Archive of Our Own

The night after waking up alone in Dazai’s bed, Chuuya seeks relief at the bottom of a very expensive ’89 bottle of red wine. Instead, he finds nothing, and he has in every bottle since.

Kouyou means well, but she makes the months following Dazai’s disappearance even harder, peppering him with the question, “Are you okay, lad?” He always says yes, even though he’s not. When her frequency tapers off, Chuuya is relieved that he doesn’t have to keep lying to her or trying to make it true by saying it over and over.

His worst fear in the beginning is that Dazai has finally committed suicide. None of his other fears matter because waking up alone in Dazai’s bed sends a clear message: whatever they did that night was nothing but sake and grief; it didn’t mean anything else. That was to say nothing of the mangled remains of his car. When he’s sober, Chuuya forgets his suspicions, but when he starts seeking comfort in a bottle of red wine, he knows that conflagrated mass of metal is Dazai’s way of burning a bridge. The action is starkly literal.

It takes him a year and a half, but on a particularly bad night, he’s halfway through his second bottle of Malbec when something clicks, an old suspicion that he should have known better than to discard the first time. He knows another man with red hair and blue eyes. Well, knows of. He stares at the wine in his glass and suddenly thinks of Oda’s portrait, and he knows it was never him. So he drinks some more and falls asleep in his empty bed while tears stream out of his eyes and that grief inside him finally dies.

At least… until Dazai shows up again, this time a captive of the Port Mafia. Their first meeting is so typical, nothing but jibs and insults and declarations of dislike (except for Chuuya’s shoes, though that’s as much of a joke as the entire situation and everything else Dazai says). When Dazai confirms he set the bomb under Chuuya’s car, Chuuya acts surprised, but by then, he can remember that he’s suspected Dazai all along.

The grief comes back with Dazai. So do the dreams, the ones that would make him hard if they didn’t make his chest hurt. The wine he drinks before bed does nothing to wash away those stains on his unconscious, and he comes to consciousness yearning for something warm to huddle against. All he has is his own blankets, a poor substitute for what he really wants.

The whole business with the guild and fighting Lovecraft… it’s like they haven’t been apart for four years, like they’re still partners in something. Dazai saves him from Corruption, but that’s it. Not surprising, considering Dazai has switched sides. After the whole ordeal, he drinks with Mori and Kouyou and complains about Dazai a little too much. If they suspect anything, they don’t say it, and Chuuya is free to keep searching for comfort in his wine glass. For the first time in a long time, he thinks he might just reach it.

He goes back to his lavish apartment—just one of the perks of being a Port Mafia executive—half drunk, with plans to get drunker by the end of the day. He jams his key in his door, shucks his coat and shoes, and walks right to the wine rack on his kitchen counter. “Shitty Dazai,” he growls with each twist of the wine opener. The cork comes loose, and he takes a long drink straight from the bottle. When he stops to breathe, he wonders why he’s so dizzy. Probably something to do with his height, not that he’d admit it. Then, he finds himself remembering—

He drowns that memory in another swill of wine and starts towards his sofa. When he gets there, he pulls his Rimbaud over his eyes and lets the wine take him further out of himself. In his reverie, he imagines his apartment door opening. If this were one of his dreams, he’d peer towards it. Towards Dazai, naturally. But Chuuya isn’t drunk enough to confuse reality with a dream. Yet. So he imagines Dazai wandering in, turning his head to survey the place.

“Quite impressive for a hat rack,” Dazai says in Chuuya’s mind. “Almost as nice as my old apartment.”

A bubble of laughter escapes from Chuuya as he imagines Dazai examining the painting near his entryway.

“A Monet? Surely, this isn’t real.”

“So what if it’s not?” Chuuya answers even though Dazai isn’t in the room. “It still looks nice.”

Chuuya lets his imagination wander a bit further and stands in front of that painting with Dazai, examining the shadowy stacks of hay painted auburn by the setting sun. The Dazai in his mind loops  his arms around Chuuya’s shoulders. “Does it look as nice as me?”

“Fishing for compliments again?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai whines.

Laughing again, Chuuya turns to him and says, “Of course not, mackerel.”

The room suddenly grows lighter and breaks him out of his imagination. And somehow, Dazai has popped out with it, standing over Chuuya with a smirk that sobers him up in an instant. He aims a kick at the mackerel. Of course, he misses. He expects Dazai’s image to be gone by the time he sits up. His gut twists with nausea when he sees that Dazai’s definitely there. With as controlled a breath as he can muster, he sets the half-finished bottle of wine on his end table, studying the distorted shapes in its curved green glass before jamming his fedora back on his head and growling through his clenched jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

In answer, Dazai dangles the keys from his index finger. “If you don’t want guests, maybe don’t leave your keys in the door.” His voice has that sing-song rhythm that sets Chuuya’s blood on fire. “Chibi should be grateful it was me who found them and not some asshole.”

“Hah.” Chuuya laughs so his chest will hurt less. “Clearly, you’ve forgotten you are an asshole.” For a moment, things feel normal. Then, Chuuya remembers how his heart twisted when he woke up alone in Dazai’s bed and pushes his hat down again. “Just give them back and get out.”

“Hmm… but I can’t just leave chibi here with his head full of me.”

Chuuya opens his mouth, prepared to blame the wine, but his voice catches in his throat, and he buries his head in his hands. “You’re unbearable.”

“So are you.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Heads up.”

Chuuya peers through his fingers and catches the keys Dazai has tossed at him. Chuuya slides them into the pocket of his suit jacket. “How’d you even find this place?”

Dazai’s smile grew. “I just followed my heart, and—”

“Be serious for once,” Chuuya snaps. “You got someone tailing me, or are you doing it yourself?” He jostles slightly as Dazai places himself between Chuuya and the bottle of wine. Without saying anything, Dazai grabs it and lifts it to his lips. Chuuya watches his Adam’s apple bob as he takes a long drink.

“If you must know, I just happened to see you heading this way. I was on my way to try a new suicide method.” Dazai pauses to take another sip of the wine straight from the bottle, the same one Chuuya’s mouth had been on less than five minutes ago. He hates himself for being sober enough to feel like that means something. “And I saw a shrimp with a fancy hat half staggering down the sidewalk.” Dazai offers Chuuya the bottle. “As most people can guess, though I doubt Chuuya is capable, the number of daydrinking shrimps with fancy hats I know is quite small. Exactly as small as you.”

Sighing, Chuuya takes the bottle and tips it back. He pauses after a gulp, trying to figure out if the wine tastes different now that Dazai’s mouth has touched the bottle. It doesn’t. Either that, or the wine is too dry. “Why’d you come here?”

“Because it’s unusual for you to be this far into a bottle of wine this early in the day.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?” Chuuya glowers at Dazai beneath the brim of his hat. He wants to drain the bottle and smash it over Dazai’s stupid head. He wants the slug out of his apartment, out of his life, and he wants Dazai to take all of Chuuya’s grief and regret with him. But Chuuya’s hand doesn’t budge. Neither does Dazai, so they just sit there while their gazes push against one another. Sighing, Chuuya covers his eyes and offers Dazai the bottle again. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna drink with me, shitty Dazai.”

Dazai takes the bottle, but he doesn’t drink. Instead, he sets it back on the end table and rests his hands on his knees. “Did you really not know I was here?”

Chuuya recognizes that tone. It’s so familiar, it rips him out of the present and drops him right back on the threshold of Dazai’s old apartment. Suddenly those four years they’ve been apart stand between them like a wall covered in barbs. Chuuya tries to climb it, and even though the wall isn’t really there, he feels a long-buried pain rise in him.

“Shut up,” Chuuya retorts.

“Then you were thinking about me?”

“Just shut up,” he snaps again, watching his clenched fists blur.

“Why—”

The corkscrew turns, and Chuuya bursts open like a shaken bottle of champagne. “Get out.” He blurts the words out quieter than he intends them to. His eyes burn even after he blinks his vision clear, wishing himself smaller so he could fully hide. “Take your ass back to the ADA. Throw yourself in front of a train. I don’t give a shit. Just get out. I didn’t fucking invite you into my—” He means to say apartment, but he’s afraid it’s going to come out wrong, so he swallows. “Just get out, Dazai.”

