Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Few things exist in this life that Osamu Dazai cannot predict. For example, the annoyingly familiar beat of his coworker Kunkida’s foot against the pavement that he was sure would accompany them as they stand in front of the most well known tattoo parlor in Yokohama. He also had been expecting the neon like purple lettering, and the dark decoration.

What Dazai Osamu does not, in fact, anticipate is a blow to the core in the form of the most inefable, olympian creature he has ever been given the chance to look at.

And since Dazai Osamu can very well predict circumstances, he knows Kunikida is scolding him, ordering him to stop whining at the office every second after this. But Dazai can only stare agape, feeling his brain rendered useless by the divine human standing at the other side of the counter in the small reception area.

Dazai needs a second to process that hair can be that red, face so beautifully structured, features that well selected, and arms so defined. He can’t see his eyes yet, but Dazai would bet all in they will be breathtaking. The god-alike man is covered in tattoos, or so he can guess for all the skin he is showing (and the tank top he is wearing doesn’t leave that much space for imagination) is coated with ink. Dazai also catches a glimpse of the numerous piercings from where he’s standing, which makes it difficult to even breathe.

He’s so fucked, unpredictably fucked.

The redhead is speaking with a teenager by the counter, –and is that a tongue piercing? Oh no–, so they wait near the door until he finishes. The tattoo artist turns in their direction then, and Dazai’s mind goes blank. He sees the rings on each side of his lower lip, the industrial piercing in his ear followed by a trail of earrings down to the ear gauge at the lobule… Dazai can’t even think. With luck he can assimilate, and he really wants to plead for help to Kunikida, yet apparently he may not be able to speak either.

People talk about enchantment and they don’t even begin to fathom its embodiment is a red haired man.

What Dazai receives from his coworker is not help, however, but a hold to the wrist so Kunikida can drag him forwards to his demise: the shop counter.

“We are here to set an appointment for him,” Kunikida’s impatience speaks faster than redhead can greet, and Dazai almost curses him if he weren’t so thankful,  because he is sure he would have missed the man’s voice as astounded by his eyes as he is.

They are ocean blue, goddamnit. And Dazai is so close to begging for a chance to drown in them.

He should start considering himself a fortunate man when the redhead’s eyes turn to him.

“Well, what did you have in mind?”

The man’s fruity voice has Dazai’s head spinning, heart beating furiously against his ribcage in a sentiment so unfamiliar Dazai is having trouble identifying. He blinks repeatedly, and the redhead raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow expectantly.

As if Dazai can have anything else than his imperial beauty on his mind. He doesn’t even remember what he is doing there in the first place. Dazai gets so fixated on the pierced lips he discerns the exact moment the absence of response starts to piss the artist off.

His mouth betrays him due to the lack of communication with his brain before he can stop it.

“You.”

Dazai understands he has said the word out loud as the room fills up with silence. The man of his dreams stares dumbfoundedly at him, and Kunikida is most likely close to whack him on the neck, so Dazai rushes to amend it, “Huh, yes, whatever you want is fine, please.” 

Kunikida does whack him on the head. Well, he tried. His coworker steps in front of him, retrieving a picture from his pant’s pocket to show to the artist.

Dazai dissociates on Kunikida explaining the issue with details and watches the redhead examining the photo of his old pendant, recently lost then destroyed in a job. It’s not as if a tattoo of an object that had accompanied him throughout his teenage years and early adulthood will bring back the cherished memories it carried within, yet Dazai thinks it’s worth a try.

Besides, if it is done by a man god like the redhead, he might even come to like it.

The blue eyes find him again, and Dazai attempts to look composed even if the fact that the tattoo artist is beckoning him to come closer and follow him is making his legs tremble.

“Come with me,” the man says, walking towards a merely illuminated corridor, “give me the details and I’ll have you a personalized tattoo.”

Black leather pants have never fitted an ass like that before. The redhead leads Dazai to an ample room at the end of the hall, that seems to work both as the tattooing area and the artist’s personal studio. He signals a chair at the front of his desk that Dazai takes.

“How big?”

Dazai comes out of his stupor as the question hits him in the face. He doesn’t have the time to relish in the husky voice, and if it were literally anybody else he would have flirted around cleverly for so long already he would probably be wooed by now. It’s really a shame he can only seem to embarrass himself in front of the redhead.

Dazai smirks, but swallows hard. “Such a direct question! You must know I don’t reveal my charms till the third date.” 

The redhead raises an eyebrow utterly unaffected, much to his dismay, and Dazai laughs it off. “Something modest, on my ribs.”

He is given one last pointed look before the artist notes something down in what looks like a sketchbook.

“Do you want it in full color, black…?”

“I trust your mighty judgement.”

The tattoo artist hums then, tongue worried between his lips as he works fast in a quick doodle and writes some details. The tongue piercing on display for Dazai makes his skin itch.

“So I have free reign?” The redhead asks, tearing his eyes off the scribbled page once he has finished.

Dazai replies along with a smile, “Please, do with me what you want.”

The beautiful man doesn’t give him the pleasure of raising to the bait and respond, to which Dazai visibly pouts. He says nothing as he walks Dazai back to the reception where Kunikida is waiting, then steps behind the counter with the pen still in between his fingers.

“I need a name,” he says, aiming for Kunikida yet it is Dazai who answers.

“Osamu.”

The man raises an eyebrow waiting for the surname, yet Dazai’s smile is unfaltering. The redhead groans, which is the first reaction Dazai is able to get out of him, and then proceeds to write down the date reminder in a calligraphy way too neat for a man with his looks. Dazai wonders if everything about him truly is perfection. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to have his name in exchange.

He hands Dazai the card.

“The requirements are on the back. Make sure that you meet them or we’ll have to postpone the appointment. Otherwise, you’re up for tomorrow.”

Dazai nods at the redhead after a quick glance at the list, smirk growing at the corner of his lips.

“See you tomorrow.” Dazai walks towards the door where Kunikida is eagerly awaiting, not before throwing the words over his shoulder, “It’s a date!”

He goes back to work with the sound of that man’s guttural groan lingering in his mind.

=

Chuuya Nakahara. Dazai tastes the name on his tongue, enjoying every stretch of his lips as he whispers the words aloud, –the sound is delightful even if his own voice doesn’t make the name justice. Dazai has lost the count of how many times he has thought about it ever since he discovered the words in the date card along with the shop’s telephone number.

How utopic would it be if Chuuya had written his personal number instead. Dazai has never been that lucky, anyway.

Although his mind has always been one for the details, Dazai had missed the name completely in the face of its owner, a beauty so unlike any other that rendered his brain useless under its spell.

Dazai really shouldn’t be musing like a charmed man, but as he walks towards the tattoo parlor, –reminder card held tightly inside his pocket–, he can’t help but let his mind wonder at the prospect of seeing Chuuya again.

A prospect quickly decimated when he steps into the shop and there is no sight of the redheaded beauty. In his place sits a goth man, barely past his teenage years more exactly, heavily pierced and guarding the counter.

Dazai deflates so visibly the man turns his disinterested gaze on him.

“Yes?” The goth says, so quietly Dazai is left wondering if he has talked at all for a second.

“I’m looking for a man named Chuuya Nakahara,” Dazai sighs, “I have–”

“He will be out in a moment.” The man doesn’t address Dazai any further, so he nods to no receiver and takes a seat on one of the armchairs arranged as a lounge.

There are a couple of portfolios opened over the coffee table in front of him, full of breathtakingly detailed designs, every single one of them signed by Chuuya. Dazai is beyond amazed.

“Osamu.”

His given name breaks the spell, and Dazai widens his eyes in pure awe once he realizes it’s Chuuya the one who called him. He stands still on his place for the second that takes his brain remembering he had purposefully decided not to give the redhead his surname.

The best decision of his life. Never had his name been said so arousingly sweet in his ears.

“That has to be me.” Dazai chuckles, aiming to allow his heart to steady the rhythm.

As Chuuya beckons him to follow one of the reddish curls bounces against his cheek in one motion, and Dazai fails miserably.

He is led to the same room he had been to the day before, but this time the space is illuminated harshly, the cool round lamp behind the customer’s chair making up for most of the lightning. Dazai’s hand twitches nervously in anticipation when Chuuya closes the door after him. The reality that he’s about to ink a piece of his skin forever hits him in a rush, stomach clenching. He’s good at handling pain, he’s got this.

Dazai attempts to distract himself by watching Chuuya rummaging between his files quietly. When he finds what he’s looking for, the redhead steps closer again.

“Take a look.” Chuuya hands him a sheet, “What do you think?”

Dazai is left speechless staring at the design even though it’s just the outlining. Chuuya’s drawing includes every trait that made the pendant his, –the rusty clasp, the worn leather straps, and even the tiniest crack on the side of the Sapphire stone. He grins helplessly, at the effort, at the memories.

Dazai is now definitely sure Chuuya’s piece of art will make up for the lost weight on his chest.

“Well?” Chuuya asks, and Dazai smiles genuinely.

“Let’s do it.”

Chuuya nods, guiding Dazai to the customer’s chair before sitting on his own. He rolls the chair towards the stand with the equipment, throwing a “Shirt off” to Dazai over his shoulder.

Dazai manages to get all of his top garments out before he goes struck by Chuuya once again, the black surgical gloves fitting to his hand and emphasizing just how pretty they are just by shape alone. Chuuya sets the machine and ink ready, and Dazai bites down his lower lip, –the swift movements of the redhead’s fingers too entrancing.

Once the machinery is prepared, Chuuya turns back to him rolling his chair closer. He frowns.

“Are you injured?”

Dazai tilts his head in confusion before noticing he forgot to unravel his bandages.

“...so bad?” Chuuya’s eyes roam all over his torso and arms and Dazai shivers. “In the requirements I gave you it clearly stated that…”

“No,” Dazai says, rushing, “I mean, I’m not injured, they’re not recent.”

He is not expecting the deep force of Chuuya’s blue eyes pinned on his own intensely, so Dazai gulps even when he enjoys the sensation of being Chuuya’s entire center of attention. He likes it so much it’s terrifying.

Chuuya doesn’t pry any further about his bandages, and Dazai releases the pressure on his shoulders.

“Well then, I need the ones on your torso off.”

The redhead turns around to fiddle with some pads and a bottle of alcohol so as to give him so privacy. Dazai quickly discards the necessary bandages, then lets out a noncommital hum to have Chuuya know he’s ready.

Chuya is unaffected, or so it seems, by the numerous scars, and Dazai is thankful for his discretion about them. He rolls his chair even closer to Dazai, who leans back as Chuuya slips on the face mask.

He is so close to Dazai’s skin he wonders if he might have been able to control his reactions so well were Chuuya’s breath warming his sensitive skin. Dazai is startled by the first touch, so cold he immediately looks at the side Chuuya is working on, and discovers the alcohol prep pads cleaning his skin.

The brief image of Chuuya’s naked fingers caressing his torso instead flashes through his head, and Dazai flushes inevitably.

“Is this place okay?” Chuuya asks, voice muffled against the mask. Dazai can only nod in his state.

Chuuya imprints the design over Dazai’s left ribs, right under his nipple. It’s only the guide and it already looks beautiful.

“This may hurt a fuckton lot,” the redhead says, eyes looking straight into Dazai’s. “And you can’t move, do you want something to hold?”

Dazai shifts on his seat, “Would you give me your hand, Chuuya?” Dazai pronounces his name out of mild panic.

Chuuya is great, and beautiful, and Dazai is good at handling pain. All the factors needed for success. He’s got it.

Chuuya raises an eyebrow at the nonsense, yet waits for Dazai’s signal to turn the machine on. At the first touch of the needles piercing his skin, Dazai lets out a strangled groan. He looks for some visual distraction and his eyes end upon Chuuya once again. The tattoo artist wears concentration so well, (eyebrows slightly furrowed, shoulders and nose relaxed, and Dazai bets a hand he’s the type that bites his tongue out while focusing, as he did when doodling the day before), that Dazai simply allows his mind to imagine what kind of expressions Chuuya would make were they in other circumstances.

As if it was a warning, the needles pinch over one of his ribs, forcing a groan out of Dazai’s throat.

“Do you make small talk by any chance?” He breathes out, watching the redhead from the corner of his eyes.

“No.”

Dazai sighs in distress.

“Whatever, I’m perfectly fine with maintaining a conversation by myself before fainting.”

There is no response from Chuuya whatsoever, and it only takes Dazai two more minutes under the tattoo machine to start spilling irrelevant yet juicy details.

“Just so you know, and by all means meaning no harm, I’m a detective. And I’m pretty clever. The cleverest. I’m a catch.” Dazai trails off commenting about his coworkers, travelling back to his fruitful years in college, and going on about his will to die with a beauty but his inability to find one. The most simple details of his life making up for a working distraction. “Also I like my coffee black with no sugar, crab is my favorite food, and since I met you I’m a sucker for the color blue.”

Dazai halts interrupted by a moan slipping out of his lips, the machine inking over a particularly sore spot. It’s the adrenaline from pain what makes Dazai add, “I guess you’ll need to remember all those things if you’re going to be my next boyfriend.”

Dazai attempts to check if Chuuya has been listening, but sadly there’s no response again.

It takes the redhead two hours to finish the piece, but when he does and Dazai can take the first proper look in a body length mirror, he decides every second of pain was worth it. Dazai would love to express how much he likes it, or to be able to lavish Chuuya with the grandiloquent words he excels in so much. He is content, which is not a feeling Dazai’s accustomed to; marvelled by the talent Chuuya possess, and how he imprinted on Dazai’s skin a meaningful part of his memories in such a detailed way.

However, Dazai is not sure he remembers how to speak as he turns to Chuuya only to find a lopsided smirk full on display. In his reflection Dazai discovers that his face is traitorously portraying every single one of his thoughts to the redhead.

Chuuya covers the tattoo with a piece of film paper, fingers pressing against Dazai’s sore skin gently. He can already feel alleviated by the refreshing touch, yet the caress leaves as soon as it came. The redhead hands him a bottle of cream.

“You have to apply this once per day for at least three weeks,” Chuuya says, eyes firmly set over Dazai’s. “No bandages constricting the circulation for the meantime, got it?”

Dazai pouts at him but Chuuya remains impassive, decidedly examining the ink one last time now the reddish skin is calming back into its natural color. He straightens some of the film paper with a finger, and Dazai inhales abruptly.

“Can I call you for help with the cream?” He breathes out. Chuuya frowns, raising his eyes to look at him.

“Why would you need my help with that?”

“Your hands seem to work much better than mine.”

After one long, silent stare where Chuuya looks like he’s torn between defenestrating or ignoring him, the redhead decides for the latter, and turns around to leave the room once he has disposed of the gloves and has thrown a “Change” at Dazai over the shoulder.

Dazai obligues, leaving the bandages that would cover the tattoo off. He dresses slowly, trying to come up with a good enough excuse to see the redhead again, maybe also devising a bunch of strategies to woo him into a dinner. Perhaps even some sake afterwards. And dessert .

Dazai steps into the reception with a long sigh. The redhead is waiting for him in all his magnificent glory while talking to his coworker. Dazai hands him his credit card in autopilot, considering the best outcomes for the situation, –or at least the ones where he doesn’t end up being kicked out.

Well, he tries until Chuuya starts speaking again, commenting on some care tips Dazai is suddenly too mesmerized by his pierced lips to listen. Two silver rings adorning his full lower lip that have Dazai’s mouth going dry.

“You’ve got a lot of piercings,” the words slip.

He can’t help it, really.

Chuuya stops the billing midway to look up at him unimpressed.

“Do you think they’d suit me?” Dazai adds along with a confident smile. He can feel himself being dismembered and then executed by the redhead’s stare alone.

Instead, what Chuuya does is lean in, hand coming to hold one of Dazai’s locks before sliding the hair behind his ear, out of his face. Dazai’s heart skips a beat as if it was personally offended.

“As I thought,” Chuuya comments, “you’ve got good ears for an industrial.” Then the redhead lets go of his hair and Dazai barely contains the complaint. “You’d also pull off a tongue piercing seeing how much you like to run your useless mouth.”

Dazai gapes at the words, astonishment most likely clear in his widened eyes. As if even Dazai Osamu himself could disguise the reaction of having the hottest man alive flirting back. Because it has to be flirting.

Chuuya is looking at him with an eyebrow raised, eyes tingling in amusement, and Dazai supposes this is where he dies. The redhead tilting his head to the right waiting for a response renews his energy.

