sun is a deadly laser ✻ bri ch 9 thread Profile picture
Dec 26, 2020 1649 tweets >60 min read Read on X
his game? He's not entirely opposed to it-- he watches game playthroughs on Youtube just like everyone else-- but it's /not/ his idea of a 'date'. It seems boring, and doesn't include him.

Shuuji pulls him against his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and grabbing+
the controller in front of him.

"This is one of my favorite games," he says, smashing a few buttons on his controller to start the game.

Chuuya's right; it is boring. Mostly because he doesn't really understand what's going on in the game and Shuuji dies too often for him to+
really figure it out. He also curses a /lot/ and his yelling next to Chuuya's ear makes him grimace.

"Wanna play?" Shuuji asks,and then promptly places the controller in his hands without waiting for a response.

He gives him a brief tutorial, which doesn't explain much as all,+
but it's enough to get him started. The rest of the people in the game don't give him an ounce of mercy, targeting him because he's easy to kill.

Shuuji's huff of amusement whenever Chuuya dies ignites the competitive streak in him, and the game is /on/. If he wants to hold his+
shitty kill streaks over Chuuya's head when he's never played this game before, and not many games at all--

Then he's going to make him /work/ for it.

He survives the next round longer, and manages to take down three people before he gets sniped from behind.

The round after,+
he's one of the last four people left alive.

Shuuji doesn't seem so /smug/ now, Chuuya thinks to himself, pressing the button to start the next round.

This one he /wins/, and he turns to Shuuji with a self-satisfied 'what now?' smile, waiting to hear that little amused huff +
again.

Shuuji scowls at him lightly, nose wrinkled with something that looks like distaste. "Beginners luck," he scoffs, pulling the controller out of his hands and tossing it to the edge of the bed.

Chuuya opens his mouth to fire back something about /skill/, when Shuuji is +
reeling him in with a hand on his cheek, pulling him into a kiss.

It's a bit sudden, but nothing /bad/, considering that they're both still sitting upright. Truthfully, it's more entertaining than watching Shuuji die repeatedly on TV-- and the game was boring, so he's already+
over playing it-- so he lets himself lean into it, resting his weight over Shuuji.

Shuuji bends underneath it, falling backwards to lay down and dragging Chuuya with him.

He makes a startled noise, hands flying out to catch up as he somehow ends up half-laying on Shuuji, one+
thigh wedged between Shuuji's and--

That's when it feels it.

Logically, he /knew/ that they would progress to this someday, and it's not like Chuuya hasn't fantasized about a hard dick pressed up against him (in Dazai's case, he's imagined it a /lot/) but this somehow feels+
underwhelming and strange in equal parts, because they've only been kissing for a /minute/ max, and Chuuya is barely even feeling warm.

A tongue pushes roughly into his mouth, mapping the points of his teeth as one of Shuuji's hands slides into his hair, holding him in place.+
His other hand finds his hip, pushing him down hard as he grinds up and--

Oh. Well. Alright.

He's not nearly as into it as Shuuji is, based on the way he's panting into his mouth, and it doesn't feel /great/ because he's not even warmed up, but it's not--

It's not /terrible/.+
It could be good, even, once he gets a little more into it.

He kisses back, focusing on their mouths as Shuuji ruts against him, trying to lose himself into the feeling of friction and movement.

Finally, when the kissing has devolved into something messy and sloppy, Chuuya +
/finally/ starts to feel a grain of heat curling through him, his dick finally starting to twitch in his pants and god, he was really worried that he wasn't going to respond at /all/, but its okay now, he's getting into it--

Naturally, that's when it's all over.

Shuuji sinks+
his teeth /hard/ into his lip, and Chuuya is letting out a pained noise, hips jerking as he instinctively fights to free himself--

And Shuuji is letting out a loud, high-pitched noise against him, shuddering underneath him in short, intense waves.

Is he--

Chuuya feels a burst+
of warmth against his crotch, growing damper the longer he's pressed against it.

Oh god, he /did/.

Chuuya is /barely/ even half-hard, and Shuuji just came in his pants, just from a little making out and half-hearted making out.

That's so /embarrassing/.

Shuuji doesn't seem+
to think so, because he's smiling dazedly up at him.

It's a good thing that Chuuya was just getting into it, because this is like a glass of cold water over his head.

He rolls over onto his back,wiping his hands down his face. Wow. That was...

Something. That was /something/.+
He felt more sexual tension when Dazai was handing him a glass of /wine/, and he honestly can't tell if that's because he's got some weird obsession with the man, or if he's /actually/ meant to be orgasming with 10 minutes of messy grinding.

Ugh.

He sits up, swinging his legs+
over the edge of the bed. "I'm gonna go clean up," he mutters, standing up.

Not that he needs to. He wasn't hard enough to even start leaking, and his pants don't have anything on them from Shuuji, but he feels like he just needs to..

Stare at himself in the mirror and think+
for a moment. Contemplate.

Shuuji doesn't stop him, and Chuuya has the /decency/ to open the door as little as possible to keep Shuuji from being seen as he slips out.

Yoko is waiting outside for him, head on her paws and eyes locked loyally on the door, waiting for a hint of +
movement. When she sees him come out, she's immediately perking up, tail thumping against the wall.

The wall of Dazai's /office/, so he draws her away quietly, not wanting to disturb what is apparently a very long and important business call.

Out of curiosity, he pauses +
outside the door, leaning his head in to see if he can hear anything--

If he listens very, /very/ hard, he can hear the harsh, slurred noises of a /different/ foreign language. How many languages does that man speak?

It /is/ kind of hot though, and his mind immediately flashes+
to a scene like in the kitchen yesterday, which him smirking and shirt unbuttoned, except /this/ time, he's speaking in some other language, voice low and raspy as he murmurs to Chuuya.

Heat, much more potent and urgent than anything he has feeling in Shuuji's room, flashes +
through him, like a bolt of lightning.

/Why/?Why can't he feel like this for /Shuuji/? He'd probably come in ten minutes too if he felt like /this/ around him!

He heads downstairs to the spare bathroom, distantly mourning the fact that he doesn't get to use Dazai's /gorgeous/+
bathroom again. The downstairs one is nice, but nothing compared to the masterpiece that is Dazai's bathroom.

He even lets Yoko come in with him as he enters, locking the door behind him. She watches him intently as he turns the faucet on and cups water in his palms, rinsing +
off his face.

After a few splashes, he braces his hands on the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair, which was nicely curled before, is now a bit of a mess. He wasn't wearing makeup today, so he doesn't have to worry about smears over his face.

But..

With a sigh,+
he looks down his body, at the distinct lack of tent in his pants. He doesn't even feel any tension, just a complete lack of interest.

Why is this so hard for him? Isn't he supposed to be falling all over himself to get even a taste of sexual relief with Shuuji?

Instead, all+
his dick seems to be interested in is his /dad/, who, mind you, hasn't done anything to him beyond /grabbing his ankle/.

God, he's such a mess.

"What's wrong with me, Yoko?" he mutters.

The dog in question merely wags her tail, head tilting as if to say 'a lot of things. What+
would you like to talk about first?'.

After that, he can't keep stalling, so he heads back upstairs, half-dreading and half-curious as to what image he's going to be greeted with when he re-enters Shuuji's room.

Turns out, it's just Shuuji in a different pair of pants--Chuuya +
tries not to notice the dirty pants very obviously in the hamper, but he swears to god that wet spot is staring at him-- and stretched out across his bed, lazily cruising through the TV channels as he searches for something to watch.

When he notices Chuuya, he gestures with his+
arm, beckoning him over.

Yoko whines when he shuts her out again, but Shuuji has been very clear that the dogs are not allowed in his room.

Chuuya slides onto the bed, yelping when Shuuji grabs him by the arm and reels him in.He ends up squished against Shuuji's side, his head+
forcibly pulled down to rest on his shoulder.

Then, without an /ounce/ of shame: "Was it good for you?"

Honestly, he's glad Shuuji can't see his face from this angle, because he can't help the disbelieving expression he gets, staring at the wall like he's in agony. How does he+
even respond to that?

"Yeah. It was..." he trails off, trying to think of an adjective that isn't underwhelming or awkward and /weird/. "...nice," he settles on lamely, hoping Shuuji doesn't question it.

He doesn't, because he's too busy starting the movie and looking pleased+
with himself.

The man doesn't even make it twenty minutes before he's asleep, snoring away loudly in Chuuya's hair. Talk about underwhelming.

Eventually, he can't stand whatever stupid movie Shuuji put on. He wiggles out of his grip slowly, freezing when his snores skip a beat+
before settling back into their rhythm. He turns over in his sleep, facing the other direction.

Letting out a breath of relief, Chuuya slips out of the room again.

This time, Yoko isn't waiting for him in the hallway, which is so strange that he stands there for a moment, +
wondering where the hell she is. She /always/ waits for him, and even though she isn't /his/ dog, he's come to expect and anticipate a giant furry body getting underneath his feet at all times of the day.

Dazai's office door is still closed when he passes, but when he leans in +
to listen again--

Silence.

Slowly, he makes his way downstairs, feeling on edge. He keeps waiting for the dogs to come bursting out to greet him, or appear at the bottom of the stairs--

But they don't. They're not in the living room either, and Chuuya actually takes a detour+
to the kennel room to see if they're in there--

Nope. Both the kennels are empty.

The garage door is locked when he tries it, and when he wanders out to the kitchen, no one is in there.

Honestly, it just looks like they disappeared--

But then he hears a heavy /thump/ coming+
from the backyard, and the curtains over the door aren't the way they were before--

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Chuuya approaches, holding his breath as the anticipation builds, wondering what he's going to see out there--

When he peeks through the door, the first thing he +
sees is /Dazai/.

Standing tall in the middle of the yard, shirt sleeves once again rolled up to reveal his forearms. He's cocking his arm back, shoulder rippling as he winds up and /chucks/ a ball with an impressive amount of force to the other side of the yard.

The dogs go+
streaking past as they chase after, coming back a moment later. Yoko has the ball in her mouth while Kozo is nipping at her legs and mouth, trying to steal it from her.

She hands off the ball to Dazai, hopping excitedly at his feet as he winds up again.

He throws the ball,+
with so much force that Chuuya can /see/ it.

A heartbeat later the /thump!/ comes again, and he realizes: Dazai is throwing the ball so /hard/ that it’s rattling the back fence when it hits.

Dear /god/. How much power does that man /have/?

Mesmerized, he steps outside, +
drawn in by the force he exudes, the power radiating off him effortlessly.

Another throw, the rattle of the fence again. The dogs racing past, the heavy pant of their breaths.

A snarl from Dazai as he says something again in another language, speaking into the Bluetooth+
hidden in his ear.

A pause as the person responds on the other line, then Dazai’s face twists with rage and disbelief, teeth flashing, and his /anger/ shouldn’t be so hot, it shouldn’t make Chuuya want to bend over or give into him—

He takes another stumbling step, feet +
loud on the deck—

A burning gaze snaps to him, immediately pinning him in place.

The air grows thin between them, drawing tight with tension, superheating so quickly Chuuya feels like he’s /boiling/, a flash fire sun between them and setting him ablaze.

The moment lasts +
forever, time stretching sweetly elastic between them, like taffy about to break under its own weight—

Then Dazai is reaching up, eyes unwavering as he touches his ear. He murmurs something too low to hear before pressing hard on the Bluetooth. Hanging up.

To Chuuya, louder,+
he says: “I didn’t know you were here.”

That seems pretty rude of Shuuji not to tell him, considering that they’ve had these plans for a few days, definitely long enough for him to tell his dad, but honestly, Chuuya is still trying to restart his brain, staring wide-eyed at +
him.

Dazai seems to take that as a sign of something /else/, because his mouth is turning down with remorse, expression souring with regret. He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry you had to see that.”

See what? See him throwing the ball like a +
professional baseball player? See him snarling at someone like some sort of wild, sexy beast? See him get—

Oh.

He didn’t want Chuuya to see him /angry/.

That’s...shockingly sweet and touching. It’s like he /cares/ what Chuuya thinks about him, cares about making him feel +
safe and secure.

(It’s sweet, but unnecessary, and it only makes Chuuya wonder how much Dazai is holding /back/.

And what it’d take to make him /lose/ that control.)

He shrugs, stepping forward and offering him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s nothing. It seemed like +
you weren’t very happy with whoever you were speaking with.”

Dazai turns to look at him, expression melting into something softer and more grateful. “It’s...” he trails off, and Chuuya finds himself breathless, waiting to see if Dazai will let him in, give him an opening, +
finally offer something about himself.

He releases a heavy sigh, borrowing Chuuya’s line from earlier. “It’s nothing.”

God /dammit/. Why won’t he tell Chuuya anything? Shuuji talks to so much Chuuya practically knows what he had for breakfast last week, but Dazai?

Not at+
all. The man is surprisingly tight-lipped, and annoyingly mysterious. The most Chuuya knows about him is what he’s heard from Chuuya, and the fact that he doesn’t like pancakes.

It’s attractive, in a mysterious, dangerous sort of way but—

Chuuya wants to know /more/. Wants+
to know what kind of food he likes. What he does in his spare time. What he does for /work/. Where he grew up.

(What he kisses like.)

God, Chuuya just wants to know everything about him, with a desperate fascination. He just—

He just wants to /know/ him.

But every time he+
seems to be getting closer, or that Dazai is going to offer him something—

He backtracks. It’s so frustrating. It’s /teasing/, stirring Chuuya’s desire for more just to leave him hanging.

“Are you alright?” He asks, blowing out a breath in frustration.

The smile he gets +
looks like it’s full of secrets. “Better now, doll.”

Sometime during the conversation, Chuuya had gotten closer, so close that now he’s staring up at Dazai, miles of hard muscle and soft skin just inches away, brown eyes drawing him in, urging him closer.

And that’s the /best/+
thing about Dazai, because he doesn’t /push/, he doesn’t /pull/, he lets him set the boundaries and /then/ he meets him halfway and escalates it.

It’s not pressure. It’s /encouragement/.

And the way he’s staring down at him now, a tiny, indulgent smile on his face as he +
reaches out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear, rough fingertips brushing gently over his jaw and the curve of his neck—

It’s encouragement.

The frustration Chuuya felt earlier, from the cut-off grinding, roars back full force, gathering+
in his lungs until he can’t take a breath that smells like smoke and Dazai, head spinning with it.

He wants, he /wants/, and if he asks, maybe Dazai will give it to /him/, please, /please/ just take care of him—

“Do you have something to say?”

Yes, yes, he does, he’s +
opening his mouth, he’s going to /ask/ him—

A phone rings, breaking the moment completely.

Dazai looks almost as disappointed as Chuuya suddenly feels, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

He checks the screen and lets out an aggrieved sigh. “I’m sorry— I should probably+
take this.Unless you needed something..?”

Well, /yes/, but now that the moment is shattered, he’s lost the courage to /ask/.

And he doesn’t particularly want to be kissed while his phone rings off the hook.

And it was a lapse of judgement. He shouldn’t kiss Dazai. It’s wrong.+
Even if Shuuji and him aren’t /boyfriends/, he still owes him some loyalty, right? Chuuya would be incredibly hurt if he found out Shuuji was sneaking around with someone else.

It was just a lapse in judgement.

“No,” he mutters, taking a step back so he can finally breath some+
cooler air, “I don’t need anything.”

Dazai stares at him for a long moment, like he doesn’t believe him and he’s giving him another chance to change his mind. Then he huffs out a breath, “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Chuuya watches him walk+
away with his phone pressed to his ear, feeling a profound sense of loss.

He /does/ know where to find him—

And maybe that’s the /problem/.

————— +

The week after is the lead up to midterms, and Chuuya is going /insane/. There’s so much he needs to know, needs to /finish/+
and only so much time to do it in. Every time he finishes one thing, another two assignments pop up, needing urgently to be finished.

He’s so busy that he doesn’t think of Dazai at /all/, because the rare times he’s not studying, he’s sleeping.

(And god, his dreams have +
taken a /hot/ turn, almost every single one of them featuring large hands and a burning gaze, all heat and pressure, electricity in this veins.)

He rarely sees Shuuji, because he has midterms too, and their texts have fallen off a bit. Chuuya would be disappointed in how much+
they’ve backslid from their progress—

But like he said: incredibly busy.

There /are/ parties after midterms, to celebrate surviving (not passing because a /decent/ amount of people don’t pass) that part of the semester. It’s supposed to be a rager; everyone is invited to at+
least one.

Shuuji said one of his /other/ friends, someone that goes to Tokyo, has his parents house for the weekend, and the party is going to be /wild/. Also probably the most luxurious one Chuuya will ever attend, because /that/ friend is even better well-off than +
Shuuji is.

It’s also exciting because this is the /first/ time he’s been invited out in public with Shuuji.

Maybe it’s not /exactly/ a date, but it’s close, right? They’ll be together and people will know they’re together, and they’ll have a good time!

He’s not ecstatic that+
their first actual date will be around a bunch of drunken teenagers, but hey—

After this week, /he’ll/ probably be one of those drunken teenagers, so he can’t complain that much.

His last exam is finished with a mixture of relief that he’s finally done, and excitement because+
there’s only a /few/ hours until the party. Until he can see Shuuji again.

He showers thoroughly, taking a little bit of extra time to wash his hair and put product in it.

Staring at his meager makeup bag, he decides that if he’s going to go all out—

He might as well go +
/all out/.

Putting on his favorite playlist, Chuuya gives himself the sharpest cat eye he can manage. He ends up having to re-do it twice because he’s too busy dancing along with the music to make sure his lines are perfect.

A double coat of mascara, killer highlight on+
his cheekbones and red-tinted gloss on his lips, and he looks /good/. Kissable, pretty enough to show off.

He takes more than a few selfies, sending a few to Yuan and the /best/ one to Shuuji.

Then he addresses the next problem: clothing.

He still hasn’t had a lot of time to+
restock his wardrobe, so his choices—particularly for a rich kid party— are rather slim. He doesn’t want to show up looking shabby or like a pity date.

He’ll never be the best-dressed person there, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself, or Shuuji.

Eventually he settles on+
a pair of pitch black jeans with fishnets underneath, the hem showing over the waistband.

(Dazai’s shirt— which is still stuffed under his pillow by the way— would probably round off the look nicely, but he doesn’t even allow himself to consider it.)

For the top, he goes with+
a light turtleneck long sleeve— because he’s not sure how long he’s going to be out— in a lovely dark blue that compliments his eyes and hair. It’s just a /tad/ too short, so when he raises his arms, the hem rides up his stomach.

It’s simple, chic, elegant. Perfect for what he+
needs.

Checking his phone for texts, he frowns when he sees that Shuuji has opened his snap but never responded. Sure, he’s never been the /best/ at fast responses and he’s probably busy getting ready for the party too, but...

A least a texted heart emoji would’ve been nice.+
Instead of lingering on that, he opens up the Uber app. Shuuji can’t pick him up and still get them to the party in time, so he agreed to splurge on an Uber.

It takes up most of his allowance for the month, but he’s been pretty good at keeping his spending low, considering that+
Shuuji usually buys him dinner when they’re together.

Yuan lent him cute ankle-length boots, so he slides them on as he shoots off another text to Shuuji, letting him know that he’ll be leaving soon.

Nikolai is going to some other party that no one else in their group was +
invited to, so Chuuya locks up as he leaves, shoving his keys into his pocket. His wallet, he leaves at home, because he already lost it once, and he won’t need it since Shuuji will be giving him a ride home.

The Uber arrives quickly, already paid for through the app. He slips+
into the backseat, smiling at the woman driving politely. He’s grateful that she doesn’t try to make much conversation, instead turning the radio up lightly.

As they ease into traffic, he frowns at his phone. Shuuji still hasn’t answered his text.

Granted, Yuan hasn’t answered+
either, but he’s not meeting /her/ for a ride.

The longer he goes without a response, the more anxious he gets. He triple checks the time, and their texts agreeing when and where to meet up, wondering if he got something wrong.

Why hasn’t he answered? Just even a ‘k’ would+
suffice. Anything to let him know that Shuuji is there and listening to him.

By the time he arrives at the house, he’s a nervous wreck, fighting the urge to chew on his fingers.

Did Shuuji forget? Did Chuuya get it wrong?

He smiles thinly at the driver, too harried to show+
how much he appreciates the ride, but not rude enough to leave without saying somewhat of a goodbye.

The lights are on in the house, which instantly makes him feel a little better. He’s home, he just didn’t text back for whatever reason.

Everything’s going to be fine and+
they’re going to have a good time. By now, he /really/ needs a drink.

Except, when he walks up to the door and knocks—

It’s not Shuuji who answers after a brief pause.

It’s Dazai, with a confused expression on his face.

As always, he looks criminally good, even in his+
casual clothes, hair messy.

Chuuya tries to look past that, clearing his throat. “Hi, Dazai. Is Shuuji home?”

Dazai arches an eyebrow, confused. “No. He left,” he checks the watch on his wrist, heavy and gold, “a few hours ago?”

Chuuya’s heart breaks.

Oh. +
He...he left /hours/ ago? Before Chuuya first texted him?

He opened his snap, but didn’t tell him that he /wasn’t going to be there/? That their plans were cancelled?

He would’ve understood, if Shuuji had told him earlier, but now he’s all dressed up on Dazai’s porch, staring+
at him like an idiot while Dazai’s face slowly devolves into something more and more concerned, and he should’ve just stayed home—

How is he going to get /home/? He left his wallet at home, like a trusting dumbass, and he used up /most/ of his money on the Uber here. He doesn’t+
even have his train card, so even if he walked all the way there, he couldn’t even take the train.

Dazai will probably offer to drive him home, but Chuuya doesn’t even want him to /look/ at him right now because he feels so ugly and twisted with misery, and—

He’s had a very+
stressful two weeks, and he’s pretty sure he flunked at least one exam and didn’t get as good a score he needed to on another. He’s low on sleep and has barely eaten, and god this is just the cherry on top of his shit cake.

He feels worthless. Ugly. A naïve fool, so easy for +
Shuuji to play with, and he falls for it /every single time/.

It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.

Everything hurts.

“Did you two have something planned?” Dazai’s voice is gentle, cautious, but the sound shatters the remains of Chuuya’s self-control.

“There,” he turns his+
head so Dazai won’t see as his eyes fill up with tears, because he’s had /enough/ embarrassment for one day, he doesn’t need to start sobbing in plain sight, “there was a party. But I guess I’m not going now so I’ll just, uh... leave. I’ll just leave. Thanks.”

He sniffs wetly+
as he turns to walk away, subtly touching the corner of his eye to stop the tear from falling and ruining his makeup.

(Dazai has been arguing himself this /whole/ time, because clearly his son is an asshole, but he /shouldn’t/ do anything about it. He should take Chuuya home,+
let him process that Shuuji will never be as emotionally invested as he is, and then hopefully he’ll never see Shuuji again.

Really, it’s the perfect opportunity for Chuuya to leave his life as quietly as he came in, no fuss, no danger.

He shouldn’t try to fix this. He +
shouldn’t. He /really/ shouldn’t.

Then Chuuya’s face crumples into agony, and he sniffs as he turns away, and Dazai’s thoughts rapidly turn from ‘don’t touch what you can’t have’ to—

What are you /waiting/ for, /fix/ it, you can’t just let him /cry/.

So instead of the words+
“Let me drive you home”coming out of his mouth its—)

“Wait.”

Dazai’s voice stops him in his tracks,and the fact that he /still/ listens so easily—even though Dazai hasn’t hurt Chuuya /ever/—shouldn’t make him more miserable,but it kind of does.

“Let me take you out instead.”+
That makes the cycle of misery and self-deprecation break apart, his thoughts dissolving into blankness, and the only thing he can think is ‘what?’.

He must’ve said that out loud, because Dazai is speaking up behind him again, this time a little closer:

“Let me take you to+
dinner. Please.”

Gentle fingers find his elbow, coaxing him to turn back around. It’s so easy to follow their lead, spinning in place to face him again.

He doesn’t look up farther than Dazai’s chest though, because he’s pretty sure he still looks like he’s having a breakdown.+
“What, like a date?”

He /says/ it self-deprecatingly, like that option is so far fetched. He can’t even get a real date with /Shuuji/, let alone his completely out of his league dad—

The next words knock all the breath out of him.

“If you’d like. If not,” there’s a knuckle+
under his chin, coaxing him to tip his head back, so gentle he wouldn’t even have to try to resist it, but he doesn’t /want/ to resist it, “think of it as a way to make sure that your pretty makeup doesn’t go to waste.”

Dazai’s fingertip touches the corner of his eye, smoothing+
away the tear there without smearing his eyeliner. His expression is torn between concern and sympathy, eyes flicking over his face.

His hold is so gentle that Chuuya could turn around and walk away right now, and he doubts that Dazai would /stop/ him but—

He finds himself+
staring up at him, wondering if he’s only asking out of pity. He knows he looks pitiful right now,so it would make sense.

But Dazai doesn’t seem reluctant or put out. He’s just gently concerned, offering him a small, genuine smile as he waits for his response.

Chuuya bites his+
lip. Really, what would it hurt?

After the last two weeks he /deserves/ to have a nice time, and he is starving. He’s never been out to dinner before, and he just wants /one/ stupid romantic date to come out of this. Even if it’s with Dazai.

(/Especially/ if it’s with Dazai.)+
“Are you sure you’re not busy?” He mumbles. Dazai is dressed like he might’ve been going to bed soon, relaxing around the house.

There’s a shake of Dazai’s head, his thumb pressing into his check. “Not for you. Not for this.”

Chuuya lets out a shuddering breath. Alright then.+
“Okay,” he agrees, voice small.

It’s just dinner, right?

The smile transforms Dazai’s face, radiating warmth and happiness, and he looks so damn /proud/ of himself, just because Chuuya said yes.

“Lovely,” he responds, stepping out of his way, “let me take care of a few +
things, and then we can go, alright? Come inside, I know Yoko will be happy to see you.”

That does make him feel better, because Yoko is /always/ happy to see him, and it’s such uncomplicated, unconditional love that it makes the ugly knot of emotion in his chest start to fade+
away.

When they go inside, Yoko is already waiting at the door, offering Chuuya a more sedate greeting than her usual excitement and sitting still when he crouches down to hug her. She’s surprisingly good at sensing his moods.

Dazai disappears upstairs, probably to change. He+
looks good in a loose pair of joggers, and honestly, Chuuya’s standards are so low that he wouldn’t even be that mad if Dazai did take him to dinner in sweats, but he’s definitely looking forward to whatever he chooses to wear.

(Upstairs, on the phone:

“/Seriously/, Dazai,+
you’re going to use the favor that you’ve been holding over me for /two/ years, to get a /restaurant reservation/? What do you even need it for?”

“That’s the thing,” Dazai snaps as he yanks open his closet, “I don’t need an /explanation/ for a favor, Tanizaki. Get me the table +
or that new birth certificate you need is going to get lost in the mail.”

“Jeez,” the man grumbles. There’s a faint sound of typing, a rustling of papers before he continues, “best I can do is a table in an hour.”

“Perfect,” Dazai says, surveying his options. “Oh, and make+
sure there are flowers on the table. Orange ones.”

He hangs up, not waiting to hear a response. He already knows Tanizaki will follow his directions— he /owes/ him, and no one dares to fall through on the debts they owe him.)

Yoko proudly shows Chuuya one of her new toys, +
distracting him. He’s so tempted to pull out his phone and check if Shuuji has updated any of his social media, just as a masochistic way to prove himself right.

But he’s finally feeling better, and when he hears the sounds of Dazai getting ready upstairs—he’s /usually/ quiet+
when he’s around the house, so quiet that Chuuya almost never hears him— it makes him smile, amused.

It also makes him /nervous/ because, fuck, this is really happening, isn’t it? It’s not some dream, not some misunderstanding.

Dazai said it /could/ be a date, if he wanted it+
to be. Obviously, he /does/ want it to be but—

Does that come with expectations? He’s never been on a /real/ date before, so he doesn’t know what to do.

Is he supposed to act different? Be funnier, prettier, quieter? Is he supposed to kiss him, even if he doesn’t want to? +
(Not that that will be a problem, because he /does/ want to, it’s just...

He’s /nervous/. What if he doesn’t like it?

What if he kisses like /Shuuji/, all fumbling hands and too-forceful and not good at all?

Just the thought of that makes Chuuya want to cry.)

Before he can+
get too nervous though, Dazai is pounding down the stairs again, looking like he’s rushing.

And even though he was probably rushing that entire time— so he wouldn’t keep him waiting, Chuuya realizes, heart warm— he looks /sinfully/ good.

A grey turtleneck that hugs his+
torso beautifully,hinting at the strong muscles underneath. Black jeans that emphasize how thick his thighs are,flexing powerfully underneath the fabric as he steps down.Grey boots.

(Chuuya is suddenly reminded about what they /say/ about men with big feet, and he’s /curious/.)+
He’s wearing a black trench-coat that flaps around his knees, covering most of his outfit up.

And on his hands....silver rings that match the chain around his neck.

He looks /good/, but in a subtle way, like he’s not trying to be noticed but he’ll give you a show if you /do/+
see him.

There’s money in his clothes, obviously, but not so much that Chuuya feels underdressed by comparison.

And they /match/, he realizes, face turning red as he touches the collar to his own turtleneck. Is that coincidence or purposeful?

“Are you ready?” Dazai asks+
shoving his wallet and keys in his pocket. Despite the question, and his own hurry, he doesn’t seem particularly worried either way, like Chuuya could say no and he’d continue to wait patiently.

He is ready though. Giving Yoko one last pat, he stands up and nods in affirmation.+
Dazai smiles at him, big, his hair falling charmingly over his forehead. The dimple flashes at him, then melts away just as quickly as Dazai holds out an arm.

Confused, Chuuya steps closer.

A large hand finds the small of his back, warm and steering him gently through the +
hall towards the garage.

Chuuya is glad he’s walking in front, because his face is on /fire/, and he’s barely watching where he’s going, his entire awareness narrowing down to the heat of Dazai’s fingers over his shirt. His thumb is just on the /edge/ of the hem, and it would +
only take a shift in the right direction to pressed on the bare skin of his hip.

Dazai unlocks the garage door and urges him out. Yoko has to have Chuuya push her nose back in gently before the door can be shut again.

“It’s a bit of a drive,” Dazai murmurs, following Chuuya to+
his side of the car. He opens the door for him— a gentlemanly gesture that Chuuya has only seen in movies, one that makes him blush— and leans his arms on the door as Chuuya slides in. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind getting to see him driving again, especially with the /changed/+
atmosphere between them, one that might allow Chuuya to reach across them and hold his free hand...

Or that hand on his thigh, wrapping nearly the width of it, casually possessive as Dazai keeps his eyes on the road, but his thumb is stroking over his skin rhythmically...

He+
gets to watch Dazai cross the front of the car, opening the garage door and starting the car in a series of smooth confident motions.

Then the door is opening, and Dazai is dropping in, and they're alone, locked in a car together for 'a bit of a drive'. Anticipation rolls down +
his spine, curling hotly in his stomach.

"Where are we going?" He asks, purely for something to say. He likes that Dazai already has a plan in mind, instead of looking to him to make all the decisions. It shows how capable he is of taking control, of guiding the situation. +
It shows that he /wants/ this.

Dazai throws a look at him, reversing smoothly out of the garage. "I got us a table at Azamino Ukai-tei. It's the best I could do on such short notice-- but if you'd like to go anywhere else, I'll be happy to take you there instead."

Chuuya's +
eyebrows shoot up. It's not the most /expensive/ restaurant in the city, he's sure, but he /does/ remember seeing it as one of the top options when he was cruising the dining options in Yokohama. It probably has a waiting list at least a week long.

And Dazai got them a table+
in less than 20 minutes? Money really does buy everything, doesn't it?

"No," he smiles at Dazai, "that sounds perfect."

The look in Dazai's eye grows into something warmer, sweeter.

The drive is much like the other time Dazai took him home, except this time he's got a few +
rings on his fingers, adding a point of interest that draws Chuuya's attention every time he manages to look away. They're beautiful, heavy silver and glinting under the lights of the car.

A stray cat takes the wrong moment to dart across the road, headed straight for the tires+
of the car, and Chuuya is leaning forward, eyes wide, mouth open to warn Dazai--

The car brakes hard, swerving to avoid the cat. A hard forearm is suddenly across his chest, pinning him back against the seat as the rear end of the car wobbles, momentum carrying the turn to a +
dangerous, screeching degree as the car threatens to tip over--

Just as quickly, Dazai is tapping the gas, twisting the wheel, easily bringing the car back under control.

Chuuya looks out the side mirror, heart in his throat--

The cat crouches, terrified, in the middle of +
the street for a moment before slinking out of the road, unharmed. Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, sinking back into his seat.

"That cat is going to get hurt someday," Dazai mutters, slowly pulling his arm back.

(Chuuya's heart is still pounding, but for a different reason.+
Because one of Dazai's /first/ thoughts was his safety. It was immediate, so /reactionary/, that Chuuya barely jerked forward before his forearm was locking him in place.)

He hopes Dazai didn't feel his racing heart against his arm, because it feels like it's beating out of his+
/chest/. Swallowing hard to gather a little bit of composure, he responds, "Does it have a home or is it a stray?"

Dazai shrugs. "I've never seen it with a collar on, so I'm assuming a stray."

Poor kitty. All things considered, the rich neighborhood probably isn't the worst +
thing, but it does get cold at night. The poor thing is probably sleeping under porches, or something else equally pitiful.

Chuuya wants to take it home, heart panging in sympathy.

The rest of the drive is relatively uneventful, with the only exciting portion being a +
pedestrian that runs across the crosswalk moments before the light turns green.

Dazai's arm has returned to resting on the center console, wrist hanging off the gearshift and fingers dangling, /so/ tempting, it's only a few inches--

They talk casually, about the dogs or +
Chuuya's classes, or whatever comes to mind.

Shuuji's name does not come up once, and Chuuya is incredibly grateful for that, because he doesn't want to be reminded of what happened earlier, and he doesn't particularly want to stop contemplating the morals of going on a /date/ +
with his dad. That might send him spiraling into a pit of guilt and anxiety, and he /really/ just wants to have a good time tonight.

He is having a good time too, so far, because Dazai is funny and he gets this glint in his eye whenever he makes Chuuya laugh, like he's proud+
of himself. Like his only goal for the evening is to make him feel good and safe and secure.

When they arrive at the restaurant, there is only a few parking spots. There is a valet option, but Dazai skips that, choosing instead to find his own spot. Chuuya wonders why.

When he+
finally parks, Chuuya gets out before Dazai can come around the car for him.

(Of course, Dazai doesn't /say/ anything, but it takes quite a bit to keep the disappointed pout off his face.)

The hand finds his lower back again as they walk towards the entrance, and Chuuya is +
starting to think that Dazai is treating this like a /real/ date, even without Chuuya saying something, because this is as much as he's touched him, ever.

It's easily escaped, just one step up and the hand would slide off his back--

But Chuuya /likes/ the sensation, the gentle+
guiding that Dazai gives him with easy pressure from the tips of his fingers, drawing him closer or urging him in a different direction around a poorly parked car.

He opens the door for them both, and the restaurant is pleasantly warm, the smell of delicious food wafting out+
and making Chuuya's mouth water. He'd been so excited earlier today that he forgot to eat much besides a few pieces of bread in anticipation of drinking.

Maybe not his best choice, but one he is appreciating now, because that means he can eat /more/ of the delicious food here.+
Dazai approaches the hostess without hesitation, murmuring his name. She greets them both briefly before leading them to a back table that’s set a little ways from the others, almost secluded.

Dazai pulls out his chair for him, clearly intending to give Chuuya to full date +
experience.

(It’s also because that leaves Dazai with the chair near the wall, so he can watch all the entrances and keep an eye on anyone approaching. Not that he’ll tell Chuuya that.)

There’s candles on the table, burning low and atmospheric. And in the center—

Orange+
flowers, in a beautiful bouquet.

It's not the same kind as he received earlier-- those ones lasted four days before they started to wilt and he managed to save one orange rose by pressing it between the pages of a book-- but they're close enough that he's immediately struck by+
the similarity.

He touches the petals, gently, heart in his mouth. "Did you get these for me?"

Dazai sits in his chair, gesturing for the waiter to bring them a few menus. "Yes. I would've gotten you something more meaningful, but I didn't have enough time."

His eyes are +
stuck on the flowers, and suddenly he realizes--

The first bouquet arrived only hours after Dazai dropped him off. Hours after the man spent all /morning/ trying to cheer him up, cracking jokes and bickering with him good-naturedly, teaching him how to control the dogs.

And +
when he called Shuuji about it, he still sounded groggy, like he'd just woken up. He'd also never claimed them /directly/, and if he /did/ send them--

Why wouldn't he have left a card? Why the mysterious black business card?

Did...

Did /Dazai/ send them?

His eyes wander up,+
taking him in, the way the candlelight dances over the features of his face, sharpening his cheekbones. His eyes are dark enough that they reflect the flames, like a demon out of hell, unreadable and mysterious and smiling wickedly at him.

He looks like something out of +
Chuuya's most delicious and secret dreams.

He has to ask.

"Did... did you send me anything /before/?"

Before Dazai can answer, the waitress comes over with their menus, placing them on either side of the table. She also pours two cups of water for them, leaving them in the+
middle of the table.

Dazai flips open his wine menu, shooting him a small, secretive, /teasing/ grin over the top, before changing the subject. "I hear the Monte Bello wine is good; you should try it."

Chuuya narrows his eyes at him, wondering if he can pressure him into +
answering with sheer presence, but he just continues scanning his menu with that infuriating little grin on his face.

Fine then.

He does drag his menu over, though mostly just to awe at the options. "I'm not twenty," he mutters, reminding Dazai that he's still not of drinking+
age, even if it makes him feel incredibly young.

"You're with me, sweetheart; no one will question you."

That's probably true, because Dazai exudes this powerful energy, like someone who should /not/ be questioned or defied. And if he insists--

Chuuya's not going to pass up+
the opportunity to have a glass that /literally/ costs over fifteen-thousand yen. The price does make him ache a bit, but if Dazai is offering... he won't say no. If he does, he might never get the chance again.

The waitress comes back after a few minutes, much more attentive+
than any server in every other restaurant Chuuya's ever been in.

She takes their drink orders-- expensive whiskey for Dazai and the wine for Chuuya-- without blinking, scribbling down their orders before hurrying away.

It's only wine-- not like he's underage at a bar-- but the+
feeling of breaking the rules, even a little bit, sends a rush of adrenaline through him, making him grin. It's nothing he hasn't done before--he's had wine several times--but it still makes him feel a little wild, a little reckless, a little dangerous.

"What are you studying?"+
Dazai asks.

It's a general question, small talk, but it really highlights how little they know about each other. Sometimes, with how easily Dazai seems to /get/ him, it's easy to forget that they've only spent a few hours together, over the course of a month.

It's hard to +
remember that they're basically strangers,when it feels like Dazai's known him forever.

"Engineering," he responds.

Their drinks arrive then, placed on the table gently. Their food orders are taken next--the Kaitei steak course for Dazai that pairs nicely with the whiskey, and+
the seafood course for Chuuya--before she hurries away again.

"Your family must be proud," Dazai says,voice low. To be truthful--

/He/ sounds a lot prouder than Chuuya's dad was, when he found out. Not that Rimbaud isn't proud of him, he just wanted him to do something more...+
/Competitive/. More distinguished, something that he can brag about to all the other parents on the block.

He shrugs, taking a little sip of his wine. Flavor bursts over his tongue, deep and warm, so rich that he's automatically letting out a little moan, taking a longer sip.
+
Dark eyes sharpen on him, growing darker, more intent.

Chuuya doesn't notice.

"Mm," he sighs, "they are, they just...wanted something more for me. Dad was deadset on me being a lawyer, since I like to argue so much. He was a little upset when I told him my major."

That makes+
Dazai tilt his head, eyebrows creasing. "You're at Keio, though, aren't you? It's a very prestigious school; you must be incredibly smart to get in, no matter what you're studying."

Chuuya squirms a little, uncomfortable. Most days he doesn't /feel/ smart, because he's always+
had to work harder, study harder and longer, than a decent part of his class. Some of his fellow students just suck in the information like it's /air/, never struggling and barely having to study.

Most of the time, he just feels like he's keeping up instead of excelling. He's+
never the /best/, never the most wanted, never the top.

He just... works hard, that's it. That's all.

Thankfully, their food arrives then, giving him a moment longer to think as the plates are set on the table accordingly.

(He tells himself that the grateful, polite smile +
Dazai gives the waittress and her responding dazzled look doesn't make his stomach boil with resentment and jealousy.)

Taking the moment to change the subject, Chuuya asks, "What do you do? For work, I mean."

Dazai takes his sweet time arranging his utensils to his liking, +
piling his plate with food slowly. He has a thoughtful expression on his face, like he's deciding what exactly to tell Chuuya.

Eventually he speaks up, lifting a bite of steak to his mouth, "I work in information, and protection."

That's... not exactly the answer Chuuya was+
expecting. He was expecting more of a company name, or an actual job title, not this vague non-answer.

He takes a bite of his crab--is it just him, or do Dazai's eyes follow his fork like a dog begging for treats-- and says, "Like security? Personal protection?"

Dazai grins at+
him like he just won the lottery. "/Exactly/ like personal protection."

Well--

Still not a name, still not a company, but obviously he must be in high demand, considering how wealthy he is, so maybe it's a safety precaution.

Or a trust thing, Chuuya reminds himself, because+
they are /still/ just getting to know eachother.

(The idea of that makes him both sad and even more determined to prove himself to Dazai.)

This time, when he raises another bite of crab to his lips, the way Dazai is staring is obvious.

Chuuya pauses, curious, wondering why+
the man didn’t just order crab if he wanted it so bad, but it gives him a chance to /turn/ the tables.

He waves the fork at him, teasing. “Do you /want/ a bite?”

Dazai licks his bottom lip, slow, the pink of his tongue slick and tempting. He looks from the fork up to Chuuya,+
eyes gleaming. “I would /love/ one,” he purrs, and the sensual tone in his voice makes Chuuya wonder if he’s taking about the crab—

Or if he wants a bite of /Chuuya/.

Breathless, he offers the fork up to him. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, for Dazai to take the fork from+
his hands or pull the crab off with his own fork—

Whatever it is, it’s not for Dazai to lean across the table, smoldering eyes locked on his like he’s /daring/ Chuuya to look away, and taking the fork in his mouth.

With the handle still in his fingers, he can feel the movement+
of Dazai’s teeth and tongue, pulling off the crab, /achingly/ slowly.

Somehow, the room feels suddenly ten degrees hotter than before. His face feels like it’s on fire, but he can’t look away for even a second as Dazai finally leans back in his seat, a satisfied expression on+
his face.

“Thank you, doll; that was very /sweet/ of you.”

God, when he says it like /that/, it makes it sound like he wants to give Chuuya a reward for it.

He takes a sip of his wine to recover and cool off, which is a mistake. He’s not entirely sure if it’s the wine or +
the way Dazai is smirking at him, but it feels like there’s a burning ball of tension in his stomach, pumping slow, inescapable heat into his veins, until it feels like he’s swallowed lava and it’s consuming him whole.

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, voice breathy.

That makes+
the smile widen, and Dazai smothers it in his drink, watching him closely over the rim. His teeth flash sharply in the light, and Chuuya has the sudden thought that he doesn’t think he’d mind being eaten /alive/.

This time, when the waitress comes, Dazai’s eyes don’t leave him+
for a /second/, watching him closely.

"Would you like dessert?" The waitress asks. She doesn't look at Chuuya at all, which is /slightly/ irritating, but it's offset by the fact that Dazai isn't paying her any attention at all.

"Mm," Dazai hums, contemplating. "Yes. Something+
sweet. Fruity. Chocolate?"

The last part is directed at Chuuya, a question. He nods, pushing his plate away to make room. He doesn't usually order desserts at restaurants, but it's like Dazai read his mind.

The waitress nods, taking a few of their empty plates away when she +
goes.

Chuuya doesn't know how long it takes for her to come back with a small cake in her hands. He doesn't know what they talk about.

All he knows is that Dazai's eyes feel like molten caramel, deep enough to drown in and Chuuya is sinking, melting, burning alive, desperate.+
She sets the plate in front of Dazai, and he doesn't even care that she's ignoring him anymore, because Dazai is taking a clean fork in hand, carefully spearing a chunk of deliciously warm chocolate, fluffy cake and a pretty raspberry.

With an indulgent grin, he offers the bite+
to him across the table. "/Want/ a bite?" he asks, teasingly.

Yes. Of the cake /and/ Dazai.

This time it's Chuuya's turn to lean across the table. He's not quite confident to take the bite without looking, but as soon as he gets the fork in his mouth, flavor bursts across his+
tongue, making his eyes fall shut on a soft moan.

The fork doesn't waver, but the tension builds.

Dazai feeds him another bite, this time with a blueberry, and that's when Chuuya notices he hasn't moved to take a bite for himself.

"Are you going to have any?"

Dazai hums, +
and this time, the bite he offers has a load of melted chocolate on it. Chuuya takes it easily, using his tongue to get most of the chocolate.

"I'm not much of a sweets person," Dazai says lowly, taking the fork back. "I'm /picky/ with my food."

Then, making deliberate, +
devastating eye contact, he lifts the fork to his mouth, and slowly, oh so fucking slowly, licks off a smear of chocolate Chuuya had missed.

It feels like a /crime/ to watch,because his tongue is wet and /thorough/, getting every trace of the sweet off, curling at the edge with+
an ease that speaks of /skill/.

And Chuuya--

God, he doesn't even know /what/ he's thinking, if he's thinking at all, because he feels hot and cold, electric, melting like putty in Dazai's hands as he offers him another bite, and /fuck/, this one tastes so much better after it+
had Dazai's mouth all over it.

He's going to /die/ if Dazai keeps this up.

After a few more bites, Chuuya can't handle it anymore, slumping back in his chair. He needs a bathroom break or a cold shower or /something/.

(He needs /Dazai/.)

How is he going to survive the ride+
home? The drive /here/ was bad enough, but now he's half-hard already--embarassing, because Dazai literally has not touched him at all since they first arrived-- and he's so desperate he could beg for it.

Beg for what, exactly, he doesn't know, but he's pretty sure Dazai will.+
He excuses himself to the restroom, taking a long minute to cool off and splash his face with water. It's not /fair/ the effect Dazai has on him, because he's pretty sure he doesn't have half the effect or skill to play Dazai like he's playing him.

And this time, today, Chuuya+
doesn't lie to himself.

This is flriting. This is sexual tension. Dazai's been flirting with him /all/ night, and he can't help but wonder--

What is he going to /do/ about it?

By the time he returns, Dazai has already paid for their meal and is finishing off his glass of +
whiskey. Chuuya is glad he only had 1 glass, because even though Dazai is the best driver he's ever seen, he's still traumatized by all those anti-drunk driving ads.

Dazai throws back the rest of his drink when he sees him coming back, Adam's Apple bobbing. "Are you ready?" He+
asks.

(Ready for anything you'll give me, Chuuya thinks near-hysterically--.)

He nods.

/Again/,with the hand on his back and god,it feels /so/ close to where Chuuya would like it to be, only a few inches away from bare skin, and he's on the verge of /tears/ with desperation.+
Dazai opens his door for him again, and Chuuya slides in with a murmured thanks, taking the moment to brace himself for the ride home--

And he's glad he did, because not /only/ does Dazai look delicious as he slides into his seat, but as soon as he's done reversing out of his+
spot, his free hand drifts over the space between them, bridging the distance between them--

And settles on Chuuya's thigh, silver rings pressing into him.

Chuuya is /gone/. His heartbeat feels too big for his skin, and he's so hot he actually needs to roll down the window so +
he can breathe again, and the feeling of Dazai's thumb stroking up and down, never climbing higher than where he started but he wish it /was/, is filling him with so much tension he could /snap/.

He wishes he had worn shorts or something because /please/, wants that on his bare+
skin, wants it higher, /harder/.

God, /please/, he'll do anything--

He doesn't remember the ride back. Hopes Dazai hadn't said anything to him, because he's not sure if he can communicate in anything other than ridiculously horny gurgles. Hopes he hasn't made a fool out of +
himself, because he wants more, wants Dazai to give him more, wants Dazai to /want/ to want to give him more--

The car stops, and his vision clears, and Chuuya quickly comes to one, sudden, unfortunate realization:

The date is over. He's home, and Dazai is walking across the +
front of the car to let him out, and he doesn't /want/ it to be over.

He wants to keep driving. Or go see a movie, or, or--

Or be taken home, because he doesn't want this to /end/, he wants more time with Dazai, more touches, more looks, /anything/.

The door opens, and he has+
no choice but to stumble out.

The cold air clears his head a little bit, calms him down. At least, he can think about something else rather than the ghost of Dazai's hand on his thigh.

He turns around, expecting a goodbye or Dazai to already be walking away--

Except he's not.+
He's leaning up against the car with his legs spread wide, dropping him down a few centimeters. His hands are in his pockets, and he's watching Chuuya with a steady, intense gaze.

They stare at each other for a long, breathless moment.

When he can't take it anymore, Chuuya +
swallows hard, mouth dry. "Thank you, for dinner. I had a good time."

Dazai's smile is slow, self-satisfied. Smug and a /little/ arrogant, but Chuuya will overlook it because he looks /so/ damn good. "Yeah?" he purrs, "I'm glad."

He really does look glad too, like he wanted +
nothing more than to make sure Chuuya had a good time.

Chuuya stands there a little awkwardly, not sure what he's supposed to do or /say/--

Dazai tilts his head. He doesn't move, but his voice seems to reach across the distance and grab Chuuya by the throat. "Can I kiss you?"+
Chuuya's world stops. His breath stalls in his chest, and his eyes are wide with shock and surprise. Dazai's gaze are pinning him in place like pins through a butterfly wings, spreading him open for his enjoyment.

He doesn't know what to say. Well, obviously, /yes/ but-- +
He's a /little/ confused, because no one's asked him before. "Why are you asking? Shouldn't you just--" he gestures vaguely, "do it?"

Asking is nice, but it puts him on the spot a little, embarrasses him, espeically since Dazai will /not/ look away, not even for a second.

