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The rooftop wasn’t supposed to be open. Dazai had jimmied the latch and dragged Chuuya up two flights of rusted stairs behind the banquet hall kitchens, murmuring something about “fresh air” and “moonlight” and “Chuuya looks like he’s about to stab someone.”
Which—fair.
The party downstairs was exactly the kind of affair Chuuya hated. All posture, all preening. Everyone in velvet and sharp shoes, trying to out-charm the people they stabbed last week. Ane-san had insisted they attend. The Boss had approved it. Dazai had made it his mission to slip cheap wine into Chuuya’s glass every five minutes until he was both drunk and irritated.
Now here they were. Cold air. Sky spread out above them like a bruise. The sound of music still leaking up from the windows below. And Dazai, of course—perched on the rooftop ledge like a bored crow, the tail of his coat fluttering behind him.
“You’re not supposed to sit on that,” Chuuya muttered, glaring at the drop behind him.
“I’m not supposed to do a lot of things,” Dazai said, smile lazy. “That’s never stopped me before.”
Rolling his eyes, Chuuya turned toward the city, Yokohama glittering beyond. The wind pulled at his lapels.
“Besides,” Dazai continued, “Chuuya has been scowling all night. Thought I’d offer him a little escape.”
Chuuya scoffed. “You’re the reason I need one, shitty Dazai.”
“Chuuya wounds me.” A soft clink—Dazai had swiped a half-empty bottle of red from the table before they left. “Drink?”
“Pass. Already had enough thanks to you.”
“So well-behaved,” Dazai said, tipping the bottle back for himself. “Wouldn’t want to ruin Chuuya's discipline.”
He had that look in his eyes—half-lidded, gleaming. Trouble, distilled.
Chuuya took a slow breath. “You brought me up here for a reason.”
Dazai hummed. “Mmm. What makes Chuuya say that?”
“Because you only act this smug when you’re about to be annoying.”
“That’s so cruel,” Dazai said, uncorking a sigh like he was heartbroken. “And here I was trying to be romantic.”
With a scowl that could cut glass, Chuuya said, “You’ve never done a romantic thing in your damn life.”
Dazai leaned back on his hands. “Untrue. I once gifted a girl my left sock.”
“That explains so much,” Chuuya said dryly.
“She was honored.”
“Bet she was repulsed.”
“Chuuya's just jealous I’ve never given him a sock.”
Chuuya turned to glare at him, mouth already half-open with some retort—except Dazai’s shirt was riding a little low, collar askew. His cheeks were flushed. The wine bottle dangled loosely from his fingertips, like he might drop it if Chuuya reached out and shoved him.
Which he might. Just to see if Dazai could survive the fall.
Knowing the bastard, he would.
Instead, Chuuya said, “Why’d you really bring me up here?”
Dazai grinned like a match being struck. “Because I thought it’d be fun to see if Chuya would fuck me where anyone could look up and see.”
Chuuya went still. The wind rustled again.
“I am wearing black,” Dazai said sweetly. “Very discreet.”
“You’re a goddamn menace,” Chuuya muttered. "And a brat."
“You’re hard.”
Chuuya’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the lapel before he could laugh.
“Keep talking like that,” he said, low, “and I’ll make sure the whole party knows just how much of a needy little slut you are.”
Dazai’s grin widened. “There’s the romance.”
He didn’t resist when Chuuya shoved him back against the short brick wall at the edge of the roof. Just let himself be manhandled, wine bottle clinking to the ground as he opened his arms with a mock-innocent smile. The skyline flared behind him.
“You wouldn’t,” he said lightly. “We’re on the roof.”
“Exactly,” Chuuya said, crowding close. “Means I don’t have to listen to your bandaged ass talk.” His gloved hand caught Dazai’s wrist and slammed it to the wall.
The grin slipped slightly. Dazai blinked—not startled, exactly. More like recalibrating. He licked his lips.
“Chuuya—”
“Shut up.” The other wrist followed, pinned above his head. Dazai’s coat bunched under Chuuya’s grip, making him look even more disheveled.
