MARCH 5: 𝔗𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Chuuya has grown up in a world of shadow, the only sheep in a house of wolves. He knew one day, he would have to shed his humanity—and part of that meant choosing a sire.

Dazai never expected to be so easily seduced.

#BSDVampireEvent2020

Dazai remembers Kouyou bringing the boy home one day, watching with faint curiosity and disgust as the human child ran about the coven’s headquarters. Mori expressed his own confusion, but it was allowed.

Even Kouyou, it seemed, had a maternal side.

Mori Ogai’s coven is one of the oldest, most prestigious sects in Japan. Dazai had been ignorant to the politics of it when he had been changed, a shivering, wounded soldier, dragged from bleeding to death on a riverbank and into the realm of night.

He wouldn’t have chosen this.

The boy wasn’t of much interest to him at first. Dazai never particularly enjoyed children, and he saw no point in becoming attached to this one—Kouyou could not keep him by her side forever, and eventually, he would become prey. It was the way of things, after all.

But the opposite happened.

Chuuya grew into a dangerous creature under Kouyou’s watchful eye. He became sharp and attentive, skilled in combat, and most importantly—he was always armed to the teeth. The first time a vampire tried to feed off of him, it became a final supper.

Then, when the redhead made the transition from the frightened little boy always clinging to Kouyou’s skirts, into a man, Dazai began to notice Chuuya for something else.

He was /beautiful/.

Not in a typical, delicate way—but as something dangerous. Vivid, but venomous.

His hair is long, luxurious, burning against Dazai’s gaze like the sunset—and his eyes, they remind him of a time he’s almost forgotten, when the sky was so /clear/.

And—and this was the /worst/ part—he smells absolutely /divine/.

Dazai has no way of explaining it.

However, Dazai isn’t the only one watching.

Chuuya has been watching too.

At first it was only curiosity—for the distant, lonely looking man that always seemed to be on the fringes, but who was also somehow the most /dangerous/ of them all, even more so than Mori.

The first time he truly came to realize that Dazai was /different/ came when he was thirteen, and he saw the man crush an enemy’s skull beneath his fingertips before he could so much as reach Mori.

He made violence and dominance look effortless, but he was disinterested in it.

When he was sixteen he noticed another scar on the vampire’s neck, another bandage creeping up higher, shrouding more of his skin, and he turned to Odasaku with curiosity, only to hear the same response—

“Osamu has never been particularly interested in life—even an undead one.”

The first time they /really/ spoke, Chuuya was 17. It was a meeting between the executives in the coven, and Chuuya was listening next to the door.

“You’re a curious one—aren’t you, little sheep?”

Chuuya jumped back with a sheepish glare, “Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”

Dazai’s smile is faint, his fangs glinting in the light, making Chuuya’s heart throb with /anything/ but fear. “If I start showing up to meetings on time, Mori-san might get /expectations/.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a lazy jackass.”

“That’s harsh,” Dazai laughs softly, but he looks anything but bothered by Chuuya’s hostilities. If anything, he’s interested. “You’re /that/ curious? The decision is years away.”

Chuuya is quiet, because he doesn’t have to answer. They both know what is being discussed.

When Chuuya turns 21, he’ll be old enough to no longer automatically enjoy Mori’s protection. And at that point, a choice will be made—

If Chuuya becomes a vampire, or food. Obviously they’ll choose the former, not wanting to draw Kouyou’s ire—

But the matter of siring remains.

To create another vampire is to permanently bond yourself to them. Hence Kouyou, Dazai, and Odasaku’s constant, often resentful connection to Mori. Kouyou and Oda have sired their own fledglings over the years, eager to create some semblance of a family, but with permission.

After all, allowing one member to create too many fledglings would throw the political balance of the coven out of synch—something Mori has always been highly attuned to.

“You understand Mori’s going to do it himself, don’t you?” Dazai asks, watching Chuuya curiously.

Chuuya feels disappointment in his gut, heavy and sour, and he can’t explain why. “I know,” he answers, attempting an irritated glare.

It doesn’t escape Dazai’s notice. “What? Were you hoping for Kouyou?”

“Ugh,” Chuuya makes a face. “No, that would be /weird/.”

“/Oh?/“

A slow smile spreads over Dazai’s face, and Chuuya leans back, because he doesn’t like how /smug/ it is.

“What?!”

“I just forget, sometimes....”

“Forget /what/?”

Dazai sighs, forlorn as he reaches over to poke Chuuya’s forehead. “How childish and romantic teenagers are.”

Chuuya’s jaw is gaping, his hands clapping over his forehead as he glares at Dazai incredulously. “What the /fuck/ are you talking about?!”

“You want some handsome vampire to sweep you off into an /eternity/ of undying love and devotion!”

“I do NOT! You’re such an /idiot/—“

“And you’re short, and pretty enough—maybe you’ll get lucky and that American vampire will mistake you for a damsel in distress. I hear he likes that sort of thing.”

“I’m not that short! I’m seventeen! I’m STILL GROWING!”

“But how long have you /been/ seventeen, chibi?”

The answering scream of rage Dazai’s reference draws is enough for Kouyou to open the door and cast both boys with a disapproving glare—one Dazai preens under, while Chuuya withers.

“Stop taunting the child and get /inside/, you /buffoon/.” Dazai is utterly /delighted/.

Dazai disappears inside the boardroom, tossing one careless comment back at Chuuya as the door slides shut. “Relax,” he waves his hand derisively. “You’ll hate your sire either way. Everyone always does.”

