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If there was one true fact of the world, it was this: it really, really wasn’t fun working as the Port Mafia boss’s right-hand man. In fact, it usually fucking sucked.
Dazai was a complicated man, and even though Chuuya had years of experience, the only thing all those years had really earned him was a fair bit of certainty that it was the worst job he could possibly have landed himself. Strategizing and battling-- those were his forte, not some strange, nebulous manipulation game that Dazai seemed to revel in. All of the fake laughs and unnecessarily complicated business deals just gave him a headache, and that didn't even begin to cover how much of a pain to deal with Dazai himself could be.
Sometimes, he got frustrated. Those days were bad. He would get eerily quiet and drum a finger on the armrest of his ridiculously huge chair as he worked his oversized head on whatever problem was bothering him, his one visible eye narrowed in a faint glare. After a while, he would eventually snap at Chuuya to get the hell out, at which point he would leave for a few minutes to grab a coffee, and then come back to the room, which would always be decorated with two or three new bullet holes in the walls.
Sometimes, he got petulant, and acted like a child. Those days were even worse. The boss always seemed to get frustrated over the littlest, most idiotic things, and would constantly force Chuuya to spend ages listening to him complain. On the days he was particularly irritated, he would spend actual hours cussing out those who had been unlucky enough to earn his ire, all the while throwing uncapped pens at a dartboard, missing each time and leaving streaks of blue ink on the wallpaper.
And sometimes, he got hungry.
“Boss,” Chuuya growled, pushing away the hand slowly trailing up his thigh, not-so-subtly trying to grope his ass. A hot flush was creeping up his neck, all the way to his cheeks and nose, but he turned his face away with a scowl-- he was not going to give Dazai the satisfaction of seeing him blush. “Not now.”
“Oh?” Dazai batted a large, chocolate eye at Chuuya, mockingly sweet. He was, as he always was during business meetings, seated in his huge, red-leather armchair, lounging casually back with one leg slung over the other. “I didn’t know you were the boss today, puppy-dog. I’ll be sure to act the part of a doting, wonderful assistant-- maybe then you’ll see how it’s done.”
Chuuya returned his look with a glare, tail flicking in annoyance. Under the warm, dim sepia lights filtering down from the ceiling (Dazai called it ambiance, Chuuya called it a waste of money), his skin was cast in a dark, amber hue, his almost black hair throwing a shadow over his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Although Chuuya hated to admit it, he was truly a beautiful man-- long lashes, lovely, pale skin without a single divot or scar in sight, his heavy eyes and arched lips giving him an almost supernatural allure.
Glare faltering, Chuuya found himself focusing more and more on Dazai’s mouth, where a solitary fang was snagged on the bottom lip. It looked so tantalizing, almost . . . enticing . . .
A cold, slick shiver ran down his spine.
He shook his head, snapping himself sharply out of the trance. “And don’t glamour me,” he growled, trying not to break his composure, no matter how badly he wanted to slam Dazai’s face against his desktop then and there. Maybe breaking his nose would make Chuuya feel better. “You’re in a business meeting! Pay attention!”
“How tedious.” With a long-suffering sigh, Dazai leaned forward and considered the two men sitting across the table from him, head tipped to the side. They had fallen silent as soon as Dazai had started talking to Chuuya, heads bowed in deference, though they were starting to look just a little uncomfortable at the way the great Port Mafia’s boss and his right-hand-man were bickering. Like schoolchildren, Ane-san always said, her giggle just a little too teasingly amused for Chuuya's tastes.
One of the men was a bit heavy-set, with wide, broad shoulders like a transit truck, and wore a plaid, green-and-black trench coat, while the other had on a pair of huge, buggy spectacles and reeked horribly of cigarette smoke. A leather briefcase sat on the lap of the skinnier businessman, and had been opened a few minutes ago to reveal a small, brilliant blue gemstone nestled into a bed of soft green foam: it was about the size of a lima bean, yet so stunningly pristine that it seemed to glow in the darkness of the room.
This gem was the blue carbuncle, of course. A famous gem that had vanished into the underground years ago, its value growing slowly over the decades until it had eventually tipped over into the eight-figure range. Apparently, that was when the two men before them had managed to nick it, leading them to promptly take it to the Mafia to see how much of a payout they could get.
“Hmm. You know what?” Dazai turned back to gaze at the two men, resting his chin in a hand. They flinched upon suddenly being spoken to again, heads jerking up in perfect sync to stare hopefully back at the boss of the Port Mafia. “My doggy here has a point, actually. A good one. And believe me, that’s rare, so it’s something to be celebrated. I should be focused-- just not on something useless like the two of you.”
One of the men rose halfway to his feet, looking scandalized. “Useless?!" he echoed, angry and seemingly mortified by the passive dismissal in Dazai's tone. "I would have thought you’d know better than to treat us like this! We’ve brought you a very valuable gem, Dazai-sama, and--”
“Yes, yes, but there’s one issue I just can’t help but notice: That’s not the blue carbuncle.” Dazai crooked a finger at the gemstone sitting in the middle of the briefcase.
Both of the men immediately stiffened, one of their faces going a deep, blotchy purple, the other one paling until he somewhat resembled a ghost. Dazai lifted his gaze and pinned the man who was standing with a thin, horrible smile, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “You expect me to fall for an obvious forgery like this? You two really must think I’m some sort of idiot.”
The man began to sweat. “W-w-we-- we didn’t--”
“Chuuya,” Dazai said mildly, leaning back in his chair, “escort our guests out.”
Chuuya drew himself up to his full height, unable to stop an almost feral grin from spreading across his face. “Yes, boss.”
He grabbed the two men, each by one shoulder, and started pulling them out of the room, making sure to dig his claws in past their layers of clothing, pinpricks of pain pressing into their skin. It was just a taste of what they’d earned for themselves-- lying to the boss was treason of the highest sort. It was also the sort Chuuya liked the most. He rarely-- if ever-- got to let loose, since most people were too terrified of the Port Mafia to ever even dream of crossing them.
I’m going to enjoy this.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Chuuya glanced over his shoulder to look at Dazai, who was watching him with a strange look in his eye-- there was something almost ravenous about his gaze, something that made goosebumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck. It was a look he knew very, very well.
“What is it?”
Dazai smiled. “I’m rather hungry, so be a dear and fetch a snack for me.”
A long moment passed. Chuuya swallowed hard, forcing down the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Dazai didn’t break eye contact, didn’t so much as move a single muscle, only smiled a little wider, lips parting to reveal a row of pearly fangs. They were long, sheer white, and so sharp that they could have cut through a diamond necklace.