He was flushed already, Chuuya noticed. Wine-buzzed and ruddy at the cheeks, his eyes glassy and dark, heavy-lidded. Not the kind of drunk that stumbled. The kind that simmered. Beneath the coat, his chest rose and fell a little too quick.
“You wanted to be seen?” Chuuya murmured, mouth near his ear. “This how you like it?”
Dazai huffed a breath—not quite a laugh. “If I say yes, will Chuuya—ah—”
He gasped when Chuuya rocked a knee between his legs. Just pressure, nothing frantic. But Dazai twitched like it was a revelation.
“Fuck,” he whispered, hips jerking again.
“Didn’t even touch your cock,” Chuuya said. “Pathetic.”
“Ch-chuuya's the one—who’s being—nnnh—”
Chuuya rolled his thigh forward slowly; Dazai arched, coat slipping off one shoulder. His trousers were already tenting.
“God, you really are fucking hard.”
“I was thinking about you,” Dazai hissed. “That usually does it.”
Chuuya leaned back to look at him—hair mussed, wrists trapped, legs parted, cock straining under expensive slacks. A fucking mess.
Good.
He let go of Dazai’s wrists. “Hands on the wall.”
Dazai’s eyes flicked up, curious.
“I said, hands on the wall.”
Something in Chuuya’s voice must’ve landed, because Dazai obeyed at once. Palms pressed flat behind him. Elbows bent slightly. Chin tilted, still sharp with smugness.
Chuuya crouched and undid his belt one notch at a time. Dazai watched him. Breathing harder now. No more witty remarks.
Then Chuuya tugged the waistband down. Just enough. Just so Dazai’s cock sprang out—flushed and leaking, the tip already glistening like it’d been waiting all night.
“You got this worked up just from me grabbing you and shoving you against a goddamn wall,” Chuuya said, almost to himself. “Didn’t even need to jerk you off. You just—what, like the idea of getting caught?”
The sound Dazai made was soft, open-mouthed. His fingers curled against the brick.
Chuuya smirked. “I knew it.”
Then—cruelly—he leaned in and breathed over the head of Dazai’s cock without touching. Just warm breath. No friction.
Dazai whined. High and helpless. “Chuuya—”
“Nope.” Chuuya sat back on his heels. “You want it, shitty brat? Ask.”
“I—fuck—you’re such a bastard.”
“Didn’t hear a ‘please.’”
“You’re really gonna make me beg for it?” Dazai laughed, breathless.
“I don’t make you do anything. You like it.”
Dazai clenched his jaw. Swallowed. Then:
“Please.”
Chuuya arched a brow. “You can do better than that.”
Hesitation, as Dazai warred with his desire to be difficult and insolent and his desire to be touched the way he so clearly was desperate for.
“…Fine. Please touch me.”
“Where?”
He was dragging it out now, because making Dazai beg was one of the only ways Chuuya had ever felt that Dazai could make it up to him for all the times he'd been a needling, impossible piece of shit over the years. The only way to bring him down a notch, to strip away his control and bravado and turn the stupid Black Wraith into nothing but a slut begging to be touched by the one he claimed to despise most.
Dazai hissed through his teeth. “My—fuck—my cock. Chuuya, please—”
He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Chuuya closed his mouth around him. Just the tip. Wet and slow, tongue circling like he had all the time in the world.
Dazai shuddered. Nearly doubled forward. Had to brace himself harder against the wall.
Chuuya pulled back with a pop. Licked his lips, smirking. “Already twitching. You really gonna come just from that?”
“I—I’m not that easy—”
“You are,” Chuuya said, reveling in the power he held over his brat of a partner. “I could just put you on your knees and have you rut against my boot and you’d still come like a bitch in heat.”
Dazai groaned, shifting his hips and trying to be subtle about it. “That’s not fair—”
“You want fair? Shouldn’t have dragged me out here.”
“Thought Chuuya needed some fresh air,” Dazai rasped.
Fisting his cock lazily, smearing the precum, Chuuya rose again. “You’re the one gasping like a slut who can’t breathe.”