His+
answer makes a scowl cross Dazai's expression, and for a second, Chuuya is worried that he did something wrong--

Then it goes away, and instead Dazai is looking at him with faint concern.

(It hasn't gone away; it's just /hidden/, in how hard Dazai's jaw is clenched from the +
/idea/ that someone taught him that his consent was unneccessary or an afterthought.)

"Baby," he sighs gently,and Chuuya's heart is skipping a beat, "people you don't know should /always/ ask you. Even people you are comfortable with should ask you."

Oh. Well, that seems weird+
to /Chuuya/, but he can see why that would be nice.

Then he has nothing left to stall with, and he /does/ want it, badly, so: "Okay."

Dazai tsks at him, expression fond. "You know I like to hear you say it."

He does know that, it's just /embarrassing/, especially with Dazai+
/staring him down/ like that. But he wants it enough to work through it, and so he squeezes his eyes shut and mumbles loud enough for Dazai to hear, "kiss me."

Then, as an afterthought, because he knows Dazai likes it when he's /polite/, "please."

Silence, fraught with tension+
stretching endlessly between them.

Chuuya is expecting--

Well, based on past experiences,to be pushed back or grabbed roughly, or otherwise /pulled/ into a kiss. He doesn't even mind the idea, because the thought of Dazai's hands on him again is intoxicating enough--

Instead,+
fingers are gently wrapping around his wrist, coaxing him closer.

It's the easiest thing in the world to follow their lead, stumbling forward until he's caged between the warmth of Dazai's legs, spread wide enough for him to settle between perfectly.

His hand is brought up, +
chest-level, /higher/, until Dazai is placing it on his own shoulder.

He grips the fabric of his jacket, thankful for something to hold onto as Dazai's fingers slide down his other arm, ticklishly light, over his elbow and down to his wrist.

He repeats the process until Chuuya+
is standing there with both hands on his shoulders, hands flexing as he waits, face turned up, trembling.

This is it. Dazai's going to kiss him, right here, right now.

A hand slides across his back, pulling him /that/ much closer, and Chuuya is leaning in, leaning /up/, +
closing the distance, so close and yet /so far/--

He can feel Dazai leaning in, hot breath washing over his face, sweet with chocolate and whiskey, intoxicating.

"Open your eyes. I want to see you," Dazai murmurs into the space between them, impossible to miss, impossible not+
obey. "I want you to watch, the first time I kiss you."

/Fuck/.

Chuuya's eyes crack open immediately, and the first thing he sees is a dark gaze, inches from his face, drugging him with how intense and burning they are.

And they're getting closer.

Closer--

/Closer/-- +
And finally, /finally/, their lips press together.

It's /everything/.

Soft, chaste, gentle. Easy.

Chuuya's eyes flutter shut naturally on a soft sigh, one that's swallowed by Dazai. His lips are dry, but /good/, nothing like the forceful or too-abrupt kisses he's had before.+
It's good, of course it's good and then--

Dazai's hand firms on his back, pulling him close to his chest and supporting the natural curve of his back as he leans up to meet up him. His head tilts slightly, lips sliding across his in a motion Chuuya can't help but chase--

And +
then it's /great/.

He doesn't even feel nervous,because he's too busy following after Dazai's movements like a man addicted, and Dazai is leading him beautifully.The kiss is slow at first, both of them just enjoying the slide of their lips together, the way their breath mingles+
together, each breath hotter than the last.

Then Dazai's mouth opens a /little/ and Chuuya is getting a taste of the wet hidden behind his lips, and he's /shudering/, pushing upwards as high as he can, hands fisting in Dazai's jacket to drag him down, silently demanding he kiss+
him harder, deeper, /more/.

His enthusiasm seems to spur Dazai on,and at the same tome his tongue swipes torturously slow across his bottom lip, his fingers are sliding over his jaw, rough fingertips sparking tingling sensation, sliding further into his hair and cupping his jaw+
to tilt his head back for a better angle.

The double sensations make a soft noise rise in the back of Chuuya's throat, and /that/ seems like a breaking point for Dazai, because the /next/ kiss is harder, more forceful, backed by frantic energy and desire.

Chuuya's breath feels+
stolen straight from his lungs,replaced with fire and smoke, whiskey and chocolate. One of his hands slides up, finding the short hairs at the back of Dazai's head, making him shiver, then continuing up, up, until he can thread his fingers through Dazai's hair--god, it's just as+
soft as it /looks-- and /pulling/--

The rumble Dazai lets out sound more like a /growl/ and he's shifting downwards, adjusting the position of their mouths until he can suck Chuuya's bottom lip into his mouth on one, long, /perfect/ movement.

/Shit/.

Chuuya presses closer, +
eyes rolling back in his head, and Dazai's thigh ends up naturally slotting between his own and--

/Fuck!/

Dazai sucks hard on his lip, tongue running over it, at the same time Chuuya's erection presses against the hard muscle of his thigh, and he shouldn't be this hard already+
or this needy already, but he is, he /is/.

Dazai sucks on his lip until the throbbing of his mouth matches the throbbing between his legs, and he doesn't even seem to care or notice that Chuuya is subtly grinding against him, because he's too busy sinking his teeth into his lip+
with just enough force that it /almost/ hurts, driving him crazy.

Chuuya's panting into his mouth, melted in his hands, mind blank with static and desire. The only thing he can think of is /yes/, yeah, good, /please/--

He pulls back, making a shuddering, wanting noise when+
Dazai doesn't immediately let him go, lip stretching until it stings. Dazai makes a soft, disappointed noise in the back of his throat as Chuuya pulls away, like he's taking away his favorite toy, and that's so fucking /cute/--

Then he lets go with a wet pop, and the /next/ +
kiss Chuuya drags him into,he can actually feel his pout.

/How/ is he simultaneously adorable and ridiculously hot? It's not /fair/.

The wind blows then, cutting right through the thin fabric of his shirt and making him shiver, just a little bit. With how close they're pressed+
together, Dazai feels it.

He stands up straighter, pulling his hands away, and Chuuya is whimpering, clutching onto him tightly, he doesn't want it to be over, not /yet/, just a little longer--

But Dazai isn't breaking the kiss, he's just pulling off his jacket. A complicated+
task because he doesn't stop kissing him and Chuuya refuses to let him go too far, but he manages it after a few moments of fumbling.

Warmth covers his back as Dazai drapes the jacket over his shoulders, pulling the lapels tightly over his shoulders. Chuuya shivers, making a+
happy, content sigh that Dazai swallows whole.

With the edges of his jacket in hand, Dazai brings him with as he leans back against the car, pressing them as close together as they can.

Surrounded by Dazai's warmth, large hands on him and keeping him grounded even as he feels+
like he's flying away, braced with his strong thighs beneath him, their mouths moving together--

Chuuya feels invincible. Untouchable. Like the whole world could come crashing down around them but as long as Dazai was here, was holding him, he knows he'll be alright.

Like+
nothing else matters. Just them, just Dazai, just kissing him until he's breathless.

The reminder of how late it is somehow makes the kiss slow down from something frantic into something more languid and indulgent. Long, slow movements of their mouths, a teasing nip at Chuuya's+
lip that he doesn't follow up on.

It's a natural, easy progression to slow and soft and easy, and even though there's still a burning, fiery desperation within him, he doesn't feel neglected and he doesn't like it any less.

In fact, he likes this /just/ as much, being so close+
to him and breathing in his air, just /enjoying/ him.

He doesn't know how long they stand there kissing. At some point, his hands have wound up in Dazai's hair, alternating between tugging on the soft strands, and rubbing his fingers over the soft undercut, smiling whenever he+
makes Dazai shiver and hum pleasantly against him.

Chuuya's phone beeps, an alarm for ten p.m. that he'd set up for midterms week so he could go to bed on time, and he's reminded that, even though it /feels/ like the whole world has stopped, that doesn't mean it /has/. +
He sighs, responsibilities tugging at the back of his mind. And even though he feels wired right now, with Dazai's hands on him, he knows that he'll crash hard as soon as he takes a moment to stop.

Pulling back to get just enough space to whisper against Dazai's lips, he says,+
"I should go."

"Mmm," Dazai hums gently, hands reeling him back in, "probably."

But the way he pulls Chuuya into another kiss, this one even more languid than the last, says he's not ready to let him go just yet.

Chuuya's not complaining, sinking against him and letting him+
kiss him breathless.

Eventually, the kiss slows to a stop, and they spend just a moment there, enjoying the catch of their lips together and their shared breaths.

Then, with a sigh like Dazai is being tormented, he lets go of Chuuya entirely. "Alright," he mutters, "I'll +
let you go now."

The tiny grumble in his voice, like letting him go is a terrible thing to do, makes Chuuya smile. His lips are tingly.

He takes a step back, moving to take the jacket off so he can hand it back--

"Don't," Dazai says, stopping him in his tracks, hands reaching+
out to carefully adjust the lapels over his shoulders. He brushes his hands down the length of it, subtly dipping his fingers into one of the pockets without Chuuya noticing. “Keep it.”

Chuuya flushes, and he shouldn’t be so worked up about something so small after the make out+
session they had, but he is. “Okay. Thanks.”

The smile he gets in return looks so much sweeter, now that he knows what it tastes like. “It was my pleasure, believe me.”

Then there’s nothing left to say, nothing he can use to prolong their contact— besides ‘wanna make out in+
your car until I lose my mind?’— so he ducks his head and murmurs, “Good night.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

The walk away is cold, and he feels like he’s leaving something behind. He looks back twice, and each time Dazai is exactly where he left him, leaning against his car and+
watching him go with steady eyes and a lopsided smile.

He’s the one who leaves sight first.

The dorms are quiet when he returns, everyone either passed out from midterms slump or not home at all. He feels like he’s walking on air as he makes his way up to his room, nose buried+
in the lapel of Dazai’s coat to breathe in the warm, sharp smell of him, like ice in whiskey, frost on pine needles.

Nikolai isnt home, for which he’s glad because he immediately falls into bed when he comes in, curling up in Dazai’s jacket with a giddy, ecstatic smile.

This+
was what he was looking for. The butterflies, the happiness, the warmth and light.

All that time he was searching for it with Shuuji, pushing himself harder and harder, but the one who /gave/ it to him was Dazai.

And it was easy, beautifully easy. Simple, no pressure, no+
expectations, no reason to be scared or uncomfortable.

It just... was.

When Chuuya moves, something crinkles in the jacket pocket.

Curious, he digs into the pocket— if Dazai didn’t want him to look or find something, he wouldn’t have let him keep the jacket— and pulls out+
a crinkled piece of paper, folded up haphazardly.

He unfolds it, only to find a number printed on with with Dazai’s name scrawled messily underneath.

When did he have time to write this? When did he have time to slip it into the pocket? While they were kissing?

Either way,+
he has his /number/ now. And even that was easier than ever, because he didn’t have to /ask/ or was locked in a car until he shared his own. He didn’t share his own number, which means—

The ball is in his court. He can text Dazai or not, and it’s completely up to him.

Whipping+
out his phone, he navigates to his contacts. He’s not going to call right /now/, but he doesn’t want to risk losing this tiny, precious piece of paper.

Once he inputs the number, he comes across the next problem: contact name.

He can’t exactly put it as ‘Dazai Osamu’ because+
he doesn’t want anyone to accidentally find out that he’s texting Dazai. He’s not /hiding/ him, he’s just...

Waiting for a better time to tell everyone.

He doesn’t want to put a random name, because that’ll be confusing—

His eyes snag on the last contact dialed: ‘Dad’. +
And, well—

It’s simple, easy to explain and he’s seen it before on movies so—

Why the hell not?

[ CONTACT SAVED: Daddy 💕🥰 ]

His face /is/ on fire, but it’s not like Dazai will ever see it, so it’s okay. He’s just being /sneaky/.

He throws the paper away, ripping it+
into pieces so it’s impossible to read.

Settling back into bed, he decides to check his social media’s before getting ready for sleep.

This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

Because as he’s scrolling through Snapchat stories, clicking through the boring ones, he+
stumbles upon Yuan’s story. She went to the party he was going to, so he checks it out out of morbid curiosity, wondering exactly what he missed.

No way would he ever wish that he went to the party instead of dinner with Dazai, but a masochistic part of him wants to /know/.

+
Truthfully, it looks a little boring, with the typical crowd of teenagers yelling and drinking together. Most of the fun there is in the alcohol, and Chuuya does like parties, but he’s glad he didn’t go.

Then, he sees it, in the back, clearly not meant to be photographed:

+
Shuuji, in a back corner, with his hands in a girls hair and their lips pressed together.

Oh.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t feel that broken up about it. Yeah, it kind of sucks that Shuuji stood him up to make out with a girl, and there is a part of him that’s hurt by that but— +
A larger part of him is still floating somewhere in the atmosphere, made light by the remembrance of being with Dazai.

Yeah, It sucks, but you know what?

Chuuya thinks he came out on the better side of this deal.

And at least he doesn’t have a reason to feel bad for +
kissing his dad, right?

Now they’re even. Well, sort of—

Chuuya still wins.

And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have a reason to feel bad about going /further/ with Dazai.

Because now that he’s got a taste?

He’s /addicted/.

——— +
The problem, Chuuya decides, is that he doesn't know what to say. If it were somebody his age, he'd probably start with a simple emoji or a meme, or something else equally simple and relatable.

But Dazai /isn't/ his age, and somehow that makes the idea of sending the man a +
peach emoji or a twitter link feels...wrong. Like he's breaking some sort of unspoken rule.

Of course, he could start off with a simple 'hey it's Chuuya' which isn't /bad/, it's just lackluster. He should probably mention the date, but /how/?

'Hey, it's Chuuya, I had a really +
good time at dinner and then grinding against your leg after, wanna do it again sometime'? 'Hey, it's Chuuya, it was nice getting up close and personal with you tongue'?

('Hey, it's Chuuya, please kiss me again.')

Everything he comes up with is either too casual, too awkward +
too immature, or only funny in his half-hysterical mind.

He doesn't want to be awkward or immature. He wants to be what /Dazai/ wants, and a messed up text feels like the end of the world right now. Like he has to say the exact right thing or he'll mess up his chance.

'Hi +
Dazai, I miss you’? Too forward.

‘Dear Dazai’. What is he writing, a letter in the 18th century? /No/.

‘Hi daddy 🥺’. Absolutely fucking not.

It’s just so /frustrating/ and hard, even though it feels like it shouldn’t be, and he went on a /date/— did he really though? Dazai+
said it /could/ be a date, not that it inherently was and Chuuya never verbally expressed a preference either way— with the man, so why is just texting him so /hard/?

(Don’t even get him started on the idea of calling him. Is the idea appealing? Yes. Does he miss the sound of+
his voice? Sure. Is he dying to hear what Dazai sounds like on the phone? Maybe a little bit.

Does he have /any/ idea about what to say? No.

Will hé hang up out of sheer nerves before he can say anything and then never be able to call him again? Maybe.)

The point is, he +
goes round and round with worse and worse options, and he’s about to /scream/ because it’s the afternoon of the second day after and he’s /losing his chance/—

When it occurs to him.

He still has Dazai’s coat /and/ his shirt. And he might not be good at /talking/— a first— but+
he /is/ good at looking pretty.

And who doesn’t like a good selfie? Dazai will need one for his contact picture anyways, he’s just thinking /ahead/. Being proactive.

He takes over an hour to make sure his makeup is done well, and his hair looks manageable.

Then he goes+
about taking pictures, which includes shifting the lighting, trying out different poses, jacket on, jacket off—

Eventually his eye makeup turns out to be irrelevant, because he settles on a picture that starts just below his nose, highlighting his small smile, the way the+
shirt slips off his collarbone /just/ so, the sleeves of the jacket riding low on his arms, just high enough to be seen. He’s utilitized the sun, and the spill of sunlight turns his hair to fiery gold.

It’s subtle, a little teasing, not /too/ much/—

He sends it off, pairing +
it with a “your clothes are way too big for me, I’ll have to return them soon”—

And immediately regrets it, throwing his phone to the end of the bed as hot embarrassment fills him. He presses his face into the pillow, fighting off the urge to scream.

It was too much. It was+
/way/ too much and he didn’t even say his /name/, he just sent him some half-finished selfie like a /weirdo/.He should’ve done something /else/ instead of letting himself get carried away by the idea of looking good for him, this is all going so terribly wrong—

His phone beeps.+
He drags the pillow down from his face, peering down at his phone like it might bite him.

Okay, that’s /probably/ him. Everyone else who would be texting him is studying or eating right now.

If it /is/ someone else, he’s gonna kill them, because his heart is pounding in his+
throat and he feels like he swallows the sun, buzzing with heat and energy.

Fingers creeping down the bed, he decides just to /check/, flipping it over so he can see the screen—

/It’s him/.

Oh god, okay, it’s happening, they’re /talking/, maybe this isn’t so /hard/. +
He types the code in slowly, fighting to stay in bed when he feels like he needs to jump up, go for a run, do /anything/ to dispel all this energy inside him—

[ Daddy 💕🥰 ]: I think they look better on you, though.

!!!!!!!!

Chuuya is smiling so big his face hurts, and he’s+
once again glad that Nikolai is at work--he works /so/ much, it seems like he's barely even here, it's almost like Chuuya has the dorm to himself-- because he doesn't want to explain why he's blushing and smothering his giddy grin into a too-big jacket.

[ Daddy 💕🥰]: Hello, by+
the way.

Ah, fuck it. Texting isn't fast enough, isn't /good/ enough, isn't present enough--

With a bravery fuelled by the excitement of finally getting to /talk/ to Dazai again, he presses the call button.

The phone rings once, twice. Anticipation builds to the breaking+
point, pulling Chuuya's chest tight.

/Finally/, midway through the third ring,the phone clicks. There's a brief sound of wind rushing, like Dazai is outside, before the sound quiets down.

Then, a little rough and lower than normal on the phone, faintly amused: "Hello, Chuuya."+
Maybe Chuuya’s breathy “Hi” is a little too obviously excited, but the warm chuckle he gets in response makes every ounce of embarrassment worth it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

Chuuya wrinkles his nose at the phone at the reminder. He mentioned it /once/, briefly, +
during the first car ride,that he usually uses Sundays as a revision day to go over all information he needs to practice.He never expected Dazai to reminder that tiny,useless detail, but the fact that he /did/...

If he gets any warmer, he might just burst into flashed entirely.+
“I have been—,” it’s true, he’s been oscillating between panicking over what to say to Dazai and frantically distracting himself with math all morning, “— I’m just taking a break right now.”

Dazai hums, and behind that, Chuuya can hear the rustle of clothing and the vague click+
of something metallic. “And your reward to yourself for being good was to call me?”

It’s not like Chuuya /forgets/ Dazai’s affect on him, he just never gets used to it. Everytime they talk, it’s like Dazai gets /better/ at playing him, like all the memories of feelings join +
what he feels /now/, compounding into a swirling, heady mess that pushes him higher. Makes him feel better, makes him crave /more/.

And when Dazai puts it /that/ way, like Chuuya is being good so he deserves a /reward/—

He wants one. Badly.

He makes a vague assenting+
noise before the continued noises on the other side gather his curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“I—,” Dazai grunts a little, clearly straining against something, “am doing research for a case I’m working on.”

(It’s a vague truth, but the truth. He’s actually been lying on his+
belly on top of a roof with his eye to the scope of his rifle, watching crates get loaded into the Rats new warehouse. They’re unmarked and no one is stupid enough to open one outside, so he doesn’t know what’s in them.

Yet.

But beyond setting up a few cameras and listening+
devices, there’s nothing more to be done today.

And if Chuuya has been good, and /he’s/ been good...

They deserve a reward, don’t they?

So, as he continues breaking down the rifle and stores it in the modified case for it:)

“Have you eaten yet?” +
Chuuya has a choice here:

He can reveal that he stress ate nearly half a dozen melon pan a little over an hour ago, and he’s not hungry anymore.

Or, he can see where Dazai is going with this, where he /hopes/ he’s going with this.

“Nope! I was just about to get lunch+
in a little bit. Why?”

“I’m getting /hungry/—“ the way Dazai says that particularly word, voice dropping, makes Chuuya shiver “— so would you like to go to lunch with me? My treat.”

Chuuya agrees so quickly he nearly cuts Dazai off before he’s speaking. His face is red again—+
or maybe it never /stopped/ being red— but he can’t tell if that’s because he’s embarrassed, or because of the way Dazai is laughing again, husky and warm.

Even over the phone, it feels like music to his ears, electricity down his spine. He likes when he laughs.

“Wonderful. +
I can be there in an hour?”

Chuuya nods,almost forgetting that Dazai can’t see him right now.That gives him enough time to try on a few outfits before forcing himself to settle on one,experience a little pre-date nerves and obsessively touch up his makeup. “That’s good for me.”+
(That also gives Dazai enough time to take his guns home and swap outfits. And enough time to decide if he wants to pick him up in his car— the dazed look he got on his face when he had his hand on his thigh was /deliciously/ adorable—

Or the bike, where he can feel every inch+
of them pressed together.

Of course, he’d have to stop to get him a helmet, and probably a leather jacket too. Safety first, kids.

Maybe he could convince him to ride in front this time. He’s small enough and the bike is big enough that Dazai could manage it.

He’d be lying+
if he said he wasn’t interested to see what his reaction would be when he felt Dazai behind him, over him, all around him.

He’s so sweetly, eagerly responsive— Dazai /did/ notice that cute little grinding against his thigh after a tiny bit of kissing— and it really just makes+
him wonder what Chuuya will be like once Dazai /really/ gets his hands on him.

When he’s /really/ touching him.

He’s glad he’s a patient man, otherwise it would be difficult to keep his hands to himself, to build him up into it.)

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

The way Dazai+
hésitâtes for a moment before hanging up implies he doesn’t want to stop talking yet, which sends another round of butterflies through Chuuya’s stomach.

It’s the little things that make Chuuya so /wanted/.

The phone goes dead though after he murmurs his own goodbye, and he+
holds it to his ear for a long moment, just drinking in the silence and grinning like an idiot.

Then it’s time to get /ready/.

He does end up changing his outfit a few times before ending up on a pair of ripped skinny jeans that show hints of skin at his thighs and shins. For+
shoes, he goes with the same boots Yuan lent him— he hasn’t talked to Yuan or Shuuji since the party, and he doesn’t know if that’s because they’re busy or if they /know/, but either way, he still has the boots.

Cropped shirt to show a little skin (his goal here is to tempt +
Dazai as much as possible. He wants to be kissed again. Wants to be kissed a /lot/. Maybe even more than kissed—) and his red jacket, and the outfit is complete.

By the time he’s done fussing with his makeup— and it makes him feel /so/ nice that Dazai doesn’t even blink when+
he wears more obvious makeup. Shuuji looked at him a bit funny the first time, and even though he never /said/ anything, he always gave the impression that he thought it was a bit strange. Like he didn’t understand it— it’s almost been an hour.

He can’t sit in his dorm for the+
remaining 15 minutes, so he heads downstairs to wait where Dazai dropped him off the first time. He can sit on the bench and just wait until he shows up, and it’s okay if he’s a little bit late, he doesn’t mind—

Except when he gets down there, Dazai is already there, waiting. +
He’s leaning against his motorcycle,phone in one hand as he waits patiently. It looks like he was just going to wait the fifteen minutes until the hour was up without a single complaint.

Hanging off one of the handlebars by the chinstrap is the helmet Chuuya wore the first time+
he rode the bike with him.

In his other hand, propped against his hip is another helmet. This one smaller, shiny with how new it is and it’s not /exactly/ the same as Dazai’s customized helmet, it is the same color and the same shape.

/Matching/.

Dazai himself looks good,+
shoulders impossibly broad in a leather jacket. Black jeans that hug his thighs and /god/, those knee high boots are back, ones that make Dazai look like he could crack skulls in.

Even from here, Chuuya can see the glint of rings on his fingers.

He approaches, trying to be as+
casual as possible even though he can hardly breathe and he’s almost certain he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“Hey,” he calls when he gets a little bit closer, heart tripping in his chest as the way Dazai immediately looks up, eyes warm.

He shuts his phone on and slips it into his+
pocket, instantly giving Chuuya all of his attention. “Hello, doll. You look beautiful today.”

He says it so /easy/, like it’s not even a compliment, it’s just the truth, and god, it fills Chuuya with fire everytime. It’s not /fair/, so easily he can send his heart racing.+
Still, he can’t help the big smile, the way his head ducks a little, embarrassed. “Thank you,” he mutters, then, “I like your jacket.”

That’s a lie. He loves the jacket. Wishes he could see him without the shirt and /just/ the jacket. Wishes he could get his hands on him /in/ +
the jacket.

The smirk Dazai gives him is /wicked/. “Thank you.”

Swallowing hard, Chuuya changes the subject because he’s pretty sure they’re never going to /leave/ the parking lot if Dazai doesn’t stop staring at him like that. “So— the bike today?”

“Yup,” Dazai says, +
lifting the second helmet to show it to him, “got you something.”

Money isn’t a worry for Dazai but still just the idea that he went out and bought Chuuya his /own/ helmet makes him feel like he’s losing his mind in the best way. It implies that Dazai wants more than just /two/+
dates out of him.

They haven’t talked about /this/ and Chuuya is nervous to bring it up himself, but he likes the way things are going so far.

He reaches for the helmet, but Dazai holds it out of his reach teasingly.

With a grin that Chuuya can feel in his /stomach/, Dazai+
curls his finger at him, coaxing him closer.

He takes one step. Two.

Three, and he’s standing firmly between Dazai’s legs, just like the other night, and he’s staring up at him with huge eyes, heart racing and blood turning molten at just the reminder.

He wants to be kissed.+
Silently begs him, one hand falling to Dazai’s thigh.

/Please kiss me, kiss me, ask me, please—/

But Dazai just gently brushes his bangs out of his face, and carefully lowers the helmet onto his head.

The world goes oppressively silent for a second before the padding pops+
over his ears and he can hear again.

Then he’s force to stare at Dazai through the darkened screen of his visor as he adjusts all the straps and carefully locks the helmet in place.

“Feels good?” He asks, rapping his knuckles lightly on the side. The sound is muffled by the+
helmet, but only just.

He nods. This helmet isn’t as heavy, and it’s not loose. The strap digs lightly into his chin, but that seems normal.

“No bobble head this time,” Dazai teases, taking his own helmet in hand. He’s not nearly as careful when he shoves it onto his own+
head.

Chuuya’s glare is softened by the fact that Dazai probably can’t see it through the glass. His affronted sniff is /not/ muffled, and draws a short laugh from Dazai.

He goes to climb onto the back like last time, preparing to swing his leg over when Dazai stops him with+
gentle fingers on his elbow.

“I want to try something,” he says slowly, like he’s unsure of how Chuuya will react. “Do you trust me?”

And—

He does. Maybe he shouldn’t. He doesn’t know him well, and only for a few weeks, and there’s so much they have yet to learn about+
eachother.

Maybe Dazai is a criminal. Maybe he’s crazy. Maybe he’s dangerous.

But you know—

Chuuya does trust him. He nods carefully, unsure of what he wants, but willing to give it a try.

Giving him a dazzling grin, Dazai moves sideways, giving him full access to the +
bike. “Do you want to try riding in the front?”

Chuuya looks at the bike hesitantly. He’s never seen that before. He didn’t even know that was an option. It’s probably dangerous, but he remembers how safe it felt with Dazai, even going as fast as he was—

Yeah, he wants to try.+
“How?” He says, loud enough to be heard through the visor.

Dazai winces. “You don’t have to shout,” he says, and his voice sounds closer than it should, like it’s inside the helmet with him. “The helmets are Bluetooth.”

Oh. Well, that’s awkward. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Dazai+
murmurs, pushing the kickstand back into place with his boot. “You didn’t know. Now get on.”

Chuuya does, with only a little bit of struggling because Dazai has the bike braced sideways on his thigh, lowering the seat so Chuuya can swing his leg over it.

It takes him a bit of+
wiggling to get settled, but he does it.

Dazai holds the bike up with one arm—because Chuuya is too short to do it himself, feet dangling— and bends down to take his ankle in hand again.

It feels even /better/ this time, more charged, because he knows what those fingers+
feel like on his hair, along his spine, on his thigh. He knows how capable they are of making him melt, playing along his nerves like a master.

Dazai guides his foot into a higher notch, knees closer to his chest than before. “Don’t move,” he says, and it feels like he’s +
whispering directly into his ear, making him shiver. “Not even a little bit. The gas pedal is right behind your foot, understand?”

It’s a subtle order, but one he understands and he’ll follow it.

His other foot gets the same treatment once Dazai comes around the front of the+
front.

“Ready?”

Chuuya nods, clutching the metal between the handlebars, digging his toes in for dear life.

Then, as Dazai swings his leg over and settles right behind him, Chuuya realizes:

He did not think this through at /all/. +
Not only does the bike wobble in place, making him grip tight with his hands and calves—

But this wasn’t /built/ to be a two-seater back, so that means Dazai’s hips end up sliding /close/, pressed right up against his ass, as close as they can get and—

Chuuya has seen the +
bulge, alright, he wasn’t going to miss his chance when Dazai was walking around in grey sweatpants. He looked as often as he could without it being considered sexual harassment, he’s admitting it.

But that’s /quite/ different than feeling it /pressed up against him/.

God. +
There’s a /definite/ bulge there, even though Dazai isn’t even hard. Warm, with the sharpness of his hips on either side that Chuuya is /dying/ to get his hands on. It presses /right/ up against him, and Chuuya’s jeans are so tight he swear he can feel the outline of it.

/Big/,+
god it’s big. Bigger than himself— Chuuya is a bit above average, thank you very much— maybe even to big to get his fingers around.

It makes sense, since Dazai is quite a bit taller than him, but it still feels like he ran into a wall and now his brain is struggling to reboot.+
He’s biting his lip, hard, and holding his breath because he is /this/ close from letting out a whimper, or worse, a /moan/—

Suddenly, he’s hungry. Starving. And not for food.

Then it gets even worse.

Dazai leans forward a bit, hands finding the handlebars up front, arms +
caging him in, biceps /huge/, forearms flexing as he grips the bars.

Then his foot is coming up, toes finding the gearshift, and that presses the front of his thigh all along the back of Chuuya’s. He’s scorching hot, throbbing with life, /almost/ as close as Chuuya wants him to+
be—

With their position, Dazai still has to lean forward some, plastering himself to his back. His chin comes to rest somewhere around Chuuya’s ear, and he can just hear the sound of Dazai’s deep, rhythmic breathing.

This can’t be safe, Chuuya thinks woozily, because he’s +
gonna faint. Or burst into flames.

Or maybe just straight up /die/.

Dazai envelops him effortlessly, and usually Chuuya doesn’t like feeling /small/, but holy fuck, the idea that Dazai can wrap him up entirely in one arm, that he can pick him up and manhandle him so easily— +
“Ready?”

Chuuya squeaks in surprise, embarrassingly, and nods hastily, trying to cover it up.

And wouldn’t you know—

It gets /worse/.

The bike roars to life, and Dazai’s other leg comes up as they push off and now the bike is /vibrating/ beneath them, between his legs, +
adding an interesting mix of sensations and god, everytime he squirms from it, his hips are rubbing /back/ against Dazai— who is /immovable, by the way— or forward against the vibrating gas tank, and he is losing his /mind/.

Caught between a hard place and a vibrator, he thinks+
hysterically, fighting to keep calm.

“Are you alright? We can stop, if you’d like.”

No, do /not/ stop, keep going—

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat, playing it off, “just... a little strange to get used to.”

It is strange, because now he doesn’t have anything to hang onto+
besides the gas tank, which, understandably, does not make a very good handle. He does want to touch the bars, just in case.

It still feels secure because Dazai’s arms are on either side, keeping him firmly in place even as they begin to lean with the turns, but it feels +
more... free.

Wilder.

Dazai steady behind him, the road in front of him, the wind rushing by his helmet. Heat and flying and the rush of recklessness.

He feels like he’s free falling, the pit of his stomach dropping out every time they lean around a turn, or when Dazai’s +
hips press against him harder.

(He doesn’t know it, but Dazai is /grinning/ behind him, because the chibi is struggling /so/ hard and it’s adorably hilarious to watch.)

When he finally gets over the giddy feeling, he realizes he doesn’t recognize the streets they’re on. “Where+
are we going?”

Dazai takes a turn faster than the others, bike leaning lower. Chuuya makes a high-pitched sound of adrenaline and excitement, clutching the metal in front of him.

(Dazai notes with satisfaction that he doesn’t sound afraid, even though he’s pushing his limits.)+
When they straighten back out, speeding through a light fast enough that the other cars are blurs, Dazai answers, “Arcade shopping street.”

Chuuya doesn’t even care that he sounds faintly amused, because excitement is pouring through him at the idea of going to that street +
market. It’s too far to go to by train unless he was willing to take the whole day, and probably too expensive for him,with all the food vendors and shops lining the market.

It’s not what he imagined for lunch, but personally, he likes this idea even /better/ than a restaurant.+
He likes walking around and looking at things, likes exploring, likes street food.

Really, this is the perfect lunch date for him. He’s amazed Dazai thought of it, and the fact that they’re apparently so compatible that he doesn’t even have to tell Dazai what he /likes/—

+
Makes him wonder how far that compatibility goes.

He’s immediately pushing /that/ thought away before he gets too excited, because there’s already heat pooling in his belly and it’s taking all his strength not to let it affect him, or to ask for more.

Dazai hasn’t even kissed+
him again yet, and already Chuuya feels strung tight between his capable fingers.

They end up having to park a couple blocks away at a parking garage, storing the helmets in the storage space beneath the seat.

(Dazai opens it quickly and shuts it even faster, before Chuuya can+
see inside, not that he’s looking too hard.)

By the time they get close to the market, Chuuya’s head is on a swivel, taking in all the sights. He’s walking so fast he keeps up easily with Dazai’s longer stride, and the only thing keeping him from bumping into all the other +
pedestrians on the street is Dazai’s hand on his back, steering him with gentle pressure from his fingertips.

There are a /lot/ of pedestrians, understandably.Arcade shopping street is popular among tourists and locals alike, and the place is packed, constantly moving, a stream+
of people moving in and out.

The only reason Chuuya doesn’t get crushed between all the people is because Dazai is so damn /tall/ and intimidating that people automatically avoid coming into his personal space.

Chuuya takes full advantage of that, huddling in the small circle+
of space so he doesn’t get his toes stepped on.

When they finally walk inside, the air hits Chuuya like a wall. It smells /delicious/, all the smells from the food stands mixing in the air and heating it up. It’s loud, too, the sound of people talking and vendors shouting and+
money exchanging hands.

It’s bustling, filled with life, and Chuuya feels buoyed by it, bouncing up on the tips of his toes to see farther into the crowd.

Dazai leans down to speak close to his ear. “What do you want first?”

That’s a hard choice. There’s just so /much/, he+
wouldn’t have time to do it all, not even if he had all day. He doesn’t want to miss out on anything.

Eventually, he points at a Yakitori stand. The line isn’t as long as some others, but he can smell the meat from here and it’s mouthwateringly good.

“Alright,” Dazai says, +
taking his hand away. He nods at a drinks stand, “go get in line. I’ll get us waters real quick.”

Being separated from Dazai for even a second sounds like cruel and unusual punishment, but after the ride and the heat of the market, Chuuya is already thirsty. He nods, traipsing+
over to the stand. Dazai disappears on his mission.

Chuuya slots in behind a group of girls, trying to keep appropriate distance without being swept away by the crowd. It’s a constant struggle, with people pressing in behind him and around him, jostling him in place.

Then +
someone keeps pushing. Hard, too, like they’re shoving Chuuya out of the way.

He grits his teeth, trying to keep his balance because he doesn’t want to knock into the girls in front of him or stumble sideways into the crowd.

Turning his head, he makes eye contact with some+
guy standing behind him, apparently not even recognizing that there’s someone in front of him.

“Watch it,” he snaps, because the guy is /still/ pushing him, and he’s heavy enough that Chuuya is losing his center of balance. There’s not even that many people behind the guy, he’s+
just trying to /physcially/ steal Chuuya’s spot by force.

The guy pushes again, and that’s /it/.

Chuuya whips around, teeth bared, ready to give this fucker a piece of his mind for trying to push him around—

But someone beats him to it. +
A hand is fisting in the guys jacket, forcibly yanking him backwards and forcing him on his toes to compensate for the height difference. The guy flails,and Chuuya narrowly dodges an accidental punch to the face.

“He said,” Dazai snarls at him, teeth sharp, “/watch it/.”+
The guy whimpers, eyes wide with terror. “Jeez, okay, put me down. Don’t be an asshole—.”

That makes Chuuya snarl. “/You/ were shoving /me/, asshole. What are you, five and in the line for the slide? You’re /lucky/ he got to you first!”

Dazai shoves the guy backward, hard,+
uncaring that he sends a few innocent bystanders stumbling.

The guy shakes himself off, scowling and has the /nerve/ to make a rude gesture at them before turning around.

Chuuya’s muscles tighten, coiling as he starts to throw himself after that jerk—

He’s going to teach him+
a lesson in /respect/—

An arm clamps down over his shoulders, keeping him in place. Chuuya ends up drawn up close to Dazai’s side, his arm a heavy, grounding weight over his shoulders.

“Let me go,” he snaps, irritated.

“Baby,” Dazai sighs, though he looks terribly amused, +
“As lovely as it would be to watch you teach him some manners, I don’t want to get kicked out for fighting.”

Oh. Well. /Fine/ then. He crosses his arms across his chest, silently grumbling.

Dazai looks down at him, and are his eyes darker than usual? More focused? “Are you+
alright though? He didn’t hurt you?”

The irritation starts to melt away under an incoming tide of affection. He leans heavily against Dazai’s side, daring to wrap his arm around his waist, under the jacket. “No,” he says, “I’m fine. It was just rude.”

Dazai snorts. “Yeah.”+
They get their Yakitori without further incident, and the way Dazai already has his wallet out and pulls out the correct amount from a /thick/ stack of cash probably shouldn't be hot but--

Chuuya is starting to see the /appeal/ in these casual displays of wealth. The confidence+
and arrogance might be off-putting on someone /else/-- it was on Shuuji, who acted like he could just buy everyone and everything-- but on Dazai?

It settles naturally into the width of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and instead of being a turn-off--

Well, it's a turn /on/.+
As most things about Dazai are.

After their food, they start to wander around the market, pausing by the stores for Chuuya to fawn over the trinkets inside. Dazai doesn't seem much for shopping-- he mostly watches Chuuya with an amused, fond, thoughtful look in his eye-- but he+
points out a few things for him to look at, smiling at his reaction.

That attitude stays until they get about halfway through the market, and suddenly Dazai is gesturing at an open door to a bigger store. "Lets go in there?"

Chuuya nods, because that's the first store Dazai +
showed interest in, and it was starting to feel a bit one-sided. He's touched that Dazai thought to bring him here, but he wants /him/ to have fun too, not just watch him.

The first thing Chuuya sees when they enter is a rack of leather jackets, hanging up in neat rows arranged+
by size. Dazai heads for them immediately, pulling out some of the smaller ones.

Ones that /definitely/ won't fit him.

Chuuya tilts his head,watching him curiously as he wrinkles his nose at a particular jacket and puts it back. "What are you doing?"

"Well, sweetheart," Dazai+
says, holding a black jacket to Chuuya's torso, "it would be /irresponsible/ of me to let you keep riding without a jacket, so we're getting you one."

Eyes flickering between him and the jacket, Chuuya wonders; did he plan this?

Did he come here with the /intention/ of getting+
him a jacket, or did he think about it just now? And, sure, money isn't an issue for Dazai, but the fact that he's bought him a helmet and now a jacket--

He wants more. He wants to /keep/ going out with Chuuya, the realization of which makes his knees weak.

It feels /so/ nice+
to be visibly wanted, even without the exact words to say so.

He struggles out of the jacket he's already waiting, a bit dazed, not realizing that Dazai's eyes have fallen to the flash of stomach and hip exposed by his shirt riding up.

(Truthfully, Dazai has had to have a +
/tight/ control of his emotions today, and he's glad he went for a run earlier today. First, the criminally tight jeans, the /beautiful/ ass wiggling all over his crotch on the drive over, then the man getting up close and personal with /his/ date--even if in a rude way-- and+
then that flash of anger earlier,that snarling fierceness Dazai wants to /taste/ and now /this/--

The stretch of his stomach muscles as raises his arms,the subtle flex and roll as he removes one sleeve then the other, /stripping for him/--

Yeah, Dazai is under /tight/ control.+
He wants to eat him /alive/. Wants him begging and looking up at him with that sweet, pleading look from earlier when they met up—

But more importantly, he doesn’t want to /scare/ him, and he /knows/ he can be a scary man, even when he doesn’t necessarily want to be.

So he +
grits his teeth and offers out the jacket, and refuses to think about Chuuya wearing things Dazai bought for him.)

Chuuya reaches for the jacket, but Dazai arches an eyebrow, holding it firm. He blows out a breath, and then turns around, offering his back to Dazai.

He slides+
one arm in the sleeve then the other as Dazai holds the jacket for him.

The weight of the jacket it grounding, settling nicely across his shoulders. It's a little long in the sleeves though, the ends falling over his wrists, and it tightens uncomfortably over his back when he+
lifts his arms. "Too small," he mutters, shaking his head.

The next jacket Dazai offers him is an /exquisite/ red, with the zipper centered on the left side. It's also got two pockets, big enough for Chuuya to cram his hands in. It fits perfectly.

Chuuya spins for Dazai, +
showing off all the angles. "How do I look?"

"Perfect."

Something about the way he says that, like it's layered with hidden meaning, makes Chuuya pause. He looks over his shoulder--

Dazai is /much/ closer than before, suddenly close enough to touch, heat pouring off him.+
Chuuya can only watch, breath stalling out in his chest, as Dazai reaches for him, and Chuuya is ready to melt for him, already envisioning the way he would pull him in, hands cupping his face--

Gentle fingers find his hair, carefully pulling trapped strands from underneath the+
jacket, smoothing them over his collar. Chuuya can't look away, filled with something sweet and heavy,even as he aches for more.

"Do you like it?" Dazai asks, leaning closer, and his eyes are /huge/ from this angle, the only thing Chuuya can see, the only thing he can focus on.+
His fingertips are still on his neck, smoothing gently over his racing pulse.

"Yes," Chuuya mumbles, because he does like it. Likes the jacket, likes /him/--

Dazai leans even closer, and god, Chuuya doesn't even /care/ about public displays of affection right now, he's just +
/desperate/, ready and willing to be pushed against a rack of leather jackets and /kissed/--

With a mischevious grin, Dazai leans back again,with the tag on Chuuya's jacket in hand.

Of course. Of /course/.

Is his plan to string him along until he gets desperate enough to ask+
on his own?? Because he will. He'll grab Dazai by the collar of his stupidly good looking leather jacket and /yank/ him down--

"Be right back, doll. I need to find some things."

Then, just like that, Dazai is walking away. Chuuya glares at his back.

After a moment to calm+
himself, Chuuya decides to look around a bit. Truthfully, it's not his kind of store, filled with leather jackets and riding pants, some sort of fluffy thing you can push into your helmet as earmuffs, or something.

There /is/ something though, that catches his eye.

In a glass +
cabinet, on the third shelf, there's a choker.

Sleek, obviously made of premium leather, with a shiny buckle. It's simple and yet somehow classy, and Chuuya can already imagine it around his own neck.

(He'd asked his dad to buy him chokers when he started experimenting with+
fashion, and his father had shut /that/ down by saying that Dazai was not a dog to be collared. Whenever he brought it up again, he started asking if he wanted to start drinking out of a bowl too.)

Chuuya presses his fingers to the glass, watching the reflection of light moving+
over the oiled leather, dreaming.

"-- and the choker."

He jumps a little, startled when Dazai's voice suddenly comes from behind him, closer than expected. Turning his head, he finds him at the register, with the tag for Chuuya's jacket, and two pairs of leather gloves. He's+
not looking at Chuuya, but he's clearly /talking/ about him, because the man ringing him up is headed towards the glass cabinet.He carefully pulls out the choker and brings it back over, folding it carefully into a bag after ringing it up.

Chuuya stands awkwardly, not sure what+
to do because it feels like taking advantage if Dazai buys it for him--

But he does want it...

And if he's already buying him the jacket, then he doesn't mind, right?

He's not done making up his mind by the time Dazai is finished and taking the bag in hand. By then, it's too +
/late/.

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbles, feeling the tiniest bit guilty. Spending money on him for the date specifically is one thing, but this would be a gift for /him/, and it feels different.

Dazai drapes his arm over his shoulders again, pulling him close to his +
side again. The look he shoots him says more than enough.

/You're right. I didn't have to. I wanted to./

They grab another bite to eat, this time of some candied fruit, before making their way out of the market. It's been almost an hour and a half.

And in the garage, that's +
when Chuuya makes his move.

After stashing his older jacket beneath the seat,and before they put the helmets back on,Chuuya steps close and gathers up all his courage to ask,"Why won't you kiss me?"

Dazai leans back against his bike,eyebrow arched."Do you want me to kiss you?"+
Chuuya huffs a little, equal parts embarrassed and irritated. "Yes. You know I do."

He /has/ to know, Chuuya isn't subtle even when he /tries/.

"I did know, but I like to hear you /ask/."

Oh. Is it that easy? "Kiss me."

"That's all you had to say, doll." +
Fingers hook into his beltloops, tugging him close. It’s as easy as breathing to follow the pull, stepping between Dazai’s legs.

When he’s close enough, one of the hands slides around his lower back, encouraging the natural arch of his spine. The other brushes up his torso,+
sliding under his jaw to tip his head back with a thumb.

Chuuya’s hands end up finding his shoulders, fingers flexing in the thick leather, pent up.

He’s glad Dazai doesn’t tease him longer, or ask him to open his eyes, because if he has to wait even a /second/ longer he +
is going to lose his mind--

Dazai leans, and Chuuya bends to fit him, helpless to the pull like a flower to the sun--

Their lips meet and the world holds it breath.

Just like the first time, it's incredibly soft at first, testing how much they both want it, how much further +
they want to take this.

Then Chuuya's fingers tighten in Dazai's clothes, pulling him down at the same time he's surging up, and a spark ignites between them.

The next kiss is harder, wetter, Dazai pressing down on him. Chuuya is hanging onto him desperately, feeling like the +
only thing holding him up is Dazai's arm around his back--

Which is shifting, a little, pulling back some and angling /downward/, fingers sliding into his back pocket.

Chuuya shudders, a whimper caught in his throat as Dazai's hand /slowly/--giving Chuuya ample time to stop +
him if he wants--slides fully into his pocket, big enough that he can nearly the entire cheek in one hand.

He uses his grip on him to drag him even closer, large hand firm on his ass, fingers squeezing ever so slightly--

Chuuya's next breath leaves him in a hot rush, swallowed+
up by Dazai and returned to him even /hotter/.

He takes advantage of Chuuya's open mouth,sliding his tongue inside in one long, slick motion.

He tastes like the remnants of their candied cherries, sweetly addicted, and their tongues rub together slowly, testing.

Chuuya feels+
taken /over/ by Dazai, his tongue in his mouth, hand on his neck with the thumb stroking maddeningly over the pulse point, the other arm crossed over his back and holding him close with a hand on his /ass/, chests pressed together, heat and the subtle flex of muscle, burning, +
tempting,sin and beauty and lust.

Dazai's tongue curls around his own, and he was /right/ on the dinner date,when he thought that Dazai was skilled with his tongue, because the way he languidly tastes his teeth, rubbing against the roof of his mouth until a point of sensitivity+
develops that makes him shiver.

With their height difference, Dazai’s hips end up pressed against his stomach. The longer they kiss, the harder Dazai squeezes him, the deeper his tongue slides like he’s trying to fuck his throat, the warmer Dazai gets against him, the bulge+
grows against him, thickening, turning hotter.

Naturally, Chuuya is /gone/ compared to Dazai, but because of the way he’s standing, he doesn’t get /any/ sort of stimulation or friction. He’s reduced to tiny, instinctive grinds of his hips, whining incoherently into Dazai’s +
mouth.

But he’s not /doing/ it about it, besides tilting his head back to kiss him deeper. He’s not even moving his own hips, content to let Chuuya squirm against him while he focuses on kissing him breathless.

Irritation flashes through Chuuya, fueled by desperation and the+
growing pit of hunter in his stomach, and he sinks his teeth into his tongue to hold him in place as he /sucks/, hollowing out his cheeks with it.

That makes Dazai growl into his mouth,hand sliding further on his neck. His fingers settle around his throat, and the light squeeze+
isn’t /threatening/, but it is surprising, enough that Chuuya lets go with a short gasp.

There’s a second when Chuuya thinks it’s going to escalate, when Dazai nips at his bottom lip just sharply enough to hurt, and he’s ready for it, willing—

Then Dazai is ripping himself +
away with a snarl, breathing heavily, body throbbing with heat.

Chuuya leans after him, fingers like claws in his jacket, trying to pull him back down. “Wait— keep going—.”

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut. His face is red, chest heaving and every movement he makes involuntarily+
leads to his hips grinding against Chuuya’s stomach and he /wants/ it, he doesn’t even care that they’re still in public on their second date—

“If we keep going,” Dazai rasps, “I’m not going to /stop/.”

Fuck, yes, /please/, that’s exactly what he wants, what he /needs/.

+
Pressing himself harder against Dazai, like he might convince him through strength only, Chuuya dares a, “but I /want/ you.”

Dazai’s eyes open again, pupils huge as he looks down on him, expression ravenous. He looks strained, moments away from giving in.

“I know you do, +
baby,” Dazai croons, bending down again. Chuuya tilts his head up, eyes going shut again, preparing for the kiss—

But Dazai bypasses his mouth, pressing his lips to his cheek briefly as he goes to whisper in his ear:

“But the first time I make you whimper my name /isn’t/ going+
to be in a parking lot.”

Then he’s sucking Chuuya’s earlobe into his mouth, which isn’t /fucking fair/ because his mouth is hot and wet, and he can /almost/ imagine the same suction lower, where he wants it.

He opens his mouth to argue, certain he can get Dazai to give in if+
he pushes just a /little/ harder—

His fingers tighten around his throat, just enough to make his breath catch.

