🄸’🅅🄴 🄶🄾🅃 🅈🄾🅄 🄾🄽 🄰 🅃🄸🄶🄷🅃 🄻🄴🄰🅂🄷

You live and you learn—and now Chuuya knows to never ever make a bet with your sadistic ex-partner. Particularly when he’s fixated on making you ‘his dog.’

(NSFW thread)

Chuuya never goes back on his word, no matter how ridiculous the scenario may be. Dazai knows that—and that’s what makes this even more enjoyable.

Chuuya’s also always been a gambler—and someone who can never resist a little competition.

That’s what’s gotten him in trouble now.

They were in a temproary truce with the Port Mafia—they were even running joint missions now. And Dazai and Chuuya had been assigned to crack the same smuggling ring.

You would think that after all these years, Chuuya would have had the sense to say no when Dazai made the offer.

“Hmmm, I wonder who will find them first,” Dazai had mused, eyeing Chuuya slyly from the corner of his eye. “You probably won’t even get close, slug.”

That made his ex-partner round on him, eyes burning with rage. “You wanna BET, you smug bastard?!”

It really was too easy.

Dazai found them first—because he always does—and now Chuuya has to do whatever he wants for exactly one day.

And Dazai intends to make the most of it, as the collar dangling from his fingers suggests.

Chuuya stares at it incredulously, touching the choker he’s already wearing and shaking his head.

It’s thicker than Chuuya’s choker, black leather, with stupid little rhinestones working around it—and Chuuya KNOWS it’s because Dazai was thinking of a Chihuahua when he got it.

But the most offensive part is the tag. Chuuya squints, and he can see the tell tale cursive engraving, and— “Does that thing have your fucking NAME on it?!”

Dazai smiles so smugly, and Chuuya wants nothing more than to knock his teeth out. “A bet’s a bet, chibi!”

Chuuya grits his teeth.

Slowly, with twitching fingers, he reaches up to unclasp the choker from his neck—and he can see Dazai’s eyes sparking with satisfaction.

“You weren’t supposed to ask for something like THIS—“ Chuuya grumbles.

“That’s not bow bets work, sweetheart.”

Chuuya’s eyebrows are twitching and knitting together. Dazai is taunting him, obviously—and he knows the more reaction he gives him, the more satisfied Dazai will be.

So he tries to grit his teeth and bear it.

He reaches for the collar silently, but Dazai shakes his head.

“Oh no,” he smirks, holding the stupid sparkly thing just out of reach. “I don’t think so, chibi.”

Chuuya wants to strangle him. He really, really does.

Instead Chuuya just glares at Dazai, acidic, and lifts his chin, pushing his hair out of the way.

Dazai always feels a little breathless at the sight of Chuuya’s bare neck. There’s always been a spark between them—but Dazai was never able to act on it, and Chuuya hadn’t ever pushed it.

And when Dazai left, Chuuya pretended there was never anything between them to begin with.

It feels hard to deny that now, as Dazai is slipping the collar around the smaller man’s neck, pulling the clasp just a little too tight for a moment, making Chuuya gasp and glare at him with annoyance.

They make eye contact for a second, and Dazai lets him go.

“So I just have to wear this stupid thing all day?” Chuuya grumbles, kicking the ground irritably. Dazai is almost endeared, how after all of this time, Chuuya STILL didn’t expect the worst from him.

“Oh no, Chuuya—“ Dazai beams, “There’s more!”

Chuuya felt something in his head snap when Dazai pulled out a long black leash, dangling it in front of Chuuya’s face with a look of almost manic delight.

“You have to stay by my side, of course!”

Chuuya opens his mouth, entirely prepared to scream—

But a bet’s a bet.

Dazai is a fucking tyrant. He’s yanking Chuuya down the street because he’s walking INTENTIONALLY FAST with those stupidly long legs, making Chuuya stumble behind him.

They’ve been to the park. They’ve gotten takoyaki. They’ve been across the whole damn city.

Chuuya hates him.

They’re in a record store—because Dazai INSISTS that he’s just doing normal errands and poor Chuuya is just along for the ride—and Dazai is thumbing through stacks of CDs when Chuuya hears a familiar voice.

“Chuuya-kun?”

Oh, fucking Christ—

Chuuya turns around to see a tall man with dark hair, a sharp jaw, and a handsome face—

Why, in the name of everything that was good, did he have to bump into him right now?!

“Shuuji.” Chuuya smiles, but it’s strained since his collar is being tugged with every move Dazai makes

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Chuuya says slowly, gritting his teeth when Dazai turns around.

“I was just looking for some new CDs, I—“ Chuuya’s ex-boyfriend looks confused. “What’s with the...?” He points vaguely to Chuuya’s neck.

