Archive of Our Own

Kunikida knows that he's in trouble before his eyes are even open.

He regains consciousness rather like a trolley problem being solved by crashing the trolley into a wall instead of running over anyone: all at once, and extremely painfully. By the time his eyes open to an unfamiliar ceiling – expectedly so, given that the mattress he was residing on was far more luxurious than his own futon – he has sharply categorized his existence into what must be a hangover.

It takes three blinks for the ache in his head to subside enough for him to focus with any clarity on the world around him, and it takes two more for the cotton in his head to recede enough for him to realize that there's precious little clarity to be had when his glasses are… somewhere that isn't near him.

Kunikida is not Dazai or Ranpo, but even he is capable of solving a mystery when confronted with it, and so he retraces his night from the first point that he remembers while he pats the vicinity of the bed in search of his glasses. And also all of his clothing, save for his necktie, which is tied around his wrist like it's a present.

Kunikida remembers:

Drinking someone three times his body weight under the table to get information out of them. Dazai, refilling Kunikida's drink every time it dipped below halfway. Dazai's gentle tone prying out information and then going cold once it was achieved. Kunikida insisting they finish their drinks so that they weren't wasted, and Dazai gamely agreeing, and then Dazai insisting on refills, because the bartender was a pretty young woman who poured heavy.

And then–

Dazai's overwrought, dramatic voice calling all the wrong kinds of attention to him. The bartender distracted long enough that Kunikida's double became a quadruple, and he pounded it back before venturing over to chastise Dazai, but there were already hands around Dazai's neck–

Kunikida finds his glasses on the antique nightstand and puts them on to confirm that the blur of bright red next to him is exactly who he thinks it is.

Because there is no justice in the world, Kunikida is correct.

He presses down on the nose bridge of his glasses as his heart rate spikes violently into something resembling panic, which sends the pain in his head ricocheting down into his freshly tensed jaw. This is terrible. This is one of the worst things that could possibly be happening.

This is entirely Dazai's fault.

Port Mafia executive Chuuya Nakahara groans in his sleep.

Kunikida starts surveying the room for an escape route.

Of course, there isn't one. That would be far too easy, when Kunikida is already in a situation like this. He doesn't remember how he arrived at Chuuya's – he assumes it's Chuuya's, given it's decadent and well-decorated – home, nor does he remember any of the indications spread across Chuuya's form that indicate that they must have had either a very good night or a particularly terrible one. Kunikida looks down at himself, finally, and wonders if there's any use in trying to preserve the distinct bite print on his thigh for investigative purposes, just in case they ever need dental records for a mafia executive.

As Chuuya rolls over, Kunikida slips out of bed as fast as he can without waking the man any further. Kunikida can see his vest and literally no other pieces of his clothing. The bedroom door is closed and he does not know where it leads; the blinds cover the window, blacking out the light, so Kunikida is not even certain what time it is, or how close to the ground he is. For all he knows, he's at the top of one of the mafia buildings.

He rather hopes not; he isn't certain he could make it out of that alive. If the Port Mafia didn't kill him, the walk of shame certainly would.

"Oi," Chuuya says. Kunikida turns and looks at him, fervently wishing that he was not fully naked. "You want coffee or a bath?"

Kunikida wants escape more than either of those things, but since the option was not presented to him, he responds automatically:

"Coffee, followed by a bath," he says, because it's the most efficient order if he wants his brain to stop ping-ponging around in his cerebrospinal fluid and actually work with him.

"Great," Chuuya says, and he does not sound particularly enthused about this, but it could also be because the statement precedes a particularly large yawn. He gets out of bed, and he certainly doesn't seem to mind the fact that he's naked, because he wanders over to the bedroom door and exits it without bothering to put on any clothing.

It's actually rather impressive, all things considered.

Kunikida pinches himself directly on a bruise on his hip that's shaped like a hand. It hurts. He does not wake up.

There is no waking up from reality, no matter how poor your life choices. There is no immediate escape from the situation, either, which means that Kunikida will simply have to deal with it as it happens.

A very small part of Kunikida's brain – a part that sounds suspiciously like Dazai – helpfully volunteers that if he's still alive, he must have been halfway decent in bed, so he's got that going for him.

This does not actually help Kunikida feel better at all, but he does finally locate his pants when he steps out of the bedroom. He tries not to wonder about why they were shed before they even got into the bedroom. Those memories are, he finds, completely lost to the sheer amount of alcohol and bad decisions that were made the previous night.

Kunikida pulls on his pants and stands awkwardly in the hallway, trying to discern where the kitchen is. The sound of a coffee grinder is what gives it away, and he pads out cautiously, as though there might be more members of the mafia hidden in Chuuya's walls.

Chuuya glances at him when he steps in, and then resumes pouring water over the grounds.

"There's painkillers in the bathroom cabinet," Chuuya offers, and then, off Kunikida's mildly puzzled look, continues: "For the hangover you probably have?"

"You shouldn't take painkillers on an empty stomach," Kunikida says, and Chuuya snorts in an extremely undignified manner.

"So take 'em with the coffee," Chuuya says.

Taking painkillers with coffee on an otherwise empty stomach is, in fact, even worse than taking them on merely an empty stomach, but Kunikida feels as though continuing to press the point with an executive of the port mafia is really pushing his luck, no matter how non-threatening Chuuya appears while making a pourover, naked, in his kitchen.

Chuuya gestures with his water kettle, and Kunikida, feeling weary even ignoring the headache, sits obligingly at the kitchen table. There's a table runner that's a delicate black lace on the table, which sharply contrasts the three empty bottles of wine that are piled up like an abstract painting of alcoholism.

"When did we lose Dazai?" Kunikida asks, and Chuuya makes a face of disgust so intense that Kunikida remembers–

"I'd rather eat rat poison than drink with you," Chuuya snarls, his hands wrapped around Dazai's neck. Dazai does some sort of maneuver with his body that Kunikida is reasonably certain proves the man has no actual bones within his frame, but it dislodges Chuuya's grip and sends him careening into Kunikida, who steadies him automatically.

"Wow! If you drink with rats, you wouldn't be the tiniest one in the bar!" Dazai offers, looking for all the world like he's been given an amazing gift and not an actively reddening handprint on his throat.

"Shut the–"

"Conveniently, I also don't want to drink with Chuuya," Dazai says, sweeping his hand out as if to indicate his disinterest. "Kunikida, you drink with him."

Kunikida splutters. No actual words form; just snippets of objections that die in Kunikida's mouth and leave behind the taste of whiskey.

"I'm not drinking with your new–" Chuuya starts, gesturing up and down at Kunikida in a way that Kunikida finds, frankly, to be quite insulting. "Mr. I've Never Even Jaywalked."

"It's illegal!" Kunikida says, helplessly, and Chuuya fixes him with a stare that clearly says Kunikida is only demonstrating Chuuya's point.

"So make him jaywalk. It's a challenge. He'll buy you a drink!" Dazai says, and then he diverts away into the crowd, headed not towards the attractive bartender but towards a suspicious figure that's been sat at the bar the entire time they've been there–

"He ditched somewhere between midnight and four," Chuuya says. He's still naked when he delivers the coffee over to Kunikida– he's balancing two cups in one hand and a startlingly vintage cream and sugar set in the other hand. They should be spilling, but Kunikida assumes there's some gravity defying abilities at work.

"What time is it now?" Kunikida doesn't want to know. He's almost certainly late for work. The agency probably thinks he's dead. He also simultaneously has to know, because he cannot begin to replan his day until he knows what he's working with.

Chuuya shrugs. "Elevenish."

This is nowhere near exact enough for Kunikida's tastes, so he takes a sip of coffee that's entirely too large. It scalds his throat on the way down, but obliterates the taste of last night's alcohol and what is almost certainly the afterflavor of a blowjob, so he takes another sip.

Chuuya watches him, eyebrows raised.

"Your shirt's in the genkan with your book," Chuuya offers.

"Thank you," Kunikida says, primly. "That's very helpful."

"You said it'd be the safest place, and then you tripped on your shoes," Chuuya offers. Kunikida gives him a blank look, because this statement conjures no active memories, but it does sound familiar in the way that things often do after one has been blackout drunk for several hours.

"I have to apologize," Kunikida says, awkwardly, "but I'm afraid I don't remember much after…"

"If you're drinking with me, you're drinking the good shit," Chuuya says, gesturing wildly with his bottle of Yamazaki.

"That is worth more than I will ever make in my entire life," Kunikida replies. Chuuya grins, and Kunikida reflects, briefly, that Chuuya is refreshingly honest; he wears his emotions so clearly on his face and makes virtually no attempt to hide them. It's like a balm on Kunikida's soul, after all this time with Dazai.

"That's why I'm paying," Chuuya says, and swings the bottle towards Kunikida.

Kunikida considers:

First, the idea that he will owe a very expensive monetary debt to an executive in the Port Mafia for accepting his offer of liquor.

Second, the fact that it's Yamazaki 25 Year, of which there are a steadily decreasing amount of bottles in existence and Kunikida will absolutely never have this chance again.

Kunikida holds out his glass, and Chuuya fills it.