This time, his tone is deeper, lower, more commanding. “Don’t argue with me, brat. I told you no.”

In this moment, Chuuya swears he hates him, frustration boiling+
over in hot waves.

Then it occurs to him—

If the problem is the /location/, why don’t they just go /somewhere else?/

“Then take me home?” Chuuya breathes out, sliding his fingers up into Dazai’s hair, nails dragging the way that makes him shiver every time.

There’s a +
heavy, /charged/ silence, air crackling between them as Dazai clearly considers it, breath hot in Chuuya’s ear.

With a heavy, strained sigh, Dazai says, “Not today.”

When Chuuya instinctively digs his nails in, he continues, “I’m not prepared, and if—when— I fuck you, I want+
it to be better than just some rushed fuck because we’re both desperate for it.”

Then, like this entire conversation hasn’t knocked Chuuya /completely/ off his axis (from the /when I fuck you/ to the curse sounding /obscene/ on his tongue because Chuuya’s never heard him curse+
before, to the admission that /he’s/ desperate too) he continues, shrugging with one shoulder like it’s not a big deal:

“More special, I guess.”

Chuuya feels like he got knocked over the head, mind reeling because he was /not/ expecting that, not at all. He figured it wouldn’t+
matter to someone like Dazai. Frankly, he didn’t think it mattered that much to himself, because he was fully willing to be bent over Dazai’s bike in full view of the public, he was that desperate.

But you know? That fact that he /cares/ about it, makes giddy warmth bubble up+
in his chest.

Dazai’s not so bad, is he? Definitely not someone that Chuuya would regret giving his virginity too.

He sighs. Somehow, their embrace has shifted into some resembling a tight hug, with Dazai’s chin hooked over his shoulder and Chuuya as high up on his toes as he+
can get. “I never really got the whole ‘make sure your first time is special’ thing, but I understand what you’re saying.”

Dazai stills. After a moment, he pulls back, just far enough that he can look down at him. The look in his eye is something between shocked and concerned.+
“/Your/ first time?”

Chuuya nods slowly. The way Dazai is staring at him, eyes growing wider, is starting to make him feel awkward.

Or like he did something wrong, or said something bad.

“As in.... your /first/ time? You haven’t—?”

He tries to play off the weird feeling +
in his chest by giving a shrug and a tiny, self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve never really had a boyfriend before, so it just...never happened.”

Dazai stares at him like he just admitted to selling kidneys on the black market.

Then he’s pulling the hand away from his+
throat, wiping it down his face. “Jesus,” he mutters, just loud enough for Chuuya to hear.

He /shrinks/. Dazai looks like he just gave him /terrible/ news, like this changes everything, and /why/ did he tell him? He should’ve known better. A lot of people get weird over the +
whole virgin thing.

Which is funny, because to his face, everyone spouts the same ‘it should be special! Take your time! You should never rush into sex!’ but /most/ of the time he gets weird, pitying looks, like he’s missing out on some vital part of life, like he isn’t truly +
living.

And /half/ the time it’s used as an insult for people who aren’t conventionally attractive or have a bad personality.

The other part of the time, people treat you like a weirdo, or like you’re untouchable.

(Chuuya once told a guy that he was flirting with that he was+
a virgin, and he /promptly/ got ghosted.)

So yeah, everyone /says/ that not having sex is your choice or powerful or inspiring or what-the-fuck-ever, but that’s not how they /act/.

They act like it’s a /shameful/ thing, something to hide lest it be used against you.

He +
didn’t think Dazai was one of /those/ people, but based on the way he’s /still/ holding his face, expression twisted into something like pain and regret—

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

Slowly, he takes his hands back, letting them drop to his sides+
awkwardly. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I know it’s weird or whatever—.”

When he goes to pull away though, Dazai’s arm doesn’t move, keeping him locked in place. His hand is still in his back pocket but it’s no longer squeezing.

Dazai uncovers his face. “It’s not /weird/,” he says,+
“It’s just—. I didn’t know, and if I /had/ known, I would’ve—.”

(Dazai is berating himself silently, because he probably /should’ve/ known. All the signs were there— the eagerness, the sensitivity, the wide eyed look whenever Dazai gave him even a little bit of attention.

He+
blamed it on Chuuya having bad experiences beforehand— the consent thing— but he /should’ve/ realized.

And he didn’t. It’s not like he /mauled/ him and overall he was pretty careful with him, but if he had /known/...)

“I would’ve done things differently. I would’ve been+
more careful with you. Slower.”

That relieves some of the tension in Chuuya’s chest, letting him take a fuller breath without feeling like his lungs are going to be crushed under the weight. “If you were any slower with me, I would’ve been half-dead from blue balls by now,” he+
mutters, knocking his head against Dazai’s chest.

That startles a laugh out of him. “Poor baby,” he teases gently, his fingers once again finding Chuuya’s jaw. His thumb strokes gently over his cheek.

“I’m glad you survived,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something low and+
sweet, like melted sugar, "but you're gonna have to wait a bit longer, now that I know.I want to take my time with you."

Chuuya thinks about it,ignoring the shiver that crawls up his spine at the insinuation. Then he lets Dazai tip his head back, wrinkling his nose at him. "I'm+
actually going to die."

"Mm, I don't think so," Dazai hums, leaning down, tilting his chin to a better angle. "You have so much to look forward to."

He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Chuuya's eyes are automatically going half-lidded, a soft smile growing in +
reaction.

"Besides," Dazai whispers, "I promise I can be /very/ motivating, if you let me."

Chuuya would let him do /anything/.

The kiss Dazai captures him in is sweeter, not backed by heat or frantic desire--

But it somehow feels /just/ as good.

-----

One of the /very/ +
few things that has not changed in Dazai's life is one tiny, hole-in-the-wall bar hidden away in a small alleyway.

The Lupin.

Granted, the owner had remodeled it at some point, but it still retained that small, homey feel and after a while, Dazai barely remembered what it +
looked like before.

It still smelled like whiskey and spirits, it still had a tall, quiet bartender manning it, the lights still flickered wildly whenever it rained.

More importantly, it still had the same man in it, someone Dazai has been friends with and drinking at this +
same bar, in this same exact spot, for as long as he cares to remember.

In fact, there's already a glass of whiskey waiting for him in his spot when he arrives, a matched pair to the broad redhead sitting nearby and nursing his own drink.

"Long time no see," Dazai says when+
he gets closer, clapping a hand on Oda's shoulder. It's only because he was loud coming down the stairs that Oda doesn't flinch.

Oda looks up, eyes fonder than his small smile. "You didn't answer my last call."

Sighing, Dazai sinks into his seat. It's true, he didn't, but in+
his defense, he's been pretty busy lately. It's not that he didn't want to talk to Oda, it's just that their friendship has turned complicated over recent years, due to circumstances not entirely in their control.

Technically, they're not supposed to be meeting up. Kouyou isn't+
supposed to encourage it, but she also understands, so she usually ends up turning a blind eye and going to bed early.

"Yeah, I know. I'm busy these days-- Yosano did mention Sakura's party though, next week. I'll make some time to stop by, give her a present."

Oda raises his+
glass in a silent salute. The action lifts the tan jacket he's wearing, briefly revealing the holsters under his arms. Technically, weapons aren't allowed in the bar, but they've been coming here long enough that the bartender knows they won't cause trouble themselves.

(But if+
trouble finds /them/, well...

They might not /start/ fights, but they can finish them damn well.)

"Get her something from Pokémon. She's obsessed. She asked me for a cell phone /specfically/ so she could play Pokémon Go. Yosano got her a nightlight that puts Pokémon on the +
ceiling. I'm sure she's gonna go nuts for it."

Smiling, Dazai takes a long sip of his drink. "You got it."

They sit there in silence for a moment, both of them taking slow drinks. It's a comfortable quiet, as they both come down from their respective workdays, unwinding and+
relaxing in the presence of an old, trusted friend.

Friendships like these were never encouraged in the mafia, so the fact that they even managed to start one in the first place is surprising,but managing to keep it after all this years is remarkable.

Even if they don't get to+
see each other very often.

(Even if Dazai sometimes feels like he’s been replaced and he wouldn’t be missed if he disappeared.

He doesn’t blame Oda, he knows it’s complicated and his relationship with Kouyou and Yosano makes it even more complicated.

He’s just lonely,+
sometimes. He just misses him, sometimes, that’s all.)

Once he’s had a drink in him and a refill in his hands, Dazai finally starts to feel relaxed, tension dissipating. He leans on one elbow, chin in hand, idly watching the ice in his drink bob up and down. “I have a problem.”+
Oda turns to face him more fully. His drink is only half-finished and he’s sipping it leisurely more than actually drinking it. Either he’s driving himself home, or he has a reason to be sober after this. “You mean something other than your usual amount of problems?”

Dazai+
sticks his tongue out at him. He’s right but he didn’t have to say it. “It’s the Rats. They’re moving in on the ports, opening up a shipping line.”

Oda nods, expression tightening. “Kouyou knows, she’s keeping an eye on it.”

Something about that, the way it’s phrased, like +
Dazai shouldn’t worry about it or be bothered because it’s /mafia business/ makes irritation crawl up his spine. He arches an eyebrow, gripping his glass tight as he says, “Oh? Does she /also/ know that the documents for the new warehouse they bought are signed by /government +
officials/?”

By the way Oda’s face carefully shifts into something neutral and blank, the answer is /no/.

Yeah, didn’t think so.

Pushing the irritation down, he tries a different angle. “Look, the Rat’s getting a foothold in the city is bad news for everyone. More +
competition means more tension, which means more infighting. I want them gone just as much as the mafia does.”

Oda takes a long, slow sip of his whiskey, clearly a way to give himself more time to think. His posture is growing tense, shoulders tightening.

“I am /willing/ to+
offer my skills—“ of which, Dazai has many, “— in exchange for a little /help/, so we can both figure out what they want, and how to stop them. I’ve been trying to get a meeting with her for weeks, but she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

Calls being sending Yosano in to bribe+
her for a meeting, but considering Yosano has been avoiding his actual calls ever since—

It didn’t work. So he’s going for the big guns this time, Kouyou’s secret weakness:

Oda.

“You know she doesn’t like meeting with you. She thinks it breeds mutiny. Her position is+
precarious enough as it is,” Oda says, telling him the same story he’s been told /every/ time he tries to interact with the mafia in any way.

Beyond selling them information, that is. God forbid Dazai actually show his face, but his /information/ is certainly good enough for+
her, isn’t it.

He throws his hands up. “It’s been /fifteen/ years since I gave up the position. I don’t want to be the boss; I don’t even want to be in the /mafia/. When is she going to realize that I’m not after her /job/, I’m trying to /help/?!”

He doesn’t usually get this+
snappy in Oda’s presence, but he’s so /tired/ of this game. He understands why she’s wary— he /is/ still the demon prodigy and Mori’s rightful heir, but he gave up the seat to Yosano when he left 18 years ago and he hasn’t looked back once.

Kouyou has only been the boss for +
three years, and there’s a decent amount of people who don’t believe in her right to rule—

But that’s /her/ problem. That has nothing to do with Dazai.

Dazai takes another gulp, hoping to calm his nerves. “And you know, maybe it looks /worse/ on her that she’s too afraid+
to meet with me, has she ever thought of /that/? You don’t rule criminals by /running away/ from people who threaten you.”

The sigh Oda gives is clearly exasperated, even his patience drawn thin. He’s been stuck between them all for years now, as they all try to figure out this+
complicated relationship out. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Osamu. I’m just her bodyguard.”

He can’t help it; he laughs /hard/. “Don’t try to lie to me, Odasaku. We both know you’re a /lot/ more than that to her.”

Oda levels him with a wary glance, playing dumb. “What+
do you mean?”

Raising a hand, Dazai puts fingers up as he counts off, “First of all, you get this big, dopey, lovesick look on your face whenever you mention her. Secondly, you wouldn’t rise up the ranks for just /anyone/. She also includes you in /everything/.”

Oda is+
slowly turning pale,hand tight enough on his glass to break it.He needs a refill.The bartender doesn’t approach.

“Last of all,and most damning— Yosano /brags/ when she’s drunk. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard the story of the time her and Kouyou bent you over the—.”+
“Alright,” Oda interrupts, waving the bartender over, “I get it.”

Dazai slides his once-again empty cup over as well. He raises his hands at Oda, the classic sign of non-aggression, but his smile is wicked. “There’s nothing wrong with getting pegged til you cry, but you don’t +
have to lie about it. Not to me.”

The bartender sets fresh whiskey down in front of them, expression politely closed off. The poor man has probably heard too many things in the course of his career.

“No one is supposed to know,” Oda says, picking up his glass, “you can’t tell+
anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Shooting him a knowing look, Oda says dryly, “No secrets are safe with you, Osamu.”

Dazai has to admit, that /hurt/. It’s not uncalled for or coming from a wrong place— he /is/ the reigning king of the information network for a reason—+
but it still /hurts/.

He’s never done anything to hurt Oda, and never would. To think that he wouldn’t trust him, even after all he’s done and how long they’ve known eachother...

Makes his chest hurt, heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

He frowns into his drink. “/Your/+
secrets are. They always have been.”

Heavy silence falls between them for a second, crushing.

Then Oda is nodding, exhaling. “Yeah, I know.”

Thé look they share is inexplicably fond, and for a moment, Dazai is 15 again, with Oda busting into his room in a panic, convinced+
Mori was going to kill him because he didn’t finish the assassination job.

He’d left a kid alive, because he couldn’t bring himself to kill a helpless child and now he had to find a place for them to stay before they both got caught and killed.

It was stressful then, but the+
image of the Oda back then— with the leather jacket and the brass knuckles always on his fingers, and the nose piercing, the way he /always/ wore those knee-high boots even when the job didn’t call for it— fussing over a kid makes Dazai smile with lingering affection.

Oda was+
always too soft for the mafia, in a lot of ways. It’s a miracle he’s still alive, still the kind man that takes in orphans and gives them a home.

“Okay,” Oda finally agrees, “I’ll do what I have to get her to agree to meeting with you.”

(Dazai does /not/ think about ‘what he+
has to do’ but he’s pretty sure he’s going to hear about it from Yosano later /anyways/.

It’s not like he’s shy about sex or anything, he just wishes she didn’t use so many /details/ about his best friend.)

Dazai smiles at him gratefully, relieved that the hard part of the +
evening is over, and now they can relax—

“Now tell me about your problem.”

That’s the thing about knowing someone for a /very/ long time: it’s hard to lie to them, even by omission.

“I just did,” Dazai says, looking away. He’s glad he’s three drinks already, blood beginning+
to turn warm.

Oda rolls his eyes. “No, the Rats are an inconvenience, and so is the meeting with Kouyou. Neither of those are /problems/— so tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Well—

He probably /should/ talk about it.

Drumming his fingers on the bar, he admits, “I met someone.”+
Oda raises an eyebrow at him, which is his equivalent of a scandalized gasp. “You... /met/ someone?”

Dazai gets why he’s surprised. He’s been notoriously anti-relationship since they’ve known eachother,and the closest thing he’s had has been brief flings at the club. He doesn’t+
mention most of them beyond casual conversation, because, as Oda knows very well, their lives are dangerous.

Anyone close to them is a potential target. More so for Dazai, because he’s a walking goldmine of information /and/ he doesn’t have a clan to back him up as protection.+
When Dazai doesn’t immediately offer more information, Oda lets him simmer for a second before asking, “How did you two meet?”

Suddenly, Dazai regrets bringing up the conversation. Yes, he was hoping for some solid, outsider perspective and maybe some advice but—

/How/ does +
he say ‘well it all started when my son brought home his newest conquest but I decided I liked him more so I stole him’ without sounding weird?

Or worse, like a /predator/?

So he goes in a little different of a direction. “I /know/ I shouldn’t get involved with anyone because+
it’s dangerous, and I /tried/, Oda, I really did but— I just couldn’t stay away.And the more time I spend with him, the more time I /want/ to spend with him, even though I know it’s a bad idea.”

“I assume that /he/—“ Oda shoots him a knowing look, “— is a regular citizen then?”+
Dazai nods. He hasn’t researched Chuuya’s background /too/ much— because the power imbalance is already staggeringly high, with their age, height /and/ experience difference, and he’s not keen to make it even /more/ imbalanced— but so far, he’s just a normal college kid.

“Can+
you protect him?"

Staring broodily into his drink, he shrugs a little. "I can try."

But that's all he can do.He can't guarantee his protection, and there's only one of him against all of his enemies. There's no telling what might happen, and there is always the possiblity that+
someone, someday, might overpower or outthink Dazai--

And then Chuuya will be the one paying for his actions, in probably dozens of terrible, agonizing ways.

"Does he know? About your past, and what you do?"

Dazai shakes his head. "No, I haven't told him yet. I'm sure Chuuya +
suspects something, but he hasn't asked yet. If we keep going, I'll tell him eventually, but we're not there yet."

Oda frowns,looking thoughtful,like he's trying to remember something.

When he doesn't answer, Dazai eventually looks up. "What?"

"What did you say his name was?"+
"Chuuya," Dazai answers slowly, instinctively not giving more information than needed. "Why?"

Oda takes another sip, eyebrows furrowed. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

"Well it /is/ somewhat common, so...?"

That seems to satisfy him, because he nods slightly. He +
still has a distant look in his eye, like he's trying to remember something.

Or maybe he's just thinking hard about what to say, because after a moment, he's saying, "I think that, if you want it and you think the relationship is worth it, then you should tell him about your+
work. It wouldn't be fair for him not to know."

Yeah, that makes sense. Though that's a /difficult/ conversation, one filled with stories that Dazai doesn't particularly want to get into, and he's /pretty/ sure Chuuya won't want him afterwards, once he knows what he does.

What+
he's done. How much blood and terror is on his hands.

"Alright, now stop avoiding the question and tell me how you met."

Ah. Oda knows him far too well to let him get away with anything, huh?

Closing his eyes, he takes a sip for courage. He has to play this carefully, +
because if Oda thinks that he's being predatory, he's /not/ afraid to kick his ass, right here in the bar. He's always been protective of kids.

Taking a deep breath, he mumbles something into his glass. It's too low to hear.

"Come again?"

"I /said/, I met him when Shuuji +
brought him home."

Silence. Crystal clear, cutting silence, heavy with tension.

"Dazai, how old is he?" Even now, Oda's voice is carefully neutral.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "18.....and a half."

On second thought, he doesn't think adding the half makes his case any better.+
"And your son is...dating him?"

Dazai scratches the back of his head. "Well he /was/...but he's not anymore.."

Actually, he doesn't know if that's strictly true. They haven't had that conversation yet, but he's /assuming/ he's stopped talking to Shuuji.

God, he hopes so. That+
would be /really/ awkward, all things considered, and also Shuuji clearly does /not/ know what he's doing.

(Which is almost embarrassing, that his son is apparently such a bad boyfriend--did they actually date, though?-- that it only took a few nice words and a decent kiss to+
steal his attention.

On second thought, that's probably a good thing, because being a 'good boyfriend' is exactly how he wound up getting someone pregnant at 16.)

Oda stares at him for a moment, expression forcibly blank, and Dazai /swears/ he's about to get dragged out of his+
chair--

Instead, he starts /laughing/.Hard, loudly,like he's just thought of something /hilarious/.

Dazai doesn't know what to think. Has he snapped? Gone off the deep end? He's so mad he's laughing?

Then, in between his laughter: "It's like stealing a boyfriend from a baby!"+
Dazai glares at him, fighting the growing smile on his face. "It's not that funny."

Wiping his eyes, Oda cackles, "You /stole/ your son's boyfriend and are now having an existential crisis about dating him, it's pretty damn funny."

Okay, yeah, when you put it like /that/, it+
is pretty funny.

"Okay, you /have/ to marry him, I can't wait to see the look on Shuuji's face when he sees his new /step-parent/!"

That does Dazai in, and now he's joining, laughing from deep in his chest at the absurdity.

After weeks of tension and nerves, the release +
feels great, like a weight lifted off his chest. For a moment, the rest of the world fades away.

There's no meeting with Kouyou, no stress about his relationship with Chuuya, no idiot son Shuuji, no Rats, nothing.

Just him and Oda, laughing it up at the Lupin like old times.+
Eventually they begin to wind down, when they can't breathe anymore. Oda is clutching his stomach while Dazai has his head in both hands, wheezing.

Taking a deep breath that finally feels like it fills him completely, Dazai sighs. "So you don't think it's weird or anything?"+
Oda shifts on his seat, stretching his spine out and raising his arms overhead. "No, I do think it's weird, /but/ as long as he makes you happy, then I'm happy. I know you'll treat him well, and he's in safe hands."

That... means a lot more to Dazai than Oda probably knows.+
There's a lot of people--and even himself, most of the time--who believe that Dazai destroys and corrupts everything he touches.He's a menace, he's bad news, he's something to run and hide from.

Chuuya being so eager for him /is/ touching, and it does help in some aspects but--+
He doesn't /know/, not yet,and Dazai doesn't know him well enough to guess his reaction yet. He might never talk to Dazai again,might call him a monster.

But Oda does know him, and the fact that he would say that anything is safe with Dazai, knowing his past...

It means a lot.+
Before Dazai can figure out what to say, Oda is speaking again, voice soft. "I'm happy for you Dazai. I was worried about you for a long time, but you look better now."

Gentle warmth fills him, like the rising dawn. He smiles genuinely. "I feel better, now."

----- +
------- 25 YEARS AGO -------

The problem with these cookie-cutter, residential suburban houses that look like different colored versions of the house that came before and all the ones that come after it--

Is that all those security measures--the locks, the alarm systems, the+
stupid, yapping dogs-- are all easily bypassed. It's all just the same, almost too easy.

A snip to the internet line on the side of the house makes the alarm system a dud.

The locks on the door? Useless, because the hinge screws on the knob are only a few centimeters long, and+
are easily taken care of by one solid kick near the knob.

Mori strolls into the newly-broken into house, guards flanking him on either side. They spread out into the entryway, clearing the room for him.

A dog, medium-sized and snarling, comes at them. It's too afraid to jump+
at them yet, but it's annoying anyways.

"Call off your dog, please," Mori calls out pleasantly into the house, like he hasn't just broken in with a contingent of armed dogs, "or I will put it down."

When an answer isn't immediately forthcoming, Mori motions for the nearest +
guard to draw his gun--

And smiles when a frightened, feminine voice from the darkness calls out a name. The dog goes scampering back into the darkness, tail tucked between it's legs.

The house is nice, Mori muses, for a middle class family. Spacious enough for growth, with+
just enough shiny appliances and decorations to hint at a /better/ lifestyle.

However, Mori knows one secret about this family, something that has come back to haunt them:

Gen'emon Dazai cannot afford any of this, not even a single one of the atrociously gaudy decorations. +
"You owe me a great debt, Gen'emon," Mori calls out into the darkness. He's not surprised that the man hasn't come out to face him; he's always been a cowardly man, quick to run from anything approaching danger or responsibility.

Which is the exact reason Mori is paying a house+
call. It's not about the debt anymore; it's about the /principle/ of the thing.

The Port Mafia always hunts down it's stray dogs, eventually. You can never run for long.

"Please, I-- I'll get you the money, I swear!"

Mori follows the voice further into the house, into the +
living room. In it, huddled in a corner like that might save them, are Gen’emon and his young family.

“Even if I did believe you,” Mori sighs, hands in his pockets as he approaches. “It’s far too late for that.”

He crouches down in front of them, his guards following silently+
behind him. To most, the way Gen’emon clutches his wife and son to his chest might seem desperate, an act of love.

To Mori, it just looks /cowardly/, hiding behind a woman and a child.

Tane Dazai is pretty, even as she chokes back frightened sobs and tears pour down her face.+
The child, however—

Stone silent, expression blankly curious as he stares up at Mori with big, dark eyes. His hair looks mussed, like he just woke up.

Mori tilts his head, offering a sharp, heartless smile. “And /you/ must be little Osamu, yes?”

The boy nods slightly.+
“Tell me, Dazai Osamu— are you afraid?”

Mori knows he’s a frightening man. Between the lab coat, the armed guards, the calculating gaze—

Most people, even grown adults, fear him unless he’s actively trying to appear friendly.

But this child, this tiny, too-skinny child, +
with eyes too big for his face, merely stares up at Mori and asks, “Should I be?”

Oh, he definitely should.Mori has plans for him.

He’s heard quite a lot about the boy from the people he’s had researching Gen’emon, preparing a thick file for this exact moment.

Wickedly smart,+
so much so that he’s skipped several grades already, with a blank, morbidly curious attitude that often lands him in trouble, and a surprising disinterest and inability to connect with other kids his age.

Smart and isolated and unafraid. The perfect combination, really. It’d be+
a shame to let that go to waste.

He turns his gaze to Gen’emon. “Did you really think I wouldn’t hunt you down like a stray dog when you started avoiding our calls?

The man gulps, opening his mouth to give some excuse or another, always the lying sack of shit.

Mori holds+
up his hand. He doesn’t want to hear it, and in this neighborhood, police response time is quick. He doesn’t have time to argue.

“I’m going to give you two choices; you can either die, right here, right now. Or—“ Mori’s gaze falls to the boy again, who is finally starting to +
look wary. “You can let someone /else/ pay your debt.”

It’s a sad fact that Gen’emon doesn’t even hesitate before nodding frantically. Truly, the most spineless of cowards, the type of person Mori both despises and takes advantage of.

Fathers can rarely be trusted to be +
what their children need them to be, it seems.

“Right,” Mori mutters, holding out a hand to Osamu. “Come along then.”

Osamu stares at him for a while, unmoving. “I don’t think I want to,” he says eventually, looking over his shoulder to Tane. “Mom, tell him I don’t want to.”+
Tane clutches her son close, fingers like claws in his sleep shirt. She's hyperventilating by now, so distressed that she can barely do anything except gasp out a useless "please-- no, /not/ him, /please/."

Gen'emon pries her hands off him, forcibly pushing the child out of the+
circle of his restraining arms. "We'll get him back, Tane," he mutters, pushing Osamu forward. Then he looks up at Mori, and /finally/ that desperate, frantic look in his eye might not only be just for himself. "We can get him back, right? When I pay the debt?"

He should know +
better than to trust Mori, but lies taste sweetest when they come from the devil's tongue.

He smiles, letting his face soften. "Of course. You give me what is owed,and I'll return him to you, without a scratch."

Osamu nearly stumbles as he's pushed, but Mori catches him easily+
with a hand on his elbow. Dismissing the parents entirely, he turns to him. "You,little one,are coming with me. I'm going to be watching over you while your parents go to work. Don't be afraid, I won't let anything harm you."

Osamu doesn't look like he believes him and he looks+
over his shoulder at his sobbing mother a few times as he's coaxed away. It looks for a second that he might fight, but when he catches sight of the guns holstered on the thighs of all the guards, he settles into wide-eyed, silent compliance.

Mori nods at his guards as he +
passes, violet eyes flashing cruelly in the low lighting.

It's been 10 minutes since they arrived. A house across the street has it's lights on, and Mori can see a shadowy figure moving across the window.

In the distance, police sirens. Time's almost up.

He drags Osamu with+
him to the van waiting parked in the driveway. It's black, windowless, no license plates with the windshield darkened too much to easily see inside. Another grunt is sitting in the drivers seat, waiting.

Mori climbs with Osamu into the back, shutting the door behind him as he +
gives the signal to move.

The van reverses smoothly, pulling out into the street and making an easy getaway through the side streets of the residential area.

As they leave,Osamu speaks up quietly, voice dead and all the sadder for it, "I'm not going back, am I?"

Mori pats his+
head, making a sympathetic noise.Poor thing will have to grow out of this soft, hesitant behavior."There's nothing left for you to go back to."

A few hours later, on the morning news:

"Husband and wife found dead in their house. Cause of death were three gunshots to the chest.+
Initial reports suspect this might be a mafia killing, as both their jaws were shattered before death. No robbery is suspected.

"Their son is nowhere to be found. If you see this little boy, please call the number on the screen.

"He might be in danger."

-------- +
Somehow, they end up falling into a routine. Chuuya doesn't know why he was ever worried about making contact with Dazai, because now that they're /talking/, it's so hard to stop.

He texts Dazai during class, while he's doing his homework, hell, even during the shower. As soon+
he gets that little /ding!/ from his phone, it's like all he can think about is /what'd he say, what'd he say, I have to keep talking to him--/.

Admittedly, he's a bit obsessed. It's probably a good thing that Dazai goes silent for odd hours of the day, leaving him unanswered.+
That's probably the only reason he still manages to get all his homework and studying done.

He can't pick up any sense of pattern to Dazai's day though,even after a week straight of texting.Sometimes he'll be talkative during most of the day and silent at night

Sometimes he'll+
answer Chuuya's text at 2a.m. and then be silent again until halfway through the day.

Whenever he asks what he's doing or where he went, the response is always the same--

"I was working."

What job starts at 3a.m. and then ends at 2p.m. one day, and then returns to normal +
business hours the next day, he doesn't know. Dazai still hasn't offered him any information about his job beyond 'personal protection'.

It does make him kind of worried, even though it might not be his place, because Dazai doesn't seem to have /any/ sort of regular sleeping +
schedule, like at all. He's not even sure /when/ he sleeps, and whenever he asks, Dazai brushes it off when a 'I sleep just fine, chibi, but you're sweet to worry.'

It's frustrating, to be honest, because he's seen the dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn't /want/ Dazai to+
text him back too-early in the morning if that means he's losing /sleep/. Chuuya can wait.

Today is one such day. It's later in the evening, and Chuuya is relaxing in bed after a long day of studying and classes. They're starting to gear up for finals week, so his brain feels+
even more stretched thin than usual.

There's a show on the TV that he's /supposed/ to be watching,but he's ignoring it in favor of smiling stupidly at his conversation with Dazai.

[ CHUUYA ]: send yoko pics :( I want to see her!

[ DADDY🥰💕 ]: I'm starting to suspect you only+
want me for one thing.

[ CHUUYA ]: no........

[ CHUUYA ]: two things! you forgot kozo :(

[ DADDY 🥰💕]: I'm hurt.

Before Chuuya can tease him any further, there's a picture coming in and--

/Hello, Dazai/.

He's not even sure if it's /supposed/ to be a teasing picture, +
because Yoko clearly is the focus of the picture, with her face in her signature doggy grin and ears pointed towards the camera. She's even wearing her pink bandana again, which is /so/ adorable Chuuya might just die.

/However/, it's clear that she's nestled between Dazai's +
thighs, with his long fingers wrapped around her collar to keep her positioned correctly.

The black slacks are his trademark by now, but /above/ that, is just a /teasing/ sliver of stomach.

Either he's not wearing a shirt, or it's rucked up, but either way, Chuuya gets a +
deliciously teasing glimpse of a triangle of skin just above his waistband.

The lighting is low, but if Chuuya zooms in--and he's /not/ ashamed to admit that he zooms in as far as he can--he can just see the outline of Dazai's muscles and a dusting of hair leading further down.+
/God/.

With the scene from the kitchen engraved into his mind, Chuuya can easily picture what he looks like /shirtless/, all smooth muscles on display, powerful even when he's relaxed in his seat, the king on his throne, fearsome dog sitting politely between his legs.

Chuuya +
wants those fingers around his /neck/.

Before he can think of something smooth to say--like 'thanks, now show me her owner'-- another text is coming in.

[ DADDY🥰💕]: She's been staring at the front door a lot lately, I think she misses you.

Awwww. He loves Yoko, what a sweet+
girl. The /best/ dog.

[ CHUUYA ]: tell her I miss her too :(

He has to wait for a few minutes for the next response, long enough that he almost falls asleep to the background noise of the TV.

Then:

[ DADDY🥰💕]: Well, if you miss her so much, why don't you come see her?
+
Chuuya's heart stops. He's glad that Nikolai passed out on his bed when he arrived back to the dorm two hours ago, because the choked, excited squeaking noise he makes is /embarrassing/.

[ CHUUYA ]: now?

Oh god, he's not ready. He hasn't showered yet, and he's in his pajamas+
still, the ugly ones at that because he hasn't had the mental strength to do laundry yet and--

[ DADDY🥰💕]: No, not now. After class tomorrow. I'll pick you up.

God, that's a whole day of anticipatory /torture/. He's going to be thinking about it /all day/, he's not going to +
survive.

But it /does/ give him time to prepare, which he definitely needs.

Yuan asked for her shoes back earlier this week, so all he has are his ratty gym shoes and worn-out sneakers, not something he particularly wants to wear on a /date/.

Things have been a /little/ +
strained between them ever since the party, but he's pretty sure that's just on his end. Yuan hasn't mentioned Shuuji standing him up once, and based on the rants she's given him on that exact behavior earlier on, he's fairly certain she would have some /choice/ things to say if+
she knew.

Part of him wants to tell her, just to get some vindictive anger in his defense but...

He's convinced she'll bring Shuuji into the matter, which isn't exactly a /problem/, but Chuuya feels like he needs to continue to be on somewhat decent terms with Shuuji to keep+
seeing Dazai.

(It's a complicated mess,because when he's /with/ Dazai, it feels like nothing could go wrong, but when he's out of sight, Chuuya feels like he's standing on a house of cards, with a single wrong move meaning he'll never see Dazai again.

And that thought hurts.)+
So he keeps that information to himself, and while he's /certainly/ not as friendly with Shuuji as he was before, he's not rude or angry. He's polite, a little distant.

Ever since that day, whenever Shuuji flirts with him--badly, he must add-- it makes him feel gross and angry,+
but he tolerates it because he's not even going to /risk/ losing what is building between him and Dazai.

He can be angry and vengeful later.

(And because of that continued relationship,he /also/ knows that Shuuji has plans all day Friday /and/ Saturday, so he and Dazai will be+
alone together.

Interrupted.

For over 36 hours, /if/ the date lasts that long.

Chuuya is so nervous and excited he feels like he's vibrating himself apart with energy.)

He's lucky that his physics professor is actually a decent human being, because he lets them have an open+
class for studying for finals. Attendance is optional, and Chuuya /did/ plan on going but--

He's got a good grade in physics, he's confident in his knowledge,and now that he has a /date/--

He needs to go /shopping/.

The Uber drive from the night of the party has still set him+
back a lot, but he's been careful ever since. This will set him back even more, but he /refuses/ to see Dazai without at least looking nice.

He might /be/ lower middle class, but he doesn't want to /look/ it. Especially to someone he /likes/.

Taking the train to a nearby +
shopping center, he starts the hunt for a better pair of shoes. He only has a few hours before he has to get back to his other classes, so he has to be quick about it.

He's not exactly sure what he's looking for, but with his budget, he knows he doesn't have /too/ many options.+
Anything with any sort of heel or brand is firmly out of his price range. Even the higher-end sneakers are too much.

He doesn't allow himself to even try on the prettier shoes, because he's not going to give himself the temptation or the chance to feel sad when he inevitably+
has to put it back.

It takes him a while--longer than he anticipated, but still within his limits-- to settle on a pair of nice white sneakers, with little rosy-gold accents. It's understated, casual but still /nice/, better than his current options.

And as he's making his way+
to the cash registers, he sees them--

/Earrings/. Beautiful, tiny little earrings in the shape of the sun, with the same rosy-gold hues and with something opal-colored in the middle.

He has to have them.

The price tag on them makes him wince but--

Fuck it. Kouyou is the +
executive accountant of Mori Financial Services,she can afford to send him a few hundred yen for food if he begs nicely.

He'll just make up some excuse about being so wiped out from finals that he ended up ordering food for too many days in a row. It's fine.

With his purchases+
in hand, he makes his way back to campus.

Dazai said he was going to pick him up from class, which means he has to get ready /before/ class. It makes him feel a little awkward and overdressed, considering most everyone--including him-- have been showing up in sweats or casual+
clothing ever since they all got reamed by midterms,but hey, he's not complaining about the excuse to dress up. He's just glad that Yuan isn't in that class with him,because he does /not/ have a reasonable explanation.

He doesn't have enough time to wash his hair in the shower,+
so he ends up doing a braid on the side and pulling it up into a high ponytail, showing off his neck. He leaves a few strands out to frame his face, elegantly wispy.

Because he's going to class, and he doesn't want to call attention to himself as being the guy who wears +
makeup--yes, it's 2020 but some people are /still/ assholes, and he doesn't want to ruin his day by having to deal with some stupid jerk--he ends up just highlighting his natural features. Highlighter, some blush, a little mascara. Nothing fancy, but still makes him feel pretty.+
The earrings are pushed into his jeans pocket for later, so he can put them on as he's leaving.

And because Chuuya is pulling out /all/ the stops today,he wears Dazai's shirt again. He ends up tying the excess in the back with a hairtie, tucking the knot under to create a loose+
flowing outline that both hides his figure and accentuates how small his waist is. He rolls the sleeves up to his elbows.

Maybe it's unfair, but Chuuya is going to make the whole 'going slow' thing as /difficult/ as possible for Dazai, because it's only fair that /both/ of them+
are dying from sexual tension.

He slips on his new shoes, and the outfit is complete. Just in time, too, because class starts in 10 minutes and the building is a 5 minute brisk walk away.

As expected, the hour and a half of class is /agony/. He ends up texting Dazai what +
building he's in and what time he gets out.

Truthfully, he barely hears a word the professor says, and he's glad he got into the habit of recording his lectures, because he's going to /have/ to listen to it later.

Then, the class ends.

Despite how painful the wait is, he+
stays in his seat as most of the class files out,taking the moment to slip the earrings into his ears and check with his phone camera that he still looks good.

Then he walks out as confidently as he can,dodging around a group of frantically-whispering girls as he looks around--+
/There/.

Leaning against the opposite building with one foot propped up against the wall behind him, is Dazai. He's got his hair slicked back today, exposing his forehead. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

The black trench coat he's wearing is remarkably+
similar to the one Chuuya still has in his closet, but it just makes the dark jeans and loose t-shirt look even better. For once, he's without his signature boots, instead wearing a black pair of sneakers.

There's a single cup of coffee in his hand, balanced on his raised knee.+
When he sees Chuuya, he pushes off the wall, coming over.

(Chuuya tells himself he does /not/ feel a sense of swelling, preening pride when the girls heads follow his progress like a flock of birds watching something shiny, but it's a lie.)

He beams up at Dazai when he gets+
closer. "Hi," he says, breathlessly.

The smile Dazai graces him with is so soft and fond Chuuya aches with it. "Hello, Chuuya."

Chuuya likes the nicknames, but the unfortunate result is that Dazai says his name so rarely that he feels bowled over and breathless whenever he +
/does/ say it.

Long fingers present him with the coffee cup. "For you."

When Chuuya raises an eyebrow at him, Dazai shrugs lightly. "You said you were tired earlier. I already finished my coffee."

How long was he waiting out here, then?

Chuuya takes his cup with a grateful+
smile, bringing it up to his lips to take a sip--

And nearly chokes on it when Dazai leans down and drops a kiss on his forehead, quick and gentle as a whisper. He can just barely feel the lingering ghost of his smile as Dazai straightens again, hands shoved in his pocket.

He+
looks distinctly smug at the way he's made Chuuya blush, but he can forgive him for that, simply because of the way the whispering from the girls has gone /dead/ silent.

"Are you ready?"

Chuuya nods, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "Maybe I should drop my books off first, +
though?"

"I brought the car today, so there's room, if that's what you're worried about," Dazai says, following a step behind him as Chuuya makes his way to the parking lots.

In that case, there's no way Chuuya is going to leave his side for even a second, not now that they're+
finally together again.

Thankfully, Dazai parked nearby, because his physics professors /insists/ on all his students bringing both of the textbooks to class everyday, so his bag is a bit heavier than usual.

Ever the gentleman, Dazai unlocks the car and opens the door for him+
first. When Chuuya goes to sling his bag over his shoulder to sit at his feet, Dazai catches it with one hand.

When he looks over his shoulder at him, Dazai just gives him a smile and a murmured, "let me."

It doesn't matter that much, so Chuuya lets the bag go and slides into+
the car. The inside of the car is warm, a pleasant contrast to the slightly-cool air outside.

He watches Dazai cross the front of the car, opening his own door and stuffing Chuuya's bag into the back seat behind him before getting in himself.

Chuuya doesn't really understand+
how watching him back out of the spot then ease onto the road, one palm braced against the steering wheel confidently, is such an erotic experience, but every time they drive, he can feel himself slowly heating up from the sight /alone/.

How is /everything/ he does ridiculously+
hot and rife with tension? It's like he built with the sole intention of driving out of his mind.

"I was thinking," Dazai starts,his free hand palm-up on the center console and so close,so /tempting/, "that I take you home, and I make you dinner. Sound good?"

Sounds /perfect/.+
Chuuya nods, excitement filling him. The pancakes Dazai made him were delicious, and the confident way the man moves in the kitchen is an experience in and of itself, so he's /definitely/ not complaining.

Especially when he gets to spend a whole evening with the dogs /and/ +
Dazai.

The drive is quicker this time, mostly because Dazai seems to realize that Chuuya isn't afraid of his driving anymore, and so the speed has increased. The smug curl of Dazai's lips whenever they come out of quick turn, accelerating quickly, is /so/ fucking cute.

Chuuya+
wants to kiss it off him, and the idea that he's allowed to do that now makes him giddy, light as air.

For once, Dazai doesn't pull into the garage. He parks the car in the driveway, locking it once they both climb out. Chuuya's bag gets left in the car, for the return drive.+
Dazai waves him back as they approach the front door, warning him away as he unlocks it. "Brace yourself," he tells him, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Before Chuuya can ask /why/, he's throwing open the door and calling out, "Yoko! Look what I brought you!"

Yoko comes+
barreling out like her fur is on fire, making a high-pitched yelping noise of excitement. Chuuya /does/ brace himself, because she's headed straight for his legs and she's big enough to bowl him over easily--

At the last, she swerves into the grass, and she's going so fast that+
she actually slips on the grass,going tumbling head over heels in the yard.

"Oh my god, Yoko, are you okay--."

Just as fast, she's flipping back onto her feet, and she's so excited that she runs circles around him, looking like a hyper puppy with how she's jumping and yelping.+
"Alright,"Chuuya laughs, crouching down so he can get down on her level. "I can't pet you when you're running around like that, slow down."

Yoko nearly ends up bowling him over anyways,because she's pushing into his space, tail wagging so hard her entire body is moving with it.+
He has to steady himself by grabbing onto her collar, laughing as he tries to dodge the licks she's trying to give his cheek. As sweet as it is,he doesn't want his face to taste like dog slobber or his makeup to be licked off.

"Yeah, I missed you too, pretty girl," he tells her+
fondly, scratching her as fast as his hands will go.

Her only response is to flop on her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she demands belly pets.

When Chuuya looks up, Dazai is leaning with his shoulder against the doorway, an achingly soft look in his eyes and tiny+
crooked smile on his face, like he's not even aware of it.

Kozo is sitting beside him, looking down on his sister with an expression that says 'come /on/, you're embarrassing me', but Chuuya doesn't miss the wave of his tail behind him when he notices Chuuya looking at him.

+
Chuuya knows what home feels like. That warm, safe feeling when you finally come back, the place where all the things you love and cherish are. Of knowing that you always have somewhere to return to, at the end of every long day.

Chuuya has never had someone look at him like +
/their/ home might be living and breathing and calls itself by his name.

"Are you coming inside?" Dazai asks, tilting his head towards the open door. His smile grows with a small snort. "Or are you going to stay out here all night, now that you've gotten what you've came for?"+
With a conspiratorial scratch to Yoko's belly, he pretends to think about it,internally laughing at the way Dazai's expression begins to melt into something mock-offended. It's so fun to play with him.

"Well," he says eventually, "I /guess/ I can grace you with my presence for+
a while longer."

Watching him as he stands up and brushes the dog fur off his pants, Dazai says with a hint of amusement, "I'm honored, truly."

Kozo greets him with a sniff when he gets close enough, doing his customary head-to-toe inspection. He's not nearly as excitable as +
Yoko is, but he does offer him a few licks on his hands, and his tail sways steadily behind him.

When he's satisfied, Kozo turns around and leads the way back inside. Yoko starts to follow before stopping abruptly, watching Chuuya closely, like he might leave without saying+
goodbye when she's not watching.

Dazai lets him enter first, and the presence of him at his back is like a physical thing, warm and heavy and charged. Almost like they're on the bike again, except this time, they know each other better, slowly growing more intertwined with +
each meeting.

Of course, now all that heat is backed by the knowledge that Dazai /self-admitted/ he was desperate for Chuuya, the knowledge of what he /feels/ like and the desire to know more--

And the frustration that comes with knowing Dazai will probably deny his attempts+
to go /further/, because he wants to go /slowly/ with him.

Even if they’re alone, in Dazai’s house, on a date.

They kick their shoes off, padding into the living room. The dogs follow diligently.

“Are you hungry now? It’ll take about half an hour to make.”

Considering that+
Chuuya hasn’t eaten anything all day because he was too excited, yes, he is hungry now. Besides, the faster they eat, then the more time they have to spend together, right? He nods.

Dazai leads the way to the kitchen, and Chuuya follows closely after.

The way he immediately +
pulls out ingredients from the fridge with confidence shouldn’t be as appealing as it is.

“Wine?” He offers, reaching up to pull down a glass.

Chuuya’s mouth waters. Dazai has been spoiling him with rich, expensive wines and he is /not/ complaining. He can barely even +
remember what those cheap connivence store wines tasted like. “Yes, please.”

The glass is set in front of him, and the wine Dazai opens and pours for him is dark, a lustful red, and smells like heaven on his tongue.

When Dazai doesn’t get his own glass out, Chuuya raises an+
eyebrow at him, swirling his glass absently. “Are you going to drink anything?”

He’s noticed Dazai isn’t really a fan of wine—which begs the question on why his house is stocked with it— but he /loves/ whiskey.

Dazai hums. “No; I want to be clearheaded for this.”

For /what/?+
When Chuuya asks that exact question,all he gets is a cryptic smile and the flash of a knife as Dazai pulls it out of the block.

He’s making beef stir fry with soba noodles, and his confidence with a knife is /criminal/. Smooth, sharp, short slices, all looking effortless, like+
he was born with a knife in hand. He doesn’t waver once, and all his cuts look nearly the exact same size and shape.

It’s almost like the knife is an extension of his body, as natural to him as his own hand.

Like most things about Dazai, it’s surprisingly attractive.+
(At this point, maybe not so surprising.)

When his wine has had enough time to breathe, he takes a long, slow sip, savoring the taste of heat and decadence on his tongue. It settles slowly in his belly, and he can’t tell if the growing heat there is from him steadily draining +
his first glass of wine—

Or watching the way Dazai scrapes his knife against lip of the pan, cleaning it.

“When do your finals start?” Dazai asks, casually curious as he starts to mix the sauce together.

Leaning his cheek on his hand, Chuuya watches him. “Mm, not next week,+
but the week after.”

Most of his classes only meet twice more before the day of the final. His professors have offered as much guidance as they can, but it’s all coming to a head soon. Sink or swim, as they say.

Pass or fail.

And for him? Failing might mean losing his+
scholarships or his spot at Keio entirely.

“You must be stressed,” Dazai murmurs, shooting him a slightly sympathetic glance. The pot of noodles he has is starting to boil, steam filling the air.

Yeah, he’s stressed. He’s done everything he can, and kept his grades up but—+
The tests are never easy, and if he tanks them too hard, well—

Like he said, pass or fail.

He finishes off his first glass of wine with a long swallow. Maybe he should wait to pour himself another one, but he doesn’t feel anything besides a glowing sense of warmth, so it’s +
probably fine.

Besides, that gives him a /great/ excuse to walk around the counter to Dazai’s side of the kitchen. “Yeah, it’s pretty stressful.”

Thankfully, Dazai left the bottle open on the counter, so it’s easy to pour himself another glass, just as full as the first. +
“I think you can help me out with that though.”

All the necessary vegetables are cut, so Dazai takes a moment to rinse off his knife quickly and wash his hands from any juices. “Oh? How can I help you?”

Stepping closer, Chuuya stares up at him. Dazai doesn’t retreat, taking+
a clean rag to dry his hands with. His eyes are dark, welcoming.

He’s practiced saying this many times, so often that the words started to lose meaning, until he started saying them in his dreams.

Still, they come out slightly breathy and hesitant as he says, “kiss me?” +
Tension crackles between them as they stare eachother down, waiting for the other to give in first. The time it takes for Dazai to finish drying his hands feels like it takes forever.

Chuuya’s half convinced he draws it out on purpose, but it’s all worth it when the towel is +
tossed onto the counter, and Dazai is reaching out for him with a murmured, “come here then, beautiful.”

Surrendering to Dazai feels like fate, like inevitability, and the sensation of rough fingertips brushing over his jaw, sliding downwards to cup his cheeks with both hands,+
tilting his head up as he leans downward—

It feels like the very air in his lungs, sweet relief.

The kiss Dazai captures him in is slow, languid. It’s enjoyment of the simplest kind, the slide of their lips together, the way that Dazai’s breath washes warm over his tongue.+
At some point, Chuuya’s hands wander up to wind up in his hair, running his nails lightly over the growing undercut, feeling a spark when Dazai’s breath hitches audibly with a shiver.

Large thumbs stroke over his cheekbones, roughly the same rhythm he’s kissing Chuuya with. His+
fingers are long enough that they reach Chuuya’s neck easily.He shudders when Dazai lightly flicks one of his earrings, tickling him.

“I like these,” Dazai hums, pulling back just far enough that he can speak into Chuuya’s mouth, “very pretty.”

Then he’s shifting down, pulling+
his bottom lip into his mouth on one slow /suck/, the suction of his mouth so tempting it’s nearly unbearable.

For a long time, he holds Chuuya there, running his tongue over his captured lip or nibbling on it lightly, until Chuuya feels like he’s stretching thin under the +
sensations, the throb of his lip matching the rushing of the heat in his veins.

Teeth sink into his lip, almost roughly enough to hurt as Dazai pulls back, taking his lip with him until the stretch is /almost/ painful, drawing out a small, hitched noise.

When Dazai lets him go+
his lip returns to its place with a wet pop.

With half-lidded eyes, Chuuya glares up at him half-heartedly, wondering /why/ exactly he stopped kissing him.

“Don’t want to burn our food, do we?”

