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The best thing about fucking his boyfriend in the shower, aside from the overall sexiness of Dazai strung-out and surrounded by steam, is the ease that comes with the clean-up. With Dazai leaning halfway onto his shoulder, he watches their combined fluids swirl down the drain before turning to look at his partner.
Panting, flushed, and hazy-eyed, Dazai is a vision, hair mussed and sticking up at every odd angle. In the dim lighting of their bathroom, he looks almost ethereal, otherworldly.
“Angel,” Chuuya breathes, reaching over to tuck an errant strand of hair behind the brunet’s ear.
Dazai makes a sound of protest, squirming in his hold.
“Oh, you don’t agree?” Leaning forward, Chuuya places a soft kiss against Dazai’s jaw. “I guess I’ll just have to convince you, huh?” Brushing one wet hand down a soft, scarred side, he huffs a breath against Dazai’s neck, grinning and pinching his hip, where a thin layer of fat is finally starting to build. “You’re so stubborn, though, it might take me a while.”
Dazai yelps, throwing his arms over Chuuya’s shoulder and digging his fingers into thick ginger hair. “Mean.”
“I know, I know. I’m horrible,” Chuuya agrees easily, hyperfocused on the way Dazai wriggles at every pass over his skin. “Sensitive here, huh? Or just ticklish?”
“Chuuya,” Dazai whines, averting his eyes. In lieu of a response, the redhead digs his fingers into his sides, watching as Dazai jolts and lets out a surprised, strangled sound, leaning back against the shower wall in a sorry excuse for an escape. “Chuuya!”
“Shh, princess,” Chuuya says patronizingly, nipping at his jaw again before migrating his lips downwards to bite more harshly at his neck, right above where the bandages usually sit. As much as he likes being the only one to see Dazai’s bare skin, being the only one to bear witness to this strange, ruined angel, the only one to see the scars and bruises and his own bites, there’s something so viscerally satisfying in seeing his marks peek out from the top of clean, clinical bandages. The visual reminder to everyone who dares lay their eyes on Dazai of just who the brunet belongs to quells something feral and possessive inside him, not to mention the way it makes Dazai shudder and moan, unhindered and echoing off the tile.
His fingers pinch and prod at the meager flesh on those skinny hips, relishing in the way it molds under his fingers, evidence of his hard work. Getting the mackerel to eat three meals a day, or to eat anything healthy at all for that matter, is not for the faint of heart, and Chuuya’s resolute stubbornness is the only thing that’s gotten him so far. But the payoff-- a healthy, happy Dazai, without ribs poking out, with a revived strength and overall vigor-- is worth it, if not for the satisfaction of seeing his lover healthy, then for the more… physical benefits.
Benefits like a sexual stamina to outlast Chuuya’s own, and a sensitivity that’s almost, in Chuuya’s opinion, like the gift that keeps on giving. “Aw, it’s like no one’s even touched you before,” He coos, ghosting his nails across Dazai’s ribs and reveling in the gasp it draws out of him. He laps at the bite he’s just finished leaving on Dazai’s collarbone before leaning back to take in the flush on Dazai’s cheeks. Behind them, the water must be getting cold, so he drags Dazai under the spray, grinning at the way it makes him look like a drowned cat when he just stands there helplessly beneath the stream.
“Poor baby,” He says, pumping shampoo into his fingers, “So sensitive.”
“My chibi is so mean to me,” Dazai says, watching Chuuya work the soap into a lather, eyes fixated on the movement of his fingers, “He hates me.”
“How could I hate something so pathetic? That’d be cruel.” Despite the harsh words, it comes out soft, like a caress, and Dazai shivers beneath the warm water. “Bend down, beanpole.”
“Mean,” Dazai reiterates, but obliges, ducking his head so Chuuya could work his fingers through wet, matted curls. When he digs his nails into the scalp, dragging them slowly across the sensitive skin, Dazai moans, letting his head fall forward onto Chuuya’s shoulder, body slumped. Entrenched in steam, Chuuya’s hands working at his scalp, he’s gone pliant, humming and moaning contentedly into the warm skin of Chuuya’s neck.
“Feels good?” Chuuya asks, sweeping one hand down his spine and feeling the resulting shudder against him, “This is what taking care of yourself feels like, angel.”
“Don’t wanna,” Dazai grunts brattily, “Chuuya should just do it for me.”
“Like I don’t already.” When Dazai makes a petulant noise, he relents, “Of course I will, sweetheart. Gotta pamper my princess, hm?”