"...your generosity in beverage choice," Kunikida finishes, finally.

"Huh. You started pretty early, so I guess it makes sense that you'd have been that drunk by then," Chuuya says. He gives Kunikida a considering look, like he's seeing Kunikida in a new light, which would be much less uncomfortable if Kunikida had the rest of his clothing. "You hid it pretty well. I remember pretty clearly up until you wouldn't let me ride home. I think we made out in the taxi."

Kunikida is not certain he will ever recover from any of this. He's saved from having to respond to that (did the taxi driver recognize either of them? does the taxi driver know? is Kunikida going to have to track down all taxi records in the area to figure out who the driver is so Kunikida will never get in his taxi again?) by the sound of his phone ringing, muffled, in the distance. Distressingly, his phone is not in his pants pocket, where it should be.

Chuuya crinkles his eyebrows, focusing in on the noise as Kunikida stands.

"Genkan, maybe? It's that way," he offers.

Kunikida nods, and then goes out. His shirt and his book are, indeed, there, along with his shoes and one sock – inside of which is his cell phone.

Sure. That probably made sense at the time.

"Shachou," Kunikida says, when he answers. "I'm very sorry, I–"

"There's no need to apologize," Fukuzawa says, his voice a deep rumble. "Dazai called in on your behalf to let us know that you'd be missing today, as you were sick."

Kunikida pinches the bridge of his nose again, because from the amused tone in Fukuzawa's voice, he's well aware that it's a cover up, which means Dazai did not even try to lie convincingly, which… Technically, Kunikida approves of honesty.

In this moment, however, Kunikida feels as though he truly understands Dazai's desire to die.

"I'll be in this afternoon," Kunikida says.

"I would avoid it," Fukuzawa says, "as the office knows you're ill, and thus would take it upon themselves to assist you."

Can Yosano cure the common cold? Kunikida really, truly does not want to find out, particularly when he isn't actually sick in any significant way that isn't entirely self-induced.

"...of course," Kunikida says, a little weakly. "Then I'll be certain to write my reports from home, and submit them first thing in the morning. Has Dazai shown up?"

"Just long enough to send Atsushi after the man behind the smuggling ring," Fukuzawa replies. "He claims to have come down with the same cold that you've been afflicted with."

Kunikida cannot help the sigh that escapes him.

"Well," Kunikida says, "at least Atsushi can write a report on time."

"Indeed," Fukuzawa says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Kunikida hangs up and allows himself exactly four seconds to contemplate the state of his overall existence, how he arrived in such a state, and how to fix it.

Then he puts his shirt on.

He doesn't have anything to tie his hair back unless he wants to sacrifice his tie, which he doesn't particularly feel like doing, so instead he pulls it over his shoulder and opts for the neatest braid he can manage. It's tight enough that it should stay put at least partially until he can find a better option.

He wonders if Chuuya has hair ties. He wonders if he will have the nerve to ask a mafia executive if he can borrow a hair tie.

Chuuya's eyes track him when he steps back into the dining room, blue eyes sparking interest considerably more than they had before he'd ingested most of his cup of coffee. Kunikida can feel the gaze, but doesn't allow himself to focus on it until he's sat back down and taken a long sip of his own coffee to try and even out the disadvantage he feels he's at.

It doesn't help.

"...is there something wrong?" Kunikida asks.

"Your hair looks nice like that," Chuuya says.

Kunikida tells himself very firmly: do not blush like a sixteen year old just because an admittedly very attractive man – who you have already slept with – has complimented you.

Kunikida blushes anyway, because he hasn't received a compliment on his appearance since Yosano told him he 'looked more put together than usual', which was a year prior and also only a compliment if he stretched it a little. Which he had, because Kunikida, despite himself, was unappreciated in his time.

"Thank you," Kunikida says, because there's no excuse for rudeness.

"Huh," Chuuya says. His hand is lazy on his coffee cup, and he's got his other arm flung backwards over the chair as he leans it back on two legs. "You're not used to compliments, are you?"

"I," Kunikida says, mustering his best defense, "rarely have time to indulge in them."

Chuuya stares at him like he's just said the weirdest thing Chuuya has ever heard. Then Chuuya bursts into laughter, the chair tipping backwards past the point of no return, and then failing to fall backwards, because why wouldn't Chuuya use his skill to ensure he was never clumsy.

What a life that must be.

"Well, you're hot enough to fuck," Chuuya offers.

"We were very drunk," Kunikida says, because he feels like he should somehow argue the point despite the fact that he absolutely wants to hear more about how hot he is, because that's a description that has never before been applied to Kunikida. Ever.

"And you weren't a virgin," Chuuya says, "and you don't seem like the kind of guy who gets plastered for one night stands as a habit."

"Absolutely not."

"Right," Chuuya says, with a lazy gesture of his coffee cup that's clearly meant to illustrate his point. "So at least one other person thinks you're hot, besides me and the fuckhead."

"The– who?" Kunikida asks, his entire thought process derailing so suddenly that he can't even find the tracks he started with.

"Dazai," Chuuya replies, a sour note in his voice.

"Why would he– he doesn't find me attractive. That's absurd."

Chuuya looks at Kunikida with something that appears to be genuine surprise on his face, eyebrows drawn up. "You mean you and him aren't– huh."

"Why would– were you and he–" Kunikida asks, helplessly, and then immediately wishes he could unsay everything he has said for the past 30 seconds. No, the past 30 hours.

"I mean," Chuuya says. "Yeah, but we got along way worse than you two."

Kunikida takes a moment to stare into the coffee remaining in his cup and contemplate the fact that not only might Kunikida get along better with Dazai than most people, but that Dazai could, potentially, find him attractive. Because Dazai, what, liked guys with ponytails?

Holy shit, Kunikida fucked his partner's ex.

"Okay, okay, rewind," Chuuya says, and the distaste for the subject of Dazai seems to have been overruled by his amusement at how visibly shaken Kunikida is by this series of revelations. "I know he's a secretive asshole, but he really hasn't told you anything?"

"I learned that he was in the Port Mafia two months ago," Kunikida says. He feels very tired. How late were they up? It was too late. His sleeping schedule may never recover. He may never recover.

Chuuya whistles. "He really kept you in the dark."

"He's very good at keeping secrets," Kunikida says, and he cannot keep the exhaustion from his voice.

"To catch you up," Chuuya says, "we were partners, and he's a slut."

"I am," Kunikida says, as emphatically as he can manage, "extremely inadequately prepared to deal with the sexual exploits of the Port Mafia. I have the ideal woman perfectly planned in my notebook, and while I haven't met her yet, I– Hm."

Kunikida stops, because he had not, until this point, ever considered that his ideal woman could be an ideal man, but he supposes that's particularly reductive of him. Expanding his options in this way doesn't help, as Chuuya and Dazai both fail the vast majority of his criteria – admittedly, he thinks Chuuya might fail fewer, but he is a current member of the Port Mafia, which is a large strike against him – but it's always good to keep re-evaluating your life strategy as you progress in your ideals.

"Are you extra uptight all the time, or is it a way to deal with that dick?" Chuuya asks, and he doesn't sound particularly insulting about it.

Kunikida presses down his immediate offense.

"Last night was an outlier," Kunikida says, carefully, "but not entirely unheard of."

Chuuya nods, as though this is a completely acceptable answer.

"I don't make a habit of bedding my enemies," Kunikida offers.

"Enemy of my enemy is my friend," Chuuya shoots back. "Or enemy of my ex? Partner of my… Whatever. The point is, we're enemies, but it's nothing personal. Isn't your tiger kid dating Akutagawa, anyway?"

"Is he?" Kunikida is not aghast at the idea – at this point, the Port Mafia is truly less of an enemy and more of a repeated mistake that no one wants to admit to – but he is aghast that he'd never noticed. It explains quite a bit, including a great deal of Dazai's behavior around the subject.

"Are you just really bad with feelings?"

"...it's possible," Kunikida admits, a bit gratingly.

Chuuya snorts again. His coffee cup is empty, so he stands up and wanders back into the kitchen – he doesn't get another cup, just sets it in the sink, the sound of ceramic on steel unnervingly loud.

"Listen," Chuuya says. "You don't remember it, but I had a nice time, so I'm not trying to make you feel like shit about it. You gotta be prepared, though, because Dazai is going to try and make you feel like shit about it. Especially since I got there first."

"Are you implying he'll be jealous?" Of Chuuya? Kunikida doesn't think–

"My, my, Chuuya and Kunikida seem to be getting along so well!" Dazai chirps, and there's a sharpness to his voice that would, normally, send small sirens into Kunikida's brain – but Kunikida is too drunk, and he can't muster the energy required.

"Fuck off," Chuuya says. "Go hit on the bartender."

"Don't harass the bartender," Kunikida objects, because the bartender doesn't deserve that.

"Should I hit on someone else, instead?" Dazai asks, and his voice is a knife wrapped in honey, sickly sweet and pressing threateningly down on Kunikida's inebriated state. He leans too close to Kunikida, and then suddenly Chuuya is between them, elbowing viciously at Dazai's side– but Dazai is gone, twirling out of the way before Chuuya can make contact. He doesn't stop: he keeps going, disappearing into the crowd with an efficiency that makes Kunikida squint and wonder if his vision has gotten worse.