He pouts, but moves out of his way so Dazai can take the noodles out of their+
pot and replaces the beef in the pan with the vegetables. The meat gets set aside on a plate to wait.

Chuuya’s wineglass, forgotten on the counter, returns to his hand as he takes another swallow. It tastes almost sour now, in comparison to the taste of Dazai on his tongue. +
It’s starting to get hot in here.

He’s nice enough to wait until Dazai looks like he’s finished with the next step to aim his most pleading look at him with another, “kiss me, please.”

Dazai’s expression is knowing and a little smug, but he gives in again, always weak when+
Chuuya uses his manners.

This time, the kiss doesn’t last as long before Dazai is leaning lower, bending down. His fingers find the back of Chuuya’s thighs and he hesitates for just a moment, giving him the opportunity to protest, before he’s pulling /up/, lifting him. +
With a startled noise, Chuuya grips his shoulders tightly, thighs clamping around his hips. Dazai is deliciously solid under him, his arms not so much as trembling as he supports his weight.

They don’t stay there for long though, because Dazai is turning in one smooth motion+
and depositing him on the empty counter a little ways from the stove.

Chuuya has been between Dazai’s thighs before,and he /liked/ how secure that felt, how safe it felt to be cradled between them, how small. But he’s just now realizing—

He likes Dazai between his legs /more/.+
They’re nearly the same height like this, and Dazai’s waist slots naturally between his knees, his middle thick with muscle. Just underneath, Chuuya can feel the swell of his hips and his knees hook over them easily.

The kiss still manages to be slow, even as it deepens, +
so slow that Chuuya feels drugged by it, his entire existence hanging onto every slide of Dazai’s lips, the brush of his tongue, the teasing edge of his teeth.

It doesn’t feel urgent, like the kiss at the market. It feels all-encompassing, world changing.

When Dazai pulls+
away this time, Chuuya makes a soft, disappointed noise, trying to hook his ankles behind Dazai’s thighs to keep him in place.

The way Dazai pushes his knee open further, spreading his thighs wider to give himself room to pull away, unexpectedly sends a flash of heat pouring+
down his spine.

“Quiet, troublemaker. I know you’re trying to distract me, and it’s not going to work.”

Thé pout is instinctive, his lower lip jutting out childishly. It’s not fair. Chuuya is /more/ than happy to skip dinner in favor of being kissed silly on the counter. +
Dazai snorts fondly, stirring the vegetables in the pot. They smell delicious, even better once he re-adds the meat and pours the sauce in to simmer. “Put that away, before I bite it again.”

The lip juts out further, and now Chuuya’s just being a /brat/.

After a moment though+
he gives in, raising his wineglass to his lips for another drink. The alcohol hits his stomach with intoxicating warmth, and his heart feels almost sluggish in his chest, like it’s struggling to pump molten lava through his veins instead of blood. It’s so hot in here, the +
combination of the wine, Dazai, and the cooking food nearby setting him on fire.

Reaching up, he undoes a single button on his shirt to give himself a little more breathing room. He misses the way the action makes Dazai tense, hands tightening and jaw clenching.

Of course, the+
unintended result of the alcohol— he’s pouring his third glass now, and although he doesn’t feel tipsy, he’s definitely warm and a little bit lightheaded— is that it makes him /bold/. “And what if I /want/ you to bite me?”

Dazai hums, looking thoughtful as he gives the pan a+
final stir, dumping the contents into a large bowl afterwards. “Then I suppose you’ll have to be good for me.”

Batting his eyelashes, Chuuya agrees, “I can do that. I can be good. I can be /very/ good for you.”

(Dazai is glad he decided not to drink, because the little +
troublemaker perched on his counter looking delightfully flushed and eager, so pretty while wearing /his/ shirt, promising to be good for him with those big, shiny blue eyes—

Never makes it /easy/ for him. His patience and self-control are stretching dangerously thin.)+
“Is that so?”

Chuuya nods empathetically, his feet swinging a little in the air. Anticipation is pooling inside him, like liquid energy, making him hyper aware of Dazai’s every movement, the subtle flex and roll of his muscles underneath his shirt.

He lets his eyes drop, +
checking out Dazai in a move that’s a little /too/ obvious, not that he notices. He’s too busy wondering how good he has to be to get /that/, eyes wandering over his crotch.

“Prove it, then,” Dazai says, and before Chuuya can say that he’ll do anything he wants to prove it—+
There’s a bowl being dropped into his hand, chopsticks buried beneath the deliciously fragrant food.

“Eat,” Dazai says, voice hardening a little. An order, even if a subtle one.

Chuuya doesn’t argue, because his stomach is growling, reminding him how hungry he is. After +
another sip of his wine, he digs in. When the flavors burst over his tongue, hot and savory, he gives an unconscious, happy little wiggle, making a satisfied noise. It’s /so/ good.

Dazai watches him eat, feeling a swelling surge of pride and self-satisfaction, because he +
clearly likes it. He looks like he was pretty hungry, taking big bites and closing his eyes in pleasure.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sounds of eating in the kitchen, the click of chopsticks against ceramic.

Chuuya makes it about halfway through his bowl before he +
starts to slow down, his belly turning comfortably full. He takes another swallow of wine to top it off, sighing at how good it tastes, how good it feels.

Now that he’s had /one/ satiated, he feels a warm, heavy, almost-sleepy desire for more, centering in his middle and +
radiating outward in thick waves.

He goes back to eyeing Dazai, watching the elegant way he lifts bites to his mouth. He’s a slower eater than Chuuya is, but he swears he’s drawing it out on purpose because he can feel Chuuya watching him.

At one point, he even tilts his+
head back, offering Chuuya a view of his throat bobbing as he swallows, something so unexpectedly attractive that Chuuya squirms with it.

Despite everything, he manages to stay quiet and patient as Dazai polishes off his entire bowl. He takes sips from his wine— the third +
glass is nearly gone by now, and he’s weighing the desire for more versus the knowledge that if he gets anything remotely close to drunk, Dazai probably won’t touch him— and the occasional bite from the remaining stir fry in his own bowl.

“Are you done?”

Chuuya nods, going+
to hop off the counter so he can wash their bowls. Cleaning is the least he can do, after that delicious meal of food /and/ watching Dazai cook for him.

But fingers touch his knee, gaining his attention.

“Stay,” Dazai murmurs, plucking the bowl out of his hands easily. +
With quick movements, he’s dumping the rest of Chuuya’s bowl in the trash and putting them both in the sink to soak while he takes the rest of the food and packs it away.

“But I wanted to help,” Chuuya mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. It feels wrong to be sitting here+
while Dazai does all the work.

“You /are/ helping, beautiful,” Dazai tells him, shooting him a cheesy grin as he empties the pan. “You’re being very motivating right now.”

Oh. He can’t help the heat that crawls into his face, and the sip of wine he takes to cover it up only+
seems to make it worse.

Waiting for Dazai to finish is like torture, watching him work while he’s not more than a few feet away and not being able to /touch/ him.

By the time he closes the fridge with the leftovers safely locked inside, Chuuya is aching for him, for just a+
/little/ bit of his attention.

His third glass of wine is finished, but he doesn’t reach for a refill. Instead, he pushes the glass away and fixes Dazai with his poutiest look. “I /told/ you I could be good.”

Dazai washes his hands quickly again— something that Chuuya is +
grateful for, because he definitely does not want stir fry sauce on any part of him— before coming back over to him.

He places his hands on either side of Chuuya, caging him in. His eyes are dark, intense, staring straight into his soul and setting it on fire as he says, low, +
“You certainly did, didn’t you?”

The air feels thin between them, like the atmosphere on top of a mountain, drawing Chuuya’s lungs tight with anticipation. Every second that they spend staring at eachother just makes the tension tighter, hotter.

Caramel eyes drop to his lips,+
flashing brightly before Dazai is whispering across the distance:

“Can I kiss you?”

The first time he asked made Chuuya feel put on the spot, but /this/ time, it’s like gasoline onto a flame, igniting something within him.

He nods, hands reaching—

Dazai meets him halfway. +
It seems he's decided to take a /little/ mercy on Chuuya, because he doesn't make him say it out loud, or tease him with tiny butterfly kisses before kissing him properly.

No, one of his hands is finding the back of his neck, encouraging him to tip his head back so Dazai can+
deepen the kiss instantly, the tip of his tongue sliding over his lower lip in a silent request for access. His /other/ hand finds Chuuya's thigh, sliding up slowly in a brush of teasing friction, hot tingly sensation.

It makes Chuuya gasp, winding his arms around Dazai's neck+
to hold on tightly, dragging him closer.

The hand stops about halfway up, not venturing higher, but just the weight and presence of it has Chuuya hyperaware, every brush of his fingers and slick slide of his tongue electric. He arches against him, instinctively wanting to get+
closer, as close as he can get.

Dazai seems to be along the same mindset,because he's letting go of his neck to grab his other leg,tugging him closer, until their chests are pressed together.

Then, with a whispered "hold on" against his mouth, Dazai's lifting him /up/ again,+
legs wrapped around his waist.

The pressure it puts against his hips makes Chuuya shudder, urgency stirring,his hands fisting in Dazai's hair. He's been picked up before, not very often because he's heavier than he looks with all the muscle--Shuuji tried once and almost dropped+
him on his head-- and he doesn't /usually/ like it, but the effortless, confident way Dazai hoists him up and keeps him aloft without so much as a stumble, making his way out of the kitchen without the kiss pausing once...

It makes the blood in his veins turn hotter, thicker,+
rushing through his veins.

He's not even sure where they're going--though some distant part of him is chanting about Dazai's bedroom-- because he's too busy filling his hands with dark hair, scraping his teeth over his tongue until Dazai releases a low rumble that Chuuya feels+
in his stomach.

Turning around, Dazai lowers them both, and Chuuya hangs on for dear life, instinctively trusting that he won't let him fall, as long as he doesn't let go.

Instead, they tumble backwards onto the couch, and now Chuuya is straddling Dazai's lap and discovering+
that this is a /very/ different way of kissing.

For one, he's never been taller than Dazai, so feeling the strain in his neck as he tips his head back to meet him, jaw working in rhythmic ways, is surprisingly hot. Chuuya bears down over him, and now he's in charge of how hard+
the kiss is, crushing their lips together in his ever-searching need for /more/.

Secondly, now his weight is centered over him, pressing them closer than ever before. So close he can feel the rise and fall of Dazai's chest as their breathing starts to speed up, the shift of his+
muscles beneath him as he adjusts their positions slightly.

Of course, the unitended--or perhaps intended--consequence is that Chuuya is sitting /directly/ on Dazai's bulge,and he can feel the heat and firmness growing there even through his pants, making him pant.

And best of+
all--

It frees up Dazai's hands to /wander/.

They find his thighs first, fingers long enough to wrap nearly halfway around. Chuuya tenses instinctively, the hitch of his breath obvious as his focus zeroes in on the way Dazai subtly squeezes and massages the muscle there in +
small waves, the same rhythm he's still kissing him with.

Eventually his hands slide /up/,and god, Chuuya feels like his entire world stalls as fingers get closer, closer, /closer/ to his crotch--

The urgency had built so slowly, so subtly, that he's just now realizing that he+
is hard in his pants, aching, strung tight after /weeks/ of teasing from Dazai's skillful hands.

He swears, if Dazai stops them /now/, he's actually going to break down in frustrated tears.

Dazai's hands bypass touching him directly, though Chuuya would be surprised if he +
can't feel him throbbing against his stomach. His hands coast over his hips instead, around his sides, fingertips sliding against the sensitive, exposed skin of his lower back.

Dazai's mouth slides away, and Chuuya is whining immediately, not wanting him to /go/, but he's just+
kissing a line over his cheek,down his jaw, finding the beginnings of his neck.

Chuuya never realized how /sensitive/ his neck was before, but every touch of Dazai's lips over his skin feels like it goes directly to his cock, joining the swirling, molten tension in his stomach.+
"I have to say," Dazai hums against his skin, the vibrations and the husky, rough tone of his voice making Chuuya's mind go /blank/."I do like seeing you in my shirts."

His fingertips creep up, palms sliding over his lower back, warm and pulling him somehow even closer.

Chuuya+
squirms, overwhelmed and starving for more in equal measures, unsure if he wants more of Dazai against his front, or along his back, or his mouth on his neck or kissing him again--

"So pretty, so /tempting/," Dazai murmurs, almost to himself, before scraping his teeth over his+
pulse point, and the combination of the vibration, the /words/, the hands sliding even further under his shirt--

Chuuya can't help it; he /moans/, soft and hesitant, rolling his hips forward in an instinctive bid for friction. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to be +
embarrassed about it, because holy /shit/, the double friction of him grinding against Dazai's stomach and then /back/ against the bulge beneath him, feeling the /thick/ outline of Dazai's erection against his ass is /so/ good, he can't help but do it again, a little /harder/.+
"Yeah?" Dazai breathes hotly against his neck, coasting down a little lower,finding a spot that makes Chuuya's toes curl and his eyes roll back in his head and /sucking/ on it. "Do you /like/ it when I talk to you?"

This time, when Chuuya grinds forward, his hands press down at+
the same time, increasing the pressure.

"What about if I told you how good you're being right now? How /hot/ it is that you're grinding against me like this, so desperate?"

His face is so hot it must be on fire, and no matter how hard he pants, he can never seem to get enough+
air. His thoughts have devolved into static, a background noise that means nothing compared to the /hunger/ growing in him, the desire for /more/, harder, /better/.

"The things I could do to you," Dazai muses, nibbling on his collarbone. The other spots he's visited on his neck+
throb in time, adding to the growing symphony of sensations in Chuuya's body.

(Should Dazai be leaving him a virtual choker of red marks on Chuuya's neck without asking? Probably not.

But his /is/ just a man, and he's /struggling/ to keep it together, and as long as it doesn't+
escalate past /this/— letting Chuuya grind against him with increasingly loud, desperate noises of pleasure— he will consider it a win.

He knows Chuuya would /probably/ let him turn him over and take him apart with his /teeth/, coax all sorts of pretty noises from him as he+
shows him what it’s like to /really/ feel good—

But as much as he /wants/ that— needs it, almost, the pressure of his zipper against his erection growing painful— he knows the /right/ thing to do is to build Chuuya up, slowly, and not overwhelm him all at once.

It’s a good +
thing Dazai moved onto marking up his collarbone, because hearing his sweet moans is hard enough, but /tasting/ them would be altogether too much.)

“I could make it /so/ good for you, baby,” he murmurs, sinking his teeth into his collarbone with almost painful intensity, but+
at this point, he could probably draw blood and Chuuya would still moan for him.

Nodding frantically, Chuuya digs his nails into his scalp, holding him as close as he can as he gives another stuttered thrust, pressure building almost too fast for him to keep up with.

He’s not+
even aware of the words that start to pour out of his mouth, too mindless, too far gone—

And they are /almost/ Dazai’s undoing.

“Please, Dazai, fuck— /so/ good, please touch me, I want more, /need/ more, need /you/, please, I promise I’ll be /so/ good for you—.” +
With a frustrated, wanting snarl, teeth sink into him so harshly that Chuuya is automatically crying out in loud reaction, jerking. There’s nowhere to go though, because the arms around him are tightening, nails digging in sharply, pinning him in place and dragging him down as+
Dazai’s hips roll /up/, a slow, skilled movement that just illustrates how much control he has over his body—

“Fuck,” Dazai mutters against his skin, his strained tone and the curse making Chuuya shudder again, legs tightening around his hips.

Frantically, he nods again, +
meeting the next grind of Dazai’s hips with a messy, uncoordinated thrust over his own. “Yes, /please/.”

With a strength of will that Chuuya can practically feel, Dazai forces himself to still, letting go of his bite with a low groan.

“No,” he mutters, and Chuuya is +
so frustrated he actually /snarls/, so tempted to bite Dazai in sheer irritation.

Dazai laughs fondly, albeit strained, against his chest, hands sliding back down to find his hips. “You’ll get it, baby, I /promise/,” he croons, helping Chuuya find a faster, harder rhythm.+
“Soon. But for now— I want you to cum for me, just like this.”

/God/, okay, yes, /yes/.

All things considered, Chuuya thinks he’s done /pretty/ well keeping himself controlled, with the way Dazai has been whispering to him and urging him on.

But he can’t deny that the +
tension has been slowly building, winding tighter, threatening to snap with every burst of pleasure on the grind forwards, the shape of Dazai beneath him on the grind /back/, intoxicatingly good.

The pleasure is good, it’s /great/—

But the end is steadily drawing near.+
And the fact that Dazai is actively helping him now— hands on his hips to drag him harder into each grind, the encouraging murmurs on his neck and in his ear, the knowledge that Dazai wants him to be just like this, rocking desperately in his lap— only makes it /better.+
The pleasure builds, searing, scorching,electric,making him tremble and whimper as he fights for more,harder,a little faster, /so/ close, almost there—

Dazai drags him forward one last time, hips pressing up just /slightly/—

And the pressure is enough to tip him over the edge.+
The orgasm roars over him, way more intense than any he’s ever given himself. He’s mindless with it, helpless to do anything but ride it out with a series of shudders, arching and jerking in place. He’s pretty sure he’s crying out Dazai’s name, eyes squeezed shut as he fights to+
/survive/ the intensity.

By the time he’s done working himself through it, he feels limp and exhausted, panting heavily. He sags in Dazai’s arms, shivering with the comedown—

And Dazai is /right/ there, arms enclosing around his back as he nuzzles the side of his face,+
whispering soft kisses over his flushed cheek. “/There/ you are, pretty baby. You did so well for me.”

Chuuya shivers, leaning into his hold. He’s still getting his breath back, and all his muscles feel melted. It’s not /bad/, of course, but somehow the intensity has left him+
cracked open like an egg, with all his vulnerable insides exposed.

The arms around him help keep him together though,and the kisses pressed along his cheek makes him feel warm, and the teasing way Dazai gently tugs on his earring with his teeth makes him smile gently.

It feels+
nice. He’d probably be fine if Dazai pushed him off, now that it’s over, but he can’t deny that sitting here and soaking up the affection doesn’t feel /fantastic/.

Especially as Dazai tells him how good he was, how beautiful he is, /perfect/, his hands like warm weights under +
his shirt.

It’s not until he shifts his weight, knees beginning to ache, that he /realizes/—

Dazai is still hard.

It makes sense, because he’s older, more experienced, and therefore much less likely to come in his pants like an inexperienced teenager—the thought of which is+
starting to make him embarrassed now, even though Dazai explicitly asked him to and then /helped/ him along—but it’s still awkward.

His sex education is /limited/ admittedly—his dad gingerly taught him how to put a condom on a banana and then promptly said that if Chuuya /ever/+
had at all, including watching any pornographic material, he’d be grounded for the rest of forever— but he’s not /so/ uneducated that he doesn’t know that /both/ people are supposed to orgasm.

And that one person orgasming while the other doesn’t means you /failed/.

Feeling+
guilty, he swallows hard. “Do you want me to, ah...” he trails off, unsure of what he’s supposed to offer and eventually lands on a lame, “help you?”

He wiggles his hips for emphasis, and he does /not/ miss the sharp inhale against his cheek, something that makes warmth stir+
in his stomach, despite the fact that he /just/ came.

Large hands bracket his waist, and Chuuya does not often feel delicate or /small/, but it’s so easy for him to feel held entirely by Dazai, his very soul cradled in long, capable fingers.

“No,” Dazai murmurs, pulling back+
and for the first time since they started kissing, Chuuya gets a good look at his face. He’s flushed red with excitement, his once-slicked-back hair wild from where Chuuya had his fingers in it, his pupils huge and dark and focused.

His lips are slightly swollen, dark red from+
abuse.

Chuuya wants to kiss him again.

Dazai seems to be thinking along the same lines, because he’s smiling softly as him, lopsided, “but I do want you to kiss me again.”

Chuuya blinks. “But you didn’t...”

Another stroke of his fingers along his spine soothes the +
mild anxiety strumming along his nerves. “I know,” Dazai hums, brushing his noses lightly over his cheek, “but this was all about you. I wanted /you/ to feel good. I can wait.”

Chuuya is torn about that because on /one/ hand he doesn’t want to leave Dazai hanging, but on the +
/other/ hand, he is admittedly nervous about doing something about it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just—

What if he’s /bad/? Dazai probably doesn’t have high standards, now that he knows he’s a virgin, but what if he fails even /those/?

(Chuuya is not unaware of +
the time Shuuji came in /his/ pants after 10 minutes of grinding, and while this situation might be /different/—

He can’t help but draw similarities between them, and he remembers how /disappointing/ that felt.)

“Don’t worry though,” Dazai says, leaning forward to press a +
wicked smile against his cheek, /not/ kissing him because Chuuya hasn’t agreed to his most recent ask, “I’ll let you get your hands all over me, next time.”

Just the promise of next time makes relief bubble up in his chest, coaxing his muscles back into relaxation. Dazai has+
never lied to him before, that he knows of, and he’s always made good on every single promise that he’s made.

If Dazai says there will be a next time; there’ll be a next time.

(Of course, part of Chuuya wants to say ‘give me 15 minutes and next time can be upstairs tonight—‘+
but he ignores it, for the most part.)

He /does/, however, turn his head to capture Dazai in a kiss, internally preening at the way his smile widens, softens, before dissolving into a gentle kiss.

This kiss is probably the softest one yet today, besides the one on his +
forehead earlier, and somehow it’s even better, filling Chuuya up with a glowing sense of warmth and satisfaction.

They sit there for long enough that Dazai’s erection begins to die and eventually the cooling mess in his underwear makes him squirm uncomfortably.

When he+
notices, Dazai is pulling away from the kiss. Slowly, diving back in for another few long moments, before letting them separate.

“Come on,” he mutters, hands once again finding Chuuya’s thighs, “let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Yeah, that sounds good. He nods, expecting to+
be let go or pushed off so he can awkwardly hobble his way to the bathroom, but that's not what happens.

Instead, he feels the roll of Dazai's abs as he sits up, holding them both steady as he leans forward and stands up in one smooth, powerful motion. His hands support his +
weight with a firm on his legs, and Chuuya helps him out instinctively by tightening his thighs and wrapping his arms around his neck tightly.

"You don't have to carry me,"he grumbles, even though being carried /is/ nice admittedly, makes him feel small and light and treasured,+
"I can walk."

"I'm sure you can,"Dazai agrees easily, though he continues making his way towards the stairs without making a single move to put him down.

Chuuya's knee's feel too wobbly to actually argue too much, so he just lets out a little huff--more for show than anything+
else-- as he hooks his chin over Dazai's shoulder.

The stairs make him a /little/ nervous but they make it up without incident, and Dazai manages to open his office and bedroom door without jostling him too much. He heads to his bathroom, pushing the door open with his hip.

+
With a surprising amount of gentleness, Dazai is setting him down on the sink counter, making sure he's stable before he pulls back entirely. He steps back out of the circle of Chuuya's legs, and he barely manages to stifle the disappointed noise when the heat of him moves away.+
"I'll get you some new pants," Dazai says before disappearing through the doorway again. He's gone for only a few moments when he's coming back in with a pair of folded sweatpants in his hand.

He sets it on the counter next to him, shrugging. "Sorry, I don't think I have any +
underwear that fits you, but I can put your clothes in the wash for you."

That's probably a good idea, Chuuya muses, because his underwear is probably ruined and he came so much that even his jeans are wet with it. Embarrassing, but he's working through it.

He just hopes he+
didn't ruin his pants entirely, because he only has 3 pairs, and he can't afford a replacement after he bought these earrings.

It was a good investment though, internally preening at the way Dazai called them pretty, called /him/ pretty, how much he liked his outfit today. +
He hesitates before stripping his pants, inexplicably nervous. When he was turned on, he was /all/ about Dazai getting his hands on him, and he didn't feel a speck of nervousness or anxiety regarding his body.

But now he's thinking, maybe the first time Dazai sees him in any+
sort of undress shouldn’t be when he’s soft and messy?

(Dazai would actually /love/ that, would love to see the mess he made out of Chuuya, but he sees the way he’s hesitating and so he gives him an easy out.)

“I’ll go get some water,” Dazai tells him before disappearing +
again.

Chuuya takes the time he’s away to struggle out of his jeans, making a face at the way the wet spot slides over his skin. His underwear is even worse, but he manages it without making the mess worse.

Wads of toilet paper clean him up well enough. He would probably +
benefit from a shower, with how sweaty he got, but after that... /workout/ and the stress of school, and the fact that he /barely/ slept at all last night due to excitement, he’s crashing hard.

The sweatpants feel like heaven on his legs, soft and comforting. Again, he has to+
roll the legs up, but it’s practically routine at this point. He takes a moment to loosen the shirt too, because the tie in the back was digging into his back awkwardly.

When he walks out of the bathroom, leaving his dirty clothes in the sink— he did take a moment to wash off+
the worst stains— his legs are still trembling.

Dazai is nowhere to be seen though, and Chuuya /should/ go looking for him, but he’s so tired and the bed looks so inviting...

He did say he would be back, so it’s probably best if Chuuya waits up here, right? And while he+
waits, he can just relax on that huge, criminally soft bed, one that’s so much warmer and more comfortable than his bed at the dorms. He remembers waking up in it the first time, and it felt /so/ nice, like sleeping on a cloud.

Yeah, that sounds good.

He lets himself crawl +
onto the bed, flopping down in the middle—not on a pillow or under the blanket, because he’s not going to /sleep/, he’s just resting.

The comforter smells like Dazai, something warm and musky, comfortingly alive. Body heat and clean sheets, and the smell of someone you like +
/very/ much.

Turning his head with a small smile, he presses his face into the blankets and lets himself close his eyes.

Just for a moment. Just until Dazai gets back.

(Naturally, Dazai returns 20 minutes later—he took his time, in case the chibi wanted the privacy to +
shower— to find...

Chuuya curled up in the middle of his bed, passed out.

He hesitates, a little unsure of what to do. Neither of them /planned/ for him to stay the night, or even discussed it, so he should probably wake him up so he can take Chuuya home.

Part of him is +
a /little/ disappointed, because he did want to spend more time with him but—

He noticed the dark circles under his eyes earlier, the subtle yawns he tried to hide behind his hand. Dazai himself never went to college but he knows people who did and he remembers how much finals+
took out of them. They looked dead on their feet by the time it was over.

Besides—

He doesn’t have clean clothes anymore, does he? Not that Dazai minds letting him keep his sweats, but he probably wouldn’t enjoy doing the walk of shame back to his dorm in too-big clothing. +
So he can afford to let the little angel sleep for an hour or two while his clothes wash. He doesn’t have the heart to disturb that peaceful expression on his face.

He /does/ however, move him to a comfortable position on the bed. It takes some time and maneuvering to get him+
up with his head on a pillow and actually covered under the blankets, but it’s worth it to see the way he curls up with a content sigh, hand pushing under the pillow.

Taking the dirty clothes from the bathroom, he puts them in the wash before he feeds the dogs their dinner.+
Yoko, for once, is actually first to finish eating and follows him closely back upstairs. She follows him back into the bedroom to check on Chuuya, sitting at the edge of the bed and looking expectantly from him to the bed, tail swishing.

Dazai is discovering that he is /very/+
weak.

“Fine, you little opportunist,” he mutters lowly, unwilling to wake him up, “get up there then.”

With all the smug satisfaction of someone getting exactly what they wanted, she does. She curls up in front of Chuuya, their heads nearly level.

Another quick trip +
downstairs to check if his jeans need to be washed again—they do, he was wearing /black/ underwear, so the white stains are /pretty/ noticeable.

And then Dazai realizes he has nothing left to occupy his time with, besides something inane like watching a movie or a show.+
And, well—

He’s tired too, his insomnia has been acting up all week, and while he /could/ take a nap on the couch while he waits, Chuuya looked /so/ warm and inviting, curled up in his bed.

And now they’re... involved, so it wouldn’t be crossing the line, provided Dazai keeps+
his hands to himself.

Besides, it’s /his/ bed, his dog, his—

...Chuuya. His Chuuya?

His /what/ exactly, Dazai doesn’t know yet, but that’s all the logic he needs to convince himself that a /little/ nap would be fine.

He slips into sweatpants too, because he hates outside+
clothing in his bed, and slowly, ever-so-carefully, lifts up the comforter and slides inside.

It’s warm underneath, blissfully comforting and it’s like a drug, filling him with an immediate sense of warm, heavy sleepiness.

He barely even thinks before reaching out, sliding his+
arm around his wait and carefully pulling him back, fitting his body around the curve of Chuuya’s, basking in the heat.

It’s the easiest Dazai has ever fallen asleep before, not having to struggle or fight for it at all.

So easy, in fact, that he forgets to set an alarm.)
—+
The first thing that registers is an all-encompassing warmth, heavy and drugging. It's all around him, dragged in with every breath, making its way through his body sluggishly, rendering him limp and content. It's like a warm weighted blanket, so comfortable that it's dragging +
him back into sleep.

When he tries to move,stretching out his legs, he discovers that that description is a little more accurate than he intitally thought.

There's a solid wall along his back, immovable with sleep. He can't tell exactly what it is,because it's resting over the+
blankets while he's underneath. Probably a dog, he realizes groggily, because of the loud breathing near his ear.

And all over his front, draped over his side, is a warm, breathing wall of heat.

Arms around him, under his head and the other locked over his shoulders, keeping+
him in place. A moving chest pressed against his cheek. A leg thrown over his thigh, heavy and drawing his top leg forward into the embrace.

Dazai. Not only sleeping with him, but also cuddling the /shit/ out of him, intertwined so tightly that Chuuya can't tell where he ends+
and Dazai begins.

One of his arms is trapped between their bodies, but the other is slung over Dazai's waist. It's somehow ended up /beneath/ his shirt, and the slow rise and fall of his breathing makes the muscles in his back press lightly against his palm.

There's breathing+
overhead, ruffling his hair.

And as comfortable and /warm/ as it is, as much as he wants to stay and to fall back asleep--

His arm is numb. Like completely numb, actually dead.

He wiggles slowly, trying to get enough space so he can extract his arm without disturbing either+
the dog behind him--Yoko, he's assuming-- or Dazai in front of him.

But as soon as he moves a little too quickly, there's a grumpy, sleepy noise above him, and the arms tighten back again, squishing him against Dazai's chest.

He smothers a smile there. Aw, he's /grumpy/ in the+
mornings.Surprisingly cute.

Though the weight of him is grounding,comforting, Chuuya /is/ on the verge of being crushed beneath him. Not that he has an exact problem with that, but his arm is so dead it aches, and it's starting to get painful.

He wiggles again, harder, pulling+
on his arm at the same time.

The reaction, this time, is Dazai shifting further on top of him with a croaked, "Noooo.... stop moving so much."

His voice is husky and rough with sleep, deeper than usual. It's almost felt more than heard, a vibrating rumble against Chuuya's +
chest. It goes straight to his stomach, filling him with a growing sense of warmth and excitement.

He smiles again, because the grumpiness /is/ cute. "My arm is asleep."

"Mm..me too."

The next snore is just a little too exaggerated to be real though.

"My arm is going to +
/fall off/."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

"Oh my god," Chuuya laughs, banging his forehead lightly against his chest, "Get off me before I start biting you."

There's a long, /heavy/ silence as Dazai contemplates if it's /worth it/--

Then, with a sigh that sounds like +
he's being subjected to the most cruel and unusual punishments, he's letting him go and rolling over onto his back. "Chibi is so mean to me," he mutters, though there's a smile in his voice.

Chuuya gapes at him. "I'm mean to you? Look what you did!" His arm is /so/ dead that he+
actually has to grab it by the wrist with his /other/ hand so he can shake his limp hand at him. "You were the one cuddling me like I was trying to run away!"

Dazai gives a mock-offended gasp. "I'll have you know that /you/ were cuddling /me/."

(That's not strictly true, +
because Dazai did reach out first. /However/,he does remember blearily waking up in the middle of the night with a tiny bed-hog squirming and pulling on him, making incoherent whining noises until Dazai pratically draped himself over top of him.

Not that he'll admit to cuddling+
him first, because Chuuya's scandalized gasp is hilarious

He's probably blushing too, thought Dazai still hasn't opened his eyes to check.)

"I did not!"

"No?" Dazai rolls over again, on his side. His eyes are finally opening, revealing brown eyes that are still soft and hazy+
with sleep. They're welcoming, drawing him in, alight with amusement. The sleep lines still on his face just make it /better/, leaving him with the image of soft, welcoming sleepiness.

Perhaps the most charming part about him, though, is the /bed-head/. It's absolutely crazy,+
strands sticking up wildly in every direction. Whatever product was in it earlier has seem to given up, because the curls have returned.

He looks soft, touchable, sleepy. Chuuya wants to kiss him again.

"My mistake then," Dazai continues, that adorable dimple making an +
appearance with his growing smile.

Then it occurs to Chuuya: it has to be morning. No light makes it through the blackout curtains, but he feels so rested that it can't be anything but morning. The dark bags under Dazai's eyes have finally eased, which makes him feel satisfied+
in a warm, instinctive way. Like he's taking care of him.

"What time is it?" He mumbles. He doesn't have class today, but he didn't /plan/ to stay the night, and he does have a study session with Yuan planned at noon.

Sure, he could cancel, but then he'd have to come up with+
a believable excuse, which is not as easy as it sounds with someone as nosy as Yuan.

He also doesn't know exactly /when/ Shuuji will be returning, and he is /not/ chancing him coming home to find him literally in bed with his dad.

Twisting, Dazai slaps blindly at the bedside+
table, looking for his phone. When he finds it, he brings it back over, waking the screen.

When he sees the time, he groans, wiping a hand down his face. "I didn't mean to sleep this long," he mutters to himself.

Panic briefly surges through Chuuya. It doesn't /feel/ late, and+
his phone isn't blowing up with calls wondering where he is, so he /assumed/ that it was still pretty early in the morning, but Dazai's reaction has him suddenly reconsidering. "What time is it?"

With a sigh, Dazai shuts his phone back off and goes about stretching out his arms+
and legs. arching his spine. "8 a.m."

Chuuya stares at him. What kind of monster thinks eight in the morning is /late/? No wonder he looks so sleepless all the damn time. He doesn't know how to sleep in!

"You think eight is /late/?"

Dazai hums, shrugging a little. "I have to+
get up early for work, most days."

That makes /some/ sort of sense, even though he said early that his work usually runs late. So either Dazai is a workaholic, or his work is so busy the man never seems to /stop/.

"Oh. Do you have to work now?" Chuuya asks, frowning. His arm+
is back to fully-functioning, though he squeezes his hand a few times to work out the lingering ache.

"No," Dazai murmurs,reaching over to brush a wisp of hair from Chuuya's face. His ponytail is probably a mess from their /session/ earlier and then sleeping on it.

"All I have+
to do right now, is kiss you," he continues.

Chuuya barely lets him get the 'ki--' syllable out before he's crawling over, closing the distance between them.

/Finally/, his hands find that fluffy, wild head of hair and sink in, his world reduced to the big brown eyes that +
/sparkle/ for him before they close on a kiss.

It’s the softest one yet, slow, unhurried. The goal isn’t to deepen it, and it’s not a prelude to other, more interesting things.

It just /is/, so good Chuuya’s chest aches with it, happiness full to bursting.

Maybe Dazai feels+
the same way, because he’s drawing him closer, gentle fingertips on his arm, until Chuuya is stretched out on top of him. His elbows on either side of Dazai’s head keeps him up, and lets him play with his hair absently, delighting in the way he shivers beneath him.

Neither of+
them know how long they stay like that.

Eventually Chuuya pulls back, his lips both tingly and half-numb. He takes a moment to suck indulgently on Dazai’s bottom lip, exactly the way he does to him, before whispering, “I have to go soon.”

He opens his eyes, and it’s a mistake+
for his resolve, because Dazai looks so good it’s /unfair/.

Eyes closed, expression relaxed with just a slight tip of a smile. His lashes are long enough that Chuuya can see them against his cheek, and his mouth is wet and shiny with the lingering kisses.

He never realized how+
strained Dazai usually looked until all that tension has melted away, leaving him looking like some sleeping angel.

Or maybe the devil, with the tousled hair hiding a pair of wicked horns, because he’s drawing him back down, whispering in a voice that feels sinfully sweet on+
his tongue, “Okay. Just one more, then.”

(It’s not one more. Or two more, or three.

Chuuya doesn’t how many more. Counting means that there will be an /end/, and he doesn’t want to jinx himself. He’s holding on as long as possible, as long as Dazai will let him.)

—— +
There are... /benefits/ to the relationship he has with Dazai.

(He still hasn’t asked him what /kind/ of relationship it is. Boyfriend feels too strong, since Dazai’s never actually asked him.

Being his boy toy feels a bit degrading and a little weak, considering they’ve+
been texting for almost two weeks straight.

‘Dating’ is probably closest, but also inherently disappointing because it implies lack of commitment. The thought of Dazai dating other people makes him want to do something insane, like sink his teeth into him and never let go. +
He wants to ask but everytime he thinks about it, he feels /young/ and inexperienced. Like he’s supposed to just /know/ what it is between them, and supposed to be confident in his role.

He’s not, but he /is/ good at pretending. So.)

Obviously Dazai is a benefit in and of +
himself, but Chuuya is not ashamed to admit that /some/ parts of him are more beneficial than others, especially during finals week.

The initial conversation goes like this:

[ CHUUYA ]: ive studied ALL day im so exhausted

[ CHUUYA ]: I haven’t even eaten yet and all I want is+
that seafood platter from the first dinner we went to 😭 I would die for that dessert right now...

Not only does Dazai not respond, he leave him on /read/.

Chuuya waits patiently for about half an hour before he starts getting /mad/— the stress from finals week has really+
heightened his temper, and he is /quick/ to fly off the handle these days— when he gets a single, incoming text.

[ DADDY 🥰💕 ]: 20 mins

Twenty minutes til /what/, asshole? Even if the conversation was boring, it’s /rude/ to leave someone on read! Especially the person you are+
kinda-sorta-not-really-but-maybe-someday dating!

Luckily for Dazai, Chuuya still has 5 exercises left to do before he can call it a night, so he decides to take a breather and do those instead of indulging in his temper.

Twenty minutes pass before he knows It and—

A knock.+
Immediately, his heart is jumping in his chest. Panicking, the only thing he can do is stare wide-eyes at the door for a long moment.

Is...is that /him/? Is he here?

Oh god, Chuuya hasn’t showered in over 36 hours, and his hair is a mess, he is not ready to see him—

Another+
knock, this one louder. It sends Chuuya scrambling.

Oh fuck, /okay/, it’s fine, he can’t just /leave/ him out there. He’ll just...

Open the door as little as possible so Dazai doesn’t have to see his ketchup-stained shirt, and send him away.

Easy peasy.

He cracks open the+
door, poking his head out with a sheepish smile. The excuse is already on his tongue, ready to roll off—

It’s not Dazai. In fact, it’s no one Chuuya has seen before, plastic bags in hand.

“Are you Nakahara Chuuya?” The person asks, looking down at the receipt they have in +
hand before glancing up at him.

“Yes...?” He agrees hesitantly.

The bag is held out to him. “Delivery for you.”

Taking the bag, he eyes the contents. It’s hard to see through the plastic, but it /looks/ like the logo of the restaurant they went to.

Did Dazai send him+
food? Without telling him? Without him really even asking?

(Beyond the complaining, but he was just venting he /swears/.)

The delivery person doesn’t wait for a signature or form of payment, taking off down the hallway with a murmured goodnight.

Chuuya takes the bag back+
into his room, locking the door. Most of his desk is taken up by books and clutter, so he —dutifully— relocates all that shit to the floor for future-him to deal with, and sets the bag down.

As soon as he unties the top, he /knows/. It is the food from the restaurant, his same+
exact order. Minus the wine, which is understandable.

It smells even /better/ than the first time he had it, even though the presentation has been destroyed in the car ride over. He’s not ashamed to say he digs out a piece of shrimp with his bare fingers to soothe his +
starving stomach, chewing quickly as he fishes his phone out.

There’s a text:

[ DADDY 🥰💕 ]: Are you still mad at me for leaving you on read now?

Chuuya flushes, biting down a little too viciously on his shrimp. The fact that Dazai knew he was grumpy without him saying+
anything makes him both pleased and embarrassed.

[ CHUUYA ]: I wasn’t mad......

Dazai’s gotten a lot better at texting over the past couple weeks. He understands most of the lingo and the meanings behind emojis. He was always a good texter but now it feels like they’re +
speaking the same language.

There is, however, an adorable little quirk that Chuuya will /never/ let him change. Instead of sending emojis, he sends /selfies/.

The picture he gets for /that/ comment is one with an incredibly dry expression, eyebrow lifted.

It clearly says+
‘do you really think you can lie to me? We both know the truth’.

And well, yeah. That’s fair.

Digging out a pair of chopsticks from the bag, he sets aside the dessert to eat later. The seafood, however, gets pushed into his mouth as quickly as he can chew.

[ CHUUYA ]: thank+
you though. you really didn't have to, i promise i was just venting. i didn't expect anything

It's taking him a while to get used to the vast financial difference between them, and he still feels a little guility whenever Dazai spends money on him. It's not like he can ever+
pay it back.

It feels unbalanced.

[ DADDY🥰💕 ]: It wouldn't be very nice of me to watch you wither away in starvation when I can fix the problem, no?

That makes Chuuya smile, mouth full. To be fair, it really did feel like he was about to wither away. He's already a quarter+
of the way through the main course, and he's barely slowing down.

[ DADDY 🥰💕]: Don't worry so much, chibi. The tests will be easy for you. You're incredibly smart and hard-working, so just let me help where I can.

God, that's /so/ sweet. And the way he said the tests will be+
easy for /him/, instead of just easy, somehow validates all the effort Chuuya has been putting in and makes him feel a little more at ease. Like the tests might be hard for someone /else/, but not Chuuya, not after all the work he's done.

Plus, the 'smart' thing makes him feel+
such an intense rush of giddiness that he actually has to set his phone down for a minute and stare at the wall while trying to control his wild blush.

He's never really been called smart before, not of himself. Usually, it's just attached to the idea that he studies /so/ much+
that there was no other option but to /be/ smart. Like he deserves the title, but only because he worked himself to the bone to earn it. Like it could be taken away, if he falls behind or slips up.

He likes when Dazai calls him smart. It makes him feel /worthy/.

[ CHUUYA ]: +
okay 💕 thank you so much

The heart emoji he gets back feels it's directly attached to the one throbbing in his chest.

From there, that sets up a precedent. Chuuya /expected/ it to be a one-time thing, and that's all he really needed. He didn't mention being hungry or tired +
again, because it feels ungrateful and like he's whining.

However,right around dinnertime like clockwork, there's another delivery person knocking on his door, armed with another bag of food.

It's always from a different restaurant, always some dish that Chuuya had offhandedly+
mentioned he liked, and always paid for by the time it arrives.

They don't really talk about it. Whenever Chuuya tries, he gets a 'I like helping you, sweetheart' and then another heart emoji when Chuuya finally gives in and says thank you.

He /is/ enjoying it, because it's +
way better than whatever he'd be eating on his own, and it definitely takes a load off his mind in terms of stress and obligation. Dazai even sends him /coffee/, which is so beautiful that Chuuya actually tears up a little bit when he takes the first sip.

On the weekend before,+
less than 36 hours away from his first exam, Chuuya is laid out in bed with the phone pressed to his ear. His brain is both half-dead and hyperactive, stuffed full with all the knowledge he can soak up.

"I think I'm gonna die," he whines into the receiver, half-dramatic and +
half-serious. It's only his /first/ college finals season, so he's sure it's going to get /worse/ as the years go on, which frankly terrifies him.

Dazai laughs at him,and even though it's as his expense, it still makes him smile. "I hope you don't," he teases, "I happen to like+
you alive and breathing."

Chuuya sighs heavily. "Nikolai was supposed to study with me today, but I guess he picked up an extra shift at work. I haven't seen him all day."

Which sucks, because they promised to quiz eachother with flashcards, which is a lot more fun and +
effective, but it's not that big of a problem.

He /is/ a little worried about Nikolai's tests, because the man barely seems to study and when he does, he spends half the time distracted. Yes, he's naturally pretty smart, but that's not /everything/.

Chuuya likes his roommate+
and he really doesn't want to get another one, not halfway through the semester.

Dazai makes a sympathetic noise. "Does he work a lot?"

Chuuya rolls over, curling up deeper in bed. It's late, and he's had a long day of studying. "Lately? All the time."

"And you said he's +
working now?"

"I assume so,"Chuuya blows out a breath,"he didn't really say anything besides that he couldn't make it to studying."

He got the text only an hour before their session,which was a little frustrating,but it's not like it was a date or anything.

"So you're alone?"+
Something about the way Dazai says that, a little /too/ innocently, like he's trying to cover up his intentions, makes Chuuya squint suspiciously.

"Yes...?"

"In that case," Dazai murmurs, and now the innocent tone has given way to something deeper, darker, more intoxicating,+
"I think I might have something that will give you some...incentive."

Chuuya's heartrate picks up, heat gathering. "Like what?" He asks, and he shouldn't sound so breathless /already/, but it only takes a few words from Dazai to make him feel like he's about to snap.

"Do you+
trust me?"

He only ever has one answer. "Yes."

"Then I want you to do something for me."

Chuuya nods, a little too eagerly. He doesn't know where this is going, but he'll do almost anything if Dazai asks him like /that/. "Okay."

"I want you to touch yourself for me." +
His mind screeches to a halt, heart stuttering in his chest. He wants him to /what/?

He must’ve said that out loud, because there’s another short laugh on the phone, followed by Dazai’s unfairly amused voice, “I want you to touch yourself, doll.”

Embarrassment and arousal mix+
inside him, turning his face red. Losing his mind while Dazai was holding him was one thing, but doing it to himself with him listening suddenly feels daunting. “Now? On thé phone?”

“Yes. Unless you’re shy...?”

He’s /not/ shy, he’s just not confident yet. He’s never done+
this before, jerked off for an audience. “What if Nikolai comes back?” He mumbles.

The next breath over the phone sounds a little heavier than the last, a little faster. “Then I suppose you better be quick, hm?”

That’s not a problem. Chuuya was a teenage boy in a house with+
two sisters and a strict dad. He’s mastered the art of jerking off in 10 minutes flat.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry,” Dazai murmurs, followed by the distinct /clink/ of a belt coming undone, “I’ll be right here with you, sweetheart.”

God. Just the /sounds/ of this now are+
enough to have heat pooling in Chuuya’s stomach, his every nerve growing taut and hyper aware. He swears he can almost /feel/ Dazai’s voice on him, like the whisper of too-light fingertips.

But if Dazai wants him /too/, right now, then why not just—

“Come pick me up?”+
There’s a long, thoughtful silence on the other side. Chuuya holds his breath, hoping, waiting—

“I’ll make you a deal, doll. I will come pick you up”— /yes!/— “/after/ you take all your finals. As a reward.”

He pouts. That’s not /fair/, not when he has time right now and +
/Dazai/ has time right now, and they both want eachother. They’re less than 30 minutes apart!

“As for /now/,” Dazai hums, voice dropping deeper. If Chuuya listens closely there’s the /faintest/ sound of something slick and wet, “you can eri there /join/ me— or you can leave me+
to my own devices.”

Then something occurs to Dazai, something that makes tension crackle through the air, temperature ramping up as he speaks again, “Or you could /listen/? I /will/ be thinking about you— it’s only fair that you hear when I say your name.”

/Fuck/. +
“Yes,” he whimpers, unaware of what exactly he /wants/, but needing more of it anyways. More of whatever Dazai will give him, more tension, more pleasure, more attention.

“Yes what, doll?” Dazai purrs, followed the devastating sound of something slick and Chuuya realizes, +
lightheaded—

Dazai is jerking off. Right now. On call with him. He can hear it in his voice, the strained breathing and the low notes, /hear/ the sound of his slick hand moving over himself—

Oh /god/.

“You want to listen? Or you want to help me out? I need you to tell me+
what you want, sweetheart.”

Chuuya wants it /all/, his body melting into a pulsating mass of need. “You— I want /you/. Please, I-I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Dazai repeats, his chuckle a little foreboding in how dark it is. “Baby, you shouldn’t give me so much power. Who +
/knows/ what I’ll do to you.”

Chuuya doesn’t know, but he aches to find out, imagines it as best he can with his limited knowledge. He hopes Dazai has plans.

Because he’s never done anything like this before, and he highly doubts that jerking himself off in 10 minutes is the+
exact idea that Dazai is going for, he asks breathlessly, “what do you want me to do?”

Frankly, he’s too turned on to be embarrassed right now, the growing tent in his sweats overriding any sort of nerves or anxiety.

Luckily, Dazai slides right into the commanding role without+
a moment of hesitation. “Turn your phone on speaker and place it by your head. Then take your clothes off.”

Chuuya removes his sweats so quickly he almost knees himself in the face, kicking the fabric off his ankles frantically. He leaves the shirt on, but he does ruck it up+
all the way to his armpits to give himself access. He’s not chancing being /completely/ naked if Nikolai comes back.

It takes him a few tries to put the phone on speaker because his hands are trembling so hard. He’s not helped along by Dazai’s whispered “so /eager/, baby.” +
Then he’s lying there, head on his pillow, mostly naked. “Okay,” he says breathlessly, waiting for the next instruction.

“Good boy,” Dazai praises, voice curling down his spine. “I want you to start with your chest. Play with your nipples.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he +
lowers his hands to his chest. He never really spends a lot of time here, because he's usually in a /hurry/ and he was never /that/ sensitive to begin with, so he didn't think it was worth it.

Now, with his fingers rolling his warming flesh and Dazai's voice in his ear, he's+
starting to see the /appeal/.

"You know," Dazai draws out, like they're having a completely casual conversation instead of working themselves over, breathing starting to strain, "I haven't played with your chest yet, but I can't help but wonder what you'll sound like when I've +
got my teeth on you. Would you moan for me?"

Back arching instinctively, Chuuya /pinches/, simulating the feeling of teeth. Something about this situation has him /louder/ than he usually is, a soft noise already escaping the back of his throat. "Yes," he gasps out, because he+
would.

"Mm, I know you would. I don't think I'd stop until you /did/," Dazai says, breath hitching audibly. There's a ghost of a groan coming from the other side of the call, and Chuuya wants to hear it more than /anything/.