The door shuts with a click, and as Chuuya stares, an idea begins to form.

Mori IS selected as the one to sire Chuuya (a shock, when he was the one making the choice).

When Chuuya is 19, he sees Dazai again, this time in a more professional sense.

“Wait,” Chuuya groans, looking back and forth between Mori and Kouyou with annoyance. “I’m BAIT?!”

Well. As professional as can be expected.

“Oh, yes.” Dazai beams, hands in the front pockets of his suit as he stares down at Chuuya curiously. “I asked Kouyou for the most enticing human she could find. You were the best she could manage.”

Chuuya /sneers/. “I /hate/ you, yo—!”

One pointed glare from Mori is enough to silence him, even if anger is still roiling behind Chuuya’s eyes. “The Russian sect is a threat, and you’re a curiosity.” The boss explains, eyeing both men sternly. “If Dazai does his job properly, we’ll be able to wipe them out.”

“Have I ever failed you /before/, old man?” Dazai is fearless as ever, insulting the most powerful man in the world world with a bored yawn, and it only seems to amuse Mori.

“Don’t start now.”

Partnering up with Dazai, even briefly, is /excruciating/.

He’s micromanaging, he needles Chuuya over the smallest details of his clothes, things like “that’s too tight, that’s not right enough, that just looks /ridiculous/—“ until Chuuya is about to rip his hair off.

And then, he has this nasty habit of /manhandling/.

“Put. Me. DOWN.” Chuuya snarls, punching the back of the vampire’s skull as he gets hauled off towards the car.

“You’ll understand /one day/, Chibi,” Dazai dumps him unceremoniously in the backseat, snorting when Chuuya yelps in surprise, “but you walk /so slowly/.”

Chuuya glares, struggling to right himself and buckle in as the driver starts the engine. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai snorts, the lines of his suit shifting as he leans back in his seat in a way that makes the redhead’s stomach flip, “My plans always work”

Chuuya eyes him with disbelief, “Sure—but I’ve heard the rumors about this one.”

“Oh?” Dazai is looking out the window, his nose turned away—something he always does when he and the human are in an enclosed space. “And why, pray tell, have they piqued the chibi’s concern?”

Dazai never does this around other humans—honestly, if it weren’t for the red eyes, the incredible speed and strength, and the fact that Dazai hadn’t aged in ten years, Chuuya wouldn’t have thought he was a vampire at all. A demon, maybe—since he never seemed to feel anything.

“They say that he’s smarter than you.” It’s a bold thing to do, to insult a vampire in an enclosed space, one where he would have the advantage—but Chuuya knows Dazai enough to know he’s too restrained to kill Chuuya over wounded pride.

But his eyebrow /does/ twitch.

Dazai turns his head just enough to look at Chuuya, the reds of his eyes catching in the streetlights for a moment, casting the man with a demonic glow that should have made Chuuya want to get as far away as possible.

/Should have/.

“For your sake, I hope the rumors are wrong.”

The rumors, as it turned out, were not wrong—at the very least, they were an equal match.

It didn’t take long for Dostoevsky to take an interest when Chuuya entered the club, /that/ was true—but he was perfectly aware of the fact that the redhead wasn’t /unattended/.

And the truly unfortunate part of having one part of your plan exposed as being part of a /trap/, is that it eventually leads to /bolder/ moves from your opponent.

For a human, Chuuya is /remarkable/. He’s agile, strong, he thinks on his feet—but he’s still just that, /human/.

He’s killed vampires before, yes—able to take advantage of the fact that none of them foresaw his speed, his knowledge of where to drive a stake and how to drive it in—

Fyodor did not grant him any such opportunities.

“My, my...what a /fascinating/ little lamb.”

Chuuya would’ve /liked/ to say that he could have pulled off the “seductress” role, if given the proper opportunity, but that’s hard to argue when he’s trapped in Fyodor’s hold, the Russian’s fangs inches from his throat. “What the hell are you talking about—?”

“Oh,” Fyodor tuts softly, his fangs scraping against Chuuya’s skin while the human cringes, trying to get away from him, but the vampire’s strength doesn’t allow any give. “Dazai must not even know—he wouldn’t have put you in my grip so /easily/ If he did.”

“If he knew what?!”

“You’ve never been fed from before, /have you/, little one?” Fyodor smirks, already knowing the answer from how fast the redhead’s pulse was throbbing under his skin. “How gentlemanly of Mori Ogai, allowing you to come of age first—I underestimated his restraint.”

Chuuya clenches his teeth, thrashing as hard as he can, even if it only bruises his own wrists in the end. And /dammit/, why is Dazai taking so long?! “If you’re just gonna toy with me, get it over with—or say what you mean.”

“You’re special, Nakahara-san.” Chuuya rolls his eyes

“If you’re about to give me some shitty vampire movie line about how my ‘blood calls out to you’ or some shit, just kill me and get it over with, I’d rather die with some dignity left.” Fyodor actually /does/ let out a snort of surprise.

“You really are a /fearless/ one.”

“Did you think it was /odd/,” Fyodor finally continued, “that out of the entire Nakahara family, Kouyou Ozaki soared /your/ life?”

That inspires a tense silence.

“Did you think she spared you because you were a /child/? One of Mori Ogai’s /top/ enforcers?”

Fyodor smiles.

“One out of every /ten million/ humans, give or take, has blood with heightened benefits for vampires—blood that can awaken abilities we have not possessed since the /ancient/ times. But given their rarity, they were almost impossible to find.”

Chuuya feels slightly nauseous.