“Chuuya—I—fuck, fuck, please—”
“You’re really whining now,” Chuuya muttered, eyes sharp as he dragged his hand slowly, so slowly, down the length of Dazai’s flushed, aching cock. “What happened to that smartass mouth?”
“Still—ah—still here—”
Chuuya twisted his grip just enough to make Dazai jolt. “Didn’t ask for commentary, slut.”
Dazai let out a broken, humiliated little sound and bucked forward. His thighs were shaking. His coat hung off one shoulder like a cloak, and his shirt was bunched around his ribs now, exposing his trembling stomach, flushed and tight with effort. The cold air had him flushed red from collarbone to cheekbone.
“You should see yourself,” Chuuya muttered. “God. All wrecked and leaking like this, and I haven’t even fucked you. Goddamn pathetic.”
He leaned down and licked a stripe up the side of Dazai’s cock. Felt it twitch in his grip. Didn’t take him back into his mouth—just held him. Just made him want it.
“Is this what you wanted, huh?” Chuuya murmured, breath hot against his skin, digging fingernails harshly into the sharp jut of Dazai's hip bones. “Dragged me up here just so you could make a mess of yourself? So you could grind against me like some needy little thing until you blew your load in your fucking pants?”
Frantically, Dazai shook his head, losing the cutting exterior he usually wore like a knife. “N-no—I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Chuuya hissed, tightening his grip almost painfully.
“I didn’t think you’d actually—oh, god—”
Chuuya had rose and shifted his thigh back between Dazai’s legs, letting him rut against it. It wasn’t enough pressure to do anything. Just enough to remind Dazai he could.
“You’re disgusting,” Chuuya said softly. “You know that?”
“I—I can’t—please—”
“Can’t what?”
Dazai was panting. “Can’t hold it—”
“Oh, but you will,” Chuuya said, low and threatening, deceptively sweet. “You’re not gonna come until I say so. You want to be my little toy, brat? You play by my rules.”
He sunk down briefly just to bite at Dazai’s inner thigh, just enough to bruise. Dazai let out a cracked, stuttering moan that echoed off the rooftop.
“I said, keep your voice down,” Chuuya snapped, slapping a hand over his mouth and shoving fingers down his throat until Dazai choked, pupils blown wide and dark. “You want someone to come up here and see you like this? Want the Boss to walk in and find his precious little subordinate humping my leg like a dog in heat?”
Dazai whimpered around the fingers fucking his mouth.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Chuuya let the silence stretch. Let Dazai feel it—the wind, the sky, the sheer visibility of their perch. Anyone could be watching from the next building. Anyone could step out the stairwell.
And here Dazai was, half-undressed, hips jerking uselessly, cock leaking all over Chuuya’s thigh.
“So pathetically desperate,” Chuuya whispered, tilting his head. “You’d take anything right now, wouldn’t you? Only for me.”
Dazai nodded beneath his hand. Mortified.
Chuuya smiled. “Good boy.”
He moved again, just barely—pressed his thigh up tighter, hand sliding lower to fondle Dazai’s balls, light and teasing, as he nipped at Dazai's collarbone until he keened, the noise immediately bit back in embarrassment.
Dazai twitched. His eyes rolled back slightly, hands scrabbling behind him, trying to keep his balance on the wall and doing a shit job of it.
“Don’t you dare come,” Chuuya threatened. “I’ll ruin you if you do until you're crying and begging me to stop. In fact, I might do it anyway, just because I can. Because you'd do nothing to fight it, like the little insolent slut that you are.”
“I—fuck—Chuuya—please—you're fucking—”
“Please what?”
“I’ll do anything,” Dazai gasped. “You can—just—please touch me, I need—”
Chuuya leaned in and spat on his cock. Let it drip down. Didn’t even stroke.
Dazai whimpered; it sounded more like a sob.
“Pathetic little thing,” Chuuya murmured, in the exact tone he knew made Dazai's head slip somewhere it usually was too sharp to go. “Fucking ruined from nothing.”
And still—he didn’t let him come.
Dazai’s thighs were shaking almost violently now. His hips were stuttering, out of sync, trying to find friction where there wasn’t any. Chuuya had pulled his leg away a minute ago, leaving him rutting at air, grinding against nothing.