"Hey," Chuuya says, looking up at Kunikida, annoyance still written on his face. "You wanna really piss him off?"

"More than anything," Kunikida admits, and then Chuuya grabs him by the front of the vest and drags him down to his level to press their lips together.

Kunikida covers his face with his hands and resists the urge to scream into his coffee cup as a way of venting his distress. He really should have shot Dazai two years ago. Sure, it'd be murder, which was categorically against his ideals, but also it would have saved him so much grief.

"If you're gonna have a crisis, do it in the bath," Chuuya says, not unkindly.

"Thank you," Kunikida says, muffled through his own hands. He has most of his belongings, at this point, and so he double checks that everything is appropriately gathered, inclines his head briefly to an amused Chuuya, and then goes to take a bath.

Three quarters of an hour later, still amazed at Chuuya's incredibly expensive bath setup, Kunikida feels properly refreshed. His hangover has lessened enough that he can think with something resembling clarity, and the only thing that still smells like alcohol is his clothing, which is–

Gone?

Kunikida rotates on the spot.

"I threw them in the wash," Chuuya offers.

Kunikida thinks, but does not state, that there is no way that he will fit any of Chuuya's clothing, and he is absolutely not wandering around his apartment naked. Chuuya, for his part, has finally gotten dressed; he's dressed down considerably from his normal outfit, favoring what appears to be a shirt from a local brewery and a pair of jeans, his hair pulled back into a messy little bun that makes Kunikida's mouth go awkwardly dry in the continuation of his mild sexuality crisis.

"Thank you," Kunikida says, instead, because it's polite.

"I've got some stuff that'll fit you," Chuuya says.

Kunikida is dubious, but accepts the stack of clothing. It turns out to be a normal button down shirt, in black, that fits in the torso but is a bit short in the arms. Kunikida rolls the sleeves up to disguise this fact. The pants are sweatpants, but they're a particularly nice pair that almost make it look like they aren't sweatpants. They're also too short, but Kunikida accepts that – he's taller than most people he knows.

"These aren't Dazai's, are they?" Kunikida asks.

"Fuck no. I burned all his shit." There's no small amount of acidity in Chuuya's tone – and underneath it, a variety of emotions that Kunikida cannot begin to unravel. Perhaps he is bad with feelings. "They are from some other one-night stands, though, if that bothers you."

It does.

"It doesn't."

"You're a really bad liar," Chuuya says. "But don't worry, I've got a dryer. Your clothes'll be done in an hour."

Truly, the Port Mafia executives live in the lap of luxury. Kunikida cannot begin to comprehend the amount they must get paid. It would probably sway a man of lesser ideals. It does not remotely sway Kunikida, but he does wonder if allowing himself to take advantage of Chuuya's generosity means that he's violating his ideals by proxy?

No, that would have terrible repercussions for his partnership with Dazai. Best not to think about it.

"You're being exceedingly generous," Kunikida says, mildly.

"Look, I know I'm in the mafia, so I'm pretty much the definition of a bad person, but I'm not a dick." Chuuya punctuates this statement with an arrogant flap of his hand. "You don't remember the sex part, but I do, and that kind of performance should be rewarded. Also, the nicer I am to you, the more it'll piss off that waste of bandages."

Kunikida has nothing to use to refute any part of that.

"...what kind of performance?" he asks instead.

Chuuya smirks. "If you want the details, I need a repeat performance."

Kunikida is going to die before 25. Of embarrassment or from being propositioned by his current partner's ex partner, and boy, doesn't "partner" take on a new depth now that he's stuck inside the crazy hive of villainy?

"I," Kunikida starts, and is horrified to realize he has nothing to follow up with, and also that he's blushing like a teenager. For better or for worse, it makes Chuuya laugh – a whole body kind of laughter, one arm wrapped around his midsection to keep him from doubling over. It makes him look younger. It makes him seem less threatening. It also has some body language in common with Dazai, which Kunikida will never, ever tell either of them.

"Sorry, sorry," Chuuya says, and he's so open, from his tone to his body language, that Kunikida finds it's hard to be too mad or embarrassed. Nothing Chuuya does seems to be designed to truly make Kunikida feel uncomfortable, which is startling, for as many times as Dazai has made Kunikida's life harder. "Listen, you're just fun to mess with, alright? You're–"

"Stuffy?"

"Honest," Chuuya says, which feels significantly more flattering. "I'm not saying I'd ever have looked your way if it hadn't been for Dazai, but that's mostly because you're part of the Agency, and sleeping with the enemy is technically frowned on. If I'd run into you and you were just some guy, I'd totally hit on you."

"Technically," Kunikida echoes.

Chuuya fixes Kunikida with a look that's equal parts amusement and triumphant secrecy. "You're a detective, right? You can figure out who's fucking who without me telling you."

Akutagawa and Atsushi, Kunikida supposes. There's more members of the Agency, but Kunikida – as terrible as he might be with emotions – can tell the preferences of several of them: Kenji is too young, Kyouka is fixated solely on Atsushi, Ranpo is more likely to have something going on with members of the former Guild, Yosano would sooner die, Fukuzawa had some sort of incredibly complicated with the leader of the Port Mafia that Kunikida didn't think involved untoward fraternization, but…

And then, of course, there was Dazai.

"You're allowed to hit me if this is offensive," Kunikida asks, delicately, because the question he's about to ask deserves a punch to the face just on principle. "...are you still sleeping with Dazai?"

Chuuya looks at Kunikida, and a small part of Kunikida that has nothing to do with ideals and everything to do with personal gratification, feels a great deal of joy when Chuuya blushes. It flushes pink across his cheeks, and Chuuya abruptly walks over to his liquor cabinet. Grabs two glasses in one hand. Heads back over and pours them both glasses a spirit that's completely translucent.

"I don't drink before work is over," Kunikida says, attempting to exert control over what he thinks is an unstoppable force.

"You're off for the day," Chuuya says. "So drink up. It's mezcal."

Kunikida has never had mezcal in his life, but he takes a sip and feels his ideals crumbling as he does so. It has a delightful depth to it, and despite himself, he enjoys it. All of Chuuya's liquor choices are top tier and far more expensive than Kunikida could ever hope to have on a regular basis.

"It's complicated," Chuuya says.

"You don't have to tell me," Kunikida says, a little too quickly, because he doesn't want to invade.

No, that's a lie: he wants to invade, in more ways than he previously realized.

Yeah, being sober is a bad idea.

"You got involved in this the second we made out in a bar with Dazai watching from the corner," Chuuya says, and Kunikida has a very complex set of emotions in reaction to the idea that Dazai had been watching them.

Kunikida does not linger on the emotions. He's going to need therapy, at this rate – which he'll never get, because it would be a complete impracticality for as secret as his work is. He'll just write about it in his journal.

"I… suppose I did," Kunikida says.

"You gonna stay involved?"

"With you, or with him?"

"Either. Both," Chuuya says, waving a hand. "They're connected, you know?"

"He's still my partner," Kunikida says. Despite everything, Dazai was still that, and would be, for the foreseeable future.

Kunikida can't actually imagine a future without Dazai in it, and he wonders when that happened.

"Here's the deal," Chuuya says. "I hate that fucker. He's the lowest of the low. He blew up my car, he betrayed the mafia, he got me stabbed once – yeah, that's a fun story – and he's a complete dick to me. But… he was my partner, too."

Chuuya pauses to sip his alcohol.

"So once we had to face off against the Guild together, you know, one thing led to another, and it was 'just like old times'," Chuuya says, distaste clear on the quote that Kunikida can practically hear in Dazai's voice. "Except now I can't just break into his place to leave traps for him."

"Please do not break into the dorms," Kunikida agrees.

"The thing is, now that we've fucked–" Kunikida takes another sip of alcohol to try and pretend the vulgarity doesn't upset him. "--I know that guy's gonna double down twice as hard, and since you're interested, you're pretty much doomed."

Kunikida doesn't appreciate that assessment, but he also can't say that Chuuya is wrong, given how expertly Dazai manipulates him on a regular basis.

"So, yeah," Chuuya says. "I'm fucking Dazai, and you're going to have to worry about that, too. Honestly, probably a good thing we got it out of the way. I can't guarantee he didn't engineer all of this to begin with."

Kunikida doesn't know what he hates the idea of more: that he slept with Chuuya completely out of his own inebriated volition, or that Dazai specifically brought them to that bar knowing that Chuuya would be there so that Kunikida would sleep with Chuuya out of his own inebriated volition.

Actually, those were equally terrible.

"I'm," Kunikida says, "going to go strangle my partner." A beat. "As soon as my clothes are dry."

Kunikida does not strangle Dazai.

Alright, that's dishonest: he does not strangle Dazai first thing, because Kunikida has an entire day to try to make up for. He stops for tea at a completely unrelated teahouse and rewrites his schedule, along with notes on everything Chuuya has told him, before sitting and digesting all the facts of the situation.