“Years went on, bloodlines became more muddled, we lost track of which families carried the trait...And then,” Fyodor is dragging this out, batting Chuuya around like a cat would would with a mouse in it’s paws, “modern medicine came along, pioneered by—“

“Mori Ogai.”

Fyodor’s smile is slow and vindictive as Chuuya finishes the sentence for him, and he nods. “Precisely, you’re starting to understand. He found you, I presume, sent his best attack dog to fetch you, and raised you in his coven...and, he’s going to sire you, isn’t he?”

Chuuya’s stomach is twisting, his throat is aching, and all he wants in that moment is to be /alone/, anywhere but /here/. “Or /I/ could do it, if you like.”

Chuuya snorts derisively, “Oh? You’re asking for my consent /now/?”

“I’d rather have you willing, it’s true.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to tell the Russian to fuck off but—

“You know, your flare for dramatic speeches has /always/ given the enemy too much time to catch up, but you just can’t help yourself, can you, Fyoooo-dor~?” Dazai trills from the doorway. “Or should I call you /Fedya/?”

That make Fyodor go still, suddenly so tense that the grip around Chuuya’s arm is almost enough to break the bone, making the human bite his lip to hold back a cry of pain.

Dazai is /smirking/, “I’ll give you credit—your fledgling is /adorable/, gorgeous hair.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even think he would make good collateral at first, after all, you’re not very sentimental—but then I realized—he looks a /little bit/ like Shibusawa, doesn’t he?”

Finally, at the mention of his dead mate, Fyodor’s controlled expression snaps.

“Oh, Fedya,” Dazai snorts when Fyodor bares his teeth are him with a hiss, “You can’t still blame /me/ for that mess, can you? I wasn’t the one who pushed him to experiment on the werebeasts.”

“You remember what my former ability was, do you not, Dazai-san?” Fyodor hisses.

“I do,” Dazai confirms, very nonchalant as he watches how close the vampire’s teeth are to Chuuya’s throat. Except he isn’t. Something is different. Chuuya can tell from the dilation of his pupils, the slightly tense set of his shoulders.

He’s hiding it, but Dazai is /furious/.

“Then you know it would only take one bite, and it would be over.”

Dazai smiles faintly. “I do. And if you take /one bite/, your ‘Kolya’ dies.”

“You cannot guarantee that he won’t die anyway.”

“His life is of more interest to Mori, I don’t give a damn, personally.”

Fyodor and Dazai eye eachother for a moment, a silent battle of wills—and whatever they’re struggling over, it’s far over Chuuya’s head at this point—

But Fyodor lets him go.

The instant he does, he’s swooped up in Dazai’s arms, too sore and shaken to even protest.

When they’re out of the building and back in the car, with Dazai carefully examining the bruises on Chuuya’s arms, the redhead finally has the where-with-all to comment. “Mori is going to be /furious.”

Dazai shrugs. “He was always going to be—I had no intention of obeying.”

Chuuya is quiet, staring at Dazai, trying to figure out what his play is. “Did you know?”

There is a beat of silence before Dazai shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

“But you knew there was something,” Chuuya can see Dazai’s lips quirk into a smirk, “and you wanted to figure it out.”

“And I /did/,” Dazai lets Chuuya go, leaning back in his seat. “Without getting a scratch on you.” Chuuya raises an eyebrow, and Dazai amends the statement, “Maybe a few bruises, though.”

“And you just...wanted to know out of the Goodness of your heart?” Chuuya raises an eyebrow

“Mori is always scheming,” Dazai shrugs. “Sometimes it’s important, sometimes it isn’t—but I don’t like to make things easy for him.”

“And my learning the truth puts a wrench in things?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“The coven is the only family I have—and running wouldn’t do me any good.”

Dazai looks like he wants to ask more—and Chuuya can /guess/ what—if he still is willing to let /Mori/ be the one to change him.

Chuuya decides to fire a salvo before he can ask. “You want to bite me, don’t you?”

Dazai is too surprised hide his reaction, and it’s /satisfying/.

When Dazai doesn’t answer, Chuuya smirks, eager to find some semblance of control in this situation and hold onto it tightly. “You can, if you want,” he tilts his head to the side, pushing his hair out of the way. “It’s not like I—!”

He’s cut off when Dazai lunges for him.

They end up sprawled across the backseat, Chuuya’s wrists pinned over his head—and Dazai’s fangs are /right there/, but they don’t break skin. Not yet. “...What?” Chuuya smirks, arching up into Dazai’s mouth, making the vampire hiss, “/Now/ you’re worried about pissing Mori off?”

Dazai is quiet, and Chuuya doesn’t know it, but he is dizzy with want, his throat practically /burning/ for the human’s taste—but somehow, he resists. “You could say that,” Dazai leans back, against every instinct telling him to sink his teeth /in/. “I don’t always push my luck.”

“Right,” Chuuya looks him up and down as he settles back on his side of the backseat, sitting up. Dazai still /wants/ it, Chuuya can tell from the tightness of his eyes, how stiff his posture is. “Well, the the offer still stands.”

In two years, Dazai doesn’t take him up on it.

Chuuya doesn't /tell/ anyone that he knows the truth, but Kouyou notices the distance he's suddenly putting between them--and Mori notices how warily the boy is watching him.

And as Chuuya's 21st birthday approaches, he starts looking for alternatives.

At first, he considers Oda. He would do it, if Chuuya asked--and the older vampire has always seemed like a decent man, one who wouldn't take advantage of having that kind of power over Chuuya--

But he's also not someone who wants to or is capable of taking a stand against Mori.

