggles forward a little, getting closer until the edge of the bed rests just under the base of his neck.

Then he waits as Dazai rubs over his teeth and tongue, until he gives in with a muttered curse, and shoves down his underwear.

His cock springs free, slapping against+

his stomach and Chuuya’s mouth waters. He can’t look at Dazai’s cock, long and thick and red with hardness, without remembering what it feels like /inside/ him.

Dazai grabs himself with his free hand, hissing at the too-dry friction of his gloved palm. He strokes up, growing +

smug at the way Chuuya’s eyes follow the movement.

There’s a bead of precum on the tip, and Dazai picks it up with his fingertip, smearing it over his glove. He brings it to Chuuya’s mouth, heat filling him at the way his tongue curls and rubs over his fingertip greedily. +

Chuuya’s never been particularly /shy/, and his direct curiosity when it comes to sex is rather endearing—

But the times he acts like a /cockwhore/, like his life begins and ends with Dazai’s dick, like all he needs to be /happy/ is a cock down this throat—

It drives Dazai +

/insane/.

He shuffles back a step, giving himself enough room to direct his cock downwards, lining himself up.

Rubbing the tip over Chuuya’s lip, he takes the time to appreciate how red Chuuya has bitten his lips, the soft, wet give of them.

Greedy brat that he is, Chuuya+

sticks his tongue out as far as it’ll go, swiping over the head of Dazai’s cock in clumsy, eager licks, and Dazai can’t tell him off for being a /brat/, because it feels /good/, hot and wet and so welcoming he can’t help but press /deeper/.

He moves his hips in tiny thrusts,+

petting the head over his tongue, letting out a low groan at the friction.

With his mouth held open, Chuuya can’t suck, and he seems to be determined to make up for that with his /very/ talented tongue, flexing and curling and rubbing over every inch of him.

Chuuya’s hands+

come up, because Dazai is taking too long, and he wants him /deeper/, he wants to /taste/ as he loses his control, wants to feel him unravel with his hands on his hips—

The hand holding his mouth open slips free, catching both his wrists in one long-fingered grip. The grip is +

just shy of painful, controlling and forceful.

“I don’t think so, baby,” Dazai purrs darkly, “you know better than to take something without asking /permission/.”

He grins then, slow, like something just occurred to him. Thrusting forward again, the head of his cock bumps+

against the opening of his throat. “Then again— you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

Chuuya /would/ glare at him for that, except he’s already struggling to control his breathing,taking slow inhales,rhythmic inhales through his nose and forcing himself to relax his throat.+

If he’s not careful, he can still /choke/, and while Dazai does seem to enjoy when Chuuya’s throat clenches and spasms around him—

It tends to put a /damper/ on things, and Chuuya is keyed up and excited that he might /cry/ if something goes wrong.

Dazai squeezes his wrists +

reassuringly, giving him a silent warning. “There you go, doll, so good. Now swallow for me,” he murmurs, pressing deeper into Chuuya’s throat.

With a slow inhale, Chuuya does, so beautifully, so /perfectly/ relaxed and obedient as Dazai’s cock slides home.

Dazai groans loud,+

panting at the friction. It’s hot and wet and /tight/, and he can feel the way Chuuya struggles to breathe around him, muscles in his throat rippling hard enough to make Dazai’s toes curl.

He holds there for a long moment, stomach tightening at the way Chuuya remains limp in +

his grip even though his lungs must be burning for air.

Beyond it all, beyond how hot and eager and /small/ Chuuya is, beyond the ecstasy of the sex itself—

It’s the /trust/ Chuuya has in him that always sends him spiraling. The blind faith, to put his safety and health in +

Dazai’s hands, certain that he’ll come out whole and pleasured by the end of it.

Dazai pulls back,just far enough that Chuuya can catch a breath,then pushes back in again. He sets a rhythm like that, slow, /deep/, like he’s trying to crawl into Chuuya’s lungs, pausing when he’s+

as far in as he can get and just /grinding/ there, feeling Chuuya’s muscles struggle to accommodate him.

Chuuya twists his wrists in a silent plea to let go, and Dazai releases him. He doesn’t go far, only flipping his hand around to thread their fingers together, grabbing his+

wrist. He squeezes hard, channeling all the energy it takes to stay pliant and still.

Dazai looks down, and /god/, Chuuya is a vision, all soft pink lace over his flushed body, trembling thighs leading up to a rock-hard cock.

That’s /another/ thing that drives Dazai crazy, +

because he’s never met anyone who enjoyed pleasing others so /viscerally/.

Farther up, Dazai can see his throat bulge every time he thrusts in, the vague shape of his cock below miles of soft skin—

And it makes him /hungry/.