Before he can answer, Dazai tugs sharply on the leash. “Chuuya,” he asks calmly as Chuuya stumbles back and glares at him, “Who is this...?”

“I’m Shuuji,” the man offers, trying to be helpful. “Chuuya-kun and I used to...well...”

Dazai arches one eyebrow, twirling the leash.

“You used to what?” The glare the detective is fixing on the man is so much that he can’t manage to answer.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “We used to fuck, Dazai. There, are you happy?”

He doesn’t actually LOOK happy at all.

“Is that so?” Dazai raises an eyebrow, looking this ‘Shuuji’ fellow up and down. He doesn’t look like someone Dazai would have pictured Chuuya with. Vaguely familiar, but—

Dazai’s eyes widen just a little bit.

Oh.

Chuuya stares at him for a moment, annoyed and puzzled.

Dazai looks smug, and Chuuya can’t immediately figure out why. It probably has something to do with him being humiliated in front of his ex—but Chuuya doesn’t have the time for that now.

“I lost a bet, and Dazai here is a huge prick, so...” Chuuya gestures to the collar, annoyed

“Oh.” Shuuji’s brow knits together. “And you two are...?”

At the same time, Chuuya and Dazai say different things.

“Associates.”

“Partners.”

They both freeze, giving each other annoyed looks, and Shuuji looks back and forth between them, confused.

“Well...It was nice seeing you, Chuuya.” The man says slowly, and Dazai sneers. He doesn’t like hearing Chuuya’s name coming out of someone’s mouth like that, casual and familiar. “You look good.”

“Thanks, Shuuji...” Chuuya responds tiredly as the man walks away.

When he does, he rounds on Dazai at the same time that the taller man begins to tug on his leash, making him lose balance and fall forward against his chest, smacking his nose against the front of Dazai’s shirt while his palms rest against the front of his jacket.

When Chuuya leans back, Dazai seems pleased with himself, but angry.

“The FUCK do you mean, we’re PARTNERS?!” Chuuya snarls, the hand he used to catch himself fisting in Dazai’s shirt, yanking him down until their faces are level. “Don’t you fucking DARE, Dazai!”

“On this mission, we WERE partners.” Dazai frowns, his eyes hardening in spite of the smug smile on his face—which means he’s annoyed, Chuuya knows that—and now fucking DARE he?! “And you think ‘acquaintances’ is more accurate, chibi?”

“YES, Dazai, I do!” Chuuya hisses.

He’s trying (and failing) to not make a scene, but the cashiers at the storefront have already taken notice. “I only see you a couple of times a year, and when I do, we’re fighting each other or trying to kill someone, and I can’t STAND you—“

“That sounds more like family than—“

Dazai is silenced when Chuuya claps a hand over his mouth, and they’re both surprised by the pain in Chuuya’s voice. “You aren’t anymore, you piece of shit—!”

Chuuya’s admission is unintentional. It leaves them both frozen and winded, with Dazai still loosely gripping the leash.

Chuuya falls silent, and he lets Dazai go, his gloved hands clenching into fists as he turns away from Dazai. “Are you done here?”

For a minute Dazai thinks he means something else—but then he realizes Chuuya is talking about shopping. “I suppose,” the detective sighs, dramatic.

They leave, and Chuuya is silently seething. Making all of Yokohama think they had some weird, kinky relationship was one thing. Half of the Port Mafia assumes that Chuuya and Dazai were fucking back then. Some of them think they still are. They’re rumors, and Chuuya’s used to it

But tricking Chuuya into saying something like that...? It’s sick, even for Dazai. Chuuya doesn’t understand what he’s doing, trying to work some old wound open like this.

Not that there is a wound, because there was never anything between them.

And there certainly isn’t now.

Chuuya is silent most of the way to Dazai’s apartment. He’s sulking and angry, which is the usual—but the fact that Dazai hasn’t said something manipulative or smug isn’t.

They finally make it to Dazai’s door, and Chuuya huffs. “So, are you planning for making me serve you now?”

It wasn’t hard to imagine Dazai forcing Chuuya to wait on him hand and foot for the rest of the day. Back when Dazai was in the mafia, he’d set up bets whenever he wanted to get Chuuya to do something—namely cleaning the apartment they shared—and Chuuya always lost.

And really, Chuuya doesn’t put it past Dazai for this whole thing to be a scheme to get Chuuya to clean a grown ass man’s apartment.

Dazai is quiet for a moment, shrugging as he unlocks the door. “Something like that.” He strolls in, and the leash forces Chuuya to stumble behind

Once the door is shut, Dazai stands there for a moment, facing away from Chuuya, before he speaks.