And, in spite of it all, when Chuuya imagines it--Odasaku's fangs at his throat, being swept up in his arms as the last bits of his humanity fade away...there's something disappointing about the thought.

Like he's still the romantic teenager Dazai accused him of being.

The night before Chuuya’s 21st birthday, he goes missing. It’s not unusual for the human to stray off on his own, but it’s /unheard/ of for him to skip checking in with Kouyou—particularly leading up to such an important event.

Mori isn’t willing to let him slip away so easily.

“Ne, boss—“ Dazai drawls from his perch on Mori’s couch, his legs dangling over the arm. “Maybe it just had to go and get /stupidly/ drunk to tolerate having your mouth on him, that’s what /I/ would do—“

“Enough, Dazai!” Mori snaps, his brow creasing. “Take this /seriously/.”

“Oh, I am.” Dazai’s gaze flickers up, and while he’s grinning, his eyes are as sharp as ever. “Chuuya wouldn’t run,” he sounds almost /disappointed/, “he wouldn’t think he had anywhere to go.”

“Regardless, you’re going to find him for me before someone /else/ does.”

Dazai shrugs it off, rising to his feet. It shouldn’t be /too/ difficult, unless the Russian is nipping at his heels again.

“Oh, and Dazai?”

“Hmm?”

Mori’s eyes flash dangerously. “I won’t tolerate even an /ounce/ of disobedience this time. Do you understand me?”

Dazai knows as much—Mori has been waiting and planning out Chuuya’s transformation for over a decade now. It’s not a plan he would allow to go awry without punishment.

It takes Dazai longer than expected to find him—it seems the human had the foresight to hide himself well.

He’s still leaps and bounds ahead of the other dogs Mori put on Chuuya’s trails, but it takes him three days to find it—an an abandoned manor deep in Eastern Europe, a lonely husk of a place.

Dazai steps through the entry, and instead of being hidden away, Chuuya is in the open.

Candles are lit, and the human is stretched out across a velvet chaise lounge, reading a book. “It took you a minute,” Chuuya yawns, setting the book aside. “For a second, I was worried Mori didn’t send you to look for me.”

Dazai pauses, looking at Chuuya with new curiosity.

“You planned that?” He’s impressed. Chuuya isn’t /stupid/, but he’s also never had much interest in strategies or deception.

“I‘ve watched you be miserable as Mori’s dog for most of my life,” Chuuya sits up, crossing his legs, “Did you think I was just going to let it happen?”

“...Yes,” Dazai admitted, for once too intrigued to even make a sly comment—and the way Chuuya is looking at him isn’t /helping/, it’s making heat build under his collar. “I assumed you were stubbornly loyal enough to accept it.”

“I am loyal,” Chuuya corrects, “Just not to him.”

“Oh?” Dazai doesn’t move, doesn’t lift his hands from his suit pockets as Chuuya stands and walks toward him.

“I’m loyal to ane-san...Odasaku...” Chuuya fingers reach out to brush across the front of his jacket, and Dazai feels almost lightheaded. “I /could/ be loyal to you.”

When did it become so hard to get a breath? “Me?” Dazai asks faintly, for once he’s stunned into near silence.

The fact that Chuuya is absolutely /gorgeous/ doesn’t help. He’s a flower, shrouding himself in beautiful scents and colors to hide the fact that he is /poisonous/.

“Are you trying to seduce me so I won’t tell Mori I found you?” Dazai finally finds the gumption to speak, and he’s tempted—even in light of his sire’s threat about disobedience.

“No,” Chuuya lifts his chin and meets Dazai’s gaze, and the vampire sees nothing but resolve.

“I want you to change me.”

The words echo for a moment, expanding to fill the spaces in Dazai’s mind that have gone blank as he struggles to process them. It’s stupid. It’s dangerous. It’s /actually/ suicidal.

“Have you lost your /mind?”

“No,” Chuuya isn’t a frightened, tear stricken damsel—his gaze is clear and determined, devoid of an ounce of fear. His fingers slip under Dazai’s chin, guiding the vampire to look at him. Dazai stares into a burning sea of blue, and it feels inevitable. “We want the same thing.”

Dazai knows this is dangerous—that Chuuya, calm as he seems, is a cornered animal. They make desperate, irrational decisions. “And what do we want?”

Chuuya’s hands spread across Dazai’s chest, his fingertips resting over his heart, long silent. “I asked about your human life.”

Dazai doesn’t answer at first, instead he allows the human to finish his thought—and Chuuya doesn’t make him wait long. “You were the son of a lord. A powerful one. And a Samurai. That bit surprised me—I never took you for the warrior type.”

Dazai smiles wryly.

“Then you must also know I wasn’t very successful—or popular.”

Chuuya smiles back at him, tilting his head to the side. The movement is so causal, so natural, but it also exposes the side of his neck to the vampire, the way his pulse is throbbing under a thin layer of skin.

“You were clever—and you fought to win, not to die honorably.”

“That’s a very polite way of saying that I was a scoundrel.”

“And I also know,” Chuuya steps closer, and suddenly his scent is washing over Dazai, making his throat /ache/, “that Mori orchestrated your death.”

Dazai’s jaw is tight from the memory. “I never took you as the sort to have a wife, children...” Chuuya trails off, his fingers dropping away from Dazai’s face. “I can’t imagine how angry you must have been.”

Dazai’s eyes are sharp. “Oh, I think you /can/.”

Chuuya smirks.

