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Chuuya hadn’t been thinking when he kicked open the Agency’s door and barreled in with the single goal of slicing Dazai’s throat with his blade, seeing as he thought an impromptu assassination would give him the upper hand in their ancient dance.
It didn’t take long before the tables were turned.
So now here he is, dressed in nothing save his black choker, his flushed body spread in front of the fourth floor window for all to see in the light of Yokohama’s setting sun—a wanton and licentious display of submission.
Whining, Chuuya closes his eyes and drops his head back, resting it on the man’s shoulder as he bounces up and down on his cock.
“It’s your fault,” taunts the raspy voice purring in Chuuya’s ear; the words are dripping in pure sin, smoother than whiskey and more bitter than wine, and he can’t help but moan as each syllable is accompanied by a snap of the other’s hips.
A fully clothed Dazai clad with the executive’s fedora on his head threads the fingers of his left hand through his curly red tresses and yanks, forcing him to crane his neck in a way that allows Dazai to leer down at him. Through hazy blue eyes blown wide with lust, Chuuya stares up at the brunet and watches as a salacious smirk slowly curves the corners of his mouth. He lets out a soft whimper.
“This is what Chuuya gets for trying to kill me...again,” Dazai says, emphasizing the statement with a hard thrust to his prostate, pummeling the sensitive bundle of nerves in the most brutal of ways.
Stars burst behind Chuuya’s eyes and he screams, crying out shamelessly as Dazai does it again, and again, and again until he’s a quivering and whimpering mess in his lap. And just when he’s about to topple over the edge, Dazai slows down and moves in a gentle rocking motion. Chuuya let’s out a frustrated whine, which earns a mocking chuckle in response.
“You’re—hah—a bastard,” he gasps.
Humming with amusement, Dazai leans in and presses his mouth against Chuuya’s, capturing him in a kiss that’s too gentle, too soothing for the words that are yet to come; it leaves Chuuya gasping wantonly, yearning for more when they part. Rather than pull away, Dazai stares down at him, his breath ghosting across his swollen pink lips.
“Mmm...” Dazai tilts his head in thought, and Chuuya can feel the sound vibrating through the sliver of air resting between their mouths. “I wonder what Ane-san and Mori-san would say if they found out Chuuya was here.”
He turns Nakahara’s head to the side while his soft lips brush along his cheek until they finally settle on his ear. “That Chuuya waltzes into the ADA every week and begs me to fuck him.”
Chuuya moans, loud and erotic enough to entice the brunet to drive into him again. “D-Dazai,” he groans into the other’s ear. He swallows thickly, digging his fingers into the tops of his thighs, his nails scraping across the sweat-slicked flesh as he pants with each bounce on Dazai’s cock.
Suddenly, Chuuya feels something cold press against the side of his neck below his right ear. He stills and out of the corner of his eye, he can see something long and metallic refract against the sun’s light—his knife. His blue eyes flick to Dazai, who’s now gazing at him, his own brown eyes drowning in searing arousal, pinning Chuuya to the spot.
“I guess after all this time, Chuuya still hasn’t found anyone to fuck him like the slut the Port Mafia knows he is.” Dazai twists his hand tighter in Nakahara’s hair, holding him in place while he graces him with a lecherous smirk; it widens at the sharp hiss of pain rushing through Chuuya’s clenched teeth.
“But then again,” he breathes, “they know better than to touch what’s mine; wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on my whore.”
Snarling, the redhead glares at the grinning waste of bandages. “You’re such a fucking ass,” he spits out. “I should’ve—“ The remaining retort catches in his throat as the distinct tip of his knife caresses his bottom lip; the cold metal against his flushed skin is like a breath of fresh air. Each brush of its edge sends shivers cascading down Chuuya’s spine, his pupils dilating with every caress.
“Hmm, that’s better,” mutters Dazai. He drags the knife down Chuuya’s chin and carefully slides it along his jawline up to his left ear, then across his cheek before pressing it flat against his kiss-swollen lips. “You’re so beautiful when your mouth is shut, chibi.”
Inadvertently blushing, a growl resonates in Chuuya’s chest. He tries to speak, but grunts as his head is harshly snapped to the side. Dazai begins to worship his neck, raining down open-mouth kisses along the pale column of his throat. Each touch of the brunet’s lips feels like fire, his flesh scorching as Dazai leaves silent promises—warnings that Chuuya is his, and his alone. That’s how it’s always been, and how it’ll always be.
Dazai glides his way up to Chuuya’s cheek, while the knife meanders downward until it reaches his pulse point, where its keen edge digs into his skin hard enough to imprint. Chuuya swallows thickly, then exhales a breathy moan when the brunet bounces him upward high enough for him to slam down on his cock. The blade flicks against his flesh, and he gasps, reveling in the fleeting pain.
“The downside,” begins Dazai, smiling against the redhead’s ear and Chuuya’s eyes glaze over, hooded with desire, “is that I won’t be able to hear my chibi scream.”