He bites his lip, not doing much to silence his+
panting. If Dazai can't see him, then he should /hear/ him, right?

And if he's in any way as affected as Chuuya is by the noises, the soft barely-there groan and the slick noises that are beginning to speed up--

Then he'll ignore every shred of embarrassment and hesitance he+
might've had, because he wants this to be good for Dazai more than /anything/.

The next question has him pause for a moment though.

"Do you have lube?"

He doesn't, mostly because he hasn't had a ton of time or extra money to go to the store to /get/ some, and the idea of the+
cashier staring at him while ringing up his purchase makes him want to hide. Besides, he's never really needed anything like that before, because /most/ of his... personal time happens in the shower and he didn't need it then. The rare times it wasn't, he just used lotion. "No,"+
he mumbles, squirming a little bit.

He's regretting that /now/ though, because now he's wondering what Dazai would've asked him to do if he /did/ have lube.

There's a beat of silence, where the embarrassment builds and Chuuya is half-expecting him to be like 'what kind of+
18 year old college boy /doesn't/ have lube--' but no,that's not what happens.

Instead: "I want you to suck on your fingers then. Get them nice and wet."

He barely even thinks before he's doing as told, opening his mouth wide to rub his fingers against his tongue. The noise is+
embarrassingly loud, but it mixes with the slick, rhythmic sounds from Dazai’s side, and if Chuuya thinks, hard he can /almost/ imagine it—

The size of Dazai’s cock,the weight of it in his hands, the taste of it on his tongue, hot and hard and so fucking big, almost too much to+
handle, too much to take--

"Have you ever fingered yourself before?" Dazai's voice is like seduction itself, low and throbbing, sliding into the deepest, darkest parts of Chuuya's mind and claiming it for his own.

He speaks around his fingers, "Not...really?"

He tried, once,+
in the shower too, but it was only the tip of his index finger and it felt weird more than anything. There wasn't any sparks, no mind-blowing pleasure, just the feeling of intrusion. He ended up pulling it out and jerking off like usual, and didn't try again.

Now though, with +
hunger an empty pit in his stomach, filling him with the aching desire for /more/--

He'd try again, if Dazai asked him to. "Do you want me to--?"

This time, there's a slight growl to his voice as Dazai responds, "No, not where I can't /watch/ you fuck yourself for the first +
time."

God, /every/ time Dazai curses it makes electricity jolt up his spine. It's so rare, and only in situations like this.

"For now," Dazai murmurs, taking a second to catch his breath, because he's on the verge of panting already, "I want you to reach down, and take +
yourself in hand. Are you hard?"

Shamefully so, considering that he's only had Dazai's voice and his hands on his chest for stimulation. He /aches/, rock-hard against his stomach, throbbing with neglect.

Instead of answering, he reaches down and wraps his fingers around his +
erection, letting out a startled moan at how /good/ the friction feels, hot and wet with his own saliva.

"/Fuck/," Dazai hisses in response,the wet sounds of him jerking off increasing, "that's it, baby.Make yourself feel good, I wanna /hear/."

Choking out another moan, Chuuya+
gives himself a slow stroke, starting at the base and working up. Pleasure pulses through him, heightened by the twist of his wrist over the head. Pre-cum wells up at the tip, is spread with the next stroke.

It’s all too easy to fall into a rhythm, spurred on by the heat +
gathering in his veins, the dark whisper of Dazai’s voice by his ear.

“Imagine it, baby,” Dazai groans, actually groans and Chuuya has /never/ heard him sound so affected or out of control, and that alone is enough to have his hips twitching, hand speeding up, “imagine what I+
could do to you. How good I could make you feel. I know how bad you want it, and I could /give it to you/.”

The room is getting hotter, air scorching against his skin. His skin feels too tight, not big enough to hold the ecstasy building inside him, not big enough to contain+
the swirling mess of desire and lust.

Dazai hasn’t even touched him today and it’s almost too much already.

“Dazai,” he whimpers, the saliva on his hand almost dried out, adding a delicious twinge of rough friction that just sends him climbing higher, “I need— /please/.” +
“I know what you need,” Dazai cuts him off, and the sheer confidence in his voice is enough to have Chuuya’s head spinning. “Just a little more, right? You’re /so/ close, aren’t you?”

Yes, yes, /yes/, he is, his hand can’t move fast enough. His forearm aches with the strain, +
but god, he can’t stop, not when every stroke feels even better than the last, the pleasure mounting, winding him tighter, /tighter/—

“Dazai,” he whines again, mind melting. He doesn’t know any other words right now, only /his/ name.

Just Dazai and all-encompassing pleasure,+
all around him, pulling him under.

And then--

"Chuuya," Dazai moans back at him, voice guttural and soaked in pleasure,and /fuck/, that's his /name/,it sounds so /good/ when he says it like that.

The tension starts to fray, the heat too much to handle. It's so much, so /good/+
that it's starting to take over, break under his own momentum.

"Gonna-- /Gonna/--!"

One stroke, two. Down, up, twist over the head, back down, /squeeze/--

"Cum for me, baby."

The statement--a /command/, really-- is enough to break the tension. With a loud, strangled cry, he+
/does/.

Rapture washes over him in fiery waves, making him shudder. Each one feels better than the last, drawn out by his still-moving hand. His thighs twitch hard, fighting both for and against the sensations.

The world around him is drowned out by the roaring of his pulse in+
his ears, the throbbing of his heart and cock in time, the swell and crash of pleasure that knocks him breathless.

He's probably whining incoherently, whimpering out desperate noises and 'oh /fuck/'s as he works himself through it.

It feels like it lasts /forever/, so intense+
that he's panting with it.

By the time the waves finally clear and oversensitivity begins to develop, he's treated to the /glorious/ sound of Dazai's drawn-out groan, whispered 'fuck's and another call of his name as he obviously works himself through his own orgasm.

The +
sounds make another shiver of arousal pulse through him, even though he /just/ came,his belly and hand still smeared with cum. Truthfully,he doesn't think he'll be satisfied until he hears those noises in /person/, right next to his ear as Dazai--

Well, as Dazai does /whatever/+
he wants with him. He'll let him do it /all/.

Dazai collects himself faster than Chuuya did,his harsh breathing evening out rather quickly.

(His composure has always been impressive, but every day it gets closer to /cracking/, and Chuuya is looking forward to the day he loses+
that self-control.)

"Feel better?" Dazai asks after a moment, voice once again returned to his normal, caramel-sweet tones. It's a shame to lose that rough growling, but that just makes it /better/ when Chuuya does hear it.

He hums, reaching over to his table to snatch up a +
tissue for clean-up. "Yeah," he says, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

He was running on only a few hours of sleep, and after the exertion, he's limp with exhaustion. He doesn't even have the energy to pull his clothes back on, choosing instead to crawl under the covers and have +
faith that he won’t be flashing the goods to Nikolai when he returns.

“Sleepy baby,” Dazai teases, but it’s so soft it just makes Chuuya feel warm. “Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he yawns again, but he doesn’t move to hang up the phone.

Neither does+
Dazai, not right away. He remains quiet, choosing instead just to listen to the sounds of shuffling and quiet murmurs as Chuuya settles down.

He falls asleep like that, with the comforting sound of Dazai’s breathing near his ear.

Dazai doesn’t hang up for a /very/ long time.+
(Of course, all good things must come to an end. Chuuya has never had an easy time for long, so it’s only natural that things take a turn for the worse from then on.

But it’s not his fault this time.

No, this time, it all starts with /Nikolai/.) +
The morning before Chuuya's calculus and physics exams, a delivery driver drops off what is probably the largest cup of coffee Chuuya has ever seen. It smells heavenly, and tastes even better--hints of hazelnut and mocha, just sweet enough to savor.

More than just the coffee +
arrives though.

Because stapled to the little bag that holds a blueberry muffin is a pitch black, blank business card.

Seeing it makes his heart trip, because he has a twin of this exact card still stuffed in his desk drawer, from when he received the flowers.

It still +
doesn't have any text,but the message is pretty clear, because only one person would send him this.

Dazai.

He /did/ send him the flowers then, and that--

That /jerk/ claimed they were from him so that Chuuya would stop being upset over their fight when Shuuji pinned him down.+
The anger--the anger he should've felt /then/ but didn't because he felt too guilty,too /dramatic/--boils up from inside him.

Shuuji /never/ actually apologized for that. Sure, maybe he had a point that Chuuya could've communicated his feelings better, but the one time he /did/+
communciate--even if panicked and in tears-- he was yelled at and made to feel small. Like he was being stupid, or childish.

Back then, he'd taken the flowers as some silent apology, and he'd moved past it.

But this, right here, proves that not only did Shuuji not care about +
his feelings--not a surprise, really, but still hurtful-- but also that...

Dazai has cared a lot longer than even Chuuya thought he did. He thought that the first dinner was a turning point for them, like that was the first time Dazai had ever seen him in a different light. +
But the flowers were a /week/ before that, and if he cared enough to cheer him up without telling him they were from him, even though he wasn't at fault--

God, he's /so/ sweet.

As he sits there, struggling between anger and injustice from Shuuji, and an overflowing sense of +
affection and gratefulness for Dazai--

"Where did you get this?"

The black card is plucked from his fingertips, and Chuuya is whirling around, mouth open and already ready to tear into whoever is touching /his/ gift--

It's Nikolai, with a deep-set frown as he looks from the+
card to Chuuya.

Chuuya has a choice here:

As far as Nikolai knows, Shuuji and him are still... involved. Still talking. Obviously, he isn’t around that much, but he’s under the impression that Chuuya still has a crush on Shuuji.

So he could reveal that all the meals that+
have been delivered were actually from Dazai, and that Chuuya doesn’t actually like Shuuji anymore because he’s a jerk that stood him up, and then explain how he want on a date with Dazai instead and now they’re kinda-not-really-but-sorta dating secretly—

Or he could /lie/. +
"I found it on the ground outside the door."

Okay,he /could've/ lied better than that,but it's too late to take it back.

"You found this black business card outside our dorm?" Nikolai looks disbelieving and a little concerned.

Forcing a smile, Chuuya says,"Yep. On the floor."+
Nikolai stares at him. Stares at the card. Stares back at him, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

Chuuya is /fully/ expecting to be called out as a cheater or a dad-fucker or anything at this point, awkward tension building--

"Have you ever heard of the Demon prodigy?"

What. +
Chuuya frowns at him, confused. “You mean that ghost story about the campus fire almost 20 years ago? Yeah, Yuan told me.”

Nikolai pushes his hair behind his ears. He’s wearing his hair down today, all loose white waves that make his blue-grey eyes seem more intense. “It’s not+
a /ghost/ story, Chuuya, he was a real person. And it’s said that he used to leave /black business cards/—“ he shows him the card again, like it counts as evidence, “— where his future victims would find them, as a threat and a warning.”

Chuuya stares at him. “So... you’re +
telling me that the business card is some sort of threatening calling card and now I’m.... going to be hunted down by some terrifying demon prodigy?”

Nikolai looks grim.

After a moment, it’s too much. Chuuya bursts into laughter. “That sounds ridiculous. Nice try trying to+
scare me though.”

He reaches for the card, because Nikolai actually looks like he might rip it in half.

Using his height to his advantage, he holds it out of his reach. “I’m not trying to /scare/ you— look, you’ve heard of the Port Mafia, right?”

Who hasn’t? They’re blamed+
for almost every crime that happens in the city, from drug trafficking to domestic violence. They’re the most powerful crime organization on this side of Japan, and they rule the city with an iron hand.

They’re the feral dogs stalking the night. They’re the reason respectable+
citizens avoid dark alleyways and stay home after dark. They’re the scary stories told to children to keep them in line.

/Yakuza/. Fearless, heartless criminals.

“A while ago, there was a lot more crime in the city. The Port Mafia wasn’t as powerful as it is today, so there+
was a lot more infighting. The gangs fought over territory and resources, and a lot of innocent people were harmed.”

Chuuya takes a sip of of his coffee, wondering where the hell he’s going with this. He only has an hour before his exam, and he /should/ be spending it doing+
some last minute cramming, but apparently Nikolai has /other/ plans.

“It was like that for a while, but then the Demon Prodigy showed up. He was ruthless, and the streets ran red with the blood he spilled. Between him and his partner, the Mafia quickly became the most +
feared and powerful Yakuza clan in the city. That’s why they still have so much power to this day.”

Narrowing his eyes, Chuuya considers. That story felt more like informational than anything else, with a few too many details to be coincidence. “How do you know all that?”+
His expression shutters, growing distant and a little pale. “My brother used to be involved with the Russian syndicate, back is Moscow.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “You’ve never mentioned a brother before?”

“That’s because,” Nikolai pauses, seeming to search for the right words to+
say, “he is no longer with us.”

It takes Chuuya an embarrassingly long moment to realize what he means, and then he winces.

He’s /dead/. Probably because of gang activity, based on this story.

He feels bad now, guilt at the careful distance on Nikolai’s face. “I’m sorry,+
that must be hard.”

With a nonchalance that Chuuya could never imagine having if Kouyou or Kyouka ever got hurt, Nikolai waves off his concern. “Thank you. It was a long time ago now. I am okay.”

Then he offers the black card back to Chuuya, holding it with the tips of his+
fingers like it might burn him. “My point is, you should be careful. Nothing good happens to the people who receive these.”

Chuuya takes it, stuffing it into his pocket carelessly. “It’s just a black card, Nikolai. It doesn’t even have a message on it. As far as threatening +
call signs go, it’s pretty lame. Besides, any criminal with internet access knows not to leave a calling card behind, that’s /exactly/ how they find the killers on Criminal Minds.”

“Oh for the love of—,” Nikolai starts, pausing to wipe a hand over his face. This is probably+
the most irritated Chuuya has ever seen him. “Just— be careful, okay? Because if he’s found you, or if he wants you for whatever reason, his enemies aren’t far behind. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Checking his watch, Chuuya realizes he’s only got 45 minutes before his +
class. The nerves are beginning to build, fueled by coffee. Did he study that one equation enough? He’s always been prone to acting in instinct when under pressure, which is /not/ the way to tackle his complicated calculus test. He can’t afford to fail. He can’t even afford to +
get less than a 75 without dropping his ranking.

“I will, Nikolai, but I don’t understand your fear. Even if the stories are true, he’s probably 50 by now, and I’m just a regular college student. Nothing happens to me. There’s no reason for him to ‘want me’. It was just a +
coincidence or a mistake. Maybe some guy just ordered business cards and they came out wrong.”

(Later,he will regret not connecting the dots.Regret not asking questions,and regret not taking his warning seriously.

But by then,it’ll be far too late.

Right now— he has an exam.)+
******* THE NEXT SCENE MAY BE TRIGGERING FOR:

Mentioned non-sexual abuse of a minor, minor character death, mild gore and violence, themes of depression/suicidal ideation, mention of consensual sex between minors.

Feel free to skip; I will post a summary at the end. **********
----- 19 YEARS AGO -----

Osamu hates when they scream. The noise gets into his head, makes his ears ring, opens something dark and abyssal inside him that's hungry and full of teeth.

More importantly, it's fucking annoying. And /loud/.

"Stop stalling," Yosano says from her+
seat on the concrete stairs. She's cleaning her nails with a wickedly sharp knife, casually threatening. Her boots are tall, with thick soles.

Good for stomping.

"I'm not stalling," Osamu denies automatically, clenching his fingers around the gun in his hand.

It's a lie. +
But it's not because he's playing with his food, or anything sadistic like Yosano likely thinks. He doesn't enjoy the screams, the way the traitor girl is currently clawing onto his pants and begging for her life.

It's a lost cause. Her life was forfeit as soon as she crossed+
the Mafia. Both of them knew that.

And it's not because he's particularly opposed to killing someone. He's killed people before, by the people under his command or with his own hand. He's a /very/ good weapon. He's been handling a gun since he was 9 years old, after all.

No, +
neither of those are the reason he's not forcing the girl and her boyfriend teeth-first against the curb.

It's because whenever he looks down at her,all long brown hair and big brown filled with tears and desperation, he feels a pit drop out of his stomach. Nausea climbs up his+
throat.

// "Please-- no, /not/ him, /please/." //

"You know you have to do it," Yosano continues, slipping her knife back into her boot. She stands up with a lazy yawn, stretching her hands overhead. "You know what Mori will do if you don't."

Yeah, he knows. Nothing immediate+
nothing /physical/.

But he'll be on edge for weeks, waiting for the bit of incorrect information that will land him in a sticky situation. Waiting for that snickered "oh, Osamu-kun, you should /really/ check your sources before acting!" when he drags himself back home. +
"Please-- you don't have to do this! You're just a /kid/! You don't have to do this to us, please."

Dazai crouches down beside the girl--he knows her name, but he refuses to think of it in times like these- and pries her hands off his slacks mercilessly.

That's where she's +
wrong. He's not a child, not anymore.

When you throw a child to the wolves, the thing that returns is more beast than child.

More demon than man.

He smiles,no amusement,eyes dead in his face. "No, I'm not."

Yosano takes up the silent cue, and grabs the girl by her shoulders.+
She drags her back, forcibly flipping her over. It's a struggle to get her lined up properly with how hard she's fighting, but Yosano is stronger than she looks.

She has to be, to be /his/ partner. They're double black for a reason.

Because Dazai is still hearing that cursed+
voice in his head, the swimming after-image of someone who used to love him very much--

He takes mercy on the traitor,and shoots her thrice in the chest before he shatters her jaw with a quick stomp of his boot.

It is not satisfying, or painful to watch.

It's /empty/, hollow.+
Dazai lets Yosano have the man, because she's /vindictive/ when it comes to anything male-related. He holds him down for her, watching her boot come down with a detached casualness.

It doesn't matter. Just another kill-- his first mafia execution, though.

Maybe that's why it+
was so hard to do it. Maybe that's why he kept thinking of his--

He stands up, brushing his hands over his coat to get rid of the imaginary dust and blood. The cleaner crew will be on their way soon, so their job is done.

Mission complete.

Somehow, he always ends up feeling+
worse after missions, like he's been turned inside out and scraped clean of everything inside him.

Turning to Yosano, he asks, "Wanna fuck?"

He's found there's only /two/ things that help when he's feeling like this, one infinitely more enjoyable than the other. Pleasure or +
pain.

Either works, but he does have a preference sometimes.

He probably /shouldn't/ be sleeping with Yosano, considering she's his rival for the boss position. She's liable to stab him in the back to drag herself farther up the ladder of power.

Eh. He doesn't care. Dying+
by her hand would be an honor.

Yosano snorts, delicately stepping over a growing puddle of blood. "I know better than to fall into bed with you when you're fresh off a kill. You turn into a /beast/."

A flash of teeth, dark eyes glinting with amusement. She's not /wrong/.

"Go+
find that Sasaki girl. She seemed like she was into that shit."

Dazai sighs, pulling out his phone. Sasaki is a /bit/ annoying, too clingy for his tastes but--

The sex is good. She got onto birth control recently, so she said the /next/ time he wouldn't have to use a condom+
so that's enough for him to put up with any 'please be my boyfriend Dazai-kun' behavior.

Why she wants /him/ as a boyfriend, he doesn't know. Guess the sex is /that/ good.

He selects a contact, bringing the phone up to his ear while he waits for it to ring.

Just another day.+
****************** END OF TRIGGER WARNINGS

Summary: Dazai completed his first execution mafia-style, then goes to sleep with Sasaki.

****************
Finishing his last final is like feeling the culmination of all the emotions he's felt over the past month. Exhaustion, from having studied so hard,to the point where he almost quit more than a few times.

Triumph, for having actually made it through finals /and/ he feels pretty+
good about his scores. His English courses were a little iffy, but he's never spent too much time on the language, so he's going to call it a success.

Freedom, because he might have failed, he might be stupid, and he /might/ be off to pack up his bags as soon as the scores +
come back in, but at /least/ it's over.

And excitement, too, because Dazai said he's taking him to dinner afterwards to celebrate, and he's /so/ excited he could almost vibrate out of his seat.

Luckily, he has just enough time to take a quick shower and change into some better+
clothes than the sweats he took his tests in.

Nikolai is, once again, nowhere to be found. Chuuya would be concerned, because he hasn't seen him since finals started, but he's been responding to texts, so.

He's probably fine.

Because he's so tired, he actually skips on most+
of his makeup, besides covering up his dark circles and some highlight.

He has a feeling he'll either be passing out in Dazai's bed as soon as they get home--/if/ Dazai takes him home-- or he'll be passing out as soon as he arrives back at the dorm. The less he has to take off,+
the better. Work smarter, not harder.

As always, Dazai is /exactly/ on time,leaning against his car on the passenger side as he waits patiently.

Luckily, the parking lot is mostly empty, so no one really sees when Chuuya rushes up to him and flings his arms around his neck for+
a kiss.

“Hello to you too,” Dazai laughs against his lips, hands sliding around his back to pull him closer. Then, lower, in a rumbling purr, “Did you miss me?”

Chuuya makes an assenting noise, unable to keep himself from smiling into the kiss as he presses as close as he can.+
They stand there for a long moment, savoring the feel of each other. It's not rushed, or backed by desperate energy. It's just simply--

/Hello again. I missed you./

After the stress of finals, the feeling of Dazai's arms around him, supporting him, makes relief thrum through+
him. Here, the rest of the world fades away, turning into background noise. Here, the only thing that matters is big brown eyes, soft hair, and the taste of a smile against his own.

"We're gonna be late," Dazai murmurs, though his hand is sliding further up his back to +
encourage the arch of his spine. Their chests are pressed together.

"I don't care," Chuuya mumbles back. His calves ache from having to stand on his tip-toes this whole time, but the muscle pain means nothing to him right now.

With a final, lingering kiss Dazai pulls away. +
When Chuuya pouts up at him, he breaks it by pushing his thumb over his bottom lip. "Stop pouting, baby. We have to eat."

He bends down again, and Chuuya's eyes are falling naturally closed, hoping for another kiss. He arches up impossibly higher, hands on his shoulders.

But+
he bypasses his lips, pressing a quick kiss over his cheek before leaning even farther forward to whisper in his ear. "If you /behave/, I'll give you a reward after."

(Never mind that Dazai planned on 'rewarding' him either way, and that he thinks this bratty behavior /is/ +
adorable. Chuuya doesn't need to know that.)

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Chuuya drops back onto his heels. "Alright, let's go then," he says, stepping out of Dazai's embrace with a barely concealed pout.

The door is opened for him, and he slides in easily. He's been pretty cold+
lately, so the heated seats are a blessing. He curls up in his seat, facing the drivers seat and resting his head against the back.

Once Dazai climbs in, they take off. The drive is further than usual, but when Chuuya asks where they're going, he only gets a secretive smile and+
a "it's a surprise~."

Fine. Chuuya isn't too worried about it, because so far, Dazai has been exceptionally good at picking things that Chuuya enjoys. The flowers, the first dinner, all the meals over this week.

The fact that he has his tastes figured out so easily is kind of+
shocking, considering Chuuya thinks of himself as a picky eater, but it means he trusts him enough to not demand an answer.

His trust is rewarded when they pull up to the restaurant. Another four-star one, this one marginally more expensive and popular and /famous/ for its+
wine tasting menu.

“Don’t drink too much,” Dazai says casually as they walk up to the front entrance. He opens the door and lets Chuuya go in first, continuing, “I want you sober for later.”

Oh. Chuuya’s cheeks flush, because as far as innuendos go, it’s /not/ subtle.

Every+
time they’ve gotten together, things have /escalated/. Each sexual encounter is hotter than the last, pushing Chuuya’s limits a little further each time.

First the dry grinding. Then the phone sex.

He remembers the way Dazai had asked if he’d ever fingered himself, voice +
thick with longing and curiosity.

Dazai picks up his menu, long fingers curling around the edges, and Chuuya wonders—

Is that what he has planned tonight? He’s only said he wants them sober when he has something /sexual/ in mind, so is that it?

But he also said /last/ time+
that he’d let Chuuya get his hands on him. Admittedly, he is /dying/ to actually see his cock, because just the memory of feeling of it pressed up against him is enough to send shivers of delight up his spine.

Suddenly, he’s a /lot/ more eager for this dinner to end. +
There are flowers on the table, orange ones. Just like every other date they’ve been on, and seeing them makes Chuuya smile.

It also reminds him. “What’s up with the blank black business card thing?”

Dazai flips the menu page, a thoughtful expression on his face. This place+
has more of the smaller, snack-sized meals and he’s not sure what to get. “I got cards printed for my company, but the first batch came out wrong. I’ve just been using them for reminders, basically.”

Chuuya nods. “That’s exactly what /I/ thought too, but Nikolai thought it was+
weird.”

The plates and glasses for their appetizers get placed down between them. Their waiter—a bored looking college age man, Chuuya is happy to see—takes their orders before leaving.

“Why did he think it was weird?”

“He gave me this whole story about some ‘demon prodigy’.”
“He /what/?”

Their drinks—wine for Chuuya, whiskey for Dazai— appear quickly.

Chuuya takes an indulgent sip, savoring the taste with a sigh. “Yeah. I told him that I wasn’t scared of some ‘demon prodigy’ thats old enough to be my grandfather.”

Dazai chokes on his whiskey.+
He has to pound on his chest, coughing, several times before he stops choking.

“Are you okay?” Chuuya asks, starting to get up so he can help. Slap his back or something.

Dazai waves him off, face pale. After a second, he faintly wheezes, “your /grandfather/?”

“Probably.” +
(Dazai is lucky their appetizers arrive then, because he feels like he’s been slapped in the face.)

There’s quiet for a moment as they load up their plates, Dazai with mostly meat and vegetables, Chuuya with more fruits and cheeses.

Then, almost /too/ nonchalantly, Dazai asks,+
“What makes you say that?”

“Well,” Chuuya says, popping a piece of cheese in his mouth, “apparently he terrorized the city 20 years ago, so he /has/ to be old.”

“I heard he was young back then, actually. Handsome. Charming, one might say. The type of person who aged like fine+
wine. No, better than that—“

Chuuya snorts, raising an eyebrow at Dazai. “You trying to tell me some pimply-faced teenager that probably didn’t know how to dress ran the underground?”

(For the record, Dazai had a /normal/ amount of pimples. The dressing thing was true though.)+
He only ever wore ill-fitted suits back then, and that atrocious coat.And the bandages. Those have always been a staple.)

“You know,” Chuuya continues, stomping on every ounce of ego Dazai has left to him,”maybe the kid idea is right. That would explain the stupid black cards.”+
Dazai signals for another whiskey. He didn’t /plan/ on drinking tonight but he’s going to need one when he hears this reasoning. “Stupid?”

“Yeah, I mean—/black cards/?Where’s the /pizzazz/? The drama? The /flair/? Why send ominous black cards when you could do something cooler?+
Like— a /severed head/ or something? That’d be a lot scarier!”

Despite himself, Dazai laughs into his drink. “I think the idea would be discretion, doll.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Chuuya finishes off his glass of wine. It was only a tester, so it didn’t have as much liquid+
in it as his usual glasses. This time he orders a white wine, this one sweeter. “I think you mean /boring/. Plus, the idea that he would still use them to this day is just as stupid. It’s like he’s asking to get caught.”

Spearing a piece of steak, Dazai puts it in his mouth and+
chews on it thoughtfully. “Or it could be used as a fear tactic. People already know what it means, and fear it.”

Chuuya thinks about that for a moment, popping another piece of cheese in his mouth. He’s almost out by now, but the main courses should be arriving soon. “I +
guess,” he agrees grudgingly.

The waiter comes around the corner with their plates in hand. Dazai clears off a space for them in the middle, smiling gratefully at the server.

“Either way,” Dazai says, picking up a fork, “you don’t have to worry about him. He won’t hurt you.”+
The pasta Chuuya choses pairs /heavenly/ with the white wine, and he savors the first bite on his tongue. As he's swirling his own fork to pick up another bite, he asks, "How do you know that?"

Then, seeing his opportunity to /finally/ get some information on Dazai's 'company'+
he continues, "because you're in security? You're going to /protect/ me or whatever?"

Brown eyes flash at him with far too much amusement as Dazai raises another bite to his mouth. "/Exactly/."

He doesn't continue though, and it's so /frustrating/ that all of Chuuya's hints +
go unanswered. He /knows/ Dazai isn't stupid, and that he's picking up on his subtle questions for /more/. He's just /ignoring/ them.

It's not like Chuuya wouldn't understand if he couldn't know because it was dangerous, or classified information or whatever. It'd probably make+
him even /more/ curious, but he could deal with that.

It's the complete and /utter/ lack of communication that's irritating. At least /tell/ him no instead of just side-stepping the conversation.

(At the same time though, he does start to feel a little guilty whenever he feels+
like that, because not only does Dazai not owe him anything--they're not even officially /dating/, he doesn't have the right to demand any information from him-- but it's /also/ the same thing he did to Shuuji, right?

Sidestepping the issue instead of addressing it.)

To cover+
up the flash of guilty irritation, Chuuya takes another sip of wine. "I wasn't too worried anyways. He's either old as hell--" Dazai winces "-- or stupid, and either way I could probably kick his ass if I needed to."

That makes Dazai smile, slow and big, like he knows something+
Chuuya doesn't know. Like he's got a /secret/. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I mean," he shrugs, trying not to brag /too/ much, "I was top of my Judo class. I could probably even take /you/."

Granted, he doesn't know what kind of training Dazai actually has, but based on that morning+
with the dog training, he's obviously skilled.

He's also taller, bigger, very likely /stronger/--

But Chuuya has trained to use his size and other peoples underestimations as an advantage.

Dazai raises his whiskey, holding eye contact. "I'd /love/ to see you /take me/." +
He says it, so confidently, without even a shred of shame even though the waiter is /approaching/, possibly close enough to hear. And all he does is /watch/, with that smug smirk on his grin as Chuuya processes the innuendo, cheeks slowly turning red.

Somehow, the act of them+
being in public, where anyone can hear Dazai's subtly filthy words, makes it /hotter/. More dangerous, more thrilling.

Dazai presses the glass to his lips, and the slide of his tongue against the rim /has/ to be a tease. It's too drawn out to be anything else.

But because of+
how long it takes, Chuuya /finally/ catches a glimpse of something shiny in his mouth. Something he'd never seen before.

"What's that?" At Dazai's raised eyebrow, Chuuya explains further, "in your mouth."

There's a tense silence for a moment as Dazai swallows his mouthful of +
whiskey. With a sharp, teasing glint in his eyes, he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out.

There's a shiny, metal ball in the middle. A tongue piercing.

Chuuya can't look away, suddenly transfixed on the way the metal moves as his tongue flexes. "How long have you had +
that?"

Dazai hums, taking his tongue back. Chuuya can see the subtle flex of his jaw as he rolls the piercing in his mouth. "About five years? Close to that."

"And you haven't been wearing it because...?"

He shrugs a little, looking embarrassed. "When I was cleaning the +
jewelry a few weeks ago, I lost the ball for it. Couldn't put it back in, and the only other jewelry I had are...inappropriate for public use. I only had time to get more jewelry recently."

All very important, very valid reasons. But Chuuya is hung up on /one/ particular detail+
of that statement. "Inappropriate /how/?"

"The vibrating tongue rings. They make talking a bit difficult, with how big they are."

(The /point/ of them, actually, is that Dazai /isn't/ supposed to talk. He's supposed to make his /partner/ talk, while he listens to how good of a+
job he's doing.)

Chuuya feels lightheaded. "They...have /vibrating/ tongue piercings?"

Dazai shrugs like he's not completely altering Chuuya's world in a few sentences. "Yep. Not as strong as real vibrators, but enjoyable all the same."

A vibrator attached to his /tongue/. +
Dazai watches him, amusement growing on his face. His eyes are darker, scorching hot and focused. "If it helps," he says casually, "I've gotten /very/ good reviews when I wear them."

Chuuya isn't even /upset/ about the mention of other people, because all he can think about is+
/oh god, he can vibrating-tongue me good/.

His mouth is dry, and he very carefully puts his wine down and picks up his glass of water instead.The room is already too hot, with the way Dazai is staring at him, like a wolf that just caught the sheep.

God, he can't even /imagine/+
what Dazai could do with that. Where'd he use his tongue on him. What it'd /feel/ like, hot and wet and flexible and /vibrating/.

Unconciously, he tugs on the choker around his neck because his lungs feel suddenly too small to take a proper breath.

Dazai's eyes fall to the +
motion, zeroing in on the leather around his throat with predatory intent. The air feels thin now, crackling with electricity. "I like the way you look with the coll-- /choker/ I bought you."

Chuuya flushes a little, squirming. He's been wearing it more recently as of late, +
because the weight of it is grounding, somehow. It's not as good as the memory of Dazai's /hands/ on his neck, but he likes the way it constricts his neck slightly when he swallows.

"Thank you," he mumbles, tugging on the leather again.

By now, Dazai has finished most of his +
meal. Chuuya's has been untouched for a while, because all the hunger in his stomach has been replaced with a /different/ hunger.

He's full anyway, his stomach shrunken after two weeks of eating once or twice a day max.

"Are you ready?"

/Yes/, Chuuya is ready, for /anything/.+
He nods, knocking back the rest of his wine in a few swallows. His father would be /scandalized/ if he saw that behavior, but Chuuya is /not/ going to let any wine go to waste. He's not anything remotely close to tipsy, anyways.

Dazai pays for their meals at the front register,+
the flash of his black card subtle in the light. Chuuya buries his nose in the flowers to hide the red on his cheeks.

On their way out, Dazai's hand finds it's way to his lower back. It's large, heavy with suggestion and intent. Even through his clothes, it burns with heat. +
The car ride home is equally torturous, because his hand settles on Chuuya's thigh and /stays/ there.Occasionally, his fingers will move, stroking a teasing line over the sensitive inside of his thigh.

Chuuya can't help the wiggle of his hips,silently demanding he go /further/+
up, encourage the building heat in his crotch by pressing his palm over it. He's almost half-hard already, and Dazai has barely even /touched/ him.

The fingers stray a /little/ further up, finding the inside seam of his jeans, but it's still so frustratingly far away from where+
he wants it.

Judging by the pleased smirk on Dazai's face and the way he keeps drawing Chuuya into casual conversation about useless stuff--like his /classes/-- he knows /exactly/ what Chuuya wants, he's just getting satisfaction out of denying him.

The thought of that +
sends a pointed throb of heat through him. He loves when he gets what he wants, of course, but he loves when Dazai /plays/ with him too.

When they /finally/ arrive back home, Chuuya is a mess of anticipation and desire, practically panting in his seat.

Naturally, Dazai takes +
his sweet time parking the car in the garage.Every second feels like /torture/.

Eventually, he shuts the engine off and Chuuya is climbing out of the car as soon as it's stopped,nearly trembling with desperation. His mind is a blurred echo chamber, full of /want/ and /more/ and+
/Dazai/.

He only has to wait a moment before Dazai is crossing over to him, bearing down on him with an intense expression.

Hands find the back of his thighs, and he yelps, flinging his arms around Dazai’s neck as he picks him up in one smooth motion.

His legs wrap +
naturally around his hips, hitching over the swell of his hips.He’s a little taller than him like this, and he has to say that he likes /this/ view the best.

Dazai’s jaw looks sharper when he looks up, his eyes a little brighter. It only takes a single brush of Chuuya’s fingers+
for his hair to lie back, exposing his forehead. It only takes a loose grip on his hair to keep him in place, looking up at him with that melting, soft look in his eyes.

Dazai shifts him a little, frowning. “You’ve lost weight.”

Smiling, Chuuya kisses thé worry off his face.+
From this angle, he can better feel the way Dazai pushes up to meet him, jaw working. With his hands in his hair, he can control the angle and the force. He's too eager to wait for the kiss to deepen naturally, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip to ask for entry.

It's one+
of the fewer times Chuuya gets his tongue in /Dazai's/ mouth, because the man likes to dominate their kisses and drive Chuuya crazy by fucking his mouth with his tongue.

Then the tongue piercing comes into play,and Chuuya realizes that it adds a /delicious/ element to the kiss.+
It's hard, almost-rough compared to the softness of his tongue, but it's still slick and moves easily against his own tongue. He can feel the drag of it, the way it moves when Dazai's tongue flexes.

He wants it in his /mouth/, on his skin, on his body.

Dazai shifts him in his+
arms, taking one hand away so he can fumble one-handed to open the door leading inside. Chuuya hangs on, tightening his legs around his waist.

When the door eventually opens--Dazai is /struggling/ to multitask, something that makes Chuuya hum with satisfaction-- there's a +
shuffle from just inside. From the panting, it's the dogs, and /usually/ Chuuya would be greeting Yoko with just as much enthusiasm--

But that would mean breaking the kiss and letting go of Dazai when he /finally/ has him where he wants him, between his legs with their bodies+
pressed together. He can say hello later, once the building heat in his stomach is satisfied.

Dazai pulls back a little, just enough to mutter a "move, dogs" before he's diving back in, hands tightening on the back of his thighs.

By the scrambling, the dogs are moving out of +
way and Dazai is free to stumble his way forwards, blindly making his way upstairs.

Chuuya is too busy sucking on his tongue,shivering when the metal ball drags against the roof of his mouth and clicking almost-painfully against the back of his teeth, to even feel worried about+
the threat of falling.

He runs his nails over the short hairs at the back of Dazai's neck, relishing in the short, rumbling noise it earns him.

Another shift as Dazai opens up his office door, stepping inside before kicking it shut behind them. Excitement builds, because +
Dazai is taking him to his room, to his /bed/, kissing him like Chuuya is the very air he needs. Like he has no intention of /stopping/.

He's been in his room before, but it feels /different/ now. The red lighting is darker, more inviting, the air hotter, the silence deafening +
beyond the wet sound of their kissing.

All Chuuya can taste is Dazai, sour whiskey on his tongue, all he can smell is the expensive cologne he wears, stormclouds on an icy sea, all he can /feel/ is Dazai underneath him, pressed against him, too much and /not enough/.

The +
support drops out underneath him, and for a moment, he's freefalling backwards, heart jumping in his chest.

Just as quickly, his back into sinking into the mattress. He bounces up slightly from the momentum, eyes wide.

Dazai follows him down, hands braced on either side of +
his head. One knee sinks into the mattress between Chuuya's thighs,his body hovering an inch above him.

Sometimes, it's easy to forget just how /broad/ Dazai is. He rarely has to impress or intimidate with his height, and while he /is/ dominating, that comes more from his aura.+
From his attitude, his /presence/.

Now though, it's impossible to miss the size difference. He covers Chuuya completely, heavy and impossible to escape even though he's still hovering over him.

He blocks out the rest of the world. The only thing he can see is the gleam of +
red in dark eyes, sweet hellfire, the way his features look even sharper in the low lighting. His once-crisp shirt is now rumpled and half-pulled out of his slacks, his hair wild and standing on end.

"Hi," Chuuya says breathlessly, smile too big to contain. Fisting his hands in+
Dazai's shirt, he pulls him down again.

"Hello," he murmurs back, sinking into the kiss easily.

It's /hotter/ with Dazai pressing him into the mattress, infinitely more exciting as he captures Chuuya's bottom lip and gives it a slow, indulgent suck.

His breathing shudders, +
a choked noise trapped in his throat. He squirms, filled with the burning, aching desire for something /more/. The knee is still between his thighs, just barely brushing over his crotch.

It's not even a real taste of friction, but it already has Chuuya arching up, chasing the+
sensation with his hips.

Dazai drops to one elbow, freeing his other hand to wander down. Long fingers find his hip, wrapping around the width of it. His thumb, scorching hot, presses against the sensitive skin just above his waistband, where his shirt has ridden up.

Teeth +
sink into his lip, pulling a sharp noise from him as his hips buck instinctively. The hand on his hip slides inward, fingertips toying with the hem.

His lip gets stretched to a sting as Dazai pulls back, letting him escape /slowly/. When it pops free, he asks breathlessly in +
the space between them, "Can I?"

He doesn't know exactly /what/ Dazai is asking about, but the answer is always the same:

Yes, yes, /please/ yes.

His hand slides under his shirt, palm scraping over his belly in a way that has him shivering. Every inch of skin feels +
hypersensitive, attuned to Dazai's every touch as he /slowly/ explores the muscles of his abdomen.His fingertips graze the outline of his abs, finding the vee of his hips and following it down, down, /down/--

A finger dips under the waistband of his jeans, the flat nail swiping+
over the skin just underneath, teasing at the trail of hair leading downwards.

Chuuya makes a desperate noise, hips arching up as his head falls back. Dazai's /right/ there, so close he can almost taste it, the ghost of his touch over him, just a /little/ more--

The finger +
moves upward again, leaving him hard and wanting.

His frustrated snarl is met with an amused smile, Dazai brushing a kiss over his lips. "Don't be so /impatient/, baby. I'll take care of you."

His shirt is pushed up as far as it will go, but Dazai seems unwilling to lift up +
long enough for him to actually slide it off.

"I know /exactly/ what you need," Dazai murmurs,trailing kisses over his jaw and down onto his neck. His teeth scrape over his pulse point, sending shockwaves of sensation down his spine.

"What you want," he continues, opening his+
mouth to /suck/, his metal ball of his tongue piercing swirling over his skin. At the same time, his knee slides a little further forward, /finally/ pressing against Chuuya's erection.

He gasps at the friction, arching his back and grinding his hips up. The friction bursts +
over him hotly, pleasure crawling through his veins.

"I know /exactly/ how to give it to you," Dazai breathes over the spot he just marked,the hot-cold sensation of breath over drying saliva maddening.

He moves down, finding the line of his collarbone and tracing it downwards+
until his path is obstructed by the shirt. Then he's moving downward, taking the time to tug the cloth even farther up with his teeth.

His breath washes hot over his chest, weight shifting backwards. Chuuya's hands naturally find his shoulders, clenching there as he twitches +
beneath him.

"Please," he mutters, "Dazai. I want--"

He cuts himself off there,because he doesn't /know/ what he wants, doesn't have enough experience to translate the aching emptiness growing in his bones into /words/. Everything Dazai does seems to just ignite him further,+
satisfying one hunger just to spark another, deeper one.

It never feels like /enough/, his body so greedy for more that he feels strung out with it.

"I know, Chuuya," Dazai shushes him, moving over. His next breath washes over his left nipple. "I'm gonna give it to you, so +
just trust me, hm?"

Chuuya never really thought of his chest as /sensitive/, especially nothing close to what was described in novels or online, but now he's starting to realize that anticipation does /wonders/ for that.

He's built up for a long few moments, the scrape of +
his teeth /near/ his nipple, the teasing swirl of his tongue a few centimeters away.

He's practically vibrating with anticipation and hyper-sensitivity by the time Dazai takes mercy on him and swipes his tongue over him in one broad stroke.

The piercing adds a distinct +
sensation in the middle, hard metal that rolls over him mercilessly. It's different than the soft-warm feeling of his tongue, the suction that makes Chuuya feel like Dazai is pulling directly on his soul.

"Oh," he sighs, shivering a little. He /likes/ this, more than he ever+
thought he would. His hips have picked up an unconscious rhythm, grinding lightly against what he can reach of Dazai's thigh.

Dazai hums in reaction, his hand reaching around the other side to slide underneath his back. He pulls up on his next suck, encouraging the arch of his+
spine.

The slight vibration has him gasping on a breath, one hand sliding down in the gap between the collar of Dazai's shirt and his body. He digs his nails in, blocked from skin by a layer of something made with rough fabric. It feels almost like the same material as the +
bandages around his wrists and forearms.

(Later, he'll wonder /why/ Dazai wears them, but for now, his mind is preoccupied by melting under the thought of how the /vibrating/ piercing would feel against his nipple.)

With the way he's laying, he can't reach under Dazai to +
unbutton his shirt, but he's /desperate/ for more skin. He has to settle for pulling on the back of it, tugging it completely free from his slacks. Hooking one leg around Dazai's hip, he tries to use his knee to force the shirt farther up.

He gets distracted halfway through +
when the increased angle makes his erection press harder against Dazai's thigh.He grinds there, little circular motions that make stars burst in his vision.

"Do you /want/ something, beautiful?"

It's not /fair/ how good Dazai sounds like this, a little breathless from exertion+
and voice rasping from his throat. There's a /hint/ of smug arrogance in his tone, but Chuuya will forgive him this time, because he's swirling his tongue over him again.

Naturally, as soon as he opens his mouth to respond, Dazai is biting down on his nipple. He cries out,
twitching hard at the sharp sting, nails sinking into his back.

The slight pain is soothed away but how /hot/ Dazai's mouth is, and the way he flexes his tongue to make the metal ball of his piercing flick over the sensitized tip. The longer he spends on his chest, the tighter+
his stomach gets, the better it feels.

"Off," he manages to pant after a long moment, tugging at Dazai's shirt again. "I want to feel you."

There's a sharp, rumbling noise muffled against his chest. The hand holding him up tightens briefly, fingertips digging in. The knee +
presses down /harder/, and with the way one of his thighs is hooked over Dazai's hip--

The tent in Dazai's slacks presses against the back of his thigh, teasing him with friction and how /hard/ it is, almost as excited as he is.

Then the hand is sliding from underneath his +
back, fingertips grazing over his side in a way that makes tingles run down his spine.

It's probably not a coincidence, the way the back of Dazai's fingers brush over his chest as he unbuttons his own shirt. Every button is an inch lower than the last, and Chuuya's breathing +
is speeding him. His entire awareness is focused on the way his fingers trail downwards steadily, brushing over his chest, then his sternum.

His abs.

His lower belly, so /close/, and he's breathless and tense with anticipation, hips arching up as high as they will go so that +
Dazai brush over his trapped erection--

Instead, Dazai pulls his shirt up more, pulling the last bit free from his belt before unbuttoning the last three buttons. His fingers graze teasingly over the waistband of Chuuya's jeans, but no further.

If they were kissing right now,+
Chuuya probably would've bitten him out of sheer frustration. Instead, he throws his head back onto the mattress, digging his heel into Dazai's ass with as much force as he can muster.

There's another laugh muffled against his skin as Dazai switches sides, transferring his +
attention to the other nipple. The other one is left to cool in the air, throbbing lightly with the way Dazai had been sucking on it.

"So /impatient/," he teases, nipping at his sensitive flesh, "Don't you want to /savor/ it?"

Logically, he /does/ want to spend eternity here,+
strung out and gasping between Dazai's very capable hands. His /body/, however, demands more action, over-riding his thoughts with the deepening desire for /more/, racing to the edge as fast as possible.

This time, when Dazai leans down, their bare chests press together +
tightly, hot warm skin making him shudder. There's a section of Dazai's chest covered up by fabric--more bandages, Chuuya can guess by the flash of white he can see peeking out from underneath the back of his shirt-- but the sensation change from soft-hot skin to rough-+
flimsy fabric just means that Chuuya never gets used to either of the sensations.

"Stop teasing me," he manages to grumble, wiggling his hips demandingly.

A sharp bite is his punishment, a merciless grind of Dazai's thigh against his neglected erection. "I /like/ teasing you,+
sweetheart. I'm sure you like it too, based on how /hard/ you are for me right now."

It's true, but it's also so /frustrating/.He's torn between opposing desires, stretching thin beneath the strain.

"But I suppose," Dazai continues on a sigh, shifting his body so he reach down+
and wrap his hand around the back of his thigh and guide it to hook around his other hip. "If you really /can't/ wait, then I should take mercy on you, hm?"

They're back in their original position from before-- Chuuya with his legs wrapped around Dazai's waist-- but now Dazai +
is over him, /on top/ of him, pressing him down with delicious weight--

And the bulge in his pants is pressed against his ass, so tempting that Chuuya isn't even intimidated by it. He rocks down, pleasure flashing through him and enhanced by the way Dazai sucks in a sharp +
breath.

Suddenly, Dazai is shifting upwards, leaving his chest as twin points of over-sensitization. His lips brush over his collarbone, over the straining tendons in his neck, the pounding pulse.

It's only when his mouth is level with Chuuya's ear that he stops, breathing +
hot enough to make him shiver.

"If you want me," he murmurs, voice dripping with temptation and punctuating his words with a subtle rock of his hips, "then /touch/ me."

Turning his head, Chuuya catches him in a kiss. It's instantly deeper, harder than the last, dominating in+
the way Dazai is sliding his tongue into his mouth and /demanding/ a response from him.

His hands slide over his shoulders, finally able to get to the skin underneath. The muscles of his arms are still covered up though, so Chuuya tugs on the fabric in silent request.

The +
kiss is broken for a moment as Dazai leans up, shrugging out of his shirt in record time. His muscles flex under the skin, highlighted by the red light in the room and he looks like the devil himself, beautifully dangerous.

After a second of just /admiring/ him, nearly struck+
dumb by the sheer beauty of the man on top of him, Chuuya realizes this is /probably/ a good time to take off his own shirt.

It's a little difficult to get off with the limited space, but he manages it with a series of strategic wiggles. As the fabric slides over his face, his+
vision is blocked for a moment, leaving him in darkness.

When it comes over his head, he barely gets a glimpse of Dazai before he's descending on him with a hot, open-mouthed kiss--

And from there, it /devolves/.

Chuuya's hands are filled with scorching skin and rippling +
muscles. Every grind of his body up is met with a pointed thrust /down/, pleasure and heat and tension building between them.

At one point, Chuuya's fingers brush over the bandages wrapped around Dazai's chest and forearms. Dazai pulls back a fraction, murmuring a response to+
his silent question. "They stay on."

In the back of his mind, Chuuya /is/ curious, because he's seen Dazai wear bandages often and he's not sure why. He's never given any indication that he was injured, and it's only over a few particular spots--his forearms up to the elbow and+
his chest and a few times, his neck.

It never seems to bother him when Chuuya grabs him there, and when he's /not/ wearing them, his skin is a smooth, almost too-even color that speaks of correctional make-up.

But at this moment, he doesn't /care/ what is underneath them. He+
only cares about dragging his nails over his skin to hear that rumble in Dazai's chest, breaking the kiss to trail a series of feverish kisses over Dazai's jaw and down his neck, the way that every harsh breath between them sparks electricity along every one of his nerves. +
Dazai shifts up, offering his neck to him. He's probably not as skilled as he is, but he makes up for it in sheer /enthusiasm/, biting and sucking like he might never get the chance again.