+

He licks his lips, giving Chuuya’s hand a squeeze as his other hand drifts downward, finding the column of his throat. At first, he just wraps his fingers lightly around it,no pressure, but enough to feel the movement of his cock beneath the skin.

He traces over the approximate+

shape with his nails, light enough to tickle. Chuuya twitches and swallows in reaction, making Dazai slide that much /deeper/.

Dazai growls, unable to stop his hand from tightening on his neck. The extra pressure feels like /heaven/ on his cock, tight welcoming wetness that +

makes his carefully cultivated self-control start to fray.

And in that, Chuuya is /dangerous/, because he could /hurt/ him, and Chuuya would /let/ him, let him fuck his throat until he couldn’t speak, couldn’t /breathe/—

The primal, instinctual part of him /wants/ that, wants+

to fuck forward with all the strength in his hips, chasing his pleasure indiscriminately.

Dazai grits his teeth, focusing on his breathing to keep himself in check. He pulls out, slow, savoring the drag of muscle.

He lets Chuuya take a few breaths, letting out a low groan+

when his throat spasms around him.

He tightens his hand, thrilling at the way he can cover Chuuya’s entire throat with his palm, fingers wrapped around the side and thumb pressed over his pulse point. With a grind of his hips, he slides back in, inch by slow inch, pleasure+

flowing through him as he feels his cock move underneath his hand.

He looks up, because the sight of his hand around Chuuya’s neck is starting to make him lose his damn mind, and catches sight of Chuuya’s thighs swaying back and forth unconsciously, desperately searching for +

friction.

Satisfaction pulses through him. “You like this, don’t you?” He murmurs, pressing down with his thumb until he can feel the racing of his pulse, thunderous.

He holds himself there, buried deep in his throat, and there’s nothing so viscerally satisfying, nothing that+

makes the possessive voice in his head growl with pleasure, than the way Chuuya remains relaxed underneath him, even as his pulse starts to slow from oxygen deprivation, heart throbbing.

Pulling back just as slowly, Dazai sweeps his thumb over his skin. “You like being +

under me, at my mercy.”

Chuuya’s mouth is /drenched/ with saliva, hot and soaking and /tight/ for him, sucking him back in whenever he pulls back. It makes him never want to leave, a primal of him reveling in the thought of staying here /forever/, buried deep in his throat.+

Unable to help himself, he presses forward again, deeper, massaging his throat with his hand so he can feel the change in pressure, letting out a long, low groan. Almost to himself, he murmurs, “I could do anything I wanted to you, couldn’t I? You’d let me. You’d /like/ it.” +

And Chuuya— maddening, eager, /needy/ Chuuya—

He /moans/ in agreement, the sound garbled and more of a vibration than actual noise. He can’t nod, but he swallows eagerly, throat rippling and squeezing around him as he tries to communicate that /yes/, he’d like it, he’d fucking+

/love/ it, whatever Dazai gave him.

Pleasure rockets Dazai so quickly that he gives a shocked groan in response. Pulling back goes against every screaming instinct in his body, but he manages it, fingers squeezing the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm a little longer.+

While coming down his throat /does/ have a lot of appeal— Dazai hasn’t forgotten the sight of Chuuya’s slender fingers disappearing inside himself, and he wants to be /inside/ him when he finishes.

Wouldn’t want to waste all that prep, now would he?

Chuuya makes a soft, +

protesting sound, his voice /wrecked/ by having Dazai’s cock halfway down his throat, as Dazai pulls away and rounds the bed. “W-what are you—.”

A large hand wraps entirely around Chuuya’s ankle, yanking hard and dragging him to the opposite side of the bed. Chuuya yelps, +

undignified, because while he knows Dazai /likes/ to manhandle him, he wasn’t expecting it.

He doesn’t struggle though, letting his knee be pushed sideways to the bed and pinned there, leaving his spread wide and open.

“I’m just giving you what you wanted,” Dazai purrs, +

doing something below with his hand that Chuuya can’t see. “Don’t you want your reward?”

As he speaks, his cock presses suggestively against Chuuya’s inner thigh, hot-wet-hard that makes him /squirm/ with want. His throat still aches from swallowing him down, but he wants that+

ache /everywhere/, doesn't want to be able to walk, sit or even breathe without feeling the ghost of Dazai's presence on him, /in/ him.

He nods,hooking his leg high around Dazai's waist to give him better access.

Dazai pulls back, and Chuuya can feel him adjusting, lining up--+

Instead of the blunt head of Dazai's cock pressing into him, it's something /cold/ sliding inside him, lubed enough that Chuuya barely feels any friction as it slides all the way in.He thrashes, because this isn't what he /wants/, he doesn't want to /play/ anymore or be teased--+

Then it turns /on/.