Chuuya’s eyes traced the line of the curved front fangs-- they seemed perfect in a way he couldn’t describe; tantalizing, uniquely fitted to fulfill the hot craving that stirred like a wild beast in the pit of his stomach.
That goddamned glamour . . .
“What’s wrong, puppy?” Dazai ran his tongue over his teeth, tilting his head to the side in mock sympathy. “Surely you don’t expect me to say please. Just be a good boy and go.”
“. . . fine,” Chuuya huffed, flushing dark red. He hated the way Dazai patronized him, hated it more than anything else, and yet-- the way his body reacted, it didn’t make any sense. “But don’t expect me to be back soon. I’ve gotta deal with these two idiots first.” He gave the skinny one a hard shake, and grinned at the yelp pulled from the pathetic man, who looked almost like a stray dog quailing back in the face of a wolf.
“N-no, please! We’re sorry-- we promise! Please, just let us go!”
“Oh, can it.” Chuuya dragged them out the door, making sure to clip their shoulders on the doorway on the way out, enjoying the way they flinched at the sudden blow. “The boss says he’s hungry, so I don’t have that much time. It’ll be over before you know it. Unfortunately for me,” he added under his breath, a little angrily.
He couldn’t lie; he was looking forward to tearing them apart.
It made him feel good, fulfilled, satisfied that hot, violent animal need inside of him. Dazai hadn’t let him off the leash-- as much as he hated that awful phrase-- in weeks, and he’d been getting antsy. Whether Dazai had been doing it just to be an ass, or for some other, more nefarious reason (he loved punishing Chuuya for the smallest shit, holding it over his head for ages until he eventually caved and apologized in an angry huff, still usually at a loss about what the hell he was even apologizing for), Chuuya had no clue. He knew one thing for sure, though-- when it came to that cunning bastard, it was equally likely to be either.
He kicked the door shut, trying to forget the hungry stare that Dazai had fixed on him by flooding his mind with other, better thoughts, like his workload for the rest of the day, or how best to dissect the insolent men who had been dumb enough to lie to the Mafia’s boss.
It didn’t work.
As he stomped down the hallway, dragging the sobbing men behind him, mind only drawing back to that piercing, ravenous stare.
Dazai was mesmerizing-- of course he was. Vampires always were. That allure worked wonders on other people, wonders that, more often than not, ended in blood-leeched bodies stuffed behind abandoned buildings and thrown into the Yokohama waterways. Chuuya had seen it so many times before, in the red-lights district, in seedy back alleys, in broad-windowed body shops, drawing men and women of all sorts in with their red lips and sharp grins.
It had never worked on him before, though. Although werewolves like himself usually had an abnormal resistance, it had been amped up in him for as long as he could remember. He was too cautious, too jaded, too . . . something for it to work right.
Dazai had been the first to make it work.
He was also the only.
Chuuya shook his head violently to stop his thoughts from straying any further, his clawed grip tightening on the two swindlers until they cried out in pain. One of their secretaries-- an Onryō, with dark, hooded eyes and a good head on her non-corporeal shoulders-- who was standing in the hallway looked over at the noise, then quickly averted her eyes again when she saw who was coming down the corridor.
“Gin.” He paused at the doorway to the staircase, turning briefly to face her as he smoothed a professional look over his face. “The boss has requested that the entirety of this floor be vacated for the next few hours. We have some . . .” He pursed his lips, hating the way heat climbed in his face. His ear twitched in annoyance as he wiped the embarrassing thoughts from his mind. “Some business to take care of, and it’s imperative nobody tries to eavesdrop.”
“Oh, um . . . of course!” She blinked rapidly, then ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. Obviously uncomfortable, she shifted her feet, holding her clipboard just a little tighter against her chest. “Yes. Yes, I can-- I can do that.”
“Good. Have everyone gone in ten minutes.” Shoving down the urge to tug on his choker, Chuuya settled for giving the scammers another good shake before stepping through the doors and letting them slam closed behind him, ignoring the way they had redoubled their pleas for him to let them go.
Ten minutes.
Ten short minutes.
“I’ll have to make the most of it,” he said under his breath, then turned to smirk down at his two newest trifles. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Dazai hummed to himself, stripping the black leather gloves he wore off of his hands and laying them carefully down on his desk.
Oh, he was starving.
It was strange. He’d traversed multiple universes, weaved braids through the timelines, pursued his own fairy-tale conclusion over and over-- he should have known how to mould the present into his own perfect ending, but thus far, it all eluded him. He couldn’t keep Odasaku alive and happy, he couldn’t slice away the pain that sunk deep into every bone of his damnably immortal body, and he couldn’t stop the horrible, itching hunger that crawled across his skin and swallowed him from the inside out. It told him-- not asked him, told-- that he had to feed soon, and so did the moon, which hung fat and heavy in the sky, lustrous and round for Hallow’s Eve night.
He cracked a small, bitter smile. A vampire and a werewolf, alone together on Hallow’s Eve . . . it sounded like the leadup to a bad joke.
Vampires didn’t need to feed on people, not really. Not many studies had been done on their kind, so there was a shortage of information that led to different cultures developing different ideologies all over the world. Some ancient groups in Northern Europe still believed that blood was only fit for consumption when it was drunk out of a living, breathing human, whereas, in other places of the world, a culture around consuming only animal blood had started to grow. They found its taste fresh and light, like how humans would describe a salad.
Dazai, meanwhile, found it disgusting.
He’d lived on animal blood for years, and unlike the trendy covens in America and Australia, it hadn’t been a choice for him. He’d spent decades, the majority of his eternal life, skulking about behind dumpsters and ambushing raccoons or possums, his stomach aching all the while. It had continued even after he’d been inducted into the Port Mafia-- Mori had offered him a sip of human blood, once, but he’d refused, knowing that if he tasted from that fruit, he’d never be able to turn back. He’d been constantly on edge, tearing the flesh of dead animals apart and drinking his fill from their carcass, hating the taste, yet he knew it was better than the alternative-- falling prey to his instincts and not being able to turn back.
Then, one day, before the Book, before Odasaku, before things had gotten so complicated, Chuuya had kicked his way into his life. Quite literally. Hard enough to hurt, too.
It had only taken one whiff of his blood-- that sweet, hot liquid, perfumed and mouthwatering, like a rich, aged wine-- and Dazai had been gone. A lost man. Or-- well, a lost vampire, he supposed. Nothing else would do, his body had decided.
Nothing but the best.
Nothing but Chuuya.
