Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

-

1. rimming;

-

“…You actually agreed to meet me.”

Unlike most of the pleasure houses in the kingdom, Fallen Camellia could pass as a top-class hotel, complete with luxurious décor and excellent hospitality. There is ample lighting, as it doesn’t hide its true colors from its customers. The paintings that line the hallways are all originals, and the jewels that its workers wear have been appraised by jewelers.

The courtesans here aren’t strangers to wealth or affluence, and so buying their favor takes more effort than usual.

Of course, that is the case for its top courtesan.

Dazai Osamu’s kimono is a mix of blues and whites. Bandages are wrapped all over his limbs, ensuring that his flesh remain covered up even if his kimono is too-large on him and isn’t even properly tied, hanging off one shoulder in a lopsided manner. His teacup is a bright red that pales in comparison to the rogue over his lips.

“I have no interest in men,” Dazai tells him with an offhand air, deceptively demure in his tone even though his eyes are sharper than the wing drawn by his eyeliner. “However, I wanted to see just how foolish is the King of Sheep is, in person.”

His fingers tremble for a moment, before he says, “I’m not a king.”

He has no ambitions to become the king. He doesn’t want to fight with fellow aristocrats that have grown up with him under the same tutors, with those who’ve attended the same coming-of-age ceremonies. He’s content with living the same as always, with protecting those under his wing and nothing else.

For some reason, everyone else thinks that he wishes to assimilate all the power in this land and rule over it as its king. He’s here to make sure that they all forget about such baseless accusations.

“Nakahara Chuuya,” the most famous courtesan of the kingdom says his name without any affection. An unimpressed sneer plays on Dazai’s face. “You do seem especially foolish indeed.”

“And yet, you agreed to meet with me.”

“My motto is be as lazy as possible,” Dazai admits with a shrug. Tea adds a layer of wetness over his lips, which he doesn’t wipe off. “You’ve promised to lavish me with riches, promised to do many embarrassing things for me so I’ll always have blackmail material on you. It sounds like an interesting use of my time.”

It’s not like Chuuya isn’t aware of the dangers.

He’s chosen Dazai because he’s very famous, so whatever happens in their exploits will certainly spread far and wide. The faster his fellow aristocrats learn about how he’d just like to spend his time foolishly chasing after someone who’d only bring indignities upon his name in polite society—the better it is.

It’s just that, Dazai is famous for many reasons.

For having a customer queue list that’s longer than the red-light district itself. For never agreeing to accept the same customer twice. For being a money-grabbing, lazy seductive snake, who’s been under police investigation several times, due to suspicions of getting his previous clients killed by committing suicide at his provocation.

“Since you know who I am, you know that I’m capable of paying whatever price you name.” He meets Dazai’s eyes.

As the most sought-after courtesan, Dazai has his own quarters separate from the main building. There’s even a tiny, private courtyard of his own, along with a single-floor home made of wooden floors and sliding paper doors. Purple hydrangeas dot the perimeter, flowers glossy from summer rain. A pebbled path connects this place to the rest of Fallen Camellia’s buildings.

There’s an illusion of a private paradise, but Chuuya knows that it’s just that: an illusion. He doesn’t have plans of trusting the man in front of him. People call him the ‘King’ because he’s gone through his fair share of battles—and the instincts that have served him well in battle all bristle at being near this fox.

This is just a business transaction, where they both get what they want.

“Then, for tonight, I want to try eating you out.” The words are soft enough that they almost dissolve in the mist of their tea and the outside rain.

His lips couldn’t help but twitch. “For someone who claims no interest in men, that seems to be quite the bold choice for a first night.”

“I’m not interested in men,” Dazai repeats. His eyes are glowing almost-hotly when they stare back at him, challenging. “But the moment that you’ve offered to give me whatever I want, you have become my pet.” A shrug that makes his kimono fall off his shoulders entirely. “Grooming my pet is one of my responsibilities as an owner.”

He narrows his eyes, his chest bristling at this. He opens his mouth, bares his teeth, ready to call this off. He doesn’t mind paying in bars of gold, but he’s not about to let himself be insulted and called a dog.

Before he can speak, Dazai tuts at him softly.

“You plan on letting them think that you’re a weak, ambitionless fool.” He softly swishes the remaining liquid in his cup. “Isn’t it only right that you surrender your pride to me, even for just a short while?”

He pushes down on the urge to break the cup and use the shard to slice the other’s neck. “You’ve investigated me?”

“You’ve certainly investigated me, so isn’t this called an equal partnership?” Dazai crosses the distance between them by crawling on top of the low table, sliding off it like a snake about to devour its prey. “If I didn’t display this much cunning, you’d have looked for another person next week.”

It’s true. He has other prospects lined up. He doesn’t mind paying, but he also isn’t looking for someone who’d actually believe that he’s truly chasing them. He’s looking for someone who wouldn’t make things messy by developing actual feelings for him, or by making him develop feelings for them.

Dazai seems like an obvious asshole, definitely not someone he’d ever fall in love with. He also seems like someone who’d know how to deal with his body, so it wouldn’t be such a loss to pay him.

It seems like the perfect arrangement.

He raises his cup, and Dazai leans in to drink from it directly. The kiss that they exchange can be said to be almost perfunctory, almost polite. A simple brush of lips, wet from tea.

A light push over his chest and he allows himself to sink down on the floor. There’s a sheepskin rug that cushions his back.

At the height of summer, flashes of rain are usual occurrences. It does nothing to cool him off, even if the windows are wide-open, the scent of petrichor mingled with hydrangeas competing with the scent of his own sweat.

“A virgin?” Dazai snickers in-between his thighs, his laughter smothered against his hole made sticky by his spit. “How bold of you to offer such a thing to me.”

He rubs his cheek against the rug, his gloved hands finding their way to the other’s hair. Dazai licks him thoroughly, alternating between broad swipes of his tongue and fast licks that stab him shallowly. A rhythm that only the other knows, so it’s hard for him to prepare himself. His chest rises and falls rapidly, pleasure bubbling inside him.

Dazai doesn’t touch his cock directly. It rests over his stomach, smearing fluid there. He doesn’t touch himself either, preferring to pull the other’s hair whenever he tongues him open and plays with the nerves surrounding his opening. Dazai’s hands run all over his tailbone, his ass, his thighs, his knees. Fingerprints dipping into drops of sweat and spreading it all over his skin.

A moan is pressed directly against his opening. From between his legs, Dazai stares at him, eyes glittering with mischief and the desire to watch every play of emotion on his face as he comes, untouched and solely from getting his ass eaten out.

His back stretches to a taut bow, toes curling against the floor. Sharp breath sluices into his lungs, as white momentarily takes over his eyesight. And then he sees it, his own come splattered over the rug and over the floor.

Dazai lets out an exaggerated slurping sound, before letting out mocking laughter. His lips are bright red, shiny and smudged. His hair is all fluffed-up from where hands pulled at the strands.

There are probably stains of smeared rogue all over his ass and inner thighs.

“Until next time,” Dazai tells him with a smile, and pats his spent cock using the wallet that he’s slipped out of his pants. Something tells him that all of the money inside has already been stolen away by this incredibly fishy man.

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

2. spanking;

-

The cold palm gains warmth the more it smacks against his skin. It’s not particularly painful, especially compared to the injuries that he’s suffered when he’s still very active in military service. He can’t deny the element of humiliation burning harder than the actual physical contact.

“This is a punishment,” Dazai tells him with a voice that could be considered kind if one didn’t have any inkling as to this person’s personality. “You’ve made me very sad, Chuuya.”

He lets out a disdainful snort. “You show your sadness by spanking people?”

“Only for my unruly pets.” His palm makes contact with his ass in an unpredictable rhythm. “So that they’d learn and not do such things in the future.”

Lying horizontally over the other’s lap shouldn’t have been a comfortable experience. Dazai is all lanky limbs, lacking the supple softness of a proper cushion. He’s laid out in such a way that his thickening cock is sandwiched between the other’s thighs, silk kimono and all. There are even velvet pillows for his cheek and for his knees to rest upon.

“I am not so free that I could wait for you to attend to me while staring at the walls,” he grumbles against the pillow. It isn’t painful, but Dazai makes sure to land the blows right at that very sensitive place, at the junction of his thighs and his ass. It makes him squirm over the other’s lap, sliding his cock against the folds of the other’s clothes. Cold silk, cold skin. The contrast against his leaking cock is almost enough to lose his mind.

Dazai affects a displeased tone. “You’re here to chase after me, but you brought a book to the waiting room.”

“You don’t have any other clients, but you kept me waiting there for an hour,” he parries. “You’re very petty, Dazai.”

“Very pretty too.” Matter-of-factly. He stops spanking him, squeezing his reddened backside using his palm. “What is your offering for today?”

A derisive eyeroll. “You think I’m going to give you a gift after you’ve gone ahead and spanked me?”

“The spanking is to punish you for daring to bring another man’s belongings when you’re supposed to be paying attention to only me.” The desire to control every aspect of his attention while they’re together presses heavily down the air they breath. “The gift is for you to show off how much you wish to buy my favor. Those are two different things.”

“You’re so stupid,” is the unspoken addition that hangs in the air.

He clicks his tongue and feels the faint stirrings of regret. This is only their second meeting and he’s already feeling the brunt of the headache from dealing with this guy. He clicks his tongue again and says, “The bone comb.”

Dazai hums and there’s the sound of rummaging through his things. Something cool is placed against his ass, and then the spanking renews for five rounds. “Good craftsmanship.” Almost-bored. “Do you want me to brush your hair after, Chuuya?”

“I think it’d be nicer if you choke on that comb,” he responds sincerely.

“Let me guess, you’ve defeated the monster that yielded the bone used to make this.” Still bored, even as he uses the comb as a makeshift paddle to continue spanking him. “A display of just how brutish you are? You aren’t cute at all.”

“It’s a warning. That I could reduce you to nothing but that comb, if you keep on being annoying.”

“Mm. Is that so?”

Dazai reaches down and jerks him off with quick, slippery strokes. Compared to his display of unaffected disinterest earlier, the savage way he handles him now is a lot more interesting. He closes his eyes and comes in-between the other’s thighs, splashing white against the silk kimono.

“I want a nicer gift next time,” Dazai’s demanding voice floats above him, before an unfamiliar touch strokes through his hair with a ferocity that seems to want to give him bald spots.

-

3. petplay;

-

…Such expressive eyes.

If nothing else, it’s those eyes that betray the other’s thoughts. Nakahara Chuuya. Even with his petite figure, there’s no hiding the overflowing amount of power emanating from him. It’s no wonder he’s called the king, by his allies and enemies alike. It’s no wonder they want to collar and corral him and his influence.

Left alone, he’d definitely end up amassing so much support, just by his sheer gravity and magnetism. He’s proven himself in the battlefield. He’s not the sort of guy who’d go for complicated plans and subterfuge, but he isn’t completely stupid. Nobody has a bad word to say about him—even his enemies simply curse him for being such a formidable opponent.

It’s just that, with how strong he is, his weakness is also very obvious. His lack of manipulative wiles, his inability to disguise his true thoughts, his obvious desire to protect even those who don’t deserve his coddling.

It’s so easy to fan the flames on the rumors that he wishes to disturb the tenuous peace that has allowed multiple aristocrat families to coexist for so long. Cooperation is nothing in the face of being the sole owner of the kingdom’s throne.

Dazai smiles as he gives an affectionate rub to the top of the other’s head. Their height difference means that it’s easy to do such a thing. Today’s agreement is to have Chuuya act as his pet dog for the entirety of their time together.

Dogs aren’t allowed to harbor ill-intent towards their master. Dogs aren’t allowed to speak or to think for themselves.

In a way, isn’t it him doing Chuuya a favor? Instead of letting him stew about the latest developments—of him learning about how people he’s considered his friends have been plotting against him—he just needs to sit by his feet and lay his face over his knees.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t leave room for denials. He’s the owner here, and owners don’t need the opinions of their pets. He drags Chuuya’s face closer to his crotch, pulling him in by his hair. Blue eyes glare hotly at him, but as expected of someone stubborn, he doesn’t actually break free from him. Determined to see this through to the end.

“You can make do with this,” he says with a snicker, shimmying his underwear down so he can feed his cock directly to his dog’s lips. “Make sure to eat it really well, since I’m not feeding you anything else.”

Chuuya breathes in sharply, his expression full of distaste. He looks unimpressed by his words, though there’s no hiding the way that his breath catches when he’s faced with his size.

As far as tactics go, it isn’t bad, forcibly painting oneself with the brand of nihilism. Someone who only wants to make merry, drink alcohol and indulge himself in sex—that kind of person certainly wouldn’t pose a threat. Seeing Chuuya do his utmost best to pretend to be that kind of useless person… Hmm, it certainly arouses the desire to bully him thoroughly.

“Lick it well,” he commands. “Stick your tongue out, dog.”

Chuuya trembles, annoyance at being called a dog making his cheeks flush red. Defiance looks exceptionally beautiful, especially when it’s crushed right in front of the person’s eyes.

He holds the red locks tighter and uses it to maneuver the other’s head. He fucks the other’s face, watches the way those blue eyes mist over with the effort to not choke over his dick.

“Bark for me?” He asks with a laugh.

Chuuya spits at his cock, his outright refusal. No matter. He comes in front of that stubborn face, laughing again when Chuuya hisses in distaste at having globs of white hang over his eyelashes.

“You have seriously bad taste,” Chuuya tells him after a few rounds of coughing. His voice is hoarse from the abuse to his throat.

“You’re the one who picked me to be your partner,” he reminds the other man, as he rubs his thumb over the swell of that reddened lip. “If I’m such a bad person, what does that make you, who’s here willingly… partner?”

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

4. Crossdressing;

-

Chuuya takes a sip from his teacup, shoulders straight even as he continues exchanging cool words with his current companion.

Quite unlike his previous company, Hasegawa is gentle and demure. At the very least, she isn’t the type who’d demand lavish gifts from him, on top of demanding his full attention. She also isn’t the sort who’d demand to spank him for daring to have hobbies that aren’t directly linked to her.

He hasn’t returned to the Fallen Camellia ever since that unfortunate ‘pet play’ episode. Running away isn’t his style—but letting someone press his buttons so thoroughly is even further away from his personality. It’s one thing to stage a play of chasing after such a poisonous flower. It’s another thing entirely to actually let himself be played in the palm of such a fishy man.

Dazai is intriguing and his hands are skilled, but that’s just it. The idea of succumbing to him as his pet, even just in the privacy of his quarters rankles at his insides.

…Chuuya would probably return there, once he’s calmed down. After all, he’s already made a sizable investment, and he’s loathe to let things end so simply, like he’s really running away. At the very least, he’d like to make a formal declaration, if it’s really to be his last visit.

“The business between Hasegawa Group and Sheep can benefit from more cooperation,” Hasegawa says lightly, drawing back his attention to the topic at hand.

He has the feeling that she’s more interested in someone else. Shirase, maybe? She’s the heir to Hasegawa Group and she knows the meaning of measured actions. She doesn’t seem like the type who’d let feelings get in the way of her goals.

Perhaps, if things with Dazai become really untenable, he could consider courting her instead?

Before he could think more about such a possibility, there’s a loud sigh from the table behind him, and then there’s lukewarm tea spilling into his pants.

“My deepest apologies,” is whispered with such horror, but Chuuya could only feel his head throb with a migraine.

Why the fuck is shitty Dazai here? Worse, why the fuck is he wearing such a frilly maid’s outfit? A knee-length black dress over a layer of bandages that serve as his white stockings. A ruffled, white half-apron, that is mirrored in style by a frilly choker necklace and matching lace headband. Black heels to add more to his already-annoying height.

It’s somehow simultaneously fitting and jarring with the environment. This restaurant caters specifically to the wealthy, so bringing in maids isn’t uncommon. However, no self-respecting aristocrat would be allowing their maid to run around and spill drinks into the laps of other guests.

“My apologies,” Dazai repeats, his tone and his facial expression the very picture of subservience. His eyes are bright with a cold light. “Let me clean this up for you.”

He boldly starts stroking him over his wet pants, unbothered by the scandalized gasps of the other guests who have turned to look at the commotion. “How about it, Chuuya?” He tilts his head to the side, all the ruffles in his costume forming a juxtaposition with his unruffled countenance. “Let me personally clean you up?”

Chuuya gives a stiff bow of apology towards Hasegawa, before excusing himself. The entire time, Dazai is practically wrapped by his side like a poisonous vine. One of his arms is looped around his waist, while his other hand is protectively kneading his groin, as if he’s worried that it will be snatched away from his grasp.

The moment that they’ve retired to the men’s bathroom, Chuuya whirls around and tries to slam Dazai against the wall. This is only their fourth meeting, but it seems that the rumors about Dazai’s cunning are well-deserved. His attack is well-read, and with the other’s slippery movements, they simply end up in a stalemate, both of their hands on each other’s necks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, shitty Dazai?”

“I didn’t think that you’re such a scumbag, Chuuya,” is uttered in a fake-simpering tone. “Hasegawa’s so in love with you and yet you’re here playing with her feelings?”

The statement is enough to loosen his hands over the other’s throat. “Ha? She isn’t—”

“And that’s why you’re just a stupid shorty.” A shake of his head. “Let me guess, when she asked you out for dinner, you asked her if she’s in love with you. And you believed her when she denied it.”

That’s exactly how it went. He bristles, annoyed. “Not everyone is a liar like you.”

“Mm, and even though you like to act all noble, you also don’t know how to keep to your word.” Dazai drops his hand down to squeeze him hard over his pants. “You dare to not show up in our appointment today? You have some nerve, chibi.”

“You’re too clingy,” he says, even as he leans hard against the wall, and shifts so that he’s thrusting against the other’s hand. His lips twist, as Dazai deftly undoes his pants. “The infamously cold courtesan, chasing after me?”

“People line up just for the chance to be considered to become one of my clients.” Haughty, even as he’s sinking to his knees in front of him. Dazai raises an eyebrow at him, as he gives him a tentative lick, as if to check if he’s gone around and had some others warm his bed during the time they haven’t seen each other. “And you think you can just not show up for our appointment, without even a word?”

Without waiting for his response, Dazai sucks him off hard, not even starting off slow with kitten licks. He simply swallows him whole, nosing into his curls, throat humming all around him. As expected of someone who knows how to run off his mouth, he’s very skilled in this, deep-throating him like it’s something that could be naturally done by just anyone.

His eyes retain that cold brightness, untouchable stars in his gaze. His lips are red and shiny with spit, flushed cheeks hollowed over his cock. His hands curl and uncurl over his ruffled skirts, acting as if he’s being completely subservient, as if he really is doing his best to clean off the mess that he’s made.

Chuuya’s eyes narrow, as he sets his hands over the other’s hair. If he wants to play at pretending to be a maid bullied by some scumbag master, then he’ll go ahead and help him. He knocks off the frilly headband, carding his gloved fingers over the brown locks.

Dazai raises an eyebrow, goading him.

For a brief moment, he remembers his face being fucked like this. Being called a dog, being maneuvered to do whatever the other wanted.

“You are such a bastard,” he hisses, as he takes this proffered payback.

It doesn’t take long until he’s spilling inside the other’s warm mouth. Dazai bobs over him, cleaning him off with dirty swipes of his tongue. When he shudders from the overstimulation, Dazai grazes his teeth over his sensitive flesh, before puckering his lips to leave a wet kiss over the head of his dick.

“I’m the one who decides if I’m done with you,” Dazai tells him with a sneer, before standing up on his high, high heels. A curtsy, as sarcasm colors his words. “You are too dirty, master, I’m afraid even the best maid can’t clean you up completely.”

“Good maids don’t dirty their masters to begin with,” he points out, even as he’s rolling his eyes and tucking himself back in.

“Masters who suddenly end up dating others when they have prior appointments don’t deserve good maids,” is said in a honeyed singsong, followed by the click of heels against the floor, as Dazai walks away from him and from the bathroom.

There are certainly going to be a lot of talk about this, especially since they haven’t been subtle at all as to what they were going to do before entering here.

Chuuya lets out a deep sigh.

Still, some part of him feels very intrigued indeed.

-

5. fucking machine;

-

…It really is dangerous, to feel intrigue towards someone like Dazai. It’s the intrigue that has led him to contacting him in the first place, despite it being ill-advised. It’s also the intrigue that has led him into agreeing into some of the acts that he’d never have thought of trying out in his life.