Kunikida has never been a man powered by his own sexuality. It is, like the idea of marriage, something of an afterthought: something to achieve at the appropriate time, and then move on from. He had lost his virginity exactly when he'd meant to, exactly on time, and he had, since then, made sure to schedule in any opportunities he'd need to find himself sexual stress relief.

None of that will work for Dazai. He wasn't scheduled to have any sort of sexual encounter for another three weeks. Yet here he was, considering having another. Potentially with Dazai.

Ugh, everything about that sounded terrible. Kunikida truly empathized with Chuuya, because he would love to pretend he wasn't attracted to Dazai in the slightest, but actually–

Now that Kunikida is thinking about it under the lens of considering men as partners, Dazai is as attractive as he is annoying, which is a terrible combination.

"Mind if I interrupt?" chirps a familiar voice, and Kunikida lets out a deeply aggrieved sigh as Dazai slides into the chair opposite him.

"How did you know where I was?"

"It's the second tea shop from Chuuya's," Dazai responds, automatically. He pours himself a cup of tea from Kunikida's pot, entirely without asking. "You wouldn't have stopped at the first one, because it would have been too close, so you stopped at the second one. It's a very logical thing to do."

Why, why, why was logic one of Kunikida's ideals? If he had been more chaotic, maybe it would have been harder for Dazai to manipulate him. Dazai, who is currently dropping sugar cube after sugar cube into his tea and slowly stirring it, the grains making a grinding sound against the bottom of the cup.

"I see," Kunikida says, and pushes up his glasses. "Then what do you want?"

"Hmm," Dazai says, pausing in his stirring to look at Kunikida. It's a dangerous kind of look – the look when he lets one of his masks slip just enough to seem threatening and unpredictable. "Did you have a good time?"

"I don't remember anything about it," Kunikida says, stiffly, and he's grateful that it's the truth or things might be considerably more awkward. He remembers–

Chuuya in his lap, fingers tangled into Kunikida's hair, pulling just this side of pain, biting at Kunikida's lips.

Kunikida, pressing Chuuya down into the bed and trailing kisses instead of bites, moving down his neck, down his collarbones, down, down, down.

Chuuya swallowing Kunikida's cock down far enough that Kunikida thought he might have fallen into another universe, one where someone was so loud that it took Kunikida several minutes to realize he was the one making that noise.

"You remember something, alright," Dazai says, and it's almost a petulant pout.

Kunikida looks around the teashop. There aren't very many patrons there, at this hour, and so he carefully makes sure that there's no chance of them being overheard before he looks at Dazai and tries not to let his ears turn pink.

"He said," Kunikida says, "that you find me attractive, and would be… jealous… that I spent the night with him."

Dazai lets out a loud laugh that contains exactly 0% mirth by volume. He takes a sip of his tea, and despite the amount of sugar thickening the liquid, looks like he's drinking a bitter substance.

"Are you asking if he's right?"

"Is he?"

"Does it matter?"

"If you continue to dodge the question, I'll be forced to conclude that he's correct," Kunikida says, swiftly. "Following this, the next practical question is if you'd like our relationship to change, and what that would look like."

Dazai looks genuinely startled. This time, when he laughs, it's the sort of helpless laughter that can only come from an honest place, which is refreshing, even if it's at Kunikida's expense.

"Are you asking if I want to date you?" Dazai asks, finally, wiping a tear from his eyes.

"No," Kunikida says. "I'm asking if you're angling to spend the night with both myself and Nakahara-san, and if that will have any impact on our working relationship, which I prefer to prioritize."

"That's… just like you," Dazai says, slowly, and he sounds equal parts disgusted by Kunikida's ideals and exasperated at how well Kunikida sticks to them. "I've never had a threesome as a business transaction."

"Dazai," Kunikida says, because at this point trying to beat around the bush is only prolonging his suffering, "I'm going to be entirely honest with you."

Dazai, for his part, looks mildly surprised and deeply engrossed by this. He's stopped stirring his tea.

"I have never once considered that any of your behavior was genuine interest in me," Kunikida says, "which I believe was done intentionally, on your part. I can't begin to guess your true intentions, but I–"

Kunikida stops for a brief second. It's unusual, to have him stop mid sentence to redirect himself, and he gets the impression that Dazai can see through him either way, but it makes him feel better when his words go the way he wants them to.

"I value you as my partner above all else," Kunikida says. "If you – or Nakahara-san – or myself were to destroy this partnership, it would be eliminating one of my ideals."

"I'm one of your ideals?" Dazai asks, his tone somewhere between surprise and sarcasm.

"We work well together. I know you, in as much as you allow me to – perhaps a bit more – and you know me, far more than I'd like," Kunikida says. "I've also been made aware that there are quite a few questionable liaisons between the Agency and the Port Mafia happening, so it really boils down to–"

"Ideals," Dazai says, vaguely. He takes a sip of his tea, then makes a face. He just looks thoughtful, this time. "You know, you really do always find a way to surprise me."

"Good," Kunikida says. "Someone has to."

Dazai's expression is unreadable. There's something in it that Kunikida has seen before – not the darkness that he understands, now that he knows who Dazai was before the Agency, but a thick loneliness that Kunikida cannot hope to understand.

He can, however, relate.

"Sure," Dazai says, like he's agreeing to a restaurant date or a moderate business proposition. "Let's have a threesome."

The conversation isn't over by far, but Dazai stands up anyway. Kunikida knows better than to try to stop him, because getting anything out of Dazai when he's decided to clam up is like getting blood out of a sheet of paper.

The best he can hope for is that nothing changes.

Nothing changes.

Well. A few things change.

"Kunikida-san?" Atsushi says. "Here's my paperwork from the last case, and – um, here's Nakahara-san's phone number."

Kunikida is equal parts proud and deeply confused.

"How did you…?"

"Um," Atsushi says, scratching the side of his cheek. He's blushing, and it stands out bright against his white hair. "I was in the area, and he… said to deliver it to you…"

Kunikida stares at Atsushi, silent. Atsushi gets visibly more nervous.

"I'vegottago," Atsushi says, all one word, and bolts. Huh. He really is sleeping with Akutagawa, huh? Kunikida doesn't think he'd ever be that attracted to someone who had tried to kill him that many times, but he's also not about to start judging the weird kinks that his coworkers have.

Yosano alone…

He shudders to think.

So he texts Chuuya, and Chuuya texts back, and it's strangely pleasant to budget in time to text someone about something other than work. Dazai steals his phone and reads the texts and sends something threatening and obscene to Chuuya, and Chuuya immediately knows that it's Dazai and not Kunikida, because Kunikida doesn't even know how to type emoji, much less sexual ones.

It feels a little like a kind of camaraderie that makes Kunikida's heart ache.

Dazai is the same as always, but he ramps up his behavior by a good portion – he's even more inconsistent with his paperwork, even sloppier than usual, even less motivated than Ranpo. Kunikida drags him out of the office by his bandages at least twice.

Then:

I've got a new whiskey, if you want to come try it. You can bring the waste of bandages.

Dazai makes a face when he steals Kunikida's phone to read it, but he appears in Kunikida's passenger seat nonetheless, so suddenly that Kunikida nearly crashes the car.

"You ran a stop sign," Dazai says, helpfully.

Kunikida's knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as he tells himself he should at least wait until they're at Chuuya's before he murders Dazai: he owes Chuuya enough to let him get in a few punches.

They get there, and Dazai's hands are shoved so deep in his pockets he's slouched over, and he looks more like he's going to jury duty than to a night intended for a threesome, which Kunikida has certainly never had. (Has Dazai? It's an interesting thing to think about when Kunikida is not at someone's door.)

"If you're that opposed to being here, you can leave," Kunikida says.

"No," Dazai says, ruefully. "It's just…"

"...?"

"I've never come in through the door before," Dazai says, sighing dramatically as though the idea of not breaking in to Chuuya's apartment is the worst thing in the world.

Kunikida feels a headache coming on.

"Wow," Chuuya says, when he opens the door. "You actually waited. Is there a bomb in your coat or something?"

"No," Dazai grouses. "Kunikida-kun already frisked me."

Kunikida pushes his glasses up.

Chuuya is dressed nicely. Kunikida recognizes it as his normal outfit when he's working, but he's swapped the button up for a red one that blisters brightly against his skin.

"Well," Chuuya says, "you might as well come in." And then, to Kunikida, he offers: "And you're welcome to come in."

Kunikida wonders, not for the first time, if this is all a terrible mistake. He feels like he's been asleep for the past two weeks of his life. Perhaps he drank himself into a complete coma that night and everything past that has been a delusion created by some long-neglected horny part of his mind.

No. He discards that thought immediately. He would never create a Dazai that was attracted to him in his own subconscious.

"I'm drinking your good wine," Dazai says.

"You are not!" Chuuya grabs for Dazai, but Dazai just leans out of the way. Into Kunikida, who wraps an arm around him before he can wiggle away.

"He invited us for whiskey," Kunikida says. "Not wine."

Dazai leans his head back, staring up at Kunikida with wide eyes, like he's only just realized the repercussions of the entire situation.

"Is this two against one?"

"Don't act like you can't take it," Chuuya snipes, automatically. He grabs three glasses out and pours them all whiskey, and Kunikida tells himself that he absolutely will not get wasted this time because there are at least two conversations he needs to have partially sober before anyone starts undressing.