He scowled down at his desk, staring at the blank space where his reflection would otherwise be in the immaculately polished walnut. He’d tried going through the timelines without him. He’d tried it, dozens upon dozens upon hundreds of times, but it never worked for long. It was just his body betraying him, showing a weakness he wished he could carve out of himself with a silver knife-- he wouldn’t care how much it hurt, he just wanted it gone.
Although, at least he knew Chuuya felt the same.
Just as conflicted, just as intrigued, just as . . . enticed. Dazai wouldn’t go so far as to call it comforting, but it eased the way his gut twisted painfully every time he thought about those insignificant-- or, well, he wished they were insignificant-- feelings. Chuuya needed him, too, and as long as they were linked together in that way, he had power.
Right then, though, he was unfortunately stuck in his overwhelming craving for Chuuya’s blood, rather like an animal slowly drowning in a tar pit. He scoffed at the thought, pushing himself out of his chair and turning away from his desk.
Just as he was starting to pace, a knock came from the door. He turned towards it, pausing for just a moment before calling out to the person who had knocked. “You know you don’t have to knock, Chuuya. It’s a privilege, and I keep telling you to take advantage of it, for heaven’s sake.”
The door slid open to reveal Chuuya standing behind it, hands behind his back, his large, wolfish ears twitching at each small sound. His bright orange hair fell in waves around his sun-warmed face, tied back by a small band of golden thread to rest in a thin ponytail along his shoulder. He looked sharp in a crisp black suit and vest, the top buttons undone to expose a delicious amount of skin, something that Dazai occasionally had to axe his stupider colleagues for eyeing. Chuuya was a well-trained dog, and handsome, too, but he belonged strictly to Dazai.
He’d removed both his hat and the small choker that usually covered the skin of his throat, revealing two small puncture wounds, though scar tissue was already slowly healing them back up. He looked positively ravishing.
Dazai licked his lips.
“You already took your collar off?” He stepped forward, hands behind his back. Chuuya swallowed hard, throat bobbing, but didn’t retreat, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Dazai. “That’s such a shame. I was hoping to take it off of you myself.”
“Yeah, that tracks,” Chuuya muttered. There was heat to his voice, but Dazai could hear the blood coursing excitedly through his veins, could smell it, even through his skin, and knew exactly how fast his heart was pounding. As always, Chuuya wanted him to drink, wanted him to take control, hungered for it the same way Dazai did. “Lechers like you usually love stripping people.”
“Watch it.” Dazai smirked, tugging at the bandages over his wrists and arms, pulling them free so that they unravelled and fell to the ground, revealing the gnarled, jagged scars that ran up and down his forearms. He pushed back the bandages over his other eye; he wanted to drink in every bit of Chuuya’s visage that he could. “I still have full authority over you.”
The werewolf replied with a sneer and a flick of his tail. “And I can still beat your ass into that wall over there and get off scot-free, you condescending asshole.”
“Point well made, but that doesn’t defeat mine. As much as you love to make your big, fancy statements and threaten to kick me into the next week, you’d never lay a finger on me, would you? No . . .” Dazai stepped even closer, until they were barely inches apart, and he could gaze down at Chuuya, dark, syrupy brown meeting the bright electric blue that he knew so, so well. Every inch of Chuuya was on high alert-- breathing hastened, hot blood rushing to his face, eyes locked on Dazai. He smelled positively mouthwatering.
Dazai lifted a hand, gently dragging a finger down the curve of Chuuya’s chin, letting it trace the lines of his throat, and enjoying the warmth of the skin underneath his fingertips. “After all, you’re such a good boy."
“Don’t call me that,” Chuuya snapped, jerking his head away. He took a step back, and oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all. “I’m not your fucking dog.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dazai corrected him sharply, heated frustration sneaking into his words no matter how hard he tried to push it down. He bared his fangs fully, stepping forward and grabbing Chuuya with both hands-- one on his shoulder, the other seizing a fistful of his hair-- and pulled his head back, forcibly exposing his neck to the cold air. "You're mine, Chuuya."
He leaned down, pressing his nose against the curve of Chuuya’s neck and inhaling deeply. Oh, he loved the way he could smell the blood pounding through those veins, but even better was the shaky, stifled moan that Chuuya made. It rumbled through his throat, more of a sensation than a noise, and Dazai revelled in it as he licked a wet stripe up the side of Chuuya’s throat, already lapping at the half-healed bite marks he’d left from their last session. Gloved fingers dug into his hair, squeezed tight around his neck, Chuuya’s spine already curving backward to accommodate the way Dazai was draping himself all over the smaller monster.
"If I tell you to kill someone," he continued, voice muffled by the way his lips were still pressed closely to Chuuya's skin, "you kill it. If I tell you to get something, you fetch it.”
His self-control was slipping away already, and he found himself fighting not to sink his fangs into the soft, pale skin in front of him. He craved the smooth, heady sweetness of Chuuya’s blood, something deep inside him practically begging him just to bite, to drink so much it filled his mouth and dried in thick streaks down his chin, and to leave Chuuya fuzzy-headed, pliable, bled too dry to think straight.
“More to the point,” he finished in a hoarse whisper, reaching around to tangle a fist into Chuuya’s hair, “If I tell you to bark, you get down on your hands and knees and whine and howl for me.” He yanked the lovelock down again, forcing Chuuya’s head to tip even further back so he could admire the entirety of the neck now on full display. “You’re mine to command, so act like it. Understand?”
“--yes, boss,” Chuuya managed, albeit shakily, his breath coming in short, stuttering gasps. He could pull himself away at any moment, and they both knew it-- it was the fact that he wouldn’t that made it all so intoxicating for Dazai. The loyalty, the fact that Chuuya was standing there, giving himself, it was foolish in a way that defied description, but it made things oh, so heady. “Just-- please."
Dazai pulled his attention away from the enticing throat, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “So hasty. I wanted to take my time, you know. Have a full-course meal.”
“In the office?” Opening his eyes, Chuuya raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Where?”
The vampire’s shoulder lifted in a brief shrug. “On my desk. On the floor. I’m sure we can make it work.”
“. . . and they call me an animal,” muttered Chuuya. “Fine.”
“Goodness, chibi, if you keep being so enthusiastic, you’ll make me blush,” Dazai chuckled, dipping his head back down to press a chaste kiss against the nape of Chuuya’s neck. He let his fangs graze the skin, and got a full-body shiver in response, grinning at the way Chuuya’s pulse quickened just a little at the sensation. “I can hear that, you know. You want me to bite already?”
“Oh, you--” Chuuya made a frustrated noise, almost a whine, one of his hands coming up to fist in Dazai’s hair, pushing him closer to his neck. “No fucking shit,” he hissed. Still embarrassed, he kept his voice low. How charming. “What do you think?!”