Right now, he’s experiencing a prime example of his intrigue causing him trouble.

He’s currently face-down on the floor where there’s a makeshift rug made of the other’s discarded clothes. Expensive attire that has come directly from his wallet—they’re definitely not the sort that could be casually washed. Imported silks and velvets have now been transformed into something that cushions his body as he trembles all over.

He bites through the clothes, his fingers sweaty inside his gloves as he claws against the floor. In front of him, there’s Dazai languidly lounging in nothing but his bandages.

It shouldn’t look enticing. It shouldn’t look anything but disgusting. Dazai is wrapped all over in those bandages, not even his crotch area is spared. As if to torment his eyesight, the moment Dazai notices his staring, he even hums and ties a neat little bow over the head of his cock.

Airily, “Now, now, if you take this punishment well, I might just decide to fuck you using this cock.”

As if causing a scandal to spread about him—that he’s the sort to take advantage of maids in public—isn’t enough of a retaliation for unilaterally cancelling their appointment last time.

Right now, he’s face-down over Dazai’s discarded clothes, left to suffer through the torment of having an impersonal machine fuck open his hole. His questions of “why do fuck do you even own something like this?” go unanswered.

The most pertinent question—“Why the fuck is he allowing something like this to happen?”—also remains a mystery.

While Dazai isn’t enough of a bastard to begrudge him of lube, that’s the extent of his ‘mercy’. After dripping an excessive amount of lube over his hole and over the dildo that’s mounted on the machine, he hasn’t moved at all.

No further touches, no further moves, aside from that tying of a bandage bow over his cock to taunt him.

Like he’s simply a king that’s surveying his territory, impassive and disinterested in the specifics of whatever’s happening.

Chuuya’s never thought that he’s the kind of person who’d want or need someone to attend to his needs, but to be ignored like this… It chafes at him.

It’s not like he’s craving Dazai’s touch in particular.

It’s just that there’s something incredibly boring about the standard, tireless rhythm from the machine. It doesn’t even hit his sensitive points well. Dazai has set it up that way, most likely. For it to hit his prostate properly, he’d have to squirm and adjust his position, right under the fishy bastard’s gaze.

Of course, there’s no way he’s going to do that.

So, he grits his teeth and refuses to lose his mind under these ministrations. Even if the squelch is loud in his ears. Even if his hole feels very sore from the continued thrusting.

“What a stubborn dog you are,” Dazai murmurs eventually.

Before he could spit out a denial about him being called a dog, he feels his body being tugged upwards. He struggles against the other’s manhandling. Just as he’s about to swing his fist towards the other’s jaw, Dazai tucks him in against his body, under his chin.

Despite the change in position, the machine continues to fuck him shallowly. He barely even notices that. He can’t even find it in himself to let out a dissatisfied grunt at the lack of a proper fucking.

Dazai embraces him, the two of them jostled together by the machine. “If you continue glaring at me like that, I’d be tempted to make you choke on my cock, you know?”

“I’d rather choke on my own tongue,” he hisses out.

Perfunctorily, “Is that so?”

And Dazai chokes him on his tongue, giving him a filthy kiss that stirs up his thoughts until he’s gasping for breath. He clutches at the other’s bandages, loosening their hold over the other’s skin. His cock is trapped between their bodies, suddenly faced with a stimulation that he isn’t prepared for.

That’s how he comes, panting against that mouth that says nothing but things that irritate him the most.

-

6. lingerie;

-

“Doesn’t it look nice?”

It does look quite nice. A lacy black garter tucked against a pale thigh has a powerful visual impact. Play of colors aside, there’s also the fact that Dazai has actually foregone wrapping up his thighs with bandages, just so he could model this lingerie set.

The black garter, combined with the matching black lacy women’s panties. It probably came as a set along with the maid outfit from last time.

…It’s probably a bit itchy. Perhaps that’s why his fingers itches to touch, just to see if it really looks as uncomfortable as he expects.

Still, that’s not the important point here. He raises his eyebrows. “You mentioned that there’s an emergency, that’s why you had me rush here.”

“It is an emergency,” Dazai says mildly, as he makes a little twirl in front of him. “I look this beautiful and there’s nobody else around to admire it. Isn’t that such a dire situation?”

Chuuya clicks his tongue. “You could open your doors and windows and offend other people’s eyes instead.”

“Oho? You’re not going to make some declaration about how my beauty is for your enjoyment only?”

He lets his eyes roll around, as if to remind the other of the place they’re in. “Why the fuck would I do something so pointless?”

“Most men would jump for joy at the fact that their beautiful lover wishes to see them.” Dazai sits over his lap, draping his arms over his shoulders, their noses brushing. “Did I disturb you, Chuuya?”

“You know you did,” he answers with as much grouchiness he can muster.

Letting the other have the contact information to his personal communicator is a gamble. On one hand, anyone looking into their dalliance would look at it as a sign that he really is serious about chasing the courtesan. On another hand, it’s giving Dazai a way to abuse it, contacting him for senseless things.

Especially today. His post-dinner activity should have been to attend an informal meeting with Sheep’s Council of Thirteen.

But since Dazai has contacted him on his personal communicator, it would have been suspicious if he didn’t take it. With his current character setting being someone so enamored with Dazai that he’s chasing him despite the differences in their status and basically everything else—it would be weird if he didn’t immediately drop everything in order to come meet him.

Not for the first time, he wonders if there’s really something more to this bastard than he’s initially thought.

“I’m giving you extra service, so you shouldn’t let your mind wander,” Dazai tuts and bites the tip of his nose.

“Can the extra service be about you shutting the fuck up?”

Using his shoulders for leverage, Dazai bounces over his lap, forming a rhythm that is too slow to be anything that could lead to a quick release. “Fufufu. When I know how much you like my voice?”

“You’re sorely mistaken.” His hands follow the curve of the other’s spine, moving along with the other’s undulations. “You’re the only one who enjoys the sound of you yapping about.”

“You shouldn’t be so proud of admitting your lack of excellent taste,” Dazai chides him, and starts undoing his pants using one hand.

They’re both half-hard already. From the friction between their bodies. From the even harsher friction in their jabs towards each other.

“The first step is to properly define ‘excellent taste’, bastard.”

Perhaps he should be more concerned about the fact that he actually doesn’t mind so much, spending more time with this annoyance instead of being with the people that he’s trying so hard to pacify for the sake of friendship.

…Some other time, he’d think about it.

For now, he’s distracted by Dazai pulling off one of his gloves, and guiding that bared hand towards the lace that he’s been itching to touch since earlier.

Perhaps he should also be more concerned as to why he finds it so much easier to come, the moment Dazai starts kissing him.

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

7. breath play;

-

Even though he’s just an adopted child of the Nakahara Family, the achievements that he has attained in his family’s name has granted him a substantial influence. This means that a small manor is awarded under his name, with its own courtyard and own set of servants. In a way, it’s probably their way of keeping him in check—a prized tool that could be relegated in a fancy toolshed unless he’s needed.

The past three weeks has been spent with him out on the borders, fighting off wave upon wave of monsters. Because of his tendency to lead one-man squads to charge into enemy territory, there’s always less casualties whenever he’s the one fighting.

‘Less casualties’ doesn’t mean no injuries though.

He takes a deep breath and finds himself unable to. His first instinct is to thrash against the weight that has settled itself over his chest. Second instinct is to break the wrist that’s forming a chokehold over his throat. His body is rendered sluggish by the medicine that’s supposed to treat his wounds and forcibly keep him rested to facilitate healing.

He opens his eyes and glares at the person carrying a scent that has grown familiar over the past few weeks.

“You missed another appointment,” is Dazai’s greeting to him. Nonchalant in the face of trespassing into an aristocrat’s territory. Dark eyes glitter at him in the dimly-lit room, curtains drawn shut. “I’m beginning to think that you’re doing this deliberately, so you’d taste my punishment once again.”

In a way, it really is quite impressive to see someone so self-absorbed. Chuuya coughs and tries to buck the other off him. Dazai’s thumb rubs hard against his pulse point. The casual way that he’s strangling him speaks of hefty experience.

“You think too highly of yourself,” he struggles to get past the blockage in his airways.

Dazai hums and digs his thumbs deeper, robbing him of breath. He shifts on top of his chest, knees digging harshly on his armpits. He could feel Dazai growing hard amidst him choking underneath—perhaps from the sight of him seemingly helpless. Or perhaps from the fact that he simply settles his hands on both sides of the other’s hips, digging his fingers equally hard.

“The mission was issued to all the military forces,” is an almost sing-song. A casual revelation of a commoner having access to top-secret military briefings. “With this kingdom’s military strength and the private militia owned by all the aristocrat families, sending even just a quarter of the total forces should have decimated the enemy in a week.”

Those are familiar numbers. The Nakahara Family has received the same calculations along with the summons to combat the monsters that have started to approach the border.

Perhaps he’s become too accustomed to linking this person’s presence to pleasure. Even though Dazai is only giving him several moments of respite to catch his breath, before sinking his thumbs back to the swell of his throat, choking him again and again—he actually grows hard.

“Leaks of military intel is a crime punishable by death,” he hisses out, syllables catching in his tongue as Dazai starts thrusting against the patch of bandages over his chest.

“Is that so?” Dazai sounds supremely unconcerned about this. “What are you going to do, have me be arrested?” A careless laugh. “Then who would take care of you while you’re all indisposed?”

A disbelieving laugh. “You call this taking care of me?”

“Who else would spend time with you when you’re all bloody and injured?” Dazai leans down, showing off his flexibility in matters that really shouldn’t require for it. Their foreheads touch, as Dazai presses down hard over his airways. “Who else would sneak into your fortress and choke you until you come in your pants?”

His manor has been locked up, while he’s recuperating. He’s dismissed most of the servants. He’s always managed to heal well on his own, as part of his excellent physical constitution. He knows that him being injured is practically a shining beacon for his enemies to come and try to assassinate him. Worse, capture him and use him as leverage. Having nobody else but him means that there’s less collateral damage, once his enemies come for his throat.

Still, it’s not like it’s completely defenseless. It is still inside the Nakahara Family’s territory, and while their feelings for him aren’t the warmest, they consider him their strongest piece. There wouldn’t have been a lack of security outside.

And yet, Dazai has slipped past those defenses, has actually left his fancy paradise at the Fallen Camellia, and has come here. Even if it’s to be a nuisance.

“…I’m not wearing pants,” he pants out against the other’s mouth. He’s simply wearing a medical gown, along with bandages over his injuries.

“All the better for you to enjoy yourself,” Dazai tells him with feigned indifference, before reaching back with one hand. One hold over his throat, one around the tip of his cock.

In just a few moments, his breath stutters in his lungs as his toes curl, suffocating on Dazai and his presence pressing down all over him.

-

8. temperature play;

-

“Why the hell are you still here?”

He’d usually be more polite with guests, in order to not tarnish the name of his aristocratic family. The person sashaying all over the place isn’t fit to be called a ‘guest’ and is definitely not deserving of politeness.

“You’re having a fever,” Dazai tells him brightly, like his sole purpose of sneaking here is to witness him be ravaged by sickness. As if to match his host’s mode of dress, Dazai is also walking around in nothing but his bandages, his kimono unbelted and draped over his shoulders like a loose suggestion, rather than as an actual attire. “Isn’t it right that I stay here and take care of you, Chuuya?”

“The reason why I have a fever in the first place,” he gripes out with a hoarse voice, “is because you insisted on playing so much!”

Said ‘play’ included Dazai licking and fingering open his wounds. All while nagging at him to explain the reason for each wound, much more demanding than a military supervisor who wants a detailed report. At this point, getting infected and feverish is already a foregone conclusion.

“Don’t worry,” Dazai says, offhand, and definitely a cause for worry, “because you became feverish from how hot I am, I’ll help you cool down.”

“You’re really delusional, oi.”

Something very real though: a bowl of ice cubes that Dazai carries into the bedroom. Looks like the other has made himself right at home, without bothering for proper guest etiquette whatsoever.

“Oh? Your reaction tells me that you’re already anticipating something.”

Despite pilfering money directly from his wallet many times, the clothes that Dazai buys are all oversized, lengthy drapes that drag against the floor, even with his height. Right now, the hem of his kimono swishes over the floor as he moves closer to the bed. He sets the bowl of ice cubes over the mattress, unbothered by the cool condensation that immediately forms a wet spot.

“I anticipate no-good things coming from someone like you.”

Breezily, “Thank you for the compliment.”

Dazai takes one ice cube and sets it between his lips. He sits on top of his legs, and kisses him, the numbing coldness burning against his fever-warm mouth. It quickly melts between them, as Dazai skillfully plays pass-the-ice-cube between them the entire time.

He makes a face as he tastes something slightly sweet-sour from the melted condensation. “Lemon water?”

“Isn’t it supposedly good for fever?” Dazai immediately stuffs one more ice cube into his mouth, before kissing him thoroughly again.

“You even had the audacity to play around in my kitchen,” he grumbles after a few minutes of kisses that numb his tongue from the cold temperature.

“You need to get well soon.” Imperious and haughty. “And then I’ll punish you a lot for missing our appointment.”

He squirms when Dazai places an ice cube between his teeth, before kissing down his body. The bandaged parts grow damp with condensation, while the bared skin is drizzled with that frozen coldness. It’s hard not to thrum in anticipation, the further down Dazai goes.

When the fishy bastard is swirling the ice cube on top of his bellybutton, he gasps out, “You’re mad that I focused more on saving the nation from a potential monster invasion, instead of meeting up with you?”

“Do you think I care about the state of this kingdom?” A humorless laugh. “I’m appalled at your stupidity, that’s all.”

Dazai nuzzles against his half-hard cock, before sucking him hard at the tip. The coldness of the other’s mouth makes him shiver. It probably is a bit painful, it definitely is ill-advised. But he can’t help but thrust hard into the other’s face anyway.

Such a cold beauty is fiercely sucking him off, but said beauty is glaring at him like he wishes to tear him apart in a monstrous attack.

Coupled with the other’s words from before, he thinks he knows what has caused the other’s anger this time. It’s just that—it’s a bit hard to believe.

“It would have taken faster if everyone attacked at the same time,” he acknowledges. His breath catches when Dazai bites through another ice cube, before immediately kissing him all over his inner thighs, licking broad swipes from his hole, all the way to the base of his cock, before swallowing him back down. “But there’s less casualties if it’s just me.”

“You’re just a chibi, but you’re so arrogant,” Dazai spits out, before literally spitting at his cock. He picks up two ice cubes, and then rubs them all over his nipples with a punishing savageness. The constant stimulation makes him come quick quickly, and Dazai swallows everything. He even forcibly squeezes out a few more drops from him, holding down his hips when he thrashes a bit from the pleasure bordering on pain.

When his vision returns, he sees Dazai still glaring at him so hotly. He reaches out and rubs the other’s swollen lips. “You’re just my business partner, but you’re so concerned about me.” He lets his hand fall down to squeeze the other’s neck. “What’s your plan, shitty Dazai?”

It isn’t that he deliberately got himself hurt. It’s more like, the moment one of the monsters managed to graze him, he’s decided that it could be something useful.

Being bedridden means that he’s painted himself as an irresistible bait. If there are really people who’d want to see him dead—if the rumors about him wanting to push down his fellow aristocrats have actually been deliberately spread by someone—then they wouldn’t miss this chance.

He’s hidden himself away, deliberately left himself alone.

And yet, instead of assassins or enemies, it’s Dazai who came for him.

Altruism is impossible for the other man. Affectionate feelings are also impossible. So, is he really someone who’s been planted to get close to him and then assassinate him from close range? If so, then shouldn’t he be less irritating so he’d be less on-guard with him?

“You always try to kill people after they’ve given you such a wonderful service?” Dazai wags a finger at him, as if he’s some undisciplined dog. “No wonder you’re single and short, Chuuya, if you’re like this.”

“My height has nothing to do with this!” He clicks his tongue and gives one last squeeze over that throat, before letting him go. “Plus, I’m single because I haven’t met anyone interesting yet!”

“…Liar.” As soft as flower petals soaked in poison. “You look at me like I’m the most beautiful, most interesting person you’ve ever met.”

He shifts so that he’s sitting up, looking down in dismay at his ruined bandages. Thankfully, he heals quite fast, so he could forego the bandages soon. “…You’ve forgotten to add ‘most annoying’, asshole.”

“Is that so,” Dazai hums, unimpressed. Before he could respond to it, the shitty fish shoves one last ice cube to his mouth, making him choke on the sudden intrusion.

-

9. somnophilia;

-

Most of his wounds have already closed. Injuries that would take most people at least two months to recover from, takes him less than two weeks to heal. In fact, he heals even faster during this time. In his opinion, his body must have sensed that he’s in grave danger, so he needs to be back in top shape as soon as possible.

Dangers include losing his mind, fraying his patience, assaulting his tastebuds. Dazai stays with him the entire time that he’s recuperating, and the other’s idea of ‘proper bedrest’ would make any sane doctor faint. Not to mention, Dazai is also a staunch proponent of drinking semen as proper hydration, and eating cock as ample nourishment.

It really is imperative that he recovers quickly, or else he’d never be able to get well at all.

Questionable food and drink choices aside, one of the things that he gets a lot of is sleep.

Before finding Dazai, he’s been a complete virgin. Naturally, it means that sleeping together with someone has never been in his list of life experiences. The closest he’s gotten to having a bed companion is during his younger years, when he’s surrounded his bed with plush toys.

Living with Dazai over the past few days means that he’s also had to contend with sharing his mattress with another presence, for a prolonged period of time.

As such, waking up to Dazai languidly thrusting between his already-sticky thighs, sleepily mouthing across the back of his neck—it’s become a common occurrence.

“I didn’t think that you’d be the sort to want to cuddle,” he complains, but he clamps his thighs together anyway when Dazai’s breathing speeds up, a telltale sign of him about to come. His skin feels a bit chafed, but it seems that Dazai has also gone ahead and wiped lotion all over his thighs beforehand. Lotion, as well as evidence of his previous release. With how gooey his skin feels, it seems that the other came at least three times already.

“It’s not my fault you have no source of entertainment here, Chuuya.” Meaning, he has to resort to fucking to entertain himself.

He rolls his eyes when he feels the other’s come making his legs stickier than ever. “I’ve been trying to kick you out for days.”

“Who else would be taking care of the assassins that come sneaking in here?” Dazai just spilled all over him, but he somehow still is half-hard. It probably is a talent for male courtesans. “It would be such a shame if my current source of income becomes reduced to skewered slug, ne?”

It’s probably because he’s still so sleepy. For a brief moment, he has this dazzling idea of changing his official will, in order to designate this bastard as his beneficiary, should something happen to him. The thought of his hat collection—that the other’s expressed his distaste for—being bequeathed to the fishy bastard… ah, it’s both hilarious and tragic.

More importantly—

He wriggles so that he’s more comfortably snuggled against his pillows, even if one of them is too-big on him. “Where have you been disposing their bodies?”

In a way, the thought of the other man being able to take care of his enemies isn’t so surprising. Dazai does exude a dangerous aura, and there’s all those rumors too. He probably isn’t strong or nimble enough to defeat Chuuya directly, but for others…

Dazai’s breath hitches for a moment, before he tangles their legs together and restarts his sleepy thrusting between his thighs. Like he’s so lazy even with fucking, that he’s just doing it for the sake of soothing the ache in his groin.

“Of course, I left their bodies in the basement.”

“…I don’t have a basement,” he quickly retorts. He doesn’t have a basement, because his basement has already been transformed to cellar for his wine collection.

“No? You even have some cedar barrels, so I thought it’d be nice to hide the bodies there?”

Whatever sleepiness he has, it’s immediately wiped away by that statement. He whirls around and starts strangling the other’s neck. “Bastard!!!!!!!! I’ve been fermenting wine there!!!!!!!”

-

10. collaring;

-

Two weeks after the successful end of the military campaign, and Chuuya’s manor is forced to receive guests. Representatives from the Council are at his doorstep, and it’s impossible to turn them away. They’re here to ostensibly congratulate him on his contributions to their camp’s victory, but even a child would know that they have ulterior motives.

Still, part of being an adult—part of someone who wields power, really—is to have responsibilities. As such, it’s his responsibility to receive them politely and not ignore them at his doorstep.