“That Shuuji fellow.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “What? You gonna make fun of me for liking dick, Dazai?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“He looks like me.”

Chuuya snorts. No, he SCOFFS. “I hate to break it to you, Dazai, but you have brown hair and brown eyes, and we live in JAPAN—“

“But the height is uncommon.” Dazai is thinking through something. Chuuya can tell by the way his voice is trailing off at the end of his phrases.

“And he had the same shape to his jaw—and he wears his hair like mine. I’m assuming that didn’t turn up AFTER you two were dating.”

Chuuya is glaring at the floor, his face getting hotter and hotter.

Fuck—wait—now that Dazai was pointing it out—

...they kind of did look alike.

“And,” Dazai continues, “He spoke to you like it had been a while since you stopped seeing him. At least a year. How long ago was it?”

When Chuuya doesn’t answer, a sharp yank to the leash almost makes him stumble forward into Dazai’s back.

“...Three years.” Chuuya grumbles.

“Three years.” Dazai repeats, still facing away from him. His head is tilted back, and Chuuya can’t tell what he’s thinking. “How long did you see him?”

Chuuya’s silence is met with another yank, and his face is smushed into the back of Dazai’s coat.

“Ten months, okay?!”

“So,” It’s like like they’re finally getting to the conclusion he was driving them towards. “You started dating someone who looks just like me two months after I left the Port Mafia. And, given what I knew about you back then—he was your first time, right?”

Chuuya’s jaw is slack

If this was a romantic movie, they would probably fall into each other’s arms right now, offering declarations of love and apologizing for all the wrongs they’ve done over the years.

But Chuuya isn’t swooning, and Dazai’s next words aren’t loving—they are bitter and sharp.

“You can’t possibly be surprised.” Dazai mutters, and when Chuuya lifts his face out of the back of Dazai’s jacket, the taller man uses the leash to yank him right back.

“The fuck do you mean, Dazai?” Chuuya grumbles, moving back again.

Chuuya is stronger than Dazai, but the collar’s high center of gravity, hilarious as it sounds, makes it easy to knock Chuuya off balance.

Dazai turns around, dropping the leash and hooking his fingers through the collar on Chuuya’s neck. “You said my name, didn’t you?”

Chuuya is getting annoyed with this conversation fast, because he can’t read the anger in Dazai’s eyes, or the mocking edge to his words. “What’s that supposed to—“

Dazai never manhandles, so Chuuya is too shocked to stop him when the taller man pushes him back into a wall.

Dazai is holding Chuuya’s head up with his grip on the collar, his eyes burning in a way that makes Chuuya feel defensive—and a little more flushed than he ought to be. “You said my name when he fucked you, didn’t you Chuuya? Or did you settle for just thinking about me?”

Chuuya is veering wildly between shock and anger, his hands shaking. It boils up and spills out of him and he strikes like a snake, slapping Dazai across the face.

Dazai’s head whips to the side sharply, but he doesn’t let Chuuya go.

The air is so thick, Chuuya can’t breathe.

“You—“ Chuuya’s voice is low and cold, “—don’t have the right to talk to me like that.” He’s so careful and measured, it cuts Dazai deeper than it would if he screamed it at the top of his lungs. “You don’t have the right to look at me. You don’t even have the right to touch me.”

Dazai looks back at Chuuya, and a welt is already starting to form on his cheek. Chuuya’s eyes burn in the darkness, unnaturally bright. Sometimes, Dazai thinks they could burn him alive. Right now, he wishes they would.

“Because I left the Port Mafia, or because I left you?”

Chuuya’s jaw hurts from how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. Dazai knows how awful he’s being, Chuuya can see it in the twist of his mouth, the look in his eye.

Cruelty comes back to Dazai like whiskey down the throat of an alcoholic. He never means to start—but he can’t stop.

‘Because I left you.’

They both know how much it fucking hurts—because everyone always leaves Chuuya. The weight of it smothers him sometimes.

And Dazai knows it.

“You leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Chuuya knows the words are true, but he doesn’t feel it

Dazai stares at him, long and hard. Chuuya can’t see any doubt or insecurity in his eyes. There’s always an edge of sadness in them, and it’s sharper now—but Dazai still isn’t backing down.

“Then why do you keep coming back to me, Chuuya?”

Chuuya glares up at him. The collar is starting to dig into the back of his neck from where Dazai is pulling on it, but he’s beyond caring. “That’s not true.”

“When I was captured by the Port Mafia, how long did it take for you to come and find me?”

Chuuya hates him.

“And when we needed to take Q back—did you argue with Mori about working with me again?”

Chuuya’s stony silence does nothing to deter him.

“And Shibusawa—“

“That was to save the city.”