Oh, how he wants to reassure Chuuya he wouldn’t think his mouth is useless if he’d let him. Instead, he says, “How about piercing my dick?”

Dazai practically feels Chuuya’s reaction, –jaw tight in what looks like a gesture to cover up a smirk, (or so he hopes), but eyes lively, painfully set over his.

“I don’t know, wanna see mine for references?”

The nonchalance in Chuuya’s tone hits Dazai like a lightning, his mouth hanging open trying both to gape for air and take in the words. Chuuya is perfectly aware that he has won, so he goes back to charging Dazai after leaving him with a fried brain and a wonderful mental image that will hoard his dreams for weeks on end.

Chuuya hands Dazai his card back. “Please, do come back.” He wryly says.

Dazai takes his first step to the door backwards, smiling at the redhead.

“You can count on it.”

=

“But Chuuya,” Akutagawa speaks, warily staring at his coworker glare at the main door. “You don’t have a piercing down there.”

With a sigh, Chuuya turns to look at him, “He will never know. Besides,” he shrugs, “I’d gladly pierce my balls if it meant shutting that hot bastard’s mouth for good.”

Chapter Text

If there is something Dazai Osamu excels at is scheming. In fact, his flawless, never failing strategies are most likely the reason he manages to keep a job –even if he hasn’t written a report in four years and he has never stepped in the building in time a single day of his career.

How a genius like him can’t come up with a good enough plan to woo the only person –godalike or not–, he’s been mildly interested in to actually bother is fucking inconceivable.

The whole affair has nothing to do with the fact that he is yet to be able to articulate a rather coherent sentence in front of the redhead. Of course, he hasn’t lost his charming personality and seduction abilities. But one doesn’t stand in front of a damn masterpiece and wastes the time speaking, precisely.

Kunikida slams his hand in front of Dazai and he blinks, coming back to the initial lecture about how little he has done that shift. Dazai doesn’t make the effort to repeat for the umpteenth time how his talent is so unique that overusing it would be unwise, and instead concerns himself with his sudden revelation.

Atsushi is just sitting right in front of him, and most importantly, looking gullible enough.

Dazai smirks.

“Say Sushi,” he calls, and his subordinate looks back obediently fast. “Didn’t you say yesterday you wanted to look cooler?”

Atsushi frowns, confused. “...Yes?” He takes a hold of his sole dark strand of hair, “I dyed this lock black, can’t you see?”

Dazai groans mentally out of desperation, yet keeps the alluring smile intact. He swats Kunikida’s hand away so Atsushi can see him properly.

“Yes, yes, but,” Dazai beckons him to come closer and his mentee reluctantly drags his chair near him, all under Kunikida’s disappointed stare. “Have you ever considered piercing your ears? Like a cool rockstar?” Dazai comments offhandedly, his voice inflection accentuated in the right places, so even if Atsushi is looking at him skeptically, his shoulders are already shrinking in indulgence.

Dazai feels almost bad at it being so easy, honestly.

Atsushi stares into his eyes for a second. “But ain’t it gonna hurt?” He whispers, and it sounds like the last traces of doubt leaving his mind.

Dazai encircles his shoulders with an arm.

“I know of a place where it doesn’t,” he winks. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“You sure?” The young boy stutters.

“Have I ever been wrong?” Atsushi shakes his head. “Then let’s go!”

Dazai is already standing before Atsushi can protest.

“Now?” He asks, rising on wobbly legs. Dazai humms, halfway to the door. “But we’re working and I’m not ready!”

Dazai halts to look at him over the shoulder.

“It’s a slow day, don’t worry!” He grabs the boy by the arm before Atsushi complains some more, and drags him out of the office, Kunikida barking already behind them about extra hours from slacking.

In all honesty, it’s a punishment Dazai will gladly endure after seeing Chuuya again –because it’s been five days since he last had the chance, the luck, to stare at the redhead’s beauty, and Dazai firmly believes he’s about to go mad if his brain continues supplying him with surely illegal images of the tattoo artist.

It’s not that he’s desperate, at all.

“Aren’t you excited?” Dazai asks as he catches the first glimpse of the parlor. Atsushi shakes a little by his side, standing still in front of the door.

“Well, yes, I wanna look cooler.”

Dazai moves to grab him by the shoulders. “Then inside we go.” He pushes Atsushi through the front door in a rush, his subordinate’s eyes widening to have time to take the place in, considering that the maddening pace Dazai is dragging him to the counter with has Atsushi seeing in motion blur.

Dazai only halts in his race once he, at last, identifies the patch of red hair he’s been dreaming about the last few days, framing a face even more beautiful than he remembered –the vivid image of his photographic memory paling in comparison.

Chuuya’s blue eyes find him after what feels like an eternity, the color as vibrant as ever even as he raises an eyebrow in recognition. Dazai’s heart flutters at the prospect of a deity like Chuuya remembering his face out of all the clients he must have. His gaze nervously travels downwards to stare at the redhead’s lips once again, and Dazai is not afraid to admit he missed them the most, despite not having had the chance to taste them. Yet.

After all, his favorite dream is the one where the loops adorning Chuuya’s mouth corners stretch up in a smirk that calls out his name. And isn’t that embarrassing.

It can only be described as idyllic imagining how it would feel the brush of the steel piercings against Dazai’s own lips…

Chuuya’s eyes flicker from his face to Atsushi's, and Dazai snaps out of his daydream speaking in a rush so the redhead’s attention remains on him.

“He wanted his ears pierced so I brought him to the best man.” Dazai says, attempting a flirty grin that he sadly knows only comes out as an infatuated smile.

For the first time since he knows the redhead, Chuuya chuckles in response and Dazai’s eyes widen.

Certainly, Chuuya’s short laugh might be the most satisfying sound he’s ever had the chance to hear. It comes out as gutural as expected from a man that looks like he could snap you in a half, yet it’s also sweet, the kind of tone that would have Dazai desiring to leave the bed even on the darkest days just with the mere promise of having the chance to hear it once more. And if that’s just a brief chortle, what wouldn’t Dazai give to discover what the full laugh sounds like, to have Chuuya bended in laughter because of him. Is there even a greatest accomplishment, at all?

“Right,” Chuuya says, the smile still resting on his lips. “Aku.”

The barely-adult emo man from last time stands beside him, and Dazai can’t actually remember if he’s been there from the beginning. Although Chuuya usually hoards all his attention, Dazai forces himself to spare a look at the guy if he is going to be the one perforating his subordinate. He carries more piercings on his face than Dazai can identify, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a century, but Chuuya trusts him, so Dazai nods at Atsushi in encouragement.

His mentee stands struck at the man’s presence, hesitantly deciding between following the beckoning command or not. Dazai softly places a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want me to go with you inside?”

Atsushi shakes his head then, traveling behind the piercer with airy steps.

Dazai swallows hard at being left alone with Chuuya. The tattoo artist has gone back to whatever project he must have been doing before their interruption, head lowered into the sketchbook, tongue nipped between his lips, piercings shiny, kissable.

Dazai is so in trouble.

He needs to speak soon before the whole situation turns even more awkward. Asking him out would be optimal, but in all honesty, Dazai still has to manage to say hello without bordering on a heart attack. He mentally groans, no clue of how to start in his mind even though he has scored countless and meaningless dates before.

The one time he really wants to use his charms and they’re all gone, just amazing.

Opportunely, Chuuya speaks first when sensing Dazai’s scrutinizing eyes all over him.

“I’m not a piercer,” he comments matter-of-factly, eyes glued to whatever he’s working in. “Just a tattoo artist.”

“So, let’s say,” Dazai takes a step closer, aiming to win Chuuya’s attention to himself, “if I wanted to pierce my nipples-”

Chuuya snaps his head up then, interest hopefully hiding behind those blue eyes dead set on his face. Dazai’s next words come out somewhat strangled under the force of the redhead’s stare.

“-you wouldn’t do me the favor.”

Chuuya shakes his head painfully slow, eyes remaining glued to Dazai’s face, and all his chances of coming up with a witty, flirty comeback fly out of the window. He attempts a crooked smile in a haze, but it feels more like a nervous grin in front of the man of his dreams.

“Then I guess I’ll just cover myself up with tattoos.” Dazai winks, kind of embarrassingly, and how he manages to get Chuuya smirking at him is a fucking wonder. And doesn’t that corner rising lopsidedly in Chuuya’s mouth feel like a success.

Now, if he could only gather up the courage to ask for a chance and dinner.

Chuuya goes back to work and the moment is gone. Looking over the counter, Dazai discovers what seems to be a foreign deity in a design so beautiful that he is left wondering once again if the redhead can ever create something that is not utter perfection.

He might be biased, but still.

“What do you have there?” Dazai asks, leaning down so as to engage in conversation again. A miscalculation that leaves his face too close to Chuuya’s own after the redhead raises his head to look at him. Noses too close for comfort.

Dazai’s heart jumps in the skip of a beat that is definitely not healthy. His pulse, erratic, speeds up under Chuuya’s magnetic stare. Just don’t look at his lips, Dazai.

“...The design for my next appointment.” The redhead’s voice is the lowest Dazai has ever heard it be, close to a whisper only for him to perceive.

Chuuya’s warm breath over his lips has Dazai trembling, eyelids suddenly heavy, urging him to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation. He fights them.

“It’s… beautiful, you’re great,” Dazai stutters, hopefully coming out more composed than his thoughts.

Chuuya blinks repeatedly, yet doesn’t repel the proximity. He nods humbly at his words, “Thank you.”

Ignoring his last trace of cleverness, Dazai’s gaze wanders all over Chuuya’s face discovering a trace of light freckles over his nose. He follows the path to a beauty mark in the form of a dot under the redhead’s left eye. Skin so smooth for such a rough personality, Chuuya surely must be guarding some secrets of beauty.

From this close Dazai can discern that under all the ink and sterilizer, Chuuya smells faintly of cologne. Rich, enticing cologne that renders his brain a lightheaded mess of nerves.

But the stupidest decision Dazai takes is allowing his eyes to rest upon Chuuya’s full lips, always calling him like home. The piercings only helping to steal his complete, undivided attention.

It really is too much that none of them is moving, and under those blue eyes Dazai melts, surrendering himself and stepping away from their bubble. He regrets it instantly, more even as he sees Chuuya hesitantly going back to his drawing.

Dazai really, really wants to slap himself. He needs to get them into the intimate mood again so he can ask Chuuya out, minimising the risks of the tattoo artist beating him to a pulp and banning him from existence. The worst of all is he can’t think of anything worth using to flirt with Chuuya. How humiliating.

So Dazai just opens his mouth and fucks it up.

“How are your politics about laying with your clients?”

Chuuya snaps his head up, eyes slightly widen.

“Beg your pardon?”

Chuuya’s deathly glare turns his irises cold as ice –confirming Dazai that he has heard him just fine, yet under those eyes he’s not so brave anymore.

He laughs it off to cover up a nervous giggle.

“You know, fucking, screwing, doing the-”

“I get it!” Chuuya raises his voice, and immediately scans his surroundings, relieved to see that none of the next customers are already in the parlor.

Dazai can only smile sweetly under the gaze piercing right through his very skull.

“I won’t fuck you,” Chuuya deadpans.

It’s physically painful for Dazai to suppress the groan piling in his throat out of disappointment. Such a shame, really, for it’s been weeks since the only thing Dazai can think of is the redhead either on top or under him, –because let’s be honest, he would ride the fuck out of Chuuya no second thoughts.

A shiver runs down his spine, and Dazai acknowledges that maybe he should stop indulging in that kind of thoughts in front of said man of his desires.

Dazai swallows hard, “I can be the one doing the fucking if you’d like.”

To Dazai’s utter mortification what was meant to come out as a lewd pick up line sounds instead like a plea, but Chuuya doesn’t seem to have realized if the way he’s grabbing at his pencil is anything to go by.

The white of his knuckles reassures Dazai he is about to be painfully kicked out of the shop. Chuuya raises his body almost feral, and Dazai can clearly picture him hopping over the counter, muscles flexing and completely marked thanks to his tight black shirt; then pacing heavily towards Dazai only to grab a fistful of his hair and clash their mouths toge-

Or well, more accurately vaulting over the desk to step on Dazai repeatedly and teach him some manners. It’s shameful how Dazai really doesn’t have a preference in which one the redhead chooses as long as he can have him close again.

Dazai fidgets expectantly, waiting for Chuuya to step out and (violently) touch him, spilling the lot of threats that fit his mouth so good in the process. He’s never desired anything this much, to the point of his hands growing restless in anticipation, skin itching due to the goosebumps under his bandages, hair standing on end.

However, Dazai sadly discovers he is not destined to be blessed with Chuuya’s hands on his body again as Atsushi steps back into the reception happily, calling out his name and nearly followed by piercings boy, who walks silently behind the counter, making Chuuya sit back on his place.

Dazai visibly deflates at the lost chance, but at least Chuuya’s eyes are still painfully set over his own.

“Dazai-san! Look!” Atsushi exclaims by his side, holding his ears with both hands to show him the new studs adorning them. Dazai has to forcefully drag his eyes away from Chuuya, barely succeeding, to look at his subordinate’s piercings with a smile.

He gives a thumbs up before Atsushi goes back to talking with the piercer. Unfortunately, Chuuya is not looking at him any longer, probably not even assessing his presence, and Dazai pouts. It’s Atsushi the one who has to drag him out of the tattoo parlor this time.

His subordinate walks ahead of him, merrily humming a song that is somehow lighting Dazai’s sour mood.

“Do you like your earrings that much?” Dazai wonders, and Atsushi looks back at him over his shoulder.

“Of course I do,” he blushes slightly. “But that’s not it, tho.”

Dazai humms noncommitally, but his attention drifts to somewhere else once again, endless strategies already filling his mind. He is sure Kunikida will have them in a three-hours long reprimanding reunion about leaving to a tattoo parlor during work hours, and yet Dazai’s preoccupations remain elsewhere.

So, Chuuya likes lewd flirting, but only if it’s subtle, indirect. And Dazai is almost sure he saw interest creep into his eyes after every disguised proposition. There is a tiny chance that Chuuya might be interested in him, or at least his body –which Dazai is totally okay with.

Dazai wasn’t outwardly rejected, only almost kicked to death by a hot tattoo artist after being flirted back with. So he just need to be discreet.

And Dazai can do subtle. Dazai can very well do subtle, indeed.

Chapter Text

Dazai emits his third whine in a row, upper body splayed on top of his workspace as if he isn’t infinitely close to earning a painful whack by Kunikida’s hands for slopping off work. Again. It’s not even lunchtime.

However, it’s not his fault he is pitifully sulking so early in the morning. After his overwhelming defeat in his attempt at convincing his coworkers to embrace the urban style so he can visit the love of his life, and none of them agreeing to get tattooed or pierced, Dazai earned himself the right to weep the loss of his love life.

Even Dazai can admit the frequency with which he finds himself daydreaming about blue eyes is no longer appropriate. And maybe, maybe, he is not supposed to be feeling the goosebumps over a man he has met a total of three times, yet Dazai is now embarrassing himself publicly like an enamored mess.

Dazai craves for a chance with him like a thirst he can’t help but need to sate, not remembering wanting it so bad with anyone before. Not even back as a hormonal teenager. Not even in college. What the heck.

But Chuuya, oh Chuuya, resembling a deity just like it’s easy, a heavenly, olympian beauty that renders Dazai unable to tear his thoughts away from him. And the redhead is as dangerous as they get so Dazai might be going insane, but he cannot exactly say he hasn’t always loved to bargain with death.

God, he’s got it bad. Anyway.

He is having fun –the opportunity to tease Chuuya and having the artist slaying him back in his own game is the most fun Dazai recalls experiencing in a long, long time.

He is just going through a midlife crisis about his crush. Neat. Nothing to worry about. Your everyday mishap.

A burst of giggles wakes Dazai from his pathetic, moping state, and he finds Atsushi smiling so brightly it ruins the boy’s attempt at seeming to be working when he is actually busying himself with something under the desk. Atsushi tries to cover another chuckle, but he fails.

Dazai frowns at the amount of merry vibes his subordinate is sending off so early in the morning.

“What’s there to be so happy about?” Dazai asks, casually rolling his chair towards an startled Atsushi.

“Happy? I’m not happy.” Sushi complains embarrassed, and Dazai chuckles.