For a long time, everything is still. Then, he feels Dazai’s weight leave the space beside him. Chuuya’s ears follow Dazai’s footsteps across his living space. He hears the tap of Dazai’s shoes in his entryway, and the slow, near-silent swing of his apartment door, and the thud it emits as it falls closed, the heavy period at the end of a book’s final sentence.

Chuuya snatches the bottle off his end table and drains it. He’s looking for happiness, chasing contentment. Hell, he’d settle for relief. But as always, he finds nothing. The empty bottle slips from his fingers, thudding softly against the floor, and Chuuya buries his face in his hands. He tries to keep the noises he’s about to let out behind his teeth, but once the first one slips out, the thing he buried after Dazai left comes pouring out. There’s no one there to hear him as he throws his head back and screams at the ceiling, his voice raw emotion that he doesn’t want to name. There’s no one to hold him while he sobs until his teeth hurt. After he’s done, he lays on the couch after, feeling a tiredness that goes deeper than his body, one arm across his stomach, the other slung across his eyes, and whispers, “Why?” to the empty room. It’s the first of an honest litany of questions the wine drags out of him, but he’s grateful no one is there to hear him continue. “Why did you make me your stand-in for that dead guy? Why did you act like it meant something? Why… did you leave?” Chuuya grits his teeth as he realizes that because of his anger and his confusion, what he wanted wasn’t what he asked for. He knows it’s too late, but he says it anyway. “Stay.” He pulls a breath into his lungs. “Stay. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.”

The voice is close to his ear, accompanied by a cool breath. He wants to think it’s the Cabernet Sauvignon he just chugged playing tricks on him, but Chuuya still isn’t drunk enough to mix up what happens outside his head and what happens inside it. He moves his arm away from his eyes to find Dazai kneeling beside the couch, and it’s odd having Dazai in his space. “Why?” he murmurs. His throat burns, but his need to know burns more.

“Because I knew you didn’t want me to leave.” Dazai sighs. “Have you been grieving me all this time, Chuuya?”

“So what if I have?” Chuuya tries to put some anger behind the words, but he doesn’t have any energy to express it.

“Why?”

“Fuck you.”

Dazai chuckles. “If you want to. But chibi doesn’t look like he’s in a state to do anything right now except sleep.”

“Stop screwing around.” He intends the words as a growl, but they come out as something a lot tamer. Chuuya breathes, and he feels his stomach rise and fall beneath his wrist while he waits for Dazai to say something. When he looks up, he sees the wheels of thought turning behind Dazai’s eyes. “Seriously, just… stop. I don’t want your pity.”

“No pity,” Dazai explains, reaching for Chuuya’s hat and lifting it off of his head. “I’m just trying to figure out whether I should let you talk more or try to clarify a few things.” He laughs, and Chuuya swears there’s a nervousness in it. “It’s not often you throw me off-guard like this. For a shrimp, you sure do cry impressively.”

“Shut up. I’ve seen you cry, too.” Chuuya swallows and tries to decide whether he wants to hear more of Dazai’s voice, or whether he has anything to say himself. Despite how weary he feels now, sleep is still far away. There’s still some feeling left in him, after all, because something twists in his chest. The ceiling blurs. When he blinks, he can feel tears on his face. “It hurts,” he murmurs, shutting his eyes. “It hurts like hell.” He manages to turn his head. Dazai is still staring at him. “Do something, Dazai.”

Dazai must remember saying those words himself because his eyes widen.

“I don’t care if it’s wine or grief or both,” Chuuya continues, and it has to be true, because the wine is still making him far more honest than he’d prefer to be. “I don’t care if it doesn’t mean anything to you. Just… do something.” He throws the arm that had been over his eyes out and grabs a fistful of Dazai’s tan coat. The brunette freezes, and his eyes lock on Chuuya’s. “It hurts. It fucking hurts. Please, Osamu…” Chuuya feels a pressure on his wrist, coaxing him to let go, but he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that if he does, Dazai will evaporate. But after venting four years of grief and one-sided whatever-it-is, Chuuya has no strength left in his fingers. The fabric slips out of them. He can feel the emptiness beneath his lungs and beneath his gloves. Dazai lets go of his wrist, and Chuuya pivots to the ceiling, gritting his teeth.

“Can I tell you something?”

Chuuya braces himself as he nods.

“Can you look at me first?”

Chuuya wipes the fresh tears away from his eyes and forces his head to turn. He doesn’t want to look, but he does, trying to keep a steady expression. The feeling of Dazai’s palm, resting cool against the left side of his neck, makes his eyes water again.

“Chuuya.”

Even though Chuuya can’t clearly see Dazai’s face, he knows from the sound of the brunette’s voice that he’s smiling. Dazai’s fingers dry his tears, and the blurry shape of Dazai’s face comes closer. Chuuya feels Dazai’s hand against his shoulder, feels the weight of Dazai’s head against his own arm. Chuuya wipes his face again and sees Dazai’s face resting inches from his own. They’re sharing air. That, and a long look laden with a meaning Chuuya is sure the wine brought.

“Do you still remember that night after Odasaku’s memorial? When you came to my apartment?”

He sets his mouth into a hard line. “What the fuck kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

Dazai’s smile becomes… Chuuya isn’t sure how to describe it. Some cocktail of nostalgia and amusement, and something else he doesn’t try to name. “Do you remember what I said when you were taking off my bandages?”

Chuuya tries not to, but the Cabernet convinces him to give in. “You said,” he begins, “you didn’t let people you didn’t like see what was underneath them.”

Something behind Dazai’s eyes changes. He tries to remember if he saw whatever it is the last time Dazai was this close, but Dazai is already prodding him with another question.

“And,” Dazai continues, drawing out that word, “do you remember what I said I thought about while I was getting ready in the shower?”

“This.” Chuuya blinks as the word leaves his mouth, far too readily. “This… whatever we were doing.”

A chuckle hits Chuuya in the face, and Dazai tips his head a little more. After he blinks, Chuuya puts a name to the warm flood in those brown eyes. It’s peace.

“Do you remember whose name I was calling while you fucked me?”

Chuuya blinks.

“You do,” Dazai murmurs. “Say it for me.”

“Mine,” Chuuya answers. His head is spinning again, but because of the wine. “Mine. Only mine.”

“You do remember.” Dazai sighs the words in a voice that sounds relieved. “Chuuya drank last time, so I wasn’t sure.” The laugh that rumbles in Dazai’s chest is softer this time. “Last question. Do you remember who I said I was yearning for when I made you realize how hard I was?”

Chuuya’s face burns. “You said it was me.” It’s hard, but Chuuya turns his whole body to face Dazai. “But that’s just it. You said.”

“I showed you, too, didn’t I?”

Chuuya pauses, thinking perhaps he’s too drunk to talk about this. He shuts his eyes for a moment, hears Dazai hum an unasked question, and swallows as he opens them again. “You left.”

Dazai’s smile disappears.

“You left me. Alone in your bed. In your apartment. Gone. Just… gone.”

“Yeah,” Dazai murmurs. “Yeah, I did.”

“And you blew up my car.”

“Ah… about that…” Dazai’s voice trails off, but Chuuya stares at him until he adds, “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.” It’s a plea that he’s not sure Dazai is going to indulge, but after the brunette blinks, he says,

“Right before he died, Odasaku told me to be on the side that saves people. I thought, at the time, that meant completely cutting ties with everyone in the Port Mafia. I knew you’d hate me for leaving you alone in the bed we’d just fucked in—”

“Do you have to say it like that, shitty Dazai?” Chuuya interjects.

Dazai shrugs before finishing. “—but just in case you didn’t hate me enough, I blew up your car. I… didn’t want you to miss me, so.”

Chuuya blinks. “What about that Oda guy? You were grieving for him.”