He speaks again, whispering words that elicit a pale hue of pink to blossom on Chuuya’s cheeks. The color has nothing to do with the pleasure wracking through his body, but it darkens to a deep scarlet as he lets himself believe the saccharine lies—the cruel venom that sends his heart racing and bolts of lightning down his spine. The humiliation from the filthy words dropping from Dazai’s lips crawl across his heated flesh, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.
Using the tight grip on his hair, Dazai pulls back and twists his neck, forcing the redhead to have no choice but to look up at him. Chuuya lets out a soft mewl as Dazai leans forward, their mouths centimeters apart, and when Dazai speaks, his warm breath flutters against his lips.
“Tell me, hat rack,” Dazai murmurs while he drags the knife down Chuuya’s neck, across his collar, then onto his nipples. He presses the very tip into his skin, and begins circling one before flicking it and moving on to the next. “Will you make yourself scream for me?”
“D-Dazai...” pants Chuuya, his voice barely a whisper.
Leering down into blue eyes shining with tears, Dazai flicks a nipple again and tightens his hand in Chuuya’s hair.
“I can’t hear you, chibi,” taunts Dazai. He presses the knife deeper into Chuuya’s skin, hard enough to barely avoid slicing the silky pale flesh, then scratches it down his stomach until he reaches the redhead’s right thigh, where he lays the cold blade flat against his knee.
Swiftly, the detective spreads his legs, slinging Chuuya’s thighs wide open, leaving him exposed for Dazai to play with. Dazai takes the knife and settles its edge on the executive’s skin and slowly slides it against his thigh, tracing and gliding across the love bites peppering Chuuya’s slender limb. Once he’s inches away from the other’s hardened length, Dazai slaps his inner thigh with the flat side of the blade, leaving a red imprint on the creamy skin.
Chuuya’s eyes flutter shut and his back arches beautifully against Dazai and he groans, keening as the pain sends tremors rippling throughout his body.
“I’m waiting, Chuuya,” whispers the brunet as he smacks the other’s thigh again.
“Fuck, D-Dazai,” Chuuya whines. Slowly, he begins rocking back and forth, his overstimulated body sliding along Dazai’s cock.
Dazai swoops down, gently kissing the redhead’s moist lips before he releases his hair. “Good boy, chibi,” he breathes huskily. “Use me to make yourself scream.”
Chuuya picks up speed, his hips rolling back and forth until he’s riding Dazai, his prostrate grinding against the detective’s cock with every snap of his hips. Nakahara drops his head back against Dazai’s shoulder and he plants his face in the crook of his neck, using it to muffle his wanton cries.
Groaning softly, Dazai transfers the blade into his left hand, then brings it to the front of Chuuya’s neck, while the fingers of the right wrap one by one around his lover’s shaft. He begins stroking it up and down, running his thumb across the sensitive head while he smears the precum along the silky tip.
“Now Chuuya,” murmurs Dazai. He squeezes Chuuya’s cock, and twists it in tandem with each stroke of his hand, pulling a quiet gasp from the redhead’s lips. A smirk tugs at the corner of his own. “Look out the window and tell the city what you are.”
Nakahara snaps his hips forward, moaning at the delicious friction of Dazai’s hand pumping his length while the brunet’s cock jolts against his sweet spot. Panting, he slowly lifts his head and opens his blue eyes blown wide with lust, then stares out the fourth floor window into Yokohama.
“I-I’m a—“ the executive swallows thickly, his throat working against the knife digging into his neck. “I’m a whore,” he admits breathily.
Dazai presses his lips against Chuuya’s ear and grins. He tightens his grip on Chuuya’s cock, squeezing it from base to tip until the redhead is squirming against him. “Who’s whore, chibi?”
“Yours,” gasps Nakahara through parted pink lips. “Your whore.”
“Mhmm,” the brunet hums, his warm breath fluttering through his lover’s damp red tendrils. “Now, make yourself scream. I want everyone to hear my whore get himself off.” In tandem with his order, he rolls his hips in encouragement, syncing his movements with Chuuya’s own.
Spurred on by Dazai’s words, Chuuya rides him faster, grinding down on the other’s lap as he meets him thrust for thrust, his body writhing and heating.
Then, with a final snap of his hips, Chuuya arches gorgeously against Dazai and he cries out shamelessly, groaning as he comes all over his lover’s hand while he rides out his climax. He barely registers Dazai’s moan as his body tightens around the detective’s cock, too caught up in bliss while the other finishes inside him. Panting, Chuuya slumps bonelessly against Dazai. He vaguely hears the sound of his knife clattering to the floor. Warm bandaged arms wrap around his body and a kiss is placed against his temple.
“I didn’t know Chuuya was such a loud whore,” comments Dazai.
Chuuya scoffs breathlessly. “Oh, shut up.” The responding chuckle resonating against his head causes a bright blush to blossom on his cheeks, and a soft snarl rumbles in his throat. “I can’t stand you.”
“I know,” chirps Dazai, his tone bubbling with delighted amusement. He traces a finger along Chuuya’s stomach, smearing his cum in tiny circles along his sweat-slicked skin.
“So, same time next week?”
“Fine.”