A vibrating sound resonates from under the table then, making his subordinate squeal in delight. Atsushi takes his phone out to answer the text, not allowing Dazai to see what is written in there but looking at his mentor excitedly afterwards.

“I’ve got a date today,” Atsushi manages to sound eager even with a whisper so low Dazai almost doesn’t catch it.

“Oh, Sushi! Who’s the fortunate soul?”

Atsushi blushes hard, and Dazai barely restrains a giggle.

“Do you remember the man who made my piercings? In the tattoo parlor.” Dazai’s eyes widen so fast Atsushi wonders if he has said something weird. He explains himself further, “... The goth one?”

For the first time since he has been Atsushi’s mentor, Dazai stutters.

“What?”

He roams his subordinate’s face looking for any kind of misunderstanding, though he finds none, and Dazai’s mouth finally falls agape.

“His name is Akutagawa,” Atsushi fidgets. “This will be our third time going out together.”

“What?” Dazai repeats, louder this time. And then, totally surprised and little indignant, “How? Since when? It’s only been a week!”

His subordinate’s eyes shine lost in some memories and Dazai supposes this is his demise. Atsushi, the shiest, most romantically inexperienced person in the entire building can apparently date easier than him. Effortlessly, even, since it has taken the boy thirty minutes to accomplish what Dazai has been weeks dreaming to achieve.

He is so proud, in a way.

Then, a shiver runs down Dazai’s spine at the mere thought of his characteristic charms not working anymore.

Ridiculous, he thinks. Alright, perhaps, possibly he is kind of emotionally constipated, and sometimes a tad bit on the shameless side, but he surely has some winning traits, too, right? Chuuya must have found something attractive enough in him to flirt back sometime… right?

“So, the day he pierced me,” Atsushi’s rambling voice drags Dazai out of his mental self-deprecation, and Dazai looks at him with a pout drawn clear on his lips. “I kinda panicked because it hurt really bad and my ears are extra sensitive, so he gave me his personal number in case of an emergency, then–”

“The questions were rhetorical Sushi,” Dazai groans, head banging against the desk, “but please, care to go on. Rub it on my face.”

Atsushi pats Dazai’s back warily. “Rub what on your face, “Dazai-san? Do you also like Ryu-?”

Dazai snaps his head up abruptly.

“What? No, I want Chuuya.” He says. And then widens his eyes in realization.

The weird ass piercing man works with Chuuya.

Dazai smirks. “Pray tell, where are you meeting this Romeo of yours?”

Atsushi tilts his head in confusion.

“I don’t know yet? I just said yes a minute ago.”

“Perfect.” Dazai says, “Can you do me the greatest favor then, Atsushi-kun?”

The boy hesitates for a second before nodding at his superior. “Yes?”

“Can you ask your boyfriend to pick him up at the shop in this fine day for a romantic lunch break?”

“How did you…?” Atsushi’s flush at the b-word spreads down to his neck as he stutters, but then remembers who is his mentor and sends the text anyway. “Why, Dazai-san?”

“I’ll even accompany you to the shop, of course.” Dazai beams gleefully, mind already musing about red hair and blue eyes. Not a single trace of his piteous pining left.

“That doesn’t answer my question?” Atsushi wonders, but his mentor is already far gone.

=

As promised, Dazai walks contentedly beside Atsushi towards the shop as soon as it is reasonable to have a lunch break. His subordinate shivers slightly the closer they get to the parlor, and Dazai finds himself relating to the boy.

Akutagawa is the first one to meet them after they step inside, as he is beckoning some trembling client to follow. He barely spares Dazai a glance when he says something along the lines of “Last one, then we can go”, but Dazai can’t find it in himself to care as he paces quickly to the counter.

The smile that has adorned his face since he has left the Agency only widens at the sight of the redhead, who is relaxedly seating behind the desk –tongue slipping out of his lips as he most likely sketches something. Dazai almost stumbles in his next step, and when the redhead decides to take a sip from a disposable cup by his side, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, Dazai stops walking altogether.

Chuuya raises his head at the noise, and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly when he meets Dazai’s face.

“My vacation is over,” Chuuya groans, dropping the half-empty cup of coffee in his hands to pick up the pencil he discarded before.

Dazai bites down a dumb smile threatening to appear on his lips and settles for keeping the snarky grin, even as his heart rebels out of control every time Chuuya remembers his face out of all his clients.

He shakes his head, then.

“So you deem my presence as a constant in your life?” Dazai says, looking down to Chuuya before leaning against the counter, eye to eye with the artist. “I’m so touched I could cry, Chuuya.” He attempts a wink he hopes adds to his dashing looks.

Chuuya goes back to work as if Dazai wasn’t even there.

“Don’t use my first name, and if you’re not here as a customer you can leave.”

Dazai mourns the loss of Chuuya’s blue eyes on him, but at the same time doesn’t stop himself from appreciating the way his eyebrows frown in concentration, fixating his entire attention in how after a few seconds Chuuya’s pierced tongue slips out of his lips.

Oh, how he had missed the sight. And then, as a blessing or as a curse Dazai doesn’t know, Chuuya’s bangs fall over his eyes like a caress, and the tattoo artist drags them back in a slow, deliberated movement that leaves Dazai biting his lower lip down not to outwardly moan right there. Reddish curls slide in between slender fingers effortlessly, and Dazai’s hand twitches in desire.

He tries averting his eyes not to embarrass himself further, but the traitors easily find their way back to Chuuya’s face, now free of all obstruction. So handsome, perfectly soft to the eyes – Chuuya’s beauty never really fails at rendering Dazai an useless, awestruck mess.

Dazai needs to say something rational before his mind starts spilling all his secrets to the redhead on its own.

“Well then, tattoo me.” Dazai breathes out, somehow loud enough for Chuuya to hear.

Chuuya raises an eyebrow unbothered, not acknowledging Dazai’s presence otherwise.

“I’m on my lunch break right now,” he says, coffee in hand as he sketches with his right. If high caffeine drinks are what Chuuya lives off of, Dazai can totally invite him out for dinner and come victorious. Or so he hopes.

“Then, how about tomorrow?” Dazai asks leaning forward, searching for Chuuya’s eyes.

“Tomorrow what?” Chuuya grunts, seemingly annoyed, but if the way he strays from Dazai’s face to check him out is anything to go by, Chuuya is not all that pissed by Dazai’s presence.

Dazai smirks to pretend a confidence he doesn’t really feel.

“Tomorrow tattoo… and lunch, of course.”

Chuuya remains silently stuck for a second, staring deep into Dazai’s irises before his body leans back in a burst of giggles erupting right from the pit of his stomach. Chuuya’s guffaws fill the otherwise empty room, and Dazai’s heart rate inevitably spikes –the sound guttural yet silvery enough to sentence Dazai breathlessly in love.

A laugh so appealing in such a hot man must be a sin, but hell sounds like the finer place if it’s there where he gets to hear Chuuya chuckling again. Even if he should feel ashamed the redhead considers his date proposition so inconceivable he bends in laughter like that – it is worth it.

Dazai considers asking what is so funny about the situation, though Chuuya beats him to it.

“I hope you’re not tattooing yourself just to see me.”

Dazai stumbles embarrassingly under the accusation, and the wrinkles at the corners of Chuuya’s eyes out of diversion only mortify him further. He can clearly see Chuuya is solely joking from the relaxed position against the counter and the lopsided, pierced grin – but Dazai is bordering on a tachicardia, cheeks warming at Chuuya exposing his intentions out in the open so boldly.

He is smitten dead.

Dazai swallows hard, panics internally, and feigns mental stability.

“You know what they say,” he nods at Chuuya’s muscled, breathtakingly uncovered, beautifully defined, strong enough that could probably carry Dazai around and pin him hard against a bed, a table, a wall or a… tattooed arms. Well, shit. “You can’t have just one.”

Dazai can excuse himself all he wants, but never of the undeniable fact that he has just stood in front of Chuuya and fantasized about his toned arms doing inappropriate things to him. In the middle of a conversation.

Dazai is not really a believer but he’s going straight down to hell.

Unless you count Chuuya as a god, that is, because with that knowing, slightly lopsided amused grin of his he might as well be. Chuuya bites the left ring on his lip not to laugh, and Dazai’d better get on his knees and pray.

The redhead turns his sketchbook to a blank page clearly not believing a single word.

“Alright, what will it be this time?”

Chuuya is so illegally hot when feeling smug that Dazai can’t really stop his mouth from speaking, at all.

“I want it on my hips, this time.”

If Dazai had any lesser control of his face masks he himself would have sighed scandalously at his own words. However, Chuuya barely raises an eyebrow at his bluntness before standing.

“Let’s go to my office.”

It is in that very second Dazai comes back to his surroundings and realizes they are alone, not even picturing when did his subordinate leave and close the shop. He gulps, discovering his palms sweaty at the mere thought of being left alone with Chuuya for good. His stomach trembles as he follows suit, and it doesn’t even surprise Dazai anymore after he’s been nothing short of an infatuated mess since first meeting the artist.

Once they are back to the small, familiar room where Chuuya tattooed him a bunch of weeks ago, the redhead takes a seat behind his desk, rolling a chair near his own for Dazai to sit on. He complies swiftly, seating so close to the redhead their thighs could brush together if he so liked. Dazai wonders how it would feel against the ripped jeans hugging Chuuya’s legs so nice today, to drag his fingertips over the fabric, discovering if Chuuya is as warm of a person as he seems to be.

Dazai crosses his legs in a blink and forces himself back to reality, where Chuuya’s strong cologne lures him in again, and he can’t help but groan out loud.

“Any idea, emotion, hidden meaning you want for the tattoo? Or do we start from scratch and see where it gets us?” Chuuya says, body turning towards him.

“I was hoping you’d help me.”

In all honesty, Dazai really wants the tattoo. The last one turned out so good that Dazai quite never missed his real pendant anymore –the memories, the emotions so well imprinted on his skin Dazai fell in love with the piece head first. And now the reflection that greets him every night in the mirror seems less disgusting, some of his scars so beautifully covered it is almost soothing.

“How about a double piece?” Chuuya suggests, and Dazai nods, picturing perfectly both sides of his navel covered up in ink.

Dazai forces himself to speak once his brain starts supplying images of deft fingers leaving its marks over said tattoos, hands gripping tightly at his hips, not to fuck it up again.

“Do you think they will look good on me?”

He didn’t mean for his words to come out as taunting as they sound, really. But the teasing jab hangs between the two as Chuuya shamelessly examines his hips, brows furrowed and pierced tongue out in mock concentration –Dazai is pretty sure Chuuya is going to discover just how slightly tight Dazai’s pants have been feeling for a while now.

“You look bony enough for them to make a sweet image, that’s for sure.”

Chuuya’s eyes find Dazai’s then, lingering there long enough for Dazai to visibly shiver under his stare. The redhead goes back to sketching some flower designs and a bunch of words as if unaware of the effect he has on the suffering man by his side.

That’s just plain cruel, Chuuya, Dazai thinks, for he is sure he will be feeling the path of Chuuya’s eyes roaming his body from days on end. It’s not fair that a pair of blue eyes alone can leave Dazai witless, godalike or not.

Dazai wets his lips and breathes in.

“Let’s see what that hands of yours can do first, ne Chuuya?”

That’s it, he’s said it. He can either get his face stepped on or a date scored, but at the end of the day does he really have a preference if it comes from Chuuya?

Surprisingly enough, the redhead drops his pencil with a calm uncharacteristic of his temper, turning his seat fully to face Dazai with all the prowess of a body as impeccably sculpted as his is and a face so handsomely modeled Dazai sometimes has a hard time believing it is real instead of a project of his imagination and deepest desires.

Chuuya looks at him with a sneer smirk that tells Dazai he would have never predicted this outcome, and says:

“I think you have fantasized with them enough to have a clear idea, haven’t you, Osamu?”

Dazai’s mouth falls open not only at the words, but at the image of Chuuya’s pierced tongue rolling to let his very name out of parted lips, and had Dazai tried to conceal his utter surprise he would have failed miserably.

Dazai wonders how can Chuuya shift his attention back to designing so quickly, because Dazai himself is on the verge of cardiovascular failure –heartbeat so loud against his ribcage Chuuya can probably hear it from there. Heck, even his mind is a respectful blank space concerned as it is about Dazai’s arterial pressure, ready to go high wire.

Chuuya asks him some more details about what he would like and Dazai answers to the best of his ability, hoping that the redhead isn’t expecting him to be helpful now that Dazai knows Chuuya can make such an expression for him. Dazai discovers Chuuya is not only good at art, but also has a way with words when they add some sentences to the group of camellias from the first sketch.

He seems to be at a great loss for words since the incident, so Dazai can only stare at the tip of Chuuya’s tongue while the artist adds the last details.

Chuuya’s immense art skills and creativity present Dazai a design he can’t wait to have on his body, wishing he could be more useful than praising the artist mentally. His heart flutters inside his chest when Chuuya looks at him once more.

“What?” Chuuya asks, and Dazai’s mouth runs free before he can stop it, as usual.

“How come Atsushi and your friend Akuta-something are already on base two if I’ve been trying to woo you for longer?”

Dazai bites his inner cheek at the screw-up, mind running a mile a second waiting for Chuuya’s reaction. At least his brain omitted the “and I’m dying to kiss your pierced lips” part out of some lingering sense of self-preservation.

Chuuya blinks at him for a moment long enough to give Dazai anxiety, but then chuckles. Dazai has never felt his shoulders relax so quickly.

“Because you’re not doing a great job at it.”

Dazai beams embarrassingly bright in front of Chuuya –because that has to be flirting, right?– and the knot in his stomach softens. Whatever sharp response he might have come up with gets interrupted by Chuuya standing up.

“Come on, my break is about to be over.” Chuuya signals him to get up as he gathers his supplies, and Dazai drags his own chair back to its rightful place.

He trails behind Chuuya to the reception room collecting whatever is left of his courage to ask him out then and there. However, Dazai barely mutters the first word before the front door chimes open and his subordinate and company step inside. Their little spell is broken, and Dazai sighs at yet another lost chance.

“So… tomorrow?” He asks, and Chuuya navigates through his appointments until he finds the only apparently free slot.

“At seven I think I can have a spot for you, if that’s alright. Otherwise you’d have to wait up to two weeks.”

Dazai smiles kindly and excludes the part where Kunikida will have his head for leaving before closing hours again.

“Sure,” he says, and then. “May I have your…”

The words die in his throat as Atsushi’s punk wannabe boyfriend steps behind the counter and frustrates his advances. Once again.

Atsushi stands behind Dazai all bright and radiating energy.

“We’re back, Dazai-san! Ready to go?” Sushi waves to both men. “Kunikida is surely busting a nut right now!”

“Huh, sure.” Dazai comments absentmindedly, seeing his chances disappear right before his eyes when Chuuya engages in conversation with his coworker.

He follows Atsushi out of the shop after muttering a goodbye.

Tomorrow, with Chuuya’s hands on his hips and face low on his body... he will get the date. Tomorrow, for sure.

Chapter Text

One of the traits that deem Dazai Osamu a brilliant detective is his perceptive gaze. Such a powerful stare that Atsushi has seen his mentor bring the most influential men to their knees with a look alone, and ten too many times for the scarce years he has been working at the Agency. Constantly admiring from afar, Atsushi has always wondered how it takes a piercing look and three well placed words for Dazai to solve a case. He can only hope, really, that one day he will be as good. 

Anyhow, for once, it is Atsushi the one under the pressure of brown eyes staring at him as if he carried the secrets of the world. Dazai seems to believe that only one glimpse will be enough to retrieve the information he so desperately is searching for –and well, Atsushi surely would love to help put an end to Dazai’s misery. 

Sadly, he can’t. So he sighs for the umpteenth time. 

“I’m sorry, Dazai-san, but Aku is not giving up Chuuya-san’s number.” 

Dazai groans, sprawling himself all over the desk. His third attempt at coaxing the digits out of Atsushi’s love affair resulting in another failure. Certainly, if he wasn’t so whipped Dazai wouldn’t have to be begging for a bunch of numbers that, were it literally anybody else, he would have gotten by now. In Dazai’s defense, it has already been established that he is a coward when it comes to Chuuya, so Dazai is not going to pretend he can stare at such a handsome face and act like a functional human being when he knows it’s a lie. 

Dazai taps his lower lip then, his pride as a lady-killer at stake, and changes tactics. 

“Have you tried offering sex?” 

Atsushi looks back at him scandalized. 