“I was grieving for a friend and mentor. If I loved him, that’s the only way I did.”

Chuuya thinks there’s something unspoken about him in Dazai’s words, but he doesn’t ask because he feels Dazai’s fingers on his skin and the chuckle in Dazai’s chest.

“And now, your face matches your hair. Again.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya retorts, shutting his eyes. He intends to chase sleep this time until he finds it, but before he can, he feels Dazai’s weight disappear and opens one eye. Dazai’s hand is outstretched, and his smile looks uncertain.

“I have a lot of apologizing to do,” Dazai admits. “I’m hoping this is a start. Or… do you think the sofa is more comfortable than me?”

Chuuya rolls onto his back, and he shifts his weight, leaving enough time so Dazai believes he’s actually considering the question.

“Chuuya.”

That dramatic whine pulls a laugh out of him. He sits up and grins. “It’s a close call, but… I guess you’re better, slug.” Grasping Dazai’s hand, he stands, thinking he has his balance. Immediately, the room tilts, but Dazai’s grip on his hand tightens. He feels Dazai’s arm wind around his lower back. Immediately, Chuuya knows the pose looks like a dip during a slow dance. Before he can think, Dazai’s hand shifts to beneath his knees, and suddenly, he’s suspended in Dazai’s arms. It’s different—the only time he’s comfortable without his feet on solid ground is when he’s suspended in his own gravitational manipulation—and of course because it’s new, it’s uncomfortable.

“Quit fidgeting,” Dazai chides. “Unless you want me to drop you.”

Chuuya folds his arms, but it’s not like he can object at this point.

“Bedroom.”

“Are you fucking—”

“Silly chibi. Neither of us are fucking until you get some rest.”

“Will you quit—”

“Chuuya,” Dazai interjects. “You said it hurt. I want to make it hurt less. That’s it.”

Dazai’s brown eyes settle over him like a blanket, and Chuuya sighs. “Down the hall, to the left.” As embarrassing as it is, Chuuya lets Dazai carry him down the hall like a new bride. The brunette spins and pushes the door open with his back. His movements are slow, careful. Chuuya relaxes more than he probably should.

Since it’s still daylight out, there’s no need for a light, so Dazai carries him straight to the bed and set him down. Chuuya misses Dazai’s arms almost immediately, but they aren’t gone for long. Soon, they’re working at the buttons of Chuuya’s waistcoat.

Before Chuuya can even ask, Dazai explains, “You aren’t going to be comfortable sleeping in all this, are you?”

“I can undress myself,” Chuuya retorts, swatting Dazai’s hands away and working down his own buttons. He feels a tug on one of his socks and wiggles his bare toes. “Watch out.” He doesn’t want to kick Dazai in the face as he sits up, but he does want to shed his short suit jacket and waist coat he’s finished unbuttoning. Once he has, he immediately starts on the buckles settled against the open v in his collared shirt. He feels Dazai unfasten the belt around his waist, then pauses to watch the brunette rise and pace across the room.

“Pajamas?”

“Second drawer,” he grumbles, discarding the leather harness. His fingers descend the buttons, and by the time he’s peeling his shirt off of his sweaty skin, Dazai is offering him a plain white t-shirt and a pair of gray drawstring shorts. Dazai disappears from view as Chuuya pulls the shirt over his head, and sure as he is that Dazai is watching him, he unzips his slacks and kicks them off his legs. “You’re staring,” Chuuya observes, adding a glance.

“Because,” Dazai mumbles, tilting his face to the ground. Whatever he mumbles next, Chuuya misses.

“Huh?”

Dazai’s eyes snap up to his. “I said because you’re beautiful.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops, and he immediately dives into his covers, turning towards the wall. He knows he’s wearing his embarrassment as plainly as he would a fancy hat or a nice pair of shoes. He just wishes he weren’t so taken aback by Dazai’s words.

“I’ll… go sleep on the—”

“Here.” Chuuya pokes his head above the blankets. “Sleep here.”

He listens to the rustle of Dazai undressing without turning around. After what feels like an eternity, he feels Dazai’s body slide in beside his. But for some reason, Dazai doesn’t touch him.

Unable to bear his annoyance, Chuuya says, “You’re too far away,” and turns to face Dazai. He’s still wound in bandages, and Chuuya guesses he’s still wearing his boxers. And maybe it’s the soft light in the room, but for some reason, Dazai’s gaze looks naked and vulnerable. “What?”

Dazai shifts forward until they’re resting on the same pillow. He scoots closer, and their foreheads touch. Dazai doesn’t feel as cool as he did, so Chuuya guesses either his face isn’t as hot from crying or Dazai is warming up for some reason. “I’m sorry.” From the raw sincerity in Dazai’s voice, Chuuya guesses he means it. “I’m sorry I put a bomb under your car. I’m sorry you’ve been alone with this for so long. I’m sorry I tried to forget you.”

Sighing, Chuuya winds his arms around Dazai and burrows against the bandaged chest. “You did what you needed to. Besides, you were alone with it, too.” He feels Dazai nod and knows sleep is about to pounce on him. “I’m so tired.” Chuuya forces his eyes back open. “But I’m so fucking afraid… of waking up in this bed without you.”

Dazai’s fingers slide into the back of his hair. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Chuuya lets go of consciousness. When he opens his eyes again, it’s twilight. He’s facing he window. His head is pounding, demanding water, which he would go to the kitchen to get if Dazai wasn’t stuck to him like an octopus.

“Dazai.” His attempts to wiggle out of Dazai’s grip are in vain. The more he tries to unknot himself from Dazai’s limbs, the more they’re knotted together. “Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, wincing as his head throbs. “I just need water and pain killers. Let me up, mackerel.”

The space Dazai leaves behind when he lets go is only welcoming to Chuuya because of his need for water. “Why didn’t chibi say so in the first place?” Dazai yawns, “Hurry back,” then goes slack again. Chuuya isn’t sure whether he feels more marvel or envy at how quickly Dazai drops back into sleep, but he doesn’t think about it for long. He shimmies out from under the blankets and walks across his bedroom. The air in his apartment is unpleasantly warm, he realizes, so he turns on the air conditioner before wandering to the kitchen. On the way, he stops in the bathroom for ibuprofen. Once he’s in the kitchen, he fills a coffee mug—the first cup he grabs out of his cabinet—with water, shakes three pills into his hand, and swallows them dry. He chases them with the entire glass and another one besides. Then, he wanders back down the hall because something in his slightly hungover brain says he needs to shower.

The water is so hot, it scalds his skin, but he feels better once he’s enveloped in the steam and the woodsy smell of his shampoo. He rinses his hair before scrubbing his body. Then, he just stands under the showerhead until he feels too conscious to try sleeping again. So, after drying off, he wraps a towel around his waist and paces back to his bedroom to get a clean pair of boxers from his chest of drawers.

“Chuuya.”

The sound of Dazai’s voice cuts through the room. Scoffing, he drops the towel and bends to put one ankle through the garment he’s just fished out of his drawer. After all, it’s not like Dazai hasn’t seen him naked before.

“Chuuya,” Dazai calls again.

Chuuya rises and smooths the waistband of his underwear across his waist before turning to find Dazai sitting up in his bed, rubbing the sleep from one eye. “Sleep as long as you want. I’m not tired anymore, so I’m just going to go… I don’t know. Drink water and watch some TV until I feel like sleeping again.”

“Come here.”

Clicking his tongue, Chuuya walks until he’s standing close enough to the bed for Dazai to reach out and grab him. Instead, Dazai slowly raises an arm with a loose end of bandage hanging loose and sets his fingers on Chuuya’s bicep.

“Mmm… you smell clean.” Dazai’s fingers smooth down Chuuya’s arm, then pull his wrist forward. Chuuya feels Dazai’s nose against his skin, feels the sharp intake of air and the consequent sigh. In the poorly lit room, darker now because of time passing, Chuuya almost doesn’t catch Dazai’s smile as he releases his grip. “Are you feeling hungover?”

“A bit of a headache,” Chuuya confesses, shrugging. “It’s almost gone.”