He’s already able to forego bandages, and the rest of his injuries have been reduced to pinkened scarring. Nothing that would leave a deep mark over his skin, nothing that couldn’t be covered up by his usual style of dress.

His unwelcome trespasser of a housemate has made himself scarce, the moment that the other set of guests have arrived. He’s not particularly concerned about the other’s whereabouts.

…Well, that’s a lie. He’s very concerned if the other has returned to wreak havoc on his wine cellar once again, but aside from that, he really couldn’t care much about wherever Dazai has snuck into.

He probably should have cared more.

In the middle of pleasantries with the Council’s representatives, someone pushes open the door to the reception parlor. Chuuya nearly chokes on his tea upon seeing Dazai come in.

He’s in his usual set of bandages, the white snakes wrapping him up from neck to toe. He has a crimson kimono this time, the color forming a high contrast with his pale skin. There’s a big ruby earring hanging from his left earlobe, in the shape of a flower petal. It’s mirrored by a red teardrop mole drawn underneath his right eye. His hair is tucked in behind his left ear, as if to show off the expensive jewelry even more.

But that’s not the most eye-catching part.

There’s a pair of crimson anklets over his ankles, designed into something that looks like a fancy manacle. There’s also a red collar hanging over his neck, but it’s not enough to cover the bruises that Chuuya has left there with his teeth from their morning affair.

On top of parading these things that seem to scream ownership, Dazai has the audacity to limp towards him, a grand performance from the doorway all the way to his seat. He walks with such hitches in his steps, like he’s suffering aplenty, just to be able to reach Chuuya.

Dazai stretches his hands towards him, as if to seek his presence, ruby bracelets hanging over his bony wrists. When he finally reaches the arm of his chair, he stretches his neck towards him, as if to dangle the red silk rope attached to the collar, like he’s dangling a leash for his master to pull.

“What the fuck are you playing at,” Chuuya hisses at this asshole who’s just participated in a one-bastard theatrical performance. His voice is low enough that nobody else should have heard them.

Dazai raises an eyebrow at him, then drapes himself all over his seated form, like a fainting princess. A very pretty princess with pale skin, but reeks so much of bastardly fishiness.

“Darling,” Dazai calls out to him with such softness, that it makes his skin crawl. A stage whisper, because everyone else in the room is obviously now paying so much attention to them. “Please don’t tell me that you’re going out on another military campaign. My heart is going to break at the thought of you hurt again.”

This person, who’s had the audacity to rip his wound open the other day? Chuuya gives him a withering glare. Still, he plays along and wraps an arm around his waist, sitting him more comfortably over his lap. “They’re here to congratulate me on my achievements.” And also check if he’s succumbed to assassins.

“You’re so strong… stronger than three battalions combined,” Dazai continues, tearfully sniffing as he fake-sobs towards his chest. “Of course, you’re too valuable. The kingdom’s safety rests on your shoulders.”

And then, just for his ears, an echoed, “Tiny shoulders.”

“So valuable they’ll probably agree to execute you, no questions asked, as long as I say so,” Chuuya whispers back, just for this shithead’s ears.

Louder, to his guests, “He’s just being dramatic, please don’t mind him.”

“Without you guarding the border, who knows what would happen,” Dazai fake-sobs some more, rubbing his face against his neck.

He holds onto the leash and uses it to ‘soothe’ the other’s crocodile tears. One eye kept on his guests who are squirming in their seats. Are they uncomfortable because of this display of affection between an aristocrat and a commoner? Or is it because of the reminder that he really is stronger than three battalions combined, and therefore is invaluable to the continued peace?

Dazai’s intrusion means that they’re not willing to stay longer. In no time, the guests leave his manor, leaving him alone with the bastard who starts yawning and retching as soon as others are gone.

“Ah, it really is too disgusting, pretending to be Chuuya’s pet.”

“You’re the one who did that on your own,” he points out. How helpful that act would ultimately be… well, it would take some time to see the fruits of it.

“Oh? Didn’t you look so unwilling to receive them, but too much of a polite idiot to tell them to fuck off?” A heavy sneer. “Plus, they need a reminder of how much of a brutish chibi you are. After all, in case the monsters break through the border, the first territories that would suffer the brunt of it are their lands, yes?”

He loosens his tie as he sits down more comfortably beside Dazai, ignoring the other’s outstretched legs over the couch, and sits right over them. Dazai gives him a dirty look, but cooperatively lifts his legs and lays them over his lap. The leash is like a poisonous snake between them, ready to spread venom the moment someone touches it again.

Chuuya stares at it, before pulling it and winding it over his fingers. Red silk over black gloves. “Even if I don’t have plans on becoming a king,” he says slowly, “it’s not like I have plans on just letting people suffer. Not when I have the power to help them.”

“And that’s why you’re an idiot,” Dazai says with a disdainful snort. “They want to kill you for the sake of their own greed, and yet you still want to protect them.”

He transfers his gaze from the leash on his hands, letting it travel up to where it meets Dazai’s neck. “It’s not like they can actually kill me.”

“Arrogant shortstack, there’s no such thing as an invincible force in this world.” There’s a trace of unwillingness on the other’s lips.

It’s so strange—most people that Chuuya’s dealt with, they either believe his words and pin their hopes on him, or they fervently hope that his words are false, so they can defeat him. With Dazai, he seems to simultaneously believe his words and hope for his failure, at the same time.

“I’ll show you,” he promises, as he follows his line of sight with his hands, with his entire body, until he’s pressing down Dazai against the couch. “I’ll defeat all of my enemies.”

Dark eyes stare at him. For a moment, Chuuya almost-expects Dazai to say, “I’m one of your enemies, the mastermind behind it all.” For a moment, Chuuya thinks that he’d be able to easily forgive him, even if that’s the case.

—It’s not a betrayal if he already expects bad things from the other person, after all.

Instead, Dazai sighs and says, “Since I had to pretend to be your pet, you’ll have to make it up to me.”

“If I’m paying for your clothes, I should have a say in it,” he points out. “Would it kill you to actually wear something that doesn’t act as a makeshift mop?”

Dazai mutters something like, “a shorty is expected to have bad aesthetic sense”, before speaking up with a, “It would be no problem if the floors are clean anyway, no?”

“I heard the first part, oi.”

“I meant for you to hear it,” all snippy. “I had to wear this leash, so it’s only right that I get to brand you next time.”

“That doesn’t sound like a proper equivalent exchange at all.” But, it would be a lie to say that he isn’t intrigued to see what the other has in store for him.

“Whoever said anything about equivalent exchange?” Dazai leans in and bites his chin. “You’re such an idiot shorty, but you’re sleeping with someone like me. That already is unfair in itself.”

He rolls his eyes and returns the bite, on the other’s cheek. “Yeah. I have to deal with someone irritating like you, things really aren’t fair.”

They both sneer, but they roll into each other anyway, fumbling together as they squeeze into that couch without falling off.

Somehow, Chuuya feels like his heart is being squeezed too.

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

11. human table;

-

As if getting seen by others last time is some sort of switch, Dazai recently appears out of nowhere and starts clinging to him in public.

…Oh, that’s not very accurate. He’s unfortunately aware of where Dazai comes from, nowadays. As if he’s a piece of stubborn mold that has decided to stick to one spot, unable to be cleaned off, the fishy courtesan has started treating his manor as his own private hotel.

There’s a marked change from the aloofness in which the other treated him before, when he used to only allow him to stay at his quarters at the Fallen Camellia under a certain timeframe. This kind of rapid evolution is probably only rivalled by the way the world changed all those years ago, leading to the situation now where people have to constantly fight off monsters.

In any case, it means that he’s not very surprised anymore when Dazai suddenly approaches him while he’s walking away from the headquarters of the Council of Thirteen.

The innermost part of the capital is an intricate network of important buildings, occupied by aristocrats and bureaucrats alike. Surrounding such a high concentration of power and wealth are a lot of expensive shops that cater to such high-ranking customers.

“…You’re here to mooch off food from me again,” he says with a sigh.

Dazai’s in a thin white kimono with golden detailing of cranes with outstretched wings. He wears the usual layer of his bandages, but it’s still not thick enough to ward off the cold from the wintry season. “Are you saying that you want me to starve?”

They walk together with easy steps, knowing that there are eyes and ears everywhere, especially in such an important place. The paths are reinforced cement, made a bit slippery from residual melted snow. There are plenty of government officials rushing to grab their own lunches, but they occupy the other side of the road, the one implicitly reserved for commoners.

There’s no actual signage and no actual spoken rules for it, but those who’ve worked here for at least a week are already aware of the important personages. Nobody wishes to inadvertently offend an aristocrat, so they’d rather avoid close contact with them.

…Perhaps only Dazai is thick-skinned to be such an obvious commoner—for he lacks a certain badge or medal pinned on his clothes, to mark his rank—and hang off an aristocrat’s shoulders while in broad daylight, outside of a residence or the red-light district.

There’s already plenty of news about the Nakahara Family’s heir being so enamored with a courtesan that he foregoes etiquette and common sense in order to keep him happy.

“I’m saying that I pay you so much, so why the hell do you never have money?” Even so, he shifts so that he could transfer the flame dragonhide gloves from his hands to Dazai’s, as well as his scarf made of boneswarm butterfly’s ivory fur.

These are clothes made from the monsters that he has obliterated. In a way, these are clothes that symbolize one’s power.

In his eyes, they only look like insufficient warmers for the brittle-boned man in front of him.

“I have you, so why should I use money?” Dazai parries back, smiling thinly at him. “Now, stop looking at me like you want to undress me right here, Chuuya. I might be tempted to indulge you.”

He rolls his eyes, and starts to drag the fishy man by the elbow. “It’s going to snow again in a few minutes.”

“That’s your only protest against me stripping in public?”

“It’s not like common sense has ever managed to dissuade you.”

Mildly, “Ah, that’s true.”

They eat lunch in a floating restaurant’s private room that overlooks the capital. From their table, they could see the spires from the Nakahara Family’s main manor, a formidable fortress on the southern border.

Amidst the dull gray clouds and the white of falling snowflakes, there’s a lot of people at work in decorating the entire nation in colorful banners.

“They’re quite excited for this year’s Winter Harvest,” Dazai observes coolly, before making sure to rub his cheek against Chuuya’s shoulder and fake-coquettishly asking to be handfed.

It’s part of the usual nonsense, so Chuuya nonchalantly chokes him on several carrot sticks and mushroom skewers. “Because a certain someone made such a convincing show last time,” he says pointedly, “members of the Council have practically begged me to not participate this year.”

The Winter Harvest is an annual celebration of humanity’s triumph over the monsters. Of course, nobody points out that they actually haven’t achieved complete victory, that they’ve merely learned how to fortify their walls and minimize losses.

The main attraction is the formal ball at the end of it, but before that, there must be the ‘competition’ to harvest the most impressive monster. Aristocrat families use this as a chance to boast their talents, while military commanders find this an opportunity for promotion. It’s an event that’s open to everyone, even commoners. The one who presents the biggest harvest gets rewarded quite handsomely.

“Isn’t it just fine?” Dazai shrugs as if it’s merely a minor inconvenience. “That way, you can focus on pampering me the entire time.”

Because of Dazai’s theatrical reminder to the Council’s representatives about how Chuuya is such a valuable existence, being the uncrowned strongest man in the kingdom—they now wish to stop him from attaining more renown. The winner of the past eight Winter Harvests has always been him, after all.

He gives him a look. “Your ulterior motives are too terrible.”

“Then, I’ll tell you today’s motive for finding you for lunch.” A raised eyebrow, poised at a certain angle that makes the chandelier lights hit his skin at a certain way. Dazai has apparently used new make-up today, making it seem like there’s fine dustings of gold all over his face. “I want to eat you on this table, Chuuya.”

The other’s burst of hunger isn’t new. He matches the quirk of the other’s brow. “That’s why you insisted on this restaurant?”

“And on this particular private room,” is the admission.

The fact that Dazai knows that this restaurant has tables that are at a certain height that would make it easy to lay down on top of it comfortably… is also not surprising. That the other wants to do this while in front of a window overlooking a good portion of the kingdom, including the Nakahara Family manor… also isn’t surprising.

“You really like wasting time thinking of annoying things,” he complains, even as he lies down on the table. It’s wide and long enough that there’s plenty of room to set aside their empty dishes.

“It’s time for dessert,” Dazai cheerfully says, as he makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping the layers of his clothes. Caramel sauce drizzles over his abs, and a nimble tongue laps it all up before it could stain completely slide off his skin and drip into the tabletop.

He watches Dazai settle comfortably between his legs. “You like all these sweets and never seem to gain any weight.”

“If you want to fatten me up, you should feed me more meat.” Dazai has ordered a platter of small snacks earlier, and they’re now all being eaten off his muscles. “Preferably while you handfeed me, so I don’t have to lift my finger.”

Right now, his fingers are very active, alternating between placing food over his skin and rubbing the swell of his cock, as if he’s preparing it for the main dessert course.

Chuuya’s lips twitch. “If you end up putting a bunch of sugary stuff on my dick, make sure you actually clean it well.”

Dazai pauses, before dipping his fingers into some cream, and smearing it all over his cock. “Fufufu, your way of asking me to suck you off nicely could use some work.”

“No, I’m literally asking you to clean it well so I don’t get a nasty infection, bastard.”

A deep sigh. “This is why you should leave the dirty talk to me, Chuuya. You really have no sense of romance whatsoever.” As if to vent his grievances, Dazai works on intensely working his mouth all over his dick, cheeks hollowed as he licks him all over.

“You have an even worse sense of romance,” he points out, but that’s the last coherent sentence that comes out of his mouth for a long, long while.

There’s an entire swathe of territory in front of him, but his attention is purely focused on shitty Dazai grinning at him like he’s just finished off a fine meal.

-

12. dressing room sex;

-

“I really should stop indulging you in this kind of shit,” is his rueful assessment of his current situation. Even so, he still squirms against the wall as Dazai crowds him there, the two of them a mess of rumpled clothes half-hanging off their bodies.

The employees that work for the shops around the capital are all well-trained to turn a blind eye towards certain quirks of their wealthy customers. Even so, the clerk that’s been assisting them during today’s shopping trip took a very long pause when Dazai demanded a lot of dresses to be sent to their designated dressing room for both of them to try out.

“Come to think of it,” he mumbles as Dazai alternates between thrusting between his thighs, and sliding their cocks against each other. “The way that he looked at you earlier… Was he a prospective customer?”

The clerk’s judgmental look might be less about a commoner causing indignities upon an aristocrat by having him dress up in public, and more about because he knows who Dazai is. Dazai “I have no interest in men and would never take one as a customer” Osamu.

Judgmental or not, this shop does offer excellent products that matches its exorbitant prices. Even when rumpled and not properly worn, the black gothic dress with white ruffled trimmings looks wonderful over Dazai’s form.

“Oho? Jealous?” There’s a faint sheen of sweat on the fishy bastard’s brow, a light pink dusting over his cheeks. There’s sufficient cooling in the dressing room, but it isn’t enough to offset the heat from what they’re doing. “You’re the stupidest chibi I’ve seen, so you’re the first male customer I’ve had, don’t worry.”

He rolls his eyes, one hand covered in white lace gloves all the way to his forearm gesturing to the rest of the dressing room covered in opulence, “You mean richest, bastard.”

“Hmm, that too.” Noncommittal. “Perhaps he’s someone who’s had to line up in front of Fallen Camellia, just for a chance to glimpse at my face.”

Any other person who says such a line, Chuuya would call bullshit. However, it is the truth in this case. Dazai is too famous, his aloof aura somehow attracting even more people, even those who’d swear all their lives that they’re only interested in women.

Now that Dazai is ‘off the market’, so to speak, there have been reports of the red light district being so crowded, because there are long queues of admirers who are so thirsty for even just a chance to see him.

Chuuya raises that gloved hand so he can rub the sweat off Dazai’s face. A bit bewildered, “How is everyone going crazy for this kind of shitty face?”

“Why don’t you ask little Chuuya here?” Dazai smiles nastily at him, thumb pressing down hard over the slit at the head of his cock. A slight twinge of pain, an infinite surge of pleasure. “This one’s rather spirited at the sight of my face, after all.”

He rolls his eyes again as he returns the favor, slicking up his gloves with their combined precome, and then raising one leg so he can wrap it around the other’s hips. Pushing them even closer together, until the dresses they’re wearing is an explosion of fabrics. Black and white mirrors of each other.

“So says the one who grew hard the moment you saw me changing into this dress,” he says as he bounces off one leg and then shimmies upward, so he can distribute his weight by hanging off the other’s shoulders and half-leaning against the wall.

As expected of someone so skinny and so lacking in any exercise that isn’t sexual, Dazai still staggers forward from their combined weight. It smushes their bodies even tighter together, and that’s how Chuuya comes, his cock trapped between them. By the time he regains his senses, he sees splotches of white over the other’s black dress, adding a terrible design feature to a tailor-made outfit.

The head of Dazai’s cock is a deep red, a searing warmth even through the layers of fabrics between them. The afterglow makes him feel rather lazy, but he still tries to wrap his white skirt over the other’s dick to give him a more comfortable friction to thrust against. The dress is made of smooth and silky materials, quite absorbent.

But the fishy bastard shakes his head, rubs their foreheads together. Shifts them a bit so that he’s back to thrusting between his legs. “I think dirtying Chuuya’s thighs directly is nicer,” are the other’s words, just before he spills between them.

Sticky warmth paints the base of his cock, his balls, his pubic hair. It’d be annoying to clean it up later, given that they’re still in public and don’t have immediate access to a bath.

Dazai grins at him, reading his thoughts off the disdainful scrunch of his nose. “It’d be so nice to have you walk around while your legs are all dirty, yes?”

This asshole really thinks of the most annoying of things. He raises his chin in challenge. “I’m paying for these ruined clothes, so make sure you wear them as we continue shopping.”

They’re supposed to be getting clothes, shoes and various sundries to prepare for the Winter Harvest’s formal ball. Arriving emptyhanded without any offerings is a big social faux pas that would be troublesome to deal with.

In the previous years, the Nakahara Family has arranged everything for him, and the only thing he has to do is wear the attire that has been prepared for him. This year is very different, Dazai sauntering into the main manor while hanging off his arm, and spewing a bunch of nonsense about how he wants to be the one to dress him up.

Coupled with him being pressured to not attend the Winter Harvest—and therefore, forego chances of winning and bringing glory to the Nakahara Family—the elders have pretty much chased them out, not wanting to deal with them at all.

It’s… quite freeing.

“Oh, I’ve been planning on doing that since the beginning.” Dazai leans down and bites his chin. “I think this dress could use more white designs.” A teasing chuckle, as he starts grinding down on him once more. “You should contribute more to my new dress, Chuuya.”

A dress that still has splotches of his come from earlier.

He should have known, Dazai has absolutely no shame about this kind of thing.

“You just want people to look at us while we walk down the streets,” he accuses with a smile, as he cooperates by wrapping his arms over the other’s neck.

“Ever since I came here, I’ve been used to such admiring gazes.”

His lips twitch. “You mean mortified, right.”

“Fufufu, it’s alright, you don’t need to be jealous, chibikko.”

“Who would be jealous over you?!”

Even so, Chuuya starts to think about how it’d be great if everything goes well during the Winter Harvest. And if everything goes well even in the aftermath, maybe, just maybe he can consider making this to a more permanent arrangement.

Dazai is still so annoying, but he also can’t deny that it’s rather interesting, dealing with a person who’s so different from him.

-

13. (bandage) bondage;

-

Dazai walks at a measured pace, as if he doesn’t have a chibi tied-up in his bandages waiting for him in bed.

Today’s play is to let Chuuya enjoy a lubed-up dildo lodged deep into him, without being able to move. It’s something that has been manufactured with his size in mind. They’ve done all sorts of things together, over the months that have spanned from summer to winter. Yet, he hasn’t had the pleasure of fucking his ass directly using his cock.

That would soon change, but the important thing is that he gets Chuuya used to his size. He can make no promises that he’d be gentle, once they start, and he’s not about to get beaten up due to making the experience not pleasurable in the least.

Slowly letting the other adapt to the size is necessary if they want to do it more than once.