“Dazai-san!” 

Dazai frowns. “No, with that face I guess you haven’t.”

Dazai contemplates straight up supplicating, maybe some knee dropping as well, but deep down he wants a chance to smash, not to embarrass himself in front of Chuuya further and so bad he ends up being pity-zoned for eternity. 

Not that Dazai can do any worse. 

Luckily for him, Dazai still has a mind for strategy lost somewhere in between daydreams about red hair and blue eyes – it takes Dazai, shamefully, some hard ten minutes trying to get his mind off Chuuya and do some useful thinking. 

“Okay, listen,” Dazai says, head snapping up abruptly. “I’ve got a plan.” 

Atsushi trembles slightly at the idea of fueling his mentor’s madness. 

“Dazai-san, please, Aku and I… we’re going slow.” 

Already long gone, Dazai doesn’t register the words. 

“Yes, yes. Now listen.” 

=

Dazai unbuttons his shirt with steady hands under the cool point light in Chuuya’s studio, attentively examining Chuuya in the meantime. He is methodically setting the equipment for Dazai’s tattoo, as thorough in his job as ever. Dazai can’t help but stare fixated. 

Chuuya turns around, black gloves fitting his deft hands, and immediately raises an eyebrow. Dazai follows Chuuya’s eyes to his own bandaged torso and chuckles, starting to unravel the gaze. 

“Ah, well, it’s been three weeks already.” Dazai excuses himself as he sets the bandages aside. Chuuya takes a seat then, rolling the chair closer. 

“So, are you completely bandaged?” He asks, fiddling with the needles by his side as if trying to cover up his display of curiosity. 

Dazai flashes Chuuya a smirk he is sure the redhead notices. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Chuuya rolls his eyes, otherwise ignoring Dazai’s sultry retort. He takes the chance to examine Dazai’s first tattoo as well, fingers pressing against the fair yet shredded skin so suddenly that Dazai’s breath hitches pitifully loud. 

Dazai gulps when Chuuya’s breathtaking eyes find his for a second before turning back to the ink.

“Maybe I’ll show you,” Dazai rushes to speak, driven by some fear that in the deafening silence Chuuya might hear his heart beating out of control. “On the third date, of course.” 

Dazai catches Chuuya biting his pierced tongue not to raise to the bait. 

“Luckily for you, this one is healing really well.” Chuuya says, leaning away much to Dazai’s disappointment. 

The pout remains on his lips even as he speaks. 

“That’s because I had it done by the best artist in the world, after all.” 

Chuuya straightens his shoulders after the praising words, but his unbothered expression is unchanging. 

“Complimenting me won’t work.” 

Dazai smirks. “Work for what?” 

Dazai smiles brighter, marvelling at the sight of Chuuya’s eyes widening slightly as Chuuya realizes it is the first time he takes the initiative to acknowledge Dazai’s flirting. Chuuya bites his pierced lips as he is set off balance, and Dazai could swoon right there if he wasn’t enjoying the feeling of having the upper hand with Chuuya for once so much. 

“Shut up.” Chuuya musters, and Dazai rejoices in the way his voice dips lower, goosebumps blooming on his skin. 

Dazai is a buffoon in love if he believes he can one-up Chuuya without making a fool out of himself in front of a beauty like his. Hence, when Chuuya drags his chair and settles in between Dazai’s legs, the sneer expression adorning his lips fades. Dazai gapes astounded as Chuuya looks up at him right over his crotch –his throat drying on spot. 

Dazai has never met a stupider man than his past self who thought he would be brave enough to ask Chuuya out when his face is so close to Dazai’s hips it might be considered a sin. 

Chuuya licks his lips and Dazai knows it’s purposefully, but he steps into the trap headfirst by gawking at the movement all the same. His face is once again expressionless, but there is a mischievous glint in the blue of his eyes that confirms Dazai that Chuuya truly gets off on torturing him. 

Chuuya raises his chin to stare at him, then leans back on the chair and crosses his arms as if ready to enjoy a show. Dazai swallows hard. 

“Slide your pants down a bit.” 

Dazai chokes on spit, mouth parting to gasp for air while Chuuya, in effect, enjoys the show. It takes Dazai an embarrassingly high amount of seconds before attempting what he was asked to and reaching for his pants in a stumble. He struggles with the zipper under the authority of Chuuya’s eyes, who lets out an agonizingly sweet chuckle. Dazai’s cheeks burn as he exposes his hips completely for Chuuya even though his pants still manage to guard his modesty. 

Chuuya moves closer again, dragging the cleansing pads over his skin. The coldness of the disinfectant makes Dazai shiver, and the press of Chuuya’s fingers over such a soft, sensitive area has Dazai’s hair standing on edge, as if he wasn’t done humiliating himself in front of Chuuya. The design is placed over each side of Dazai’s hips and the ink imprints far too quickly to Dazai’s dismay. Disappointingly, Chuuya’s hands don’t linger on his skin even for a second –professionality first as usual, and then Chuuya leans away.

On the bright side, at least Dazai can go back to breathing. 

“Still no idle chatting, right?” Dazai asks, after Chuuya has rolled the chair back to his side instead of in between his legs. 

“No,” Chuuya says, but he is smiling. 

Dazai really wants to correspond, but the machine starts running and he groans instead. Chuuya places the mask over his lips and waits for Dazai’s approval to pierce his skin. Dazai nods, then suffers as the needles pierce his skin so he opts for placing his attention elsewhere. 

If elsewhere is the feeling of Chuuya’s hands so low on his abdomen, well, no one can blame Dazai. Elsewhere is also Chuuya’s fingertips tightly set on his skin however covered by latex they might be, his concentrated stare, the certainty that his tongue is being held in between pierced lips even when Dazai can’t actually see it... the fierceness of Chuuya’s eyes right over his crotch. 

Dazai needs to backpedal on his thoughts lest he gets himself –or his pants–  into a situation he won’t be able to sweet talk his way out of.

“Well, then, more things you need to know if you’re going to be lucky enough to date me…” Dazai rambles on. 

It takes Chuuya three hours to finish the piece, time enough for Dazai to fill him in his very tastes and preferences, all covered by metaphors and spicy remarks during particularly sore spots. As expected, the tattoo turns out so good every second of pain was doubtlessly worth it. Dazai briefly considers allowing Chuuya to use his body as a canvas and mark his skin as he pleases. 

Dazai breathes in deeply when Chuuya moves to clean his skin. His face mask is already hanging low on his chin so Dazai sees the delightful beginning of a smirk on his lips because of Dazai’s open thirst –and how couldn’t he choke on air if Chuuya is brushing so low on his torso to cover the tattoo. He might as well die and go to heaven. 

Dazai sighs loud enough for Chuuya not to hear, and said smirk grows tenfold. 

“Do you remember the procedures or do I need to remind you how to take care of it?” Chuuya teases as he stands up, not helping Dazai’s cause. 

“I’m good,” he stutters, attempting to sit up. The slow pace with which Dazai is trying to button his shirt tells otherwise. 

Chuuya discards the black gloves in a near trashcan, and the snap of the latex seems to bring Dazai out of his trance. Chuuya looks at him, still laying on the customer’s chair, and the warm smile doesn’t leave his lips. 

“Well then, I’ll wait for you by the counter.” Chuuya says, going for the door as Dazai poorly tries to fit his shirt inside his pants. Surprisingly, Chuuya halts right under the doorframe and Dazai barely has time to stare upwards before Chuuya speaks again. “Unless you need help with those, that is.” 

The zipper slips from Dazai’s fingertips as fast as his mouth falls open. He hardly manages to catch a glimpse of Chuuya’s playful cast before he disappears down the corridor, his husky voice still fresh on Dazai’s ears. 

He groans into his palms, long and desperate. 

Dazai leaves the tattoo parlor with no date but the knowledge that Chuuya has intentionally flirted with him. The sensation of his fingertips on Dazai’s hips is still vivid on is mind when Dazai dials Atsushi’s number, now more set on wooing Chuuya than ever. 

“Time for the plan B.” He says when Atsushi picks up. 

“Oh, okay,” his subordinate replies, albeit there is a sad tinge to his voice which conveys how he was hoping good news from Dazai. “Did he really say no?” 

“I couldn’t even ask.” Dazai responds. The distinct images of Chuuya’s hand so close to his crotch and the remembrance of the luscious remark out of Chuuya’s lips are a clear enough indicator that he never actually stood a chance at asking him out. 

“Why!?”

And Dazai has to pitifully admit to his subordinate the reason behind his own throbbing failure. 

“... he flirted with me.”

=

Plan B, also known as set up a double date and have Atsushi and Akutagawa not showing, takes place on a Saturday. Not that Chuuya knows that he is meeting anyone else than his coworker either. In any case, Dazai is told to be at five sharp in a cafe near the port, and he will be there even if his life depends on it. 

“Don’t be late because you need to arrive before he does,” Atsushi says on the other side of the line, alongside some grumpy goth muttering in the background. “Aku says he’s very punctual.”

After some unnecessary threats from Sushi’s alleged boyfriend, and some “If Chuuya ends up firing me” sentences, Dazai hangs up. 

To say that Dazai panics immediately after is an understatement. Choosing a pair of pants over the three different garments he owns has never been so difficult. Dazai figures a pair of light jeans with tiny rips on the thighs are the best option to enamour Chuuya, since he always wears ripped clothes himself; alongside with a loose black shirt. His arms and neck show way more bandages than he usually lets out in the open for a date, but then again, Chuuya has already seen him practically covered by gauze. What’s more, Chuuya has already seen him without bandages, which is kind of unfair in Dazai’s opinion dying as he is to see Chuuya clothless, too. 

Reasonably, he knows his ass is not as round as Chuuya’s, but Dazai has long legs to show off and hopefully Chuuya will want to mark them just as much as Dazai wants him to. 

Dazai looks at himself in the mirror and his hand trembles as he reaches for a strand of hair to lock behind his hair. He’s so nervous. He can’t remember being so nervous before in his life. His fingers shake so much he has repeatedly fucked up the end tip of his bandages on his wrist –an action so daily it’s second nature by now, and yet he can’t even seem to get the hang of it today. 

However, his worst fear is not physical. Dazai can handle his stomach churning and turning around but the what ifs on his mind are eating him alive. What if he has read the mood wrong all along, what if Chuuya honestly despises him. 

What if Chuuya doesn’t like cowards and dumps him because Dazai has yet to grow up the balls to ask him out face to face. Or worse, what if Chuuya does stay but Dazai ruins the date so bad Chuuya leaves him hot and bothered and heartbroken. 

Dazai needs this date to turn out well because he is so new to this kind of romantic feelings, and he is becoming an addict to the rapid beating of his heart when he thinks of Chuuya, the lively, almost nice buzz of his mind searching for ways to meet him again, and, unexpectedly, the anticipation, a will to wait for those moments when he can enjoy Chuuya’s company once more. 

God, Dazai is completely whipped. He didn’t even see it coming. 

Dazai arrives to the cafe with an stylish jacket comfortably draped over his shoulders and fifteen minutes to spare. He decides to wait for Chuuya on the terrace so he can intervene as soon as Chuuya gets there. Dazai takes a seat on a free spot on the bar next to an old lady and her dog and sighs. It might not be his first date, but it surely is the truest date he has pseudo-scored. 

Dazai can’t sit still, foot beating fast against the pavement. He checks his phone to see if everything is on track and meets an encouraging thumbs up emoji from Atsushi he left on read a while ago. The clock on his phone screen mocks him, the minutes going by so slowly it’s almost painful –Dazai would have bitten his nails off if there was anything there left to bite. 

He hums, and the old lady’s attention is by now going back and forth between him and her dog. He knows he looks desperate, Dazai really knows, no need for a grandma’s judgmental gossiping stare. 

That is, until the man of his dreams walks around the corner on the opposite street. Dazai has never stood so quickly. His inhales deeply as he takes in Chuuya’s always breathtaking appearance –the black shirt clad against his muscles, tattooed arms full on display; pants as tight as he remembers but always a new religious experience. 

Chuuya walks with his hands hidden in his pants’ pockets, shoulders straight and a casual expression settled on his face. He carries more self-confidence than Dazai has ever felt in his life, and he is overly confident in his abilities. Warmthness spreads from Dazai’s core to tinge his cheeks a deep red –Dazai would probably send a warning glance to his crotch for no funny action if he weren’t so engrossed in taking in everything of Chuuya’s glorious arrival. 

“Are you okay, young man?” Dazai hears by his side just as he is biting his lips not to whimper. He shakes his head, doesn’t even spare a glance to the old woman addressing him. 

“No,” he musters seeing Chuuya get stopped by the red lights not even a bunch of feet away. “Of course I’m not.” 

Not until Dazai feels a breeze of fresh air over his flustered cheeks that he looks at the old lady using his fan to blow some cool air to his face. Dazai dextrously snatches the object from her hands to fan himself faster. 

“Have you seen him?” He asks, voice trembling as Chuuya crosses the street. “How am I supposed to be okay in front of that ?” 

Dazai gives the fan back and stumbles forward to receive Chuuya at the entrance. Chuuya stops, astonished, when their eyes meet, so Dazai waves awkwardly offering a smile, cheeks still warm. 

“What… a coincidence.” Chuuya speaks first. “Osamu is it, right?” 

Dazai had completely forgotten he has only ever told Chuuya his first name, thus his chance not to ruin the date flies out of the window. His knees wobble. 

“Yeah,” he manages to reply, clearing his throat. “Though people usually call me Dazai.” 

Dazai regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth, but being honest, he isn’t bound to survive the evening if Chuuya keeps calling him Osamu. 

“Right, Dazai.” Chuuya doesn’t smile, but his tone is softer than Dazai has ever heard. He can’t help but hope it is because his presence is a pleasant surprise. “Well, it was nice to see you, but I must meet a friend now.”

Chuuya almost passes him completely when Dazai registers the words out of his pierced lips, as engaged as he is in the scent of Chuuya’s sweet cologne. He quickly retreats so Dazai is facing Chuuya again. 

“Actually,” Dazai interrupts before Chuuya can step inside, but all the words seem to pile in his throat. He stares into the blue eyes he has come to yearn for like crazy and stutters. “Huh, please don’t be mad but I’m the friend you’re meeting today.” 

There it is, the plan is screwed and Chuuya is frowning, most likely on the verge of being pissed off while scanning his surroundings, looking for the goth wannabe. 

Dazai sighs, shoulders slumping. “Akuta…? Your coworker won’t be showing.” 

Chuuya folds his arms impatiently, annoyance clearly portrayed on his stance and a not so kind question on the tip of his pierced tongue, but at least gives Dazai the chance to explain further. 

He should have sticked to the goddamn plan. 

“I asked Atsushi for a favor from your coworker. He had to ask you to meet him someplace I’d then drop by and meet you by coincidence, saying that Atsushi had asked the same of me and joke as if it had been a date set up.” Dazai rushes his words, “But I don’t want to start things off by lying, so it’s only gonna be the two of us here, this afternoon.” 

As soon as the last word leaves his lips Dazai braces himself for the worst, his mind already providing a bunch of outcomes where he can step out of this situation alive –a poor joke, a heartfelt apology, simple begging for his life on his knees…

Fortunately for him, Chuuya seems to cast aside all intentions of tearing Dazai’s limbs apart to feed some stray dogs as his expression turns somewhat amused. Dazai knows it’s not the moment to get lost in his eyes but Chuuya’s oceans are always so, so inviting. 

Chuuya smirks then, and Dazai stops himself from crying just so much. 

“You planned all this only to take me out on a date?” Dazai basically reads the words on Chuuya’s mouth from how deeply he’s staring at his pierced lips mocking him. 

“Yeah…” He says firmly in an attempt to compose himself. 

As if trying to ruin Dazai’s effort, Chuuya chuckles. 

“Don’t you think it would have been easier if you just asked in the first place?” 

Every single one of Dazai’s failed endeavors flood back to his mind: all of his chickening outs just because Chuuya was looking too pretty, too hot, or too desirable for his weak brain to handle. Dazai omits his cowardy with a smile, no need to be that sincere, right? 

“Oh! So that means you’d have said yes, Chuuya?” Dazai teases, although it doesn’t come off very strong after he poured his heart out. 

Chuuya rolls his eyes but doesn’t retort. Instead, he beckons Dazai to follow him inside the cafe. 

“Come on, take me out on that date.” Chuuya says against all odds, and Dazai gapes like a dead fish. “It better be worth it.” He adds, but he sounds like he is joking. Dazai can’t really believe his luck. 