When he sinks his teeth into the pounding pulse beneath the skin, Dazai releases a +
low groan. The sound itself is like a bolt of lightning, but it's paired with a stronger, /slower/ roll of his hips, so Chuuya can feel every centimeter of friction between them and--

He /moans/ in response, a choked noise from the back of his throat that's muffled against +
his neck.

"Fuck," Dazai breathes out, thrusting down again to pull /another/ sound from Chuuya.

God, it feels /so/ good, he doesn't even care that they don't even have their pants unbuttoned. Their bare chests slide together, and the pressure of their grinding is /enough/, +
making Chuuya mindless.

Suddenly, Dazai is pulling away completely, making Chuuya whine in protest as he tries to hang on.

Where is he going? Why is he /stopping/? Chuuya is halfway to orgasm already, Dazai can't stop /now/.

"Wait--" he gasps as Dazai slides out from +
underneath is grip. "Don't /stop/. Where are you--."

"Easy, baby," Dazai cuts him off, bending down at the side of the bed. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm just getting something."

Confused, Chuuya props himself up on his elbows, watching as Dazai pulls out a drawer from +
underneath his bed. He didn't even /know/ there were drawers underneath the bed, he just thought it was wood paneling.

From this angle, he can't see much, but what he /does/ see--

"Are those /sex toys?!"

Dazai smiles without looking at him, rifling through the drawer for +
something specific. "No. /This/ is lube. The toys are in the other drawers."

An /entire/ drawer full of lube only? Is that /normal/? "How many drawers do you have?"

"Under the bed? Six. Three on each side. There's more in the closet."

The man has more than /six/ drawers full+
of toys, and Chuuya has been /sleeping/ above them, completely unaware. He can't even imagine what that many toys looks like. He doesn't even have /lube/. "How many do you /have/?"

Dazai plucks something out of the drawer before shutting it. Chuuya can't see what he has in hand+
but he /can/ see the amused smirk on his lips as he crawls back onto the bed. "Mm, I'm not sure. Maybe you can help me count them, someday. For now," he pauses, slipping his fingertip underneath the waistband of his jeans, "can I?"

With the pause, Chuuya's desperation has died+
down a little bit. Not enough to make him say /no/-- he doesn't think he'd ever say no, truthfully-- but enough that saying /yes/ makes his stomach clench with nerves.

Perhaps Dazai senses that, because he's leaning back down over him as soon as Chuuya nods.

Kissing is +
familiar territory by now, and so is the feeling of Dazai settling between his legs. It starts off reassuring, or maybe gentle, but quickly escalates as soon as Dazai sucks his lower lip into his mouth at the same time he rolls his hips forward again.

A hand finds Chuuya's hip,+
encouraging him to find and match the rhythm he's setting up.

Before long, he's grinding back with desperation, moaning into Dazai's mouth every time their hips meet. He's tightening his legs to increase the pressure, because every rock is winding the tension tighter and he's+
addicted to the searing pleasure that pulses through him each time.

Then the hand is sliding inwards, slowly enough that Chuuya could protest if he wanted to.

But the only thing he /can/ do is shudder on a broken whine as Dazai's hand /finally/ touches his erection. It's over+
his pants still, but /fuck/, the direct pressure is /so/ much better. He palms him, smirking as Chuuya's mouth goes slack on a drawn-out moan.

"There you go," Dazai murmurs, almost to himself. With the next rub of his hand, he breaks the kiss in favor of finding the line of his+
jaw and littering it with bites.

One of his hands sinks into Dazai's hair and the other finds his shoulder, hanging on tightly as the pleasure mounts with every stroke of Dazai's hand.

Then slim, capable fingers find the button of his jeans and pop it open one-handed. The +
release of pressure itself-- he was so preoccupied that he didn't even realize how painful the restriction was starting to become-- makes him shudder with relief, but the heat of Dazai's fingers, sliding beneath his jeans, makes him /moan/.

There's a damp spot from where he's +
been leaking pre-cum, and Dazai finds it embarrassingly quick. The way he swirls his finger over the head of his cock hidden underneath, tapping lightly just to see him shudder and twitch, drives Chuuya /insane/.

"Look how /eager/ you are for me," Dazai muses, sucking on a spot+
just below the hinge of his jaw that makes his eyes roll back in his head. "I've barely even /done/ anything to you."

Something about /that/, the gentle teasing, sparks something defiant in Chuuya. Yes, he's eager and desperate, but it's not like Dazai is unaffected either. He+
can feel the erection pressing against his ass, the way he's grinding forward even now.

With the surge of reckless bravery that fills him, Chuuya lets go of his shoulder and slides it down his body. His fingers brush over Dazai's, and his hand stops. Probably assuming that +
he's reaching down to /stop/ him--

But no. That's not what he's doing.

Instead, he's wiggling his hand between them and covering the bulge in Dazai's pants with it. He /almost/ gets distracted when he realizes that his palm /barely/ covers the whole thing, but the sharp+
inhale and the impulsive thrust against him reminds him.

Filling his voice with as much arrogance as he can manage, he responds, "I'm not the only /eager/ one, am I?"

There's a silent pause as Dazai takes a moment to process his words, distracted by the way Chuuya squeezes+
him. Then he's laughing softly, giving him another kiss.

"You're right," he agrees, "I /am/ eager. How could I not be when I have such a /pretty/ little thing like you underneath me? Especially knowing what I'm about to do to you?"

Somehow, Chuuya's plans /always/ backfire.+
His mind goes blank at the words, erection throbbing hard against Dazai’s hand. He can almost feel the way another drop of pre-cum wells up, only to be rubbed into the fabric of his underwear.

That makes Dazai give another short laugh, this one infinitely more smug. He grinds+
his hips forward into Chuuya’s hand, increasing the pressure between them.

“Well, sweetheart? I /did/ say you could get your hands on me. Nows your chance,” Dazai offers directly into his ear. His fingers are moving up, dipping into the waistband of his underwear and beginning+
to tug them down, centimeter by centimeter.

And with that tempting voice in his ear, the feel of him in his palm, the desperation that builds with every inch of his heated skin that’s exposed to the cooler air—

How could Chuuya /not/ give in?

He fumbles more at the button+
than Dazai did, but it’s hard to /focus/ when Dazai is biting his neck like that and with the way his fingers are /so/ close to where Chuuya wants them to be.

Eventually he gets it undone, and he’s marginally more careful with the zipper because it feels like Dazai fills his+
slacks entirely, and he doesn’t want to hurt him.

He’s glad he did, because instead of being greeted with another layer of fabric, instead he’s met with hot, hard, pulsating flesh as soon as he pulls the zipper down.

/He’s not wearing underwear/.

“Oh,” he gasps out, a+
unintentional sound of surprise. He can feel Dazai’s amused smile against his neck from the outburst.

“Let me see your hand,” he says, lifting up a little bit on his knees.

Chuuya is distracted, staring at the line of neatly-trimmed hair that continues down, down, /down/— +
Dazai is still tucked into the fabric of his slacks, but Chuuya can see the /base/ of his cock, flushed red and thick.

“Hand, chibi.”

Blinking back to himself, he offers out his hand, palm up.

Dazai picks up the discarded lube bottle and opens the cap. The little /pop/ +
sends a shiver through him.

A decent amount of lube is poured into his palm, cold and wet and sticky. He unintentionally makes a little face, tipping his hand to watch the little pool slide slowly over his palm.

“Rub your fingers together. It’s the warming kind.”

+
Chuuya looks up at him, slightly confused but already rubbing his fingers through the lube. It’s wet, a little sticky. Feels exactly like regular lube would, he guesses, not whatever ‘warming’ type Dazai said. “What do you mean?”

The smile he gets is wolffish, amused. “Trust me+
you’ll like it. Can I take these off?”

He tugs at the waistbands of his pants and underwear. They’re barely on at this point, hanging off his hips and barely covering up his erection.

Chuuya has never been /particularly/ shy about his body, so it only takes him a moment to +
give a breathless nod. He's too excited to think about anything else other than what happens /next/.He doesn't know what Dazai is going to do to him, but the prospect of finding out has never been more appealing.

His shoes--he didn't have time to kick them off earlier, but he's+
not even stepped a single foot into the house himself, so he doesn't feel /too/ bad about it--get yanked off with an eagerness that is almost funny to witness, tossed to the floor without a second thought.

His jeans and underwear are next. These are taken off slowly, like Dazai+
is savoring every inch of skin that's revealed. Chuuya lifts his hips to make it easier for him, wiggling a little because these /are/ one of his tightest pairs of jeans.

When they finally come off, he's expecting for Dazai to dive back in. Pin him down again, maybe show him+
what he has planned for the lube in his hand--

But no. Instead, he just takes in the view. Chuuya, spread out naked on his bed for /him/, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, strong thighs trembling slightly.

This whole time, Dazai has been /rather/ restrained. Obviously+
enjoying himself, but in control.

Now though, the longer he stares at Chuuya, eyes darkening, the /hungrier/ his expression gets, the sharper his smile.

Chuuya's mouth feels dry, his lungs robbed of their air. His own desperation fades into the background, replaced by the +
knowledge that all prey experiences at some point in their life--

He's about to get /devoured/.

"Beautiful," Dazai rumbles, one of his hands finding Chuuya's inner thigh. He doesn't push, but his legs are spreading instinctively. A silent bid for him to touch him /there/, +
please.

He doesn't move to take off his own pants, which Chuuya honestly isn't that worried about, because the half-dressed wild look is doing /wonders/ for him. And before he can even regain his breath, Dazai is crawling back onto the bed, crawling over /him/ with low, rolling+
movements.

"Come /here/, lovely," he murmurs,reaching out to grab him by the hips. With one strong pull, he has Chuuya's hips propped up on his thighs, knees hooked over his hips again.

They're pressed together again, and this time it's even /better/, because Chuuya is naked.+
The fabric of his slacks against the back of his thighs is slightly rough, adding a too-rough feeling to the sensations building inside him. The skin over his hips is soft and warm, giving whenever Chuuya squeezes him with his legs.

And at some point during his movement, his +
cock had been pulled out of his slacks, so when they come together--

Their erections rub together messily, and Chuuya is too far gone to be embarrassed about the choked noise he makes, because holy /shit/.

Beyond just being scorchingly hot and rock-hard against him, Dazai is+
/long/, definitely longer than he is, and /thick/. If Chuuya weren't out of his mind with desperation and lust, he'd probably be /intimidated/, but as it stands, the only thought in his head is /fuck yes/.

Even that thought is wiped away when Dazai leans down to kiss him, +
his tongue slipping into his mouth like it belongs there. Like Chuuya was born to be kissed by him, kissed like /this/.

In his distraction, his lubed hand has fallen still. The lube is warm now, at least as much as his body temperature has heated it up. If this is the 'warming'+
feature, he doesn't see the big deal about it. It just feels normal-wet instead of cold-wet.

Sneaky fingers brush over his elbow, coasting up his forearm so gently that it makes him squirm, ticklish. Chuuya's lips twitch, fighting back a smile at the sensation.

It's an +
opportunity Dazai takes advantage of, sinking his teeth into Chuuya's bottom lip to keep him still. At the same time, his hand slides over Chuuya's, lube smearing between their palms.

Interlacing their fingers together lightly, Dazai pulls his hand away from the bed. He brings+
their hands down, between them--

Chuuya /quickly/ realizes that all those other times he jerked off were /lame/. Stale, even. The pleasure from /then/ is nothing compared to the feeling of Dazai guiding their palms around them both.

It's hot and /wet/ and just the idea that+
Dazai is /touching/ him is enough to have him shuddering and whining.

They're still kissing--well, Chuuya is more panting into Dazai's mouth-- so when Dazai tightens his hand around Chuuya's and gives them both one long, slow stroke, base to tip, Dazai swallows his moan easily.+
He grinds up, chasing the pleasure instinctively, and his cock slides against Dazai's and then up into the tight circle of their hands. The ridge of the head catches on Dazai's fingers on the way back down, making stars burst across his vision.

"I--," he gasps out, hand +
aching to move /faster/ but Dazai's fingers are firm around his, keeping them at a steady pace. "Fuck, Dazai."

Dazai releases a sharp breath into his mouth, breaking the kiss to scrape his teeth over his cheek. "I /like/ when you say my name like that," he rasps.

The next +
stroke is /harder/, a little faster. Dazai moves his hips into it, cock sliding slick over Chuuya's.

Crying out softly, Chuuya tightens his legs to increase the pressure. Dazai is bigger than he is, so every time their hands move up, their fingers slip over the head of his +
cock.

Pleasure arches through him, radiating through him in hot, inescapable waves. He's already mindless, panting and whining incoherently--it's his first time being touched by anyone else /ever/, and god, Dazai is /so/ good, rubbing his thumb over the prominent vein on the+
side, taking the time to squeeze just under the head-- but then it gets /better/.

It was already hot with their body heat, but now the lube is /heating up/ with the friction, so slowly that Chuuya didn't even realize until it's searing hot, so good he can't control himself.+
"Oh my /god/," he whimpers, digging his free hand into Dazai's shoulder. With the way his weight has settled on top of him, he can't move his hips /that/ much so he has to settle for quick, desperate jerks up. Every move of their hands spreads hot lube down his length, sparking +
rapture down his legs and up his spine.

"I /know/, sweetheart," Dazai whispers soothingly against his cheek.Despite his soft tone, his hand is /merciless/, speeding up slowly. He's thrusting too, lightly, and the sensation of /that/ makes Chuuya's imagination go wild.

If it's+
this good already, what is it gonna be like when they go further? How /good/ is it gonna be if Dazai gives him a blowjob? Or fingers him?

Or /fucks/ him?

Anticipation mixes with desperation, creating a coil that tightens at the base of his spine. It tightens with every stroke+
of their hands, every time Dazai's hips meet his own.

"Faster," he whines, legs tightening as hard as they can. He just needs a little /more/, a little faster. The edge is drawing steadily nearer, and /god/, he wants nothing more than to fall off the cliff.

There's a muffled+
growl against his cheek at the request. After a moment, Dazai leans up to get some space between them, just enough to watch Chuuya's expression tense with pleasure as his hand speeds up.

His vision is unfocused, but he can see the sweat dotting Dazai's temples and the way his +
eyes are focused on him, so full of hungry that Chuuya aches with it.

The feeling of being /watched/ as Dazai drives him to the edge, his every reaction catalogued and used against him, just adds another layer of tension. He's beginning to break underneath it, muscles trembling+
as he fights for a little more pleasure, a little more sensation.

Dazai is throbbing against him,his cock twitching as he strokes them both.The air is searing hot, filled with electricity and the humidity of their breathing.

It's too much, not enough, /so/ close, almost there,+
just a little more, /please/, he needs it--

"Come on, lovely."

The whisper breaks through his frantic thoughts, cutting a path through the pleasure. Chuuya cracks his eyes open, getting a glimpse of Dazai staring down at him.

He looks /starving/, eyes huge and focused. His +
forearm flexes with his movement of his arm, abs tight with tension.

Chuuya's gaze falls naturally down,and he /finally/ gets a glimpse of what they look like pressed together. Their cocks are shiny with lube, flushed red. Chuuya isn't small himself, but he certainly /looks/ it+
when compared to Dazai.

/That's going to be inside me some day,/ Chuuya thinks dazedly.Want burns through him like a wildfire.

"I want to see you cum for me," Dazai says. No, /orders/, voice heavy with the expectation of being /obeyed/,like he knows Chuuya will do as he says.+
And he's right too, because the next downward stroke is paired with a near-vicious squeeze around the head of his cock and--

Combined with the way Dazai is /staring/ at him, the way Chuuya's mind is going wild with the idea of Dazai /fucking/ him--

It's enough to trip him over+
the edge.

His world dissolves into white-noise, vision blurry with stars as he cries out. Ecstasy pulses through him in white-hot waves, centering from the base of his cock and radiating outward. His stomach clenches, and he's frozen with his back arched, too far gone to even+
keep grinding.

Luckily, Dazai never /stops/, hand tight as he continues to stroke them both. Somehow it gets even messier and /hotter/, because some of his cum gets caught by Dazai's fingers and then is smeared on the downstroke.

His heart is racing so hard it feels hard to +
breathe. His vision blurs even further, and now he feels /dizzy/, the awareness of the rest of his body fading away.

The only thing he can /feel/, the only thing he's aware of with burning, inescapable intensity, is the feeling of Dazai above him, over him, all around him, +
bending down to kiss him again.

This kiss is gentler, probably because Chuuya is shuddering too hard to really participate. His free hand comes up though, loosely knotting in Dazai’s hair.

“There you go,” Dazai purrs against him, “so beautiful, so /good/ for me. It feels /so/+
good, doesn’t it?”

It /does/, god it does, way better than any rushed orgasm he’s ever given himself. Better than coming in his pants two weeks ago, and better than the phone sex last week.

Even now, Dazai’s hand has slowed but not stopped. The pleasure is beginning to mix +
with the discomfort of over-sensitivity. Electricity crackles up his nerve endings, so good that it’s starting to hurt.

Dazai is still achingly hard though, grinding against his softening cock. He doesn’t want to /stop/ him, because just that feeling is good too but it /burns/+
his nerves confused. It feels like he’s building up again, almost, except this time his body is twitching hard to escape the discomfort.

He whines against Dazai’s lips, hand clenching in his hair. “I— It’s too much, I can’t—.”

Can’t /what/, he’s not exactly sure, but Dazai +
seems to know. His hand slows entirely, and he /carefully/ lets their fingers slide apart.

(Later, Chuuya will realize that the first time he held hands with Dazai is when they were jacking off together. Dazai never lets him live it down.)

Chuuya is still propped up on his+
thighs, legs trembling around his hips. He's trying to catch his breath, but Dazai seems determined to steal it away with heavy, drugging kisses. He breaks away every few seconds to whisper something sweet against his lips. It's too low and muffled for Chuuya to make out the +
exact words, but the tone-- soothing, dripping with something sweet and proud-- is enough to have him settling back down.

One of Dazai's hands--the one messy with lube and cum-- has moved onto tracing soft circles on Chuuya's belly. It's kind of gross, if he really thinks about+
it, but it's so mindlessly comforting that he decides just to relax into it.

And as he comes back fully into his body, mind finally working again, he realizes--

Dazai is still hard. Fully hard, throbbing against him lightly, and even though he's not /moving/, Chuuya can still+
feel the need radiating off him. He's determined to do something about it this time.

Thankful that the satisfaction pulsing through him doesn't allow him to feel nervous, he wiggles his hips a bit and says, "Your turn."

Dazai nips at the corner of his mouth, a smile in his +
voice. "Yeah? How do you want to do this, sweetheart?"

Unsure of what to offer--god, he really should've watched more porn before this, so at least he wouldn't /look/ so inexperienced, Chuuya hesitates.

Dazai takes mercy on him after a second, continuing on like he never +
asked Chuuya. "I could grind against you, just like this."

He pauses to illustrate, hips rocking forward. His cock slides against his own, sparking oversensitive shivers. It's /hot/ though, even so shortly after he orgasmed.

"You wouldn't even have to do anything. Just lay +
here and be pretty," he finishes, breath hot on his face. A rhythm is starting to build, driven by instinct and pleasure.

That feels like /cheating/. Dazai said he was going to go slower with him--and he /has/, to the point where Chuuya is almost getting frustrated with it-- +
so if he doesn't take this chance to push the limits of what Dazai /has/ done with him, who /knows/ when he'll get another chance?

(His /mind/ might be a little hesitant, but his body is /very/ clear about what it wants. He's not scared, not anxious about it being bad or +
/wrong/, he just wants it.)

"Or," Dazai pauses to reach out for Chuuya's lubed hand. It's fallen limp to the bed near his side, but he guides it back between their bodies.

This time, when Chuuya's hand wraps around his cock, he does it alone. Dazai's fingers are loose around +
his wrist, helping him to start up a rhythm but not /pressuring/ him.

Without the distraction of his own arousal, he can finally focus on what Dazai feels like in his hands. Searing hot, the veins along the underside pulsing lightly against his thumb. When he tightens his grip+
experimentally, the hitch in Dazai's breath is audible.

"You could jerk me off," he offers breathlessly, twitching in his hand. His other hand--the clean one, thankfully-- makes a firm sweep from his thigh over his hip and up to the muscles over his ribs.

He /does/ like that+
idea. Likes the feel of Dazai in his hand, too thick to wrap his fingers around entirely. Likes the way he jerks lightly against him when Chuuya's palm slides over the head, when he uses his thumb to smear the drop of pre-cum over the tip.

It's intuitive, not that different +
from jerking /himself/ off. A little more satisfying somehow, even though he's not getting any direct pleasure out of this.

Instead he gets to pull reactions from /another/ person, relishing in every twitch and tremble and soft groan he gets.

It feels /powerful/. Boosts his+
confidence. Makes him feel /sexy/ and wanted and /good/.

"Or," Dazai says /again/, and Chuuya is hanging onto his every word, because what could he offer /next/? What's next in the natural progression of sex?

"If you're feeling particularly brave-- you could try blowing me?"+
That makes Chuuya pause, uncertain. It's one thing to jerk him off--which is something he has experience in, even if it was just on himself--and another to dive into a whole new aspect with little warning.

He just doesn't want it to be /bad/ for Dazai. He's heard horror stories+
of people that /ruined/ a blowjob. Not to mention that he'd have his teeth /right/ next to his dick, something that makes him wary if it were to happen to him.

But at the same time--

He can't deny that he /wants/ to try. Dazai is heavy and firm in his palm, so he can't help+
but wonder what that'd feel like in his mouth. On his tongue, in his /throat/.

"I've never done that before," he feels compelled to point out. The strokes of his hands have slowed to absentminded pulls.

Leaning forward, Dazai nuzzles his nose against his cheek. "I know," he +
mumbles, brushing the lightest of kisses over his jaw, "I can teach you, but only if you want. I like this just as much."

Considering that he's still twitching and leaking pre-cum even though Chuuya hasn't put /that/ much effort into his strokes -- he believes that.

And the+
/lack/ of pressure somehow makes the choice easier to make. He /could/ refuse without consequences--

But when has he ever backed out of a dare before?

He takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves. "Okay. I want to try."

Dazai rewards his bravery with another kiss, this one +
over his mouth, tongue piercing sliding teasingly over his lip. It's deep and demanding enough that Chuuya momentarily loses his thoughts and melts into it eagerly.

When he's taken Chuuya's breath away, Dazai leans back again, looking smug. Chuuya chases after him +
automatically, eyes closed.

When he hears Dazai's fond huff of laughter, he cracks open his eyes to glare at him. It doesn't last long, not with how /affectionate/ he looks, his thumb stroking over Chuuya's ribs.

"How do I..."Chuuya asks, frowning. It's not like they're in the+
position for him to get his mouth on his dick. Maybe Dazai could just crawl upwards, but Chuuya doesn't particularly like the idea of being pinned to the bed with no escape for his first attempt at a blowjob.

Sitting up straight, Dazai takes his legs in hand and unwraps them +
from around his waist. "It's easier if I'm sitting on the edge of the bed. You'll have to kneel on the floor."

That doesn't sound /too/ bad, but he hopes it doesn't last terribly long, because the floors in here are hardwood and will be hell on his knees.

He slides down, the+
cool air of the bedroom hitting him a little hard. The lube is drying now, sticky, but without the furnace of Dazai hovering above him, it's suddenly a lot colder than it was.

He arranges himself comfortably on his knees,tucking his feet under his butt.

Dazai sits up entirely+
his legs coming down on either side of Chuuya. Between his thighs, it's a little warmer--

And more /intimidating/, because Chuuya is now face-to-face with the biggest dick he's ever seen.

Not that he's /seen/ a lot, but he looks even bigger than he /felt/. It's shiny-wet with+
lube, the tip flushed red. The hair around the base is neatly trimmed, something that Chuuya appreciates more than he thought he would.

"Hands on my thighs," Dazai instructs, reaching out to run his clean hand through Chuuya's hair. He meticulously brushes his bangs out of the+
way and holds them there.

Shuffling a little bit closer, Chuuya places his hands on his thighs. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that one of his legs is getting smeared with lube and cum.

Payback, for the mess on Chuuya's stomach.

"We won't do anything crazy, but if you +
ever want to stop or pause for any reason, any reason at /all/, tap twice on my thigh. Got it?"

Assumingly, Chuuya could just /say/ something if he felt uncomfortable, but the idea of having a back up signal in case he can't get the words out fast enough makes him feel warm and+
secure. Like he's being taken /care/ of.

Nodding, he demonstrates his understanding by tapping twice with his left hand. Dazai smiles at him.

"Good," he murmurs, voice slipping into something darker and more intoxicating. "I want you to keep one hand there, and I want you to +
use the other to grab the base."

This is familiar ground still,so he doesn't hesitate before lifting his other hand and wrapping it around Dazai's erection. He tilts it toward his face, for easier access.

Dazai's thumb rubs soothingly across his hairline, a counterpoint to the+
how tense his thigh is beneath his hand. He's not applying /pressure/ per se, but there's a sense of being guided, if he listens to the silent signals being given to him.

"When you're ready, I want you to kiss it."

Not looking up at his face--because the idea of /that/ seems+
embarrassing right now-- Chuuya slowly leans forward and hesitantly brushes his lips over the tip.

Because of how much lube they used,there's not even a hint of friction. His mouth slides over it easily, and comes away wet.

"Yeah," Dazai sighs, "just like that, doll."

He does+
it again, opening his mouth a little so he can really feel the shape of him. As expected, he's /hot/ but beyond that, there's the silicon taste of lube. It's not /pleasant/, per se, but it's not awful enough to stop.

The warming agent leaves his lips tingly.

Growing a little+
more bold, spurred on by the little sighs and pleased exhales Dazai is making, Chuuya gives him a tentative lick.

It's more of a taste-test than anything, quick and fleeting. The lube coats his tongue with a thick layer of rubbery taste, but the reward is that Dazai's thighs+
twitch and tense noticeably.

"You learn so /quick/, baby," Dazai praises him, voice rumbly with bitten-off groans, "Do that again."

He does, and again and again, until he's treating the head to a series of long, broad strokes of his tongue. He tries mixing it up a little, +
flexing his tongue on one stroke and then letting it relax on the next, adding a little flick at the end with the very tip of his tongue.

Eventually, the rubber taste fades away and the only thing he can taste is /Dazai/. All he can hear is the harsh breaths above him, the+
feeling of his hand tightening in his hair.

"Down the sides now."

It's easy to follow Dazai's directions, kissing and licking a sloppy trail down the side. When he feels a vein pulsing under his lips, he closes his mouth around it and gives a light, experimental /suck/. +
Dazai /groans/ at that, hissing out a soft curse.

The sound sends a shockbolt of excitement through Chuuya, and suddenly it's his only goal in life to pull that sound from Dazai, again and again, /forever/.

He has to shift hands so he can kiss back up the other side, taking +
the time to seal his mouth over a different vein and /sucking/, tracing the delicate shape of it with his tongue.

"Fuck, you're so /good/," Dazai groans out, and he /might/ be lying just to boost his confidence, but Chuuya doesn't /care/ if he is. His praise makes his chest+
feel warm and oddly light, like his existence is being buoyed by the words.

"Now open your mouth for me, as wide as you can. Cover your teeth with your lips."

It's strange to open his mouth /that/ wide while simultaneously rolling his lips inward to cover his teeth, but he+
manages it after a second.

Dazai's other hand joins his at the base, fingers overlapping to hold him steady. At the same time, he's tugging Chuuya /gently/ forward by his hair, lining him up.

"Take it," Dazai mutters, almost to himself, as Chuuya's mouth descends on him.

By +
now, he's gotten used to the /taste/--

But not the feel of Dazai pushing inside his mouth, hot and hard and heavy on his tongue. He fills his mouth up entirely, making his jaw strain. His tongue is pressed to the bottom of his mouth, with not enough room to do more than +
wiggle and flex uselessly.

Dazai likes that a /lot/, groaning again. "Suck it, baby," he pants. It's clear he's still trying to restrain himself, hanging grimly onto the last remains of his self control.

Closing his lips carefully around him, Chuuya /does/. His cheeks +
hollow out with suction, tongue curling around the underside.

The hand in his hair pulls him back gently, guiding his head into a slow, shallow bob. The suction increases as Dazai’s cock slowly slides out of his mouth. When he slides back in, Chuuya has to hollow out his +
cheeks again.

The rhythm they build is a slow, steady one that allows Chuuya to explore what gets the best reactions from Dazai.

Flattening his tongue. Tensing it, rubbing upwards in short strokes. Pushing the head of his cock upwards until it slides against the roof of his+
mouth.

And then Chuuya thinks—

He’s only got the head of his cock and a little extra in his mouth. That doesn’t seem very mind-blowing, even if Dazai is groaning and growling above him.

He can take more, can’t he? His gag reflex has never been particularly sensitive, so+
he can at least /try/, right? Just a little more.

He takes a deeper breath through his nose, letting his jaw drop even further as he angles his head, pressing down on Dazai’s cock.

Deeper, deeper—

The hand in his hair isn’t stopping /or/ pushing him, and the sound from +
above has stopped entirely, replaced with tense anticipation.

He slides a little further down, and he’s thinking he’s /really/ going to do it, he’s really going to deepthroat Dazai, it’s easier than he thought it would be—

Which is the precise moment when he /chokes/. +
His throat spasms /hard/, protesting the intrusion so strongly that Chuuya has to pull off entirely. He coughs for an embarrassingly long time, fighting to get his breath back.

“Baby,” he hears, a gentle fingertip wiping away the tears he hadn’t realized had welled up in his+
eyes and spilled over. “Take it easy. I can teach you how it’s swallow me down later, if that’s what you want. You’re already doing /so/ good for me. Feels /so/ good when you have your mouth on me.”

His vision is blurry with tears when he blinks his eyes open again. It’s too+
dark to see most of Dazai’s face from this angle, but the way his fingers are brushing through his air comfortingly is enough.

Taking a deep breath, he nods and dives back in. This time, he’s careful to keep himself from going too far down, sticking to the first few inches.+
(Dazai, meanwhile, is losing his fucking /mind/.

It’s not the best blowjob he’s ever received, but what Chuuya lacks in experience—

He makes up for with sheer enthusiasm and attention to detail.

If Dazai so much as /twitches/ when he does something that feels good, he +
does it /over and over/ again, until Dazai feels like his mind is /melting/.

Then he’ll move onto the next thing, trying out something different with his tongue or his lips until he finds something else that makes Dazai groan.

And /god/, the noises he makes. The wet sounds+
of a blowjob, obviously, but /beneath/ that—

Little punched out gasps, curious hums, the occasional slurp and choke of him readjusting his technique.

He’s trying /so/ hard to make this easy for Chuuya, jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ache. His abs are tense, fighting +
off the mounting need to /thrust/.

He /knows/ how important it is for Chuuya to build confidence and have a good experience for his first time—

But he can /not/ wait for the day he can grab him by the head and fuck that pretty little mouth. It’s all he can think about, even+
though he /shouldn’t/ be, because his self-restraint is growing dangerously thin as the pleasure begins to mount.

As it is, he can’t help but lightly guide Chuuya’s head with his hand. His original intention was to be a /gentleman/ and hold his hair back but—

Now he’s gently+
guiding his head in a steadily increasing pace, set ablaze by the way Chuuya gives into the lightest pressure. He even lets him push a little further /down/, even though he already figured out what happens when he lets Dazai’s cock get too deep.

Which was adorable, by the way.+
He feels a /little/ bad about finding it cute, but he was so /eager/, and the way his eyes looked filled with tears and frustration—

Cute.

It will be even cuter when Dazai trains the gag reflex out of him, and when he sees the shape of his cock buried in his throat but still.+
For now, he has a dilemma. His orgasm is fast approaching, after waiting for /weeks/, and then all day knowing what he had planned for tonight and then watching Chuuya come apart beneath him so beautifully.

He /could/ come in his mouth. It’s very tempting.

Or he could—.). +
“Off.”

The words are accompanied by a tug on his hair, but Chuuya resists the pull. He’s having fun and Dazai isn’t done yet so he’s not—

“/Let. Go/.”

For the first time /ever/, Dazai gets a little rough with him. His hands tighten almost-painfully in his hair and /drag/ +
him off.

More than anything, it’s the surprise that makes his mouth fall open. Dazai’s cock slides out of his mouth, heavy taste on his tongue.

He’s not allowed to go far though, head forcibly tilted up only a few inches away from Dazai’s groin.

Cracking his eyes open to+
glare at him balefully--because /neither/ of them were done, and it's not nice to pull his hair, even if he did like it-- Chuuya finally catches a glimpse of Dazai's face.

He's hunched over a bit now, the dim red lighting revealing how tense his expression has become. His +
eyebrows are furrowed together, mouth twisted into a pleasured snarl. His breathing is harsh, broken up by guttural groans as his hand moves quickly over his cock.

"Close your eyes," he manages to grunt out.

Chuuya has an /idea/ of what is about to happen, so he lets his eyes+
fall mostly shut. Mostly, because he still hasn't /seen/ what Dazai looks like mid-orgasm and the hunger to see it is like an empty pit in his stomach.

With a few more strokes, Dazai lets out a growled, mangled "/Chuuya/". The way Chuuya's stomach jumps matches the way Dazai's+
cock twitches hard.

He saw it coming but the first spurt of cum that lands on his cheek makes him flinch a little in surprise. Because of that, the /next/ one stripes across his lips.

It's hot, wet, a little bitter when he flicks his tongue out to taste. Dazai's eyes drop to+
the motion, zeroing in with laser intensity.

His hand slows to a steady pull on his cock, milking out a final wave of cum that lands somewhere between Chuuya's other cheek and his mouth. It drips down his face slowly, smearing thickly over his skin.

Without looking away, eyes+
burning, Dazai lets go of his hair. With his thumb, he smears one of the stripes over his cheek.

Then he's lowering his hand, pushing his thumb into his mouth. Chuuya's mouth is falling open easily under the pressure, allowing him to rub the pad of his finger over his tongue, +
forcing him to taste.

Teasingly, Chuuya sucks on his finger, rolling his tongue over it like he did when he had his dick in his mouth. Somehow, it feels even dirtier than before, because now he's got cum all over his face and is sucking it off his finger.

The taste coats his +
tongue entirely, bitter and a tad salty. It's not his /favorite/ flavor, but it's worth it to watch the way Dazai's pupils blow and his expression darkens with hunger.

It's amazing,the way he still seems /starving/ for him, even though he literally /just/ finished on his face.+
He doesn’t know if he should curse his refractory period or /thank/ it, because if Dazai keeps looking at him like /this/, he’s going to get hard again. Maybe his eagerness should be embarrassing, but he feels /starving/ whenever he’s around Dazai, filled with the endless need+
for /more/. He doesn’t know if that’s just because he’s young and inexperienced, or something unique to Dazai—

All he knows is that heat is starting to pool in his stomach again.

Faster than Chuuya can comprehend, Dazai is reaching down and hooking his hands underneath his +
arms. He pulls him /up/, dragging him into his lap.

Chuuya is basically dead weight because his feet have fallen asleep while he was kneeling. Dazai doesn’t even seem to notice.

He barely gets to take a startled inhale before Dazai is /devouring/ him with a kiss, tongue +
collecting the remains of the cum on his lips and pushing it into his mouth.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to melt into him, wrapping his arms around his neck and letting himself be kissed however Dazai wants. With the way he’s sitting, haphazardly kneeling over Dazai’s +
lap with his feet hanging off the bed, the only thing keeping him from falling backwards is Dazai’s arm wrapped around his waist.

Holding him over the metaphorical cliff, but never letting him fall.

Eventually, Chuuya shivers. He’s still naked, and the drying wet spots on his+
skin are making him cold. Dazai is a furnace beneath him, but it’s not enough to stop him from shivering lightly.

“You okay?” Dazai asks quietly, slowing the kiss to something almost non-existent. So soft it almost tickles.

“Yeah,” Chuuya responds. Croaks, really, because+
his throat is a little more sore than he anticipated. “Just a little cold. And sticky.”

Honestly, Chuuya is a /mess/ right now and it was hot while it was happening, but now it’s starting to get gross.

Leaning back, Dazai wedges his fingers underneath his thighs. “Let’s get +
you cleaned up.”

He’s starting to think that Dazai /likes/ carrying him, because he’s once again picked up and taken to the bathroom. He doesn’t feel bad about hugging himself close to his chest, because it’s /his/ fault he’s messy, and it’s even colder in here.

The marble is+
cold under his ass when he’s set down, making him flinch and grumble in displeasure.Dazai smiles fondly and turns the hot water in the sink on.

He bends down to pull a washcloth out of a drawer. The brighter lighting in the bathroom enables Chuuya to see a smear of pearlescent+
shine on his cheek. His own cum, probably from where he kissed Chuuya too eagerly.

The sight of it makes Chuuya squirm, suddenly realizing how /dirty/ that is. God, he’s practically got a face mask of cum on his skin right now.

When he thought about sex, he never really +
thought about the clean-up. Most of his /own/ experiences were quick and easy—down the drain or wiped with a quick tissue— but he never considered what to do with someone /else’s/ cum.

He’s glad he can’t see himself in the mirror, because he’s sure he’d die of embrasement. His+
face feels like it’s on /fire/.

Wetting the cloth under the hot water, Dazai encourages him to tip his face up with a finger under his chin. With careful movements, he begins to gently wipe away the drying mess.

“Do you want to take a shower?” He asks, running over a thick +
strip near his mouth.

A shower /does/ sound nice. It will warm him up completely and he’ll be able to scrub off all the sticky stuff more thoroughly than he could with a towel.

But he doesn’t want to get in /alone/. Dazai’s dirty too, and Chuuya might have gotten an eyeful+
of his /chest/, but he’s still wearing his slacks, even now. They’re unbuttoned and unzipped, hanging loose on his hips, but they’ve managed to stay on.

“Come in with me?” Chuuya offers, giving him his best puppy dog eyes.

The half-smile Dazai is wearing tips into something +
more somber, almost /sad/.

Did he say something wrong? He didn’t want to make him /sad/, he just—

“Can’t, chibi,” Dazai says. When Chuuya’s expression grows confused, he lifts up his other arm, presenting his bandaged forearm.

Oh. Well, he /did/ say that they stayed on—and +
they /have/, even though they’re a little messed up and dirty now— and he respects that Dazai obviously doesn’t want to take them off—

He just doesn’t understand /why/.

“I’ve seen your arms before, though,” He points out cautiously.

Dazai moves onto his other cheek, using+
a clean section of the towel. “I was wearing cover-up, then. I’m not now.”

So, whatever he doesn’t want Chuuya to see, it can be /covered/. That narrows his ideas down considerably.

But he doesn’t want Dazai to feel like he has to /hide/. He wants to know what’s underneath +
the bandages— not necessarily to satisfy his own curiosity, but because he wants to know /everything/ about this man.

“I dont...” he almost says he doesn’t /care/, but then he realizes that might not be the message he wants to give, “it won’t bother me to see it.”

Dazai takes+
his time to clean his lips, his expression distant as he carefully wipes the corner of his mouth.

Looking at him, Chuuya can’t help but feel like he did something /wrong/. Like he overstepped, crossed some invisible boundary he didn’t realize was there.

He wants to go back +
and tell himself to shut up before he even made the offer.

“You’re very sweet,” Dazai eventually responds, “but it’s easy to say that when you haven’t seen it.”

That’s true, but it aches, a little bit. They haven’t known eachother long enough to trust eachother with everything+
but it still hurts a little to know that Dazai thinks he might be rejected.

“Okay,” he gives in, not missing the way Dazai’s shoulders lose a fraction of tension.

His face is clean now, and Dazai is starting in on his jaw and neck, drawing the towel down his skin in long, +
thorough strokes. It’s almost like taking a sponge bath.

“Can I ask?” He blurts out, when the silence goes on too long. Dazai doesn’t react, so he continues, “what’s underneath them? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, though.”

There’s another long moment of tense+
silence as Dazai reaches over to rinse the towel out. He squeezes the excess water out again, lowering the cloth to his belly this time.

“Bad memories,” he eventually offers, voice quiet but steady.

That... that makes Chuuya pause.

Ever since he’s known Dazai, he’s only seen+
the put-together, teasing side of him. He’s only seen him angry /once/, and even that was brief. He seemed so /calm/ and steady, like the rock that the storm breaks on.

It’s sobering to realize that beneath that, something so terrible happened that Dazai hides his body, even+
from himself. Something he won’t— or /can’t/— speak of.

Something that obviously affects him deeply, even though he’s probably one of the steadiest people Chuuya has ever met.

Just how deep do the cracks go beneath the surface?

Taking a slow breath, Chuuya catches the +
unoccupied arm. Slowly, giving Dazai ample time to pull away, he brings it to his face. The bandages feel rough when he presses his lips to his wrist.

He doesn’t do anything else, just sits there feeling the way the tendons move as Dazai’s fingers curl to cup his cheek. He +
leans his head into his palm, letting his lips whisper up his wrist and over the base of his palm. His fingers are loose around his forearm, just in case it hurts— whether that be physically, or emotionally.

By now, his stomach and thighs have been cleaned pretty well, enough +
that he doesn’t think of protesting when Dazai’s hand slows to a stop.

When Dazai shifts upward, bringing their faces level again, Chuuya’s world becomes big, brown eyes that are rapidly softening. His thumb strokes over his cheek, achingly gentle, like Chuuya is something that+
could break.

“Like I said,” Dazai sighs, closing the distance to brush the softest of kisses over his lips. “/Sweet/.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he lets his body do the talking— arching up into him, letting out a breathy sigh as he accepts the kiss and +
silently asks for more.

“So— shower?” Dazai asks again, voice hushed in the small space between them.

Chuuya shakes his head lightly, making a disapproving noise. “No, this is fine.”

He can always take a shower later. For now, he’s mostly clean and he has a more pressing+
need than to scrub his body down—

Making sure that clouded, distant, /despairing/ look in Dazai’s eyes goes away.

“I’m still cold though,” he whispers, which is true. The steam from the hot water in the sink is barely enough to warm the side of his thigh, and the marble is +
/freezing/ under his ass, so. There are goosebumps on his thighs.

“Mm, I think I’ve got an idea,” Dazai says, leaning back a little. He goes to toss the towel into the laundry basket—

Only for small fingers to take it from him at the last moment.

Wrapping his other hand+
around Dazai’s chin, he gently tips his head to the side.Frowning in concentration, he takes the cloth and gently wipes at the spot he noticed on Dazai’s face.

His gaze is heavy on his face as Chuuya works, but he tries to ignore it as best he can. His cheeks are burning again.+
(Dazai is not used to being treated gently. He's not even used to people taking care of /him/, because he's usually the one in charge and the one responsible.

He likes it that way, doesn't mind being the one responsible for himself and others. It feels /nice/ to be the one in +
control, even if it can be a little taxing sometimes.

But you know--

The small concentrated frown on Chuuya's face as he /gently/,so much more gently than Dazai deserves, wipes his face clean, feels pretty nice too. Makes something warm and tender blossom in his chest, setting+
roots around his heart and lungs.

Maybe being taken care of isn't so bad either.)

When he's satisfied with his cleaning job, Chuuya lets his chin go. Impulsively, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the place he was just cleaning, smiling softly against Dazai's skin. +
"All clean," he says with another quick peck, like he's celebrating a job well done.

Shifting his face to press their cheeks together, Dazai tells him, "Thank you, baby."

The smile is thick in his voice, and Chuuya can feel it in his cheeks. All that sad energy from before is+
gone, replaced by something soft and warm.

Not warm /enough/ though because Chuuya shivers again. This time, he can't stop Dazai when he pulls away completely.

Dazai exits the bathroom for a moment, leaving him alone for a quick moment before he's returning again. In his hands+
are the same pair of sweats and button-down shirt he's worn the other times he was here.

(Chuuya doesn't know this, but Dazai put them in a specific spot in his drawer because they might as well be /his/ now, as far as Dazai is concerned.)

Dazai is a lot rougher and more +
perfunctory with his /own/ clean-up, quickly scrubbing his lower belly clean. He also changes into a pair of gray sweats, and Chuuya gets a /mouth-watering/ view of his muscled thighs, lean calves and /ass/ as he changes that is taken away from him far too quickly.

They finish +
nearly at the same time. Dazai is still missing a shirt, but Chuuya is /not/ going to remind him that he should probably put one on.

They move back to the bedroom. Chuuya heads for the bed while Dazai opens the door, freezing in the doorway--

"Chuuya, you have a visitor."+
For a second, Chuuya goes blank with panic, eyes wide.

The only ‘visitor’ he can think of is /Shuuji/, and that’s about the worst possible outcome. Shuuji mentioned that he was going out with a girl after finals—with a weird insistence that made Chuuya feel like he was expected+
to be jealous— but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have come back early. Didn’t mean he couldn’t have arrived home and heard Chuuya choking on his /dad’s dick/.

And if he /did/, god, he’s probably going to tell /everyone/. Keio is a university where your reputation matters just as+
much as your grades, and if his /professors/ hear that he slept with Shuuji’s dad behind his back—or whatever story Shuuji would come up with— he can kiss all those recommendation letters and unique opportunities /goodbye/.

His career might be over before it’s even /begun/. +
But then Dazai moves over, and a large, furry body comes barrelling in--

Chuuya realizes he was freaking out over nothing. It's just Yoko, happy to see him. Even if she's a little sad that it took so long for him to greet her, tail more sedate than it usually would be.

"Hi, +
pretty girl," he tells her, crouching down to her level. She pushes her nose in his face, like she's reassuring herself that it /is/ still him and he still likes her.

Dazai, she ignores entirely.

Which is fine by him, because he's moving back to the other side of the room and +
moving the black-out curtains to reveal a large wall of windows that Chuuya hadn't even realized was there. There's a door there too, and it's dark enough that he can just barely make out the shapes outside.

It must be the balcony, one of the few places he hasn't been in the +
house yet. He's seen it from the outside, but considering it's on the second story, he really didn't see much of anything.

Dazai knows the layout well, because he doesn't move to turn on any lights as he maneuvers around the furniture. From the looks of it, there's a table and+
a few chairs, maybe a couch or perhaps a bar? It's hard to tell without light.

And in the middle of it all--

There's a spark of light as Dazai fiddles with something, that quickly grows into a small fire. He adds something to it--probably charcoal-- and soon it's a lively, +
crackling flame.

Following him outside with Yoko on his heels, Chuuya takes it in. There /are/ a few chairs and that is definitely a small bar and not a couch. The fire in the middle sits in what looks like a traditional irori table, just elevated for easier access.

Without +
looking at him, Dazai moves over to a storage closet built into the wall of the house. From this angle, Chuuya can't see what he's doing but it only takes a few moments before he's shutting the door again, something big and awkwardly shaped in his hands.

"Come here," he says+
lightly, but Chuuya doesn't have to move a single step because Dazai is already making his way over.

The thing in his hands unfolds easily when he shakes it out and Chuuya realizes--

It's a blanket. Dazai built a fire and got him a blanket simply because he said he was cold, +
even though it'd be arguably way easier just to cuddle up in bed.

That would've put him straight to sleep though, so he's grateful that Dazai thought of something else. He doesn't /mind/ sleeping--hopes they do, later, actually-- but he doesn't want to waste a single second +
with Dazai.

It never feels like they get enough /time/. There’s always school for him, work for Dazai. Shuuji is an obstacle they always have to silently work around, and it just never feels like /enough/. Time always goes by too fast, and Chuuya can feel it slipping through +
his fingers like water, too slippery to hold onto.

The blanket gets carefully draped over his shoulders, wrapped around his back. It hangs to his calves in the back, just long enough that Chuuya can grab it with one hand in the front to keep it in place.

It’s /so/ soft and +
clean, surprisingly clean. It instantly creates a layer of cocooning warmth that melts away the last of the cold like it never existed.

Then, almost unsurprisingly--

Dazai picks him up, arms tight around his lower back.

"Why do you pick me up so much?" Chuuya grumbles, even+
as he's clinging to his shoulders.

Dazai pretends to think about it, taking him over to one of the chairs near the fire. He settles them both, leaning against the back with Chuuya in his lap. "Don't you want to pick up tiny things and hold them?"

/Wow/. He really went there.+
His struggling is thwarted by the gentle, thorough way Dazai is tucking the blanket around his legs. It's too comfortable to protest too much, though he does give a small huff of indignation.

Yoko sits at their side, looking up at Chuuya with a pair of big, pleading eyes. Her +
fur is fascinating in the firelight, alternating light and dark in the flickering light.

Dazai opens his mouth, probably to say 'no', but Chuuya /easily/ ignores that, patting the empty space beside him with an indulgent smile.

Yoko doesn't need another invitation, jumping up+
and claiming the spot for her own. Her massive paws step on Dazai quite a bit as she finds the best way to lay down.

"Back off, mutt," Dazai grunts playfully,arms tightening around Chuuya protectively. "Mine."

That makes Chuuya laugh, reaching out to ruffle Yoko's ears. "Don't+
be mean to her.She just wants to cuddle."

Dazai huffs into his hair. "I'll have you know that she had /never/ been on any furniture before you came around. You're teaching her bad habits."

"What kind of monster doesn't let their pets on furniture?"

"The kind that doesn't like+
to pick off dog hair off my /black furniture/."

Yoko finds a semi-comfortable spot, sprawled across Dazai's lower leg with her head resting on Chuuya's lap. She looks utterly blissful, tail thumping against the chair steadily and her eyes closed.

"Then get furniture that's not+
black? The monochrome black thing is giving me depressed teenager vibes anyways."

The mock-offended gasp that Dazai sucks in makes him smile, grateful he's facing away so Dazai can't see his expression melt with affection.

"But /Chuuuya/," he teases, burying his nose into his+
neck gently enough to tickle, "this is the /real/ me."

With his hands, he pushes Yoko's ears together on top of her head. It makes her face look funny, almost stretched out. "He's going to need some work," he whispers conspiratorially to her. Her tail thumps in agreement. +
"Don't take sides against me with the /dog/. I might start to think you like her better."

The silence after that is long and /pointed/, like Chuuya is /considering/ it. Chuuya keeps his face turned away deliberately, hiding the smile he can't contain.

The next sniff Dazai +
is /hurt/. "I see how it is."