"Maybe I don't want to," Dazai says, and he sounds a little like a sullen child.

"Then you can leave!"

"If we're doing this," Kunikida says, "then I would like to make sure that we're all on the same page."

Dazai crosses his arms and slumps backwards into his chair. He thinks the better of this a moment later, swiping the glass of whiskey and then resuming his position.

"What, do you need, like… the ideal sexcapade?" Chuuya asks, not unkindly.

Please never phrase it like that again, Kunikida thinks, but does not say.

"I find you both attractive, and I'm not opposed to this relationship," Kunikida says, "but I refuse to be an interloper in whatever complex dynamic you have going on, and I refuse to be a tool either of you use against the other."

"That's fair," Chuuya says. He swirls his whiskey a little, propping his feet up on the chair opposite him. "I made out with you because you were hot, but I can't say I didn't do it because I knew it'd piss him off."

"I don't care what you do–"

"Dazai," Kunikida says. "If this conversation can't take place past the point of lying, then there's no point in having it."

Dazai lets out a deeply aggrieved noise, scrubbing at his hair with one of his hands.

"You always make things so serious, Kunikida-kun," Dazai says. "That's not how it's supposed to go, you know?"

"That's how it's supposed to go with me," Kunikida says, firmly. "This isn't a no strings attached situation. You're my partner, and you were his partner, and we're already overcomplicating the situation. I'm looking to simplify it."

Dazai groans.

"That guy's basically allergic to honesty," Chuuya says.

"I'm well aware," Kunikida says. "I don't expect honesty, but I expect you not to lie."

It's the kind of grey area that Dazai tends to thrive in. Dazai looks at Kunikida – really looks at him, for the first time since they arrived at Chuuya's – and then sighs. He takes a sip of whiskey, then sits back upright.

"Fine. I want to have sex with you both," Dazai says. "At the same time, preferably, or at the least you have to video record it for me–"

"That's never happening," Kunikida cuts in, and Dazai pauses long enough to shoot him a petulant look.

"--because otherwise I'll get jealous that my partners are fucking without me," Dazai finishes. There's a strange strain on the word partners, like it's almost a struggle for him to get it out past his teeth. Kunikida isn't sure how he feels about being in the exact same category as Chuuya; as Chuuya being a current partner instead of an ex. It might make things easier.

"That must have fuckin' cost you," Chuuya snorts, and Dazai sticks out his tongue.

Kunikida massages his temples. "I'm not going to have sex with you if you're acting like a five-year old."

Dazai doesn't dignify that with a response, which is probably for the best.

"Right," Kunikida says. He grabs his notebook. He flips it open. He regards the words he's written in there already, despite the fact that he has them memorized and knows exactly what they say. "Then, ground rules."

"There's rules?" Dazai mumbles, into his whiskey.

"He wants clear consent!" Chuuya says, gesturing wildly at Kunikida. "He's a good fucking person, you know. Unlike some people."

"Wow. Chuuya shouldn't be so hard on himself."

"I'm going to throw you out of the window--"

"You don't even know the word 'defenestration', huh? You wanna defenestrate me–"

"What," Kunikida interrupts, using his best 'I am the one who has to run all the Agency meetings and it is like herding cats and so I have a very official voice that still doesn't get anyone to pay attention' voice. Shockingly, it works. "Do the two of you not want to have happen?"

"Safe word's 'lilac metamorphosis'," Dazai offers, as the first piece of helpful information he's given the entire night.

Kunikida desperately does not think about the fact that they already have a safe word, because that makes him think about a variety of things that are too explicit for this early in the conversation.

"Or three taps, or kicks, or whatever," Chuuya offers. "In case someone's gagged."

Kunikida makes a very distinct line in his notebook:

Gagging is on the table.

"I'm impressed you had that much," Kunikida says.

"It was just so we wouldn't literally kill each other," Chuuya says.

Kunikida is no longer impressed.

"What about you, Kunikida-kun?" Dazai asks. His tone is a drawling, playful deception, because Kunikida can't mistake that level of interest that's sparking in his dark eyes.

"I've never engaged in anything extreme enough to involve a safe word," Kunikida says.

"Kunikida-kun's the type to spoil his partner, huh?"

"Nah," Chuuya says, and Kunikida flushes, because Chuuya would certainly know. "You just gotta show him he can be rough with you." Then Chuuya looks at Kunikida and flatly informs him: "He's really into getting strangled, by the way."

There is truly no winning with Dazai, because now that Kunikida knows that Dazai is into that (and of course he would be), Kunikida will be extremely aware of it every time he strangles him. Which, based on previous records, is often.

"Chuuya," Dazai whines, sliding his glass over. "Everyone is too sober. This is boring."

"What do you expect me to do about it?!" Chuuya squawks, but he refills everyone's glasses anyway. Kunikida's gets topped off, as he hasn't made much of a dent in his, and he takes an obliging sip.

"Kunikida-kun, there's nothing you can do that will destroy our relationship," Dazai says, flapping his hand lazily. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. "You're too prim and proper and idealistic to ever do anything wrong."

"With you," Kunikida says, very seriously, "doing things right tends to be more dangerous."

Dazai jerks his gaze over. "Ha, ha, that doesn't make any sense, Kunikida–"

"If I figure out what you honestly think, you deflect. If I give you what you genuinely want, you don't take it," Kunikida says, firmly, because he doesn't care how annoying Dazai is in the office – this conversation is more serious.

Chuuya is quiet, his arms crossed. He's focused in on Dazai, lips pressed together in a grim line like he's expecting everything to go sour with whatever Dazai does next.

Dazai is quiet for a very long moment. He leans back in his chair and gazes up at the ceiling, mouthing something that Kunikida can't quite make out – all vowels, definitely Japanese. Beyond that, it's as much a mystery as everything else Dazai does.

Dazai lets his chair tip back forward onto all four legs. He investigates his whiskey. Then, to his whiskey, he offers: "As soon as you realize you have something you want, you'll lose it. That's how life goes."

He knocks back the rest of the whiskey in two burning gulps, and Chuuya doesn't even bother to chide him over chugging the expensive whiskey – he just refills the glass silently.

"That," Kunikida says, bluntly, "is the dumbest thing you've ever said to me."

"Wha–?" Dazai's jaw has actually dropped.

"If you want something, you'll lose it? Don't be ridiculous. If you want something, then you use that feeling to protect that something," Kunikida snaps. He sets his book down on the table a little too forcefully. "We've all lost things that we wanted and things that we love. You don't just give up and stop wanting things! You want them more! You make plans to get them! You work hard for them!"

Dazai is speechless. Kunikida would relish the moment if he wasn't so pissed off.

"If we're this far into things, then you'd better want me, and I have no intention of losing you," Kunikida says. He sits down. When did he stand up? To gesticulate, he supposes. "In fact, not losing you is why we're having this discussion at all."

"Chuuya," Dazai says, helplessly, as though Chuuya could save him from Kunikida's onslaught of logic.

"Don't look at me," Chuuya says, only a bit nastily. "You bombed my car and vanished for two years and I still trust you because I'm fuckin' stupid. I don't know what you expect me to say here."

Dazai deflates. He puts his head in his hands and seems to visibly think, to find something within himself to reset, and Kunikida is expecting the Dazai that's all smiles to greet them when he looks up. Instead, Dazai's smile is wane, and he looks –

Scared.

Kunikida sighs.

"Fine," he says. He stands up. There are two sets of eyes tracking him, and he can feel it as he leans over Dazai. He towers over him, especially with Dazai sitting, and Dazai just looks up at him like he doesn't know where he is or what's happening.

Kunikida reaches down. He fists his hand into Dazai's shirt, careful to avoid the fragile bolo tie.

Then he kisses him.

Dazai is an impolite kisser: he doesn't close his eyes. He just looks at Kunikida, wide-eyed and surprised, mouth falling open automatically. Kunikida takes advantage of it, kisses Dazai as deeply as he can, tries to imprint a half dozen things into the kiss, because Dazai can't be honest and Kunikida isn't good with words but at least they have this.

Kunikida finally lets him go, and Dazai just watches him.

"You really thought all this was going to end with just me and him having a thing, didn't you?" Chuuya asks, sounding deeply annoyed. He, too, stands up, knocking back the rest of his glass as he does so. "Like you wanted us both, and you couldn't decide, so you decided to take yourself out of the equation like you always do."

Dazai reaches up to cover his face for a moment, shading his eyes away from view. Kunikida hears him take in a breath – one, two. One, two.

"Well," Dazai says, and he sounds a little shaky, "Kunikida-kun and Chuuya aren't the kind of people to give me a double suicide, so…"

"I'll still kill you," Chuuya grumbles, not without fondness, and kisses Dazai. This time, Dazai does close his eyes: he seems to be used to Chuuya in a way that he isn't with Kunikida. It's possible that Kunikida should feel jealous, but if anything, there's only relief that at least Dazai allows himself to relax partially around someone.

"Hm," Dazai says, when they part. "Four out of ten. You can do better."