“I do adore how eager you get, but I don’t think this would be the most comfortable place.” Dazai pulled himself upright, shaking away Chuuya’s hand. His eyes dipped down to that bare expanse of throat, and he wished again that Chuuya had left the choker on. Just the sight of it made his pulse quicken-- a small, strongly possessive part of him loved the fact that Chuuya wore it for him, proof of the ownership, the power, that he needed and loved in equal measure. Besides, it looked good on that pretty little neck.
Oh, well. There was always next time.
He crooked a finger. “Follow me.”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes, but followed obediently. “You’re serious about staying here in the office, aren’t you?”
“So many questions,” groaned Dazai, falling into his chair with a loud, dramatic thump, so sudden he heard the springs squeak underneath his weight. “It would be better . . .” He lifted his head again, raking his eyes hungrily over Chuuya. “. . . if you would just shut that mouth and come over here.”
“Yes, boss.” A red blush bloomed like camilla flowers on Chuuya’s face. It was pretty, but then again, what about that werewolf wasn’t?
Chuuya walked the few steps left to the chair and lowered himself down onto Dazai’s lap, straddling him. No matter how many times they went through this, the beginning was always the same: Dazai practically salivating, while Chuuya wore an almost nervous look, pink about the nose and cheeks in a way that almost suggested demurity. His skin would be blazing hot, and he would already be aroused, as his body was far used to their little ritual by then.
Unlike Dazai, he ran hot, startlingly so, full of that life and warmth that all vampires were missing. It colored his cheeks and gave his eyes a fiery spark, while Dazai was left with pale, almost translucent skin and dull, albeit attractive, features. Werewolves and vampires-- didn’t everyone look at them as similar opposites, two extremes, each decorating one side of the same coin?
That described the two of them quite well.
Dazai lowered his head, burying his face in the crook of Chuuya’s neck. He took another deep breath, letting the smell of blood fill his nose and mouth for a long, still moment, waiting just until Chuuya started to squirm, then opened his sharp jaws and sank his fangs deep into soft skin.
The effect was immediate-- vampire bites flooded their victims with hormones to make them more agreeable, the power so strong that not even the most clear-headed oni could resist.
Chuuya, who was certainly clear-headed but definitely not an oni, let out a strangled moan, something vaguely resembling Dazai’s name, and melted like warm butter, crumpling into his arms. Dazai swallowed a mouthful of succulent blood, unable to stop himself from grinning at the way Chuuya was shuddering around him, body suddenly weak and pliable. Any moment before, he could have pulled himself away instantly, but now he strictly couldn’t-- not when his limbs surely felt so heavy, and his head was telling him that where he was was exactly where he needed to be.
Chuuya tasted . . . well, like blood, of course. Dazai lapped at the fresh wound, collecting more blood on his tongue, letting the flavor fill his mouth and nose, new energy coursing through him like a bolt of lightning. Chuuya’s blood was strong and had a sort of metallic edge to it, as though Dazai was running his tongue along the blade of a sword, but there was something else, too-- something darkly sweet that he couldn’t always taste, a flavor he was always left to chase, nothing more.
“Oh, Chuuya,” he murmured, pulling back with a satisfied sigh. His lips were wet, blood dribbling down his chin to collect in the divot of his clavicle. The ginger’s eyes were lidded, his face now flushed a hot red, looking all the more beautiful with the mess of blood smeared over his neck. Dazai’s dick stirred at the sight. “You’re beautiful.”
“An’ you’re a fuckin’ tease,” slurred Chuuya, sounding drunk. He blinked rapidly a few times, trying to focus his eyes on Dazai. “Aren’t you gonna--”
Before he could finish, Dazai had grabbed him by the back of the head, hand fisting into tangles of thick, fiery hair, and pushed him up, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to those lips. Wet and messy, Chuuya moaned openly into the kiss, goosebumps flaring up over his arms when Dazai’s fangs nicked his tongue, flooding their mouths with the mingled taste of blood.
“You’ve always been so obedient, Chuuya, haven't you?” Dazai whispered against Chuuya’s lips, earning himself a growl in reply. Chuuya’s own dick was half-hard already, pressing against the side of Dazai’s stomach, a small spot of wetness leaking through his pants. Dazai reached down, giving the bulge a soft squeeze, and Chuuya gasped, jerking his head away in surprise. “Keep it that way.”
“Don’t-- don’t patronize me, asshole,” Chuuya forced out, breathing hard, trying (and failing) to keep his voice steady. Only half-lucid, he leaned forward, chasing another kiss, but Dazai pulled away, chuckling.
He looped an arm around Chuuya’s back and pulled their hips closer, pressing their bodies together until there was less than an inch of space squeezed between them. “I’m not patronizing you,” he said, trying to seem indifferent, even as every cell in his body cried out to pull Chuuya even closer, to fuck him into the desk until neither one of them could walk the next morning. “I just want you to know your place.”
Chuuya huffed, meeting his eyes with that same bright, blazing fire that he’d seen when they’d first met, all those years ago. It still looked exactly the same-- was it that fire that had drawn him to that scrappy, stubborn, dazzling boy, back when Dazai himself just been some gutter rat, too weak even to gnaw on scraps?
“My place?” Chuuya echoed breathily, leaning forward and grinning meanly, teeth sharp and bloody. “And just where is that, boss?”
Dazai returned his grin, eyes glinting. “Under me.”
Chuuya knew that he was hopeless.
Hopeless for letting his boss manhandle him; hopeless for falling prey to his tricks every time they were pulled, no matter how suspicious he tried to be; hopeless for actually falling for that son of a bitch, for letting his heart open to a creature he knew would never-- could never-- return that kind of love.
Or maybe that was just the hormones talking. It was always a little confusing after the initial bite. He thought that they’d mostly faded, short-lived as they tended to be, but who knew?
This-- whatever was between them-- was nothing, he reminded himself. It had always been nothing, and it would always be nothing. Dazai was cold, and cruel, and manipulative, and Chuuya had been reminded of that time and time again, until it had been beaten into his head with a stark finality. Their affair was about as far removed from a loving relationship as it could be. Purely physical, purely convenient.
It was less than that-- it was nothing at all.
Even if it didn’t quite feel like it.
Chuuya gasped out into the open air, back flexing as he pushed back against Dazai, their bodies moving in perfect tandem. Just a few seconds ago, he had been watching Dazai yank open a drawer for a bottle of lube (he had been keeping a bottle there? How long had he been planning this?!), and now he was bent over and face-down on the desk, his pants yanked down to his ankles as an elbow shoved him harder against the dark, polished wood and a pair of oil-slick fingers were pushed into him.