“You didn’t need to save me to save Yokohama, Chuuya.” Dazai points out. “So why did you?”

Chuuya doesn’t know where this could go that doesn’t end with him feeling like absolute shit later. He fucking hates himself for it. Even now, it doesn’t take much work for Dazai to tug at Chuuya until he’s completely frayed.

Some things really don’t change, and Chuuya hates it.

When Chuuya finally finds his voice, it’s softer than he wants it to be—lacking the fury that he wants to feel. “Because I had to. And—“ he looks up into Dazai’s face, and he feels unsteady, but he carries on, “if you ever cared about me, even a little—stop fucking around.”

The silence spans across only a few moments, but it feels like years to Chuuya. Years of looking up into those eyes, and trying to remind himself that he didn’t want them, or Dazai—

Because Chuuya has never wanted him at all. He couldn’t have.

“I’m not fucking around.”

The build up to a kiss, especially one that’s long overdue, can feel like a slow death. It’s not about the individual breaths but the distance between them, the skips of your heartbeat, the warmth spreading over your skin as anticipation takes over.

Neither of them even breathe.

They both just stare at each other as the air between them starts to get thicker, the rope they’ve been tugging back and forth for all of these years is fraying, and finally—fucking FINALLY—it snaps.

The minute Dazai’s mouth is on his, Chuuya makes a sound that isn’t even human.

Chuuya hasn’t ever pictured what Dazai’s mouth feels like.

His lips are so soft, and surprisingly warm given the cold atmosphere that always seemed to linger around Dazai.

And the minute they start kissing, it becomes impossible for them to stop.

Kissing Dazai is like taking the first hit of a drug—Chuuya can’t stop himself from sliding his hands into Dazai’s hair and pulling him closer.

Dazai’s arms crowd in around him, and Chuuya doesn’t think—he just puts every ounce of emotion he has into it.

Chuuya doesn’t feel like himself anymore. He feels vulnerable, like Dazai has cracked his ribs open and reached straight inside to grab Chuuya’s heart with his fist.

And Chuuya hadn’t ever been kissed like this.

Dazai is crushing Chuuya against his chest, kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s clumsy as first—it always is, the first time you kiss someone new—Chuuya figures out how to fit their mouths together, the way to move his tongue with Dazai’s.

Everything else is as easy as breathing. Dazai knows how Chuuya moves. He knows where to press his palms flat against Chuuya’s back in order to lift Chuuya up against the wall so they can press their hips together, making them both gasp.

Chuuya knows just how much of his weight Dazai can bear, so he leans back against the wall and braces his legs around Dazai’s waist, taking the strain off of his arms.

They make it look so easy, moving together like they’ve done it a dozen times—and Chuuya is already lost in it.

When they were sixteen, Chuuya used to wonder if he ever could want Dazai like this—if someday the embers between them could smolder into sparks.

Chuuya is on Fire now.

Every time they break apart for air, they gasp each other’s name.

Chuuya’s fingers are tight in Dazai’s hair, pulling him back in every time Dazai catches his breath. He needs this to keep going, he needs Dazai to keep kissing him, because if he stops and Chuuya has to think, then Chuuya will push him away—

And Chuuya needs this so fucking bad

He realizes after a second that the familiar scent rushing through his nose is the shampoo Dazai used to use—still uses—and the realization is so simple, it shouldn’t hit him like a wall of bricks.

Dazai smells the same.

“Chuuya—“ Dazai mutters against his mouth, “Are you—?”

Chuuya shakes his head sharply, pulling Dazai back in again, tightening his legs around his ex-partner’s waist as he blinks back the tears that were starting to gather.

He’s not doing that now. Not here.

Chuuya knows that Dazai is going to leave him again after this.

Dazai knows this is a mistake. A huge one.

Dazai has only had one drink with Ango since Oda’s death. It was after the accident, a reluctant meeting at Bar Lupin—because they both knew it was what Oda would have wanted.

Dazai admitted that he thought Oda’s death was Mori’s way of forcing him out, because he feared Dazai would take his place.

Ango had an interesting point.

“Or, maybe he just assumed you would stay anyway.”

“Why would I?”

“Dazai,” Ango gave him a pointed look. “Come on.”

For once, Dazai had the decency to look puzzled.

Then Ango said it.

“Everyone knows you’ll never actually be able to leave Nakahara-san alone. I’m sure Mori planned for that.”

And now, with Chuuya in his arms, Dazai can’t tell if he’s falling in love for falling for a trap.

Chuuya knows there are two ways this could go. One is what Chuuya wants, and the other is what is easier to live with.

He could let Dazai make love to him, or he could stop this now.

He can only live with one of those options when Dazai walks out of his life again.