Dazai follows Chuuya to the counter with airy steps, and takes the chance to picture them, together, as a couple. He wonders what the other customers must assume when seeing them together when he notices a bunch of stares turning their direction as they pass. They look good good together. 

Well, a damn rock would look hot beside Chuuya. 

The point is, Dazai thinks, that there is a possibility all these people are thinking they come home to each other at night, and the celerity with which his brain steps in the romantic domain is scary –because Dazai himself doesn’t know how to stop something he has never experienced before. 

His mind is already sending him mixed signals about marriage when Chuuya’s deep voice brings him out of his fantasy, red faced and all. 

“Black coffee with no sugar and a caramel macchiato.” 

Dazai is a certified genius but trying to assimilate that Chuuya happens to have ordered for him and got it right, besides all the implications, alongside the fact that he is paying for Dazai even though he is the one supposed to make Chuuya enjoy the evening is too much even for a brain like his. Dazai is astonished, undeniably delighted and he trails behind Chuuya to their table like a lost puppy who has found their owner again. 

Chuuya slides the cup of black coffee towards Dazai as they choose a table by the windows, and Dazai cannot even thank him properly while he comes to the realization that Chuuya really, really has been listening to him talk all this time. 

“You got it right,” he musters, eyes looking for Chuuya’s. 

“Huh?”

“My drink, you got it right, you…” 

Dazai gulps, as Chuuya smiles nervously and it’s stunning. 

“I listened. When you were talking to me out of pain.” Chuuya admits. “Now I have all this information about you, favorite flowers, favorite food, the name of your first golden fish before he died after two days under your care…” 

Dazai laughs from the top of his heart, contentment engulfing him so swiftly he can’t stop smiling. 

“Well, I know you like caramel macchiato, among other things not appropriate for a first date. That must mean…” 

“I like sweet things, Dazai.” Dazai is interrupted before he can finish and he is swiped right off his feet. The words all innocence but the look on Chuuya’s face, the way his eyes check Dazai out to stay on his neck, and the low pitch of his voice, almost like a secret –it’s driving Dazai nuts. 

Dazai licks his lips and Chuuya watches him do it. Dazai is going to die. He sees Chuuya’s pierced lips smile lopsidedly so Dazai is practically with one foot on the other side already. 

He gulps. 

“I think it’d only be fair if you told me more about yourself now.” 

Chuuya sips from his sweet coffee, smiling briefly right over the rim. 

“What do you want to know?” 

Dazai hums pleasantly, setting the start of a round of back and forth questions about each other’s lives. He swears coffee has never tasted as well as it does when accompanied by Chuuya’s smooth voice retelling past stories about wild university nights and adventures. 

They talk until they have occupied the table for far too long, and then some more as they find themselves strolling down Yokohama’s port. Dazai can feign to be admiring the landscape even when his eyes haven’t left his companion for a second. Dusk’s colors give Chuuya a completely different appearance that can only be described as otherworldly. Surprisingly, the most charming concept is not the beauty of the sunset reflected on Chuuya’s eyes, or his hair standing out against the sea even if those are leaving Dazai dizzy in the head. Instead, the most pleasant sensation is the easiness with which Dazai finds himself comfortable with Chuuya –a sense of camaraderie, of confidence growing between them so naturally it was shocking even to the genius himself. 

“First tattoo?” Dazai asks, “When?” 

“At sixteen. It’s the French word for resilience on my nape.” Chuuya confesses, the small grin on his lips clearly showcasing it’s an amusing memory. 

“So you were an elitist before going all yakuza.” 

Dazai really tries to look smug and charming in Chuuya’s eyes, he really does, but how can he if Chuuya stops right before him and takes a hold of his chin? Chuuya pulls lightly so Dazai is closer to his face. He can only watch, captivated by the softness of Chuuya’s gloveless hands on his skin.

“I’m no yakuza,” Chuuya states with a smirk,  “luckily for you.” He lets go so fast it leaves Dazai yearning for more.

Chuuya takes a seat on a bench nearby and Dazai follows suit, seating by his side. The sun is completely out, and the entire illumination is now provided by the streetlights along the promenade. Dazai feels like being bold. 

“Honestly, that would only add to your hotness.” He remarks, “Anyway, next question-” 

“You can’t control yourself.” Chuuya interrupts, a guffaw about to drop from his lips. 

Dazai looks at him and shrugs. 

“The sad thing, Chuuya, is that I can very well control myself.” Dazai says. Chuuya is not missing out any of his face. “I always have the upper hand, and my predictions never fail to come true. You do this to me,” he adds, because seeing Chuuya’s eyes widening is fueling Dazai with a bravery he didn’t know he possessed. “When I’m with you is like I can’t think rationally at all.” 

Even though Dazai made the words sound like utter whining, Chuuya’s breath shortcuts loud enough for Dazai to notice, and then, as a picture he has never even considered he would have the chance to witness, Chuuya’s cheeks tinge the slightest pink. He looks fascinating. 

Dazai tries to cover his victory smile but fails, so he hurries to talk. 

“Anyway, are you completely tattooed?” Dazai’s eyes roam Chuuya’s body all the way down, once again. “Like, everywhere?” 

Chuuya recovers so quickly Dazai might as well have imagined the blush. He stares at back, pierced lip in between his teeth and Dazai’s own words leave his mouth, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dazai moans out loud, something resembling a “you’re killing me”, to which Chuuya winks. 

Dazai decides to step away from the shameless flirting for his own good. He observes Chuuya as they talk about nothing and everything at the same time, catching on his little idiosyncrasies –just like how he frowns in concentration, how he traces a tattoo on his wrist when speaking about the past, or how he plays with his lip piercings out of nervousness. As he is doing right now. Chuuya fidgets. 

“Why the bandages if your scars are long cured?” He asks, startling Dazai. “I don’t intend for the long, deep answer, but the short, comfortable one. If you are okay with it, of course.” 

Dazai twitches a little on his seat, but finds that he doesn’t want to redirect the question, or manipulate Chuuya into forgetting about the topic. 

He says, “they help”, which is true and the words feel like Dazai has lost some of the weight on his shoulders. 

Chuuya nods, and Dazai slides a bit closer, a tender smile ready for Chuuya. If only his kind expression matched his next words. 

“What’s with this dangerous vibe of yours?” Dazai says, even though he had really made an effort trying to keep his kinks out of the conversation. 

Chuuya raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t emit dangerous vibes.” He crosses his arms on his chest and Dazai is suddenly lost in the flex of his biceps. “It’s just you being turned on because I look like I can snap you in a half barehanded.” 

Not even the smugness in Chuuya’s voice can force Dazai to tear his eyes out of the toned chest. He swallows, then licks his lips. 

“Yeah, but can you? Snap me in a half?” 

If the way Chuuya’s voice sounds lighter in amusement is anything to go by, he must be having an explendid time watching Dazai suffer because of him. 

“Yeah, most likely.” 

Dazai hums, as if ruminating, yet it ends up in a groan. “Goddammit.” 

He gets Chuuya to chuckle again and Dazai relishes in the sound proudly. Chuuya seems to be considering something, then, but after a moment he says: 

“It’s getting late, so I guess I should get going.” 

Dazai’s shoulders slump, and he observes as Chuuya gets up from the bench and stretches his limbs. 

In an outburst, Dazai’s fingers encircle Chuuya’s wrist softly. He pouts. 

“But Chuuya, are you going to leave like this?” Dazai whimpers for Chuuya’s attention. 

It feels damn great to be stared down at by the beauty that is Nakahara Chuuya. 

“Sadly for you, I don’t kiss on my first dates.” Chuuya says nonchalantly, yet he doesn’t shrug from Dazai’s hold. 

“Sadly just for me?” He wonders, and then as a murmur, “Stay a little bit longer.” 

Dazai tugs lightly at his arm and, surprisingly, Chuuya moves with it, shaking his head but taking his seat back pressed against Dazai nonetheless. 

They wrap up near midnight, and Dazai settles for accompanying Chuuya home. 

“I’ll escort you so you don’t get lost with that short stature of yours.” Dazai teases, so Chuuya pinches his lower back. Dazai jumps in his place. 

“Now watch your mouth.” Chuuya warns, the smile never faltering. His hand lingers for a bit on Dazai’s body before taking it away. 

Dazai would have loved to retort with yet again another indirect for Chuuya, but they arrive to their building complex in no time. Chuuya waits before the three steps that lead to the front door, and Dazai fumbles with what to say. He has never been interested in a second date before so he is clueless. 

He ponders. “See you soon?” 

What the heck, Dazai. 

To his utter gratification, Chuuya nods. “Yes,” he says, and points to Dazai’s pocket. 

Dazai hesitates for a second, not understanding until he catches Chuuya mouthing the word ‘phone’. He hands the device embarrassed. 

Chuuya waves a quick goodbye after giving the smartphone back. Dazai can only watch as he climbs the stairs and walks to his door. 

Except, the date was too good to be true. Dazai is head over heels with Chuuya. He doesn’t want it to end yet. 

“Actually,” Dazai speaks, at last, in hope that Chuuya stops. He does. Chuuya turns around to find Dazai smirking at him, finally some ounce of his confidence back. 

“It’s past midnight so this should count as our second date.” 

Dazai hopes he hasn’t overstepped any boundaries while he watches Chuuya take in his sentence. The seconds Chuuya stands still on his place are dreadful, Dazai’s mind already screaming he has fucked up, running full capacity looking for the optimum solution. 

But the words sink in, Chuuya walks towards him again, and Dazai doesn’t know what to expect but clearly it isn’t a hand coming to grab him by the nape and soft lips against his own. 

Dazai moans right into Chuuya’s mouth before kissing back. The feeling of Chuuya’s pierced lips pressed upon his own is shocking –the two rings a cold contrast against the warmthness of the action, and it is way better than Dazai imagined, better than anything he has experienced previously. 

His hands find Chuuya’s cheeks as they deepen the kiss, and deft fingers grab at the back of his head, tangled on his hair. Dazai is so lost in Chuuya’s sweet taste that when Chuuya’s pierced tongue brushes against his, Dazai whimpers in satisfaction. 

His mind clogs, his heart beats so fast inside his ribcage it’s almost painful. 

Dazai never wants the sensation to stop, so even when Chuuya explores his mouth with the metallic bar of his tongue leaving Dazai breathless, he doesn’t dare tear his lips apart and gasp for air. 

Eventually, the kiss becomes less passionate, less lust-driven, and even chaste as Chuuya leaves a humid peck on his mouth. They stay glued together for a moment, and Dazai is afraid that if he lets go it will all be a dream. 

Chuuya takes one, two steps backwards, out of the embrace, then opens his eyes. 

“Goodnight.” He says, voice rasp, and a nice smile resting on his plump, kissed lips. 

Dazai is really left speechless. Even while Chuuya takes another step backwards, slowly walking inside his home. 

The smile is plain obvious on Dazai’s lips as well. 

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, then. A tad bit late perhaps.  

And he walks home.

Chapter Text

People call spring the season for love, but for Dazai, even when it’s late July and the flora might not be blooming anymore, the flowers have never looked so colorful, the trees so leafy, the sun so shiny and the breeze felt so pleasant. In Dazai’s honest opinion, people of low intellect should refrain from commenting further, because the season for love will last for as long as Chuuya wants to go out with him.

Not like they are official or something, but still. 

As for the moment, they have been occasionally meeting for a grand total of four months –Dazai’s luckiest, most extraordinary four months of his life. And yet, way past a hundred days into an unofficial relationship, Dazai still has no clue how he has managed to get into Chuuya’s pants. 

Dazai can’t recall which ancient god he must have pleased to get himself into the receiving end of mind-blowing, heavenly sex, but he surely isn’t going to complain. 

Still, what has Dazai dreaming about cherry blossoms in the midst of summer, surprisingly, is not the extraordinary, godlike, lascivious sex. It’s Chuuya, staying some nights at his place right after, or just randomly deciding to crash in for the sake of it. It’s also the lunch breaks spent together, where Dazai can’t stop embarrassing himself; it’s both of them sharing secrets at night, gaining confidence, earning trust. It’s longing for even the tiniest moment to be together on hectic days. It’s discovering each other. 

Dazai supposes his dreams are filled with petals that mean infatuation because he might be hopelessly in love by now. That he embraces the possibility so freely is a huge step he almost feels proud of himself for. 

“Smiling like a fool again, Dazai-san?” Atsushi calls him out of his trance, snickering at Dazai’s expression from his own desk.

Dazai sighs, amused. 

“Got caught again, I see…” 

“You’re so obvious even to me.” Atsushi smiles kindly.

“Well, how can I not be smiling when I’m seeing Chuuya tonight for dinner!” Dazai chimes, expressively picturing another exciting evening, and amusing Atsushi at the same time. 

His phone lights on the table with a new text message. 

Dazai frowns. 

“...or maybe not.” He musters, while reading the text. 

“Dazai-san? Is everything OK?” Atsushi asks, walking towards his mentor. 

“Raincheck? Last appointment got delayed. Don’t want you waiting so late for dinner,” Dazai reads aloud. “Oh.” 

Atsushi pouts at the disappointment clear in Dazai’s voice. 

“I’m sorry, I know how eager you were to see him.” 

Dazai shows Atsushi a tiny smile. “It’s okay, Sushi. Besides, he just said he will make it up to me, so...” 

“Yeah, but,” Atsushi ponders, taking a seat beside Dazai. “Why don’t you go see him anyway?” 

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Huh?” 

“Yeah! He said he has to cancel because he doesn’t want you waiting that long, right?” Atsushi stutters at first, “So that means he wants to see you, but he is worried that you might have to go for a late dinner.” 

“But Chuuya…” 

“I’m sure Nakahara-san would be so happy if you visited him, bonus points if you get takeout, right?” Atsushi grins, “He must be hungry.” 

Dazai’s eyes widen, and all the insecurities he has hidden with mastery suddenly have him at a loss for words. He clears his throat. 

“But what if Chuuya really doesn’t want to see me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Sushi asks, tilting his head to the side, “I always want to see Aku, no matter how late.” 

Dazai shifts on his seat, hesitates and adds, “But we’re not like that.” 

Dazai avoids including the b-word in his sentence, as it is a term so foreign for his mouth he is scared of hearing it out loud with his own voice. He does want to see Chuuya, but not if it means overstepping their boundaries. After all, he has just asked Dazai to cancel, and the last thing Dazai wants is to seem like he can’t respect Chuuya’s need for space. Although, on the other hand, if Chuuya is only worried about him having to wait... to hell with dinner when Dazai can see him instead.

“Just go, Dazai-san,” Atsushi says, and it’s the reassurance Dazai needs to pick his belongings and leave. 

=

Dazai might be a prodigy at hiding his own feelings with a façade, but by the way he is pacing before the tattoo parlor the nervousness he feels is rather evident. He is no quitter, most of the time –he tells himself, takeout bag in hand, deeply staring at the sign that reads ‘closed’ hanging at the door– so he steps inside before the food grows cold or he runs away like a coward. 

The bell above the door chimes when he pushes the gate open, so Dazai rushes to say ‘hey’ even when noone is in the reception, only for Chuuya to know that nobody is breaking in. Despite not hearing a response, Dazai catches the ray of light slipping from under the studio’s door. He makes sure there is no machine running before knocking twice. 

“Come in,” Chuuya’s voice reaches Dazai muffled from inside the room. 

Dazai finds him hunched over his work table, pierced tongue between his lips and eyebrows frown in pure concentration while he sketches what no doubt is another masterpiece. 

“Hey,” Dazai repeats, a tad bit breathless now that Chuuya has risen his eyes to look at him. 

“Hey,” Chuuya says back, plain shock in his eyes though it doesn’t seem unpleasant. Dazai finds himself sighing relieved. “What are you doing here? Not that I mind the visit, of course.” 

“I thought…” Dazai chuckles anxiously to cover up the fact that he doesn’t know how to explain to Chuuya that he was dying to see him again. “Well, I thought you might’ve been done by now, so I supposed we could go to my flat and have dinner… but I see you’re still not finished.” Dazai walks further inside the office. “We can eat here,” he proposes, immediately remembering Chuuya’s politics about his working area and professionality, so he rushes to amend it. “If you don’t mind, that is.” 

Chuuya stares at him while considering the offer, so Dazai sticks a pout to his lips to help with the convincing. Tapping his fingers against the table twice, Chuuya concedes. 