…Of course, there’s also an ulterior motive to keeping Chuuya tied-up and not physically with him tonight. Not that it’s impossible for Chuuya to break free from the flimsy bandages, but it’s the challenge between them that counts. Unless the country burns around them, Chuuya would be stubborn enough to not move and end up showing his surrender.

“You’ve changed, Dazai-kun.”

One of his main reasons for climbing up the ranks and becoming the most favored courtesan is so he can enjoy having his private quarters. It doesn’t matter if it’s a simple one-story piece. It only needs to be close to the ground, and then it can be linked to underground tunnels weaving in and one of this nation.

Of course, if Chuuya is here, he’d claim that his other reason is that being the number one courtesan means that he can be lazy and nobody would be able to say a word about it. He’d be right, but right now, there’s no Chuuya beside him.

Instead, there’s a rat wearing a snow-white coat that would seem quite cozy, if not for the fact that it still has dried blood at the edges. A testament as to how the fur for his coat has been harvested directly from monsters prowling outside the borders.

“I wish I could say the same about you, Fyodor-kun.” He waves a hand dismissively, yawning as the flame-like lights in the underground tunnel flicker. “It seems that demons really are so predictable, making use of an elixir of timelessness, huh?”

The rat looks the same as he did all those years ago. Like he has been frozen in an eternal winter.

Fyodor doesn’t take the bait. “You’ve deliberately made sure that Nakahara Chuuya isn’t present during this year’s Winter Harvest.” Serenely, like what they’re discussing is mere mundanities. “Have you started to develop feelings for him? Quite tragic, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says indifferently. He could see how that straightforward admission has taken the demon aback. That makes it easier to smile with a sharper edge, as he clarifies, “I’ve developed a real sadistic streak for him. Letting him be included in the fatalities of the oh-so-accidental monster attack during the festivities is… rather boring. I’d prefer if he perishes directly under my hands.”

Fyodor’s purple eyes look at him with such intensity, it seems that he’s trying to read his real thoughts directly from his head. “Is that so, Dazai-kun? I’m glad to hear it.” A light sigh. “It’s rare to find someone like you, who’s so willing to collaborate on such grand things. It’d be a waste if we’ll have to terminate our partnership here, because you couldn’t be trusted anymore.”

“How very disgusting, Fyodor-kun,” he says cheerfully. “You’re telling me that you actually trust me?”

“That’s a lie, of course, Dazai-kun,” is the equally-cheery response. “You’re someone who didn’t even blink when your hometown got erased, how could I ever trust such a coldhearted man?”

His shoulders shake in mocking laughter. “Fufufu. And you’re someone who wishes to erase this entire world, how could I ever trust you?”

“Ah. So the same trade as before?”

“The same trade as before,” he confirms.

Without another word, the two of them turn their backs on each other, walking on two different directions. Dazai doesn’t trust the demon, but he knows that the other wouldn’t try to kill him off yet. After all, as someone who works in a high-profile courtesan house, his information network is incredibly vast.

He takes slow, even steps as he exits the underground tunnels and ends back up at the closet built in to his private quarters. It’s only when he finds himself surrounded by a familiar scent of Chuuya’s laundry detergent on his clothes that he realizes that he’s been clenching his teeth and his fists all the way.

Has he developed feelings for a gruff shorty who somehow has managed to be quite innocent, compared to all the blood that has stained his hands? A chibi who’d insult him with his words, but worship him with his eyes? An idiot who’d want to protect everyone he considers as ‘under his wing’, regardless of how worthy or dirty they are?

…Does it even matter?

He touches one of the winter coats inside his closet. It’s something that Chuuya has gifted him. After spending so long in Chuuya’s manor, his clothes have started to smell more and more like the shorty.

He takes that coat and wears it over his attire. He brings his hands up, like he’s blowing air into his palms, when he’s in fact sniffing the cuffs for more of that scent. A calming reminder that there’s someone waiting for him.

He walks under the moonlight, a route that he’s already memorized after threading it many times over. Even with his eyes closed, he could walk from the Fallen Camellia all the way to Chuuya’s bedroom.

Tonight, he keeps his eyes open. Moonlight shines down on the pavement wet with melted snow. If one stared hard enough at the moon, they could see faint signs of splinters over its surface, and the fact that there’s a chunk missing from its upper-left side, like someone has taken a bite off it.

According to the history books, the world changed during the solar eclipse on the last day of the year 2999. As if to punish humanity for its hubris, on that wintry day, the sun lashes out with the strongest solar flare ever recorded. It has wiped out many technologies depending on electromagnetic waves, setting back technological advancement by several hundred years in one go.

Not only did it suddenly stop the flourishment of humanity, it has also caused several monsters to spawn on earth. As if it’s a test for humanity, these monsters couldn’t be harmed by bullets or lasers, and could only be felled by weapons directly held by human hands.

There’s a saying that the gods aren’t completely merciless and have sent a savior alongside all these monsters, but throughout the years, no such savior has appeared. It has been humanity’s efforts that have rebuilt nations, all while chasing off these monsters from their borders.

…Not that any of that has anything to do with him.

It’s just that, while he’s still on this world, he wants to find a certain monster. The one that destroyed his hometown, all those years ago. And he wants to ask him, “Why did you spare me?”

…Well, aside from wanting to die in a cheerful, painless death, that’s been his original desire. He’s cooperated with shady rats who have more information on monsters outside the border, not caring if it means losses for the kingdom that he’s in.

Now, he just wants—

Chuuya hisses out, “Bastard, stop dillydallying and come here already!”

Ah, he’s reached home. Chuuya’s home. Chuuya’s bedroom. Curtains are all drawn shut because he’s loathe to let others peek in on whatever’s happening in this bed, never mind the fact that they’re high enough that only the moon could bear witness.

The amber lights inside the room do their job of illuminating Chuuya’s body, highlighting the way it turns pink from excitement, and the crisscross of bandages over such a fair expanse of skin. He has barely moved from his position in the middle of the bed, where Dazai has left him.

“What a good dog you are,” he says, knowing just how much it would anger Chuuya to be compared to one.

As expected, Chuuya ignores his bandage-bound legs and kicks out a feather pillow with enough force that it actually hurts when it hits him in the chest. A monstrous kind of strength. Given how Chuuya’s all flushed right now, eyes wide upon seeing him dressed in this particular coat… that kind of worship and desire in those blue eyes is even more powerful and painful against his ribs.

“You left me here just so you could fetch that coat? Are you crazy?”

He licks his lips as he considers asking Chuuya, “Would you still willingly sleep with me, knowing that I’m probably the biggest enemy of this entire country you hold so dear, maybe even the entirety of humanity?”

Before he could say anything, Chuuya beckons at him using his toes, even as he lets out a rapid-fire tirade, “It’s winter, you idiot, and you went out without wearing a proper winter coat! I thought you were just going to laze around the manor, damn it! If you end up getting a cold, I’m dumping you back at the Fallen Camellia, I don’t want you to infect me, oi!”

This kind of genuine worry, this kind of earnest want to take care of him—

“I’m a bad guy, Chuuya,” he says, even when he slinks towards the bed, and rubs his head against the loop of bandages over the other’s wrists.

A huffy, “Yeah, you’re the absolute worst for sticking this goddamn dildo in me and then leaving me for an entire hour.”

He closes his eyes, as he keeps his head bowed down over the other’s hands. They’re warm and comfortable against his forehead, even if he’s personally seen this chibi rip off a monster’s head barehanded. He longs for both the gentleness and the violence that the other is capable of.

The feelings that he’s developed is more akin to wanting to possess every possible thing that Chuuya is capable of. Kindness, hatred, desire and everything else.

Very simply, Chuuya breaks free from his binds. Fingers card through his hair, as if soothing a wild animal. Even though between the two of them, it’s Chuuya who’s more like the animal. His fierce, tiny dog. His fluffy, tiny sheep. His sticky, tiny slug.

“If you really want to make it up to me,” Chuuya says softly, “then you better make me feel really good.” A pause. “And make sure you properly help me wash this time, I don’t want to deal with dried come on my hair again, damn it!”

He raises his head and meets the other’s eyes.

A clear blue, as if everything that happens in this world is so very clear in his gaze.

Like all of his lies and all of his feelings have been bared from the very beginning. “Since you want me that much, it’d be super embarrassing for you if I turn you down, huh?”

Fists shake at him. “You have the gall to turn me down? I’m kicking you off the window, bastard!”

Perhaps, if he ever sees that monster again, instead of asking a question, he’d just tell him one thing—

“Because you spared my life, I ended up meeting this annoying shorty who always indulges me and takes care of me, even as he threatens to beat me up, even as he refuses to have the excellent taste of falling into madness over my beauty.”

…Well, a monster might not take too well to being thanked or blamed by a human. But that’s the least of Dazai’s concerns. After all, he’s pretty sure that if he ever sees that monster again in the future, that monster can’t do anything to him, because he’d have Chuuya by his side.

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

14. massage;

-

The temperature outside continuously drops as the height of winter approaches. More decorations appear all over the streets, a certain fervor building up towards the much-awaited Winter Harvest. There are more and more skirmishes near the border, the monsters prowling the kingdom’s perimeter also seemingly sensing an opportunity to cause chaos.

It’s so cold and busy, that his cool expression is seemingly frozen into his face.

In a way, he’s thankful that Dazai is in his life right now. At the very least, even when he’s always called out to deal with the monsters on the border, he can always use the courtesan as an excuse to avoid the post-fight celebrations.

“I need to get back home to my Dazai” is a statement that he has repeatedly wielded as a shield against everyone’s invitations. Under the guise of celebrating his success and praising his fighting prowess, there’s a lot of people probing him if he really isn’t going to participate in the Winter Harvest.

Not everyone can be shrugged off with his excuses. One such person, Hasegawa Group’s heir, corners him today and asks if he really isn’t going to use this chance to stake his claim upon the title of being the strongest person there is.

“I have no interest in such a thing,” he says as sincerely as he can, but he has a feeling that it didn’t get through to her or to the many eavesdroppers.

His head aches as he trudges back to his home. Despite all the layers that he’s wearing, winter still bites into his skin. “I’m home,” he calls out almost absentmindedly, polite courtesy drilled into his bones, even though he’s living with such a rude fucker.

Several moments later, Dazai finally appears, tip of the nose red, along with the edges of his eyes. Chuuya elbows him away, but the earlier border skirmish, plus his headache at dealing with busybodies have robbed him of his usual strength.

Meaning, he doesn’t manage to avoid the fishy bastard. Dazai’s face is that of triumph, before deliberately sneezing on him.

“…You’re fucking disgusting,” he says, unimpressed. He rubs the other’s flanks and lower back as they exchange a kiss by the doorway. “What the hell have you been doing, why are you freezing?”

“They all want to chase me out of your home, so they’ve cut off the heating while I was here,” Dazai sobs, looking so fake that it makes his teeth ache. “They’re bullying me, Chuuya!”

“You would absolutely deserve it for being a menace.” Indifferent tone in order to hide the slight twinge in his chest as he watches tears well up in those eyes. They both know it’s just acting, but it still makes his breath stutter. “Plus, they’re all scared of how evil you obviously are, nobody would dare provoke you even when I’m not around.”

Dazai pouts, annoyed at how his theatrical stage has been dismantled before he could do a full performance of a damsel in distress. “Well, I missed you so much that I pined for you while staying out in the balcony, looking out into the distance so I can see you the moment you arrive.”

He rolls his eyes as the two of them start making their way towards the bedroom. “The balcony is facing the wrong direction, asshole.”

“Oh, so that’s why I couldn’t see you… I thought it was just because you’re too small.”

He clicks his tongue, as he elbows him again. “My head hurts so if you disturb my rest, I might just end up strangling you for real.”

Dazai hums, undeterred by this violent threat. “You’ve already eaten?”

“Right after the mission, yeah.” Right after kicking off his shoes, he collapses face-first on the bed. It smells strongly of the body wash that Dazai is so fond of.

…Too strongly, to the point that it reeks of fakeness. Combined with the coldness of the other’s limbs, plus the scent of snow, the likelihood of Dazai having gone out while he was away… is very high.

He doesn’t call the other out on it.

He knows that he isn’t taking any other customers at the Fallen Camellia. He knows that aside from two other male courtesans that have retired and have instead opened up a curry restaurant at a neighboring country, Dazai doesn’t have anyone he’s in companiable terms with. He’s not so clingy that he wants to be beside the other at all hours, that he wants to know the exact details of his whereabouts.

If it’s something that he must know, Dazai will tell him.

…Eh, probably.

If it’s something important that the other keeps a secret from him, he can always just beat him up afterwards.

That thought makes his body relax and he sinks further against the mattress. He’s about to fall into a doze, but he feels Dazai climbing up after him.

“I’ve dressed up so nicely today, and you didn’t even compliment me,” Dazai complains with a soft, indulgent tone. Icy fingers dance over his nape, to the back of his earlobes, to the back of his head. “You must be really tired, huh, chibi?”

The slow circles against his scalp makes him sigh. “I never compliment you, what the hell are you talking about?” He feels himself getting shifted slightly, so that his head is pillowed on the other’s thighs. He’s tired enough that he doesn’t even open his eyes. “You look the same as always anyway.”

“Mm, so I always look good?”

“You always look like a fish.”

His words taper off into mumbled syllables, as Dazai continues to massage his temples, fingers dancing over the expanse of his forehead. A slow drumbeat, as if the other’s trying to slow down his heartrate to match his movements.

Two hands work in tandem to massage him, fatigue being siphoned out of him. The tendons along his neck, the dips of his collarbone, the width of his shoulders. He turns to his side, and on top of the overwhelming smell of the honey-milk body wash, there’s the scent of musk. He can’t even find it in himself to sigh in dismay, or even to tease the other man for growing hard from this.

“It’s because you’re making all these little noises,” Dazai reads his thoughts easily anyway. “Like you’re about to purr, Chuuya.”

It’s difficult to avoid moaning out, especially when Dazai’s fingers find all the knots in his muscles and melts them in firm strokes. If he isn’t confident in his ability to resist most drugs, he’d be concerned about this kind of relaxation being born out of some chemical intervention.

He can’t do much in his putty-like state. He simply breathes over the tent that has formed in front of him.

Dazai doesn’t seem to mind, anyway. He doesn’t falter when he takes himself out of his clothes, and enjoys puffs of his breathing as stimulation. Dazai shifts him so that his cheek is pressed against the length of his cock, and he stretches out a hand to squeeze him over his pants.

He’s too tired to manage sustaining an erection. The other’s touch washes over him like a wave of warm water in a bath, soothing aches that he didn’t even know existed. He kisses the vein on the underside of the other’s throbbing cock, but that’s the last thing he remembers, as he fades into a deep sleep.

-

15. blowjobs under the table;

-

“If I let you go to work alone, who knows how stressed you’d become?”

Such words could probably be misconstrued as something born out of concern. It’s just that, Dazai says this with a shit-eating grin on his face, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a hunger in the movement of his hands as he deftly unzips him.

“I have a meeting in three minutes,” he hisses out, but it does the opposite of dissuading the other man. In fact, upon hearing this, Dazai even lets out a delighted squeal, and clings harder around his leg.

The rise of monster attacks on the border so near a grand celebration has finally mobilized everyone to take action.

There’s a lot of patrols, to the point that soldiers are as common a sight as the Winter Harvest decorations. There’s an unprecedented shortage in materials used as flares, the watchtowers running out of fuel as the entire nation also consumes a lot for its heating during winter. There’s a lot of shortage of other materials too, as merchants are a lot more wary of venturing out to procure supplies.

On top of this pile of problems, there’s also a prevalent rumor that has emerged amongst the aristocrats and the top brass.

That all this is a ploy by the Nakahara Family.

That the Nakahara Family is orchestrating everything so that everyone will be exhausted by the time Winter Harvest happens, and because of the lack of participants, Nakahara Chuuya will have no other choice but to join and eventually achieve victory.

Today’s meeting is going to happen in Chuuya’s office, because Council members would like an excuse to snoop around his area.

From under his desk, Dazai nuzzles against his dick. Thankfully, the desk is sealed on its three other sides, so nobody will see the courtesan kneeling underneath.

Dazai has braided the longer locks of his hair, light blue ribbons interspersed with small pearls woven along with his hair. Pearls shaped like teardrops are clipped over his left ear, right where the braided hair is tucked in. The same shade of light blue is dusted over his eyelids, making him look like someone who has emerged from the ocean, ready to drown anyone who looks at him.

Chuuya feels like drowning right now, especially when the door opens at the same time that Dazai opens his mouth and swallows him to the root. His left hand immediately slams down over the other’s forehead, but even the painful shove doesn’t deter the fishy bastard.

Dark eyes twinkle at him, lips even more provocative now that they’re stretched over his girth. Dazai hollows his cheeks and sucks him deeply, letting out exaggerated slurping sounds that he has to cover up by coughing out loud.

He offers an excuse of, “The weather hasn’t been kind to my immune system.”

From the corner of his vision, he sees Dazai rolling his eyes, obviously calling his excuse a bunch of nonsense. Getting sick is a real rarity for him, but people who want to hear certain things are mollified with this, obviously glad that he’s proving to be not so invincible.

He’d usually be very annoyed by this kind of meeting. It’s a clear ploy to simply poke around his office, to look into his actions. He dislikes things that aren’t straightforward. He’s also vexed by their suspicions, as if he hasn’t spent nearly his entire life with the sole purpose of protecting those under his domain.

But now, his annoyance is directed to the wet heat between his legs. It’s always a marvel to watch Dazai blow him, because of his enthusiasm in doing the act. He’s such a picky fish when it comes to food and drink, but he always treats his cock as if it provides ambrosia. For a moment, he remembers the other’s disdainful claim about not being interested in men.

Dazai swirls his tongue over the tip of his cock, caressing the slit there. Constant provocation, eyebrows lifted up as if to goad him to add more pearls all over his stupidly beautiful face now.

Distantly, he hears someone call for his attention, a pointed question lobbed at him. With his mind filled with the sight of Dazai happily drinking his precome, and the toe-curling pleasure from the other’s technique, everyone else’s words are filtered through a haze.

He vaguely parses through the accusation—of the Nakahara Family working hand-in-hand with the Hasegawa Group to monopolize certain supply routes, in order to bolster their image as the sole savior during this impending crisis.

His eyes meet Dazai’s. A gloved hand fists through the other’s hair. His other hand grabs the edge of his desk, hard enough that there’s a light creaking sound. “I can’t be bothered with doing anything else aside from rolling in the sheets with my lover,” he says out loud, and comes all over Dazai’s face.

Most of the men who have powerful positions are fond of having a mistress or two. As people who are so focused in their own wealth and affairs, it’s impossible for them to not realize just what is happening under the desk, especially since Chuuya bows forward and thunks his head against the desk. He even groans loud enough to cover the sound of Dazai moaning as come splatters over his cheeks.

He takes a deep breath as footsteps shuffle out of his office, along with chastising words uttered by people who are obviously delighted by this turn of events.

He keeps his gaze locked on the fishy bastard. He pets his hair as the come-covered face rests against his thigh, rubbing against his pants.

His voice is gravelly when he asks, “Did you come just by humping my leg?”

“Your come is as thick as your thick-headedness,” Dazai tells him cheerfully, licking his lips like he’s really enjoyed his meal. “Now, they’ll all think that you’re such a fool in love that you can’t even be bothered to have any plans in your head.”

The instinct to hide his pleasure from anyone else that’s not Dazai, which is why he immediately leaned down when he came—it feels so natural. He rubs his thumb against the other’s cheek, spreading his come against the dewy skin.

“…Yeah, that sounds about right.”

-

16. thigh riding;

-

Of course, it escalates. Dazai does his best to be a nuisance even at his workplace, sauntering into his office and into makeshift camps whenever he’s out battling.

It’s always the weirdest of reasons too.

Chuuya has just finished dragging the biggest one from this batch of monsters. A six-legged lion-mare covered in majestic silver fur. He’s carried it by its front hooves, its hide thick enough that there isn’t any bruising even it’s basically been used as a giant mop. If one didn’t look at its terrifying face, then someone could mistake it for simply slumbering.

Arms crossed, Dazai whistles at the sight. “You’ve punched it to death, you truly are a brute, Chuuya.”

He glances at the other’s deep green kimono, like mosses wetted by raindrops. There are gray linings on its hems and collar. Bandages hug the other’s form tightly, like always. There’s an emerald tiara balanced on his head, looking quite harmonious when nested against his brown hair.