So Chuuya does what he and Dazai have always done—he pushes his limits. He breaks the kiss, lips shining and swollen when he looks up at Dazai. “I need to go. Mori—mmph!”

He chokes when Dazai kisses him again, with so much intensity that Chuuya’s toes curl.

Dazai is pinning Chuuya against the wall with his hips, creating so much friction that Chuuya cries out.

Dazai knows if he asks Chuuya a direct question, he won’t lie to him. He never has.

“Say you don’t want me.” Dazai says the words against his lips.

Chuuya is finally starting to see the benefits of a double suicide—because this is so un-fucking-fair

His silence is the only encouragement Dazai needs—because Chuuya is hard and throbbing against Dazai’s stomach, his face is flushed, and his hands are tight on Dazai’s shoulders

Dazai kisses the air straight out of Chuuya’s lungs as he starts to move their bodies together, and when he starts to push at the sleeves of Chuuya’s coat, Chuuya crumbles.

He starts pushing Dazai’s coat aside, reaching up to fumble with his stupid fucking bolo tie.

The wet noises of their mouths moving together and their heavy breaths fill the room as Dazai starts unbuttoning Chuuya’s vest. Chuuya isn’t nearly as kind to Dazai’s, ribbing it open, buttons bouncing across the floor.

Dazai snorts. “I guess I deserve that.”

Once Chuuya’s vest is gone, Dazai makes quick work of his harness while Chuuya shoves his hands under Dazai’s shirt. No one else can unhook the straps around Chuuya’s chest as quickly as Dazai—which makes sense, given how often Dazai had to clean him up after they used Corruption

Dazai doesn’t understand how everything can be so vivid and new, yet heartbreakingly familiar. Every sound Chuuya makes becomes a new memory, validating what Dazai used to imagine he must be like in moments like this.

When he pulls Chuuya’s shirt off, the executive’s body arches

Dazai’s hands are everywhere the moment Chuuya’s bare flesh is exposed to him, scratching down his back, dipping under the waist band of his slacks.

Chuuya’s hands are pushing Dazai’s shirt higher and higher, until the detective leans back for a moment so Chuuya can push it off

Dazai’s hands slide under Chuuya’s thighs to cup his ass as they stumble towards the bed. It’s a hazardous journey—they slam into the wall, they knock pictures down, they even break a lamp. But when Dazai gets to see Chuuya, flushed and panting on his mattress, it’s all worth it.

Dazai's body drops back on top of Chuuya's, both of them groaning as they become a mess of bare skin and grinding hips. Chuuya can't remember the last time he felt like his entire body was so utterly focused on one person. At this very moment, it's getting rid of Dazai's pants.

Chuuya's hands are full of Dazai's hair, he's breathing the same air, he can even feel Dazai's heartbeat throbbing over his own. The only thing he can hear is the sound of him moaning, the sound of his zipper being pulled down. Everywhere, everything--it's Dazai, Dazai, Dazai.

Chuuya never gets the freedom to let go like this, to utterly immerse himself in someone else. Arahabaki is always in the back of his mind, ready to take control when Chuuya slips. But with Dazai pressed up against him--Chuuya is free from that.

And it's so fucking good.

When they're both finally naked, and Dazai's mouth is dragging over Chuuya's chest, stopping over one of his nipples and lavishing it with attention until the smaller man is squirming and groaning with protest, it starts to hit Chuuya--

They're actually doing this.

Chuuya can’t seem to find his bearings in all of this—like he’s constantly reacting to what Dazai is doing instead of being an active participant.

So he does the natural thing and flips them over, straddling Dazai’s waist as his hands slide into his hair.

The action also means he can feel Dazai’s erection pressing against his ass, sliding against him. Chuuya smirks, rolling his hips down—and drawing a powerful grown from Dazai that almost sounds punched out of him.

Chuuya smirks, but his victory doesn’t last for very long.

“Ne, Chuuya—“ Dazai purrs. “You look so good like this...” He purrs, leaning up on his elbows. “You know, I didn’t think the day would end like THIS, but...” Dazai smirks, and Chuuya is suddenly yanked down by the neck, falling into Dazai’s arms

He forgot about the fucking leash

“It’s really working out for me, isn’t it?” Chuuya is fighting the urge to snarl—and he’s caught between wanting to strangle Dazai or to ride him until they’re both completely spent.

Dazai makes that choice for him, flipping them over again, this time with Chuuya on his stomach.

Chuuya digs his elbows into the mattress and arches—Dazai doesn’t give him much of a choice when he yanks back on the leash like that—

Chuuya is going to argue, once he finds the words. Once Dazai isn’t nipping and biting at the back of his neck, he’ll be able to deal with this.