"You little fucker--"

"Now do you two," Dazai says, and Kunikida sighs, but Chuuya is up for the challenge.

Chuuya bites when he kisses, like he's grabbing on and holding and proving himself over and over and over again. Kunikida has nothing to prove, not to either of the men he's with, but he still rises to the occasion; he understands a challenge. There's no point in a challenge if it results in an easy win.

"That good enough for your voyeuristic ass?" Chuuya asks, when he pulls back.

"Six out of ten," Dazai offers. "Score goes up when clothes come off."

The noise Chuuya makes is an exasperated howl before he's stomping off to the bedroom. Dazai glances at Kunikida. Dazai calmly gathers all three cups and makes sure that they are completely empty of all alcohol by pouring the remnants down his throat.

Then Dazai follows Chuuya, and Kunikida follows Dazai.

Chuuya's room hasn't changed, save that it's a bit tidier, now that it hasn't had a night of half-remembered incredibly rowdy intercourse. Kunikida didn't have the time to appreciate it much the first time around, as he was first drunk and second hungover, but it's nice. Kunikida leans towards minimalism in his life, but Chuuya seems to lean more towards luxury, towards expensive antiques and sheets with a thread count higher than Kunikida's yearly salary.

"Then get naked," Chuuya says, once Dazai crosses the threshold of the bedroom, and Dazai heaves a deep, beleaguered sigh, as though the idea of stripping was so tiring that he might give up right then and there.

"Chuuya's still such a romantic," Dazai quips, taking off his coat.

"You hate romance," Chuuya says, unbuttoning his own shirt.

Kunikida, who generally partakes in extended amount of foreplay before undressing his partner, is deeply at a loss in this change of the order of events, so he unbuttons his vest, too.

He gets as far as his belt buckle before he pauses.

"Do the bandages stay on?" he asks.

"Would it bother you if they did?" Dazai asks, and Kunikida gets the feeling that it's a particularly weighty question, which feels unfair when he didn't answer Kunikida's.

"I doubt they would stop me," Kunikida says, "but it does seem a bit unhygienic."

Dazai doesn't make eye contact for a second, letting his gaze drift off listlessly to study Chuuya's antique dresser.

"He gets weird about things when they're off," Chuuya offers. Chuuya is now fully naked, which is a sight Kunikida is growing extremely accustomed to. "Like his skin's more sensitive, or his scars wig him out, or whatever."

Dazai makes a face. "Chuuya wouldn't know sensitive if it bit him on the ass."

"I'd sure know the difference between sensitive and you biting my ass."

Kunikida isn't even sure that makes sense.

"They can come off," Dazai says, eventually. He doesn't make eye contact as he says it, just starts to raise his wrist up so he can grab at the butterfly clip keeping everything tightly wound.

"Let me," Kunikida says. He reaches out and takes Dazai's wrist. Dazai allows this, even though his eyes drag up, heavy on Kunikida's skin. Kunikida keeps himself focused on his task: he unravels the bandages methodically, rewinding them as he goes into a neat circle. None of them have blood on them, because none of them are covering any open wounds, so there's no reason to throw them away.

Kunikida is peripherally aware of Chuuya following his lead on the other side of him, unwrapping Dazai from wrist onward. When Kunikida makes it to Dazai's shoulder, he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. When he makes it to Dazai's throat, he can see Dazai swallow.

There's scars, of course. More than there should be on any normal person, but Kunikida doesn't think there's a single normal person in the Agency or the Port Mafia. Not really.

Some are clearly suicide attempts. Kunikida would be foolish to pretend they could be anything else. It's strange – Dazai goes on and on about dying, about suicide, and yet he always seems to manage to misstep just enough to avoid death. It's almost foreign to think about the man actually dying. It's hard to imagine a Dazai that had given up so thoroughly on the world that he would aim for an attempt that might actually work, and for that to fail, too.

Kunikida imagines that there have always been people around to save Dazai. He's not sure why Dazai seems unable to see any of them.

"Well, now you're the one that's overdressed," Dazai says. His voice is shaky, a high, breathy quality to it that isn't usually there. It's like they've exposed all parts of him to the air, and he's oxidizing before their eyes.

"I'm not done," Kunikida says, and pushes lightly at Dazai's hip. "You've still got your legs."

He doesn't make eye contact with Dazai, because he doesn't know what he'll see there. He doesn't think it's something Dazai would want him to see, at any rate. Dazai wears a thousand masks, but the times when they all shatter and leave him vulnerable – well, Kunikida can only imagine what that loss of control really means. He can only imagine what's going on inside Dazai's head when it happens.

Dazai sits on the bed, letting Chuuya and Kunikida unravel the entirety of himself into neat little rolls – in Chuuya's case, a round ball – and set it aside, to be dealt with later.

"Okay," Dazai says, once they're done. He lurches up to his feet like a man possessed, and before Kunikida can even finish tracking the action with his eyes, he cascades down onto his knees and grabs for Kunikida's belt.

"Wha–" Kunikida starts.

"Well, you're the last one wearing any clothing," Dazai says, like it's an admonishment, like Kunikida has somehow lost some sort of strategic high ground by virtue of still wearing his pants. "So it only makes sense, right?"

"That doesn't make any sense!" Kunikida says. He glances at Chuuya, who shrugs, a half smile on his face. Chuuya sits on the bed, angling himself so that he can get a clear view of everything Dazai's hands are deftly revealing, and Kunikida feels vaguely betrayed for a brief moment.

"If he chokes to death on your cock, I want a first row seat," Chuuya offers, like Kunikida would ever choke someone with his cock in general, much less to death, but then Dazai finds the cock in question and Kunikida decides it's better if he doesn't try to talk.

He groans, instead, an involuntary noise, because Dazai wastes absolutely no time wrapping his hand around Kunikida. Kunikida's dick goes from moderately interested in the situation to extremely interested in the situation very quickly, and Kunikida has the sense to step out of his pants and kick them to the side before things escalate further. It crinkles at the edge of his ideals to leave them wrinkled like that, but at least he knows Chuuya owns an iron.

"Hm," Dazai says, appraisingly. "You're longer than Chuuya."

"That's," Kunikida starts, and gets absolutely no further before Dazai leans in and swallows his dick. He only gets about halfway down, seemingly electing to not choke himself on Kunikida's dick, but it's still enough that Kunikida feels like his knees go weak. He bends slightly at the middle like he's been punched, steadying himself with a hand on Dazai's head, and the action just makes Dazai moan around Kunikida's cock like a porn star in a movie Kunikida would certainly never watch.

It isn't that Kunikida has never received a blow job before. He's experienced it several times. A half dozen, at least, not including whatever went down with Chuuya that he only remembers the broader strokes of. But Dazai has a way about it that's so entirely Dazai, it leaves no room for comparison. It makes sense that someone with a way with words like Dazai would be able to use his tongue for something like this, but everytime Dazai swallows another centimeter down before letting the head pop back out between his lips, Kunikida feels like he's going to go insane.

He can see Chuuya, too, on the edge of the bed, lazily stroking his own dick. His gaze is anything but lazy, honed in on Dazai's lips, on Kunikida's dick. He glances up to see Kunikida looking at him and grins, spreading his legs a little more, and Kunikida feels himself flush more than he thought was possible when he was already in the middle of receiving a blowjob.

"Pull his hair," Chuuya offers. "He likes that."

Kunikida looks down at Dazai, who lets his eyes flicker up just enough to make it clear that it's entirely Kunikida's decision. As ever, Dazai refuses to take responsibility for anything, which is an old exasperation that Kunikida lets fuel him as he weaves his hand into Dazai's hair and pulls.

Dazai does, in fact, like it, if his reaction is anything to go by. His eyes flutter dramatically and he moans loudly around Kunikida's dick, vibrations adding to the fact that he's criminally good at blowjobs.

"Shit," Kunikida says, eloquently.

Of course Dazai is some kind of quasi-masochist. He might purport to hate pain, but he's never been afraid of it – if anything, Kunikida thinks that it's one of the few things Dazai feels on a regular basis that can get through whatever defenses Dazai has wrapped himself in. Dazai exists at the bottom of the ocean, floating in that cold, dark nothingness and unable to feel any of the life around him. This, though, the brief sparks of pain and the steady ebb of pleasure, is something that seems to reach him, even suspended in that abyss.

Kunikida is a partner that favors the style of whoever he's sleeping with. With most of his partners, that tends to be something reasonably paced, so as to not take too much time out of anyone's schedule, and involve a moderate amount of foreplay. It's usually gentle, but with a certain disconnect that comes with the territory of finding a partner amicable to Kunikida's own particular quirks. His one night stands tend to be single business women who view the entire experience as a transactional necessity as much as Kunikida does: pleasure for each of them, winding down afterwards, separate showers, and then back to their lives.

None of that is the same with Dazai. None of that was the same with Chuuya, either, from what he can remember. Neither of them want tenderness; both of them want the hard physicality, the grounding pain and pleasure to burst through their synapses like the weapon that the two of them form together.

So Kunikida mentally rewrites his ideal sexual encounter; adds in some extra columns, some corollaries, some if-then statements that he'll have to commit to paper later.