Silence sits between them like a rock that pressures both of them to say something. And they both do, at exactly the same time.

“Dazai—”

“I—”

They both stop, and Dazai shakes his head. “You first.”

“I… was just going to say I’ll be back.”

“That’s all?” Dazai laughs into the room. “Chuuya seemed like he was going to say something more important than that.”

“Well, what about you, mackerel?”

“Hmm…” Dazai’s head tips, and the hallway light catches something in his face. “I don’t think it was that important.”

“I still want to hear it.”

“Nope.”

“Dazai—”

Dazai sticks his tongue out like a petulant child, then buries himself in the blankets again, leaving Chuuya blinking at the side of his own bed. After he recovers from the shock, he rolls his eyes and considers returning to the kitchen for water like he originally planned, but the fading traces of Cabernet have made his needs many and scattered. Other than the water he just drank, his stomach feels empty.

“You hungry?”

The heap of blankets shuffles, and Dazai’s eyes appear. “You’re going to take me out to a fancy Japanese restaurant?”

“That was you, dumbass,” Chuuya retorts, setting his hands on his hips. “I keep food in the apartment. Unlike some people.” He sends Dazai a pointed look.

Dazai sits up, combing his messy hair with his fingers. “Maybe chibi’s cooking is lethal, and good for a double suicide.”

“Hah. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

They wind up in the kitchen, Dazai in his slacks and the collared shirt he doesn’t bother to button all the way, Chuuya wearing his pajamas, both of them with cup noodles in one hand and chopsticks in the other, waiting for the noodles to cook. They sit at the bar stools in Chuuya’s kitchen, so close that if Chuuya leans a bit to the right, their shoulders will bump together. “So,” Dazai murmurs, “this is cooking for you?”

Chuuya scoffs. “As if. But after I drink, cheap shit like this is the only thing I want.” He peels the lid off of his cup noodles and breaks his disposable chopsticks. Dazai hums a noise Chuuya guesses is affirmation and opens his own cup. His bite is interrupted by Dazai chuckling. “What, mackerel?”

“I was just thinking…” Chuuya tries to ignore the fact that Dazai is regarding him as he blows on the steaming noodles he has just lifted with his chopsticks. “Isn’t this a bit too much like déjà vu?”

“Hmm?” Chuuya asks, slurping the broth.

“I mean… it’s like a mirror version of what happened the last time.”

“No one died,” Chuuya observes.

Dazai makes a noise affirming the point, but he takes longer to answer this time. The long slurp Dazai emits as he finally digs into his cup noodles tells him why. Chuuya continues to devour his own. He didn’t realize how hungry he was when he woke up.

“But you know…”

Chuuya glances up from the half empty Styrofoam cup to find Dazai staring at the tile backsplash in his kitchen.

“One of us was grieving. The other came over uninvited. The one grieving broke down. We wound up napping, then eating.” Dazai chuckles. “Time really does move in a full circle, huh?”

“It hasn’t yet, mackerel.”

“Yet?” Dazai brightens as he repeats the word, and Chuuya fills his mouth so he doesn’t say anything else. Luckily, Dazai doesn’t press the issue. He goes back to eating himself. “I have to say, this isn’t as nice as eating king crab and drinking sake.”

“Hey, if you aren’t going to eat it, I will,” Chuuya says, draining the last of the broth from his cup and setting it aside. He sees something in the corner of his vision and realizing Dazai is actually offering what’s left of his own meal.

“If you want it.”

Chuuya shakes his head. “I could eat more, but you’re probably still hungry.”

“I had a big lunch.”

Chuuya isn’t sure if Dazai is telling the truth, but he eats what’s left anyway. And when he’s done, he finds he feels satisfied for the first time in a long time. He rests his head in his arm on the counter and sighs.

“Hey, Chuuya.”

He hums to ask what Dazai wants.

“Does it… still hurt?”

Chuuya sits up and almost answers. Then, his brain kicks, and it occurs to him that Dazai is really asking a different question. He stares at the counter until he feels Dazai’s shoulder bump against his. Chuuya pulls away immediately. His skin bristles when Dazai touches him, and he needs some space to think. It’s hard, though, because he’s so used to solving problems with action, but now doesn’t really seem like the time.

“Guess that answers that. Thanks for the meal, hat rack.” Dazai draws out the last syllable and swings his legs off of the stool, buttoning his shirt as he walks. Chuuya hears or imagines—he’s not sure which—a disappointed rhythm in Dazai’s slow steps.

“Yes.” He throws the word at Dazai, who stops walking and turns to him. “Yes, alright? It still fucking hurts. It’s hurt for years. I thought I was over it. Turns out I only buried the pain. And when you came back, you brought it with you.”

Dazai’s eyes fall to the floor.

“So,” Chuuya growls. “You’d better fucking take responsibility and do something to help, asshole.” Chuuya watches Dazai’s head jerk up, sees the reluctance and the regret and the sheer shame smeared across that normally smug face. He hops off his own stool and traces Dazai’s steps with his own. “You know what I’m asking for, right?”

“But I hurt you.”

“You hurt yourself, too,” Chuuya says, stopping at what he gauges a respectable distance from Dazai. In truth, it’s less than half a step. They’re eye to eye and practically chest to chest. “But you know… you seem like you’re in a better place now. And I’m glad for that. Really.” Chuuya reaches up to touch Dazai’s face, but Dazai’s long fingers close around his hand and gently pull it down.

“We’re not on the same side anymore, Chuuya.”

“And?”

“And…” Dazai smirks. “Doesn’t that complicate things a bit, Mr. Port Mafia Executive?”

Chuuya tips his head. “What the fuck would it complicate?”

“I don’t know. Work?”

“Fucking… this isn’t about work. I’m just asking you to help me.”

“No you’re not,” Dazai murmurs.

Chuuya swallows, and Dazai’s fingers tighten on his wrist.

“Back then, I wasn’t just asking you to help me. And right now, you’re not, either.”

“So?”

“So,” Dazai says, leaning forward, “I’m saying this isn’t a one-time thing for me. Even though I tried to make it one back then, that wasn’t what I wanted.” His eyes are molten amber. Chuuya nearly drowns in them. “What do you really want, Chuuya? You liked me back then. What about now?”

Combined with Dazai’s proximity and the look on his face, the question makes Chuuya’s head spin. He scoffs and glowers at the floor, but he feels Dazai move closer, until their faces are just inches apart. He feels Dazai’s fingers brush his still damp hair away from the left side of his neck, and he so badly wants to erase the rest of the space between them, he nearly lurches forward. “What about you?” Chuuya has no idea how he manages to pull that question out from the desire that’s about to collapse on him, but Dazai smiles as if that’s just what he’s been expecting.

“I asked you first, Chuuya.” Dazai puts a sing-song rhythm to his name. “And I’m imposing on your hospitality, since you didn’t invite me here…”

“Fuck you,” Chuuya clenches his fist and tries to pull his wrist out of Dazai’s grip, but the fingers on his neck strip him of any sense.

“Hmm,” Dazai purrs. “Not tonight.”

Chuuya chokes at the flat-out refusal. Once the numbness wears off and he blinks a few times, his jaws part to upbraid Dazai, but the fingers on his neck move to his lips, cutting him off.

“I’m saying,” Dazai murmurs, caressing Chuuya’s face. “I don’t just want to fuck you. And I don’t just want to do it to comfort you.”

Chuuya is sure the world stops spinning when Dazai’s lips catch his, and they pull away too soon.

“Let me show you how much I’ve thought of you over the last four years.”

Chuuya knocks Dazai’s hand away from his face and lurches forward so he can finally, finally taste the inside of Dazai’s mouth. He clings to Dazai’s neck and kisses him as if he’s the only thing keeping him human. They break apart to breathe. He feels a slightly calloused palm slide beneath his t-shirt and climb his spine, and it’s the most perfect thing in existence. Dazai devours the sound Chuuya makes and drops his lips to Chuuya’s neck, sucking so hard Chuuya knows he’ll have a mark there. But it doesn’t matter. This is what he’s been looking for at the bottom of every bottle. He hums his approval as Dazai’s mouth works at his skin.