“I thought for so many years that Kouyou saved my life. I could have loved with that ignorance. I could have spent an eternity blindly serving the man who ordered the deaths of my parents. But now that I /know/,” Chuuya shrugs, “I can’t let that happen.”

“So you assume that my grudge with Mori is enough to push me into helping you stage a little rebellion?” Dazai snorts derisively. “I hate him—but I don’t hate myself enough to sign up for a slow, painful demise.”

“You wouldn’t die,” Chuuya raises an eyebrow, “you know that.”

Dazai is silent. Because he knows he wouldn’t. He knows if he turns Chuuya now, the properties of the redhead’s blood will be enough to save them both from Mori. Maybe enough to topple him, if they recruit more to the cause.

And in that sense, Chuuya isn’t wrong—it’s appealing.

But it requires Dazai to have the emotional energy to want to /fight/ and centuries of going on, dragging himself through an immortal life he never /wanted/, has left the vampire exhausted.

“I still fail to see enough appeal.”

Chuuya sighs, leaning back on his heels.

“You would also get /me/ out of it.”

/That/ brings Dazai’s mind to a halt. “...You?”

Chuuya pushes his hair behind his ears, looking at Dazai without a hint of sheepishness. “You want me. And...” he trails off, “When was the last time you wanted anything?”

It’s a fair question

Dazai has had lovers, yes—countless, really. But what Chuuya is suggesting—something like having a /mate/, is not something Dazai has ever even considered.

To his surprise, the idea isn’t completely miserable.

“And if, when it’s all said and done , that isn’t even enough for you—I’ll try to murder you as painlessly as possible.” Chuuya finishes the threat with a sweet smile, and—

And Dazai thinks he’s might be in love already.

“So,” Chuuya lifts his chin, “what’s it going to be?”

Dazai tilts his head to the side, and for the space of a moment, it’s quiet. The silence grows, and Chuuya’s insecurities expand to fill that void. For a moment, he thinks his bet has come to nothing—

But then Dazai reaches out, taking Chuuya’s chin between his fingertips.

“I’ll give you the compliment, Chuuya-kun,” Dazai purrs, licking his lips as his eyes flash red in the dim lighting. “You’re never /boring/.”

It’s so fast, Chuuya almost doesn’t see Dazai move at all. But then his head is pulled to the side, and there’s a sharp sting.

Pleasure.

Chuuya never expected that would be the first thing he thought of, when a vampire fed off of him for the first time—but it’s here now, vibrating under his skin as he melts into Dazai’s hold, arching his throat up into the jaws of a predator.

Dazai can’t really put words to Chuuya’s taste. Anything he comes up with seems laughably pale in comparison to the explosion of life and color sliding down his throat. Every swallow feels like a breath of life—and he’s surprised by how hard it is to not drain Chuuya completely.

When he finally manages to /stop/, Chuuya doesn’t look pale or feeble. His face is flushed, he’s panting softly, watching Dazai with a wanting expression, and—

Dazai can’t explain what it is between them, what this pull is—but he’s powerless to resist it now.

Their first kiss is sealed with blood and harsh breaths, Chuuya moaning into Dazai’s mouth as his fingers scratch the vampire through the fabric of his coat. “You,” Dazai manages to speak against his lips, just barely, “are going to be the /death of me/.”

Chuuya smiles against Dazai’s mouth, his own heart beating so hard against his chest that it’s almost hard to catch a breath— “I certainly hope not,” Chuuya hums, leaning up on his elbows as his shirt is quickly disposed of. “I was just starting to /like/ you.”

Dazai’s mouth slides his mouth over Chuuya’a chin, the hollow of his throat, all the way down to his chest. And then, it finally does occur to him that he’d rather not take the human on the floor like he’s some sort of /animal/ so he lifts Chuuya up in his arms.

(NSFW FROM HERE )

Chuuya’s legs wrap around his waist, his chest is pressed firmly against Dazai’s, and he can feel the warmth of him though his shirt. He slams Chuuya against a wall in the hallway, grinding their hips together and making the redhead /keen/.

It occurs to Dazai, however briefly, that he hasn’t touched a human like this since he had been one himself. He forgot the warmth of them, the softness of their skin—and part of him wishes he wasn’t about to take this /away/ from Chuuya—

Until Chuuya moans his name, at least.

It’s low, almost like a reluctant admission of want dripping from his lips, and Dazai drinks it in like wine.

He drags Chuuya’s thigh higher around his hip, his fingers splaying and tightening around the underside of his ass. “Was this what you wanted before?”

“Before?” Chuuya breathes in sharply as Dazai lifts them from the wall again. In the space of a few moments they’re in a bedroom, abandoned and filled with dust. The bed he presses Chuuya against is creaking and worn—and neither of them care.

“After Dostoevsky.”

Chuuya hums, remembering the look in Dazai’s eye when he pinned him down in the back of the limousine, so close to taking him and /holding himself back/. “I didn’t realize it at the time.”

“But it was.”

“It may have been. And you wanted it too, before you get smug.”

Dazai doesn’t deny it.

“Can you blame me?” He raises an eyebrow, his tongue tracing a slow path down Chuuya’s navel, making the redhead gasp and squirm when he grazed close to the waist of his jeans. “It’s been /so/ long since I’ve had a proper meal.”

Chuuya has never been so eager to be devoured.

He bucks his hips up when Dazai tears at his pants, moving his thighs to help him, even when the vampire seems determined to just rip the denim to shreds.

Then Dazai’s mouth is on him, and Chuuya is /writhing/.