“You’re so fucking needy it’s embarrassing,” Chuuya said, voice low and pleased, fingers curling around Dazai’s jaw. “You get like this every time someone handles you a little rough? Bet half the Mafia could get you crying if they just shoved you up against a wall.”
Dazai whimpered. His eyes were glassy, unfocused—cheeks stained red with humiliation and arousal, mouth slack.
“God, look at you,” Chuuya muttered, tilting his chin, his own arousal rising sharp and hot in his gut. “You’re drunk off more than just the alcohol.”
“I’m—I’m not—” Dazai started, voice hoarse, half-trying to shake his head.
“Not drunk?” Chuuya laughed, mean and delighted. “Bullshit. You’re fucking gone. Don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, do you?”
Dazai’s lips parted like he meant to respond, but Chuuya didn’t let him. He pushed two fingers into his mouth again instead, rough and unforgiving, just the way he knew Dazai fell apart for.
Dazai choked—gasped, wide-eyed—but didn’t pull back. His lips wrapped around them without resistance, knowing to obey, cheeks hollowing slightly.
“Yeah,” Chuuya breathed, half to himself, his own cock throbbing in want. “That’s what I thought.”
He didn’t give him time to adjust. Shoved them deeper. Felt the hot slick pull of his tongue, the twitch of his throat around the intrusion as he tried and struggled to breathe through his nose.
“Open up, c’mon. That's it. Take it. You’re so good with your mouth when you’re not running it like a goddamn brat.”
Eyes fluttering, Dazai made a small, aching noise and sucked harder, desperate to please in the hopes that it would get him what he wanted.
“Mm, there we go,” Chuuya said, slow and dangerous. “You can fuck yourself on my fingers for a bit. That mouth’s gotta be good for something.”
He kept the pressure steady, fingers curled slightly, pushing in until his knuckles brushed Dazai’s lips. Not quite gagging him—but close. Just enough to hear those sticky, wet squelch sounds every time he rocked them in and out.
Humiliated, Dazai moaned around them, skin glowing with more than arousal. Eyes wet now. Shoulders trembling.
“God, you love this,” Chuuya murmured. “You act like I’m being cruel, but your cock’s leaking all over your fucking thighs.”
He glanced down. It was true—a smear of precum streaked Dazai’s skin. His cock twitched with every breath, untouched, heavy, red at the tip.
“Fucking mess,” Chuuya whispered. "All mine."
Dazai tried to say something, but it was garbled around his fingers. A hiccupped little sound. His eyes were spilling now—hot, teary streaks cutting down flushed cheeks.
“Oh?” Chuuya cooed. “Gonna cry for me?”
Dazai whined, tried again. The fingers didn’t move. Just pressed harder against his tongue.
“You like getting used like this, don’t you? But only by me. Bet you could come just from this. Just from getting finger-fucked in the mouth like a whore.”
Another sob-moan. Dazai was squirming, his hands still braced against the wall, like he was holding himself up through sheer force of will. The part that got Chuuya most was that he could have easily let go, could have easily disobeyed and even manhandled Chuuya to get what he wanted.
But he just let it happen.
“You were so smug before,” Chuuya went on, rocking his fingers deeper again. “Wanted to see if I’d fuck you up here, right? Thought it’d be fun. Sexy. Romantic, even.”
He barked a laugh. “Look at you now, my little slut who'd do anything just to be touched.”
Dazai was incoherent. Little whimpers and gasps and wet gurgles as he drooled around Chuuya’s fingers, tears tracking down his face. His hips were twitching helplessly, like his body couldn’t tell if it was being touched or not.
“You don’t even need my cock, do you?” Chuuya hissed. “I could spit on the roof and you’d hump the puddle.”
That one made Dazai wail around his fingers. Muffled and ragged.
“You gonna come from that?” Chuuya purred. “From nothing? From just this? From me being cruel to you until you're too humiliated to do anything but rut like a slut in heat?”
Dazai shook his head frantically, tear tracks staining his face beautifully in a way Chuuya found hard to look at it, if only because it twisted something ugly and possessive in his heart.