“Chuuya.” A moment later, Chuuya feels something wet trace the shell of his ear. The same ear that Dazai just purred his name straight into. It’s sinful, too much, not enough. It’s…

“God, I missed you,” Dazai murmurs into his ear. “So much.”

Chuuya stops breathing as the weight of those words sinks in, deeper than flesh, deeper than bone, deeper even than the dormant, destructive god inside of him, and his vision blurs.

“Does it hurt again?”

“No, idiot,” Chuuya mutters, sniffling. He’s reluctant to let Dazai out of his grasp, but when Dazai’s hand withdraws from his shirt and he presses on both of Chuuya’s shoulders, Chuuya lets him go. Dazai dries his tears with his thumbs and smiles.

“You’re so sensitive.”

“You cried last time.”

The smile Dazai gives him isn’t laden with an undercurrent of grief. In fact, Chuuya’s sure it’s as real as the situation they’re now standing in. Again. “I don’t want to fuck you,” Dazai murmurs, “but I wouldn’t object to making love.”

“Sap,” Chuuya retorts, mostly so he doesn’t have to think about that one word Dazai tacked into his last sentence. “They’re the same damn thing.”

“If they’re the same thing, there wouldn’t be different words for them.” His lips rest against Chuuya’s again, briefly. Dazai smooths Chuuya’s hair away from his forehead. A moment later, his lips rest against it. “Will you let me?”

Chuuya realizes what Dazai is asking and chokes. His partner—ex-partner in Double Black, but clearly still a partner in something—probably picks up on how still he goes and draws away.

“Chuuya?”

“I…” He pauses and searches for something to say. “It…”

“You’re scared.” Dazai swipes his thumb across Chuuya’s cheek. “If you really don’t want to, I don’t mind doing it the way we did last time. But if you’re willing to let me try, I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

Chuuya steps out of Dazai’s grasp because he needs some room to think. He realizes he’s half hard. He’s pretty sure he can see a tent forming in Dazai’s slacks. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about Dazai fucking him into his own mattress. It’s more… at this moment, Chuuya feels like he’s confronting something a lot bigger than the four-year wall between them. Chuuya clicks his tongue. “You won’t leave?”

“No,” Dazai says, and Chuuya knows he means it. “And if you decide you want to stop, I’ll stop.”

“You will?” Chuuya asks.

Dazai smiles. “I still don’t want to do anything Chuuya doesn’t want to.”

Chuuya lets out the breath he’s been holding and swallows. “Okay.” He lets his fingers go slack and looks up at Dazai. “Okay,” he says again, then chokes when Dazai wrings the air out of his lungs and lifts him off the ground. “Dazai, what in the actual shit?”

“Sorry.” Dazai sets him back down. “You just made me really happy. It’s almost like you’re saying you trust me.”

“Is that all it is?” Chuuya asks, glancing at Dazai’s groin.

“The sex is going to be good for both of us either way, mon petit mafioso.” He gives a flourishing shrug, then grabs Chuuya’s wrist and half drags him towards the hallway that leads to his bedroom. Chuuya stumbles, half objecting as his balance is once again skewed. After that, Dazai guides him with a bit less eagerness. When they’re standing in the bedroom and Dazai turns to face him, the gravity of what they’re about to do presses down on him. But then, Dazai kisses him again, nibbling at his bottom lip, and his lips part. He feels Dazai guiding him again, so he steps back, not to put space between them, but because that’s where Dazai wants him to go.

The backs of Chuuya’s knees brush against the mattress, and when Dazai pulls away, he sinks down onto the edge of it. He wipes his mouth and watches Dazai’s shirt slide off of his shoulders. Then, he starts unraveling the arm where the bandages are already loose. While he is, Chuuya strips his own shirt and tosses it on the ground. Then, he sets his hands against Dazai’s belt.

Dazai’s chuckle rumbles through the room. “Eager, are you?”

“No. I’m just having traumatic flashbacks about how long it took you to get undressed last time. I seriously thought my dick was going to break off, I was so fucking hard.”

Dazai’s laugh fills the room, and he pulls another strip of bandage loose from his chest. He pauses to step out of the slacks that pool around his ankles, but Chuuya is too busy staring at the very obvious boner Dazai is sporting to notice. And yet… despite his arousal, Dazai seems to be operating at his normal tempo. He unwinds his bandages without the franticness Chuuya often pictures him with. It’s unexpected.

“This will go faster with help, shrimp,” Dazai retorts.

Chuuya slips the waist band of Dazai’s boxers a little lower so he can unwind the bandages around his stomach. More of Dazai’s skin appears. Even though he’s only seen it once, he recognizes some of the old scars. Mingled with them are newer ones, whiter dashes across his skin, blotted by the faded purple of bruises. When Chuuya reaches out and brushes one with his fingers, Dazai stops and stares at him. “What are these from?” Chuuya meets his eyes, and Dazai sighs.

“Lovecraft.”

“Ah.” Chuuya withdraws his hand and stares at Dazai’s feet. He’s still wearing one sock. It’s comical, or it would be if the guilt wasn’t eating away at him.

Dazai reads it. He must. Because suddenly, his knee rests on the mattress between Chuuya’s and the fingers that had been working at his bandages press against Chuuya’s face. Something about the way Dazai kisses him is tender, and it hurts in a different way. A good way. It’s a pain Chuuya decides he can live with.

“Scoot back and give me a little more space, hmm?”

Chuuya pulls himself back with his arms, dragging his legs across the mattress, but Dazai kisses him again, and he flops down among his blankets. He recognizes this kind of position. Last time, he was the one hovering over Dazai, but now, as Dazai’s lips depart and he opens his eyes, he sees the brunette devouring him with his gaze, still draped in a few strips of gauze. Chuuya pulls at one of the loose ends, and Dazai’s right shoulder appears. All that’s left is a strip or two still wound around his chest. Dazai slips a finger beneath them, and they unravel.

This isn’t the first time they’ve been like this, but it’s the first time in a long time, and to Chuuya, it’s surreal. He spreads his hands over Dazai’s chest, caressing the scars he remembers, mapping the new ones. He feels the outside of Dazai’s knee press against one of his thighs and spreads his legs a little more. Then, Dazai drops his head, and their lips reconnect. Some part of Chuuya’s mind is still anxious, but with the taste of Dazai on his lips, the feeling of Dazai’s skin beneath his fingers as he lifts his arms and drapes them around Dazai’s neck, the faint smell of cologne that he definitely didn’t wear four years ago when they first did this… together, those little sensations mute his misgivings.

Panting, Dazai draws back. Chuuya’s lungs burn. From being devoured, from being wanted, from his own want. He gazes up at Dazai, who shudders at the look Chuuya gives him. “God, Chuuya… you’re so beautiful.” This time, Chuuya believes it. He’s about to say so, but Dazai’s knee shifts, and the electric feeling of pressure against his groin shoots up his spine. His head snaps back, determined not to make a sound, but Dazai’s knee presses harder, ripping a breathy moan out of him. He feels Dazai’s thumb sweep along his jawline and coaxes Chuuya’s gaze back to his face. “Apparently, Chuuya is also very horny.” The smirk Dazai drapes over him—sultry, half wicked, dripping with desire—it’s so unreal, but the knee against his cock promises this isn’t in his head. He clings to Dazai as his dick twitches. “I wish you could see yourself right now,” Dazai murmurs. Chuuya’s toes curl, and he practically bites his tongue in an effort to silence himself. The pressure disappears. His head buzzes at the loss of contact, but then, he feels Dazai’s fingers trailing along his stomach, dipping past his navel. “Let me touch you.”

“Please.” Chuuya’s entire body shudders in anticipation. He locks his fingers together behind Dazai’s neck while Dazai’s own play with the waistband of his boxers. “Quit fucking teasing me, shitty Dazai. I said—” If Chuuya thought it was hard to keep quiet before, it’s nothing compared to when Dazai’s long fingers encircle his cock and give a slow pump.