Chuuya always imagined vampires as cold creatures—but the inside of Dazai’s mouth is /warm/, enough so that Chuuya has to bite the back of his own hand to keep quiet, iron flooding his mouth as he breaks skin.

“Ah, ah, ah...” Dazai pulls off with a wet /pop/. “Give that here.”

For a moment, Chuuya doesn’t quite understand what he means—but then Dazai is reaching up for his hand, sliding his tongue over the bite marks, lapping up every drop that escapes. “We made a bargain, little human—“ he purrs, releasing Chuuya’s fingers “every drop of you is mine.”

Chuuya’s fingers drop back against the mattress, shaking slightly from the stimulation. He’s spent most of his life as glorified livestock, a sacrificial lamb raised for the slaughter—

But right now, he feels /alive/, ironic—since these are the last minutes of his human life.

Dazai is almost /sadistic/ about it, working his mouth over Chuuya’s cock until the human is /almost/ on the edge, only to pull back and kiss at his thighs, occasionally biting, making the redhead yelp when he breaks skin and drinks from him even more.

“D.../Dazai/—“

Dazai’s lips leave a burning trail up his body as he finds Chuuya’s lips again, and now the human is tugging at his coat impatiently. Dazai smiles, slightly indulgent as he slides it off, tossing it aside as Chuuya frantically works at the buttons of his shirt. “Yes, my dear?”

Chuuya’s teeth are clenched as he reveals more and more of Dazai’s body, his fingernails scraping over the muscles of his chest and stomach as he pulls his shirt open, forcing Dazai to shrug out of it, allowing it to fall to the floor in a cloud of silk. “/Hurry up/, dammit—!”

“I /am/ hurrying, you know—“ Dazai chuckles, his fingers tracing over Chuuya’s body, teasing on nipple with a sudden pinch, making the human arch and gasp, “But as far as I understand, you haven’t had the chance to have many partners, have you?”

Chuuya is scarlet and /glaring/.

“I’m an /adult/,” Chuuya snarls, raiding up on his elbows. “I’ve been of age for /years/ now—“

“I know,” Dazai hums, “but you don’t exactly get allowed /out/ often, do you?”

Not without Kouyou breathing down his neck to look after his safety, /no/.

“I’ve /had sex/.”

“I know,” Dazai repeats, lowering his mouth to wrap around Chuuya’s nipple, twisting his tongue in a delicious, decisively /sinful/ way that forces out a strangled whimper. “But not like /this/.”

Chuuya can’t argue with that.

Dazai turns the act of touch itself into an /art/.

He’s kissing a slow, winding path down Chuuya’s stomach, pressing the redhead’s thighs until his muscles are straining—and then his fingers are /there/ slick, even though Chuuya doesn’t remember when the vampire had time to pull out any lube—

And then he’s /inside/.

Chuuya wasn’t kidding—he /has/ had sex before, giving and receiving—but it’s never felt /like this/. Dazai’s fingers practically coax him open, stroking his insides with maddening precision.

He brushes Chuuya’s prostate while biting down on his hip, and Chuuya is seeing stars.

Dazai can feel Chuuya’s thighs trembling under his touch, and it makes him /hungry/. The feeling isn’t so different from having a rabbit clutched in his jaws—or maybe that isn’t true.

Rabbits don’t push, manipulate, and /demand/.

But Dazai finds he rather likes it all the same.

“Are you /always/ so responsive?” Dazai muses, leaning back to watch the way Chuuya’s hips spasm with every twitch of his fingers, like a marionette on a string.

Chuuya’s hands clench into fists next to his head, his breaths coming out in soft, heated pants.

“I’d ask if you’re always this smug,” Chuuya growls, wrapping one leg around Dazai’s shoulders, his heel digging into his spine as he arches again with a soft cry, “but I already /know/ that.”

Dazai responds by adding another finger all too suddenly, eliciting a sharp cry.

“You know,” Dazai presses his palm flat against Chuuya’s stomach, his fingertips occasionally brushing against the redhead’s cock as it jumps under his attentions, “it’s that attitude that always made me think you didn’t /like me/ much.”

“I never said I /did/ like you.”

“It seems strange, then—to put yourself in this position.” Dazai muses, adding another finger. Really, he could move on from it now—the transformation will heal any injuries Chuuya sustains in the process, but—

Dazai /likes/ playing with his food.

It only takes one answer from Chuuya to throw him off balance.

“I always trusted you.”

It’s strange to hear. Out of everyone in the coven, Dazai could say with confidence he and Chuuya had always been...distant from one another, and that had been Dazai’s own choice.

Ever since the end of his human life, Dazai has avoided them. Maybe because of his jealousy over their ability to die—maybe because of his fear that they eventually would.

Watching Chuuya grow, time sculpting him from a curious child to a dangerous man—was uniquely unpleasant.

Dazai hadn’t seen him as much more than a beautiful little time bomb. A butterfly emerging from a crysalis, one that would wilt and die, and leave Odasaku and Kouyou to mourne him. He wasn’t a person, so much as a future liability.

Dazai realizes now, what Chuuya must have seen.

Dazai was the one that never lied to him—and the only one that would ever /tell/ the human when he was being used.

Now, Dazai thinks, all the things that made Chuuya so beautiful and dreadful, have ceased to be liabilities at all.

And, maybe, this could be more than convenience

Suddenly, the appeal of Chuuya’s original offer is far more than just a break from the monotony, an opportunity to break the leash Mori has on him.

Now, Dazai thinks he is going to /enjoy/ this.