“Just because it’s you.” Chuuya says, with a warm smile and beckoning Dazai to sit on the couch with his head. “Give me a minute and I’ll be right there.” 

Dazai beams at the response, walking with airy steps towards the sofa and discarding the bag over the coffee table across from his seat, before practically throwing himself on top of the cool leather –earning a soft chortle from Chuuya in the process.  

“No funny shit while I’m working, got it?” Chuuya states, right before diving back into his design. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dazai murmurs as an answer, scanning his surroundings for a distraction. 

It’s embarrassing the short amount of time it takes for his eyes to land back on Chuuya again, really. He has got his bangs pulled back in a tight grip, the veins on his arms noticeable as he tries to keep the hair away from his eyes. Dazai follows the curve of his body to Chuuya’s strong legs clad in his characteristic way too tight leather pants –and Dazai barely prevents an appreciative moan from coming out of his lips. 

However, Dazai’s true ruination is the way with which Chuuya’s skilled tongue traces his own lower lip, leaving it shiny, desirable in its wake, only to rest above the pierced skin; the metal ball peeking between Chuuya’s full lips. 

Dazai has got an obvious fixation, so what. 

Chuuya bites one of the ring piercings on his mouth and Dazai finally loses it. 

“Shit,” he groans, albeit quietly. 

“You gawking at me like that is a bit unnerving.” Chuuya teases as a reply, not bothering to stop drawing. 

“Sorry, I was just staring at your tongue.” Dazai shamefully admits. 

Chuuya muffles a laugh. “My tongue? Why?”

“Just imagining it doing dirty things to me.” 

Chuuya does drop his pencil strokes then to look at Dazai, all splayed over his couch. A sight nothing short of tempting. 

“Didn’t I just say no funny shit while I’m working?”

Dazai smirks, wide and utterly suspicious. “It’s not funny shit, though.” He complains, “I’m just sharing my thoughts.” 

Chuuya stares at Dazai’s pitiful smile for a moment too long that he looks like he might do something about it, yet he goes back to his tattoo much to Dazai’s disappointment. 

“Yeah, I can fucking see what you’re doing.” 

As tantalizing as flirting back sounds like, Dazai actually wants Chuuya cuddling him sooner rather than later, so he leaves him to work. Surprisingly fast for a perfectionist like him, Chuuya doesn’t take long before joining Dazai on the couch –apologetic smile drawn on his lips. 

“Sorry it took me so long, is that offer for dinner still up?” Chuuya asks. Dazai nods enthusiastically, shoving himself right against Chuuya and reaching for the box of Chinese food for two he brought along. 

Immersed in easy conversation, they share the noodles and rice, even though Chuuya steals all of Dazai’s meat as usual, leaving his crab for him in return. Dazai munches happily on their last peace of Chinese bread leaning back against Chuuya’s chest, enjoying the warm embrace.

Dazai feels like closing his eyes, so he does. 

“We can still go, though,” Chuuya says, right into his temple. “If you’d like.” 

Dazai opens his eyes again. “Huh? Go where?” 

“Your flat, my flat…” Chuuya adds, resting his hand over Dazai’s chest, his tattooed skin a pretty contrast against Dazai’s shirt. “If you still want to.” 

Dazai smirks and interlaces Chuuya’s fingers with his inkless own. “Oh! So Chuuya is offering to show me his fancy place?” He laughs, practically feeling Chuuya rolling his eyes behind him even when he cannot see it. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Chuuya retorts, and urges Dazai to stand up. “Come on, let’s go home.”

=

Chuuya lives in an open concept studio that charms Dazai as quickly as the owner had back in the day. It is perhaps too big for only one person, decorated with minimalist furniture in its entirety –that could have seemed too impersonal if it weren’t for the eccentric, punkish items scattered around that scream ‘Chuuya’ and provide the space with a familiar personality. Dazai can’t see the bedroom yet –one of the two rooms hidden behind a door; but he is sure it will be the area that tells the most about Chuuya and his interests. 

Dazai mimics Chuuya by leaving his shoes by the door, and then follows his steps to the couch. Chuuya hurriedly discards most of the disordered drawings accumulating on his table and sofa, and shoves them into a pile. 

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Chuuya says, even though his home is impeccably clean, except for the random canvas and designs here and there. “It’s just… inspiration strikes at the most unhandy moments, you know?” 

Dazai chuckles. “Somehow, I can imagine Chuuya at three in the morning drawing on the walls just because he’s run out of paper.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Chuuya smiles, at last looking at him. 

Dazai stirs, fingers itching. “So... how do you know you’re inspired?” He asks, leaning back against the cushions. 

“Well, I get this sudden urge to draw, doesn’t matter where I am. It might be something I’ve seen, or heard, but once I get the idea in my mind it’s not going to leave until I put it on paper. Just like…” Chuuya stops dead on his tracks, he himself looking surprised about his next words. It’s the slight color on his cheeks, so unprecedented, what has Dazai pressing further. 

“Just like?” 

Chuuya hesitates. “Just like when I’m with you.” 

The words echo in Dazai’s head as he tries to overcome the utter shock, and make amends with the fact that him, Dazai Osamu, inspires one of the most talented individuals he has ever met. Something hard to believe because how can he, when he is so unespecial in comparison, so dull. 

That Chuuya looks at him and thinks about art… Dazai blushes, a deep and rich red against his pale skin, suddenly so warm inside his blood rushes and his heart beats hard inside his chest. 

“Do I… Do I inspire you?” Dazai asks, perhaps shyly. 

“Must be your embarrassing personality,” Chuuya smirks. 

Dazai laughs along, and then reaches for a stray pen on the table that he hands to Chuuya, who stares back at him disconcerted, eyebrow raised. 

“Well,” Dazai attempts to portray some smugness he doesn’t really feel. “Tattoo me, my dear.” 

“What?” Chuuya asks, and Dazai displays for him one of the few unbandaged parts of his body: his hands. 

“Ink me up,” Dazai winks. 

It takes a moment for Chuuya’s face to change from total incomprehension to understanding that Dazai is offering his skin for him to draw on. Chuuya hesitates at first –Dazai doesn’t know if he deems the request another one of Dazai’s bullshiteries, or if it’s because Chuuya is way too used to having the other person’s full consent before so much as touching their skin. In any case, Dazai tries to show no indecision whatsoever, which apparently does the trick, as Chuuya finally uncaps the pen. 

Chuuya takes his right hand so delicately that Dazai almost shivers. He starts with some tribal motif all over the back of his hand, and then decides for a flower pattern to surround the first drawing that reaches the top of Dazai’s knuckles. Dazai feels more than sees Chuuya draw the stems around his fingers with how awestruck he is staring at Chuuya’s relaxed face –the tip of his tongue between his lips, the fair skin, freckled nose, unfairly long eyelashes resting on his cheeks… Dazai’s breath has been taken away by such beauty, unrivaled not even by the gods of grace and lust. 

Dazai is so enraptured by Chuuya’s graceful features that it startles him when Chuuya looks for Dazai’s other hand, and he doesn’t suppress an encouraging hum. 

Chuuya seems to get lost on his new drawing, an intricate design that covers Dazai’s left hand to his wrist, only halting once he runs out of skin to draw on. 

“I ran out of space,” Chuuya says, at last staring back. Dazai notices Chuuya’s expression changing right after looking at him –could be something on Dazai’s face, a tender smile perhaps. 

Dazai reaches for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one, all under Chuuya’s very attentive, very perplexed gaze. But even if Chuuya is surely thinking he is out of his mind, it’s not until the garment gets stuck on his elbows and Dazai aims for the bandages that his mouth parts incredulously. 

Dazai unravels the ones covering his arms first, leaving his body a mess of gauze and fabric and visible, scarred skin before attempting to free the bandages on his torso. As usual when presented with Dazai’s numerous marks, Chuuya looks at them tentatively, though never commenting on them –leaving the topic completely for Dazai to broach if and however he wishes to. 

Extending his prettily painted hands towards Chuuya again, Dazai is as ever surprised by his gentleness. Chuuya spares one last glimpse into his eyes that leaves him dizzy by the sheer intensity of the blue irises alone, and then dives into Dazai’s skin. He traces a path up Dazai’s arm with his fingertips as if to get accustomed to the over-sensitive skin, and only starts to doodle again once he has left Dazai flustered enough by the attention (or so Dazai thinks is Chuuya’s plan, to get Dazai to like his touch so much he will die and long for it every time they have to spend apart). 

Chuuya draws on his shoulders, and becomes bold enough so as to leave a small sketch on Dazai’s nape, yet when he travels back to Dazai’s front, his chest seems to be another matter altogether. Seated before Dazai, Chuuya plants his hands on top of his heart first, without drawing straight away. The pads of his fingers inch closer to Dazai’s heart –where it appears he plans the next tattoo to be, and Dazai leans into the touch almost unconsciously. 

Except, the ball point of the pen never arrives at destination. Instead, Chuuya continues the path of his fingers, getting sidetracked in his original intention and resting his attention on Dazai’s collarbones. He grazes de smooth skin over the bone, and he looks so concentrated Dazai considers teasing him about it out loud. But just like that Chuuya’s lips brush against his neck with no warning thus all of Dazai’s rational capabilities abandon his mind. 

He is doomed. 

Dazai tilts his head to the side, offering Chuuya all the space he wants –which doesn’t fare all that well in his attempt of staying quiet not to make a fool of himself as usual. Chuuya accepts the gesture greedily, legs moving to straddle one of Dazai’s aiming for a more comfortable position. 

He grips the red curls tightly when Chuuya bites his neck, a moan poorly guarded between his lips. 

“Chuuya,” he manages, way too weakly, so Chuuya’s otherworldly eyes find him, responding to his plea. 

Chuuya stares at Dazai with the distinctive bright blue of his irises hooded from lust and his pupils blown out, so Dazai can’t help it but take advantage of his hand still tangled in Chuuya’s hair to shove their mouths together for good. Chuuya takes a hold of his arms to press their bodies together, and Dazai lets him guide, eyes closed, intoxicated by the feeling of Chuuya’s warm lips against his own. 

The firm rub of Chuuya’s piercings upon his mouth is so rousing that, in an outburst of bravery, Dazai licks them, dragging his tongue all over Chuuya’s bottom lip before looking for the metal bar in his tongue again. An action that arouses Chuuya just as much, because the next instant the positions have changed, and Dazai is splayed on his lap with Chuuya’s clever fingers hauling his crumpled shirt and bandages as far as he can. 

Chuuya grips tightly at Dazai’s shoulders, and Dazai’s fingers find their way up to the reddish tresses once again –so soft under his fingertips that he sighs delighted into the kiss. 

Chuuya lets Dazai go deliberately slow, nibbling at his lower lip with a laziness uncharacteristic of him, just to keep their mouths together. Dazai’s lashes flutter open, and the way Chuuya is looking right back at him –eyes lidded, mouth parted and shiny from the kiss, makes Dazai forget how he’s supposed to survive one Nakahara Chuuya at all. 

Dazai is about to accuse Chuuya of trying to murder him with his looks alone when the culprit  decides to draw his curly bangs backwards to free his face, and Dazai doesn’t notice only how truly hot is the man he’s lucky enough to kiss, but also Chuuya’s fingers coated with ink. Directing a sideglance to his shoulder and arm, Dazai bursts out laughing. 

“Huh?” Chuuya asks. 

“Look at what you’ve done to your own creation, Chuuya.” Dazai chuckles, signaling both the smeared tattoos on his skin and the other’s hands. 

The magnificent snake on his arm now looks more of a mutilated worm than anything. Chuuya stares unbothered at his stained fingers, not weeping the destruction of his art –it’s not the initial lack of reaction Dazai is wary about, but the following smirk. A smirk from Chuuya can’t mean any good for his smitten heart. 

“It’s OK, we can shower later… together.” Chuuya says.

Dazai understands then that what Chuuya wants is a priceless reaction; possibly too late as he is already putting on a show: choking on his own spit, mouth hanging open enough that Chuuya delightedly raises a finger to help Dazai close it. 

He is in the middle of groaning after Chuuya’s wink when Dazai comes to know what happiness means. 

The realization strikes him as a warmth rush inside, a wave of goosebumps arising on his skin result of the peace of mind he feels when he is with Chuuya. His chest may be tight, and his movements eager, but the merry sentiment is always there –in the funny moments they share, in all the occasions Chuuya slips into his mind as a brief thought and brings calmness with him, in Chuuya making Dazai feel worthy, understanding his needs, listening to him… Dazai at last remembers the blissful sentiment after a long time of having forgotten. 

Now, what he really wishes for, is a chance to repay Chuuya, a chance to bring Chuuya happiness, too. 

So Dazai hopes he is not just a temporary fling –something his mind doesn’t spare on reminding him even if everything he has learned about Chuuya says he’s not that type of man; for Dazai really wants the opportunity to make Chuuya feel the same euphoria he does. 

What Dazai doesn’t realize is the fact that he has been ruminating for far too long, not until Chuuya’s left hand tangles on his hair, and his fingers brush against his cheeks and nose meanwhile. 

Reflected on Chuuya’s eyes, Dazai discovers he has been pouting as well all this time. 

As always Dazai finds himself in deep thought, Chuuya’s face is calm and relaxed while he waits, not expectant or intruding, thus allowing Dazai to resolve all his preoccupations in silence. Chuuya never pries, only aims for the information Dazai is willing to share. 

Even though his mind is a mess of self-deprecating thoughts, Dazai will surely die if he doesn’t find out what Chuuya feels about him, if the sentiment is, by any chance, mutual. He needs to know. So once he musters up enough courage, Dazai finally stutters some words out. 

“Do you think about me?” He says, immediately berating himself because those are not the words he wanted to say. Chuuya looks perplexed at first, so Dazai tries to amend his slip up. “I mean, when we are apart I can’t stop wondering when will be the next time I’ll see you, and sometimes I can’t stop thinking about you, and your hair, your body, your eyes… God, don’t get me started on your eyes.” 

Dazai rambles on, definitely not fixing any of his words, only stepping deeper and deeper into an abysm of self embarrassment. 

“So I also can’t stop asking myself if it’s the same way for you, if you somehow allow your mind to drift towards me and what I might be doing or… Shit, I’m just rambling.” Dazai chuckles to cover up his anxiety, and the fact that Chuuya is silently looking at him while straddled by Dazai’s hips only makes it worse. 

“My point is,” Dazai sighs way too desperately for a supposed genius, “you’re in my mind so much it’s shameful, but I hope it goes both ways. Or this all will have sucked a lot.” 

Dazai’s mind rests, and he would have driven his body to enjoy the weight lifted off his shoulders as well, but Dazai is still sitting on top of Chuuya –and getting too comfortable against someone who still hasn’t said a word related to his confession is not really advisable. Dazai doesn’t know what to predict at all, which dumbfounds him but it’s nothing new with Chuuya. 

Chuuya, who is staring at him as if he has grown another head. 

“Dazai-” Chuuya starts. Dazai interrupts him out of sheer panic, in an attempt to fix the situation a second time. 

“Anyway, don’t worry about me, I can handle my rejection really well. I’ll just keep worshipping you from the sides, I guess…”

It doesn’t work. 

To be honest, Dazai has no idea how to handle rejection properly, as he always been the one doing the break up part –but knowing how petty and spoiled he is? It’s bound to a disaster. The worst is, he has made things difficult between them, and Chuuya will probably kick him out. Why does Dazai always have to ruin everything good? 

Chuuya slowly blinks at him, stoical as always, which kind of hurts, but his hands lower to rest on Dazai’s waist gently, and then, “You’re kind of cute, you know?” Chuuya says, “so sweet.” 

Dazai is ten times too mortified to notice the hint, his eyes looking everywhere but Chuuya, though he does feel the grip on his waist tightening, trying to earn his undivided attention. 

“Dazai,” Chuuya says again, and as flustered as he is Dazai stares back at him and his handsome face he’s way head over heels for. Not that he can keep his eyes off Chuuya that long, anyway. 

Chuuya hugs him closer. 

“Of course I think about you, even when I shouldn’t. You can be very distracting yourself.” Chuuya smiles, and it’s enough to dissipate Dazai’s uneasiness. However, Chuuya is serious as he continues, “Sometimes it will be the tiniest things reminding me of you, or I’ll remember something you said, or something you did out of the blue. Other times, I decide to think about you embarrassing yourself in front of me to lift my mood.”