He couldn’t help but let out a sharp hiss at the unfamiliar sensation-- it had been a while since they had last had sex, and he had forgotten exactly how icy cold Dazai’s skin could get.
“Oi, let me move,” Chuuya snapped, smacking Dazai’s leg with a well-placed kick. Dazai’s arm was stuck in the small of his back, his hand squeezing a fistful of Chuuya’s hair to keep his head as firmly pinned as the rest of him. His tail smacked the nearby table, betraying his frustration. “My back is gonna fuckin’ kill me tomorrow if we keep this position up.”
“And here I thought you liked it rough,” Dazai purred, only pushing him relentlessly harder against the desk. Just as Chuuya opened his mouth to complain, Dazai’s fingers crooked into just the right spot, and all the words he’d planned on saying disintegrated into a wanton whine, leaving him embarrassed, red in the face, and very, very horny. Dazai leaned down, his low, amused chuckle barely an inch from Chuuya’s ear, the soft breath making it twitch. “Don’t worry, dear, soon you won’t have to think about any of that.”
“Just-- oh!” Chuuya inhaled sharply as he felt Dazai’s fangs on the side of his neck again, sinking deep into his flesh. Another warm, heady wave of pleasure slammed into him, leaving him light-headed and gasping for air, the near-blinding ecstasy only intensifying as Dazai pushed a third finger into him, stretching him, filling him almost perfectly.
He moaned again, hoarse and loud, a desperate plea, and Dazai answered in kind, pulling his mouth away to lavish kisses all over his neck instead, leaving a sloppy, bloody trail up the side. He could feel Dazai’s dick, against his thigh; it pressed into him, hard and impatient, and although Dazai was trying his best to keep up the façade that he was in full control, it was slipping. Every so often, like when Chuuya let out a particularly sweet noise or pushed his ass back against him, his hips would rut forward, and he’d let out a frustrated huff, almost too quiet to hear.
They’d been doing this long enough for Chuuya to know Dazai inside and out (and yes, he did mean that literally). He could tell that Dazai was slowly reaching his limit, and he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself.
“Boss, I--” He stopped short, gripping tighter on the edges of the desk to keep himself stable as Dazai leaned further over him, followed closely by the thick smell of blood. His eyes, normally dark like rich, ancient mahogany, had started shining red, glowing in the dim light like a pair of magical rubies. His mouth and lips were smeared with blood, and he had a hungry, almost predatory look to him, one that made Chuuya shiver.
Chuuya faltered. “. . . boss?”
“I changed my mind.” All of a sudden, the weight lifted off of Chuuya’s back, and the fingers working him towards an orgasm pulled away, leaving him almost breathless. When he turned around to stare at Dazai, confused and more than a little disappointed, he was met by an impatient wave of Dazai’s hand. “Turn around.”
“You’re so fuckin’ bossy,” complained Chuuya, shuffling around as best he could in the enclosed space. Once he was suitably adjusted, he crossed his arms over his chest, claws tapping impatiently against his upper arm. “What’s so different about this-- oi!”
All of a sudden, Dazai had scooped him up and dropped him onto the edge of the desk hard enough for Chuuya’s tailbone to immediately start to ache, making it so that their heads were just about even. Dazai kept their eyes glued together, something inscrutable in his gaze-- something that made Chuuya squirm inside, though he didn’t dare let it show.
“Hmm . . .” Dazai lifted a hand, running his knuckles along the edge of Chuuya’s chin with something that could almost be called tenderness. He smirked up at Chuuya, letting his hand linger for a moment, pressed against his cheek. His hands still smelt faintly of leather. “You really are such a pretty thing. The cutest little mangy mutt I’ve ever seen.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Chuuya snarled, face going hot and bright red. He knew that stupid vampire could feel his embarrassment, could hear every beat of his traitorous heart, and knew exactly which buttons to push to make Chuuya react in this way. Shitty bastard liked seeing him get all worked up. “Stop gettin’ all sentimental before I puke, got it?!”
Dazai’s smile only widened. “Calm down. I heard from a colleague that dogs learn more from positive reinforcement, so I wanted to try it out.”
He pulled his pants and underwear down, kicking them off to the side. Chuuya swallowed hard, gaze stuck on Dazai’s dick, which was now fully erect and leaking precum. It throbbed in front of him, pink and swollen, likely the only part of Dazai’s body that wasn’t as cold as a block of ice.
“You look so eager,” Dazai teased, running a lube-covered hand over his dick. “Don’t worry, I love it when you get desperate. All I want is for you to start losing yourself, begging under me until the only thing you see, the only thing you taste, the only thing you feel--”
He lined himself up at Chuuya’s entrance, the head of his dick pressing into Chuuya’s ass, and though he squirmed about, trying to push himself down onto it, Dazai held him back until he finished speaking.
“I want it to be me.”
He shoved himself into Chuuya, not slowly, not gently, but hard and harsh and fast enough to hurt. The sudden thrust wrenched a loud, surprised moan out of Chuuya’s throat, his back arching up and off the table.
“All-- all at once, y-you asshole?!” he snarled-- or tried to, but his voice had gone weak and shaky, then broke apart entirely as Dazai pulled sharply out and slammed back in, punching another humiliating noise out from Chuuya. He quickly found himself very thankful for all the lube-- it helped turn the pain into pleasure, helped break him down until he was nothing but a limp mess on the desktop, trying to breathe as one hard thrust after another hit the most sensitive part of him, the noises between them going from slick and silent to wet and loud.
“Oh, what a good boy,” Dazai whispered, sounding pleased, and Chuuya couldn’t respond with anything except another plaintive moan, tears springing to his eyes.
His head swam, an intoxicating pleasure spreading like fire through him, burning him up, raging over his skin and ravaging everything until sweat dripped from his forehead and his heart pounded like a frantic bird inside a tiny cage. An icy hand pressed against his bare chest, dragging sharp nails up his collarbone and eventually finding its place around his neck, pinning him flat against the polished desk. Dazai’s fingers were long and thin, yet deceptively strong and precise, too, able to apply enough pressure to Chuuya’s throat so that he could still breathe-- but only just.
As the thrusts grew stronger and faster, and the fingers around his throat squeezed tighter, Chuuya’s breathing grew ragged, and his thoughts dissipated like moonlit smoke until all that was left was the pleasure pounding into him, mounting and building, until he couldn’t help but beg.