Chuuya isn’t sure what’s gotten into Dazai’s head when the vampire goes silent for a moment, his fingers still inside of him—but when he opens his mouth to ask, those fingers are /gone/.

“Dazai, I swear to—/hey/!”

Suddenly, he’s being lifted like he weighs nothing, being spun around and sat in Dazai’s lap, facing away from the vampire as he leans back against the headboard, his shoulders to Dazai’s chest.

The vampire’s cock is sliding against his between his thighs, and Chuuya shudders.

“Look,” Dazai hums, his nose brushing along the bite on Chuuya’s neck, lazily lapping at the drops of blood that are still welling up. “What do you think?”

Chuuya raises his eyes warily, chest heaving with quick breaths—

There’s a mirror in the corner, facing the bed.

One commonly held misconception is that vampires don’t have reflections. Chuuya almost wishes that were the case, because maybe /then/ he wouldn’t feel so wrecked right now.

Dazai’s form seems to almost envelope his own, wrapped around Chuuya like a python, squeezing closer.

His face, /god, his face/ is painfully handsome, smirking, a trail of red running from the corner of his mouth all the way to his chin. His eyes are burning scarlet in the darkness, and it makes Chuuya’s stomach /twist/ with want.

“It looks like...” Chuuya’s eyes flutter “Like—“

“—you want me.” Chuuya can see it in the man’s eyes—a desire he only perceived as /hunger/ before, but now it’s something /more/.

Dazai’s hand trails down Chuuya’s stomach, grasping their cocks roughly and stroking them together, making Chuuya’s toes curl. “I /do/.”

Chuuya’s head falls back against Dazai’s chest, the height difference between them substantial enough that he can’t meet his shoulder.

Dazai grasps his chin, bending down to bring their mouths together, sliding his tongue against Chuuya’s until the redhead is /melting/.

“And what do /you/ want, little human?” The very noun in that sentence is about to change—but Chuuya knows that isn’t what the man is referring to, and—

Chuuya can’t even form a full sentence.

“—I—/inside me/—“ Dazai is a storm, rumbling against his back.

“I think it’s time for your first lesson in being a vampire, darling,” Dazai purrs, using his hold on Chuuya’s chin to force him to turn his head, to look back at himself in the mirror, “we /take/ what we want.”

Chuuya’s lips part, flushed and swollen.

/Oh/.

He raises his hips, slightly unsteady, his thighs trembling from the constant tension—he can feel Dazai reaching down to guide the head of his cock towards Chuuya’s entrance, and—

And Chuuya sinks /down/.

Slowly, his chest heaving—and Dazai doesn’t allow him to look away.

Dazai feels impossibly /good/ when he’s fully seated inside him, a burning stretch, an ache—and Chuuya needs /more. He shifts forward until he’s on his knees, reaching back to thread his fingers through Dazai’s hair—

And he starts to /move/.

It’s slow at first, with the human pausing to steady himself several times—but a rhythm starts to build, one with a subtle crescendo—and Dazai is moving his hips up into Chuuya’s, and—

Chuuya can’t see, can’t think, he just wants /more/, and his body is blindly moving towards it

He watches in the mirror, breathless, as Dazai raises his own wrist to his lips, breaking the skin there—and he reaches around to offer it to his newfound partner.

Chuuya /stares/.

His entire life has been building up to /this/, and it feels almost /too/ natural.

Dazai presses his hand closer, not forcing Chuuya—but rather reminding him that their time is not /infinite/—and the human leans in, his tongue reaches out—

It’s iron and salt, slightly acidic running down Chuuya’s throat. He grimaces, focusing on the pleasure, and then—

And then it feels like Chuuya’s entire body is on /fire/. It’s on the border between pain and pleasure—but it’s all /too much/. His body goes rigid on top of Dazai’s, his breathes rattling out of him as he tries to work through the pain.

Dazai’s hands still feel so /heavy/.

“Don’t stop,” Dazai hisses, launching them forward so Chuuya falls forward on his hands and knees. Dazai’s hand is over his mouth, and more blood is dripping down—and the heat is getting /worse/. Chuuya whimpers, he tries to wrench his head away, but Dazai holds him in place.

“The more you drink, the quicker it goes,” Dazai explains, still rolling his hips into Chuuya’s. And that /does/ help—every bump of Dazai’s cock against his prostate jars him back to attention, takes his mind off of the fire raging under his skin.

Chuuya /whines/, but he obeys.

Chuuya finds himself in what almost feels like a drunken haze, drinking from Dazai’s wrist, cringing at the taste, rocking back into Dazai’s thrusts, almost mindless from the intensity of it—

And then, the taste stops being so /bitter/ and it starts to be...

...Good?

What Chuuya does not know, at this time—nor does Dazai, because he’s never sired another vampire himself—is that it’s not /common practice/ to go through a transformation during sex, and that what’s about to come next is nothing short of—

Well, it can only be called a /frenzy/.

Chuuya groans, low and guttural as he starts drinking /more/, his tongue lapping eagerly, trying to get every single drop down his throat, but it isn’t enough—

It’s simultaneously the /sweetest/ thing he’s ever tasted without being too rich, sizzling on his tongue.

He glances up into the mirror again, and in a distant way, Chuuya can see that he looks /different/. His face is slightly sharper, just a little more feline—his skin is completely smooth—

And his eyes are a burning shade of red, even brighter than Dazai’s.

And the sight of Dazai, completely surrounding him, the muscles of his arms and shoulders coiling and releasing as he thrusts into Chuuya—

It makes something in the pit of Chuuya’s stomach, something animalistic and unfamiliar, /snarl/.