“I didn’t think you’d want to leave bed today,” he says eventually, as he walks to the camp reserved for him. Usually, he’d have several younger soldiers surrounding him after a successful campaign, clamoring to ask him for tips on how to become stronger, while also heaping praises upon his shoulders.

The rumors surrounding him have penetrated through this camp. They distance themselves from him, content to observing him and Dazai from afar.

“It’s not like you tired me out last night,” Dazai pitches his voice high, acting completely like a coquettish waif who’s been left hanging and unsatisfied. Loud enough that eavesdroppers would hear, he adds, “I’ve been so worried someone else will catch your eye.”

“Monsters have caught my eye,” he says, then rolls his eyes when Dazai makes a disapproving noise upon him trying to remove his soiled gloves.

The lion-mare’s blood still drips from his covered knuckles.

As if it’s totally normal, “What if others see your bare hands? I would be very vexed.” Directly against his earlobe, “I might even punish you while you’re out here.”

“You’re the only one weird enough to lose his shit over my bare hands.” Despite these words, he indulges this fish’s strange jealousy. He waits until he’s back inside his assigned camp, before removing his gloves, washing his hands and getting a new pair.

Dazai takes the new pair and slowly puts it on him, breathing going visibly labored as each finger is embraced by the glove. “I’m bored. When are we getting back?”

He sits down on an armchair, picking up his communicator while he waits for a message that would release him from his tasks today. They’re still cataloguing his kills, something that usually takes at least two hours. He has to sign off on them before he can officially end his day. “Why did you even come out here?”

It’s just-outside the border walls. Several camps are in the area, soldiers teeming like flies. There are some brave entrepreneurs trying to buy some of the monster corpses that have been towed back.

“I’ve been trying to find some poisonous mushrooms,” is the breezy admission. “I’ve been wanting to cook something that would make you froth at the mouth.”

He doesn’t bother calling the other out on this nonsense. He’s not Dazai’s keeper, and as long as he’s in one piece and isn’t bleeding out or whatever, then he’s free to wander around while looking like some forest fairy.

“There’s no need for you to try and make an abominable food once again.” Since they’ve started living together, Dazai annoys him into spending their weekends while taste-testing his unusual culinary concoctions. A lot of times, they bubble up like piles of acid; sometimes they’re burned so black that he can’t taste anything but charcoal.

“Mm, I’ll take that to mean that you’d just rather eat me.”

“You? When you’re this skinny?” He pinches the other’s waist through his clothes.

Without needing further invitation, Dazai makes himself comfortable on his lap. Lanky legs fold over him, a pair of bony knees squeezing from both sides. “I’m really so bored.”

At the breathy quality of his words, there’s no need to guess what he wants to do next. How can someone be so lazy in everyday life, yet have so much libido and stamina when it comes to sex? It baffles him a lot.

“Just sit there,” Dazai commands, and starts humping his leg. “You’ve been too busy lately, so this is punishment.”

Such selfish words. He’s already used to this kind of sentiment from the other man. He moves to embrace his fish, but Dazai instead pins his hands on both arms of the chair.

Their faces are close enough that their noses bump. “Punishment,” Dazai breathes out, nipping at the corner of his mouth. The scent of snow and pines fill his nose, a sign that this fish has walked around outside for quite some time before meeting up with him.

His tongue darts out to lick the sore spot that Dazai has bestowed upon his lips. “You want to come all over my legs?”

It’d make for quite the sight. He still has to sign off on today’s military records, which means he has to stand up in front of fellow soldiers, with the other’s come on his pants. The supply shortages are still in full swing, so there’s only very crude implements here. He didn’t bring an extra set of clothes, so he’d have to return to his mansion while wearing soiled clothing. He knows Dazai would love for him to parade such a thing.

Snickering full of mockery, “Who knows, all that protein might help make you taller.”

He gives a pointed look at the way Dazai stutters his hips, undulating all over his left thigh. The moss-green kimono is all rucked up, revealing bandages that go up to his pale thighs. From how he could feel wetness seep into his pants, it seems that Dazai has forgone wearing an underwear.

“You’ve been walking all over town without an underwear,” he points out, mind blanking. He’s already familiar with the other’s shamelessness, but this still somehow surprises him.

More snickering. “Excited?”

“Exasperated,” he corrects stiffly. “You get cold easily and you’re walking around without proper layers during winter.” He leans forward and knocks their foreheads together, in an attempt to literally knock some sense into the other’s brain that’s full of nonsense. “If you get a cold, I’m not nursing you back to health.”

Dazai’s cock swells against his thigh. It throbs hotly against him, as if getting scolded and nagged is the kinkiest sort of dirty talk for him.

“I think,” and his words are distorted by harsh panting, as he rides his thigh, painting his clothes with streaks of slick precome, “that you’d make for an interesting nurse.”

“I’ll feed you nothing but bitter tonics until you get better,” he whispers back. “I won’t let you in my bed until you’re back to full health.”

The flush on his cheeks looks a lot like adoration. “The cutest nurse who’d never admit that he’s worried about my health.”

He wants to hold him. He wants to squeeze that face so he’d look like an unfairly beautiful duckling. He wants to wrap him in his arms and feel his breath shuddering against him.

For the first time in a long, long time, he has this feeling of wanting to do so many things for the sake of one person.

Dazai’s fingers interlock with his. Hands anchored on each other, as Dazai crashes against him in a tidal wave of pleasure. They trade open-mouthed kisses as his fish continues to ride his high, humping him until his cock softens after spilling out so much all over his pants.

“…They’re all going to think that I’m a sex maniac,” he grumbles eventually, biting Dazai’s neck to show his dissatisfaction about this smear in his character.

“That can’t be good.” Tone full of exaggerated pity. “They’re supposed to think that you’re a maniac for me, not just for having sex with me.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he says as he feels Dazai sink bonelessly over him.

“Mm, you like me anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re really full of shit.”

Outside, winter deepens. Here, something crawls deeper into his ribs, something crazy and possessive. Something like the truth.

-

17. facials;

-

As far as he could remember, he never dreams.

When he closes his eyes, he’s usually just faced with deep darkness. When he wakes up in the morning, there’s only lingering fatigue, but no afterimages of things that must have haunted his sleep.

The closest thing to dreaming that he’s experienced is happening more often recently, when he falls asleep to the sound of Dazai’s chattering. Even though his image as a courtesan is all about aloof seduction, the reminder of how futile it is to desire someone untouchable, that image crumbles to dust whenever they’re together.

Dazai is full of noises, complaining about this, chatting about that. He likes to share a bunch of trivia, at least half of it utter nonsense. Before they sleep, Dazai sometimes counts his hair strands or his lashes. Sometimes, he’d cajole him into playing some made-up games, such as trying to measure each object they can think of in measurements of 1 Chuuya or 1 Mackerel.

It’s no wonder that the other’s voice rings even into his unconsciousness.

Tonight is different though.

Tonight, he thinks that he dreams for the first time.

In his dream, there’s a young boy floating in a river. There are a lot of hydrangeas growing by the riverbank, and they all seem weep as the boy continues floating downstream. The young boy’s face and body are blurred, like they’ve been forcibly censored by some higher force.

He tries to call out and wake the young boy up, but no sound comes out of him. Or rather, no intelligible sound comes out of his throat, only fearsome growls. The hydrangeas must have been frightened away by his lack of understandable syllables. The river too, disappears in terror, leaving only the young boy lying down on the ground.

There’s the sound of pouring rain, of blitzing thunder.

“Let me save you,” he tries to say. “Let me protect you.”

Despite his words being garbled by something, it seems that the young boy understands him. There’s a dull light in his dark eyes. “All the humans in my village want to sacrifice me to stop all these calamities.” He looks very cold. “And yet, you say you want to save me? You’re funny, chibi dog monster-san.”

Something about those words rouses him so violently, making him gasp awake. He tries to open his eyes wide, only to find that they’ve been sealed shut by something slimy.

“…………………”

He lifts his hand and tries to scrub at his eyes. There’s a very strong, familiar scent in his nose. He could feel his skin getting irritated, and his eyebrows and lashes are clumped together. All thanks to the heavy layer of dried come all over his face.

A part of him finds it impressive, that Dazai managed to do all of this while he’s completely asleep. It seems that his instincts have permanently assigned ‘harmless piece of shit’ to the other, to the point that he can sleep through the other’s shenanigans. Given how they do all sorts of things on a daily basis, it’s also unfathomable how Dazai manages to have all this pent-up come in him.

The bedsheets are cold, which means that Dazai has fucked off somewhere while leaving him to handle the aftermath alone. He mentally tallies a tenfold retaliation for this. If he ends up having to shave his eyebrows because there’s too much dried semen, he’s going to shave the mackerel bald, no matter how much the other cries.

“Really worse than a dog,” he grumbles as he keeps his eyes closed, hopping out of his bed and making his way towards the bathroom so he can wash this off.

His footsteps stutter a bit, because it’s only now that he realizes there’s still a toy lodged inside him.

“…………………”

He could feel some weird squelching, which means Dazai also scooped some come inside his ass, before putting a plug on him.

It’s part of the other man’s suggested “training” for him. A massive dick also possesses a massive dick, or so Dazai claims. Chuuya has no experience with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure that the size of Dazai’s cock isn’t as world-shattering as he claims it to be. He isn’t that much longer or girthier compared to him, for starters.

But Dazai claims that stretching him out slowly to get him used to having something lodged inside his ass is for his own sake. Anything nice that comes out of that mackerel’s mouth is worthy of suspicion. He goes along with this one, because he’s seen the hungry way Dazai looks at him.

If that fucker is willingly delaying fucking him and wanting to stretch him out first… well, it’s rather fun seeing the other try to wrestle self-control.

It’d be even more fun if he actually cleans him up after marking his face and neck with come.

He fumes for a bit as he slowly rinses off his face. He’s so focused on cleaning himself up, that it takes him a moment to realize something.

Today’s the start of the Winter Harvest.

But that’s not the important part.

Now that there’s no more come gluing his eyelids, he can open his eyes and notice something off. Due to Dazai basically mooching off him and living here semi-permanently, he has agreed to installing an extra bathroom cupboard for the fishy bastard.

A great bevy of beauty products, now all gone.

He doesn’t even get to remove the toy from his ass as he runs back towards the bedroom. The vanity that has been invaded by Dazai is now empty. None of the other’s jewelries are there. The closet too, is emptied of his many clothes.

And it’s only then that he checks his own things.

His wallet has been emptied. The safe in his study is also left open and empty, his hidden stash of money, gold and gems whisked away. There’s a sheet of paper left behind, one that says, “I don’t want this arrangement anymore, Nakahara-san.”

A thief has feasted upon his belongings—including Dazai. Especially Dazai.

Chuuya exhales hard. Standing in the middle of the bedroom they’ve shared for months, he unceremoniously takes out the plug and throws it towards his bed.

It really is true.

Dazai has been preparing him all this while for the feeling of getting fucked so thoroughly, because a massive dick is a massive dick.

He clenches his fists. “Just what the hell are you planning, shitty Dazai?”

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

18. sex in the middle of a battlefield;

-

The Winter Harvest.

An annual celebration of humanity’s triumph over the monsters that have descended upon earth all those years ago. Of course, there’s no such thing as complete victory, but humans don’t let that stop themselves from celebrating this as a sign of their freedom.

For the past eight Winter Harvests, the Nakahara Family has achieved a massive boost to their fame and reputation, because the winner has always been Chuuya. He’s always presented the most impressive kill, barely even suffering from an injury as he walks into the formal ball, dressed up extravagantly as his Family desires.

Now, he slips into his sleekest stealth gear. He’s rarely needed such an outfit, for his Family wishes for him to always be the flashiest person in any battlefield. Now he’s wearing all black, form-fitting clothes so he can melt into the shadows, and make his way into the hunt at the border. 

For the past several months, he’s been working hard at establishing his image as an idiot who has started letting his brain be poisoned by sex with an infuriating person, with a cold flower that cannot be touched by anyone. He’s grown tired of everyone thinking that he’d like to lord over everyone, just because he’s strong.

He just wants to live his life, protecting those that he can, being kind to those who’ve been kind to him. He just wants to live a simple, straightforward life.

…Just because he doesn’t want to be suspected of being a power-hungry overlord, it doesn’t mean that he’s willing to just give up those that he considers as his belongings, as his people.

He doesn’t know what the hell is Dazai planning. He only knows that it’s probably nothing good. He knows that it’s definitely dangerous.

What if Dazai is working with the enemy?

As someone who’s been in the frontlines for a long time, there are things that he can’t help but notice. There’s a logic to the monsters’ attacks, even though they should be considered quite brainless. There must be someone behind their movements.

What if Dazai is that person?

He’s somehow both the most difficult person to approach, while also being the one who can visit so many places without it being suspicious. He’s had too many wealthy patrons before, and he’s definitely made his way into the beds and hearts of powerful people. His means of influence can’t be underestimated.

…But so what?

If Dazai is really that person, then there’s only one thing for Chuuya to do.

He’s going to find Dazai, punch him ten times, then drag him back with him. Or away with him, depending on the scenario. Of course, Dazai is his own person and he has his own private matters, but—he’s annoying and he’s stupid and he’s prone to doing stupid shit.

If he’s lost his senses, then he’d happily punch sense into him.

First, he must find him.

Chuuya hides a pair of daggers in his pockets. There’s also a pair of poisoned blades tucked on the sole of his steel-toed boots. His boots are laced up beyond the swell of his calves, as he usually foregoes extra leg-guards when he goes out for a military campaign. His policy has always been: “the best defense is a powerful offense”. Heavy armor is cumbersome to wear, the extra durability it gives isn’t worth the setback in mobility and agility.

He folds the sleeves of his black shirt so that it doesn’t hang awkwardly over his gloved hands. He ties up his hair into a high ponytail, which he then stuffs underneath the black fedora that he plops atop his head. He considers not bringing his sword.

To further his image of not wanting to be further involved with the kingdom’s powerplay, he shouldn’t be attending the Winter Harvest’s hunt. It means that he shouldn’t be bringing his sword with him, the crest of the Nakahara Family engraved on its handle.

But what if he needs to rescue Dazai from something?

Before he knows it, he’s already sneaking out of his manor, sheathed sword strapped to his left side.

The streets all over the kingdom are filled with rowdy celebrations. He avoids them all by keeping to the rooftops and back-alleys, leaping all over the place. From the distance, he can see the bonfire that signifies the beginning of the Hunt.

Chuuya suddenly halts. Ashen snowfall starts to drip down from the skies. He’s not sure how or why, but he just knows that Dazai is beyond the border. Instinct? Trust? Telepathic bond? He’s not sure how to explain it. But he knows that Dazai is out there.

Where would he go?

“North,” he whispers to himself, as he pursues that direction.

The Nakahara Family’s main manor is in the south. Dazai would surely want to be at the furthest distance away from him. Whether it’s because he doesn’t want to be found, or because he doesn’t want to bring Chuuya into harm—it doesn’t matter.

The only thing that matters is Chuuya finding him and bringing him back.

The only thing that matters is that Chuuya finds him and protects him—

The only thing that matters—

It’s like his body is on autopilot, controlled wholly by instinct. Like there’s a homing device that connects them, he blazes past the border.

He jumps off from the wall and lands directly atop one black-winged wyvern that’s been circling the perimeter in search for prey. It struggles and attempts to fling him off, but he cuts off its neck in one clean slice. Its wings continue to flap for a few more seconds, and he kicks its back to steer it in the proper direction, before jumping off again.

He senses something pungent saturating the air. It reminds him a bit of Dazai’s fishiness, only more… unpalatable. He opens his mouth so he can breathe without the smell irritating his nose. Unintelligible growls crawl out of his throat.

It’s as if, by leaving the human kingdom behind him, and now surrounded by monsters on all corners, he’s become like a monster itself.

His sword gleams black under the snowing sky, covered with a wyvern’s tar-like blood. Several monsters crowd him, gnashing out unfriendly sounds. He ignores them and surges forward, because he can sense Dazai nearby. Even though they’re supposedly brainless monsters, they’re terribly unamused with his disregard for them, so they wantonly attack him.

“Get out of the fucking way,” he hisses, and lets his sword swing an arc into their bellies. From the gaping wounds, a cluster of furry bellyfingers erupt and try to pull his limbs apart, so he spins on his heels and cuts them into pieces.

Using his sword to cleave open a path, he zigzags across the pile of monsters that serve as blockages. He could feel Dazai getting further away so he doubles his speed. Triple, quadruple. Anything so he could cross that gap in the shortest possible time. Blood and flesh of the decimated monsters drip into his sword like thick sludge.

It’s something that he’s noticed over the years. For most soldiers, doing multiple kills isn’t impossible, but ill-advised. Killing off one monster requires expending stamina and energy.

In his case, it’s as if each body that he strikes down imbues him with extra strength. Like he’s absorbing their life force to replenish his own. Like he becomes more powerful, the more he kills. Like he’s a being that’s meant to dance around in a battlefield for eternity.

And so what?

He raises his head and spies a familiar messy nest of brown hair from half a kilometer away. He narrows his eyes, takes a deep breath, then lunges forward, right arm outstretched as he thrusts his sword like a spear. The monsters that he isn’t able to clear this way, he punches away using his left fist.

This would surely cause a commotion. Even if everyone’s busy with their respective Hunts, it’d be impossible to ignore this kind of destruction. Stealth isn’t even in his afterthoughts, for his only thought is an all-consuming desire for a reunion. There’s a never-ending wail of monsters, as he bisects through their wall of bodies.

In a little over five minutes, he crosses over that half-kilometer, and catches up to Dazai.

That fishy bastard is wearing a white suit, tightly buttoned up all the way to his neck, instead of wearing his usual kimono. He’s unconscious and suspended inside a translucent sphere, spells crawling all around the circumference. The sphere is settled in-between the maws of a gigantic crimson dragon, large enough that it could slap its tail over the city center and collapse the kingdom’s central unit.

There’s a… creature seated in-between the dragon’s glazed eyes. A creature who’s also wearing pure white, not counting the fact that the hems of his fur coat are crusted with dried blood.

“It’s quite touching,” the creature with gleaming amethyst eyes says. “You couldn’t help but participate in the Winter Harvest, could you? It’s a grave disservice to Dazai-kun’s hard work.”

The sense of wrongness is the strongest with that creature. A demon, something inside of him spits out. A demon who dares to say Dazai’s name, like they’re close friends. The suggested intimacy, even if one-sided, makes him want to split this demon into two.

But his priority is—

He jumps up the dragon’s body, ready to slice its snout apart so he can retrieve Dazai. “Give him back,” he commands, and doesn’t wait for an answer.

Demon clicks his tongue and sighs. “Let’s not be too hasty,” he says as he taps the dragon’s head so it avoids the attack, before suddenly swallowing the sphere.

“Oi—!”

“Now, now, there’s plenty of time before the dragon’s stomach can digest Dazai-kun, so why don’t we have a chat first?”

He spells out his rejection by snarling and stabbing his sword at the back of the dragon’s head. He’s set on ignoring the Demon, but a flurry of spells come hurtling towards him. The spells rebound from his raised fist. This development startles both of them, but the surprise is more palpable on the Demon.

“Say, you’re quite the powerful soldier.”

It could almost be conversational, if not for the fact that he’s too busy trying to dissect the dragon’s head open so he can get to Dazai. Unlike all the other monsters that he’s slaughtered on his way here, this one possesses scales so thick that his sword can’t penetrate into its flesh.

He gets back to ignoring the Demon. Dazai is unconscious when he’s been swallowed by the dragon, and even though he’s gained more weight over his freeloading at his manor, that probably isn’t enough to significantly delay getting digested by the dragon’s stomach.

His sword isn’t working in prying open this dragon. How the hell should he rescue that fish?

“I didn’t think that Dazai-kun would be able to ensnare such a powerful person,” the Demon continues blathering. “Ah, but the point is, are you even considered a person?”

…Ah, so that’s it.

The freeze over a certain memory starts to thaw from the heat of his current emotions.

A long time ago, in that river lined with hydrangeas, he meets a human boy that he couldn’t save. That boy wasn’t the savior that he was supposed to kill, but he’d been someone that he wanted to protect nevertheless.