“Still okay?”

Chuuya pants, loosening his fingers. His arms fall to the bed. He doesn’t even pay attention where. When Dazai strokes him again, swiping his thumb across the head of Chuuya’s cock, Chuuya grips the blankets so hard, one of his knuckles cracks. “Yeah, I’m okay, but if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to come—ah!” Dazai swoops down and takes advantage of his open mouth, kissing him while he continues to jerk Chuuya off. Chuuya can’t object. His body is tense, winding tighter every time Dazai’s hand moves, pulling noises he doesn’t have the brainpower to describe out of him. Between them, there’s the slick sound of Dazai’s palm stroking him. He tries to say Dazai’s name, tries to tell him to stop, but he doesn’t want to stop. A sweet pleasure curls in his gut. He’s too close.

Dazai’s mouth leaves his, and his eyes line up with Chuuya’s. “That’s kind of the whole point.” Chuuya feels Dazai’s fingers twist. “I’ll get mine later, anyway. Right now, I just want to see you feeling good.”

Chuuya chokes as pleasure burns through every limb. His whole body jerks. Every muscle in him tightens, and Dazai’s name spills out of him as he comes. Once he’s past the peak, he melts into the blankets and tries to catch his breath. He shudders as Dazai’s hand moves along his shaft a couple more times. Then, it’s nothing but damp fabric clinging to him. It’s unpleasant, but Chuuya is too boneless to complain. And as if that weren’t enough, he has a front row seat as Dazai licks his palm clean.

Dazai catches Chuuya looking at him and smiles. “I didn’t think anything could be saltier than cup noodles.”

“God damn it, Dazai.”

“What?” Dazai licks his thumb and smirks.

“Now that’s all I’m going to think of the next time I eat them. Why’d you get me off this soon, anyway?”

“Because it’s easier to open up when you’re relaxed.”

Chuuya remembers that, yes, he did agree to that, and an ice cold knife of anxiety tears through his reverie.

“If you’re not in the mood, though, I have plenty of other fun ways to get off.”

Dazed, Chuuya props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Dazai. The beanpole has one leg hanging off the bed and the other folded under him. Chuuya glances down at Dazai’s groin and sees how hard he is, also marked by the damp spot on his boxers. Somewhere between one breath and another, Chuuya realizes Dazai has probably been like that for a while, and it dawns on him just how much Dazai has been holding back, all because he wanted Chuuya to feel good.

He stops thinking when Dazai flicks his forehead. Chuuya rubs the spot and swallows. “Does it… hurt?”

Dazai’s eyes light up, and he claps his hands together. “Don’t tell me Chuuya has never even fingered himself!”

“So what, shitty Dazai?” Chuuya snaps.

Dazai’s smile fades. “So… you never thought about—”

“Of course I thought about you fucking me.” Chuuya scratches the back of his head. “But, you know… it seemed impossible, so I… didn’t exactly get around to trying, I guess.” Chuuya hums when Dazai hugs him. He settles against Dazai’s shoulder, still sorting through the possibilities. “So does it?”

“The first time? Yeah.”

Chuuya shuts his eyes and sighs. “But you hate pain.”

Dazai trails his fingers down Chuuya’s spine. “I love Chuuya, so it was worth it.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya murmurs. At first, he doesn’t process what Dazai has said, but as soon as he does, he lurches out of Dazai’s grip and crawls backwards.

“Is something wrong?”

“What… the fuck… did you just say?”

“That it was worth it?” Dazai echoes, tilting his head.

“No, before that.”

Dazai hums and tilts his head the opposite way. “That it hurts the first time?”

“Quit playing dumb, slug! After that and before the other thing!”

“That I love pleasure, so it was worth it?”

“Fucking shitty Dazai. You didn’t say pleasure. You said—”

Dazai interrupts with a cackle. “Chuuya-kun! Are you really so blissed out from my hand job that you’re hearing things? I mean, I know I’m good, but—”

Chuuya whips a pillow at Dazai’s head and clenches his fist, then sighs and flops down on the bed. He needs a minute to recover, or to process. Once he feels steadier, he tips his head to find Dazai still holding the pillow against his face. He sees one of Dazai’s ears is red and turns back to the ceiling, hoping that blank white surface will cut the awkwardness. It doesn’t. “Dazai,” Chuuya finally murmurs. “Come here.”

“Don’t want to,” the muffled answer comes from behind the pillow. Chuuya rolls his eyes. How Dazai can be petulant after being so frank is beyond him. Then again, maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Dazai is renowned for his control. The fact that he let it slip… Chuuya thinks maybe it’s Dazai’s way of saying he trusts him.

“Fine. I’ll finger myself, then.”

“Go ahead.”

Chuuya was sure that would work, but now that it hasn’t, he sighs and swallows. “I’m saying I want you to do it.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.” Slowly, Dazai lowers the pillow. His face is beat red, and even though he’s facing Chuuya, he’s having a stare down with a wall. Chuuya knows what he wants, and seeing Dazai like that, insecure, frowning, ashamed, he draws a slow breath in. “Because I love you, too.”

Dazai looks like the words give him a concussion. He holds the pillow to his chest, then drops it and crawls across the bed to where Chuuya is sprawled out. Dazai shifts so he has one arm on the left side of Chuuya’s head. The backs of his fingers slide along Chuuya’s neck. “Do you really mean that?”

“Did you?” Worried that he’s about to cry, Chuuya raises his arms and cups Dazai’s face in his hands. “You said you weren’t opposed to making love earlier. Neither am I.”

Dazai’s face dips, and sure enough tears fall out of his eyes even though he’s smiling. “Yeah. Okay.”

Chuuya pulls Dazai’s lips down to his and kisses him until he recovers, or until he believes what Chuuya has just told him. When they part, Dazai lets out an unsteady breath and presses his face against Chuuya’s bare shoulder. “What? Too much?”

“Yes,” Dazai breathes against his skin. “Also, I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve been this hard is when I tried to use some kind of aphrodisiac to commit suicide.”

Chuuya hums and slides his fingers into Dazai’s hair. “Are you going to wait until you’re inside, or do you want me to—”

“No.” Dazai shudders and pushes himself up. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait until I’m inside, Chuuya.”

Chuuya listens to him laugh. It’s charged with something sexual. He folds his hands on his stomach and smiles. “Lube’s in the nightstand whenever you’re ready.”

“Yeah.”

Chuuya peers at Dazai. “Are you nervous?”

“I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts.” That’s the only reassurance Chuuya can give, and it’s probably enough, because he watches Dazai shift. Chuuya listens to him fumble with the bottle in his nightstand drawer. The sound of his movement dies off, and a laugh replaces it. “What?” Chuuya demands.

“You have an impressive array of lewd things.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me. I had to entertain myself somehow while you were under the fucking radar.” He feels Dazai’s weight leave the bed, but he realizes it’s so Dazai can take off his last sock and his boxers. He bends down to remove the sock first, and Chuuya has the most amazing view of Dazai’s ass. He almost hopes the beanpole doesn’t stand back up, but he does and shimmies out of his underwear, emitting a hiss that Chuuya’s dick hears better than he does. When Dazai faces the bed, Chuuya sees just how hard he is and swallows. Dazai tosses the bottle of lube, which lands near Chuuya’s hip, and re-enters Chuuya’s space in one graceful movement. A moment later, Dazai’s fingers dip beneath the sides of his waistband. As a courtesy, he lifts his hips so Dazai can remove them. The open air somehow more and less comfortable than his underwear, dryer, but colder, more exposed. He’s half hard again, he realizes, watching the wheels of thought turn behind Dazai’s eyes. “What?” Chuuya asks. “Like what you see?”

“Definitely,” Dazai confesses. “But I’m going to need you on your knees for this.”

“Huh?” Chuuya practically shrieks. “You want to bend me over and fuck me? After calling me your dog for years?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai sighs. “It’s going to go easier if you’re on your knees.”