His fangs, needle sharp, sink in.

Dazai gasps at the sharp sting in his palm, glancing down to see the newfound fledgeling drinking from him eagerly. And it occurs to him, distantly at first, that this is the first time he’s willingly shared his blood with /anyone/.

And the sight of it...

Makes him almost feral

Dazai leans down, sinking his teeth into Chuuya’s neck /again/, and for a time they stay like that, writhing together in a heap—

But Chuuya needs /more/.

The first time he tries to throw Dazai off, the older vampire pins his wrists with a snarl, slamming in so hard that it—

—makes the fledgling /scream/ from the pleasure, his entire body trembling from the force of it.

But the /second time/, Chuuya succeeds.

Dazai falls back against the mattress with a soft yelp of surprise, and Chuuya is back on him in an instant.

His nails, longer and sharper now, leave red lines across Dazai’s chest as he straddles his waist, sinking down on the man’s cock so suddenly, so viciously, that Dazai’s hands fly to Chuuya’s hips to steady himself. His grip is so tight, it /should/ have shattered his pelvis.

But Chuuya isn’t /breakable/ anymore, and instead he simply hisses with delight, his fingers twisting in Dazai’s hair as he yanks the older vampire up, sinking his teeth into his neck.

And Chuuya /groans/, because now, finally, the rush of blood filling his mouth is /enough/.

Dazai takes that opportunity, with the fledgling happily drinking from his neck, to use his grip on the other man’s hips to set an /inhuman/ pace, slamming up into the redhead until he’s a screaming, overstimulated Ness in his arms—

And to be honest, Dazai isn’t much better off.

Their climaxes come so close together that it’s hard to distinguish one from the other—and Chuuya is certain he /must/ have fainted at some point, because he wakes up in a heap against the mattress, trembling and panting as Dazai traces patterns into his back work his fingertips.

Chuuya lifts his chin, rolling into his back to look up at his newfound partner, who takes that opportunity to slide on top of him, nuzzling his nose into his neck appreciatively.

“Was that...” Chuuya pants, trying to think, “What you meant when you said it would be different?”

Dazai snorts, shaking his head. “I meant it would be.../intense/, but no.” His arms wrap around Chuuya’s middle, and the redhead finds that he doesn’t /mind/, actually...

...It’s /nice/.

“To be honest, I’ve never experienced that before myself.”

Now /Chuuya/ looks smug.

“I’ll go easy on you next time, old man.” That statement draws another snort from the older vampire, who deigns to punish Chuuya with a light nip over his artery.

“We don’t have much time, you know. I was supposed to have you back by sunrise.”

Chuuya sighs.

“Well, you /ruined/ my jeans.” Chuuya grumbles, pushing the taller man off as he sits up with a groan, his head spinning.

“Easy there,” Dazai rolls his eyes, pushing himself up. “You won’t get your bearings for a few days.” He picks up his /own clothes/, very much intact.

He’s buttoning up his shirt, rolling his sleeves up with a lazy grace that makes Chuuya’s stomach churn, but it’s not like he can /do anything/ about it right now—

“You can wear /this/,” he tosses Chuuya his coat, “to the car. I’ll pick something up for you later.”

Chuuya frowns, pulling the dark trench coat around his body. The sleeves slip over his wrists and it’s comically long—but it’s better than being naked.

He’s trying to fix the irredeemable mess that is his hair when he notices Dazai staring, his expression unreadable.

“...What?”

Dazai reaches forward, cupping Chuuya’s cheek with his hand. The fledgling surprises himself by leaning into it, so eagerly that he may as well have been purring like a /cat/. “The color,” Dazai swipes his thumb under Chuuya’s eye lightly, “It’ll take a few months to come back.”

Chuuya blinks with confusion, but when he glances in mirror, he remembers their new scarlet color, not his typical blue. “Are they too noticeable?

“Nothing a pair of sunglasses can’t hide, but...” Dazai trails off with a sigh.

“But what?”

“I liked them the way they were.”

Chuuya pauses in surprise, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. “...Well,” Dazai signs, straightening up. “We need to get going.”

Chuuya stumbles after him, his legs almost like jelly as they go to leave the mansion. “Where are we gonna go first?”

Dazai stops to think.

“Russia, I suppose.” Chuuya raises an eyebrow.

“/Really/?”

“Mori has enemies there—and as you May recall, a few of them owe me a favor.”

Chuuya nods, hands tightening around Dazai’s cost as they make it to the car.

“And your special ability...is it back already?”

“I think so,” Dazai muses. “But unless someone manages to steal your blood, we shouldn’t /need mine/. I’m more curious to see what yours is.”

Chuuya looks down at his hands as he climbs into the passenger seat, tilting his head to the side.

He doesn’t feel /that/ different.

Stronger, yes, faster, sharper—but he doesn’t feel like he has /super powers/ or something.

“And what about the others—“

“Chuuya,” Dazai chuckles, reaching over to take his partner’s hand as they pull away from the mansion, driving into the night. “This was /your plan/.”

Chuuya contemplates that, but when Dazai raises his hand to his lips to press kisses across his knuckles, everything feel a little /fuzzy/. “Now you just have to carry it out.” Dazai let’s just hand go, “Do you trust me?”

Chuuya stares at his hand.

His eyes keep flickering to the side sheepishly, examining Dazai’s face. He’s starting to realize now that his fascination ran /deeper/ than he thought, and that it isn’t going away.

“I always have.”

And, as Chuuya would learn over the centuries with his mate—he always /would/.

//THE END