But he’s arching, shivering and swearing when Dazai bites harder, his hands tightening in the sheets. Chuuya can’t take this—he wants to touch Dazai, to feel him, but that isn’t the game they’re playing.

And when Dazai’s lube slicked fingers find his entrance, that seems okay.

Chuuya definitely hasn’t imagined this before—him, gritting his teeth and moaning as Dazai’s long, precise fingers move inside of him, soft gasps and groans escaping him.

It’s hard not to say Dazai’s name when his fingers quirk up and in inside of Chuuya, making the man shake.

Every time Chuuya starts to shy away it turn his back, the collar always snaps him back into position.

He can’t tell what Dazai is playing at right now. He the same idiot that forced Chuuya to put the collar around his neck that morning

But then he goes and pulls shit like this

Dazai doesn’t know why he has to make it like this. He wants Chuuya in a million different ways. He wants to see him broken down and begging. He wants to see him smiling and shivering under Dazai’s hands. He wants all of it.

But instead, he has Chuuya on all fours, facing away.

It’s beautiful, the sight of Chuuya’s muscled shoulders tensing as Dazai’s fingers move inside of him, his back arching, his mouth falling open from gasps and moans.

If Dazai takes his moment and makes it something softer, something deeper—he’ll never be able to let him go.

So he yanks up on the leash instead, not stopping until they’re both sitting up, Chuuya leaning back against him, his head resting on Dazai’s shoulder as he gasps and swears, three of Dazai’s fingers pumping into him mercilessly.

Dazai wants more than this—

But he can’t.

He isn’t gentle when he reaches down to squeeze chuuya’s cock in time with his fingers. He doesn’t kiss Chuuya’s neck the way he wants to. He bites down—hard, drawing a sharp gasp from his former partner.

“Tell me what you need, Chuuya.”

They both know what the answer is.

Chuuya wants more.

He wants something Dazai can’t give him, and he knows it. But right now, with Dazai’s hand on his hip and his chest pressing against Chuuya’s back, he wants to pretend

His head rolls to the side as Dazai’s fingers fuck into him, his face pressed into his neck

It surprises both of them when Chuuya stops pretending that he doesn’t want it as badly as he does.

“Fuck me.” It almost sounds unsure when Chuuya says it, like he had to force himself to actually say the words.

The second time isn’t ambiguous at all. “I need it, Dazai.”

Dazai wants to scream from the unfairness of it all—that even in THIS situation, Chuuya can unintentionally find the one vulnerable part of him and drag it out.

Chuuya needs it.

Chuuya needs him.

Dazai isn’t sure when it became so difficult to breathe.

And he gives it to him.

He enters Chuuya in one smooth thrust, burying all the way to the hilt. Chuuya’s moans are unrestrained, echoing through the room as he pushes back against Dazai, eyes rolling back into his head at the sensation of being so full.

It’s everything that Chuuya never imagined.

Because obviously he never imagined this when he was younger, tentatively exploring his body. He never imagined Dazai fucking up into him like this, holding him up with an arm around his waist, biting around a sparkling collar and covering him in bruises.

He didn’t, he swears.

And Dazai—Dazai is sinking into it, losing himself in how good Chuuya feels, in the sounds that he’s making, and his control is slipping.

“Say my name.”

Chuuya opens his eyes shakily, one hand sliding into Dazai’s hair while the other is resting over Dazai’s hand on his hip.

He’s rocking back into Dazai, his breath hitching in gasps and moans, but he’s not undone—he doesn’t want to show Dazai that much only to be left behind.

“D-Dazai?”

“No,” Dazai’s voice is firm in his ear despite the situation, hips snapping forward sharply, making Chuuya scream

“My name, Chuuya—“ Dazai starts fucking into him harder, the slapping sounds of it starting to fill the room as Chuuya starts to feel delirious. “Say it.”

Chuuya has only called Dazai by his first name once—the night before he left the Port Mafia.

It wasn’t a good memory.

Chuuya doesn’t know why Dazai wants to hear it again now, but then Dazai’s angle changes, and he hits a spot inside of him that turns Chuuya’s legs into jelly.

“Why—why the fuck do you—“ Chuuya cuts off with a loud moan as Dazai twists one of his nipples, making him arch.

“Say it, Chuuya. It’s what you said when you were with him, right?”

The words are sharp, and they’re almost enough to shatter Chuuya’s state of arousal.

Almost.

“Did you imagine something like this?” Dazai punctuates his sentence with a sharp thrust, tugging on the leash.

If Chuuya has imagined sex with Dazai—which he hasn’t—it wouldn’t have been like this.

The pleasure is there—it’s more than Chuuya could have conceived before now—but there’s a separation between them now, a hesitance to completely give in to one another.