He's still holding Chuuya /so/ close though, arms wrapped his waist so tightly it's almost uncomfortable, his chin propped up on his shoulder. Yoko's bony leg must be digging painfully into his skin, but he doesn't mention it or try to move. +
It's warm and perfect and peaceful. Yoko is heavy on his lap and Dazai is solid beneath him.

Like this, sitting on a balcony with a man and a dog, with the fire dying slowly and the blanket delightfully warm--

Chuuya has never felt so treasured before.

(So loved.)

-------- +
[ GROUPCHAT: Stray dogs ]:

[ SHUUJI ]:yo wut u guys get on ur finals

[ YUAN ]:best i got was a 83 in calc 2 😩😭 got b's for the rest

[ YUAN ]:still got an A in psychology tho 😎sigmund freud who

[ NIKOLAI ]: I did pretty well!! I should have studied more but I'm not mad!!
+
[ CHUUYA ]: 😎😎😎😎😎😎

[ YUAN ]: what’d you get

[ CHUUYA ]: straight A’s BITCHES. I’m top 10 in our year now 😎

[ NIKOLAI ]: All that hard work and studying paid off then!

[ SHUUJI ]: more like all that cheating lol

[ CHUUYA ]: what??? I studied for like 3 weeks straight
+
for my tests wtf???

[ SHUUJI ]: yeah but acing ALL ur exams? idk sounds fake

[ YUAN ]: stfu shuuji ur just bitter you barely passed your statistics final 🙄 maybe if you had actually studied at all

[ SHUUJI ]: I passed my exam without studying at all so that just shows

+
how smart I am lol besides idc about rankings, that shit is for high schoolers.

[ CHUUYA ]: no?? It looks super good on a resume for jobs?? It’s pretty important

[ SHUUJI ]: for u maybe lol

[ YUAN ]: ANYWAYS

[ YUAN ]: we should go out and celebrate!! We have 2 months

+
until 2nd semester and I know we’re all gonna be busy, so let’s go do something while we can!!

[ NIKOLAI ]: I’m in! Maybe dinner or something?

[ CHUUYA ]: when?

[ SHUUJI ]: I can’t, me n dad are gonna go visit my mom

[ CHUUYA ]: what

[ YUAN ]: aren’t they like divorced?
+
[ SHUUJI ]: they never married so not technically

[ YUAN ]: technically whatever. I thought they were separated. Like for good?

[ SHUUJI ]: eh. Ima get them back together lol just watch

[ SHUUJI ]: mom is a lot cooler to be around so ima convince dad to let her move in
+
[ CHUUYA ]: isn’t he like... involved with.... someone

[ SHUUJI ]: LMFAO no

[ YUAN ]: why do u want them back together so bad?

[ SHUUJI ]: having to take a plane to see mom once a semester is exhausting and my dads a dick by himself so

[ SHUUJI ]: maybe he’ll settle down
+
once he's finally getting some 🙄

[ YUAN ]: 👀

[ SHUUJI ]: shut up slut u already tried to get at him and he rejected u lol

[ SHUUJI ]: also if u sleep with my dad i will actually kill u

[ YUAN ]: a girl wants what a girl wants :\

[ SHUUJI ]: gross

[ YUAN ]: stfu
+
[ YUAN ]: anyways when do u leave

[ SHUUJI ]: mom said she's calling dad today, so prolly sometime tomorrow

[ YUAN ]: ur dad can get 2 months off work with barely even a 24 hour notice?

[ SHUUJI ]: perks of being a business owner 👅👅

[ YUAN ]: ugh whatever

+
[ YUAN ]: anyways chuuya,nikolai you up for dinner? maybe the weekend tho cuz shirase and i got plans tonight

[ NIKOLAI ]: Yeah, that sounds good for me. I have Saturday off work!!

[ YUAN ]: omg first time in forever

[ YUAN ]: wbu chuuya

[ YUAN ]: ....chuuya? where'd u go?
+
----- +

Dazai's /other/ phone doesn't ring that often. Only a handful of people have that number, because anyone who is connected at all to his underground life have the number to his disposable phones.

This phone is under a different name, paid through a series of +
untraceable feeder bank accounts that are /also/ not in his name. The phone used to be used so rarely that it functioned more as an expensive paperweight--

But that's changing, as of recently. The only people who have this number are Shuuji, Chuuya, and...

Sasaki.

Who is +
calling him right now.

It's /strange/, because she rarely calls him directly. Usually she just sends messages through Shuuji, which is a weird, unreliable method of communication. Or it's texts, which is fine, except that she rarely actually /finishes/ a conversation before +
she disappears. As soon as she gets what she came for, that's enough for her.

He accepts the call, bringing the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

As usual, Sasaki's voice is syrupy sweet and filled with warm welcome. "/Hello/, darling. It's been a while since we talked; how are you?"+
Dazai leans back in his chair. He's at home today, mostly going over information for the call he's scheduled with Fyodor later today. It's sure to be filled with subtle insults, and running circles around each other while trying to get the upper hand.

He already has a headache.+
"Fine," he responds, because he's not going into all of that with her, "you?"

She sighs, heavy and distraught. "I wish I could say I was doing good as well,but the truth is, I'm /very/ concerned and worried."

Dazai arches an eyebrow, wondering why she called him to /complain/.+
"About?"

"Shuuji told you about his grades, didn't he? They're /abysmally/ low, not up to expectations at all."

Dazai /does/ know about that, mostly because Shuuji went on a rant about how his professors suck and didn't grade him fairly. Personally, Dazai thought his scores +
were because he spent too little time studying and too much time staying up until the small hours of the night playing video games but hey--

What does he know?He didn't even go to college.

(Chuuya did call him when he got /his/ scores, shouting excitedly into the speaker about+
his updated class rankings. And should Dazai be proud that Chuuya utterly /destroyed/ his son?

Probably not, but the chibi /earned/ it. He ran himself /ragged/ preparing for finals, so yeah, Dazai /is/ proud of him.)

"I'm aware," he says, "but I'm not sure what you want me to +
do about it."

"That's /exactly/ the kind of attitude that allowed him to get those grades," Sasaki huffs into the speaker. There's a bit of background noise behind her, something that sounds like people talking and a busy street. "He needs a firm hand to guide him, so he can do+
his work at the level we both /know/ he can acheive."

Shuuji is smart, he won't deny that. The problem is that instead of developing that intelligence, it's made him /lazy/. He doesn't study, doesn't work to develop himself or his skills, nothing.

He's been coasting through+
life, resting on the knowledge that he'll be able to achieve anything he wants with only the skills he was born with and the resources that are handed to him--

And frankly, Dazai doesn't particularly care to break him of the habit. Sometimes. the best lessons are the ones you +
learn the hard way.

"He /is/ an adult, Sasaki.He's perfectly aware of what he needs to do to get good grades, and there's plenty of resources he can use if he needs them. I shouldn't need to hold his hand to make sure he does what he needs to do."

"It's not /holding his hand/,+
Osamu," Sasaki hisses, and something about the way she says his given name always rubs him the wrong way. Like the fact that she uses it makes them more /familiar/ with each other, more /intimate/. "It's doing your /job/ as a parent."

Admittedly, that hurts just as much as it +
was probably meant to.

A lot of things come naturally to Dazai, but parenting has never been one of them.He never felt that all-encompassing love and affection that all the books described. He never felt particularly drawn to him either, even when he was smaller.

Most of what+
he feels, actually, is gut-wrenching /terror/.

Dazai knows what it's like to grow up with an absent father. His own father never really took an interest in him as a child. He was always busy with something else, or so irritated that his mother gently guided him away to play +
elsewhere.

And back then, it didn't matter /that/ much. Yes, he wanted his fathers attention, but his mother was very loving and there was always tomorrow right?

Tomorrow, father wouldn't be busy. Tomorrow, father wouldn't be angry. Tomorrow, father would look at the model +
city Dazai made for school-- and got the /highest/ score in the whole class with-- and he would /smile/.

And then, in the span of fifteen minutes, there were no tomorrows.

Then, Dazai learned what it was like to be raised with someone /cruel/. Someone that taught him, with +
unwavering accuracy, that /no one/ was to be trusted. Everyone else could hurt him or /would/ hurt him, on purpose or /seemingly/ by accident.

The only one Dazai could rely on was himself. The only one who wouldn’t hurt him was himself.

(Which is ironic, considering that +
a /lot/ of his pain was self-inflicted, back then.)

It’s something he still struggles with to this day, the lessons Mori taught him with a disarming smile. The urge to be in control at all times is one he can never escape, and the thought of letting someone discover his +
vulnerabilities makes him want to /bite/.

And because he knows what /both/ ends of the bad father spectrum are like—

He’s terrified to figure out where /he/ lies on that scale.

He never wanted children to begin with, but neither does he want to inflict the pain he felt onto+
someone else.

So he’s trapped in this endless cycle, because if he gets /too/ involved, the anger that Shuuji naturally incites in him might take /over/, and he might do something hurtful—

And if he’s /too/ distant, it’s like he doesn’t care at all, like Shuuji never had a +
father to begin with.

He’s /trying/ to figure out a good balance, but it’s hard.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Dazai eventually sighs, pinching his nose. His headache has worsened.

“You’re lucky you have me then, don’t you?” Sasaki sniffs, sounding far too proud.+
“He should come visit me. He’s worked hard this semester, and he deserves a little rest and recharge so he can be prepared for the next semester.”

Weren’t they just arguing about how he didn’t work hard /enough/?Or was it only Dazai who didn’t try enough?

“Fine, whatever. I’ll+
book a flight. He has two months off anyways.”

Maybe it’ll be good to get some distance between them for a little while too. They’ve only been living together for a little over 8 months, so maybe it’ll give Dazai some time to figure out a game plan regarding their relationship.+
"You know," Sasaki continues, her voice dropping into something cajoling. "You should really consider coming with him. It'd be good for us all, to have some bonding time. I can teach you how to handle him better, how to be a better father to him."

Eyebrows shooting up, Dazai +
gives an incredulous laugh. "Not only do I /not/ need parenting advice from you, thank you, but I also cannot take 2 months off work on a whim."

(Which isn't /strictly/ true, he could do it if he really wanted to. He could manage his network through phone calls, if he was +
motivated.

But he's /not/.

Plus, he's planning on doing /something/ for Chuuya over break to celebrate his scores. He's not sure what yet-- he's torn between taking him for a weekend trip to Tokyo, or maybe Osaka, or paying for an extended trip back to his family home.

He'd +
mentioned mentioning his father and his sister once, which is enough for Dazai to add to his his plans.

Maybe he’ll do both? A top 10 spot certainly deserves those and much more, but he’s learned to be /careful/ with spending money on Chuuya where he can see it.

He gets +
/skittish/ whenever Dazai spoils him— something he’ll grow out of, hopefully— although Dazai has enough money to spare for several lifetimes.

Truthfully, he’d find a way even if he /was/ poor, but he doesn’t mention that to Chuuya.

The point is—

Even if he /did/ want to+
visit Sasaki— which he doesn’t— he already has /plans/.

He’s just waiting to tell Chuuya when he has a more solid plan.)

This time Sasaki sounds positively sulking as she mutters, “Shuuji told me he’d talked to you already, and that you were prepared.”

He’s barely even +
/talked/ to the kid for the past 2 weeks, because he’s been shut up in his room nearly the entire time, so how the hell would they have talked about that?

“Well, he was misinformed.”

Sasaki says something, but it sounds like it’s directed to someone else, because her voice is+
suddenly muffled and far away, like she’s covering the receiver with her hand.

There’s faint sounds from the other end, like plates being cleared away. She must be at a restaurant or a cafe.

After a moment, her voice comes back clear again. “I suppose I can’t fault you for+
being so dedicated to your work. That sets a good example for Shuuji.”

Dazai can’t help but snort. /Him/, a good example. Laughable.

“In that case, I will have to make my own arrangements then. I’m sure everything will be easier if I move up there to Yokohama with you.” +
That makes Dazai stall out in surprise. The /main/ reason Shuuji moved in with him is because Sasaki didn't want to give up her home in Kyoto.

Which is understandable, but she was so /worried/ about him moving into the dorms by himself-- "he's not /ready/, Osamu"-- that his +
only option was, apparently,to move in with Dazai.

Which was a /big/ adjustment and commitment that he doesn't think he was ready for,but he wasn't about to say /no/ when Shuuji asked. They made it work.

What Sasaki is saying--

It sounds like she wants to move in with /them/.+
Which is not only /presumptuous/, considering that they haven't had much of a relationship for over a decade, but it also doesn't work for /practical/ reasons.

"If you want to move to Yokohama for Shuuji, that's great, but you can't stay /here/. I don't have any more bedrooms."+
There's a soft little huff on the other side of the line and the faint sounds of sipping. "Oh, that's not a problem, Osamu," she breezes, "we've shared a bed before, it's not something /new/. It would probably be /enjoyable/."

As come-on's go, that's not very subtle. Nor is it +
particularly /tempting/. He hasn't been intimate with Sasaki since that one trip nearly /eight/ years ago, and he's not interested in breaking the dry spell.

"Nice try, but that was a /long/ time ago. No one sleeps in my bed besides me." /And Chuuya/, his mind adds silently. +
This time Sasaki sounds almost /upset/. "Come /on/, Osamu, how are we supposed to bond as a family when you're being so /stubborn/? I'll sleep on the couch if I must, but I need somewhere to stay until I get my own place."

/If/ she gets her own place.

The sheer audacity of +
this whole conversation has him snorting.

And to be honest, /before/, he might've given in, simply because he was so lonely. Might've given their relationship another shot, just because it was better than the endless monotony of fuck-and-leave situations at the club.

But now+
his mind flashes to red hair and smiling bright blue eyes and--

Feels nothing but derision.

"There are hotels," he reminds her, gleefully petty.

The offended gasp she lets out is honestly hilarious, like the idea of sleeping in a /hotel/, even a nice one, is hideous to her.+
"/Osamu/," she starts, but he quickly cuts her off.

"Is there anything else you needed?"

There's a heavy silence on the other end, punctuated with a slight sniffle. Is she going to /cry/?

"I don't know why you're being so /cold/ to me," she sniffs, voice distraught, "I just +
want us to be a /family/ again."

They were never a family. She made sure of that when she left the city when she found out she was pregnant with Shuuji, retreating to her family's home in Kyoto.

When he offered to follow, to come with, to /help/, she told him he wasn't allowed+
to be near /her/ child until he could guarantee they wouldn't be hurt because of him.

Which is /never/ a guarantee, simply because of who Dazai is, so he stayed away.

(He won't lie and say he wasn't /relieved/, because the idea of being with a pregnant woman and then some day+
an infant child was /terrifying/. He was only 16, and one of the bloodiest people in Yokohama to this /day/.

Maybe it was unfair to leave Sasaki to raise Shuuji with no help except for his parents but--

He offered. She refused. They're both at fault for how things turned out.)+
"Sasaki," he sighs, wondering how to explain that he /doesn't/ view her as family and he's not interested in changing that. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'll keep supporting you and Shuuji, but I think we should just let the past stay in the past."

She's quiet for so long+
that he actually pulls his phone away from his ear to check if she had hung up on him.

Then, in such a pitiful voice that it causes him a twinge of guilt, she asks, "Is there someone else?"

As in, is he /dating/ someone else.

And here, Dazai comes across a conundrum. +
Because his first instinct is to say /yes, I'm in a relationship with a bite-sized chibi, thank you, goodbye/, but once he takes a second to think about it...

He's not actually sure if that's true?

Obviously there /are/ some sort of feelings between them, but they've never +
discussed them in any capacity.

The /assumption/ of them is there,because while Dazai is /intimately/ familiar with the idea of fucking without feelings--

He doesn't think Chuuya is that type of person, especially as inexperienced as he is.

However, even if Chuuya /does/ have+
feelings for him, that doesn't mean he wants to pursue them in any meaningful way. Dazai is /literally/ old enough to be his father, and while that might be sexy /now/--

He is also aware of the fact that Chuuya is alone and self-managed for the first time in his life, out from+
underneath the thumb of an apparently very strict father, and is most likely going through a /rebellious/ phase.

Dazai might just be his rebellious phase that one day he'll grow out of,once the novelty wears off.

Which is /fine/,Dazai would never try to push him into something+
he didn't want.

It's just he,personally, /does/ want something more. He /likes/ Chuuya. Likes the way he looks in his bed, likes the way he submits so easily to him, likes his fiery attitude when he's being /bratty/, likes the way the /dogs/ like him, likes the way he looks in+
his kitchen and his car and his /life/.

The idea of giving him up someday is painful,and the idea that Chuuya might not feel the same way about /him/ is scary.

They /need/ to talk about it,but Dazai's never been in a real relationship before,and he doesn't know how to /start/.+
Plus, combine that with the emotional vulnerability that requires and--

It becomes a conversation that Dazai wants to avoid at any costs.

"That's none of your business," he settles on eventually, "and it wouldn't matter if I was."

He is also not unaware of the relationship+
Shuuji has with his mother. If she knows he's interested in someone, it's likely that she'll tell Shuuji, who will /probably/ start hounding him for information and snooping around to figure out who--

And, considering that Chuuya was, at one point, the person Shuuji was +
interested in, that situation might turn bad quickly.

No, the first one to know if they are in a relationship or not will be /Chuuya/.

"Oh, so you're just being stubborn then."

Sure, whatever. He doesn't care enough to argue about it, especially not right now. "I will book a +
flight for Shuuji this weekend. Is there a particular date you want him on?"

Sasaki makes a thoughtful noise, the faint noise of utensils scraping over a plate coming from the background. Somehow the idea of her tearing up at a public restaurant makes this whole conversation +
even more ridiculous.

"No, any day is fine with me. My schedule is pretty free after Ida and I--"

She cuts herself there, suddenly realizing she's said a little too much.

So /that's/ why she was so adamant about seducing him again. "You know, Sasaki, it's not very polite to +
mention another man to the man you're trying to convince to sleep with you."

Silence.Sweet, awkward,blessed silence,as she tries to figure out what to say to /that/.

He doesn't allow her the chance. "I'll send you the details when I have them.Goodbye,Sasaki."

"Osamu, wait--."+
He hangs up, feeling a strong sense of victory even though he didn't really /win/ anything. He's sure he'll hear about it later-- either from Shuuji complaining on his mother's behalf, or another call-- but for now, it's over and peace settles over him again.

He still has a few+
hours until his conference with Fyodor--which will, n all likelihood, be pushed back another hour or two because Fyodor is /petty/--so he drags out his laptop and starts looking at flights.

The earliest flight from here to Kyoto is two days from now, on a Monday. It's a red-eye+
flight that leaves at 6 in the morning.

It gives Dazai great petty pleasure to book it, knowing that Shuuji will have to wake up at four or even /earlier/ to make the flight.

And while he's there...

He can't help but look up flights to Osaka. There's a first class flight +
that leaves next Saturday, at 11 in the morning. He’s taken a few flights to Osaka, so he knows that the view from above is /beautiful/ and he wouldn’t want Chuuya to miss it.

The recommended return flight is five days later, same time. Almost a week.

And there’s an ad for +
a nearby hotel, which /conveniently/ has a terrace suite that is available for reservation on those same five days.

(It’s the /ads/, that’s how they get you, every time.)

Dazai remembers the way Chuuya literally would not let them leave /his/ balcony until he actually fell +
asleep in his arms and had to be carried back to bed.

It wouldn’t be the same, particularly because the suite doesn’t come with one furry menace that answered to the name Yoko, /but/ Dazai thinks he’d like the view. The city lights of Osaka at night are incredible.

He hovers+
over the ‘book reservation’ button for a long time, wondering how exactly he should go about doing this.

They aren’t /quite/ at the point where Dazai can just whisk Chuuya away for a few days without a single problem or any hesitance.

He /does/ want it to be a surprise though,+
because he /loves/ that look of wide-eyed wonder and surprise he gets whenever Dazai takes him somewhere new.

Hm. He'll have to play it by ear, but he will have to ask.

He picks up his phone again, scrolling to Chuuya's contact. Maybe it's a /bit/ early, but he has it saved +
under 'baby'. He's constantly torn on the profile picture--he loves the first picture Chuuya ever sent him, the teasingly seductive one where he's wearing his shirt.

But the /secret/ one Dazai took while he was sleeping, hair spread out over Dazai's pillow and his face soft and+
lax with sleep. Yoko is in that one too,barely, the tips of her ears poking up from behind his head from where she's lying behind him.

Maybe he'll make one his background picture,since he can't seem to decide.

He presses the call button, headache already starting to fade away.+
--- +
He won't admit this to anyone else, but Chuuya is /sulking/. Hiding underneath his blanket, grumpily staring at his phone, refusing to answer his friends texts.The whole she-bang.

He's not /proud/ of it, but fuck, his feelings are /hurt/. Maybe they shouldn't be--it's not+
like Dazai has an /obligation/ to him-- but he should've at least /said/ something.

Chuuya is on break for a little under two months, and he's essentially stranded here at campus because he doesn't have enough money to take the trip back home. He hasn't asked his dad or Kouyou+
for extra money yet, because he /assumed/ that Dazai would want to do something with him over break.

An assumption that was /embarrassingly/ wrong, apparently, because Dazai is going to visit his /baby mama/ with his son for an /unknown/ amount of time. Maybe all of break!

+
Shuuji certainly made it /sound/ like it was all of break.

And really, they've been texting nearly non-stop and called a few times, /and/ had that date last week, so there was /plenty/ of opportunity for Dazai to /tell/ him he was leaving for /two months/!

He's in his notes+
app, writing a /strongly/ worded letter to Dazai that will never see the light of day. It's mostly just cursing and calling him a small-dicked motherfucker--that part is erased with a particularly fierce scowl because that's simply not true, and Chuuya knows it--and it's just an+
anger management tool so he doesn't do anything /rash/.

Like call Dazai and ask why he didn't tell him. He's /not/ breaking the silence on that subject first, even if it leaves him huffing irritably underneath his blankets--

[ INCOMING CALL: Daddy 🥰💕]

[ ACCEPT OR DECLINE ]
+
He lets it ring once, twice, torn about what to do.

The /petty/ part of him wants to ignore it and send it to voicemail.

The angry part of him wants to answer it and demand answers.

The lovesick part of him is going 'Dazai!!!' complete with sparkles and heart eyes.

+
And well--

Not answering probably won't make his mood better.

Answering might make it /worse/, but he's getting tired of ranting to his lifeless app. It makes him feel pathetic, anger twisting uselessly in his gut until he feels sick.

He clicks accept with a haughty sniff, +
not even greeting Dazai with a hello.

Dazai doesn't seem to notice though, because as soon as he hears Chuuya's breathing on the other line, he's saying with a low, empathetic voice, like he's /so/ happy he answered, "Good evening, lovely."

Chuuya's traitor stomach flips with+
happiness at the quality of his voice. At the smile he can /hear/.

"Hi," he manages to grumble, trying to keep most of the anger out of his voice.He doesn't want to tip Dazai off that he's irritated /too/ early.

"Did I wake you up?" Dazai asks, sounding a little /too/ amused.+
And well, that /is/ a good reason for how irritable he sounds right now. "Yes," he sniffs, "I'm /grumpy/."

The little 'awwww' Dazai lets out sounds like he thinks that's /adorable/ instead of frightening or something to be wary of. Jerk.

"Well, I have something that might fix +
that."

...Let it be known that Chuuya's good moods /can/ be bought. "Like what?"

Dazai's voice is distantly curious,like the answer he might get doesn't matter /too/ much."Do you have plans for next weekend and the week following?"

Yes,actually, a strict schedule of seething,+
wallowing and throwing himself a pity party.He simply cannot miss it. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"What do you think about going on a little trip together?"

Chuuya blinks in surprise, mind stalling out. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but it wasn't /that/. Not only is he+
kind of surprised that Dazai wants to do something as involved as 'taking a trip together', but he also thought--

"Aren't you busy? I thought you were leaving Yokohama for break?"

The silence he receives from that is so filled with confusion that Chuuya is starting to rethink +
this whole situation.

"Chuuya..." whenever Dazai says his /name/ instead of one of the many nicknames he has for him, it always makes Chuuya think he's about to be told something serious. Or that he's in trouble. "What made you think I was leaving?"

Swallowing hard, Chuuya +
mutters something into the phone that's too low to hear.

"What?"

"I said," he repeats, taking a deep breath because now he's starting to feel /stupid/. "That Shuuji told me."

Another silence, this one longer and more painful simply because Chuuya feels like he /messed up/. +
That he over-reacted or was being /stupid/.

"First off, Shuuji does /not/ speak for me. If he tells you something and you don't know if it's true or not-- please talk to me first before believing him." Dazai's voice is firm but not angry or loud.

Chuuya shrinks a little. He+
should've known better. He shouldn't have just /blindly/ believed Shuuji, especially because he lied to him before.

Stupid, stupid, too trusting, naïve, /stupid/.

"I'm assuming he told you before the last hour, in which case-- I wasn't even /talked/ to about visiting his +
mother with him when he told you that. And when I was asked, I told them /no/. Do you know why?"

Curled up beneath his blankets feeling like the year's biggest idiot, Chuuya mutters in his smallest voice, "No. Why?"

"Because I wanted to make plans with /you/, baby."

Oh. +
He...said no to spending time with his family in order to spend time with /him/? So they could take a trip /together/?

God, that's--

So /sweet/, and much more than he ever expected. He doesn't know what to say or even what to /think/, because his chest feels overfull with this+
warm, bubbly feeling, so much he can barely breathe without tasting liquid happiness.

All that anger from before is gone, replaced by a giant smile. He's hiding his face in his pillow, even though it's not like anyone is around to see and Dazai can't /hear/ the furious blush on+
his face.

One of the best things about Dazai is he never makes Chuuya feel like he should be ashamed about his inexperience.Whenever he does or thinks something wrong, he just gently corrects him into the right way, and that's /so/ much better than being yelled at, or lectured,+
or made to feel /guilty/.

It eases some tension he didn't even know he was feeling. Relationships are /hard/, and the confusing, scary mess he had with Shuuji ruined what little confidence he had. Even Dazai can be frightening at times, because of how much older and more+
experienced he is.

But the man has gone out of his way /multiple/ times to make sure that Chuuya feels safe and secure with him, and that fear is beginning to fade away. He's even beginning to feel /confident/ again, which sometimes can lead to stupid, thoughtless mistakes like+
these.

But it's okay,because when Chuuya gives a small, "Oh. Okay," in a tiny, elated voice,it earns him an amused, fond huff of breath from the other side of the phone.

"Okay /what/, lovely? Okay you understand, or okay you want to go on a trip with me?"

"Both," Chuuya says,+
before he actually thinks about it. Then he’s reminded of something, and he winces, wishing he didn’t have to take his words back. “Actually I can’t go on the trip.”

He can practically hear Dazai pouting on the other end as he asks, “why not?”

Chuuya rolls over, wondering how+
to put this /lightly/. “I spent too much money on those earrings for dinner at your house, and I’m broke for a while still.”

(Admittedly, Dazai has never really experienced poverty in any aspect.

When he was young, his family was well-off, even if it was borrowed and stolen+
from others. It /was/ money, even if it wasn’t rightfully theirs.

When he was with Mori, all his needs were taken care of—by force, if necessary— so Dazai never needed to worry about needing to afford something he wanted or needed.

In fact, he took it as a challenge /multiple/+
times to spend as much money as possible on the worst things he could imagine, just to piss Mori off.

Then, as he grew a little older and realized that Mori’s benevolence towards him was /not/ guaranteed nor permanent—

He started siphoning off cash from the Mafia accounts and+
creating his own stash. He was careful and smart about it, never drawing too much attention by draining an account too much or using any accounts with his name on it.

By the time he /left/, he’d amassed quite a little treasure store. It kept him afloat when he was having his+
little mental breakdown/quarter life crisis that he prefers not to even think about, and if he didn’t spend money, it was a choice.

It wasn’t because he didn’t have money to spend.

So the fact that the /beautiful/ little angel of his /does/ have to worry about that, things+
like earrings and outfits and maybe even /food/, breaks his heart.

It also /warms/ his chest because he spent money he didn’t really have so he could look pretty for /Dazai/, and he did. God, he did.

It’s at this moment when Dazai swears he’s going to spoil the /hell/ out of+
the chibi. It’s final. The decision has been made, and Chuuya can’t make him change his mind.)

It’s quiet for so long that Chuuya shifts awkwardly in bed, wishing they weren’t /ruminating/ in the revelation that he is, in fact, not well-off.

He wouldn’t say /poor/, because he+
has seen what /actual/ poverty looks like, and he’s actually pretty privileged himself. He’s at one of the top universities of the country, for fucks sake.

He just can’t afford to go on a ‘little trip’ for a week whenever he feels like it.

“Chuuya, I wouldn’t invite you if+
I wasn't going to pay for it all. You don't have to worry about /that/, not ever," Dazai says, voice filled with something fervent.

And well--

Chuuya /is/ getting better at the whole accepting gifts thing. It used to make him feel really guilty, because his only frame of +
reference with relationships were with people near his own financial status. Maybe a little better off, maybe a little worse--

But still, not many of his friends from before could often afford to drop money on whatever they wanted. They had allowances, and budgets.

Shuuji +
obviously didn't have such restrictions, but somehow whatever money and effort he spent felt like it cost Chuuya /emotionally/. Like he was counting every penny, and would demand something in repayment later.

The thought was exhausting and anxiety-inducing.

But he remembers +
the way Dazai's face lit up when he accepted the leather jacket, and when he saw him wearing the choker the other day...

And you know? A trip /does/ sound fun, and he certainly deserves it after all his hard work this semester, and how much of an emotional rollercoaster it was.+
"Then /yes/, I'd love to. Where are we going?"

He can /hear/ the happiness in Dazai's voice this time. "Osaka. The rest is a surprise."

A /surprise/? Chuuya /loves/ surprises, especially ones that involve travel.

"What should I bring?"

There's a thoughtful hum from the+
other end of the line, punctuated by a few clicks of what sound like keys on a computer.

Then a pleased sigh, "Nothing, baby. Just bring your beautiful self, and I'll take care of the rest."

------ +

Oda has brewed her tea.

Which isn't unusual, he's a /very/ thoughtful man+
and Kouyou barely has to frown at her paperwork before a cup of lavender or chamomile is appearing at her elbow.

He /says/ it's because he's her bodyguard and so he is /obligated/ to taste-test all her food and drink before it gets into her hands, and making it is easier than +
testing whatever someone else makes her.

Really, Kouyou doesn't understand why the man tries to hide that he /loves/ to cook for her, but she supposes it's just her duty to play along with the charade.

This time would be no different, except for a few key things:

One, it's +
been an easy day. Mostly ensuring that the next shipment of product is coming in on time, and her people are ready to receive and distribute it.

There was even a lovely walk along the pier involved, something that happens all too rarely these days. She's usually stuck in her +
office all day, signing off on paperwork and corralling her executives like a bunch of unruly children.

(To be honest, she prefers /actual/ children more. Sakura is a darling.)

Two, this tea is not chamomile or lavender, or even a more expensive and time-consuming oolong tea.+
No, /this/ tea is Gyokuro, one of the most expensive green teas she has in her collection. It's brewed just the way she likes it, just a /hair/ underneath the recommended temperature, so she can appreciate the full flavor of the tea.

In simpler words--

It is a /bribe/. +
The question is, what /for/?

Oda hasn't done anything to get himself in trouble for quite a while--unless he /has/ and she doesn't know about it, and this is just a pre-emptive way to head off her anger--and most of the things he would need from /her/ are either bedroom related+
or something to do with the /business/.

The first one,he doesn't need to bribe her, he merely needs to /ask/.

And the second, well.There's no telling what that could be.

She allows herself a small sip of the tea, breathing in the aroma indulgently. It's crisp, clean, smelling+
like plants and sunlight.

"Sakunosuke," she murmurs after a moment, catching her guard's attention.

Oda is sitting in a chair three spots down on the long conference table. He's been keeping himself busy by methodically going through all his weapons, dismantling them and +
cleaning them meticulously before carefully putting them back together.

It's a fascinating process to watch, the quiet concentration on his face as his hands move over the weapons without hesitation. It looks almost like he's meditating, approaching peaceful, even though the +
tools in his hands are lethal.

It's the same strange dichotomy that Sakunosuke /always/ has, at home in the most dangerous places in Yokohama, peaceful in the middle of a battlefield.

Oda hums in question, holding up one of his pistols to check the sight on it. It's half-+
assembled, shiny with whatever cleaning agent Oda had been using on it.

(Kouyou /does/ have to admit that seeing Oda in just his white button down and gun holsters hanging over his shoulders and underneath each arm as he works is a /pleasant/ sight, especially with the rolled +
up sleeves and the way the muscles flex in his forearms with every sure movement of his fingers.)

"What do you want?"

That gets Oda's full attention, turning his head to look at her. The gun is placed on the table and is replaced for the next part needed for assembly. Taking a+
dirty rag, the same one he'd used for most of the other pieces, he starts to give the metal a thorough wipedown. "What makes you think I want something, love?"

Kouyou takes a loud, pointed sip of her tea, eyes unwavering on his face.

Oda's mouth tips up into a lopsided smile. +
The face of a man who's been /caught/.

He is, at least,smart enough not to beat around the bush. Being direct has always been his most favorable treat. "Dazai wants a meeting."

That makes her scowl. Truly,she has little reason to loathe the man as much as she does, considering+
she's never actually /met/ him. She's heard /plenty/ about him though, from Oda and Yosano--who mean well, of course, and Kouyou never begrudges them talking about their friend-- and from a few of her executives who think that /Dazai/ is the rightful heir to the Mafia.

To them+
she's just a glorified seat warmer until the /real/ king comes home and claims his throne.

It boils her blood like no other, especially because she has scraped and clawed her way to the top since she was /16/. She's earned her position, with bloody hands and quick thinking. +
She's heard all the stories about Dazai, practically grew up on them. Yosano and Oda have given her a more in-depth look at who he is with insider details, but they all boil down to the same concepts:

Dazai is a ruthless, cunning, /savage/ of a man, and if he wanted her +
seat?

Nothing could stop him. Not Oda, not Yosano, not herself.

Granted, she is aware that it has been over a decade since he left the mafia, and he has shown no interest in returning. Their interactions are brief, information for information, or buying him off when he +
makes noises about selling /their/ information to some other clan.

Dazai Osamu exists in a grey area. He is technically not an ally to the mafia, nor is he necessarily an enemy. Just like he is not /technically/ an alley to Kouyou, but neither is he exactly her enemy.

It's +
a cowards choice,she knows, to ignore him in the hopes that he'll eventually get the hint and stop asking to meet with her--

But there's something about looking in the face of a predator that could and /might/ pin and kill you at any given moment, that makes you want to /hide/.+
"You know I don't like discussing him, Sakunosuke," she sniffs, "it gives the executives the wrong idea."

Oda sighs, exchanging his cloth for a smaller wire-brush tool. "We're the only ones here," he reminds her, "and I don't think that refusing to acknowledge him makes your +
position any stronger. It makes you look like you're scared of him."

"I do /not/ fear him," she snaps, irritated.

This is not technically a lie. She does not fear Dazai himself, but rather what he could /do/.

Oda looks at her with something like understanding, but she cuts +
him off before he can say anything. "What does he want?"

"He said he wants to discuss what the Rats are up to. Said he has some information the Mafia probably doesn't have access to."

That is not very surprising. The Rats have been an increasingly annoying presence as of late.+
Always on the port, making their presence known in the shipping yard. There's been a /few/ times her subordinates have caught them on their territory.

The Rats haven't caused any problems /yet/, always being very respectful and melting away as soon as they notice the Mafia. But+
their numbers are growing, and tensions are rising.

/Still/, awfully convenient that Dazai is offering help now, when he's been offering her cutthroat deals for the last two years. "I find it hard to believe that his intentions are honorable or to be helpful to the Mafia."+
This makes Oda sigh, adding the newly cleaned piece to his half-assembled gun with a metallic click. His expression doesn't visibly change, but his emotions have always been more detectable in his voice. His tone now is almost somber as he says, "You judge him too harshly, +
sometimes. He didn't choose this life. He's making the best of what he has, and he's not... he's not an /evil/ man."

The green tea is not as relaxing as it usually is. In fact, it's starting to sour on her tongue. "No one /chooses/ to join the Mafia."

Oda looks up at her then,+
and his eyes are always so piercing. They seem to see straight into her soul, straight into the heart of the matter. It's hard to hide /anything/ from him, because he always sees /through/ everything.

"You did."

She falls silent. That is true, mostly. She did /choose/ to join+
the mafia, but in her defense—

It didn’t /feel/ like a choice, back then.

She was only sixteen, so lost and confused. She didn’t know who she was, who she wanted to be, how to do most of the things that the other girls in her classes knew how to do.

And she was so /angry/.+
All the time. Filled with roiling, frothing /rage/ that she didn’t know how to contain or how to handle it.

At school, there were girls who snickered at her when she confessed that she didn’t know how to do a braid in her hair.

And at home—

There was a snot-nosed, needy, +
/annoying/ little brother that /killed/ her mother.

(She will regret thinking that, later on in life, but when she was younger, she didn’t know what else to /think/.

All she knew is that her pregnant mother went to the hospital and /never/ returned.)

And he was so /sick/+
all the time back then, the consequences of being born too early. Rimbaud was always fussing over him, fretting over if he was too hot or too cold, or if he’d eaten not enough or too much, if that single cough was a sign of him falling sick again.

Kouyou is the eldest, and +
a lot of the responsibilities fell to her. It was unfair, and her father did the best he could—

But there were three of them, to only one parent. A parent that worked nearly every day, and then stayed up most of the night making sure her sick little brother didn’t choke in his+
sleep.

She cooked. She cleaned. Made sure Kyouka did her homework, and Chuuya got his daily medicines even though he always bit her fingers like a spoiled brat. Cleaned again, because Chuuya was /messy/.

Sometimes he did it for /attention/ too, because Kouyou /hated/ him and+
refused to spend more time than necessary with him, so when he was being /bratty/ again, he’d knock over all the toys in the living room. They’d clean them up together, Kouyou silently fuming while Chuuya got continually got distracted by the toys he was /supposed/ to be putting+
away.

Back then, she’d thought of it as him being /spoiled/. He didn’t get /enough/ attention from father, so he needed to get more from her as well.

(Meanwhile, Chuuya was always so lost and confused on why no one wanted to /play/ with him.

Dad said he was sick a lot and+
couldn’t do what the other kids did. Maybe that made him bad at playing?

But even when he /swore/ he was feeling good and took all his medicines and promised to learn the games so he could play them, and he wouldn’t cheat, not /once/—

His sisters still didn’t play with him.+
Kyouka was always reading or coloring or playing on the computer with the pet bunny that was somehow stuck in the screen. She let him join her without complaint, always sharing her crayons, but it got /boring/ after a while.

And Kouyou was /so/ cool. She was big and tall and+
she knew /everything/, and she /had/ to know really cool games!

But she never let him play with her and she always told him to go to bed. She never let him watch movies on her phone with her, or built pillow forts or played tag or /anything/.

And so Chuuya came up with his +
own game. It was a bad game, and he wasn’t good at it and Kouyou /hated/ it, but she always played.

‘How fast can you pick up all the toys?’)

With every meal Kouyou cooked and homework assignment she helped with, every late bedtime and dropped grade because she didn’t have +
time to finish her /own/ homework, she got /angrier/.

Because it wasn’t /fair/.

She never wanted a brother. She didn’t /need/ a stupid little brother—

She needed a /mother/. She needed someone to teach her how to braid her hair and how to put on makeup and how to walk in+
tall shoes.

She needed someone to tell her why her chest started to hurt all the time, and to tell her it was okay and no, she wasn’t /dying/ when she bled between the legs for the first time.

Of the three of them, her father always said that Chuuya inherited their mother’s+
strength and bravery, and Kyouka got her intelligence.

Kouyou got her /temper/.

And it must be true, because she remembers long nights sobbing silently in bed, praying for /any/ god to hear her and give her her mother back.

She’d give anything, /do/ anything. She’d ace her+
next quiz, do all the chores without complaint. She’d give up her favorite stuffed animal, and her phone and her brother, /whatever/.

/ Please, I just want my mommy! /

There was a time when Chuuya was seven, and his winter cold had turned into a nasty case of pneumonia.+
She remembers standing over him, sleeping and pale on the hospital bed while hooked up to various tubes and wires—

And thinking with such visceral /hatred/ that it suprised even her—

/ I hope you die. All you do is cause trouble and pain, and I hope you die. / +
And then, like she called it into existence—

He almost /did/.

Apparently his lungs were filled up with so much fluid that his oxygen levels dropped severely. He wasn’t responding quickly to antibiotics and he kept dropping weight.

He looked like a skeleton. At one point, he+
even had a /seizure/.

And that’s when she realized that this was /serious/. It wasn’t like all those other times where it looked bad but he came back eventually.

He could actually /die/ here, and she had wished for it to happen.

It was terrifying.

As she stared at her +
brother wasting away on the hospital bed with nurses hovering over him, a mask over his face and an IV in his hand, she realizes—

She doesn’t hate him. He’s annoying and what happened to them was unfair but—

She, at least, /had/ a mother. Even if she lost her too soon, she +
still has pictures of them together and videos.

She can still remember her voice, singing her lullabies to help her sleep. She remembers taking a /long/ hike with her, and being piggy-backed the entire time while Kouyou fawned over the plants and trees.

She had a mother.

+
But Chuuya?

He never has. He’s never been rocked to sleep by her, or taken pictures with her, or played in the sprinkler in the yard with her.

He’s never known her. All he’s ever known is a fretting father and a spiteful sister.

All that time she was thinking about how +
unfair it was to /her/, and never once considered how unfair she was being to /him/.

That night, she goes from wishing Chuuya would disappear or /die/—

To /begging/ him to be okay, promising to play with him and teach him how to play cards, and promising to be a good big +
sister to him, always.

Her life wouldn’t be the same without the shrieking laughter he makes as he chases the cat around the house playfully, or the messy kiss on her cheek as he goes to bed.

/ Love you, ane-san. /

He does get better again, and she feels /so/ relieved.+
Of course, it’s not all rainbows and roses after that. Chuuya is a /menace/ and always gets into her stuff and eats the food she was saving for herself and plays a little too rough.

But what else are little brothers for?

Though, that doesn’t solve the right ball of +
anger-injustice-confusion in her chest, and it doesn’t make it any /easier/.

By the time she’s fifteen, in high school in the lowest classes— not because she isn’t /smart/, but because she doesn’t always have the time to take care of her siblings and herself— she’s made some...+
/shady/ friends.

They show her the secret alleyways in Tsubaka, show her underground clubs that she’s too young to legally get into. They meet even /shadier/ people with sleeves of tattoos and cutthroat attitudes and sharp, welcoming smiles.

One thing led to another led to +
another and well—

Here she is, a little over eight years later, sitting on the dragon chair.

She wasn’t born into the Yakuza, wasn’t bred for it, wasn’t kidnapped or forced into it. She was asked one day, and she was angry enough, /rebellious/ enough against her strict +
upbringing that she barely even /hesitated/ before saying yes.

So yes, it /was/ a choice.

But it was a choice she never would’ve made, if she’d had her mother to guide her.

She doesn’t regret her life, but she would not have chosen this path for herself under different +
circumstances.

Maybe she'd be like Chuuya. Go to college, get a normal boyfriend, live a /normal/ life.

She closes her eyes, suddenly weighed down by exhaustion. She's only 24,but sometimes she feels thrice that. "I know, Sakunosuke."

Maybe he had a point, though. Hiding like+
a little girl under her blankets from an old legend. Dazai had already been long gone when she had joined the Mafia, and Oda and Yosano have only spoken fondly of him.

As fondly as Yakuza members /get/, anyways.

Dazai is terrifying in theory, and she won't forget the things +
he's reportedly done but--

Perhaps she has fallen into old habits, and treated him unfairly. The man has had plenty of opportunity to take the Mafia from her, and he hasn't.

Perhaps it is time to trust in Sakunosuke's word.

"Alright," she sighs, waving her hand. "Call him."+
(For the record, this is the absolute /worst/ time to call Dazai.He /just/ got off the phone with Fyodor, and conversing with the Russian always leaves him with something dark slithering up his spine.

It's like playing chess, except the person you're playing with is the darker,+
mirror version of yourself. What you /could've/ been, if you were just a little...

Off.

The man in the mirror has your smile and your eyes -- but it is not /you/.

Every word has double, triple meanings, subtle references and insults and /hints/ scattered throughout. Nothing+
said is what it means and what is meant is never said, and it's--

It's like dealing with Mori again, almost. All mind-games and tricks. It's like dealing with /himself/ when he was the demon prodigy.

It's like stepping into a tar pit, and the abyss is /hungry/.

It always +
leaves him feeling drained. Strung out, somehow, his head too full and aching. It feels like he's just gotten out of an ice bath, and every sensation is so raw it burns.

So when he sees Odasaku's name on his phone, he /almost/ smiles. Almost rejects the call too, because he +
does /not/ want to talk right now.

He wants to go to sleep. Or maybe for a run, to clear up this jittery energy. Maybe call and talk to the chibi again, just to listen to him ramble.

But it's late, and Chuuya is asleep so--

He answers.

This is a mistake.)

The phone rings+
twice before it's answered with a cheery, "Hi, Odasaku~!"

There's a note in it that feels forced, like Dazai isn't as happy as it sounds, but that's none of her business. Oda looks at Kouyou, raising his brow in silent question. Should he speak first, or should she?

She clears+
her throat, aiming for the firm, unquestionable tone she takes with her executives. "Hello, Dazai."

There's a moment of silence from the other end of the line, something that feels tense and predatory.

"Oh," Dazai drawls, condescending. "Is that the princess I hear? Finally +
come down from her tower to face the dragon?"

Her spine stiffens with offense, and even Oda looks a bit nervous. Dazai has always been infamous for his sharp tongue, but she expected a little /respect/.

Apparently, that expectation was too high. "I am no princess, and you are+
no dragon.”

She can almost /see/ the sneer that rises on his face.

“So you say,” Dazai says, and continues in an abrupt tone, “what can I help you with?”

She does /not/ like the way he’s speaking to her, her hackles rising. They’ve talked directly only a handful of times and+
each of /those/ times, he was respectful. A bit condescending, which seemed par for the course, but nothing so cold and arrogant as /this/.

“I was told you requested a meeting. I can meet with you on the 16th.”

Dazai laughs, sharp and short. “How generous of you. Unfortunately+
I will be out of town on personal business. It will have to be another day.”

For someone who has been hounding her for /months/ about meeting with her, he sure isn’t jumping at the chance she offers. “Personal business? Surely, it can be rescheduled—.”

He cuts her off, and+
this is when the situation takes a turn for the /worse/. “Do you really expect me to rearrange /my/ schedule when you have been blowing me off for weeks?”

Oda’s mouth opens, probably to say something in her defense. He’s silenced by a sharp glare. Kouyou can handle herself. +
“/You/ wanted to meet with /me/, as I recall.”

The noise Dazai makes is too sharp to be laughter, abrupt and angry. “You’re right. I /wanted/ to meet with you. Now, I’ve decided I /don’t care/. If you want to sit up in your tower and /ignore/ what goes on around you so you+
can hold onto the illusion that you will never be threatened or questioned— be my guest.”

The anger she used to feel, the one that feels like dragon fire licking at her bones, begins to stir in her chest. “I am not /hiding/. You do not know what it /takes/ to control the +
the mafia. How to handle the city.”

This time it /is/ a laugh that rips from Dazai’s chest, but it’s cold and cutting. “I /built/ that throne that you sit on. These streets ran red with the blood that /I/ spilled for the mafia, /long/ before you even knew about the Yakuza. +
There is only /one/ person who doesn’t understand how to rule, and it /isn’t/ me. You are so afraid of me coming to take your chair that you refuse to see the people who are taking the /city/ right from underneath your nose—,”

“/Dazai,” Oda snaps, cutting him off, voice full of+
reprimand. Dazai falls silent with another short, frustrated noise.

Kouyou sits on the other side of the table, silently fuming. /This/ is the problem with Dazai Osamu. It isn’t necessarily that he is technically the rightful heir—

It’s that he always makes her feel so +
stupid and /young/. Even in the stories Oda and Yosano tell, the fond recollections of 'do you remember when Osamu did this totally stupid thing that was actually wickedly smart and ended up working out for everyone?'.

Even in the stories, Kouyou can /never/ measure up to him.+
It makes her feel /so/ worthless,because she clawed her way up to the top with years of hard work and ruthlessness--

And she pales in comparison to a /child/ that ran the mafia, over a decade ago.

The tense silence is broken with a sigh from the phone. Dazai sounds less angry+
this time and more... just /done/, with everything. "You should know something, Kouyou. Information sells well to either side, and twice as well in a war. You should secure your allies while you still can. If you decide you want to know what information I have, and how I can+
help, you know how to contact me.”

Then he hangs up without another word, leaving Oda and Kouyou hanging in the silence that follows.

Eventually, Oda speaks up, voice quiet like he’s trying to avoid setting off a bomb. “He’s not usually like that—.”

Kouyou silences him with a+
withering glare. She doesn’t care for excuses, or reasons. “Don’t ask me to meet with him again.”

Oda nods lightly, looking chastised.

(Admittedly, Dazai /does/ feel bad about saying all that. While it might be /true/, there was no need for him to say it.

But right now he+
doesn’t /feel/ like Dazai.

He feels like the demon prodigy, sharp eyes and sharper tongue. He can almost feel Mori’s breath on the back of his neck, and his office in the dark /almost/ looks like Mori’s office.

And the demon prodigy only knew /one/ way to deal with the +
frothing wrath and agony and confusion inside him—

To sink his teeth in and /bite/, making sure everyone else around him was bleeding too. At least he wouldn’t be alone then.

He will regret being so harsh, in a few months. If he had been thinking instead of /reacting/, he +
could’ve secured an alliance of sorts between him and Kouyou.

And if he had /done/ that, he could’ve prevented Chuuya getting—

Well. He could’ve prevented a lot of things.

But he didn’t, and it doesn’t occur to him /now/ what mistake he’s made.

For now, he paces. He does+
not sleep.)