“Get on your knees,” he spat, a demand Dazai knew not to disobey.
His voice had dropped to something low and serrated—not a barked command, but a quiet, ruthless order. Dazai’s eyes widened around his fingers, mouth slack and dripping.
He didn’t hesitate. Legs trembling, he slid down the wall until he was kneeling in front of Chuuya, hands still braced to stay upright, breath catching in short, shallow gasps.
“Good boy,” Chuuya muttered, voice husky now with searing want, dragging his fingers from Dazai’s mouth with a wet pop. “Let’s see if you’re good for anything else.”
He undid his fly slowly, deliberately, keeping eye contact the whole time. Dazai stared like he was hypnotized—pupils blown as wide as the void in his own chest, tears still glinting on his cheeks.
Chuuya stroked himself once, twice, watching Dazai’s gaze track every motion.
“You want it?” he breathed, his own breath coming ragged now.
Dazai nodded, frantic.
“You’re not coming,” Chuuya said. “Not until I do.”
Dazai looked as though he wanted to argue, to beg, but in the end he slurred, “I—yes—okay, I won’t, I'll do whatever Chuuya wants—”
“You’ll hold it,” Chuuya said, grip tightening. “If I feel you come before I tell you, I’m leaving you like that all night. Swear to god, I’ll walk away and let you cry yourself to sleep.”
Dazai whimpered. “I’ll be good. I promise. I promise—”
“Then open your mouth.”
Dazai obeyed instantly.
Chuuya shoved his cock between his lips.
It wasn’t graceful. Dazai gagged around the intrusion, drool spilling immediately down his chin, but he didn’t pull away. Just took it. Let Chuuya fuck into his mouth shallow at first, then deeper—both hands braced at the back of Dazai’s head now, holding him still and refusing to let him pull away or control the rhythm.
“Mm, that’s it,” Chuuya muttered, moaning. Dazai was good at this, infuriatingly so, and Chuuya felt the possessiveness rise jagged and hot inside him again. “So much better when you shut the fuck up and take it.”
Dazai moaned around him. He was already grinding against something—Chuuya glanced down and saw it: Dazai’s hips rutting slow and frantic against the top of Chuuya’s boot, smearing slick across the leather like some depraved dog.
“You’re actually humping my shoe,” Chuuya said, dazed. “You fucking pervert.”
Dazai whined—didn’t stop.
“God, you’re disgusting.” Chuuya thrust deeper into Dazai’s mouth until he gagged. “Is this what you want? This what you were hoping for when you dragged me up here?”
Eyes glassy and pleading, Dazai blinked up at him. The heat of his mouth was so wet, so willing, his throat spasming every time Chuuya pushed in deeper.
“You think you’re in charge down there, huh? Think I’ll just let you come like this, fucking yourself on my boot like a mutt?”
Dazai whimpered. His thighs trembled. His cock twitched violently against Chuuya’s ankle.
“Not yet,” Chuuya growled. “You don’t get to come until you earn it. Make me come first, and then—maybe—I’ll think about touching you.”
Helplessly, Dazai moaned and bobbed his head faster, suckling around Chuuya’s cock like he was starved. His rhythm was messy, frantic, tears dripping freely now.
“Yeah,” Chuuya hissed. “Just like that. Fucking take it. Use that mouth for something other than running it like a brat.”
The rooftop air was sharp with sweat and spit. Dazai’s jaw was aching, stretched wide, spit and precum dripping from his chin, his own cock untouched and bobbing with every movement. Leaking, pathetic.
“You’re so easy to break, Christ,” Chuuya muttered. “All it takes is a little pressure and you’re humping my shoe, gagging on my cock like it’s your fucking job. Hard to believe you're the feared prodigy of the city's most bloodthirsty organization, reduced to nothing when you're like this.”
Dazai let out a wrecked sound—somewhere between a sob and a moan—and pressed harder into the grind of Chuuya’s foot, his whole body trembling.
Chuuya grabbed a fistful of his hair and thrust hard—once, twice, three times—until Dazai was choking and he felt it building fast in his gut, electric and brutal.