And if Chuuya HAD thought about Dazai while he was with someone else, he would have imagined them the way they used to be.

So close that Chuuya could understand what Dazai was thinking from a single twitch of his finger. They never bothered hiding from each other back then.

Dazai takes Chuuya’s silence as a challenge—and he pushes him further.

They still know eachother, even after all this time. However guarded Chuuya may be, Dazai knows how to win.

“I’ve fucked so many people,” Dazai pants in Chuuya’s ear “but none of them were as good as you.”

Dazai knows how much value Chuuya places on being the best at what he does in every aspect of his life.

And he also knows, despite Chuuya pretending otherwise, that his ex-partner craves Dazai’s admiration the most.

And it works—hook, line, and sinker.

“F—fuck, Dazai—“

“None of them were so pretty for me,” Dazai’s voice is smooth and poisonous against Chuuya’s ears, slipping in through the cracks and sinking into him, making his heart throb. “None of them make the sounds that you do—god, Chuuya—“ Dazai moans. “No one feels like you.”

The sound that comes out of Chuuya is something between a growl and a whine.

Chuuya KNOWS what he’s doing, he knows that Dazai is manipulating him—but he’s can’t stop himself from coming apart anyway, coming alive under the praise, grinding back against Dazai, desperate for more

“Say it, Chuuya,” there’s an almost needy tinge to Dazai’s voice, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t need Chuuya. He’s been fine without him for four years.

So why does he feel like he NEEDS to hear this?

Chuuya’s fingers tighten in his hair as he turns his head, yanking Dazai down for a kiss as he grinds his ass back against Dazai’s hips, his chest heaving.

There are moments when pride is useful—but Chuuya no longer thinks this is one of them

“O-Osamu, I—!“

Dazai can’t breathe

And if Dazai wants to play games with him—

Chuuya is more than prepared to fire back.

“I—I did say it,” He gasps against Dazai’s mouth, writhing. “So many times, because—“ Chuuya moans sharply when Dazai’s teeth tug at his ear. “—I couldn’t cum unless I was thinking about you.”

It’s a wide shot over Dazai’s defenses, hitting him straight in the face.

But Chuuya isn’t done.

“But none of them f—fucked me like this,” Chuuya captures Dazai’s mouth again, sucking on his lower lip. “N-no one else knows how to make me feel like this.”

Dazai’s jaw is slack.

“Fuck, Chuuya—“ Dazai hisses, one hand wrapping loosely around Chuuya’s neck, the other wrapped in a vice grip around Chuuya’s waist.

He’s slamming into him with so much force that neither of them can hold onto any composure, and so they each keep trying to make the other slip.

“I—I wanted you to be my first,” Chuuya gasps, his hands reaching up to cover Dazai’s over his throat, fingers catching against the edges of his collar. “But y—you never touched me.”

“I wanted to,” Dazai growls, his head spinning. “I—It was so hard to keep my hands off of you—“

“I—“ Chuuya keens when Dazai means back on his heels, pulling Chuuya with him, hitting a new, deeper angle. “I w—would always fuck myself a—after we went on a mission, but it was n-never big enough—“

Dazai has really created a monster, hasn’t he?

“Chuuya, don’t—“

“And when—“ Chuuya makes a broken sound when Dazai mouths under his jaw, but continues. “When you left, I—I needed it—and you—weren’t there—“

“Chuuya—“ Dazai’s voice is caught between lust and apprehension. “Don’t say it—“

Chuuya can’t stop. “So—I let someone else—“

Dazai snaps.

He knows the situation they’re in right now is his fault. He knew what he was doing when he walked away—what he could have had if he stayed.

But hearing Chuuya say that he had actually pushed him into someone else’s arms—

It turns Dazai’s mouth sour.

Chuuya could flip them over with ease—he could reach behind them and break Dazai’s neck right now. But when Dazai slams him down face first into the mattress, yanking Chuuya’s hips up to meet his in a brutal pace, Chuuya feels powerless to it.

“It wasn’t enough, was it?”

Chuuya can’t do much more than groan mindlessly into the pillow as Dazai pounds him into the mattress, the headboard smacking against the wall so hard that the paint is starting to chip in places. “They don’t know what you need,” Dazai snarls, “not like I do.”

They both know it.

Chuuya is coming apart underneath him, thighs shaking wider, arching up into Dazai as much as he can while his face is pressed down into the pillow.

It’s the most erotic thing Dazai has ever seen.

“No—one else can take you like I can—“ Chuuya gasps, “They don’t get you.”

They’re both raw, shaking, and on the very edge—because they’re both right.

No one else can do this to them—not the way that they can do it to eachother.

And they both know it.