It should have been the opposite of a noteworthy encounter.

The face of that human boy starts to clear slowly in his murky memories, but he doesn’t need the haze to completely disappear. He’d recognize that part of the other’s forehead anywhere.

“It doesn’t matter what I am,” he says slowly. “The only thing that matters is that I get that stupid fish back.”

He swiftly changes targets and rams that sword into the Demon’s torso. Black blood as thick as miasma spills onto the blade, corroding it. The demon grimaces as he melts, dripping into shadow, then reforms himself several meters away.

The grimace fades quickly, replaced with awed recognition. Exceedingly gentle now, “Don’t you want to know who you really are?”

He’s the one who grimaces at this sudden display of gentleness. He’s used to hearing Dazai simper softly whenever he wants to trick him into buying something for him, but it’s an entirely different matter to have someone else do it.

He roars, “Shut the fuck up!”

As if his voice has been imbued with the frenzied rage that boils in him due to the delay of getting to that stupid fish, the blanket of snow over the trees has been forcibly shaken off. The air and sky have both been rattled, the rashness in his voice reverberating in the area. From far away, a mountain groans in fear. Even further, the ocean waves its surrender before it can be drawn into the fight.

The awed recognition on the Demon’s face etches deeper, even if black blood drips from his nose and ears. Receiving that roar without any barriers and barely a defensive spell, has injured his still-regenerating insides. The Demon opens his mouth, but he couldn’t form a sound, obligated to follow the spirit of his command.

He can’t be bothered to analyze those things. He stops using his sword. Instead, he crouches over the dragon’s head, then pummels it with his fists. “Give Dazai back to me,” he commands. Not a roar this time, but even more dangerous.

He could sense the scales softening. He hurries the process by ripping the scales open using his hands, as if he’s simply unzipping one of those gowns that Dazai likes to parade around for the sake of showing off his height.

When he finally gets to punching the translucent sphere, there’s Dazai right there, slowly opening his eyes.

“You’re so noisy, chibi, I couldn’t get sleep at all.”

His hands pound on the sphere, shattering the runes whirling around it by sheer physical force. He’s going to crack it open and punch this asshole directly. “The kind of sleep that’s eternal, that’s what you’re planning on getting?”

If he’s more willing to pay attention to anything else but the bastard who has the gall to yawn sleepily at him, he’d notice that his words over the past few minutes are not uttered using any human language.

As it stands, the moment the sphere shutters and Dazai is finally free for him to punch, he focuses on that, the feel of his fist hitting that stupid cheek. Dazai tumbles off the now-dead dragon, blown away by the force.

Of course, he isn’t going to let him escape.

Quick as lightning, he follows him, pinning him on the ground with one foot on his chest. With all of the snow that has fallen off the treetops, there’s a cushion of white over the ground. Dressed up in snow-white, it makes Dazai seem like he’s melting into the ground.

Pure white, but the only thing that’s pure in Dazai’s eyes right now is a certain emotion that cleaves his ribs open. “My plan was for you to not be involved in any of this,” is the fishy bastard’s accusing words. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

He settles the tip of his boot past the line of bandages on the other’s throat. There’s a poisoned blade tucked in it, but it probably wouldn’t work on Dazai, given how he’s always full of poisonous words.

There are so many things that he needs to ask. But, they could wait. Whether Dazai is humanity’s greatest enemy, whether he’s suspected that he’s not-quite-human, whether he plans to continue his collusion with that Demon—they could all wait.

There’s a long trail of destruction from the kingdom’s northern border leading to this place. The Demon flounced away, but the crimson dragon’s carcass remains near. An entire battlefield, and there’s only the two of them here, at least for the moment.

Right now, there’s only one question that he really needs an actual answer to.

“Do you love me, shitty Dazai?”

His question echoes in the hollows of the battlefield. There are no more gurgling wails as monsters perished by his hands, no more unwanted yapping by a demon who was way too talkative for his tastes. No more violence, aside from the way his heart rattles against the cage of his ribs, as if magnetized by the person under his heel, as if it yearns to house itself inside the other man.

Silence stretches between them. He watches the subtle kaleidoscope of emotions that cycle through the other’s face. Anyone else might claim that there’s barely any change in the other’s expression, but he could see it all. Every single twitch, every single flicker.

Eventually, Dazai sighs, helplessly fond. Echoing from before, “You really are the stupidest chibi I’ve ever seen.”

He slides the tip of his boot so that he’s choreographing slicing the other’s neck open using the hidden blade in his shoe. He only has one question that he needs the answer to at the moment, but whatever he’ll do next pretty much leads to the same thing, no matter the response. Still, he needs to know.

“No,” is the single syllable that follows after a few moments.

He doesn’t stiffen, nor does he draw his foot back so he can kick him in the jaw. He waits the other out, feeling the unfurling of words that thrum between them.

Another sigh, as if Dazai’s dismayed with himself for uttering such words. “…No. The word ‘love’ is too insufficient to encompass everything I feel for you, Chuuya.”

Dazai Osamu is not the sought-after savior of this world. With those words of his, he ends up piecing back together the loosened threads that’s holding ‘Chuuya’ together.

Chuuya steps away from being a monster and collapses to his knees, right on top of the other man. There’s no finesse to their actions as they savagely undress each other, pulling incessantly until buttons are flying and scratches are appearing over their skin.

They devour each other like it’s the end of the world.

Instead of being human or monster, they’re both transformed into creatures guided wholly by instinct and desire. Each drop of sweat, each slide of spit, each tremor of muscle—it’s something that he squeezes out of the other. Each part belongs to him, each reaction because of him.

Fucking out in the open, in the middle of a battlefield of melting snow and coagulating blood—it’s ill-advised. It’s utter madness. It’s what’s going to happen, because to try and pause this is even more unthinkable.

“It’s the same for me,” he says, just as the two of them claw off their pants together, one his hand curled possessively over that hard cock, head swollen red and veins throbbing. Sheer adrenaline, overwhelming possessiveness. The desire to claim what has almost been lost to him. “There’s no way that ‘love’ could even begin to describe it.”

Dazai’s hand pulls at the length of his hair, tangling it in his fingers. After spitting on it, his other hand helps spread slick over his cock. “It’s not enough preparation,” he says, even though he doesn’t look like he’s stopping anytime soon.

“You aren’t as big as you think,” he scoffs, but there’s really no hiding the way that he eagerly thrusts against the other man. Their hips grind against each other, chasing not only pleasure, but the certainty that they’re the only ones who can claim each other.

Dazai reaches out to at least finger him open in preparation, but he slaps that hand away. “No, really—”

“Shut up, you’ve made us wait long enough,” he commands. He wants to feel the burn, knows that he’s strong enough to withstand it. If he’d be considered monstrous, then it’d be quite fine if it’s due to matters like this.

Dazai’s hands move to cradle his face, thumbs rubbing all over his cheeks. Chuuya’s right hand is like a claw over the other’s heart, while his left hand helps line him up, as he sinks over his cock in a slow glide.

It really does burn. Dazai pushing past the ring of muscle, then squelching along as he squeezes into his insides. His entire body shivers when the tip of his cock brushes against his prostate. He has to take a deep breath, especially when Dazai grunts and rotates his hips a bit, in order to punctuate the grind over the bundle of nerves.

He lightly slaps the other’s chin in annoyance, but it’s without any real force. Especially since Dazai dips his head a bit to nuzzle against said hand, before biting off his glove, so he can lick his fingers directly.

Once Dazai has bottomed-out into him, they both let out long moans. They have to spend a few seconds collecting themselves, the proof of their tangible connection overwhelming them both. This is far from the first time that they’ve had sex, but this is certainly the first time that they’ve done so while knowing just what kind of terrible misdeeds they’re capable of—and wanting each other even more, because of that.

“I feel so much because of you that I think I’ve been driven crazy.”

He’s not sure which one of them has said it, but it rings true anyway.

Chuuya pulls the other’s face closer, so they can drown each other in frenzied kissing, all while kicking into high gear and rutting together. Feverish warmth radiates between their bodies, as their hips slam into each other, fierce enough to ensure that they’re able to carve their marks deep inside.

It’s hardly the most perfect environment for any sort of revelation, but Chuuya thinks that this moment right now, is a private paradise of their own.

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

19. shower sex;

-

One of the boons of having a lover who’s very cunning and not-a-tiny-bit paranoid is that there are preparations for a great number of things. Case in point, Chuuya only has to limp for less than a full kilometer before he could get them to a relatively secluded spot.

Without any of the fancy decorations that decks the halls of Fallen Camellia, this forest shack is bare and devoid of any personality. Obviously meant to be a back-up safehouse, it only has a layer of dust, some cobwebs on the ceiling, and inside a creaky cabinet: weeklong military rations, camping essentials, a stocked first-aid kit.

It’s more than necessary to get them through the first night. His sword has completely corroded, abandoned in the slush of snow. Anyone who’d come after the commotion would pick up the hilt amidst the corpses, and they’d know that the infamous representative from the Nakahara Family is the one behind the destruction.

They need to do many things, discuss many topics.

But the first order of business is to—

“You stink of dragon blood,” he says, wrinkling his nose as he dumps the beanpole princess that he’s carried in his arms. “Go and take a shower.”

There’s a serviceable bathroom, if a little cramped. There’s no rust in the running water, there’s a toilet that doesn’t look like there’s going to be snakes crawling out of it, and there’s a simple shower. There’s a bar of soap, and shampoo that has completely separated into water and its denser components. Before going on, they’ve found the heater, so they at least don’t have to deal with icy water.

Their clothes are in tatters, no thanks to their frenzied rutting out in the open. He can still feel Dazai’s come squelching out of him with each step, a testament to just how much they overdid it.

Dazai hooks his fingers at his beltloops, preventing him from stepping out of the bathroom and inspecting the rest of the small safehouse. “Chuuya, come help me take a bath,” is said with a coquettish voice, deliberately playing up helplessness. It’s the same fragility that he’s radiated at him, before tricking him into carrying him like a bride over the trek here.

“Is my ass that good?” Full of sarcasm. “After fucking me, you already forgot how to take a shower by yourself?”

Despite his words, he’s back to being chest-to-chest with the beanpole. Undressing now is a lot less frantic than earlier. He could spend a few moments appreciating the line of the white suit, even if he thinks that any sense of style is obliterated by the other’s bandages.

“It’s cold,” Dazai whispers softly, leaning down with his entire weight so that they’re pressed forehead-to-forehead. “I need you to help warm me up.”

It’s standard mackerel fare. He’s stalling their serious talk, so he’s trying to act cute, in hopes of distracting him long enough that whatever topic they must discuss gets solved in the sidelines. It’s so predictable, that he can’t help but fall for it anyway.

They kiss, languid and sincere.

“We’re here to get clean,” he reminds, but it’s lost in-between their lips. He snaps the soap into two, while Dazai turns the shower on. Warm water falls over them in slow trickles. Scrubbing off the scent of the blood of monsters, though their hands linger longer than necessary.

He shampoos them both, standing on tiptoes so he can thoroughly clean the other’s scalp. Dazai’s hands knead his ass with a mix of hunger and reverence, thumbs slipping into the cleft and playing with his opening. It tingles a bit, but there’s nothing that indicates torn flesh, a sign of his body’s extraordinary resilience.

“I want to,” Dazai says, cutting off his words with a moan when Chuuya hops on to his body, clinging to his shoulders and slamming him against the wall.

They should be cleaning up instead of becoming dirty again, but logic has always been more of a suggestion and less of a requirement with their interactions. He licks the other’s ear. Against the soft cartilage of his earlobe, “Do it already.”

He’s still a little bit loose from their earlier romp. The water doesn’t really work as a proper lubricant, but there’s enough slick from the head of Dazai’s cock to help with the entry. Light, shallow thrusts as Dazai uses the shroom-like head to further expand him.

He takes deep breaths to relax his muscles, to allow a smoother intrusion. He shudders and loses control anyway when Dazai grinds against his prostate. In retaliation, he squeezes the length inside him, causing his partner to groan and shiver, biting his shoulder from the sensations.

They continue like that until there isn’t any water dripping out of the shower.

“You’re going to get a cold from all of this,” he mumbles belatedly. The past twenty-four hours has been filled with one ill-advised romp after another. His belly still hungers for more. He refuses to let the other go, and the only way to sate that kind of desire is to stay connected no matter what.

“It’s fine,” Dazai says, sniffing a bit. Eyes watery, nose red from an incoming cold. “Whatever happens next, I’m… going to be fine.”

Whatever scolding that’s building up in his throat dissipates with such a declaration. Chuuya nods, and helps wipe the other dry. “We’re going to be fine,” he asserts, and believes it with all his might.

-

20. dacryphilia;

-

…Of course, Dazai’s sniffles end up turning into a full-blown flu, once they’ve woken up from their prolonged nap.

“I knew it,” he grumbles as he pinches the other’s feverish cheeks. He bundles him up in all of the available blankets in the safehouse, cocooning him so that it’s only his eyes and nose that are visible. “Your body’s too weak to overtax it this way, shitty Dazai.”

Despite his words, he dutifully goes out and hunts in the immediate area for something substantial. Most of the animals and monsters have been scared away from the vicinity, in the aftermath of his brutal fight with that dragon.

He expands his perimeter check too, to see if there are forces coming their way. He should feel extremely fatigued after doing so much, but there’s a seemingly blazing fire of stamina inside him. Embarrassingly, he seems to be powered by a desire to protect that shitty fish, no matter how troublesome he is.

As such, he thinks that he can go on and fight an entire country’s military force. Not that he’s going to go and court danger like that. Fighting on his own is one thing. Fighting while making sure that a certain troublemaker isn’t hurt—or worse, bored enough to allow himself to be kidnapped—is another level of difficulty that he doesn’t want to challenge.

He stays stealthy, while hunting a snowy boar that he spots burrowing into one cave. It takes him longer than usual, as staying silent and unnoticeable demands more preparation and energy. He brings his prize back to the safehouse: a boar nonchalantly draped over one shoulder, and his shirt rucked up so it could serve as a makeshift basket for some berries.

Since Dazai likes to sleep even when he’s healthy, he’s been expecting to find the fishy bastard asleep upon his return.

No matter how well they know each other, there’s still room for surprises. When Chuuya enters the door, he spots Dazai on the cramped bed, huddled in the sheets and visibly crying. It’s enough to suckerpunch shock into his system.

The boar and the berries drop on the ground. He barely has any presence of mind left to kick the door shut so the cold air doesn’t ravage their place.

He finds himself shivering from something that’s not the cold weather.

“Why the hell are you crying,” he asks, frantic. A strange buzzing inside his head, a powerful yearning for him to do something quickly. His hands tremble as he hastens to wipe off the tears on the other’s face. He straddles the other’s form and decides that wiping it off isn’t what he wants, so he leans in and licks the salty trails over feverish cheeks. “Don’t cry, you stupid bastard, you’re making me feel—”

He chokes off, uncertain on what to say. He kisses Dazai, as if he wants to expel the weird emotions that are surging in him. Dazai likes to play up his tears in order to get him to promise certain things. But this time seems different. Or maybe it’s just because now, he actually knows that they love each other and that adds a certain filter over his feelings?

He grinds down on him, unbearably excited too. Beyond the desire to pummel the cause of Dazai’s tears, there’s also that excitement at seeing him like this. Like a masterpiece worth billions. There’s something about seeing the controlled man appear this fragile in front of his eyes.

“I took so long because I checked the perimeter.” He finds himself rambling out an explanation, probably making a fool of himself in the process. The important thing is that Dazai’s eyes stop being a pool of water, rippling with emotions that seemingly has a chokehold on him. “You didn’t cry because you missed me so much, right?”

Finally, Dazai hiccups at him, a watery smile on his face. “Chuuya,” he says his name like a prayer. “You really are so stupid.”

…The kind of prayer that’s asking for a beating.

“You bastard! I was so—!”

“Worried, I know,” Dazai says, raising one hand to cup his cheek, while nuzzling against the palms splayed out over his cheeks. “It was nice seeing it.”

He scrunches his nose. “You have seriously bad taste, asshole.”

“I know,” a softer repetition. “I’m the type of bad guy who’d work with demons and monsters, just because I don’t know what else to do with my boring life.”

They’re probably the only pair in the world who’d have this kind of discussion like this, with Chuuya still hard from seeing Dazai’s tears. He feels a mixture of arousal and fondness upon hearing these words—just like seeing the other’s trust in letting him see his fragile state (no matter how faked and orchestrated), the other’s honesty also makes him feel like his heart is being squeezed.

“I know,” he responds with the entirety of his earnestness. “I picked working with you, knowing that you’re some shady asshole.”

“I had no compunctions in lying and manipulating people,” Dazai continues, hands roving down until they’re kneading his waist, rubbing him over his pants. “The most that I wanted was to find a certain monster who has spared my life a long time ago. I wanted to ask him why did he let me continue to live in this boring world.”

The only dream that has ever visited him in his sleep. A memory of hydrangeas, and of a boy floating in the water.

“I don’t know the reason as to why I woke up in this world,” he returns, honesty in exchange for honesty. “The last thing I could remember was someone from the Nakahara Family finding me and picking me up during a Winter Harvest.”

Dazai’s lashes tremble. “We really do match each other well, don’t we?”

Two beings who’ve been so uncertain of their purpose in existing. But now, Chuuya thinks that it’s not so bad, if his purpose turns out to be to live life as a human being, with this strange person by his side.

-

21. felching;

-

“This isn’t what I meant when I said we should stay clean more,” he gripes, but tellingly doesn’t actually thump the bastard’s back hard enough to dislocate his spine.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at him, before pulling away a bit, lips red and chin shiny with spit. He shifts so that his left cheek rests against his inner thigh, licking a stripe over his skin, then dipping closer so he can suck the base of his cock. He pulls away again, puffing up laughter against his balls. “Chuuya, if you can still be coherent, then I’m not doing a good job. You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

“How are you so energetic when it comes to these things,” he ends up fisting tufts of brown hair when Dazai goes back down on him, more enthusiastic than before. “When you’re completely useless on everything else.”

Teeth playfully grazes the area surrounding his rim. With his hips propped up by the box containing the first-aid kit, his ass is laid out in front of the mackerel’s face for a feast.

While he’s never had a partner prior to sleeping with Dazai, it’s not like he’s completely clueless about these things. Talk at military camps tend to be crude at times, so he’s heard about all sorts of sexual acts. Dazai would probably be a legendary alien amongst them, for being so eager in eating his ass out. He’s especially fervent now, in the aftermath of two rounds of sex.

Instead of flopping uselessly on top of him, Dazai crawls down his body and starts playing with his hole, alternating between fingering and tonguing him open. He seems to be very entertained in sucking out the come that he’s released there earlier, before pushing it back in, spreading it over his walls, leaving no space untouched.

It’s their fifth day of hiding out here. Staying here for a longer period is ill-advised, given how close it is to the previous battleground. He’s fairly certain that Dazai has plans of where they can go to next, but they haven’t discussed it yet.

As if to make up for all the time that they haven’t known each other, most of their days are them staying connected one way or another. Learning each other further, marking each other thoroughly. Discovering ways of making each other tick even more.

He keens when Dazai sucks his hole with one particularly loud slurp, wet and obscene. His body is still wired from the previous rounds, and this only electrifies him more. He kicks out against the bed, toes curling as he comes again, open-mouthed.

He feels his partner nuzzling against his thighs, waiting him to come down from his high. His eyesight blurs for a moment, his brain finding it difficult to stay alert with how much pleasure is overriding his nerves.

His fingers are tingly when they try to form spider-trails all over Dazai’s sweaty forehead, massaging the other’s scalp as a form of reward. Perhaps he shouldn’t have bothered, because he feels the imprint of a mischievous grin against his skin.

“Another one,” Dazai murmurs, before diving back down on him, causing him to drown in the sensations once more.

-

22. orgasm denial;

-

“…I know we’ve both agreed that you’re an asshole, but are you really trying to sneak out on me now?”

Dazai turns to stone, suddenly stiff when he’s been so fluid and silent in trying to leave him while he’s asleep. Their plan is to move out tomorrow, after sunset, in order to move towards another safehouse that Dazai has prepared some time ago. It’s further away from the kingdom’s walls, effectively a choice to leave behind their previous lives.