Dazai groans, and his attempt to hide his face on Chuuya’s shoulder is frustrated by Chuuya himself taking a hold of his chin, so Dazai is forced to watch him smile and say, “God, you were so thirsty.” 

“Still am,” Dazai adds. 

“Yeah, you kind of are,” Chuuya laughs out loud. 

Apparently, Dazai’s helplessness as well as his inexperience when dealing with romantic situations must be still clearly depicted on his face, because Chuuya leans closer, his fingers moving to Dazai’s neck so he can’t look anywhere but him. The other hand clasped around his thigh. 

“Osamu,” Chuuya says, as sweetly as he likes it. Dazai gulps. “What did you always talk about when I was tattooing you?” 

Dazai examines Chuuya’s face, so confident in his words and actions he almost feels ashamed for being a mess. He was once a renown ladykiller, dammit. 

“Things… things you needed to know if you were to be my next boyfriend.” 

Chuuya hums, complacent. “Sounds like a prediction to me.” His words come accompanied by a squeeze to Dazai’s thigh. “What did you say again, about your predictions?” 

Dazai finally figures out what Chuuya is trying to say. His heart beats fast, throat going dry as he answers, “...that they always come true.” It’s a murmur. 

As much of a coward he is when it comes to Chuuya, Dazai is grateful for not tearing his eyes away from the majesty of Chuuya’s reaction: pierced smile blowing wide, reaching his eyes, having them wrinkle at the edges; eyebrows risen in mockery surprise, but overall amusement, pure delight. 

“Oh!” Chuuya exclaims, a feigned realization. 

“...oh.” 

Chuuya chuckles, at the small gaping of Dazai’s lips, at the poorly concealed incredulity in his expression, at the slipping of his masks, at the fact that Dazai is learning that it’s mutual even if it’s hard to believe. Dazai watches closely as Chuuya threads tattooed fingers in his hair as a caress, leaving some of his strands tucked behind his ear, and then leans back to lay on the sofa, staring at him as if Dazai were a masterpiece. 

Dazai knows he isn’t, even if Chuuya’s ministrations have always tried to make him think otherwise. 

“If you’re worried about me not liking you as much as you like me,” Chuuya says kindly, “don’t. Because I do. Miraculously. Somehow-” 

“I get it.” 

Dazai’s pout is easily decimated with one of Chuuya’s hearty grins. He pats Dazai twice on the thigh for him to get up, and Dazai slides off his lap. 

“Now, let’s clean this mess in the shower and then you can crash here tonight. If you’d like.” 

Chuuya stands, and beckons Dazai to follow, but the impression that there is something missing still lingers in Dazai’s mind. Maybe it’s reassurance he needs, to believe it real. 

Dazai grabs Chuuya’s hands and pulls until he’s got him one knee between his thighs and fingers gripping at Dazai’s shoulders looking for balance. The confusion is evident in Chuuya’s eyes, a question surely on the tip of his tongue, but Dazai doesn’t give him a chance to speak. 

“Let’s seal it with a kiss first.” 

Chuuya’s astonishment turns into something softer, fonder. He doesn’t hide the smile on his lips. 

“So demanding.” 

A tone so sweet it boosts Dazai confidence enough to smirk. “Having second thoughts?” 

Chuuya barely allows him to finish the sentence, pressing his lips against Dazai’s in a steady kiss that tastes too much like new beginnings. 

“Now move,” Chuuya whispers against Dazai’s mouth, and Dazai can only obey, trailing behind him to the shower. 

Chuuya strips him bare of the remaining clothes, unraveling Dazai’s feelings along with his bandages, brushing his skin ever so lightly to get rid of the ink, attending every one of Dazai’s needs even before he realizes they are there. Chuuya treats him too gently for his rough exterior, fingers too soft for someone whose body is way more ink than skin. 

For that, Dazai hopes he can express the same fervent worship while tracing and retracing all of Chuuya’s tattoos, tending to his hair, washing the red curls as delicately as they deserve, wiping his colorful back clean with his bare hands. 

Chuuya hands him a towel he ties tightly around his hips, and guides Dazai back to his bed with the order to wait for Chuuya while he fetches him clothes that might suit his height. 

Dazai is pleasantly surprised when Chuuya walks back into his room wearing one of Dazai’s shirts. His heart skips a beat, a rush of possessiveness flooding his body. 

“Sounds familiar,” Dazai smiles, gawking at Chuuya wearing nothing but his shirt and boxers. “I wondered where it was.” 

“I stole it last time I spent the night at yours.” Chuuya beams back, “My own shirt was… well, ruined.” 

“Thief.” Dazai accuses in an outburst of cockiness. “I want it back.” 

Chuuya shakes his head. 

“Take it.” 

Dazai makes wanton hands for Chuuya, who complies and steps closer enough that Dazai can start unbuttoning the shirt. Chuuya leans in, yet Dazai doesn’t halt in his business even as he is forced to lay back, not even when his back reaches the mattress. He slides the shirt off, but the fabric gets stuck on Chuuya’s elbows because his arms are caging Dazai on each side of his head. Dazai thinks of complaining about unfairness, but one of Chuuya’s arms is already encircling his waist to manhandle him further into the bed so they are both completely over the sheets –in a display of strength that never fails to leave Dazai breathless. 

Dazai’s towel doesn’t slip off miraculously, and the horniest, most infatuated side of his brain hopes for Chuuya to tear it away and-

“God, you’re the hottest person on Earth, how are you single is a fucking miracle.” 

Apparently, Dazai’s horniest and most infatuated side doesn’t know how to shut up either. 

Chuuya bends in laughter, Dazai’s absolute most favorite sound.

“Oh, am I? Single?”

“Not anymore.” Dazai says, and the possibility of not settling into a relationship even after they poured out all their feelings doesn’t stir very well in him, so Dazai kisses Chuuya hard on the lips. 

The kiss turns softer, Dazai parting his mouth to give free way to Chuuya’s tongue. Dazai’s hands take a stronghold of his firm biceps before travelling upwards, searching for the tattoos in Chuuya’s back that he already knows by heart. His pads rest over a flowery design on Chuuya’s neck, following the outline even with his eyes shut tight –a tattoo not quite similar to the one on Dazai’s hips but strangely matching, Dazai’s favorite tattoo of his. 

Chuuya must notice the deliberate attention to his tattoos because he stills on his way to bite Dazai’s lip, ceasing the action yet keeping their lips pressed together. He hums appreciatively at Dazai exploring his skin, enjoying –eyes closed– the feeling of Dazai’s fingertips as he traces the tiger on his back; and presses a bruising kiss when Dazai’s nails scratch him blinded with pleasure. 

Dazai feels Chuuya’s hand moving from beside his head to his ribs, looking for that first tattoo of a necklace, then boldly roaming lower to graze the ink on Dazai’s hips. He exhales pleasingly into Dazai’s mouth, and a moan escapes his lips in retaliation. Dazai watches Chuuya’s eyes flutter open, displaying for him the impressive blue radiant with softness.  

“Hi,” Dazai whispers. “I’d like to set an appointment.” 

Chuuya smiles, and it’s so close Dazai needs to resist the urge to kiss the pierced grin. 

Chuuya hums. “What will it be this time?” 

When Dazai doesn’t answer immediately, Chuuya’s hands start to wander, eyes dead set on Dazai’s face waiting for his approval. Chuuya travels his way up Dazai’s stomach, straying on Dazai’s right side and chest before stopping by at his collarbones. Dazai gives the confirmation nod. 

Chuuya beams equally pleased and surprised. 

“What did you have in mind?” Chuuya asks, and Dazai can’t resist it, really. 

“You.” 

The answer has Chuuya laughing from his heart, yet it’s true. It’s always Chuuya the one stealing Dazai’s thoughts, occupying his mind. Dazai smiles alongside his now partner, discovering what pure unadulterated happiness tastes like. 

Few things exist in this life that Osamu Dazai cannot predict, but it doesn’t hurt his pride to admit that the god that is Nakahara Chuuya will always swipe him right off his feet. That this feelings, the immediate attraction, and the happiness that ensues are not something he could have ever foreseen beforehand. 

Just this once, Dazai doesn’t mind to have been outsmarted by Cupid.

He has never known about romance or falling in love, yet one thing Dazai is sure of is that getting to hear Chuuya laugh like that… 

Dazai is glad he didn’t lose his charms after all. 

Chapter Text

Consciousness comes back to Dazai in the comfort of warm, high thread count bedsheets. In his new awake state, a kind of restfulness he’s still not used to comes accompanied by a particular soreness in his lower back that, far from hurting, leaves him content, satisfied. 

As much as it appears to be a morning heaven-made for sleeping in and lazing around in bed all day, Dazai does stir. He tries to tear an eye open when the presence of another body beside him, seemingly placing a couple items on the nightstand by his head, is too sweet to ignore. 

Dazai smiles despite himself, propelled by the delicious scent of the steaming hot coffee, and is greatly surprised with a plate of freshly cut mango as well. He blinks slowly, getting used to the bright morning light while looking around for Chuuya. The man of his dreams is drinking from his own mug near the door, most likely ready to leave for work, dressed in his usual way too tight ripped jeans and a killer, pierced smile.

The black, fitted tee suits him nicely, too. 

“Fresh fruit?” Dazai says first thing as a good morning call, and as smugly as he can manage to sound albeit barely awake, his voice still groggy. “Such a luxury. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Chuuya turns to look at him, a sneering smirk clearly visible right over the brim of the cup. 

“You looked tired from last night,” he offers, the smile never faltering. Chuuya’s lopsided grin, with his little fang and shiny piercings on display being one of Dazai’s favorites. “I thought you could use the energy recharge.” 

Dazai raises an eyebrow, and chances a look towards the screen of his phone over the table, right before his mind throws itself down the path of remembrance of the activities they partook in the night before. A shiver runs down his spine, and he looks back at Chuuya. 

“There are still three hours left until your first appointment.” He comments quite innocently, and dives into a life-saving, delicious, miraculous sip of coffee. Black with no sugar just how he likes it. 

Dazai munches on an overtly sweet slice of fruit, watching Chuuya sigh and lean back against the doorframe, already suspicious of his sudden shift in topic and coy intonation. The kind of combination that is always a harbinger of a Dazai induced headache. 

“I want to revise the design one more time.” Chuuya says, as if Dazai hadn’t known that already. That doesn’t stop him from groaning and pouting from his princess stance on the bed. 

“Come on, we both know it reached perfection ten revisions ago.” Dazai blinks at Chuuya sweetly, the fruit’s juice dripping down his fingers.

Dazai does try to hold in a smirk as he sucks on his index fingertip, and, as expected, Chuuya attentively follows the movement, eyebrows rising. Dazai forcefully holds down a teasing remark to keep his impeccable act in place, hoping he can convince his boyfriend. Of what? He is not so sure. A lingering moment with him in the morning, a repeat of last night, even a good morning kiss. Whatever, he will take whatever he can. 

“I would even bet my hands on its state of excellence,” Dazai trails off with a lot of fanfare, a sultry voice and unbothered grin that do little to hide his intentions. The tone has Chuuya walking towards the bed again, steps heavy on the floor and eyes so set on Dazai’s ones that he rushes to continue. “Oh, and how we know just how much you love them wrapped around your-” 

Chuuya’s tattooed fingers wrap around the expanse of Dazai’s throat before he can finish the sentence and press . The tattoo artist hovers over him, staring right down at Dazai’s pouty face that right now is getting redder by the second. Be it due to having his boyfriend so close and rough or to the actual slight lack of air remains unknown. 

“Hmm, Osamu, baby,” Chuuya’s voice drips so sweet against Dazai’s ears that, when Chuuya drags the thumb of his free hand against his lips he opens them greedily, taking the finger into his mouth, more than ready to suck on it. Chuuya presses down on his tongue, a trail of saliva dripping down the corner of Dazai’s mouth, his chin. “We both know what I really love the most is,” Dazai tenses at the inflection of Chuuya’s words. Chuuya leans into Dazai’s ear so he can whisper, “watching you use those fingers of yours to stretch yourself open for me.” 

The moan that leaves Dazai’s lips is so viscerally needy that he almost has the mind to be embarrassed about it. 

Dazai voraciously sucks on Chuuya’s finger, borderline pushing himself against the hand that is still draped albeit loosely around his neck. Chuuya replaces his thumb with his index and middle finger, filling the space further and even going deep for good measure. Dazai whimpers around it. 

“Insolent.” Chuuya comments, and Dazai can’t help but smile around the intrusion. Short lived, perhaps, when Chuuya drags his beautifully tattooed fingers away, leaving Dazai empty. 

Dazai is about to complain but Chuuya replaces them with his own mouth. 

The kiss is bruising, the piercings of Chuuya’s lips dragging against his own just how Dazai likes it, and he can’t help but open up to greedily take in Chuuya’s tongue and deepen the kiss. 

Chuuya’s left hand goes beside his head against the headrest, and Chuuya leans in, forcing Dazai to crane his neck for a better kissing angle. Chuuya bends his knee, folding it on the bed beside Dazai’s legs. 

Yes, Dazai thinks. Yes, come closer, stay.

Dazai’s hands fly to Chuuya’s black shirt, gripping at it to pull Chuuya closer at the same time he tries to lift the shirt up and off him -which means he’s actually achieving none of his goals. Chuuya whispers a laugh against his lips for the clumsiness, which has Dazai breaking the kiss flustered for a second. 

To try and regain some of his dignity, what he says is this: “Does this mean that I win?” 

Through lidded eyes, Dazai can see Chuuya licking his lips, precisely pinpoint the moment he’s making Dazai’s favorite decision of his (the one where anything Dazai comes first of all), and then biting down on one of his piercings, a movement that has Dazai almost straight up crying.

His boyfriend is just too attractive, so unreasonably hot and equally unreasonably dressed, and Dazai wants, no, needs him as naked as he is underneath the bed sheets –which is completely. Chuuya, surely thanks to his status as a god on earth, seems to read his mind because the next thing he’s doing is reaching back to lift his shirt off through his head. 

Dazai can’t stop himself from reaching towards Chuuya’s shoulders to pull him closer in for another kiss, moaning against his mouth. Hugging him tightly, Chuuya’s right hand has no other option but to support itself beside Dazai’s head on the headrest, and the other comes to Dazai’s nape, fingers reaching for his hair. 

Chuuya’s pierced tongue slides against the roof of his mouth, making Dazai’s legs tremble beneath the sheets, hands grabbing at anything to keep himself afloat in the ocean of passion that is Nakahara Chuuya. When Dazai gets a hold of Chuuya's shoulder and naively thinks that perhaps he has found an anchor, Chuuya's hand in his hair grabs into a fistful of hair and pulls back. 

Dazai whines and whimpers as he is being forcefully pulled back from the kiss, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the pleasure, and the moment he feels Chuuya's lips latch onto the corner of his jaw, he barely keeps a sob in. 

“You are so fucking insatiable, Dazai.“ Chuuya whispers against his neck and Dazai’s throat struggles to swallow. “However will you survive, huh?” Chuuya taunts, as he licks a strip from Dazai’s collarbone to his ear. “Without my cock inside your perky ass?” 

Dazai’s breath hitches, and Chuuya fucking bites his Adam’s apple. Dazai moans into Chuuya's ear, which seems to do him in because he’s taking a step back and pulling the bedsheets away from Dazai’s body as if they had personally offended him. Dazai scrambles to sit properly, hands immediately reaching out towards Chuuya's pants, but barely making it to unlatch the button before Chuuya is walking away towards the end of the bed. 

Chuuya kneels slowly on the mattress by Dazai’s feet and carefully grabs at his shins, all the while gifting Dazai with a side smirk that only lightens his spit-shiny piercings and kiss-swollen lips. His devilish wink is the last thing Dazai sees before Chuuya pulls him down by the ankles until he’s laying flat, and is not even given proper warning before he’s flipped over, belly down on the bed. 

The drag of his erection against the soft sheets has his mind reeling, an eloquent chant of shit shit shit shit whirring around his brain trying not to desperately dry hump the bed chasing the feeling. 

“Lift your hips for me, love.” Chuuya orders, and Dazai blindly obeys. He has the very limited wits to gape at Chuuya over his right shoulder, raptly staring at the way tattooed hands slide a cushion underneath him. Dazai bites his lip down forcefully not to whimper, his legs being rearranged in the process to slot Chuuya in between, and knees bent to adjust to the cushion’s height. 