“Since when have I ever been easy about anything?” Chuuya bites his lip.

“Okay, okay. Clearly, you don’t want to be on your knees.” Dazai shakes his head. “Chuuya’s so hard to please.”

“Shitty fucking Dazai—”

“So,” Dazai continues, ignoring the insult, “you have two options. You can be on your knees above me, or you can do it yourself.”

“I fingered you like this last time!”

“And that went easy because I got ready before, whereas you’ve never even had a finger in your ass, let alone something this size.” He gestures to his rock-hard cock. “Do you have a preference?”

Chuuya sits up. “I want you to do it.”

“My lap it is, then.” Dazai shuffles so he’s leaning against the headboard. He pushes back, but Chuuya knows it’s directly against the wall. He shifts a bit, then pats his thigh. Sighing, Chuuya swings one leg over Dazai, trying not to think about how awkward and exposed he feels. “Put your hands on my shoulders. You’ll be more stable that way.” Chuuya obeys. He can feel his nerves starting to fire. When he hears the cap fly off of the lube, it all becomes real again. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

Dazai smiles. “It’s okay. I was nervous the night I asked you to do this, too.”

“You were?”

“Yup.”

Chuuya jolts as something cold swipes across his ass.

“Tell me if it hurts.” Dazai’s finger moves in a slow circle. “Tell me if I’m going too fast.” Chuuya tenses, and Dazai sighs. “Tell me if you want to stop. And for fuck’s sake, don’t brace yourself. You have to relax. It hurts more if you don’t.”

Chuuya feels himself flush and clenches his jaw.

“Look at me, Chuuya.”

He takes his eyes off of Dazai’s dick and lines his gaze up with Dazai’s.

“Would it help if I kissed you?”

Chuuya nods and leans forward, catching Dazai’s lips in his. He’s still hyperaware of where Dazai’s finger is hovering, but as their mouths work together, the tension seeps out of his shoulders. And that’s when he feels the tip of Dazai’s finger slip inside of him. He breaks away instantly, and Dazai stops. “Keep… keep going. I’m okay.”

With his free hand, Dazai pushes Chuuya’s face so their eyes line up again. “If I go too fast, I’m going to hurt you. So… try to relax a little more.” Chuuya tries to will the tension out of his body. He seeks that relief in the farthest corners of Dazai’s mouth, and he’s so focused on the kiss that he barely registers the foreign feeling of Dazai’s finger moving deeper. His head spins, and he pulls away to process, but then, he sees Dazai smiling at him.

“You’re taking it really well, Chuuya. Can I move?”

“Give…” Dazai’s compliment burns in his brain. “Give me one more second.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Chuuya takes a slow deep breath, then another. It’s not the finger Dazai has inside of him. That still stings, but it feels good. It’s his own building arousal, which makes his mind buzz with an urgency he struggles to suppress. “Okay,” Chuuya says. He grips Dazai’s shoulders while the brunette gives a couple of sickeningly slow, experimental thrusts. The first one hurts the most, but with each slow slide of that digit, Chuuya feels himself accepting it. Accepting Dazai. He rests his forehead against Dazai’s shoulder and breathes.

“Something tells me Chuuya is feeling good.”

“I didn’t say a damn—”

“You didn’t have to! Little Chuuya is saying so loud and clear!”

Chuuya feels the heat in his face and sinks against Dazai a bit more. He feels his cock brush against Dazai’s stomach, and as much as he craves more, he knows he won’t last if he pursues that desire. So, instead, he focuses on the way Dazai is moving.

“Are you ready for another one?”

Chuuya melts under the question and gives a nod. For a minute, he’s empty, but he hears the cap of the lube, and pretty soon, Dazai prods his ass again. The finger he had inside before sinks right in and presses as it drags out. He realizes the pressure against his entrance is different now. It’s the same force as before, but there are two points now. “Breathe,” Dazai murmurs in his ear.

Chuuya fills his lungs and chokes on a curse halfway through.

“Breathe,” Dazai says again.

The pain is worse this time, but Chuuya counts seconds to himself as Dazai’s fingers slide into him. When they stop, he knows they’re buried in him as deep as they can go. “Let me know when I can—”

“Move,” Chuuya demands, throwing Dazai a look he knows is desperate. “Move.”

Dazai does, slowly. Then, he picks up a rhythm uncannily similar to when he was only using one finger. Chuuya feels his legs shaking and his pleasure building. He lets out a raspy breath against Dazai’s skin. He’s adjusting. It still hurts, but with every thrust, the scale tips a little more in pleasure’s favor. He thinks he’s ready for Dazai’s next movements, but on the next thrust, Dazai hits something that rips a noise out of him. He clenches down on Dazai’s fingers and struggles not to collapse as white spots flood his vision. A moment later, the pleasure starts to fade, and his mind starts to move.

Beneath him, Dazai chuckles.

“Was… that…”

“Your prostate?”

Chuuya struggles not to scream when Dazai pushes his fingers back in with mind-numbing accuracy.

“I’m going to go with a yes. Are you still good?”

“Don’t stop,” Chuuya says before he can stop himself. “More, Dazai. More.”

Dazai pats his back. “I told you, if I go to fast, I’ll hurt you.”

“Dazai,” Chuuya whines, raising his face. He watches Dazai’s eyes widen to take in his face. “Please. I can’t…”

“You can,” Dazai interjects. “You’re going to need one more finger if you want to take me.”

“I’m going to die.”

“Only in the little sense,” Dazai murmurs, pressing his fingertips between Chuuya’s shoulder blades. “Be patient. I’ll try to make this last part a bit quicker.”

Chuuya digs his fingers into Dazai’s shoulders, more than half-certain he’s going to leave bruises, but he’s too deep in his own sensations to care. “Then add the third one.”  He grinds the words out. It takes all of his willpower to put them in an order Dazai will understand.

“Are you sure?”

Dazai is fucking with him. He has to be. No one has that much control, not even him. It pisses Chuuya off, and now that Dazai is two fingers deep in him, action feels like a more than appropriate solution. He shoves his mouth against Dazai’s and pulls the breath out of his lungs, then looks him dead in the face.

“I’m sure,” he growls, letting out a shaky breath before adding, “Osamu.”

Chuuya half thinks he hears the last of Dazai’s composure snap. The focus damming back all of Dazai’s desire cracks, then bursts open. Something hot floods Dazai’s eyes. Something dangerous. Chuuya flinches as Dazai pulls his fingers out. He’s in the middle of whining an objection when the entire room turns. Suddenly, he’s on his back with Dazai looming over him. “Dazai, what the fuck—” If Chuuya has coherent thoughts, they turn to dust as Dazai kisses him senseless. He hums into Dazai’s mouth and kisses back, catching those molten chocolate eyes for a moment before they close to take in the sensation. There’s so much skin, so much Dazai… and then, there’s something breaching him with more pressure than last time. Two fingers are back inside of him, and when they pull back, a third joins them. Chuuya breaks away and groans as Dazai’s mouth finds his neck again. “Chuuya,” Dazai rasps. “Chuuya.”

“Just… move!”

Chuuya doesn’t bother to hold back his voice this time. He can’t. He’s so lost in the feeling of Dazai’s fingers moving in and out of his ass, he can’t do anything but drown in it. He’s not sure when he realizes Dazai is shaking, but he is.

“Da…zai.”

“Yeah?” Dazai breathes in his ear.

“You… you’re shaking.”

“Having… ha… a bit of hard time, if you catch my drift.”

Chuuya meets Dazai’s gaze. “You… cannot… be fucking serious.”

This time, when Dazai pushes his fingers in, he knocks Chuuya’s breath out of him as they drive against his prostate again. Dazai’s chuckle rumbles above him. “How’s that for fucking serious, hat rack?”

“Holy… fuck…” Chuuya returns Dazai’s grin and looks up at him. He’s surprised at himself for having that much control left. “Are you gonna keep up with the shitty puns?” His fingers trail along Dazai’s thigh, and he revels at the way Dazai shudders as his fingers climb. They brush against Dazai’s cock, and Chuuya feels it twitch. “Or are you going to fill me up like you said you wanted to?”