A deep breath. “…Chuuya, I—”

“I know that you don’t actually plan on leaving me,” he interrupts, because he trusts that much. They’re already too deeply intertwined with each other. Separation is unthinkable. “So, why the hell are you sneaking around?”

Another deep breath, accompanied by the closest approximation of embarrassment on the other’s face. He’s been willing to talk about his previous misdeeds—crimes that would have him receive the death penalty a hundred times over, if caught by authorities—but here, he hesitates.

It makes him soften his stance. He rises up from the bed, carrying the stained, sticky sheets with him as a cape. He approaches his partner, who’s still frozen by the doorway.

See? Dazai’s arms open automatically in order to capture him in his embrace. It’s instinctive at this point.

He breathes out, “Where are you going?”

“I’m sad,” is said simply, “because if we leave, then what will happen to my collection of sex toys? I bought them with you in mind and I couldn’t even use it all on you!” The rest of his words are accompanied by stomping, like an oversized brat throwing a tantrum over the most useless of things.

It’s so stupid that he ended up guffawing right there. Dazai lets out a sigh, as if he’s terribly unamused that he’s not being taken seriously.

With a self-righteous air, “So, I’m sneaking back there to retrieve them.”

Chuuya wipes the tears in his eyes with his right hand, and hooks his left fingers on the other’s belt loops. “And? What’s the real reason, shitty Dazai?”

It startles the fish, who then lets out another sigh. “I think I preferred it when you couldn’t read my mind at all.”

“Liar,” he points out. “You like that I can read you so well.”

Dazai looks at him, then shifts his gaze a bit so that they aren’t meeting eyes. A faint tinge of pink on his cheeks as he eventually admits, “The bone comb. And the money I took from your wallet during our first meeting.”

There’s no additional explanation, but he understands it completely. It renders him speechless for a few moments, his face heating up at the realization.

The first thing that Dazai took from him, as well as the first gift he’s given the other. Back then, they definitely didn’t like each other. There’s interest, sure, but nothing that cuts deep into their guts.

“…I could give you a lot more of that instead,” he says, his throat going dry.

Fighting off his embarrassment by insulting him, “You’re now running away from your title, you’re about to become very poor, chibi.”

“Why, are you just with me for my money?”

“Of course,” Dazai replies with a bald-faced lie. “I don’t have any other reason to stay with such a tiny chibi otherwise.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he tells him fondly, before immediately dropping to his knees. Between the two of them, it’s Dazai who likes to use his mouth more, as if drinking his essence somehow works to fill up the hollowness of his insides.

Chuuya doesn’t exactly enjoy the bitter taste of semen, but it doesn’t matter. He shoves Dazai against the door and works on him. He doesn’t have any tricks aside from the drive to make Dazai lose his mind.

It doesn’t take long. Dazai’s legs shiver, and his hands pull his hair, a sign of an impending orgasm. Breathlessly, “Chuuya, I—”

Then, he stops. As fluidly as he goes down on him, Chuuya stands back up, a smug smirk on his face. He even generously pats the reddened head of Dazai’s cock, still slick with his spit.

“Punishment,” he explains cheerfully. “Because you actually dared to think that I wouldn’t want to accompany you in sneaking back in to retrieve some things, you big idiot.”

Dazai blinks at him owlishly, too shocked to have the tables turned on him. It’s such a stupid, adorable expression that Chuuya can’t help but pull him down for a kiss.

“…Stay there, I’ll change clothes and come with you.”

It’s only then that Dazai manages to recover, whining a lot about cruel slugs. Still, he does stay there, and the two of them go out of the safehouse and sets out to sneak into the kingdom for the last time in the foreseeable future.

-

to be continued;

-

Chapter Text

-

23. almost caught;

-

It’s not an exaggeration to say that he has made hundreds of plans, counterplans, back-up plans, additional back-up plans regarding this matter. Decisions on forked paths, depending on the scenario and on the actions of everyone else around him.

Going along Fyodor’s plans, going along with half of the demon’s plans, betraying him entirely. Allowing himself to get caught in the crossfire, allowing himself to get slaughtered by monsters. Sauntering into the middle of the Winter Harvest’s ball, carrying the heads of some of the aristocrats.

In all of them, the main point is that Chuuya must be safe and unharmed, with enough evidence that he’s been manipulated by the evil courtesan who has betrayed humanity. Enough evidence to whitewash his name, to sing symphonies about him being simply a fool played for the sake of love.

A safe throne for the one and only star in his eyes.

He’s never dared to hope that Chuuya—loyal to a fault, protective of the weak, stubborn to the end—would chase after him for the sake of accepting all of him.

He’s been prepared to be hunted down, to be pierced by the other’s sword wielded in anger. He’s been prepared to be hailed as the mastermind behind the full-scale attack on the kingdom, and with Chuuya being tasked to slay him. He’s been prepared to die for the sake of escaping from the weight of all his previous sins and decisions, in exchange for offering Chuuya a way to stay with the kingdom that he loves so much, while being hailed as a hero instead of someone to be feared.

—An elbow digs to his ribs.

“Ow,” he says, almost petulant. “You’re really such a brute.”

Despite all of his plans and predictions, he’s never expected that Chuuya—small and angry, driven and compassionate, shining brightly as a human being—is the one who’s technically not human.

Then again, what does it mean to be a human being? In his view, there’s nobody on this world who’s more human than this chibi beside him.

“I can sense you thinking shitty things,” is the whispered good-natured response.

Their airy footsteps barely make any sounds as they traverse the underground maze that have been laid down underneath the kingdom so very long ago.

Once, humans have practically occupied each corner of the world. They’ve made cities above and below ground. They’ve used the underground paths as means to escape from the monsters that have waged an all-out attack aboveground.

One such abandoned path is where they’re at right now. It has plenty of strange mechanisms that could swallow unsuspecting persons and only leave their skeletons.

They hold hands as they continue moving forward. The winter above chills the walls and the floors of their path, so they huddle close. Chuuya’s body temperature is much like a cozy campfire. He can’t help but want to stay near and never leave, even if being chained into one place frightens him. Committing to something means setting that as the top priority, even above his desire to be gone from this boring world.

Thankfully, Chuuya is anything but boring.

Especially since he blushes so fetchingly when he suddenly stops walking and starts kissing him.

“Oi, what are you—mmph—”

They’re about to be back within the kingdom’s territory. In a few meters, they’d be back to his private quarters in the Fallen Camellia. Will Chuuya change his mind, upon seeing the place he’s considered home for so long? Will he decide to stay and help the kingdom weather this storm that he’s orchestrated? Will he realize that despite being sought-after by so many people, there really is not much in Dazai’s possessions, aside from the other’s feelings?

They’ve had a discussion about this, but he still feels a twinge inside his chest. A desire to pry his ribs open so he can keep Chuuya caged inside his bones, so he couldn’t ever leave, even if he wants to.

“One more time,” he murmurs, a bit desperate.

He knows this area well, so he knows there’s no booby trap in this part of the maze. He walks Chuuya back until he’s pressed against a wall, kissing him deeply all the way. His hands clutch the other’s waist, before undoing both of their pants so they can grind against each other.

They swallow each other’s sounds—

—which is why it’s immediately obvious that someone else is nearby. Multiple someones, their footsteps asynchronized and full of uncertainty.

They’re both still hard. In the darkness, their eyes meet anyway, understanding seeping through. Someone else—definitely Fyodor—has led a group of people here.

Against him, Chuuya’s body is taut with tension. There’s no fear thrumming through him though. A cold fire in his eyes instead, a promise that he’d take care of anyone who’d come too near them.

With that kind of confidence, it’s hard for Dazai to not want to kiss his princely chibi. He leans back down and licks the other’s lips, slowly and purposefully. He smiles when he receives a warning glare, but not a punch to the gut. He sets his teeth lightly against the swell of the other’s bottom lip, drawing it towards his mouth as he sucks sweetness from it. Slower, he soothes it with broad swipes of his tongue, before he dips in and gives Chuuya a thorough mouth examination.

This close, he can see the sparkle of the other’s eyes.

Several meters away, there’s a column of people spreading out and using the tunnels. As the only other person who knows of these tunnels, there’s definitely no good reason for them to be here if they’re sent by Fyodor.

And yet—

Isn’t this exciting?

Being with Chuuya really means that there’s no room for boredom. Even when he’s surrounded by darkness in all sides, his gaze is focused on the man in front of him. Chuuya, who’s so small and tiny, and yet occupies his vision so thoroughly that he can’t even look at the darkness and be tempted by it for too long.

And Chuuya looks at him back, looks at him as if there are both telescopes and microscopes in his eyes, seeing him from any distance, seeing thoughts directly from his head.

He embraces him hard, hips stuttering fast against each other, and it doesn’t take long for him to spill between them, a splash of warmth between their clothes. Even as his cock continues to twitch in orgasm, he ignores the pain from his oversensitive nerves, and continues rocking against the solid wall of muscle and conviction that is his chibi.

Even when Chuuya’s also shuddering against him, clutching him back.

The world continues to spin around them, but the only thing that matters is that they’re holding each other tight. A kind of permanence that he’s always feared, but just like a moth that can’t help but be attracted to a flame’s luster, he yearns for it all the more.

-

24. praise kink;

-

Chuuya peers around at the quarters that seems like an entire world away. Last time he remembers being here, they were still completely at odds with each other. Blatant interest towards each other notwithstanding, he has considered it as something that’s solely a business arrangement.

Now, here they are, together as an outlaw couple sneaking in right under the nose of the kingdom.

Though perhaps it’s not as clear-cut as that.

He tries to make his presence as unimposing as possible, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

Perhaps as expected of a mastermind, Dazai has an intelligence network set up in order to keep him posted about the things that have happened while they were away. The informant looks severely constipated, shoulders tense as if he’s worrying over fighting someone infamous for being invincible.

“Just focus on the report,” Dazai reminds his informant. There’s a hint of smugness in his tone, like he’s also showing off that he has such a powerful person standing guard over him.

Chuuya rolls his eyes at this display, but he mulls over the things that he’s heard over the past half-hour.

An attack has been launched during the Hunt. A two-pronged approach, coming from the north and the west. Monsters have marched outside the wall, using the snow as a cover. This coincides with the time that Chuuya’s chasing after the demon and dragon that has taken Dazai away.

The monsters in the north have been decimated by Chuuya in his pursuit.

Just as the walls over to the west were in danger, someone who’s been hailed as the savior has apparently appeared. Riding on top of a white tiger with a pure white tail, the symbol of absolute virtue and peace over the world.

“Oh, the savior has appeared,” Dazai says mildly, as if this is just news about the weather. “This is good, isn’t it?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes again. He can just sense this fish thinking about him wanting to be a savior more than he wants to be with him. He must be ecstatic that there’s someone who seems more ‘qualified’ to do the job.

“That jinko is a fool,” the informant retorts. “He has no idea about how things work, given that he has grown up without knowing about the ways of the world.”

Dazai is unbothered by this. He waves a hand flippantly. “Then your job is to make sure that he isn’t taken advantage of, and can serve as the proper savior of this world.”

Because as long as everyone’s attention is focused on the ‘savior’, then nobody would pay attention to the mysterious disappearance of Nakahara Family’s heir, and of Fallen Camellia’s top courtesan.

The informant’s already-gloomy countenance turns even darker.

Chuuya sighs and interrupts their conversation. “Kid, what’s your name?”

“I am not a—”

“Akutagawa,” curt and full of warning. As if Dazai doesn’t want anyone talking back to him—for he considers that a privilege that solely belongs to him.

If the informant has animal ears, they would probably droop at this chastisement. It’s unnecessary, given that Dazai has already mentioned it, but he grits out a, “…My name is Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.”

“Akutagawa, the future of this kingdom rests on your shoulders,” he says, sitting beside Dazai and placing a hand over his thigh. Part out of the seemingly irresistible desire to be in contact with him no matter the situation. Mostly because he pinches the other’s skin, in punishment for bullying poor kids. “The savior needs to be healthy and whole for him to do his job.”

If those legends are true, then his presence is paramount in keeping humanity safe. And if there’s someone who everyone can rally behind, then there’s no need for the presence of someone terrifyingly powerful like him.

And if there’s less people interested in looking too closely into his disappearance, then it means Dazai will stop worrying over the possibility of him somehow being lured back into being the kingdom’s protector. And that means that Dazai will stop pouting at him, grievances printed clearly on his fishy face.

Dazai takes over the conversation—he’s definitely thinking shitty things like being jealous of Chuuya communicating with someone that isn’t him—and starts giving Akutagawa instructions.

When he’s not busy acting like a brat or an even bigger brat, he can actually appear quite competent. Even when he’s just in a casual yukata, no fancy make-up or jewelry whatsoever, he looks more royal compared to most of the aristocrats.

Of course, this is completely ruined by the fact that as soon as Akutagawa slips out of the private quarters, Dazai turns to him, eyes sparkling. “See, I’m so good, right?”

To be honest, he’s been a bit distracted watching the other man to pay serious attention to his previous instructions. Prior to meeting him, Chuuya’s been too used to being the one to take care of everything. It’s refreshing to actually be able to sit back and be secure in the knowledge that there’s someone who’d handle things perfectly even if he doesn’t intervene.

He shifts so that they’re both facing each other in the couch. He reaches out to curve his palm over the other’s cheek, using his thumb to rub small circles over his skin.

“You’ve done well,” he says, mouth going dry when Dazai’s gaze turns shinier, pink warmth flooding his face.

Between the two of them, Dazai’s never been the sort to have any shame when it comes to their activities, but there’s something genuinely coy about him now.

Chuuya watches the other’s lips part in a gentle, soundless gasp. Any other day and he’d tease him for looking like a gaping goldfish. But right now, with the other’s face warm in his grasp, he could feel it smoldering straight through his veins.

“You’ve done well,” he repeats, voice growing hoarse. “You’re doing so well in taking care of our future together.”

The same person who has worked with a demon, out of his apathy. The same person, but with a different motive this time.

He’s tempted to knead the blatant bulge in the other’s groin, the proof of his excitement over getting praised earnestly. But, there’s a certain sense of accomplishment if he can make the other man come untouched, just by his words.

“A true genius mind,” he whispers, and lets his free hand press butterfly swipes over the other’s forehead, as if he’s giving pats directly to the other’s brain. “I trust that your plans would work out perfectly as always.”

That line makes Dazai shudder, and he climbs atop his lap, careful to not let their hips brush together. He continues caressing the flushed face, all while praising him.

Of course, his idea of praising the fish is too honest, and has become entangled with other things that he wishes to say.

“You sometimes bite me in my sleep, like you’re some rabid dog, but it’s kind of cute,” he says, alongside, “You still haven’t paid me back for all the headaches you’ve given me, you’re going to need an entire lifetime to do so.”

Dazai keens, hips stuttering like he wants to chase friction, but is weighed down by Chuuya’s presence.

“You will probably continue doing a lot of stupid shit bound to make my head hurt even more, but I will forgive you after beating you up ten times in revenge.”

It’s at these words, the promise of continued togetherness, that Dazai comes, open-mouthed.

…Even if he’s so troublesome, he does look quite cute at certain moments, to the point that Chuuya can’t help but lean close and kiss him to swallow the rest of his sounds.

-

25. sex against a mirror;

-

“…I should have known that you’d do this,” he gripes, but he shifts and gets comfortable against the cold, flat surface he’s pressed against.

Right now, the kingdom is busy holding a hero’s funeral for “Nakahara Chuuya”, who has ferociously defended the country by singlehandedly protecting the Northern Wall from the monster invasion. With everyone thinking that he’s dead, there shouldn’t be anyone who’d come after them in their journey out of this kingdom and into an entirely new life.

He’s not being buried in reality, but a hard cock is being buried inside him over and over instead. His forehead drags out stripes of sweat against the full-body mirror inside Dazai’s private quarters. As expected of the nation’s most sought-after courtesan, he has this tall and wide mirror so he can look at himself while he struts in whatever outfit he feels like wearing.

Now, Dazai is helping him wear a disguise so they could leave and travel unimpeded. The main component of his disguise is a dress so deeply purple it seems black, patterned with an upside-down cherry blossom tree that blooms pale pink all over the hem. A chin-length wig with the same brown as Dazai’s hair, coupled with a thick winter coat that he once bought for the other man. It would be so oversized on him, but that’s part of the appeal, at least in the mackerel’s eyes.

The appeal is so strong that the moment he finishes wearing it, he’s immediately shoved against the mirror, dress rucked up high so Dazai can thrust against him, then eventually into him.

“It can’t be helped,” Dazai tells him, terribly insincere. “You look so beautiful right now, I must have you immediately.”

He rolls his eyes, both out of humor and out of the searing wave of pleasure when Dazai bears down on him and slowly grinds against his prostate. “Isn’t it because I’m wearing your coat,” he pants against the mirror.

“Look at you,” is full of reverence. “With my excellent fashion choice and my hair color, you look quite the fetching catch.”

He raises his head slightly and looks at the picture they paint together. A pair of idiots in love, probably. A pair with flushed cheeks and sweaty faces.

With their height difference, Dazai can comfortably tower over him, pinning him down against the mirror’s surface. He could see his eyes blown wide, bright and watery as he’s unable to fight off the moans that melt out of his pores from the purposeful grinding all over his insides. His cock streaks fluid against the mirror, dripping steadily as he’s pounded from behind.

The difference between the coldness in front and hotness plastered at his back, along with watching the play of emotions all over their faces—it’s all too much. Sweat dampens the clothes that he’s wearing, making them stick to his body and heighten the friction that he’s feeling.

Dazai’s physically weaker compared to him, but he could gather enough strength for small bursts of effort, especially when it comes to sex. Right now, he slams into him, before hoisting him high enough, sliding him against the mirror’s coolness.

Most of his weight is propped up by the mirror mounted on the wall, and it feels like he’s an exhibit nailed directly to the glass by way of Dazai’s cock. Dazai nudges him to spread his legs wider, so he can see the spot where he’s speared right through, his feet not even touching the floor.

His toes curl in bliss, his fingers instinctively scratching sweaty marks into the glass. Like this, it really feels like the only reason he’s not falling bonelessly to the floor is because of Dazai’s dick mounting him. That intense point of contact fills his mind, then Dazai stops propping him up, letting gravity sink him down hard.

He comes immediately at the impact. A drawn-out wail leaves him, as he frantically turns around while Dazai’s cock is still inside him, refusing to let the other pull out for even a split-second. Even with copious amounts of lube, this stunt still has quite a rough friction, and they both grunt at the sensation.

They both reach out for each other, licking into each other’s mouths, before thoroughly soiling the clothes that they’re wearing.

Later, when they’re both in a graceless heap on the floor, Dazai rues, “I think we’d look so beautiful even if we wear trashbags for a disguise.”

“You already look like trash, so it would fit you very well,” he teases, but his voice is hoarse from all his previous moaning, so he probably isn’t very convincing.

-

26. vibrator;

-

He drags Dazai by his lapels, slamming him against the door as soon as they both get inside the room. He gnaws at the other’s lips to stop him from making a sound, squirming hard against the other’s body and basically treating him as something to rut against.

“Ah, you’re really wet,” is said teasingly, Dazai managing to get the words out even though his mouth is blocked. In just three touches over his clothed cock, he’s sent to a powerful orgasm. “Very lewd and eager, hmm?”

Chuuya takes a few moments to catch his breath, before he gives his partner a punch to the chest. He glares at him, more composed instead of ferally chasing pleasure, now that he’s had his release. “Asshole, take the damn thing off me already!”

One of the things that Dazai has made sure to pack in their baggage as they traveled out of the kingdom: his terrible collection of sex toys. They’re traveling as a pair of merchants, but anyone who makes the mistake of attempting to rob them will have braincells stolen from them instead, upon looking at the contents of their trunks, filled with all sorts of… things.

In fact, even the gryphon that Chuuya has captured and tamed to be their pack mule for their journey looks distressed to lug along a whole bevy of fancy clothes and adult toys.

(A sidenote: Dazai has actually been angling for a shadow horse as the carrier for their baggage, for it’s much less conspicuous and has a bigger capacity for more of his clothes. It’s just that, Chuuya has wanted something that can fly, in case another dragon swoops in and tries to eat his fish. Dostoevsky will probably give them a wide berth for the next few years while he’s drawing up plans to face them, but demons are notorious for being unpredictable, so it’s best to be prepared.