“Gonna—fuck, you’d better not—not yet—”
Dazai moaned around him again, and that was it. Chuuya came with a sharp gasp, hips jerking forward, spilling deep in Dazai’s throat. Dazai didn’t pull away. Just swallowed around him, still grinding, still desperate.
“F-fuck—fuck, shit—” Chuuya gasped, twitching in the aftershocks. “God, you—”
He looked down.
Dazai was still rocking against his boot. Tears and spit all over his chin, mouth slack, eyes pleading.
Chuuya reached down and gently cupped his jaw. “Good. You did good,” he murmured.
Dazai let out a broken noise of relief.
The smile on Chuuya's face sharpened fiendishly. “Still didn’t come though, did you?”
Frantically, Dazai shook his head.
Chuuya smirked. “Guess I’d better fix that.”
Dazai collapsed against him the second Chuuya’s cock slipped from his mouth—breathing raggedly, gasping like he’d nearly drowned. His knees gave out, legs folded under him, face buried in Chuuya’s coat, fists now shaking where they gripped it like he'd collapse completely if he let go.
“Shhh,” Chuuya murmured, combing damp hair back from Dazai's forehead. “Still with me?”
Dazai nodded—a weak, boneless thing of a nod. His body was trembling with the effort of staying upright.
“You didn’t come,” Chuuya said softly.
A whimper in response. Dazai couldn’t speak. He just rocked forward helplessly against Chuuya’s boot.
“Alright,” Chuuya said, sliding down to his knees. “You earned it.”
He took his time—spit-slick hand curling around Dazai’s cock, still flushed and leaking, the head angry-red from how long he’d been held on the edge. Dazai jolted with the first stroke, knees twitching.
“Sensitive?” Chuuya asked, smug.
Dazai let out a soft, broken moan and nodded again.
“Good.”
The pace was slow. Cruelly slow. Chuuya’s hand moved in lazy strokes, barely enough to do anything, thumb swiping the head too soft to be enough, soft enough to make Dazai whimper—but it was contact, finally, and Dazai’s whole body leaned into it like he couldn’t help himself.
“Look at you,” Chuuya murmured. “Still hard. Still needy. You’re really something else, y’know that? Mine, especially like this.”
Dazai whimpered. His hips stuttered, trying to fuck into Chuuya’s grip.
“Uh-uh. Let me.”
Chuuya kissed his temple as his hand began to speed up—just a little. Enough to make Dazai cry out, high and wrecked.
“You took my cock like a good little toy, didn’t you? Let me fuck your mouth until you drooled all over yourself. Just so you could get this.”
Dazai was crying again now—soft and shameless, tears slipping down his cheeks as his mouth fell open.
“I mean, you asked for this,” Chuuya whispered against his ear. “Brought me up here. All your fault, isn’t it?”
Dazai choked on a sob and tried to nod.
“That’s right. All that flirting. All that smug bullshit. And now you’re gonna come like a fucking virgin in my lap.”
“P-please—”
“Please what?”
“I need to—I can’t, Chuu—please—”
Chuuya kissed him, not rough this time, but slow. Gentle. He mouthed at Dazai’s lips, wet and hot and trembling.
“You’re so easy to ruin,” he whispered. “And you love it, Osamu.”
That name—Osamu—hit like a fuse.
Dazai shattered.
He came with a sob, body locking up, cock twitching hard in Chuuya’s fist as thick ropes spilled across his stomach. His head dropped forward, forehead to Chuuya’s shoulder, sobbing and whimpering now in earnest—whole body jolting as Chuuya kept jerking him through it, merciless and slow.
“Shhh,” Chuuya whispered. “You’re okay, Osamu. I’ve got you. Let it out.”
Dazai’s legs were quaking. His whole frame sagged into Chuuya’s chest, breath hitching again and again as his orgasm dragged on too long—overstimulated, flooded, lost in it.
“Good boy,” Chuuya said, slowing his strokes. “There you go. That’s it. Let it all out, pretty thing.”
Eventually Dazai slumped forward, boneless and dazed, spent cock twitching weakly against his thigh. Chuuya let go and gathered him in, guiding him down to sit fully on the rooftop, cradling him with practiced ease.