“Fuck, Chuuya.”

“Yes,” he moans, scooting his legs a bit further apart. “You’d better fuck Chuuya, or I’m going to throw you into this mattress and ride you until you can’t do anything but scream my name.” Dazai twists his fingers, and Chuuya’s mouth falls open again. He’s sure Dazai knows exactly what he’s doing, brushing just beside Chuuya’s prostate as he moves his fingers in and out three, four, five more times before removing them. He listens to Dazai uncap the lube for the final time, to the hiss Dazai gives, probably as the cold gel hits his cock.

“As appealing… as the thought of you impaling yourself on my dick is…”

“God, is it ever,” Chuuya interjects.

Dazai appears over him again, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Right now, the only thing I want more… is to be inside you.”

Chuuya lets out a shaky breath as something else pushes at his entrance.

“I want this to last,” Dazai continues, smiling, “but you’ve got me too riled up.”

“We’ll do it slow next time, mackerel.” Chuuya pushes one of his knees up to give Dazai better access.

“Next time,” Dazai echoes.

“Next time,” Chuuya replies. “Now come on. I’m getting gray hair.”

Dazai leans back on his heels a bit, then shifts one of his arms back. Chuuya knows what’s about to happen, and as Dazai slides inside of him inch by inch, pulling a long, low moan from Chuuya, one that grows in volume the deeper Dazai goes. As soon as Dazai is hovering over him again, supported by his arms, Chuuya clutches Dazai’s biceps. He feels Dazai’s hips snap forward and ends the moan he’s been letting out with something sharper. Behind it, Chuuya catches the breath Dazai lets out as he stills.

“So… tight,” Dazai comments, smoothing Chuuya’s sweaty brow and smiling. “Feels… so good inside of you.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya says, raising a hand to Dazai’s face. “Yeah.”

“And,” Dazai murmurs, smiling. “Does Chuuya still feel good?”

“So good.”

“I’m glad.” Dazai gasps the words, and his smile crumbles. “Chuuya, I need to move.”

“Please… Dazai.”

“No.”

“No?” Chuuya lets out the word as if he’s been punched in the gut.

“Not Dazai. Not right now.” Dazai’s eyes zone in on him. “Call me Osamu.”

Chuuya smirks. “Make me.”

To say Dazai rises to the challenge is an understatement. The minute his hips move, Chuuya is a mess. It’s like he’s possessed, praying in some foreign tongue for more pleasure, more of Dazai, another orgasm. He slips his arms around Dazai as they rock back and forth, tangled together. Dazai’s weight shifts, and Chuuya feels his hips lifted off the bed. The new angle makes his mind swim, and when Dazai starts timing strokes of his hand with thrusts of his hips, Chuuya feels himself start to unravel again.

Then, Dazai hits his prostate.

“Osamu!” His throat hurts from how loud he’s said that name, and as the sensation wears off, he practically starts sobbing. “There. There, please. Again. Right… ah!” Chuuya screams as Dazai demonstrates his precision. With each shift of his hips, he’s sending Chuuya further and further from coherent thought. He stops just long enough to hoist Chuuya’s knees over his shoulders. Then, with a dark smile, he buries himself in Chuuya again.

“Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs, “I’m close. So—” Dazai chokes, and his grip on Chuuya’s cock tightens. Despite how far gone Chuuya is, he still watches the fire in Dazai’s eyes burn itself out as his whole body shudders and he comes. Chuuya feels full, filthy but not in a bad way, and still in need of his own release. As if Dazai reads his mind, his hand starts to move in time with his thrusts again.

“O—samu.” His breath hitches as Dazai encircles the head of his member with his palm, and Chuuya lets out a long scream as, for the second time that night, he’s coming. As he comes down from his orgasm, he starts to realize some things. His throat hurts. His hips hurt. Dazai pushes his knees off of his shoulders and collapses on top of him. The weight isn’t unwelcome. Hell, Chuuya doesn’t even have enough functioning brain cells to complain about how sweaty they are. He manages to lift his arms to encircle Dazai’s still shaking body. “Guess I shouldn’t have showered.”

“We can shower together,” Dazai murmured. “Just… give me another minute.”

“What? Was it too good? Ah—” Chuuya flinches as Dazai pulls out. There’s definitely something wet running out of him, but he tries not to think about it. “That doesn’t feel romantic.”

“Is Chuuya really complaining after I just sent him to another plane of being with my magnificent sex skills?”

Chuuya punches Dazai’s arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his attention. “You’re incredible. Was it this good for you the first time?”

“Of course. Because it was you.”

Chuuya smiles. “Guess I’m pretty magnificent, too. Either that, or we spent too much time together in the Port Mafia, and we just…”

“Go together,” Dazai supplies, rolling off of Chuuya, then turning his head. The burning in Dazai’s eyes has solidified into a brown obsidian.

 Chuuya searches for Dazai’s hand with his, and once he finds it, he presses their palms together.

“Hey, Chuuya, did you really mean what you said when you mentioned doing this again?”

“Of course I did, slug. Why the fuck wouldn’t we do it again?”

“Work?”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that, shitty Dazai. We can be enemies in the streets and lovers in the sheets. Besides, half the damn Port Mafia has bets on when Akutagawa and that weretiger are finally going to become a thing.” Chuuya sees the way Dazai is smiling and twists to face him. “They already are, aren’t they?”

Dazai gives Chuuya a knowing grin. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Dazai,” Chuuya growls, watching the feigned innocence sweep over all of Dazai’s features. “How long?”

“Chuuya, the only thing I want to talk about right now is us.” The fingers in between Chuuya’s tighten, then slip away. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up. Shower? Or better yet, let’s take a bath.”

Chuuya folds his arm and rests his head in it. “You want to fuck me in the shower?”

“No,” Dazai said, sitting up. “I want you to fuck me in the shower. But not tonight.”

When Dazai stretches his arm out, Chuuya sits up and takes it. The sound of water filling the tub fills the room. And when Chuuya turns it off so they can shower, Dazai makes good on his word: all they do is clean each other off. Chuuya ponders Dazai’s soapy skin with gentle touches and the occasional kiss, and Dazai does the same, adding the occasional smile or stooping to peck Chuuya’s lips. Once they’re clean, Chuuya slides into the tub first, and Dazai climbs in, resting his head against Chuuya’s chest with a long sigh. Chuuya’s arms fold around Dazai’s middle, and for a while, it’s nothing both soaking and steam. Between two moments, Chuuya realizes something that makes him jolt. He hopes it doesn’t disturb Dazai’s peace, but it must because Dazai passes Chuuya a look over his shoulder.

“What’s the matter?”

Chuuya unthreads his arms from Dazai’s waist and drags his fingers through his hair. “I’ve just spent so long looking for this kind of comfort in Cabernet.” He breathes in the steam filling the air. “But it came back with you. Because it was always you.”

Dazai shifts, and the water spills over the side of the tub. His arms are on either side, and he’s leaning forward so he can look into Chuuya’s face. “Chibi can be a bit of a sap, too.”

“Hey.”

“But,” Dazai interjects. “It makes me happy to hear you say that.”

Chuuya stares at Dazai.

“Do you want something?”

“Do you?”

Dazai laughs and says, “I want to kiss you.”

“Good.” Chuuya rests his arms on Dazai’s shoulders and locks his hands behind the man’s head. “Because I want you to kiss me, Osamu.”

Their lips meet briefly. When they part, Chuuya pulls Dazai back to him, deepening the kiss. It’s not heated. It’s just affection, pure and simple.

At least until Dazai slips and they both wind up submerged in the bathtub. Chuuya tries to be mad when they come up for air, but he can’t be when Dazai is laughing with so much mirth. So he shrugs off his anger and joins the beanpole as he pulls himself up, hoping there are significantly fewer empty beds in his future mornings.

Sure enough, when Chuuya wakes up to daylight beating against his bedroom curtain, he isn’t disappointed.