The vibrations flood through his body,immediately sending a wave of pleasure through him.His erection, neglected while Dazai throat-fucked him, pulses back to life, throbbing mercilessly underneath the remains of his lingerie.

"Daz--," he starts in protest,+

cut off when Dazai's finger sinks inside him roughly. He's still loose enough that his muscles stretch without a problem, welcoming him inside. Even with the toy and his finger inside him, he wants /more/.

"Don't get yourself in trouble now, love," Dazai tuts, grinding the +

vibrator against his sensitive insides mercilessly. At least he seems to be determined to open him up as quickly as possible, pulling his finger back just to line up two and thrust back inside.

Chuuya pants, mind melting and body electrified under the onslaught. His hips buck,+

desperate for more but also fighting to escape in the same motion.

He's easily pinned with Dazai's large hand, and now he has no choice but to lie there and /take/ it, keening as Dazai scissors his fingers to open him up.

Mercifully, his prostate is avoided, for now at least.+

He's not sure if he would /survive/ that, because he already feels like he's climbing quickly to the edge.

It's the perfect mix of sensations,the inhuman and unforgiving vibrations of the toy inside him paired with how clever Dazai's fingers are, finding all his sensitive spots+

and attacking them with barely a pause in between.

The stretch of the third finger is /big/ and Chuuya gives a hiccupping moan,forcing his body to relax even further. The toy is the smallest they own, but combined with the width of /three/ of Dazai's fingers, each of them thick+

and long in their own right--

It makes him feel /full/, pushed to his limits--

But it also makes him want more,want to be pushed farther, wants to be mindless and broken with the demands Dazai makes of him.

His next breath is more of a sigh, and his body loses the last of his+

resistance, /melting/ in Dazai's hands.

"There you go," Dazai murmurs, spreading his fingers one last time, "being so perfect for me."

Chuuya shivers, thighs spreading that much wider. His entire body feels like molten lava, hot and melty and /so/ good, buzzing with pleasure.+

Dazai withdraws his fingers, leaving just the tips in to keep Chuuya spread open as he shuffles forward. He takes himself in hand, lining up. "Just lay there and be good for me, baby," he murmurs,beginning the slow press in.

It doesn't hurt, with so much lube and prep, but it's+

/so/ much pressure and sensation. The heat of his cock spreading him open, forcing the buzzing toy to grind hard inside him, sliding deep enough that the tip finds the edge of his prostate and quickly sends him soaring into ecstasy.

God, he's going to lose his /mind/, and he +

/loves/ it.

"Fuck," Dazai hisses, fighting the urge to slam in without mercy. Chuuya is /so/ fucking tight around him, squeezing the toy against him. Every inch is hard-won, as Chuuya clenches and twitches underneath him, mindless to the sensations. "Feels so fucking good." +

Chuuya keens at the praise, his hands clawing at Dazai's forearms. He's not fighting, he's just /overwhelmed/.

Dazai slides another inch deeper, and he's crying out, shuddering at the fill. He's inching closer to the edge, his orgasm being built with every slow thrust, the +

unrelenting vibration that feels so good it /burns/. He's not going to last long, and Dazai won't even have to touch his cock for him to cum.

Dazai takes a shuddering breath, fighting for his self-control even as the pleasure builds inescapably. The fact that Chuuya isn't even+

trying to fight against him, even as overwhelmed and shocked as he obviously is--

It just makes him burn /hotter/.

Spreading Chuuya's legs a little wider, he leans forward, careful to keep his hips in the same short, rocking motion. Bending over this far is hell on his back, +

but he can't /not/ kiss Chuuya.

The first swipe of his tongue over his lip tastes like himself, the aftertaste of his pre-cum still strong in Chuuya's mouth. The whimper he gets for it, though, is /sweet/, Chuuya pressing up against him for more, trembling in his grip. +

He drinks the moans directly from his mouth, thrilling when he feels how easily Chuuya opens up for him. Each press in earns him a delicious muffled cry, and each minor pull back gets nails in his shoulders, fighting weakly to drag him back.

More than the vibrations, more than +

the tight heat of him, its the unwavering trust and how much he wants and is affected by Dazai, that makes it so difficult to keep his control.

He finally bottoms out, hips meeting Chuuya's ass. The base of the toy is digging into his pelvis, slightly uncomfortable, but it's +

nothing compared to how /good/ it feels like this.

He could stay like this forever,buried deep inside Chuuya, and it would be the best thing he's ever done with his life.