“You’re a fucking mess, you know that,” he murmured, wiping at his cheeks. “God, I love when you cry.”
Dazai didn’t respond. Just clung to him, fingers weakly grasping Chuuya’s coat.
“Still with me?”
A nod. Barely.
“You did good,” Chuuya said, softer now. “You did so fucking good.”
He kissed Dazai’s damp cheek. Let him breathe. Let him float, safe and ruined in his arms.
Dazai was quiet now. Not unconscious—just still. Breathing slow, hiccuping now and then, trembling a little less with each minute that passed.
Chuuya stroked his hair.
The night had cooled around them. Wind brushing past in soft pulses. The glittering lights of the city below, indifferent. Chuuya could still hear the music from the party downstairs. Low. Distant. Like it belonged to another world.
He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to get out of there until Dazai had pulled him up the stairs. Until he’d felt his own blood boiling under the collar of that damned suit, too many voices buzzing in his ears, every glance weighted with politics and expectation.
Getting off had helped. It always did. Let him bleed the irritation from his system. Loosen the coiled wire in his chest.
But Dazai—
Dazai had needed it more.
That part was obvious now. The way he’d given in. The desperation. The way he’d cried, not from pain, but from release—from the sheer relief of not having to be clever anymore.
Chuuya had seen it before. In flickers. In rare, accidental moments. But tonight had torn it open.
Dazai wasn’t just a brat. Wasn’t just an attention-hungry menace.
He was tired.
Performing all the time, staying five steps ahead—it cost him. Made his whole body tense with it. Even when he smiled, even when he joked. Especially then.
But like this? Barely holding himself up, mouth raw, cock soft against his thigh—he was quiet. The thoughts wrung out until they went silent. Finally.
Chuuya kissed him again. Dazai made a small noise and leaned in, opening his mouth to allow Chuuya's tongue to slide against his. No teasing. No smirk. He only melted into the kiss like it was instinct.
“You okay?” Chuuya asked against his lips.
“Mhm.” A faint sound, a little hoarse. “Still floating.”
Chuuya chuckled. “Yeah, I can tell.”
They stayed like that a little longer. Letting it settle.
Eventually, Chuuya helped him sit up. Helped him get cleaned off—rummaging a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping him down with surprising care.
Dazai didn’t talk. Just let himself be moved, clothed, touched. Boneless and pliant. His shirt hung loose now. His hair was a mess. He looked wrecked.
And sweet. Soft in a way he didn’t let anyone else see.
Chuuya's heart twinged again, possessive and yearning and something else he wasn't quite ready to name even if they both knew it was true.
They dressed in silence, fixing buttons, buckling belts. Chuuya re-did Dazai’s tie for him, tsking when those long fingers fumbled it.
When they were both mostly put together again, Chuuya smoothed his gloves back on and said, “You gonna act normal now, or am I gonna have to babysit you through the rest of this party?”
Dazai blinked at him. Then—slowly—he smiled. A little smug. A little sleepy.
“I’m always normal,” he said. “Chuuya’s the one who dragged me behind a kitchen and molested me on a roof.”
Chuuya snorted, fond despite himself. “You started it, shithead.”
“I did,” Dazai admitted. “But I didn’t think you’d go so hard.”
“Should I have gone harder?”
Dazai gave him a look. “I wouldn’t be standing.”
“Then quit your bitching.”
They walked back down the stairs together, quiet footfalls echoing in the stairwell. Dazai’s hair was still a bit disheveled. His mouth red. His eyes unfocused in that dazed, sated way that looked almost obedient.
Not many people would notice. Not unless they knew what to look for.
Chuuya opened the door back into the warmth and light of the banquet hall.
Music. Voices. Champagne laughter.
Dazai stepped in beside him like nothing had happened, the easy mask sliding back into place, no trace left of the wrecked, tear‑streaked thing Chuuya had just held together on the roof. But Chuuya could still see it, the faint tremor in his fingers, the softness at the edges of his mouth that hadn’t been there before.
And the party carried on.