“Oh-- god--” He choked on a dry sob as Dazai hit his prostate, winding his legs around Dazai’s back and pulling him closer, trying to soak up every last sensation as it echoed through his whole body. He could feel himself getting pushed nearer to the edge, could feel his own body moving as though it was not his own, meeting Dazai’s thrusts with fast, desperate motions of his own, claws digging splinters into the wood of the desk. “Fuckin’ hell, boss--”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t--” Dazai swore through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as he pounded into Chuuya over and over, ecstasy mounting, building between them, a blinding sensation, liquid lightning racing through their veins. His scent had gone from sharp whiskey and coppery blood to something darker, hot and peppery, filling the air with the almost overbearing stench of lust, of hunger. “Call my name. Just my name.”
Tears slid out of Chuuya’s eyes and ran down his cheeks, mixing with the slick blood that was still smeared over his lower face, all of it dripping messily onto the desk. Each movement, each drag out and thrust back in, it all sent sparks down his spine. His moans grew louder, more demanding, and they only built to a keening whine when Dazai let go of his neck, bent down, and bit right into the junction between neck and shoulder, fangs sinking through silky flesh to find his jugular and slice through it. Dazai drank for a long moment, the stinging pain mixing with the blissful dizziness clouding Chuuya’s head, and he damn near came right then and there.
Dazai lifted his head to stare down at him, eyes like glittering rubies, blood dripping down his chin in thick, dark streaks. To anyone else, he would have looked like a madman-- and wasn’t he? It was just that Chuuya cared less than most.
“You should know, Chuuya,” Dazai said, voice honeyed, rapt, and almost soft enough for Chuuya to believe him, “in all my years of living, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Most people smell about as good as rubbing alcohol, but you . . .” He inhaled deeply, pausing in his ministrations to smell the air for a brief moment, though he was still buried about as deep inside Chuuya as he could be. “You’re like a vintage wine.”
Chuuya went bright red.
“You--” He cut himself off with a choked, startled gasp when Dazai pressed into him in just the right place, dick dragging along his prostate. As he moaned, his grasping hands found Dazai’s shoulders and he couldn’t help but dig his claws in, ripping long, jagged tears across the otherwise immaculate coat still draped over Dazai’s shoulders. He tried to swallow the cries that bubbled up from his chest, but they spilt out into the cool air anyway, almost in perfect tandem with the tears welling up and spilling from his eyes.
“You’re so tempting; I just want to feed every time I look at you,” Dazai panted, leaning over Chuuya, dark hair hanging down to shadow his gleaming eyes. He blocked out the light, blocked out the whole ceiling, filling Chuuya’s world with nothing but his stupid, blood-drunk, smug fucking face. “Such a gorgeous little puppy. So fierce, so strong-- you don’t bend to anyone. And yet, here you are, underneath me, crying, drooling . . . you can’t even talk right, can you? Sweet thing.”
Chuuya felt hot all over-- embarrassment, lust, whatever it was, it made it hard to care about anything other than the feeling of Dazai’s hand over his throat, of the dick currently fucking him into next week, and so he didn’t even bother trying to reply, only shook his head frantically, arching back into Dazai’s thrusts. Every nerve, every cell in his body was on fire.
Dazai watched him hungrily. “Chuuya, answer me. Are you about to come?”
“Dazai,” Chuuya moaned, blinking away tears. He could hardly breathe, could barely think, couldn’t focus in the slightest. “You ass, stop--” He let out a sharp whine when Dazai drew himself almost all the way out, then snapped his hips forward, sudden and deep. The sound it made was wet and lewd, loud enough that it rang like a bell in Chuuya’s ears.
“Stop? Stop what?”
Chuuya swore, though the sound was shaky, and tears were still leaking out of his eyes. His dick was weeping precum, hard and pressed flat against his belly, but when he reached down to try and take it into his hand, Dazai was quick to slap it away.
“Talk to me, Chuuya,” Dazai whispered, eyes glinting with amusement. The thrusts slowed, and Chuuya nearly burst into fresh tears, body aching for completion. “Tell me what you want.”
“I-- I just want you to stop being a fuckin’ ass,” Chuuya hissed, glaring back.
“Come on, now,” Dazai purred sweetly, brushing a finger down Chuuya’s throat, feather-light. He was infuriating; every touch meant to tease, to entice, to break Chuuya down until he was left bleeding and shuddering and begging for more. He hated it-- hated the way Dazai got underneath his skin, hated the way his body responded so eagerly to every lewd advance, hated that it felt so good. “I think you can beg prettier than that, can’t you? I’ve certainly trained you better.”
Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Can you-- oh!” He cut himself off with a gasp of surprise when Dazai suddenly drew back and then thrust forward hard, punching a cry, almost a wail, out of him. “C-can you-- oh, god, Dazai, please, please--”
“Please, what?”
God, he was such a fucking bastard.
Tears sprung to Chuuya’s eyes, blurring the world around him. “Please,” he said hoarsely, “let me come.”
“How adorable.” Dazai ran his thumb along the curve of Chuuya’s cheek, tracing the outline of his cheekbone almost tenderly. “You’re really that desperate for me?”
Flushed, embarrassed, and now pissed beyond belief, Chuuya could have slammed Dazai’s head into the wood of the desk. “Oh, you fu--”
Cutting him off mid-sentence, Dazai drew himself out and then slammed back in. His pace sped up until it was brutal, almost punishing, startling Chuuya into letting out a sharp gasp, loud enough that his whole face went bright red. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, since Dazai’s hand soon found his dick and started running up and down the hot shaft, thumb rubbing teasingly at the slit along the very end.
Chuuya gasped at the touch, excruciating bliss wracking his body, the sensation so overwhelming, so tremendous that he couldn’t help but drag his claws down Dazai’s back, needing to tear through something, anything; all he knew was that the energy tensed and coiled inside him needed to escape. He didn’t stop, not even when his claws sliced through layers of clothing and bandages to find soft, unnaturally cold skin, and though they sliced through those, too, no blood welled up to meet them.
“More-- please--” He was drooling now, face flushed and hot, ears pinned back against his head. The tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes now spilled over, glimmering like crystal, and it was a testament to how far gone Chuuya was that he didn’t even care when Dazai bent down and licked the tears off his cheeks.
“You taste so fucking good,” Dazai panted, voice a little shaky, and Chuuya could feel (not without no satisfaction) that he was approaching the edge too, falling towards it just as quickly as Chuuya was. He kept up the pace, though, his grip around Chuuya’s dick tightening just a little as he rubbed it up and down, refusing to pause for even a moment. “All of it, all of you, all for me. Spread out, looking so pretty . . .”