Starting up a slow, grinding rhythm, he pushes them both to the edge, riding the line of overstimulation.+

Chuuya is /mindless/ beneath him, tears spilling down his face, his kiss interrupted every so often with his gasped moans. Dazai doesn't let up, feverishly sucking on his bottom lip or plunging his tongue into his mouth, because he can't get enough, he needs /everything/ Chuuya+

will give him and /more/.

And in return, he gives himself over, paying special attention to Chuuya's every hitched breath and stuttered moan. He rolls his hips down into Chuuya rhythmically, finding the angle he likes best and staying there.

Their bodies are pressed as close+

as they can get, heat building between them. Every slide of their skin together builds delicious friction.

"I- I'm--," Chuuya gasps, body spasming and squeezing down on Dazai. He's digging his heel into Dazai's back, fighting to regain his breath so he can gather himself enough+

to continue the thought.

Dazai kisses him breathless again, kissing him like Chuuya is his only reason to live and breathe, and he murmurs directly into his mouth, "I know, love."

And Chuuya believes him, because somehow Dazai /always/ knows, he always anticipates his every +

need and thought almost before Chuuya can recognize his desires himself.

Some people might find that weird or overbearing— but it just makes Chuuya feel /treasured/, like Dazai knows every part of him and wants only to make him /happy/.

He tangles his fingers in Dazai’s hair+

using his grip to drag him closer, holding him in place as he kisses him frantically. He’s so /close/, Dazai has built him up so gradually and relentlessly, and the pleasure is about to break under the strain.

One, two, three rocks of Dazai’s hips later, Dazai groans low into+

his mouth like he can’t help himself, and Chuuya can /feel/ his cock twitch inside him—

The pleasure peaks, the hot-sensitive vibrations hitting a new level of ecstasy as Dazai grinds his hips in small circles, coaxing him higher, /higher/—

Chuuya /shatters/ for him. +

The orgasm is long and drawn out, pleasure rushing through him so hotly he almost feels cold in the wake of it, his mind going blank with it. He’s pure instinct, rocking down onto Dazai with feverish mindlessness, chasing the ecstasy that builds and builds, pushed higher with +

every twitch of Dazai inside him.

He doesn’t even recognize that he’s broken the kiss to cry out breathlessly, shuddering with the assault. His cock twitches and spills over his stomach and he doesn’t even /miss/ being stroked right now, because the toy and Dazai inside him are+

all he needs to ride out the pleasure.

Dazai hisses again, his hips thrusting a little harder. Chuuya is squeezing the toy hard against him, making his eyes squeeze shut. God it feels /so/ good, better than anyone else Dazai has ever had—

Maybe Dazai has set high expectations+

for Chuuya in his future relationships, but Chuuya has /ruined/ Dazai.

As far as he’s concerned, there’s no one better. There’s no one else.

Chuuya clenches down one more time, and Dazai is /gone/, smothering a loud moan into Chuuya’s skin, hips spasming.

The vibrations +

help him through his orgasm, milking him dry. The relentless stimulation quickly pushes him into overstimulation, and he can't even imagine how Chuuya feels with it still pressed against his prostate.

Judging by the weak moans and tear-filled eyes, it might be /too/ much, even+

as he clings to Dazai desperately, unwilling to let him go.

It's not like he wants to let go either,his hands clutched onto his thighs and holding him close as he rides out the sensations for as long as possible.

Eventually, it gets to be too much, burning with overstimulation+

and he has to pull back, hissing when the chill of the air hits him.

Chuuya's legs tighten around him and he whimpers lightly,beginning to shiver in the aftermath. He doesn't want Dazai to leave.He's warm and solid with weight, comforting after he feels like his entire nervous+

system was fried. His thighs are still tingling with aftershocks.

Dazai hushes him gently, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispers, reaching between them, "I'm just taking care of you."

The vibrator gets turned off and gently removed, placed on+

the nightstand for cleaning later. Normally, Dazai is more strict about cleanup but...

It's been a long day,he's /tired/ from little sleep the night before, and Chuuya is silently demanding his attention in the most adorable way, so who is he to deny him?

He moves further onto+

the bed, collapsing somewhere in the middle.

The bed is soft, and Chuuya is warm and heavy when he drags him into his arms. A smile creeps onto his face when Chuuya nuzzles in close, tucking his nose into his collarbone, tangling their legs together.

He's come to this +

realization before, but this just cements it into his mind.

Falling asleep like this for the rest of his life would be the best thing he could imagine.

//END

IT TOOK ME FUCKIN 18 YEARS BUT ITS THRU WERE HERE WE MADE IT GOODBYE THANK U LOVE U SEE U LATER