Then he shifts his mindset and his grip a little to the left, yanks Dazai's hair hard enough to make his neck snap back, and thrusts in further than Dazai had been initially taking him.

Dazai's hands slip for a moment where they had been gripping Kunikida's hips, one scrabbling up to his ribs while the other falls down nearly to his knee, holding on for purchase like he isn't quite sure what he should be aiming for. He chokes, and Kunikida lets the second drag on for exactly two seconds before he carefully withdraws, head of his cock still heavy in Dazai's mouth as Dazai coughs deep in his throat and breathes in hard.

"Shit," Chuuya says, this time.

Time speeds up, after that. Dazai accepts Kunikida's challenge and swallows him back down, and each time he does Kunikida jerks his hips forward, letting Dazai take more, more, more, letting his throat convulse around Kunikida in pleasure that settles in each time like a grenade going off. Chuuya, on the bed, has abandoned his task of stroking himself; the tableau before him apparently more than enough to keep him interested.

Kunikida pulls himself back when he feels pleasure crest. He pulls Dazai back, too. He comes on Dazai's face instead of down his throat, which is one of the rudest things Kunikida thinks he has ever done in his entire life, but Dazai just pants, open mouthed, and then dips his tongue back out to lick at the come he can reach on his cheek. He can't reach much of it, so he breaks his hand away from his grip on Kunikida's thigh, reaches up–

And is stopped by Chuuya's hand where it wraps around Dazai's wrist.

"Nu-uh," Chuuya says. "You look good like that."

"Chuuya's a gross pervert," Dazai says, but his voice is too high, too breathy; too wrecked for him to use his normal vocal range.

"I don't want to hear that from you," Chuuya growls, and then he's dragging them both to the bed – Kunikida by the wrist and Dazai by the throat, and by the time the localized storm that's Chuuya has taken them both several feet over, Dazai is gripped onto Chuuya's arm, breathing hard and open-mouthed where his air is being cut off.

Kunikida falls onto the bed with both knees and one hand, pushed up halfway, because Chuuya is pressing Dazai down so hard Kunikida doesn't know how he's not using his ability. Dazai bucks his hips into Chuuya's when Chuuya cuts his breathing off entirely, and Chuuya kisses Dazai even as he strangles him. Dazai's hands tangle in Chuuya's hair and then drag down Chuuya's back; he leaves welts in his wake like promises he can't verbalize, leaves bruises like an oath where his fingertips dig in. Chuuya stops smothering him but doesn't stop kissing him, and Dazai gasps into Chuuya's mouth. His eyes have been watering since halfway through the blowjob he'd given Kunikida, choking bringing tears to a face that has never really cried, and it makes him look like an absolute wreck.

Privately, Kunikida thinks that this is appropriate, as Dazai is an absolute wreck, but he's also an absolute wreck who gives really good head, which is something Kunikida never expected to know about him.

Kunikida had thought that perhaps while Chuuya and Dazai were engaged in breathplay he might have a chance to – ha, ha – catch his breath, so to speak, but he's doubting that idea entirely, because the way Chuuya bites down on Dazai's neck makes Kunikida want a photographic memory. Dazai groans, and Chuuya shoves his knee between Dazai's thighs to spread his legs wider.

Dazai tilts his head, letting Chuuya have further access to his neck, and makes eye contact with Kunikida.

Kunikida has never had a threesome before. Kunikida has never slept with his partner before. However, it doesn't seem like this is a first for Dazai or Chuuya in any capacity, which means that for once, Kunikida is completely comfortable following Dazai's lead. So he leans in and kisses Dazai where Chuuya left off, while Chuuya trails lovebites down Dazai's collarbone, down all the freshly exposed, oversensitive skin that makes Dazai writhe. Dazai keeps one hand digging into Chuuya's back and reaches up, twining his fingers into Kunikida's hair to pull him closer. Dazai's grip is oddly gentle, much more than usual, and Kunikida can sense the fear in it.

As soon as you realize you have something you want, you'll lose it. How long has Dazai been wanting things and sabotaging himself? How many times has Kunikida not noticed?

So Kunikida kisses Dazai, taking it as seriously as anything else, trying to convey that at least he notices now. At least he isn't going anywhere now.

Kunikida doesn't quite notice that Chuuya has evaporated out of the corner of his vision until Dazai lets out a noise into the kiss, his entire body shuddering. Kunikida breaks the kiss and Dazai looks at him, briefly dazed, before he lets his head fall back into a loud moan that makes Kunikida wonder how much money went into soundproofing Chuuya's apartment.

He doesn't wonder about it for long, because he looks down to see Dazai's back arching entirely off the bed, one of his legs thrown over Chuuya's shoulder. It's not the best angle, but Kunikida can tell that Chuuya's tongue is emphatically buried in Dazai's ass, and it makes his stomach do a complicated flip of arousal and nervous anxiety, because Kunikida has never eaten ass before, but Chuuya certainly makes it look appealing in all its vulgarity.

Largely because it appears to completely undo Dazai. Dazai's hands have abandoned anyone's skin and gone entirely to the bed sheets, where he holds on tight enough that his knuckles turn white. He keeps letting out little moans, little ah, ah sounds that make his entire chest quiver, make his legs quake. Kunikida has never seen someone experience toe-curling pleasure in real life, but he's being given a front seat view of it right now.

"Chuuya," Dazai says, and it sounds a little like a dying gurgle more than anything else, so he tries again: "Chuuya."

Kunikida isn't quite sure what he's pleading for, but Chuuya continues what he's doing for a few seconds before he finally pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You had his mouth already," Chuuya says. "Want his ass?"

Kunikida will never understand how they can talk about it so casually, actually, but he has to admit that his mouth goes a little dry at the idea. He's not entirely sure when his second wind hit, but his dick certainly seems interested.

"Don't you–" Kunikida starts.

"Yeah," Chuuya says, "but I think it'd be fun if we both did." He reaches around to squeeze Dazai's dick, which makes Dazai practically shudder in frustration. Kunikida isn't quite sure what's being implied for a moment, but then Chuuya is producing lube from his bedside table (that contains, Kunikida notes, several other items of interest) and squeezing some into his palm.

Then Chuuya is putting that palm directly on Kunikida's dick, and Kunikida experiences several thoughts in rapid succession, each one of which ends in a different expletive.

Dazai whistles, propping himself on his elbows to watch as Chuuya strokes Kunikida back to full hardness. Kunikida looks at him, and Dazai meets his eyes and offers a little half-smile that feels a little like something Kunikida wasn't actually meant to see.

"Oh, shut up," Chuuya says, slapping the inside of Dazai's thigh. "Roll over. We've got work to do if you want both of us."

"It's not that much work," Dazai whines, sounding every bit petulant even as he rolls over, more obedient than anything else Chuuya has ever asked for him to do.

"Even you can't take two cocks dry, you fuck," Chuuya says, and he sounds that particular mix of endeared and frustrated that he only ever sounds when he's talking about or with Dazai.

Kunikida's mind finally catches up with what's actually being implied, for the first time in the conversation, and clenches his hands into the bed sheets.

"I could," Dazai protests, even as Chuuya casually slips three fingers at once inside of him. Dazai's hands give out immediately and he goes down to his elbows, hissing faintly at the intrusion.

"Mmhmm," Chuuya says.

"Does it hurt?" Kunikida asks. He sounds almost clinical, which he supposes isn't the sexiest thing in the universe, but like everything else of the night, anal penetration – double or otherwise – is well out of his wheelhouse.

"Yes," Dazai says, immediately, but the way his cock is still leaking speaks to how much he doesn't mind.

"Some," Chuuya says. "He wants it to."

"Oh, shut up," Dazai says, before he breaks off into a moan, hips jerking wildly when Chuuya does something with his fingers that Kunikida can't quite see.

"You shut up first," Chuuya says.

"Ha," Dazai says, and the glance he spares Chuuya over his shoulder is absolutely wrecked but still contains a challenge. "Make me."

Chuuya grits his teeth. "Fine," he snaps, and then he's hauling Dazai upwards by the hips so rapidly Kunikida has a hard time tracking everything. A second later, Chuuya is pressing Dazai into Kunikida's lap, back against Kunikida's chest.

"Fuck him until he shuts up," Chuuya says. "I've got work to do."

Kunikida has no idea what work Chuuya has to do, but he's been given a very sensible command, so he follows that, almost automatically. Dazai opens his mouth to snip out something else, but Kunikida just lifts him – he really doesn't weigh enough – and then, carefully, an arm securely around Dazai's midsection, lines himself up and lowers him back down, inch by inch.

"Ha, ha, fuck," Dazai manages, and when he's finally seated, Kunikida can feel him shaking wildly. His hands are down on Kunikida's thighs, gripping in deep enough that Kunikida thinks he might draw blood.

Dazai has not yet shut up, Kunikida thinks, and so he fucks him. It's not exactly the best angle when Dazai's legs are shaking, but Dazai still pushes himself up and drops down to meet Kunikida's thrusts, and even if he isn't quiet he's not talking, which Kunikida is fairly certain counts. Dazai seems almost frenzied in his motions, and Kunikida keeps a strong grip on him, forcing him down a little longer on every thrust, letting himself bury deep inside Dazai's heat until it's blinding before he lets him pull up again. Every time he does it Dazai moans, clenching down on Kunikida like it'll get him somewhere faster, but Kunikida's on his second orgasm of the night and doesn't need to go anywhere as quickly as Dazai wants him to.