——— +

The idea of going somewhere, /anywhere/, without packing is just...

Strange.

Dazai said ‘bring nothing’ but does that not include his clothes? A phone charger? Toothbrush? Underwear?

Is he really supposed to bring ‘nothing’ or was that some sort of +
code for like...

Bring only the essentials? Bring only what he wanted to bring? Don't bring a lot of stuff but bring /some/ stuff?

Honestly, Chuuya gets so tired running in circles around the damn question that he ends up emptying his backpack in a fit of frustration. He +
shoves an extra change of clothes in there, as well as his phone charger, his toiletries, his make-up, the book he's reading.

It still feels like so /little/, and his father's advice about not packing well enough is ringing in his ears but--

He did say /nothing/. Chuuya will +
look stupid if he shows up with an entire suitcase--not that he actually /has/ a suitcase-- when Dazai isn't expecting it.

(He'll also look stupid if he shows up with /nothing/ and that's not what Dazai meant, so he thinks the backpack is a nice compromise.)

Then there's +
nothing left to do but /wait/. Which is a lot of waiting, because he really doesn't have much to do now that he's on break. He signs up for his classes next semester--another six classes, because he apparently hates himself-- and does some preliminary studying to be prepared, +
but there's really nothing else to do.

He hangs out with Yuan and Nikolai a few times-- Shuuji has already left to Kyoto, with a series of tongue emoji's and sunglasses faces in the chat-- but Nikolai is usually busy with work and Yuan is spending more time with her family, so.+
Waiting is agony. The anticipation and excitement builds with every minute, until he can hardly sit still anymore.

He's never been to Osaka before. It was too far for his father's tastes, when they /did/ manage to take a vacation once a year or two. Usually they went to +
the smaller, mountainous cities, or Tokyo, or once to Yokohama.

He's never been so far from home, and never with someone he was /involved/ with.

Not knowing the gameplan--Dazai has been surpisingly secretive with whatever plans he's made and most of Chuuya's questions are +
answered with ‘I’ll tell you if you really want— but don’t you want to keep it as a surprise?’— makes his anticipation build.

His imagination is running wild. What are they going to do in Osaka? How are they going to get there? Where are they going to stay? Are they going+
to see something /cool/ like—

Like—

Chuuya doesn’t even /know/, but he is so excited. He even spends most of a day going through the internet about the most popular spots in Osaka.

By the time the day arrives—

He’s so excited he barely even /slept/. Dazai said he was +
picking him up around 7 in the morning, which /seems/ pretty early but Dazai said it was so they could get to Osaka around 11.

He’s awake by 5, practically bouncing on his bed like a kid as he waits for the minutes to pass by agonizingly slowly.

By 6:30 he’s checked his phone+
like a hundred times, waiting for an incoming text.

When Dazai’s icon— that picture of him and Yoko with the unbuttoned slacks—flickers to life, Chuuya is leaping up and /throwing/ his shoes on as quickly as possible.

[ DADDY 🥰💕 ]: I’m outside.

He barely remembers to lock+
up behind him— Nikolai said he wouldn’t be home until later tonight— before he’s /bolting/ down the hallway.

He’s lucky that most of the other students have gone home for the summer break, because he probably would’ve woken up quite a few people with the ruckus he makes as he+
jumps down the stairs and slams into the downstairs door.

He can’t help it; he’s so excited he barely even know what to do with himself. It’s like he’s a little kid again.

The air outside is chilly, but he barely even feels it. The warmth on his cheeks and the crazy grin on +
his face plenty enough to keep him warm.

Dazai is parked in the same spot he always uses, his car rumbling softly in the quiet air. He’s leaning against the passenger door, a cup of something in each hand.

Steam rises from the cups, and Chuuya is drawn in like a moth to flame.+
When Dazai sees him, the neutral expression melts off his face, replaced by a big, shiny grin. His teeth are white and straight, and that single dimple is /just/ deep enough to be visible from where Chuuya is walking—jogging, really— over and it’s—

It’s like dawn breaking over+
the clouds. The frost is melting away and the birds are singing, and the air might be cold but /here/, here it is light and warm and beautiful.

When Chuuya is close enough, Dazai greets him.

“Good morning, lov— /oof/.”

Did Chuuya basically have to throw himself into his +
arms, making them collide together with enough speed to knock the breath from them both? No.

Did he enjoy doing it? /Yes/.

Dazai is still holding his cups, so he can’t hug him back when Chuuya wraps his arms around his waist and squeezes him as tight as he possibly can.+
It’s been a little over /two/ weeks since they last saw eachother. They’ve called and texted nearly constantly, but it’s not the /same/.

Chuuya feels like something inside him is slowly dying of dehydration whenever he’s away from Dazai, and it’s only until he sees that soft+
smile that he’s finally able to bloom again.

“Hi,” he mutters into his chest, squeezing him again.

He’s close enough that he can hear the rumble as Dazai gives a short, fond laugh.

“Hello. Did you miss me?”

There’s only /one/ answer to that question:

Leaning back a +
little, he slides his hands around to his front and then up, up, up—

Until his fingers are curling around the back of Dazai’s neck and tugging him down. Dazai bends for him easily, and Chuuya gets as high up on his toes as he can, bridging the distance between them.

“Yes,” he+
breathes in the space between them, and then chases the sound until he can taste Dazai’s smile.

The kiss is slow, lazy, like the feeling of coming home again after a long day of work. Dazai tastes faintly of coffee, but mostly like warmth and sweetness.

Because Dazai’s hands+
are still full, that means /Chuuya/ is in charge of how long the kiss goes on far. He drags it out for a long while, until he’s almost dizzy with the feeling of their lips sliding together.

“You’re going to make us late,” Dazai murmurs against his lips, warm breath washing over+
his face. He doesn’t try to pull away though, and he’s smiling again.

Chuuya hums, not really caring. Screw the trip. He’s just fine where he is. Osaka doesn’t have /Dazai/, and he’s discovering that’s all he needs.

Another long, indulgent kiss later, and Chuuya finally+
gets his fill.

For now, anyways. He swears he’s an addict, he’s never happy unless he’s got the taste of Dazai on his tongue.

“Good morning,” he says, beaming up at him.

Dazai’s eyes are caramel-sweet and as warm as the coffee Chuuya can smell, so soft and deep that he +
feels like he could trip into them and keep falling forever. “Good morning, Chuuya.”

Pulling back, he offers him one of the cups in his hands. “Payment for making you wake up.... ah, what was it you said that one time? ‘Monstrously early’?”

He /did/ say that, on a late night+
call, where he was half-delirious from exhaustion. It’s adorable that Dazai remembered.

He takes his cup, smiling gratefully up at him. Takes a long sip, discovers that it’s his favorite drink from one of his favorite cafés.

“Are you ready?”

Chuuya nods, pulling on the +
shoulder strap to his backpack. It still feels far too light, but it doesn’t look like Dazai brought anything, so.

Sliding over, Dazai opens the passenger door and holds it open for him. Chuuya ducks underneath his arm, climbing into his seat.

The backpack goes in the back +
seat— there’s another backpack there, a little bigger than his own— and it’s only a matter of moments before Dazai is sliding into the drivers seat.

Once again thanking the manufacturing gods for heated seats, Chuuya pulls his legs up into the seat with him. “Are we driving +
there?”

Dazai puts the car into drive, pulling smoothly out of the parking lot. “No. We’re flying.”

Chuuya blinks. He’s never been on a plane before. His dad insisted that they were death contraptions, and that stepping on one was basically signing away your life. Whenever +
they took a trip somewhere, they always took a train or /drove/.

Which was fun, sometimes, but being locked in a car with two sisters and your dad in city traffic, sometimes for /hours/, got old pretty quick.

It’s a good thing he brought his wallet with his ID in it, then. +
“I’ve never been on a plane before,” he confesses.

Dazai gives him a slightly-concerned look. “Because you haven’t had the chance, or because you don’t like them? If you want, we can—.”

“No, I think it’s fine,” Chuuya cuts him off, shrugging lightly. “Is it scary?”

The +
corner of Dazai’s mouth tips upward, and his free hand reaches across the middle console. His fingers find Chuuya’s palm, pushing his fingers apart until Dazai’s can fit in between.

He gives his hand a squeeze, quietly reassuring. “No, it’s not. And I’ll be there with you.” +
(Chuuya doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it being scary would probably be a /perk/— he /loves/ rollercoasters and wants to go skydiving someday—so he just squeezes his hand back with a small, heartfelt smile.)

The traffic gets a little heavier as they approach the +
airport, which is probably one of the reasons Dazai insisted on picking him up so early. Sometimes the traffic is quick—

And sometimes it’s at a standstill for close to an hour.

All depends on the day and how many tourists are arriving and leaving.

There is a tall parking +
garage on the airport grounds that Dazai pulls into. He drives almost all the way to the top, getting a ticket from the valet person sitting near the entrance.

“Aren’t you worried about leaving your car here?” Chuuya asks, because it is a /beautiful/ and expensive car, one that+
would be a prime target for /stealing/. He wouldn’t leave this car alone for a week.

Dazai shrugs. “Not really. Airports have surprisingly good security, and the car itself has a good anti-theft system. It would take someone /very/ talented to be able to steal it.”

Well, he+
sounds pretty confident, so Chuuya decides to just accept that answer.

They find a parking spot near the top of the building, tucked away near the wall. The ticket the valet gave them is placed on the dashboard in clear sight.

As they get out, Dazai reaches in the back and +
grabs both of their bags before Chuuya can even move his seat forward. He reaches for his own bag so he can carry it—

Only for Dazai to shrug it onto his shoulder, freeing up his hand so he can hold Chuuya’s.

He flushes, ducking his head a little. It’s mind-boggling how +
easily Dazai is affectionate with him in public. He’s affectionate in private, yes, and when they first see eachother—

But somehow Chuuya expected that behavior to be selective to only certain times.

So far it’s proving /not/ to be, which feels Chuuya with such warmth and +
giddiness and something like /pride/.

Because Dazai might not be in his league or on his level— which is pretty obvious, just based on the way Chuuya is dressed compared to him and his years-old backpack hanging over his shoulder— but he’s not /ashamed/ of Chuuya.

It’s not a+
/secret/ that Chuuya is with him.He’s not /hiding/ it, or keeping it hidden away where no one knows and can judge him for it.

The man is holding his hand, with a watch that probably costs a semester of tuition while Chuuya is wearing a thrifted jacket, where /everyone/ can see.+
And he doesn’t look the least bit bothered by it, or embarrassed or /anything/.

As they approach the elevator down to the ground floor, Dazai glances over at him. “Are you excited?”

There’s a trash can near the door that Chuuya throws his empty coffee cup into. “Very.” +
Dazai presses the button for the elevator. As they wait, he reaches out and brushes his fingertips over his cheek.

His skin feels thin and burning under his touch, and he can’t do anything except stare up at him in awe as Dazai tucks his bangs behind his ear.

“I’m glad.”+
God, how is he so /perfect/, it's not /fair/.

The elevator arriving then spares Chuuya from having to come up with a response. The ride down is quick, the floor dropping out smoothly beneath their feet.

From there, it's only a short trip through a tunnel connecting the garage +
to the main airport. The walls have paintings on them, of scenes from far away lands.

The noise of the airport grows louder as they get closer. Machines beeping, a monotone voice over the loud speaker announcing flights, the rolling wheels of baggage over tile.

When they walk+
through the automatic doors on the other side, Dazai gives his hand a squeeze. "I'll check us in."

He untangles their hands, leaving Chuuya to stand awkwardly in the middle of what almost looks like a lobby as he goes to talk to the receptionist at the desks.

He looks around,+
taking in the sights. It's all clean and rather sterile, almost like a hotel. There's tons of people coming and going, none of them dressed the same.

Some of them are obviously businessmen, dressed in neatly pressed suits with their phones pressed to their ears. Others are +
tourists, staring around in wide-eyed wonder with their passports clutched to their chest.

Honestly, Chuuya relates to the tourists more, because this place doesn't even feel real. It feels like a place between worlds, a place you pass through but never stay for long. Time +
seems to stand still here.

Dazai returns then, two pieces of paper in his hand. The beige turtleneck sweater he's wearing makes him look softer in the airport lighting.

"For you," he says, offering Chuuya one of the papers.

He takes it, looking down at it. It's a ticket, +
with his name, the date and times of his leaving and return flight and--

It says first class on it, in big iridescent letters.

His first flight is going to be in /first class/. Wow.

With a hand on his back, Dazai ushers him towards the security checkpoints. He still has both+
their bags over his shoulder, and they get sent through a conveyor belt to get searched.

After confirming their identities with their ID's, each of them gets a small handheld metal detector waved over their bodies. Chuuya doesn't have a single problem, because he doesn't even+
have any earrings in but Dazai--

The metal detector beeps faintly when it's passed over his face. His eyes find Chuuya, burning with suggestion as he opens his mouth and rolls out his tongue to show off the piercing.

Chuuya flushes, body instantly flashing with the remembered+
sensations of what that piercing felt like on his body, on his skin, in his /mouth/. And he's wondered, since then, what it would feel like on /other/ parts of his body, how easily Dazai could take him apart.

Judging by the tiny smirk Dazai has, he /knows/ what Chuuya is+
thinking about, and he /likes/ it.

The rest of their security check goes rather quickly, all things considered. Because they're first class, they got to skip most of the line. Eyeing the long crowd of people waiting to get checked, Chuuya is grateful they didn't have to wait.+
When they walk away, this time Dazai pulls him close to his side, arm draped over his shoulders. His hand ends up over Chuuya's chest, wrist relaxed.

It's an absentminded rhythm he starts, his thumb brushing lightly over his shirt in rhythmic strokes. Each one drags the fabric+
up, and then smooths it back down on the next pass. It's so light he can barely feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, but that just strings Chuuya's nerves tight. Like he might be able to feel it /better/, if he was more tense, more aware, more /focused/ on the +
sensations.

Up, down, up, /down/, feeling like his heart is beating in time and /god/, he just wants Dazai to actually /touch him/--

Suddenly, there's a small door in front of him and Dazai is reaching with his other hand to push it open. Thank god, because Chuuya was so +
distracted that he might have just ran into the damn thing face first, and wouldn't /that/ be embarrassing.

Outside, there's a small set of stairs leading down to the tar-mac, and there's a plane waiting a couple dozen feet away, with it's door open and stairs leading inside.+
Chuuya is confused because all the movies he's seen feature a big, industrial sized plane, and a long wait in the lobby. No one goes outside to board the plane, and the people always have to wait until their ticket number is called to line up.

Must be a first-class thing?+
There is a stewardess that greets them when they climb in though, who checks their tickets and ID's one last time. She's polite and respectfully distant, but her eyes linger on the watch on Dazai's wrist and the way his pullover stretches across his chest when he hands her his+
ticket.

She doesn't have to say anything for the interest in her eyes to be abundantly clear, and her smile to widen into something more beguiling.

On one hand, Chuuya understands because he, too, is so attracted to Dazai that it's hard to keep a hold of himself most times-- +
But there's also a small, jealous piece of himself that is /aching/ to sink it's teeth in or to wrap himself around Dazai in a clear territorial display because--

/Mine/.

He's a little abrupt with handing her his own ticket, and his smile is politely /smug/. It wasn't a +
competition, but if it /had/ been--

He would've won, and that knowledge itself is enough to make him smug and satisfied.

Inside the plane--it's smaller than Chuuya expected it would be-- there's a handful of seats. One of them is already taken by a man in a suit, ignoring them+
as he types frantically into his laptop and speaks into the Bluetooth in his ear.

It seems some people's work never ends.

Dazai has already picked out a pair of seats near a window,and is stashing their bags in the overhead compartment. Chuuya joins him, and quickly steals the+
window seat while Dazai is distracted.

(Dazai was actually planning on giving him the window seat, which is why he took so long putting their bags up. But he's not going to /tell/ him that, because the victorious and mischievous look on his face is /very/ cute.)

Dazai sits +
beside him, having to adjust himself a little awkwardly in his seat because his legs are so ridiculously long. Chuuya can't /imagine/ him in economic class, where the seats are far closer together. His knees would be pressed to his chest.

The image is so hilarious that he +
almost doesn't hear Dazai when he speaks up again.

"Have you ever heard of the mile high club?"

Chuuya frowns, trying to think. "No? Is that when you ride on a plane for the first time?"

Dazai's secretive, smug smile makes him feel like he's /missing/ something.+
“That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

At Chuuya’s confused frown, he explains a little further. “It’s an exclusive group that only a few, lucky people get to be in.”

So.... it’s a rich person thing? Makes sense why Chuuya wouldn’t know it was then. “How do you join?”+
The smirk widens,and Chuuya is getting the /distinct/ feeling that he’s missing something important. Dazai looks like the cat who got the bird, like Chuuya is /exactly/ where he wants him.

“You have to complete a task that’s very exciting—but also dangerous, If you get caught.”+
There’s only so many ‘dangerous’ things Chuuya is willing to do while they’re literally a kilometer high in the air— oh, that must be where the name comes from—, but he’s always up for a dare. “What kind of task?”

/Task/ makes it sound like some kind of video game quest.+
Like ‘you must return with these three items before you can speak to me further, player.’

Honestly, what can you even /do/ on a plane? Steal something from the stewardess? Sit in the wrong seat? What kind of ‘dangerous task’ could it possibly be?

Dazai stares at him, eyes+
half-lidded and clearly contemplating /something/.

Chuuya thinks he’s about to give in and tell him whatever he has to do so he can join the mile high club, and he /does/ want to be a part of such an ‘exclusive’ club so he’ll probably end up doing—

“I’ll tell you later.” +
What the /hell/? Chuuya wants to join the club, just /tell/ him—

“Don’t pout at me, baby.”

Chuuya glares at him harder, sulking.

Taking pity on him, Dazai reaches over to pat his knee. “I promise I’ll get you in, baby. I’ve been a member for years.”

Okay, so get him in+
/now/. He wants to be in the club with Dazai. He can just use his magical powers of economic status to get him in, right?

“But not this time. I want you to enjoy your first flight without any distractions. Next time, if you’re good,” Dazai says, pulling out a magazine from the+
drawer of the nightstand-looking thing in front of him.

Chuuya is /miffed/. “What’s stopping me from googling it and doing it on my /own/?”

Dazai doesn’t look at him. “Well, you /are/ going to need my help. And if you look it up, I won’t be happy, and I /won’t/ help you.”+
It’s blackmail. Chuuya /knows/ it’s blackmail, but he can’t help the fact that his stomach twists unpleasantly when he thinks about Dazai being /unhappy/ with him. “You /promise/ to get me in the club next time?”

He doesn’t like feeling /excluded/, even if it’s as something as+
stupidly small as some aviation club.

(Chuuya doesn’t know, but Dazai is rapidly adjusting his plans for their vacation. He’s not going to /deny/ Chuuya, if that’s what he really wants— even if he doesn’t really know what he wants— but it’s going to take a /bit/ of work to get+
Chuuya ready for a quickie in the plane bathroom.

He can probably do it, but suddenly this trip has become a /lot/ more interesting.)

“I’ll do my best, sweetheart.”

Chuuya squints at him for another moment before deciding to take him at his word. He goes back to looking out+
the window. The view is boring still, just the runway, but excitement is beginning to thrum through him.

A few more people come on board, but most of them just silently head to their seats with an air of relief.

One gets a suggestive smirk when he spots Chuuya, but /that/+
gets quickly shut down with a sharp glare from Dazai, not that Chuuya notices.

A few minutes before their departure time, Dazai clears his throat to get his attention. “Buckle up, we’re going to leave soon.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. He appreciates the safety first idea, but +
he’s not a child that needs to be told when and how to be safe. The plane isn’t even moving yet.

Still, because he’s in a good mood, he does as Dazai asks. The buckle is a little awkward to do up, simply because it’s just /different/ than most seatbelts. “Okay, /dad/.” +
/He/ means it as some snarky comeback, obviously.

(But because he’s not /looking/, he doesn’t see the way Dazai’s pupils dilate near-immediately at the thought of what he /almost just said to him/.

If he /had/ said it, he would’ve joined the club a lot quicker than he does.)+
(Because Dazai is /struggling/.

He knows, from tone alone, that Chuuya did /not/ mean it the way Dazai is taking it. God, he might be so inexperienced and sheltered that he might not even /know/ that’s a kink.

So he’s torn between letting it /go/ and revisiting this when +
they’re a bit further into their sexual relationship and more comfortable with eachother—

Or grabbing him by the /throat/ and asking— no, /ordering/— him to say it again, just a little different this time baby, you were /so/ close.

/ Okay, Dadd— /

Don’t even imagine it, he +
schools himself, deliberately /not/ looking at him.

Because if he even so much as /glances/ at that beautiful face, he’s going to remember what he looks like with his cum smeared all over his freckled cheeks, or what he looks like when he’s tearing up and choking on his cock— +
Somehow, Chuuya always manages to find the very limits of Dazai’s control and /pushes/ it.)

Right at that moment, the stewardess closes the door to the plane and locks it with the giant red handle on it.

There’s a speech about how to use the seatbelt, and what to do if the+
plane goes down in water— which doesn’t make a /lot/ of sense, considering they’ll be flying over land, but it’s somewhat useful to know, just in case— before she comes down the aisles to check if all their seatbelts are correct.

Dazai shifts a little uncomfortably when she +
reaches into his lap, staring dead ahead, but she just hooks her fingers around the belt and tugs on it to make sure it’s secure.

Chuuya just gets an assessing glance before she moves onto the next aisle.

She makes her way back up after and then—

Then they’re /moving/. +
It’s... slow.

Chuuya didn’t know what he expected, exactly, but it wasn’t a series of agonizingly slow turns and crawling their way to the beginning of the runway.

It’s slower than a car. He could probably walk faster.

And then, when they find the end of the runway, the+
plane just sits there for a long moment, engine revving and growing louder.

Chuuya is about to ask Dazai why it’s taking so long, when the plane pulls away again.

This time it’s /faster/, picking up speed, engine roaring in his ears. It feels like he’s left his stomach +
somewhere behind him, and he’s pressed back hard against the seat. Outside the world is flashing by, almost too fast for him to keep up with and then—

The nose of the plane tips up, and the world drops away, and Chuuya feels /weightless/, like a bird coming home to the sky.+
He’s grinning, his legs tingling with excitement. He /likes/ this. It’s better than the car or the motorcycle.

It’s like /flying/.

“This is /cool/,” he gasps, watching as the city grows smaller and smaller beneath them. He turns to look over his shoulder—

“Are you +
/filming me/?!”

Dazai grins at him from behind his phone. “Yes. I want to remember this.”

“Stop it,” Chuuya laughs, reaching out to snatch his phone from him. He probably looked like a little kid in that video!

Dazai leans back, holding his phone out of reach but still firmly+
pointed towards his face. “Nope, not happening.”

Chuuya mock-glares at him, too happy to be actually mad. “You’re lucky I’m strapped to this chair.”

Dazai’s eyes soften, lowering his phone a little to look at him, expression open. “I’m lucky for a lot of reasons, chibi.” +
Chuuya has to look away from /that/, because Dazai's eyes are so full of emotion that he feels he might drown in it.

Eventually, as they climb higher and level out, the seatbelt light shuts off. Chuuya doesn't notice, too busy staring out the window.

The view is /beautiful/.+
The clouds are soft and fluffy today, rolling gently through the sky. The sun shines through them, some of the rays filtering through visibly, like light shining down from heaven.

In the background, he can see the ocean, a long solid mass of shiny white-blue.

He points out+
the better sights to Dazai, shifting over in his seat so he can lean close enough to see whatever cloud or forest--the trees look so /small/ from up here,just tiny specks of green-- Chuuya is pointing out.

Sometimes Dazai presses their cheeks together, and Chuuya /knows/ he can+
feel the warmth of his smile, but god, he can't /stop/.

And then once, Dazai points out a cat-shaped cloud and while Chuuya is distracted, following where he's pointing--

Dazai pulls back and presses the softest, warmest of kisses over the apple of his cheek, quick and +
fleeting, gone before he can even lean into it.

"How long is the flight?" Chuuya asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Dazai has a magazine open on this lap, but he seems to be spending more time looking at Chuuya than the pages. "A little over an hour."

That doesn't seem like +
enough /time/. He doesn't think he wants to come down /ever/.

But they do eventually, and the seatbelt lights come back on with a quiet ding. Chuuya hasn't touched his, but Dazai has to rebuckle his own.

The stewardess doesn't come back to check again.

The descent is even +
more thrilling than the ascent, because they'll be smoothly coasting downwards and then suddenly they'll /drop/ a little bit, which makes Chuuya's stomach feel empty and weightless.

Below them, Osaka grows back into normal proportions. The skyscrapers slowly grow closer, and +
the buildings become more recognizable. The cars, which look like tiny moving specks, regain color and shape.

Landing on the runway is exhilarating, the sudden jostle of the wheels hitting the ground making his breath catch. He's pulled forward away from his seat as the brakes+
kick in. He braces himself with his feet, pushing back hard like he might be able to stop the plane himself.

Coming to a slow stop is like coming to the end of his favorite ride. He /likes/ flying, and suddenly he's almost as excited for the return flight as he is for the +
vacation itself.

He doesn't ever want to come down.

Dazai stands up first when the plane stops completely, reaching up to stretch his back out. The action makes his pullover rise up, exposing a small line of his hips above the waistband of his jeans.

The lines bracketing his+
hips and leading down and inwards only look more tantalizing now that Chuuya knows where they /lead/ to.

By the time Dazai has pulled down their bags from the overhead compartment, Chuuya has unbuckled his seatbelt and joined him in the aisle.

He has to stretch too, even +
though they've only been sitting for an hour. Something about the altitude changes makes his spine feel compressed.

The people closer to the front of the plane file off first. The stewardess stands at the door and gives everyone a polite goodbye as they descend the stairs. +
Dazai lets him go first,following behind him closely.

The stewardess gives Chuuya the same goodbye but to /Dazai/ she tacks on a "Let me know if there's /anything/ I can do to make your stay in Osaka better."

Dazai doesn't seem to notice or care,which makes Chuuya feel better.+
As they step off the plane, Chuuya asks, "So now what do we do?"

Dazai pulls his phone out of his pocket, waking the device with a few presses of the buttons.He starts doing something on the screen that Chuuya can't see from this angle. "First, we go to the hotel I reserved for+
us."

Okay, that makes sense. Dazai probably doesn't want to carry their bags everywhere else they go today. "And then after?"

Dazai shoots him a sly look. "After? Osaka Station City."

Chuuya narrows his eyes. That's one of the bigger and more known of Osaka's shopping malls.+
And he's starting to feel a little slow on the uptake but in his defense he was distracted by the idea of the trip entirely--

"Did you tell me not to bring anything so that you could buy me new stuff?"

Dazai taps something on his phone. "Oh, absolutely."

That /trickster/. +
“You /tricked/ me?”

Dazai looks momentarily chastised before he shrugs it off. “Tricked is a strong word, I think. I just...created the situation I needed so I could spoil you. You always say no to me because you don’t need it— now you /do/ need it.”

That sounds /exactly/ like+
tricking him. He slaps at Dazai’s side. “That wasn’t nice of you.”

Catching his wrist, Dazai brings it to his face and drops a kiss onto the sensitive underside. “You won’t /let/ me be nice to you,” he whines, “I just want you to be /happy/.”

Dazai /never/ plays fair. Here +
Chuuya was, rightfully indignant about being manipulated—

And now he’s fighting off a blush and butterflies are rioting in his stomach.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a demon?” He grumbles.

That makes Dazai blink in surprise for a second. Then he’s throwing his head+
back on a loud laugh, smile huge.

Chuuya doesn’t see what’s so funny about that. It was supposed to be /mean/.

“More often than you might think,” Dazai chuckles. “Though this is the first time I liked it.”

“It wasn’t a compliment!”

“It is if I decide to take it as one~.”+
The Osaka airport is even bigger than the one in Yokohama, and a /lot/ busier. As soon as they step into the main building, there’s a dull roar of noise.

Chuuya normally dislikes crowded places because he tends to get pushed around and crushed within the crowd. Being on the +
smaller side does come with its own perks, but in these types of situations, it usually just means he gets /stepped/ on.

Dazai, though, is a lot taller and /broader/ than most of the crowd. People shift out of his way as he approaches.

It’s totally unfair, but Chuuya does +
take advantage of the bubble of space around him, following in his shadow as he leads the way out of the airport.

Outside, the air is a wall of heat. It's mid-August, the middle of the hot season, and it's always warmer in the southern parts of Japan. Chuuya is glad he wore his+
lighter jacket with a decent shirt underneath, because he has a feeling he'll be taking it off sooner rather than later. He doesn't understand how Dazai looks so comfortable in his sweater, especially because he can see the hints of the bandages around his neck.

The ones around+
his forearms are gone, because he has the sleeves pushed up but--

Chuuya looks /covertly/,because he doesn't want to be caught staring,but he sees no reason for Dazai to be so nervous about him seeing his forearms? He did mention cover-up and now that Chuuya is paying attention+
his skin does look a bit /too/ uniform in color, a bit too perfect.

As they board the shuttle bus that will bring them to the train station that snakes through Osaka, Chuuya catches a glimpse of a long, old but deeply gouged scar on one of his wrists, horizontal from palm to +
(tw mention of suicide attempt, non-graphic, next few tweets)

forearm. It's deep enough that Chuuya can actually see the scarred points of where staples were used to hold the skin together.

Chuuya's heart plummets. He knows what that scar is, what it /means/. It's shaky, like +
it was done by /himself/, not by a surgeon.

And Chuuya /aches/, because Dazai /seems/ to be overall happy and steady--

But clearly he wasn't /always/ that way. Clearly, he used to be in terrible, awful pain--maybe he still /is/, Chuuya doesn't know-- and he tried to--

Well. +
And it's so hard to connect the hurt he must've felt back then with the soft, contagious smile Chuuya has been seeing all day.

A smile he might've never gotten to see. It was always beautiful--

But even more so now, because now he knows he almost /lost/ it before he even had +
it. He almost never got to see it or taste it.

Pain is never beautiful.

Recovery is, especially recovery that has been hard-fought and hard-won.

Chuuya reaches out to squeeze Dazai's hand tightly. It earns him a slightly-confused look, but Dazai squeezes him back easily. +
(end tw)

Still, besides the big scar-- and a few, smaller, normal-looking ones--he doesn't see a reason why he needs to hide his forearms.

Or what he /could/ hide so easily, with just some cover-up foundation.

He wants to ask again, but he doesn't want to break this content+
air that's settled between them. He doesn't want to bring back the haunted look in Dazai's eyes.

Chuuya can be patient. He doesn't intend on going /anywhere/, for as long as Dazai will keep him. He'll learn the answer, someday.

Today though, he's hanging onto Dazai as they +
board their train. It's not completely packed, there /are/ a few of the lower handles available for Chuuya to grab onto--

But he much prefers wrapping his arm around Dazai's waist and holding on. The man is /immovable/, hardly even shifting as the train hurtles around a corner.+
He's so solid and warm, packed with muscle. A rock, unflinching underneath the weight of the world.

"Where are we going?" Chuuya asks, rocking up on his heels so he can be heard better.

The corner of Dazai's mouth tips up slightly, but he doesn't look down. "We're getting off+
in two more stops."

That doesn't answer the question at /all/, and Chuuya is discovering a vaguely annoying habit of Dazai's--

The man is /incredibly/ secretive when he wants to be and he takes /too/ much satisfaction in surprising Chuuya with his plans.

Don't get him wrong, +
he /likes/ surprises, it's just a /little/ frustrating to be kept in the dark for so long. At least give him some /hints/ or something, so he can at least know what to expect.

They do get off two stops later, at a station that makes all the stops in Yokohama look small by +
comparison.

It isn't that Yokohama is small-- it's /not/, it's actually bigger than Osaka in terms of population-- but Osaka is larger by size, and so everything is /bigger/.

The buildings are taller, there are more stores, everything is /busier/, moving on a faster pace.+
Dazai leads him a few streets down, patiently waiting as Chuuya looks around, eyes huge. Osaka is /definitely/ more of a merchant and tourist city, and it shows in just the sheer amount of stores lining every street.

Everywhere he looks, there's /more/ to look at. He almost +
feels like a tourist himself, even though he's only a few hours away from home.

The building Dazai guides him into is tall and modern. The sign over the front door says CONRAD OSAKA in English, with the kanji for it written on the large glass doors.

The air inside is much +
cooler than outside, and the lobby looks like something off a damn /Pinterest/ board.

Shiny marble flooring, with a large receptionist desk that takes up the entirety of the back wall. It's sparsely decorated, with just enough paintings on the walls and large ceramic vases on +
the floor to hint at luxury.

There's a /huge/ white spiral staircase off to the side, which leads up to the third floor. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling light up the space, softening the atmosphere the dark flooring creates.

It's /expensive/, in a very western way. +
Dazai goes to check in, leaving Chuuya to stare around himself in awe.

He's gotten somewhat used to seeing /Dazai's/ money, but the sleek appliances and luxury vehicles he has seem a /lot/ more normal and ordinary compared to this hotel.

At least the man doesn't have +
/chandeliers/ hanging from his ceiling. His house /looks/ normal. This feels like some hotel where /celebrities/ get to stay.

“Come on, doll,” Dazai gets his attention, beckoning to him. He’s standing near the elevators, the call button already lit up.

The faint music playing+
through the lobby masks the sound of his quiet footsteps as he makes his way over.

Dazai holds the door open for him, and /god/, even the elevator is made of marble and spotless glass. Every /inch/ of this place reeks of money.

“What floor?” He asks, his finger hovering over+
the buttons. All of them are labeled by number, but some of them have little names written underneath as well.

Conference room. Spa floor. Pool room. A few others.

“Top floor,” Dazai says casually.

“You mean... the 40th floor?” Chuuya hesitates because he was /expecting/ +
something near the top, but not /the/ top floor—

“Yeah. It’s a good thing you’re not afraid of heights,” Dazai says, looking thoughtful. “I probably should have asked that before I made the reservation.”

Even if Chuuya /was/ afraid of heights— he’s not, he /loves/ the empty-+
exhilaration feeling he gets in his stomach whenever he’s up high— there’s no way he /couldn’t/ appreciate the view on the /top floor/ of a luxury hotel.

He presses the button, wondering what the room will look like. The lobby was swanky enough, but as far as /he/ knows, the+
best rooms are at the /top/. The most /expensive/ ones too.

The elevator ride is both too short and too long. Every time the number counter clicks over, the anticipation builds a little further.

By the time they make it to the top, Chuuya is practically vibrating with +
excitement. Dazai looks amused beside him, but otherwise unaffected, which is probably just /another/ marker for how ridiculously rich he is.

He doesn’t even blink at the idea of staying on the top floor of the Conrad Osaka. Like this is a /regular occurrence/ to him.

Then +
the doors are opening, revealing a long hallway. It’s darkly colored, with only a few lamps scattered throughout to light the way.

There’s only two doors, arranged close together.

Two rooms to a whole /floor/.

With the keycard given to him by the receptionists, Dazai opens+
the door on the left, revealing—

What looks like a fully stocked /house/.

It’s western style, like the rest of the hotel, with a foyer that leads into a large dining room. The table looks big enough to seat six people, and there’s a huge vase centered in the middle.

The +
flowers in it aren’t orange, which probably means that Dazai didn’t pick them out, but just seeing them makes Chuuya smile.

There’s a fully equipped kitchen, with a fridge big enough that Chuuya could fit inside entirely.

Two steps down leading into a living room, with a +
/huge/ grey-leather couch that looks big enough that Dazai could stretch out on it. The TV looks almost as big, mounted on the opposite wall.

The remote is sitting on the table in the middle, along with a little ‘thank you’ note from the hotel and a list of numbers for services+
for things like room service, and the maid service.

Dazai heads into the hallway leading to the back, assumingly where the bedroom— /bedrooms/?— is, but Chuuya’s attention is caught by the huge wall of windows.

Outside is a /balcony/, big enough that it looks like a room in+
itself.

Drawn, Chuuya opens the door that leads outside.

There’s an entire array of outdoor furniture—complete with a /jacuzzi/— that is sheltered by a small overhang. It keeps the outside from getting /too/ hot by being baked in the sun—

But Chuuya is more interested in+
the /view/.

The railing encasing the balcony is made of glass and metal, which gives the illusion of /almost/ hanging off the edge as Chuuya steps up to it.

The ground is /dizzingly/ far below, so far that he can barely make out the street. The sun shines blindingly bright +
off the glass of the buildings that surround them.

He’s so far up that he feels like he can see to the edge of the city, like he’s standing among the /clouds/ instead of on the Earth.

Like he could step off the ledge and go /soaring/.

“Do you like it?” Dazai’s voice comes +
from behind him.

Of course he likes it. He /loves/ it. And if the view is this good during the /day/, then he can’t even begin to imagine what it looks like at /night/, when the city is lit up.

He turns around—

And finds Dazai /closer/ than he was expecting, almost directly+
behind him.

He has to look /up/ to see him, and if the view off the balcony is /good/—

Then this one, the sight of Dazai in ful sunlight, eyes turned honey-golden in the light and wild hair waving gently in the wind, lips full and shiny and /tempting/, cheeks ever so slightly+
red from the sun—

This view is his /favorite/.

“I love it,” Chuuya breathes, unable to look away. His hands clutch the railing behind him. “The view is amazing.”

Dazai takes another step forward, cornering Chuuya against the railing. His hands come to either side of him,+
boxing him in by grabbing the railing on either side.

He’s not touching him, but the heat coming off him feels /boiling/, way hotter than the sun itself.

“I have to agree,” Dazai says lowly, like he’s confessing to a secret. His eyes are firmly fixed on his face though, and he+
doesn’t look up to take in the view of the buildings, not even for a /second/.

The words drop so easily from his lips, so naturally that Chuuya barely even registers that he’s speaking before he hears his own voice. “Kiss me.”

Dazai’s eyes flick downward, taking in the slight+
pout of his lips. His gaze feels scorching, almost intense enough that he feels he's being kissed /already/.

He licks his bottom lip unconsciously, thrilling at the way Dazai's eyes follow the motion, heating up to molten pools.

(There's a part of Dazai that wants to make +
him wait, at least until he asks /nicely/. The chibi has gotten so /demanding/ lately, which is adorable and flattering--

But there's a lot to be said about a soft-spoken 'please'.

Then again, it would be a crime not to kiss him right now. The sun has turned his blue eyes into+
a searingly bright blue, and the red of his hair has golden highlights that shimmer and shine.

With the image of the clouds behind him, he looks like an angel. Grounded only for the time it takes him to find his wings again.

Really, it would be a shame /not/ to kiss him.)+
Dazai leans down at the same time Chuuya rises up on his toes. They meet somewhere in the middle, lips brushing together on the edge of the world.

It’s just as soft as this morning, but every time they kiss, it just feels /fuller/ than the last. Filled with more emotion, more+
understanding, more /depth/. Like every time they get closer, and every kiss ties them tighter together.

One of Dazai’s hands leaves the railing, moving to cup his cheek. His thumb brushes gently over his cheekbone, encouraging him to tilt so their mouths can fit together+
better. His fingers are long enough that the tips are tangled in his hair, another point of connection.

Unconsciously, Chuuya’s hand finds his shoulder. He grips hard, sweater bunching in his fingers as he pulls him down a little further, a little /harder/.

Teeth nip at +
his lip in response, playful and teasing.

Chuuya pushes up a little higher, biting him /back/, enjoying the way Dazai’s hand firms on his cheek and he presses even closer, pinning Chuuya against the railing.

He has a lot of things he likes about Dazai, but he thinks that +
the way he kisses him might be his /favorite/.

Between the sun at his back and the heat of Dazai in front of him, Chuuya feels like he’s melting, mind going summer-sweet hazy. His body is heating up, kindling to the fire that Dazai lights within him.

He never wants to stop. +
And as always, it's over /too soon/. Dazai pulls away--slowly, because Chuuya chases after him with a disappointed noise and he always gets another kiss in reply-- his thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

"Why are you stopping?" Chuuya grumbles, using the grip on his sweater to+
drag him back down. He feels a /little/ bad about stretching out the fabric, but he wouldn't /have/ to if Dazai would stop trying to pull away!

"Because, chibi," Dazai sighs against his mouth, and that nickname never tasted as sweet as it does right now, "If I /don't/ stop, we+
will spend /all day/ in the bedroom--" that sounds like the /opposite/ of a problem to Chuuya, really, "-- and we won't go get you the stuff you need."

That's /fine/, he doesn't really need it anyways, not right now at least, and if he takes his clothes off, he won't need any +
more for a while, it's /fine/--

Dazai's hand firms on his face, holding him in place this time as he pulls away. The look on his face is smug--and why /shouldn't/ he be smug, because all it takes is a few minutes of kissing to have Chuuya trembling and needy-- and Chuuya tells +
himself that the only reason he /isn't/ irritated by it is because he's distracted and /not/ because smug and confident looks /damn/ good on him.

"Be /patient/, brat. I didn't bring you to Osaka /just/ to fuck you."

God, the heat that /instantly/ drenches Chuuya from head to +
toe from hearing Dazai curse /and/ the instant imagery that the words bring up--

It should be /illegal/.

"But--," he starts, hushed when Dazai's hand slides inward and covers his mouth.

"No buts. Shopping first, /then/ I'll have some fun with you. If you're good."

Chuuya +
is hearing that a /lot/ lately, and he can't deny the squirming feeling he gets in his belly whenever he hears it again.

He /likes/ being good. Dazai makes it so easy too, most of the time, and whenever he /succeeds/, he experiences this high. Like he's aced all his exams, like+
he just won the game he's playing, like someone looked at him and went 'good job'.

And when it's /not/ easy, when he has to /struggle/ for it, god,it's even better. He loves winning, loves meeting expectations.

The expectations for /this/ are easy, though. All he has to do is+
go shopping, pick out a few things he likes, and then they'll be back at the hotel in a couple hours, right?

Then they'll 'have some fun'. It'll be quick /and/ easy, and then Chuuya gets the double reward of sex--Dazai /implied/ he would fuck him, which sets off molten +
butterflies made of lava and electricity in his stomach-- /and/ he gets to succeed.

It'll be easy, right?

/Wrong/.

Dazai seems to take pushing him to his limits as a /challenge/, and the entire trip from the hotel room to the shopping mall is spent with his fingers flitting+
all over him.

One moment brushing over his arm, and then fixing his hair, and then curling around his waist to tug him closer, and then grabbing his hand, his thumb rubbing circles on the suddenly-sensitive skin on the back of his hand.

Chuuya feels /weak/ for it all, wound up+
from all the /hinting/.

Naturally, Dazai takes him to the /biggest/ department store in all of Osaka-- a medium-length train ride away, one that Chuuya spends plastered to Dazai's side with sneaky fingertips curled around his hip and dipping underneath the waistband of his +
jeans to rub /infuriatingly slowly/ over his hipbone-- which has so many stores Chuuya doesn't even recognize them.

He looks for one he recognizes, maybe one on the lower end of the price range so he can get this trip over with quickly and get to the /good stuff/--

Nope. Dazai+
pulls him into the nearest store before Chuuya can even catch the name.

When he opens his mouth to protest, Dazai squeezes his hip and sends him a warning look. "You said you wouldn't argue with me."

He actually didn't say that at all ever, but Chuuya gets the message and +
closes his mouth.

This store has mostly clothes in it, with just a few small shelves dedicated to accessories, and a /tiny/ shoe selection in the back.

It's kind of funny, considering when Dazai /first/ took him shopping--on the market date, even though the only thing they got+
was the leather jacket and the choker that Chuuya is wearing again-- he was more...

Passive. He liked the things Chuuya pointed out, and showed interest, but he let him explore mostly on his own.

/This/ time, Dazai heads straight to a rack full of jeans and starts rifling +
through them with a concentrated frown on his face.

The man doesn't even know his pants size--aside from looking at the tag when he had to wash Chuuya's clothes for him and /maybe/ being able to guess his size from when he had him naked and in his lap-- and he already looks so
/focused/, like this is the most important task he's had today.

It's endearing. A little overboard, considering they're just /clothes/, but it's cute that he cares so much.

Chuuya moves to a different rack, this one filled with shirts. A lot of them are medium-sleeved and +
boring, but there's a few that catch his eye. He pulls those out and hangs them over his arm to try on later.

"Baby," Dazai says, catching his attention.

Chuuya turns around, to see him holding up a pair of black jeans with a big rip in the thigh and the biggest pair of puppy
eyes Chuuya has ever seen.

"Will you try these on for me?"

He eyes the jeans. They're a little more /risque/ than Chuuya normally wears--partly because he grew up with his father insisting that anything above the knee and shoulder was /scandalous/ and partly because he just
doesn't /own/ anything like that-- with the giant tear over the upper thigh, and the matching one lower down on the other leg.

But it's not like he can /deny/ Dazai when he looks like he'll do anything for Chuuya to say yes.

Stepping over, he takes the jeans in hand. They're
only a size bigger than what he normally wears, though they do look a little too long. It's worth giving them a shot, even if only to make Dazai happy.

He adds them to the growing pile over his arm, and his reward is a bright, beaming smile from Dazai, complete with dimple.
He adds another shirt to the pile--this one at Dazai's insistence, a red cropped one with a yellow sunflower in the middle-- and another pair of jeans before he heads over to the fitting rooms.

They need to be unlocked with a key, so Dazai goes to find an employee to help them.
He returns a few moments later, trailed by a younger girl who is even smaller than Chuuya, who looks honestly /starstruck/.

Chuuya is starting to sense a pattern here, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. He /knows/ Dazai is appealing, obviously, but sometimes it's hard to
tell if that's because he's /rich/--which is enough to make even the nastiest of people bearable-- or if it's because he's /hot/.

Probably both.

Don't get him wrong, he /likes/ having the attention of someone who is so attractive--makes him feel like he's /winning/, somehow--
but it also brings to heart a feeling of invasive, lurking /insecurity/.

Because--

Why him? Really, Chuuya isn't anything /special/, he realizes that. He might look exotic with his red hair and blue eyes, but beyond that...

He doesn't know /why/ Dazai likes him. He's not
rich, or very smart, or has some cool talent, like being an artist. He's not even /experienced/, so it's not like he's rocking Dazai's world or anything like that.

He's /pretty/ sure Dazai actually likes him, because why else would he go through all the effort he's gone through?
If he just wanted sex, then he would've taken him home after their first dinner date. Chuuya certainly wouldn't have complained-- he wanted it too.

There's no need to do all this. No need to buy him a weeks worth of food, or take him to Osaka. No need to work him up to sex
as slowly and /carefully/ as he has.

And while he's never made Chuuya feel like he /wasn't/ special--

Dazai also has never given any indication that this behavior was out of the norm for him. Maybe he takes all his flings on mini-vacations and buys them things. Maybe this is
just what he /does/, wines and dines and romances all the people he's attracted to, before he eventually moves onto the next person. He can certainly afford it.

And Chuuya already must seem so /young/ to him, all the time, and he /doesn't/ want to add the stereotypical
card of 'caught feelings even though the possibility of a relationship was never discussed or even on the table' to his bingo sheet.

Even though he /does/ have feelings for Dazai now. With how sweet, thoughtful, and /sexy/ he is, it'd be impossible not to, and Chuuya feels like
he's choking on his heart half the time he talks to him.

But that doesn't mean that he feels the same way and really, what is stopping him--Chuuya watches as the girl unlocks the fitting room door for him, a friendly smile as she makes light conversation with Dazai--from moving
onto someone /better/ than him, when he gets bored of Chuuya?

Nothing. Dazai can have anyone he wants.

"Chuuya?"

With a start, he looks up, broken from his thoughts. The girl is gone now, and Dazai is standing outside the open door to the fitting room, staring at him with a
crease in his eyebrows. "Are you okay?"

Chuuya hikes the clothes up higher in his arms, offering a smile. "Yeah, I just got distracted."

Before he can embarass himself /further/-- or ask Dazai if he wants to come in and help him change--, Chuuya heads inside the room.

The
door closes behind him with finality. He tries to leave his previous line of thinking outside the door as he strips his clothes off.

He tries on the pair of jeans he picked out first. They're looser than he expected, baggy on thighs. They're also /way/ too long, so long that he
has to roll them up, and it's unflattering.

He throws those in the reject pile, and tries on the jeans Dazai picked out for him next.

Those are less long, and while the waist is a little big, the fit is /perfect/ around his ass and thighs. The large hole in them exposes most
of his left thigh, but it looks nice, and he can see the way his muscles flex as he takes a step forward.

He tries on the red sunflower shirt Dazai offered him, and that one is /cute/. Makes his eyes stand out.

He /almost/ takes them both off again without showing Dazai before
he realizes that would probably be /rude/. He is buying them, and he did pick these out specifically, so he should see them so he can make an opinion on them.

It feels a little nerve-wracking though.

Taking a deep breath for courage, he opens the door again and steps out.

• • •

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Jul 13, 2023
Chuuya doesn’t tell anyone about the interview. Almost no one knew about it in the first place, so it would take an amount of explanation and argument that he’s just not capable of. Not on this topic, not after what happened.
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Apr 11, 2023
Thinking about ada skk again
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Apr 10, 2023
thinking about how dazai changed his entire life after his friend died and chuuya's complicated feelings on it considering he lost his closest friends twice (thrice, if he includes dazai) and nothing changed
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Apr 9, 2023
“You only want to go on dates with /me/?”

— was if he felt the same way.

The air in the room suddenly feels too thick to breathe. All the exhaustion from earlier has disappeared, replaced by buzzing nerves. Mouth dry, he nods.

Without looking away, Dazai places his
toothbrush back into it’s cup. In two long strides, he’s crowding into Chuuya’s space. One of his hands hooks behind the nape of Chuuya’s neck, grabbing him like he /owns/ him and holding him firmly in place.

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Mar 10, 2023
Thinking about…. Pacific rim + ada dazai/pm Chuuya au…
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Mar 10, 2023
Yosano is bluffing. The corner of her mouth always twitches when she’s bluffing, exposing just the golden tip of her right fang. She covers it up with a glare, eyes narrowed and focused viciously on his face.

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Between them, lay their prize:

An entire handful of cigarettes. Prison currency, the only thing between these concrete walls that holds any real value.

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