The second Dazai feels Chuuya's hands lay on the back of his knees, all the nerves in his body stand on edge. He gets goosebumps even with just that small of a touch, and the anticipation is such Dazai almost bucks back against nothing just to feel Chuuya's hands harder. Chuuya slides his fingers up against the back of Dazai’s thighs, firmly despite the trembling and shaking from Dazai’s desperation. 

Dazai wants, no, needs those very same fingers higher, and the time it’s taking them to barely brush against the brim of his ass is leaving him breathless. Chuuya squeezes the mounds, pulling them together first and then  apart, exposing Dazai’s rim, and Dazai can only drop his face against his arms, folded on top of the  pillow, lest he shouts something embarrassing like the current “ Fuck me raw ” that is resting on the tip of his tongue. Even when Chuuya and him both know he can’t,  because Chuuya just had to go and be too big for that to happen. 

Dazai pauses, an exhale stopping in the middle of being breathed out because he’s not hearing Chuuya taking off his pants. He frowns. Dazai has a half second of lucidity to decide and look back again before he feels Chuuya leaning down between his legs and licking. 

The first strip of tongue has Dazai’s head falling back against his shoulder blades; it almost gives him whiplash, a moan falling freely from his lips. Just the tip of Chuuya's tongue has Dazai so dizzy that when he gets to feel the whole of its flat surface and the bump of the piercing Dazai fists the sheets in a vicious, white knuckled grip. 

He’s going to die by the hands of his boyfriend, or by his tongue more exactly. How not to, because when Chuuya swirls the tip around the rim and then enters him Dazai sees stars and galaxies and probably the light to the afterlife behind his eyelids. 

“Chuuya.” Dazai whimpers. And then he’s spiraling from there as he repeats a string of his boyfriend’s name unstoppably. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya.”  

Dazai pants as Chuuya squeezes his flesh again, a forceful hold that Dazai loves so much because it will be leaving the marks that he yearns for so ardently. 

All the blood rushes to the pit of his stomach, and Dazai tries to shove his hips back against Chuuya so he can somehow be even closer to him. The audacity earns him a slap on the asscheek that stops him from breathing completely, along with a strong pull down of his hips. 

Dazai feels himself burn all over, the feeling of Chuuya's tongue inside him, licks and flickers over his rim and that piercing of his that makes Dazai topple over the edge of the world, a white hot streak in his mind before he’s coming with a loud groan, his orgasm hitting him strongly as he bucks against Chuuya's face as much as he’s allowed. Ears red tipped, eyes rolled back and toes scrunching in pleasure. Chuuya lets him ride it against his tongue, hands softer on his skin now, a long, last lick before everything turns into humid kisses peppered against the skin at the back of his thighs. 

“Chuuya.” Dazai attempts to breathe out, squirming under all of his boyfriend’s attention, still riding his post-orgasmic haze. 

“Yes?” Chuuya answers, voice so plain he seems unaffected by Dazai’s predicament, but he accompanies the word with a strong bite to his thigh like the menace he is. Dazai hisses. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

“Yes, but also…”

“Hmm? Also?”

“Also more.” 

Chuuya grips Dazai’s thighs strong enough he knows his fingerprints will paint a pretty, bruise-like picture. “More?”

“Well, you said…” Dazai tries, really, but he’s so overwhelmed by the strength of his need the sentence gets lost somewhere in the middle of some desperate sheet grabbing. 

“Come on, baby,” Chuuya is just so unfair, “use your words.” 

A bit difficult, if you ask Dazai, to use his words when the redhead has his face between Dazai’s legs still, after having him come untouched, teeth leaving purple marks in the inner side of his thighs. The softest lips, the barest of touches, the sharp contrast of thin metal. How can he not want him so bad after all?

Chuuya slides his hands upwards, along his thighs, over his hips, and Dazai can perfectly picture Chuuya’s beautifully tattooed fingers against the pale skin of his back. The mental image leaves him shivering. 

“You said I wouldn’t survive without you inside me and you were right,” Dazai concedes, more quietly than what’s usual for a man of his confidence, “so it’s only fair that you give it to me.” 

Chuuya laughs, deep and unrestricted against Dazai’s skin. 

“Of course, how could I ever think to deny you.” 

Chuuya grabs a fistfull of Dazai’s hair and pulls his head back, leaning forward to latch his mouth to Dazai’s ear. “Fetch us the lube, then, since you’re so eager.” 

Dazai is struck, on top of that, by something that had rarely happened to him before: brain, heart, and mouth all agreeing, as quickly as lightning, to comply with Chuuya and moan a resolute: “ Yes .” 

His left arm scrambles for the nightstand, opening the drawer and blindly patting this way and that to procure a half ran-through bottle. 

“Thanks.” Chuuya says, with a kiss to Dazai’s nape when he passes him the lube.

Dazai can hear him open it and squirt some of it, presumably on his hand. Can feel the jeans Chuuya is still wearing against his ass, the mouth-watering hardness there, waiting for him in all its magnificent glory. He can’t stop himself from taking a peak over his shoulder, only to find Chuuya exquisitely smirking at him, piercings shiny from spit and fingers coated, traveling downwards, to deliciously press against Dazai’s entrance… And then his eyelids are falling closed, his head pushing back against the fingers newly tangled in the back of his hair. 

Dazai moans, whines even, at the first intrusion of Chuuya’s finger, and the angle, the position, all of it has Dazai’s legs trembling. The pace is just mean, though, enough to have Dazai on edge but not enough to get him to fall over it. 

Dazai’s half-mast is quickly coming to a full erection again, dragging against the pillow beneath his hips, and he sobs. 

“Chuuya, just…” He urges. “We can…” 

Even though his brain could barely form a sentence, it was more than enough for Chuuya to pick up the pieces of his scrambled mind and chuckle. 

“No, we can’t skip prep, Dazai.” He stops Dazai’s pleading by adding a second finger, stretching him good. “You will not be able to take me otherwise.” 

“I promise you I can take it.” Dazai is never really beneath begging in his personal God’s altar after all. “I’m still… from last night…”

“Yeah, I’m not rushing you, honey eyes.” Chuuya leaves a kiss against his shoulder, and nips at his neck, moving upwards. “You wanted this, right?” 

Dazai’s eyes roll back in pleasure. He nods to the best of his ability. 

Chuuya’s fingers circle around his rim before entering him again and curling, pressing right into Dazai’s favorite spot. Dazai groans something barely intelligible about going to heaven every time Chuuya touches him, and fuck if he’s not ready to go because he just. Can’t. Get. Enough. 

Perhaps he is insatiable. 

When it comes to Chuuya, of course. 

Dazai’s lower belly is starting to prickle again, warmth piling up low in his abdomen when Chuuya chooses to end his heavenly torture and take his fingers away. Dazai is on the verge of a complaint right as, once again, his boyfriend decides to manhandle him and completely ruin Dazai for anyone else, ever. Not that Dazai ever in his whole life wanted anything to do with anyone other than Nakahara Chuuya, but still. It’s the principle of the thing. 

Chuuya, who rises up on his knees, possibly unaware of how he is responsible for rewiring all of Dazai’s brain, flips him over to his side like a flimsy little weightless thing. There is no hiding his feelings anymore, the embarrassment of how much he likes it, how much he loves Chuuya. Even if, for Dazai, everything he feels has probably been displayed in his face, out in the open and crystal clear for the redhead to read. 

Dazai’s breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches Chuuya pick up one of his legs, raise it until it’s comfortably resting over Chuuya’s own shoulder. Chuuya deposits a tender kiss on the inside of Dazai’s knee, right hand coming to wrap around his raised thigh while the left lowers towards his half-undone belt buckle. Dazai stares, completely enraptured, as Chuuya undoes the belt and button, drags his zip down. Chuuya’s dick is straining so hard against his underwear that Dazai’s mouth waters, attempting a swallow that turns into a needy moan the moment Chuuya reaches into his pants to bring out his erection. Thick, long, slightly curved and perfect for Dazai, who is so absolutely ready to get wrecked on it. 

“Come on, what’s taking you so long?” Dazai sounds desperate, but well, he is, and he is also embarrassingly close to making grabby hands at Chuuya. Or worse, leaving his status as pillow princess and jumping his bones. Chuuya laughs. 

“Brat.” He says, accompanied with a spank to the curve of Dazai’s ass that’s facing sideways, and then grabs Dazai’s right hip and shoves him against his erection. It takes Chuuya half a second to position himself and then he’s pushing into Dazai. 

Slowly, inch by inch, Chuuya sinks into Dazai until he’s fully sheathed, and the slap of Chuuya’s navel against his butt has Dazai’s breath stuttering. Chuuya sets a punishing pace, pounding into his favorite spot with a precision that should be alarming. 

Dazai moans, “Fuck.” And it’s such an oddity for him to be so crude that Chuuya groans and drives in and out of him harder. Dazai tries to meet him stroke for stroke, but Chuuya is fucking him sideways and never once taking his eyes off of him, so Dazai’s movement falters. He gets lost in the blue of Chuuya’s eyes for a moment, the utmost desire shining in them, the dilated pupils… Chuuya bites down on one of his piercings, with a lascivious leer up and down his body that Dazai knows there is no way for him to last. 

He clenches around Chuuya’s dick, hands grabbing the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. Chuuya’s arms embrace Dazai’s thigh against his chest, head falling back in intense pleasure with a low gasp as he snaps forward deeper - and fuck if it’s not the  hottest thing Dazai has ever seen. 

Dazai’s skin vibrates, he breathes out harshly, and then he’s tapping on Chuuya’s arm. 

“I…” His voice trembles. “I want you-” 

“Yes, baby?” Chuuya grunts. 

“I’m going to come again, I want you closer.” 

Chuuya laughs through his nose. Eyes roll back closed; a breathy moan releasing pressed between the tight line of his lips. 

“So demanding.”

Dazai should have known that he was going to get absolutely decimated by Chuuya after the passionate glint in the blue of his irises. The next thing he knows is Chuuya lowering his raised leg to his hip, going for his other thigh and maneuvering Dazai until he is laying flat on his back, and then leaning forwards so he has Dazai mate-pressed into the mattress. 

“Hi.” Chuuya teases, smirking, now close to Dazai’s face, before going in for a kiss. Dazai barely has the time to come to his senses when Chuuya picks up the pace again, and uses his resulting moan to slip his pierced tongue into Dazai’s mouth. 

Holding on for dear life, Dazai lets go of the bedsheets to grip Chuuya’s neck, trying to pull him in impossibly close even when he is practically folded in half. 

With every one of Chuuya’s sharp thrusts, Dazai can't help but sink his nails deeper into Chuuya’s skin, scratching against the colorful tiger tattoo on his back. Chuuya grunts against his lips. 

“Good,” he praises. Dazai almost preens at the words. “Again.” 

It’s not like he has to be told twice, because Chuuya starts panting against his mouth, lips open as if he wanted to continue the kiss but was unable to, foreheads touching and the pounding growing erratic. Dazai goes taut, fingers digging into Chuuya’s neck and his own blood roaring in his ears. 

Chuuya puffs a warm breath, nosing into the crook of Dazai’s neck, moving up to his ear and moaning there, and the warmth of his breath and his deep voice are what do Dazai in a second time that morning. 

He comes with a desperate cry, hands immediately going for Chuuya’s hair, simultaneously pulling him closer and apart, and Chuuya bites him hard in the edge of his jaw. Dazai tilts his head to grant him more access. 

Chuuya milks him dry with a brutal pace that strings Dazai along for the ride until Chuuya is coming inside him as well, a few shallow plunges until Dazai is feeling himself clench around the spilling cock inside him. 

Chuuya eases out of him, releasing Dazai’s thighs and settling back to a more natural position, still panting against Dazai’s neck, but mindful not to crush him with his weight. Dazai tries to catch his breath as well, the ghost of his fingertips now roaming Chuya’s back more freely, bashfully feeling the little dents he knows are bruises from his nails. He traces the head of a tiger he knows by heart now, and breathes in the scent of Chuuya’s sandalwood and citrus shampoo. 

“You always get what you want…” Chuuya murmurs against his neck, and Dazai almost doesn’t catch it. He hugs him tighter. 

“I do love being spoiled by you,” is his answer against Chuuya’s red hair. 

Chuuya grabs him by the hip, one arm lingering beside his head to support his weight as he leans back to look Dazai in the face. 

“You good?” He asks, and his eyes slide down to Dazai’s lips, probably unintentionally. God, he can guess the debauched picture he must be painting. 

“Better than,” Dazai answers, accompanied by a small smile. “Though it’s kind of sad that you lied to me that time, you know.” 

Chuuya frowns, “What do you mean?” 

“You’re not pierced down there.” Chuuya’s eyes shine in remembrance, and he lets out a hearty laugh that bears no good to Dazai’s heart. 

“Do you want me to?” He mocks. “It would mean some time without sex, though.”

Dazai pouts, “You should be pierced already.” 

Chuuya hums. 

“Wanna get matching Prince Charles, then?”

“No, don’t even think about that.” Dazai whines, watching his boyfriend’s schemy smirk. “I’m not going through a sex drought…” But Chuuya’s eyes are already trailing downwards to Dazai’s navel, licking his lips. “Stop imagining shutting my mouth up with your pierced dick, I can see it in your face.” 

Chuuya grins and shrugs, staring into his eyes again, “Your horniness must be rubbing off on me.”  

“Pfft.” Dazai complains, indignantly, and demands cuddles as compensation, that Chuuya, like the most amazing boyfriend in the whole world that he is, delivers. He wraps his arms around Dazai, and rolls from over him to his back by his side, taking Dazai with him so he can lay on top of his chest, hugging Chuuya back -hand tracing a path up his stomach to his adorned nipple, pulling on the bar like the menace he is. 

His heavenly fantasy is short lived, though. 

“Ah, shit, I have to get ready again.” Chuuya musters, patting Dazai twice on the ass so he moves to let him get up. 

“Or you could stay.” Dazai says from the bed. 

“You know I have a client at twelve.” 

Dazai directs half a look at the clock. “It’s barely ten, and your shop is fifteen minutes down the street.” Dazai watches as Chuuya picks up a new set of clothes. 

“As needy as you are, my love, I do need to get some things done beforehand.” 

“Of course, of course.” Dazai chants. “You wouldn’t be the hottest professional around town otherwise.” 

Chuuya chuckles. “I will go there and spank you if you keep up the innuendos, Dazai.” 

“Oh no… How terrible…” Dazai sighs. “This marriage is going to sink if you keep leaving me this early, Chuuya.” 

Chuuya deadpans. 

“We’ve been dating for a year and a half.” 

“Just predicting, you know.” Dazai says, pensively, splayed on the bed. “So, things you need to know if you’re going to be my husband…” 

“I already know all of your kinks, Dazai.” 

“Ah! When love fades and only despair remains in its place.” Dazai thrashes around the sheets, playing melodramatically. “You only want me for my beauty.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, yet makes a poor job at concealing a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

Dazai tosses and turns around the sheets once more for good theatrics. 

“Yes, look at me like you will break me some more.”

Chuuya shakes his head and goes to the adjacent bathroom to shower, which Dazai uses to happily munch on the mango and answer only his non-work related messages. It’s his day off, after all. When Chuuya emerges again, Dazai is finishing another sweet piece of fruit, and Chuuya walks to him and sits by his side on the mattress, stealing what was left of it from Dazai’s fingers, Dazai completely unaware considering he was too struck staring at his hot boyfriend. 

“Hey!” He wants to complain, a little too late perhaps, whine about it being his fruit or something equally irrelevant compared to the loving smile his partner is throwing his direction. Even if he wanted, Dazai can’t stop himself from reciprocating, absolutely sure of the tenderness matching in his own expression. 

“I’m leaving now,” Chuuya says. “I’ll pick you up for lunch, okay?” Before Dazai can agree to it, Chuuya leans in and kisses him. A chaste kiss that tastes so sweet Chuuya can’t keep himself from looking for more, pierced tongue meeting Dazai’s one inside his mouth. It looks like he’s not the only insatiable one, after all. Dazai bites his piercing. 

Chuuya draws back, contagious grin intact. “I love you.” 

Dazai looks at him, heart skipping his usual rhythm at the words and the presence of one Nakahara Chuuya, staring at him with the intensity of a thousand suns. 

God, he's a lucky man. 

“Okay,” he answers first. And then, “I love you, too.”

Chuuya presses a kiss to his forehead and leaves the apartment.