…Plus, Baki has already wormed into his heart, especially since the gryphon unsubtly tries to kick Dazai any chance it gets.)

“Mm, but I think it’d be nice to leave it there for the entire night too.” A pair of hands knead and squeeze his ass, possessive and hungry. One thumb rubs his rim, where there’s a flared base for a vibrator that’s been thrumming inside him for hours.

It really is a sign that he’s been corrupted by this bastard. His first response is an annoyed, “The lube has already dried up, damn it.”

“I can always add more,” is offered with a puff of laughter against his ear.

They embrace like that against the door. Chuuya almost drifts to sleep, tiredness taking over his irritation at having that vibrator continuing to buzz around inside his ass.

“I’ll remove it by breakfast tomorrow,” is the murmur against his earlobe.

He raises an eyebrow. “What, not going to embarrass your friends anymore?”

In their journey, they decide to spend a few days by the curry restaurant opened by the only other people that Dazai considers as friends. The two are retired male courtesans, but they’re not idiots. They’re also Dazai’s friends, so it doesn’t take long for them to notice that Dazai has a bad enough taste to push a vibrator into him, knowing that they have to sit down together to have a long lunch full of catching up.

With full seriousness, “Mm, it’s fun teasing them, but they might fall in love with you if you keep on showing them your sexy faces.”

He wonders, “Do you even listen to the words that come out of your mouth?”

“What for? You’re there to listen to them anyway, darling slug.”

…Somehow, Chuuya has been convinced by those words to wear the vibrator for the entire night too.

-

27. role play;

-

For some reason, Dazai insists on being more insufferable than usual today.

In the distance, there’s Baki playing whack-a-mole with mud serpents that burrow underground to keep away from summer’s muggy heat. Because they’re tucked into a mountain that borders the ocean, the breeze that visits them in this season saturates the air with a sultry quality. Even under the cover of the thick canopy of green treetops, the water in the stream several meters from their home is quite warm.

He raises an eyebrow as he considers the fish standing beside him. “Are you going to do it anytime soon?”

“You aren’t being a proper damsel in distress,” Dazai points out with a pout. “You should be quiet and let your Prince carry you off without complaint, okay?”

“I was quiet earlier,” he counters. “Before you dropped me on my head five times.”

And it really is a testament of how much he indulges this idiot. Accepting him wholeheartedly even if he could be considered as humanity’s number one enemy is one thing. It’s another thing to not beat him up for attempting to scoop him up from the stream and princess-carrying him past the threshold of their home, and then tripping over the slippery rocks and dropping him.

“It’s not my fault that you’re such a heavy chibi,” Dazai whines.

A heavy eyeroll. “It’s from all the muscle I’ve built because my partner is too lazy to do anything and he has the audacity to eat two servings each time.”

“And it’s not my fault you cook such delicious food,” is the additional complaint. “And I’m being nice by indulging your kink in seeing me grow fatter.”

Another eyeroll. He doesn’t bother protesting the other’s words, because he does enjoy seeing the bony beanpole gain more padding. “I indulge you in so many other shit, so we’re just even on that front.”

Dazai sighs and nudges him to close his eyes like some sleeping beauty floating off in a stream covered with purple hydrangeas. “Let’s start again.”

Chuuya resists the urge to sneeze right to his face. They’ve had to deal with many failed starts to this roleplay idea by the fish. Wearing nothing but bandages on his person isn’t his idea of a good time, but Dazai has insisted on this today.

Him in bandages while floating off a river, Dazai in that princely white suit. It’s not an exact recreation of their first meeting so many years ago, but it’s close.

He gives a pointed stare at the tent on the other’s pants, not gentlemanly at all. “If we’re roleplaying that meeting, you’re already failing so hard.” After all, Chuuya’s barely a mass of thoughts then, he definitely didn’t walk around with an erection while looking at a frail fishy human.

“It’s not my fault that you look so fetching now that I can’t help but be aroused,” is the other’s defense of his shameless reaction that respects no sense of propriety whatsoever.

“Isn’t it just because you like seeing me in your stupid bandages?”

A nod like this makes complete sense. “Mm, your sense of fashion isn’t up to par to mine, after all.”

They bicker a bit more before Chuuya huffs and lies still, closing his eyes and letting himself float in the stream. The scent of nature, untainted by anyone else’s presence but the two of them. Their pet gryphon in the distance, unwilling to approach them unless absolutely necessary, after too many times of getting an eyeful of them together.

Before, they both used to stand at the top of their respective spheres of influence. Perhaps not lonely, but still alone, even when surrounded by so many others.

Now, even if their days are filled with nothing but each other, each day feels so full.

Dazai carries him carefully, even as he sways a bit, both from their combined weight and the fact that a lot of his blood has converged on his groin.

“All the humans in my village want to sacrifice me to stop all these calamities.” Dazai breathes out as there are wet squelches over each of his steps. “And yet, you say you want to save me? You’re funny, chibi dog monster-san.”

In a memory splintered much like how the moon has become due to the arrival of the monsters upon this planet, Chuuya remembers meeting this fishy man in a river lined by hydrangeas. Because he was a mere monster back then—the strongest one, but a monster nevertheless—all he knew was destruction. Protecting the boy with dull eyes that squeezed his chest with its stare—it’s accomplished by destroying the village that wanted to sacrifice him.

And yet, when Chuuya came back to find the boy again, he was already gone, whisked away by the river.

And so, he continued to walk and walk and walk, until he came upon the last place where he could sense that human, his scent dissipated by the huge population of other humans defended behind the border walls.

Now, a year after they’ve met again, Dazai stands by their doorway, dripping water into the mat. Voice warmed by sunshine, “Why did you spare me?”

He remembers being governed by the instinct to destroy an unsightly world hopelessly and helplessly filled with filth. Something that has struck him upon wandering into this world: seeing the clear river, the purple flowers, and the fragile beauty of someone wrapped in emptiness—

Perhaps this world still has some beauty in it, and so he shouldn’t destroy it.

As he’s carried over the threshold by someone with arms trembling from the effort, he can’t help but break character, snorting in laughter when Dazai ‘kisses him awake’ while propping him up on top of their dining table, because he can’t make it all the way to their bed.

“Obviously, it’s so I could laugh at you many years later for being such a weakass beanpole,” he says and shifts them so that he’s the one carrying this stupid Snow White of his instead.

-

28. cock warming;

-

There’s a burnt patch on their garden outside, taking out the lettuce that Dazai has been growing for the sake of having red snails and blue slugs munching on them. Lately, Dazai’s enthusiasm for comparing him to animals means that there’s a whole new depth to the number of ‘nicknames’ for him.

Each time, Chuuya threatens to kick the annoying man out of their home, and have him skid off the mountain drop so he can become one with the fishes at the deep sea. Of course, they both know that he wouldn’t actually go through with it… which makes him want to do it all the more.

Kicking Dazai hard, and detangling from him in general is rather hard work though.

The reason for that burnt patch in their garden is Baki huffing loudly at them, irritated beyond belief at their stickiness that’s worse than all of their pet snails and slugs combined. The gryphon has flapped its wings at them, nearly decapitating Dazai with the shards embedded insides its majestic wingspan. When they barely shift away from each other, even at the threat of a gryphon attack, Baki huffs again and blows black-red fire over their garden, before flouncing off like an aggrieved child.

…Still, they don’t separate.

Dazai claims it as exercise. He knows it’s because of utter perversion and silly possessiveness.

…Still, he indulges the shitty mackerel’s whims.

They’ve both taken to wearing loose yukatas, so that it’s much easier to disrobe. Whatever they do, Dazai insists on staying inside him, claiming that his cock gets cold and lonely if it’s not plugged into him.

He gives him a look full of pithy. “I’m beginning to think that you being the kingdom’s most sought-after courtesan is just a goddamn scam. How did you manage to not get laughed out of Fallen Camellia with that kind of nasty line?”

“Mm, but it works on you.” As if the other’s shitty words are chosen to match his preferences.

“You’ve threatened to whine at me at random hours of the day if I didn’t agree.” At this point, it’s really a matter of preferences: to protect his eardrums from the other’s whining. Dazai’s physical strength would never be on par with his, but the other’s lungs are unmatched when it comes to giving him plenty of air to yap about for hours.

Self-righteous even though he makes him want to write curses all over his forehead using a calligraphy brush. “The point is that I get to sit you on my lap.”

He squirms at those words. It’s gotten to the point that he considers it as rather comforting, instead of intrusive. Even without the burst of pleasure from high-intensity sex, simply having the idiot inside him does make him feel… satisfied.

He’d be reading a book that Prof Glasses sends over, and he’d sit right over Dazai’s cock, so they can read together. (Well, Dazai would change the characters’ names to fit their own, and make wildly inappropriate detours as to what ‘their characters’ ought to be doing.)

He’d be cooking their dinner and he’d be hard-pressed to finish making their meal before bending over the counter and letting the other fuck him faster.

He’d wake up in the morning and feel the other still inside him, keeping him plugged with his cock so that none of the previous night’s come could spill out of him.

“It’s a sign of our unbreakable connection,” Dazai claims with a smug grin.

“Soon enough, your dick’s going to break and fall off from overuse,” he returns with a snide smirk, but he doesn’t move away.

-

29. body worship;

-

In a blink, it’s back to another winter once more. According to the news that has been sent to them by the savior’s babysitter, they’re doing away entirely with the Hunt this year, in order to pave way for peaceful negotiations with the monsters’ camp.

“Quite naïve,” Chuuya says after he listens to the news.

“Pure idealism is hard to sustain when one is surrounded by those who actively work to ruin it,” Dazai agrees, hair dripping droplets over his neck and shoulders. Fresh after a warm shower, his pale skin is tinged with pink.

It makes his mouth water. He should probably blame this upon the monstrous instinct that lies dormant inside of him. Every now and then, he’s hit with the urge to just take a bite from the other’s skin, chomp down on him and keep him inside of him in tiny bits and pieces. A primal urge to devour beautiful and delicious things.

Then, his mouth twists as he scolds the idiot for walking around with dripping hair. “It’s also hard living with someone who’s actively chasing a cold.”

With the colder season, this kind of antics is just asking to get sick. He approaches the beanpole who’s still looking through the gigantic closet, filled with all sorts of attires in different fabrics and degrees of active seduction.

He undoes the towel wrapped over the other’s hips, then uses it to whip across his ass. “Lean down a bit,” he orders, because if he has to stand on tiptoes to help dry this idiot’s hair, he might as well break his legs.

“It can’t be helped,” Dazai says airily, like he’s about to impart some obvious piece of knowledge that deserves to be spread all over the world. “You’ve grown too complacent in having my affections, so you haven’t been pampering me lately. I have to do my best to trick you into giving me all of my desires, right?”

He rolls his eyes and rubs his head into an electrified brown nest. “Your evil plans are leaking, oi.”

“Is it really so evil if I make sure that I secure your attention on me?”

The towel is left hanging over his neck. Both ends are used to drag the other’s face down for a quick bite to the tip of his nose. “It’s pointless. There’s nobody who can compete with you in being the most annoying bastard, of course my eyes are going to be pinned on you.”

A flutter of eyelashes. “Even when I’m old and frail and cannot carry you like a bride?”

A part of him shivers in pleasure, hearing Dazai talk about a far-off future. Another part of him is severely unimpressed, at the reminder of how the other’s arms are like twigs compared to him. “You already can’t carry me like a bride, what the hell are you talking about?”

“How about when I’m full of wrinkles and sagging skin?”

He huffs. Swift as air, he brings the fish to his arms, carrying him away like a large, whiny princess who would make noise just for the sake of irritating others. His lips twitch at the sound of Dazai’s squeal, and he bounces him off the mattress before crawling over him.

The squealing turns into genuinely breathless moans, as he kisses all the way up, lavishing attention all over this dumbass fish of his. Laves all over his skin, then leaves behind a garden of rosettes.

“This stupid toe,” he starts, putting it wholly inside his mouth. “This stupid instep. This stupid heel. This stupid calf.”

He enumerates each part as he goes up one leg, until his nose is filled with the scent of musk. He gives kitten-licks to the other’s balls, knowing how ticklish they make his fish. He sucks the base of his cock, before muffling his laughter against the other thigh when Dazai moans for him to suck him off fully. He goes down this time, giving the same attention to the second leg with the same slow reverence he’s given the first.

He rubs and kneads the parts that he can reach, and when he moves back up so he can pay attention to the upper body, he has to take a moment to calm his breathing. It’s hard work, given that Dazai pulls him so he’s seated right over his cock.

It takes so much willpower to not just sink over him and let him ravage his insides. But, he’s here to make a point, so he also pours his affection all over the other’s stomach, not as flat as during their first meeting. He spends a long time on the other’s nipples, on the ten fingers, particularly the fourth. On his neck, on his collarbones. On his back when he flips him over.

Bites him on the ass, then teases, “For such an asshole, why is it that your ass isn’t as plump?”

Dazai turns sideways so he can shoot him a withering look. “Chuuya, you should be worshipping and pampering me right now! Not insulting me!”

He pinches his thigh. “See? I’m with you even when you’re like this.” He slides up his body, before setting them side by side. Hikes a leg over his hip, then wiggles a bit so he can get that cock inside him. “You’ve already poisoned my views, nobody else can compare against such a fishy man.”

Dazai whines at that, and vows to shut him up by fucking him so thoroughly for the rest of the day.

-

30. marking;

-

“…If Baki kicks you the moment we alight, I’m going to laugh at you. A lot.”

“So you say, but you’re the one who’s squeezing me so tightly,” Dazai fires back, make-up impeccable, a wealth of jewels braided into his hair like he’s gone ahead and robbed several princesses of their tiaras just so he’s the only one who’d remain shining. His upper half looks beautiful and regal, which only makes the actions of his lower half even more obscene in comparison.

“I’m so tempted to just squeeze your neck,” he grouses, even as he rides the other’s cock. Their fingers are interlocked so that he doesn’t get tempted into clawing into his partner’s clothes, something that has taken them a lot of time to make even with joint effort.

A black kimono made from the silk of crystal spiders all the way to the northern highlands, a desolate mountain range that has ice caves teeming with monsters that have hibernated ever since they’ve arrived on Earth. Bigger and meaner than most of the creatures that he’s faced as Nakahara Family’s champion.

It has been Dazai’s idea of a ‘celebration’ of the fourth year of their first meeting and subsequent ‘getting together’. Journeying to such a dangerous place, so they can both enjoy themselves. Him, getting some much-appreciated dusting off his fighting skills. Dazai, getting some prime wanking material in watching him obliterate mountains’ worth of enemies.

All for the sake of the current outing that they’re on.

“I’m so tempted to squeeze yours too,” is Dazai’s counter, honey-sweet. Following those words, his mackerel leans close and nips along the line of the choker that he’s wearing. Black leather, completely embracing the part where Dazai has knifed his name into his skin, using his special poisoned blade to apply the possessive mark.

His regeneration is supernaturally quick, so any marks on him would disappear if left on its own. Weaving poison into it means that it festers to give way to a more permanent mark. The absurd amount of trust it requires, to bow his head down and expose his nape to someone who his role dictates as his enemy.

He remembers Dazai coming several times during that session, overcome with emotions and arousal at the sight of him allowing him to place his mark.

Then again, his fish is good at making the both of them into a mess.

“Go on, I dare you,” he challenges, knowing that this would end up with him leaking come as they return to the kingdom they haven’t been to in years.

A hero’s welcome, a hailing of miracles.

With the help of Akutagawa, the savior has apparently singled him out as the representative who would assist in communicating with the monsters to facilitate the peace negotiations. He hasn’t listened in to the details, but Dazai has somehow orchestrated a grand tale about his seeming-death and apparent-revival. It’s all full of bullshit anyway, his ears have automatically filtered them out.

Rapid breathing from Dazai as he hooks his teeth unto his collar, dragging him forward as though he’s on a leash. “You know I won’t be able to resist such an invitation, hmm?” With the way things stand between them, they both hold each other on a long leash that they’ve wrapped around their necks, a choice that they’ve made to stay together no matter what.

The carriage that they’re in encounters some unsubtle shaking. Baki must have tired of sensing them go through several romps, kicking the carriage that it’s dragging.

It doesn’t stop them. In fact, it even excites Dazai more, because the shaking jostles them together. He sets his knees on the seat and squeezes Dazai’s legs between himself, bracing them. It makes for several moments of intense sensation, the nerves inside him practically ground to paste from Dazai’s dick rubbing all over him.

Another thrust upwards, and he comes all over their clothes. The two of them are in black, like a pair of reapers about to bring funerals to their enemies. It would be more imposing if there are no streaks of white in them, most of it on his coat.

Dazai grins and pats his thighs, nudging at him to clamp tighter. It doesn’t take long for the mackerel to come all over inside him too.

Baki must have sensed that his masters aren’t going to learn about shame or propriety anytime soon, so it has stopped trying to shake them. Instead, their carriage moves faster, as if the next best thing is for the gryphon to drop them off immediately so it could dunk itself in a river and wash off its association with them.

Dazai scoops up the come that’s all over his buttons, and rubs it all over his lips like a dirty gloss. It’s an obvious goading for him to kiss the fish deeply so he can spread it evenly between the two of them.

They stay like that, nestled together, until they hear violent coughing from outside. “Dazai-san, Chuuya-san, you have arrived for fifteen minutes already. Please alight soon.”

They swiftly rearrange their clothes. Chuuya makes a face at the sensation of dried come on his ass and thighs, but he does put his pants back up without wiping them off, much to Dazai’s obvious delight.

“Your protégé must be very eager to show off the results of his babysitting,” he whispers, as rearranging their clothes take a few minutes longer than necessary because they end up groping each other over their attire. Dazai fixes his hair into a less frazzled look, using the bone comb that he treats like the most important treasure.

The rubies and sapphires on Dazai’s hair shine brightly, the blues cut in a way to show off a certain shade. He rubs the heel of his hand over the spot on Dazai’s heart, where Chuuya has returned the favor of writing his name using his blade.

One on his nape, at a spot that Dazai can easily kiss from behind. One on the mackerel’s chest, at a spot that he can place his ear against, as if he could listen to the blood whirring underneath.

An indelible mark over each other.

“Mm. I’m sure Atsushi-kun has driven him crazy.” Dazai holds his left hand, thumb rubbing at the too-large ring kept in place because of his glove. “There’s a 99% chance of Fyodor-kun swooping in with his troops to prevent this kind of peaceful negotiation.”

A demon who wishes to follow the will of that which that sent them here to exterminate Earth.

While Chuuya’s not the sort to have such lofty goals of wanting to protect an entire world, he also knows that if left unstopped, the demon will soon endanger the private paradise they’ve built for themselves.

“That’s why I’m here,” he says, rubbing the ring hanging on a necklace hidden in the folds of the other’s kimono. The larger ring belonging to Dazai in his hand, while the smaller ring belonging to him on the other’s neck. Additional means of keeping something of each other with them.

A huffy correction, “That’s why we’re here.”

“No, you’re here to do a fashion show.” Dazai wants them to do a grand entrance, as if to make up for the fact that they couldn’t attend the Winter Harvest’s formal ball as the most dashing couple.

“With how beautiful we both are, it’s a shame to rob everyone of a chance to gawk at us in admiration and jealousy.”

Him in an all-black military uniform, Dazai in his black kimono lined with crystallized scales from another dragon he has defeated upon the mackerel’s request. He has to admit that they look extremely fashionable, like they’re here for a macabre wedding instead of meeting up with the expectation of being ambushed by the enemy.

…Well, they could still have a second fancy wedding in the aftermath of their victory, something more extravagant than the two of them trying to choke each other with their respective rings.

He quirks an eyebrow. “You’re actually fine with others looking at me?”

“Well, they must first clear the hurdle of trying to see you, when you’re so small.”

He elbows his stupid fish. “It’s been so long and you still don’t tire of height jokes?”

“Didn’t you say it, before?” Dazai tilts his head at him, smirking as he brings up something from their first meeting. “That you’re capable of paying any price I name.”

“So the price of being with you forever is to forever listen to your shitty height jokes?”

A beaming grin from the most seductive courtesan in the entire world, who stretches out a hand to him, as if to invite him on a wonderful waltz arrangement. “Glad you understand, dear prince.”

They step out of the carriage, and into the light: a pair of men in black.

-

a private paradise, end;

-