Chuuya moaned again, voice breaking. He somewhat doubted his ability to even form full words at that point; he was too far gone, lost in the pleasure that radiated through him, scorching his skin and sending his eyes rolling up into the back of his head.
Dazai leaned over him, looking wild, hungry, animal in nature as he bent down and sank his fangs once again into Chuuya’s neck. Another wave of pleasure cascaded through Chuuya’s entire body, forcing another loud whine from his lips as his heart stuttered in his chest and his head spun dizzily. Dazai drank greedily, throat working, his free hand pressed harshly against Chuuya’s shoulder to keep him pinned against the tabletop, though he didn’t let up on the thrusts, either. He could find Chuuya’s prostate as easily as he could breathe, and teased it every chance he got, sometimes slamming right into it, other times simply gliding past to watch Chuuya squirm in desperation.
“Dazai, I-I’m close,” Chuuya gasped, tail smacking impatiently against the desk drawers. He could feel his orgasm approaching, if that cruel son of a bitch would just stop teasing him--
Dazai lifted his head, licking fresh, wet blood off of his lips and chin, the sight of it making Chuuya’s dick throb once again. “I know,” he replied, voice rough and low and sending another shiver down Chuuya’s spine, perfectly accented by a hard thrust against his prostate. It was clear he was almost as gone as Chuuya was, hanging desperately onto composure by a single thread that was sure to snap any second.
Chuuya let out a sob, hands squeezing onto Dazai’s shoulders, claws tearing through silken skin. “Fuck--” He could hardly breathe; Dazai was only speeding up, looking exactly as desperate as Chuuya felt. He whimpered openly, too far gone to even care about how loud he was being, a sort of pathetic tremor slipping into his voice that he knew would drive his boss right off the edge. “Fuck,” he moaned again, “Dazai!”
One last twist of Dazai’s hand, and Chuuya was gone.
Pleasure wracked his entire body for one brilliant, blinding moment, warm cum spurting out of his dick to paint a white, messy stripe all up his stomach. He cried out as he came-- he couldn’t stop it, really; the obscene noise shook his throat and emerged as a broken, wrecked husk of a howl, echoing the sharp, almost stinging euphoria that radiated out to even the most distal parts of his body.
He collapsed back against the desk, gasping for air.
In his blissed-out daze, he’d bitten his tongue and chewed up the inside of his mouth, so that blood trickled down his chin when he opened his mouth to pant for lost breath. Dazai, who hadn’t yet come, waited no time at all to dive down and press another messy, open-mouthed kiss against Chuuya’s mouth, happily licking the blood off of his lips and sucking it off of his tongue. His thrusts were frantic, becoming harsh and disjointed, and Chuuya began to squirm through the post-orgasmic bliss as the overstimulation far too quickly became far too much.
“Daz--” His words broke again as he pulled away from the kiss, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. The back of his head hit the tabletop as Dazai thrust once, twice, thrice more and then finally came, spilling forth a gush of warmth inside Chuuya. The moan he made then was forced out from between gritted teeth and muffled by the hand he’d clapped over his mouth, but even so, Chuuya’s ears picked up on it easily.
For a long while, they lay there, both lingering in the heavenly glow that sank into their very bones. Dazai’s breaths came slow and heavy, while Chuuya gulped as much air into his lungs as he could, still feeling rather breathless after all that had happened. His head was swimming, and his vision was hazy (he was going to feel anaemic for the rest of the day, most likely, which was an annoying but unavoidable side effect of their trysts), but he could just about make out a small smile on Dazai’s face-- warm and soft, almost gentle enough for Chuuya to call it genuine.
Chuuya struggled to sit up, muscles still a little sore. As he did so, he accidentally pulled on Dazai’s dick, startling a wince out of the dark-haired vampire and snapping him out of whatever trance he had been in. Immediately, the smile was gone.
Weird. Chuuya tilted his head to the side. “Hey, why were you looking at me like that?”
“. . . I'm not sure what you're talking about.” Dazai avoided his eyes, instead pushing himself back to his feet so that he could pull out with a soft exhale. A thin string of come dripped out of Chuuya, the slick feeling sending a shudder down his spine-- fuck, he should have brought a towel.
Dazai was having the same thought, apparently. His eyes flickered over Chuuya once, twice, scanning him up and down before his lips curled in distaste, something almost possessive flashing through his expression. “You’re not leaving like that, I hope you know.”
Chuuya glanced down at himself, then looked back up at Dazai, incredulous. He was half-naked; covered in deep bites; dripping with come, sweat, and blood; for fuck’s sake, his eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and Dazai expected him to want to leave? Did he think Chuuya wanted to lose the last vestiges of respect his subordinates had for him?
“Guess you lucked out, cuz I wasn’t planning to,” he said dryly. “And neither should you.”
“Good.” Dazai pulled his coat off of his shoulders, frowning at the ruined piece of clothing. “If only you didn’t still have that pesky habit of ruining whatever I wear. Oh, well . . .”
The silky fabric had been ripped to shreds by Chuuya’s fervent claws, and along with it, Dazai’s back, the cold flesh sagging bloodlessly apart. It would heal in no time at all, but even so, it was odd to see such a gaping wound without any blood leaking out of it; the mere sight of it was so intensely wrong that Chuuya’s own skin crawled. Dazai, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care in the slightest about either the coat or his back, simply tossing the shredded piece of fabric over his shoulder before glancing around for pants.
Chuuya lifted his hand to his nose and sniffed, then immediately recoiled in horror. “Holy shit, I smell fucking disgusting. I need to take a shower right now.”
“Oh?” Dazai glanced up, interested. His eyes swept up and down Chuuya’s body, lingering for a moment on the streaks of blood drying in thick, itchy patches on his neck and shoulder. “I’ll come with you.”
“The hell you are!” Chuuya snapped, ear twitching in irritation. He slipped off the desk, trying to ignore the soreness that was already starting to gather in his ass, and started rummaging around for his clothes on the floor, thanking whoever was looking down at them from the clouds that Dazai hadn’t torn his pants off and ruined them entirely. “I know exactly what you want to do, and I am not gonna let you drain me fuckin’ dry in a goddamned company shower, of all places.”
Immediately drooping like an under-watered plant, Dazai trailed after him, batting huge, dark eyes in his direction. “But, Chuuya . . .”
Deciding to just shut his mouth and ignore how weird Dazai was acting, Chuuya bent down to pick his pants up, shaking his head.
He immediately froze as the full weight of his boss was pushed onto his shoulders. Dazai had draped himself over Chuuya’s back, winding his arms around his neck and letting his head drop onto his shoulder. His breath was cool on the side of Chuuya’s face, and the thick smell of blood and sharp, biting alcohol.