“I don’t want anyone else—“ The words escape Dazai in a sharp moan, and he’s as surprises as Chuuya.

Chuuya has always known, deep down, that Dazai’s hooks are deep inside of him. He could always feel the echoes of him when he was with someone else, a distant longing thay Chuuya refused to acknowledge.

And he never, in a million years, expected Dazai to feel the same way.

There’s a possibility that Dazai is still toying with him—one that Chuuya can’t completely ignore—but there was a raw edge to it when he spoke before, and the silence that follows is enough to indicate that Dazai himself is reeling.

So Chuuya, still not sure if this is a game or not, takes that final step, closing the gap between them, letting the barrier that’s been holding them back shatter.

“I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

Now, the sounds Dazai is making aren’t even human.

They’re moving together desperately, and it’s simultaneously the best feeling Chuuya has ever had and the worst, because the deeper Dazai reaches inside of him, the more Chuuya wants. He wants Dazai to fuck him until he doesn’t even know his own name.

And Dazai does.

Chuuya is flipped into his back, with Dazai sliding between his legs and sheathing himself inside of Chuuya’s again, making them both moan as their mouths crash into each other.

Chuuya is strung out and wrecked, fingers trembling in Dazai’s hair as they move together.

Dazai is moving like a man possessed, holding onto Chuuya like he’s the only thing holding Dazai down, like if he lets go he’ll drift away—

And hearing Chuuya gasp and whine against his mouth is the most grounding thing Dazai has ever felt.

“Osamu, I—don’t—don’t stop!”

Dazai can’t stop. He can’t DREAM of stopping. “Mine.” He groans against Chuuya’s mouth, almost unaware of the fact that he’s saying it outloud. “All mine.”

He doesn’t expect the way Chuuya’s fingers loosen in his hair, or the way he almost trembles under Dazai.

“All yours.”

Chuuya says the words against Dazai’s mouth, and they absolutely wreck him. “I’ll always be yours.”

The words tear Dazai to shreds, because Chuuya would never say them if he didn’t mean it.

The climax they share is long, intimate, and shattering.

They both lay there, each panting against the other’s neck, trying to process the reality of what they’ve done.

It’s glaring Dazai in the face now, the truth he’s been ignoring for so long.

It wasn’t easy before, but now it’s glaring him in the face.

Chuuya’s smile had always left a pit in Dazai’s stomach. The way his hair slipped over his shoulder always made Dazai’s fingers twitch, like he wanted to reach up and fix it. And his voice—the familiarity of it always brought indescribable comfort.

And now it’s all so obvious.

He’s in love with Chuuya.

Dazai doesn’t know what to do with it at first, staring down at his former partner in stunned silence, watching the way Chuuya’s eyelashes fluttered as his breathing started to even out.

And Dazai is SO fucked.

Chuuya bites his lip as he waits for his heartbeat to slow down, refusing to open his eyes. He doesn’t know what to make of what just happened. The only thing he can rely on is what Dazai has done in the past.

Which means this is either all a joke, or he’s about to leave again.

Imagine his surprise when Dazai rolls onto the mattress next to him, pulling Chuuya into his arms without a moment’s hesitation. Chuuya glances up at Dazai, confused, his cheek pressed against his chest.

“What...are you doing?”

Dazai smiles weakly. “That’s a good question.”

Chuuya lays there for a moment, struggling to process everything that’s been said in the past two hours.

He’s pissed.

He’s pissed at Dazai for storming back into his life and dragging all of these feelings back into the open, without a care in the world for what it’ll do to him

Because however much Dazai does care—and what’s been made obvious to Chuuya now is that he DOES care—he’ll never betray the defective agency.

And Chuuya only intends to leave the mafia in a body bag.

So what Dazai has done is unnecessarily painful for both of them.

But even so, the affection in Chuuya’s chest needs to be felt, and he doesn’t have to return to the real world until dawn.

So he relaxes in Dazai’s arms, inhaling his scent, letting his head slump against the taller man’s chests

He knows that he loves Dazai too in that moment.

It doesn’t change what needs to happen.

“We can’t meet like this again.” Chuuya mutters against Dazai’s chest. “Mori can’t ever know about it.”

On that, Dazai agrees completely.

“Mori never has to know.”

The offer is implicit—enough for Chuuya to raise an eyebrow. “Go to sleep, bandages.”

Dazai presses his face into Chuuya’s hair, closing his eyes. He won’t ask now, because he’s already pushed his luck for one day and he wants to enjoy holding Chuuya while it lasts.

But now he knows that the next time he asks Chuuya to leave the mafia, Chuuya will do it. They can’t stay away away from each other, no matter how hard they try—

Because they’ve always held one another on a tight leash.

//END