"Great," Chuuya says, cheerfully, and the next time Dazai drops down, Chuuya is there to meet them both, slipping a finger in alongside Kunikida's cock. It adds an extra layer to it: Dazai was already a tight, hot heat around Kunikida, but now it's even tighter, and Dazai thunks his head backwards onto Kunikida's shoulder. This time, he has to adjust, but it isn't long before Kunikida can feel Chuuya moving, and he realizes it's an indication for him to do the same.

Chuuya's gaze on Dazai is a fixed, hungry stare, and everytime Kunikida thrusts inside of Dazai, Dazai lets out a choked groan that Chuuya seems to drink down immediately. Dazai has no complaints to offer about the pace, this time – every time his mouth opens like he might try, the words escape him, unspoken, falling victim to the sensation. This time, when Chuuya moves up to two fingers – up to three – filling Dazai up, making Kunikida feel like there can't possibly be enough room for anything else – Dazai just groans.

Kunikida doesn't know if it still hurts, but if it does, it seems to have been rendered completely unimportant in the cascade of pleasure, one feeling bleeding hard into the other until it's impossible to tell the individual sources.

"Okay," Chuuya says, and Kunikida feels the rush when he removes his fingers. Kunikida stops moving, and bites down on Dazai's shoulder instead, because for all that he's in no rush to come a second time, he's a little worked up.

Dazai just laughs, breathily and scratchily, his voice already shot. Chuuya lines himself up, and Kunikida has a brief moment to think that there's no possible way the human body can actually handle this–

But Dazai is "no longer human", after all, and Chuuya presses inside of him, alongside Kunikida, the pace agonizingly slow and the sensation terrifyingly intense.

Dazai doesn't even seem able to breathe. His breathing stutters out and then comes in gasps, fingertips dragging hard against Kunikida's thigh, against Chuuya's arm. His mouth is open and his chest his heaving, his entire body writhing like he's trying to get away from the sensation, like he's trying to get more, like he's trying to decide but can't even manage that. Dazai Osamu's unstoppable mind has been rendered null in the face of being fucked within an inch of his life, and isn't that a solution Kunikida would never have considered on his own.

However: Kunikida isn't doing much better. He can pretend a little more, because Dazai can't see his face, but the mark he's worried into Dazai's shoulder gives away how much he's actually affected. It's going to take days to heal, and the idea of it pounding there, hidden away under Dazai's bandages, is a thought that Kunikida is fairly certain is going to haunt him the entire time.

"See?" Dazai says, once he's settled, speared on two different cocks and so full he's shaking. His voice is almost slurred, like he's drunk despite the amount of alcohol he'd had being nowhere near enough to do so. "I told you I could– take it–"

"Because you're a cock-hungry slut," Chuuya says, but even he's breathless, pupils blown. Kunikida can only imagine what he must look like right now, but he also – for one of the only moments in his life – does not care.

"Yeah," Dazai agrees, and then Chuuya interrupts anything else by thrusting.

It's out of order: Kunikida and Chuuya can't quite manage to get the same rhythm, so it becomes an overwhelming torrent of movement. It degrades even further as each of them go, and then Dazai's legs fully give out and he nearly screams when it means he falls on both of them at once. Dazai collapsing doesn't even give them pause, and it isn't long before Kunikida can feel his orgasm starting to build, pleasure turning to electricity in his veins and sparking along every inch of him.

There's nowhere to go. There's nothing to do but let it happen: to let the feeling build and build and build, impossibly strong, and then even stronger, and when he comes he mouths over the spot he'd bit earlier and tastes blood.

For a moment, the entire world hangs in a time freeze. Nothing progresses. Nothing ends. Kunikida is aware of Chuuya continuing to thrust, of Dazai spasming around him as he comes without either of them touching his cock, his wail loud enough that it would probably summon the police if they were in any other apartment. It's all muted, for a moment; it's far away, it's less important than the chemicals his body has made and released, overloading his senses.

It all comes back in a sticky, uncomfortable mess a few seconds later.

"Ugh," Chuuya mumbles, and then slowly uncouples himself before flinging himself backwards on the bed, chest heaving. There are bloody lines on his back; there are matching ones on Kunikida's thighs. Dazai whines when Chuuya pulls out, and so Kunikida doesn't follow, just yet; without Chuuya there, the pressure isn't quite as intense, and he slowly wraps his arms around Dazai to lower him back down to the bed, instead. Dazai's eyelids flutter like he's a damsel in distress, and he immediately reaches out to steal one of Chuuya's pillows.

"--Don't drool on it, you asshole!"

"Haa," is all Dazai says in response, which is fair.

For a long moment, no one says anything. They all seem to be recovering, coming down from the equivalent of running an entire marathon.

Then Dazai says: "Nine out of ten."

"You motherf–"

"Hmm. Maybe eight point five out of ten?"

"Why did it go lower?!"

Dazai only smiles, his face half-obscured by the pillow.

"You'll just have to try and find out, won't you?"

Kunikida considers his life.

Kunikida considers his life choices.

"I'm getting us all water," he says, before they can get dragged into another round and dehydrate themselves further.

"Bring the wine!" Dazai calls after him.

"Do not bring the wine!" Chuuya yells, louder.

Kunikida smiles, faintly.

Kunikida's alarm goes off at seven in the morning, on the dot.

Chuuya tries to shoot it, but he doesn't have a gun, so he mostly just throws a pillow that clocks Kunikida square in the face. He's braced for it to be bolted down with gravity, but Dazai still has half his limbs entangled with Chuuya's in his best impersonation of a koala, so Kunikida supposes Chuuya's options are limited.

"You seriously goin' to work this early?" Chuuya drawls. He blinks at Kunikida, cat-like, seemingly uninterested in any further movement.

"No, I am going into work promptly at nine," Kunikida responds. "I'm getting up this early to shower in your bathroom."

Chuuya snorts, then waves his hand. He doesn't fully commit to the motion, because he doesn't actually lift his wrist, but it gets the point across.

"You wanna take this guy? Dunk him in some cold water and he might come to," Chuuya says.

Dazai, who ostensibly had not been awake, says 'noo' very quietly into Chuuya's stomach.

"No one expects him in the office until a quarter after ten," Kunikida says.

There's a beat, and this time it's a quiet, only slightly petulant, 'okaay'.

"Well, 'm not getting up yet, so c'mere," Chuuya says, and this time he does raise his wrist to beckon Kunikida back over. Kunikida goes, a bit bewildered, and Chuuya leans up to brush a kiss against his lips. It's chaste, because neither of them managed to brush their teeth before bed, but it makes something flutter delightfully warm in Kunikida's chest.

It takes him halfway through his shower before he realizes the feeling is something he'd long given up on: the feeling of someone else liking him.

There is a party, quite awhile later. The exact acts leading to this party were deeply traumatizing and unfortunate, but the end result is: a party, on one of Fitzgerald's yachts, filled with members of the Agency, the Port Mafia, (former) members of the Guild, a couple members of the Special Divisions, and a couple of the Hunting Dogs, for truly good measure.

Kunikida has never felt so threatened in his entire life, and that includes the time he woke up in a mafia executive's bed.

He escapes – bypassing Atsushi and Akutagawa having some sort of intense fight over a slice of cake, avoiding Ranpo and Poe having an animated discussion about the ways you could murder someone on a boat, and slipping deftly past Tetchou and Kenji, who are embroiled in arm wrestling – before he manages to get to fresh salt air and unoccupied territory.

"So," Chuuya says, conversationally, appearing beside Kunikida with little warning and two glasses of wine as apology. "I heard you lost your hands."

"Temporarily," Kunikida says. Truthfully, he can still feel the loss sometimes, and has woken up twice convinced that having all his limbs back was just a dream. Normalcy has returned, but the memories are still present.

"Wanna break your new ones in?" Chuuya asks.

Kunikida can't help himself.

He laughs.

He bursts into genuine laughter like he hasn't had in ages, like it's the funniest thing that's ever happened in the world. It isn't – it isn't even close – but it feels like taking so many broken things and putting them back together. Whole, but altered; together, but changed.

Chuuya looks startled, and then he laughs too, and then he's kissing Kunikida, tasting like wine and salt air. Dazai finds them and slots himself in perfectly, chattering mindlessly about never waiting for him and then stealing Chuuya's wine, and his fingers entwine with Kunikida's in a grip that loss has made tighter than ever.

"I'm scheduled to leave this party," Kunikida says, checking his watch, "in exactly fourteen minutes."

Chuuya stares up at him. "What the hell do you have scheduled?"

"This," Kunikida says. Chuuya flushes despite himself and immediately blames it on the alcohol, and Dazai smiles and immediately pokes Chuuya in the side to tease him without moving away from where he's leaning half against Kunikida's shoulder, and Kunikida thinks–

If you want something, then you use that feeling to protect that something.

Kunikida won't let any of them lose this ideal.