The gesture was close, intimate, familiar-- startlingly so. It set every single one of Chuuya’s alarms on full blast-- Dazai’s fangs, close to his neck; his back, fully exposed; the vulnerability made his skin crawl.
Before he could think better of it, Chuuya wrenched himself away and whirled around, staring back at Dazai through wide, wary eyes.
“Okay,” Chuuya said carefully, “what the hell is going on with you? You’re never like this.”
“I . . .” Dazai opened his mouth, then closed it again, raking his eyes over Chuuya, searching for something hidden in the lines of his face. Before he could find it, though, the longing on his face had vanished, and he turned away with a bitter laugh. “It slipped my mind.”
Cryptic as fuck, of course. “What slipped your mind?”
Dazai swung a sharp glare back at Chuuya, the look so venomous, so full of vitriol, that he nearly flinched. For a moment, he seemed almost murderous, and though Chuuya tensed, preparing for a sudden fight, no such attack came. The fight just drained right out of Dazai’s body, leaving him standing a few feet away, seeming somehow just a little more tired than before.
“It shouldn’t matter to you,” he said eventually. “Don’t ask about it again.”
“. . . fine.” Chuuya pulled his pants up, yanking up the zipper with so much force that it broke right off in his hand. He glared down at it, annoyed, then threw it to the ground and stomped off towards the door, running a hand through his hair to try and make himself a little more presentable. Luckily for him, a few of the bathrooms on their floor had showers attached, and the hallway was hopefully still clear-- and if not, then Gin had something to answer for.
He paused at the doorway, hand hovering over the knob. “You know,” he began, turning around to face Dazai, “you’re the most annoying motherfucker I know.”
“Really? That’s quite the achievement.” Dazai was tidying up a few of the papers that had been swept to the ground, but he spared a second to glance up and smile placidly back at Chuuya. “So, same time next month?”
Chuuya growled, turning back and wrenching the door open. “I fucking hate you.”
“Oh, trust me, Chuuya, I hate you too.” Dazai’s voice was heavy, weighed down by what Chuuya could almost call sadness, if he’d thought the boss was capable of actually feeling anything except for self-gratification. Then came a small, soft, lonely sigh. “More than anything else in the world.”
He’s hiding something. Chuuya refused to look back over his shoulder as he stormed out of the door and slammed it shut behind him, rage simmering just underneath the surface of his skin, ready to burst forth and latch on to whoever was lucky enough to next catch his eye. Fucking hell, he’s always hiding something.
. . . whatever. Hands stuffed into his pockets, Chuuya kicked open the doors to the bathroom. He shouldn’t care so much. They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. After everything he had done, Dazai shouldn’t even qualify as an enemy, or a rival-- no, he was the one person in the world that Chuuya wanted more than anything to kill with his own two hands.
So why the hell was his heart beating so fast?
Dazai pulled Chuuya closer, wrapping his arms around his neck and letting his head lay lazily on his shoulder. He was still drunk off of his orgasm, all sorts of hazy, pleasant feelings swimming through his head-- normally he would have been alarmed by his lack of alertness, but he wasn’t. He was with the one person in the world who would kill a thousand men to keep him safe.
“You always smell so nice,” he sighed into the crook of Chuuya’s shoulder, and received a quiet huff of laughter in reply.
“And you smell like you just got out of a bar,” he retorted, turning around to peck a quick kiss against Dazai’s lips. Despite the rebuke in his tone, he was grinning, face flushed and happy, a sight that Dazai drank happily up. “Fuckin’ alcoholic.”
Dazai grinned. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Laughing through the words, Chuuya wrestled his way through the blankets for a second, eventually managing to pull himself around so that he and Dazai were laying face-to-face, legs tangled cozily together. The bite marks in his neck were still fresh and leaking blood, but Dazai was always careful to lap up any excess, since Chuuya was firm that he did NOT want to get blood on their sheets. “God, I hate you."
What a bad liar his Chuuya was. Love practically oozed out of every pore of his body, eyes shining, mouth crooked into that warm, charming smile, so bright he nearly blinded Dazai, just like the sun he’d always avoided. Too brilliant to look at, too captivating to turn away.
“Mmm . . . nah.” Dazai pressed a kiss against Chuuya’s forehead, letting his lips linger for a long moment before pulling away with a deliriously happy grin, exactly the kind of one he knew annoyed his husband like no other. “You love me.”
“Fine, whatever. I love you.” Chuuya rolled his eyes, swatting Dazai’s shoulder, though there was no force behind it. “Happy now, jackass?”
Dazai chuckled, winding an arm around Chuuya’s shoulder to draw the two of them closer, so that the gentle beat of Chuuya’s heart echoed in his own painfully silent ribcage. He buried his face in Chuuya’s hair, letting their bodies melt together just as they were meant to, and despite their combined sweatiness and the ache that was starting to build in the leg he’d been laying on, the moment was perfect. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt whole. He could have laid there forever, basking in the warmth that Chuuya radiated like a red star-- but he’d settle for a few more minutes with his dearest one close in his arms.
“I love you, too,” he whispered, voice tender and soft, like a musical note. “More than anything else in the world.”
Dazai sighed, massaging his temples to try and alleviate the headache that had just begun to form. He reeked of blood and sex-- by all means, he should be satiated, but there was still a dull, throbbing ache inside of him. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
Tens upon dozens upon hundreds of lives had passed . . . all those chances, slipping through his fingers like fine sand. The weight of his failure seemed all at once to crush him, turning his limbs to lead and souring the sweet taste of blood that remained in his mouth. Over and over again, he tried. And over and over again, failure stung.
He couldn’t keep Odasaku alive.
He couldn’t cut away the pain of his own life.
And he couldn’t quench the hunger that roared deep inside him, the one that cried and begged for another chance to crawl into the arms of the one he loved, to feel that sense of security it so craved, just one last time. But he couldn't, and he never would again. How he missed it. How he wanted to turn back, to reclaim everything he had thrown away.
“He’s not him,” he mumbled, though the reminder felt thin and flimsy; he wasn't trying to convince anyone except for himself, and he couldn't even do that. It didn't help that he didn't want it to be true. They weren't the same, but they looked the same, sounded the same, even tasted the same, and Dazai was tired. Tired of being met by those harsh, cold glares. Tired of looking into those bright, piercing blue eyes and seeing hate instead of affection.
“. . . he’s not," he echoed quietly. "And he never will be again.”
He let his head bow lower, let it fall into his arms so his hands could tangle thickly in his hair, and tried not to cry.