“Yeah,” Dazai agrees, pushing his head into Chuuya’s hand. In a lot of ways, Dazai reminds him of an oversized housecat, especially with the way he purrs when Chuuya digs his fingers into his scalp harshly, dragging them across from one ear to the other. The hand ghosting up and down Dazai’s spine makes its way to one hip, squeezing before slipping back up to his sensitive sides and poking.
Dazai lets out a yelp, a sound almost akin to a squeak, before turning a wet, pouty glare on him. Like this, it’s hard to imagine Dazai was ever the feared mafia executive of the past. Like this, alone with Chuuya in their shower, sopping wet and shaking, he looks almost like an angel. Chuuya grins. “Oh, my bad. Did that tickle?”
“Chuu- ya! ” Dazai stamps his foot, almost losing his balance on the slippery tiles. Easily, Chuuya’s arm snakes around his waist to hold him up, grabbing the showerhead and pulling it off its anchor to spray the mackerel in the face.
Another indignant noise makes its way out of Dazai while he flaps his arms, trying to bat the nozzle out of the redhead’s hand. “Oh, is this bothering you?”
Dazai opens his mouth to reply but only sputters when the water gets in his mouth.
Still laughing, Chuuya grabs ahold of Dazai’s hair, pulling his head down gently to properly wash the shampoo out. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
“You’re a bully! I’m being mistreated!”
“You poor thing.”
Finally, Dazai retaliates, reaching out to scratch at Chuuya’s wrist while he works his hands through dark hair, mewling like a drowning cat. “I will not stand for this!”
“Alright, alright,” Chuuya says, setting the showerhead back on its dock and reaching for the conditioner. As much as he wants to get on with things, to wrap Dazai up in his arms and pamper him, he’s not letting the bastard get away without conditioning, not since he’s discovered the glory of those curls when they’re properly taken care of. “After this, I promise I’ll take care of you.”
“No more,” Dazai whines, but leans his head forward again anyway.
It’s a quick affair, as is scrubbing the mackerel down from head to toe, despite his best efforts to get Chuuya’s attention elsewhere. “Finally,” Dazai sighs, watching Chuuya turn the water off. He’s already shivering, the hot water running out fairly quickly between their antics, so when the redhead wraps a fluffy towel around him he doesn’t protest, turning his head to snuggle his cheek into the fabric. “Smells like Chibi,” He murmurs happily.
Chuuya snorts. “No, it smells like detergent, because some of us actually wash our clothes properly. It smells like me because I wash my clothes properly.”
A shrug. “Why would I do anything properly when I can have you do it for me?”
That earns him another pinch to his side, eliciting a startled yelp. “I thought you were done hurting me!”
“I thought you were done deserving it, sweetheart.”
Dazai grumbles something unintelligible, sticking his tongue out at Chuuya’s naked back as he follows him to the bedroom. It’s quiet as Dazai stands there, dripping onto the lush carpet and watching Chuuya as he rifles in their drawers, surfacing with a pair of fluffy pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. “This look good?” He asks.
Dazai tilts his head, thinking. “It’ll do.”
“ It’ll do, ” Chuuya mocks, bumping the drawer closet with his hip. “Are you going to towel off like a person, or do I have to do that too?”
With a shit-eating grin, Dazai shakes his head.
“Lazy, entitled little princess,” Chuuya scolds, grinning back. It comes out fond, and his touch is soft when he takes the towel from Dazai and begins toweling off his hair, scrunching it between his fingers. “Do you want to just go to bed, or watch a movie?”
“Tired.”
“Okay.”
Silence settles over them again as they go through the ritual of drying and dressing, trading the towel back and forth. When Dazai pulls his head out from the neck of the shirt, effectively ruining Chuuya’s hard work on his hair with hsi recklessness, he scrunches his nose. “Chuuya said he was going to pamper me.”
“What else do you want, a foot rub?”
Dazai nods eagerly. “ Yes . And breakfast in bed.”
“It’s two in the morning, Dazai.”
“Yeah, two in the morning . So, breakfast time.”
Scrubbing a hand down his face with a groan, Chuuya rolls his eyes, trying not to smile at his boyfriend’s antics. “I hate you, Sincerely, I do.”
“Liar.”
“You, too,” Chuuya says, leaning up to kiss Dazai’s cheek. “Pancakes?”
Looking dramatically and decidedly put-upon, the brunet sighs. “I guess that’ll do.”
“Poor, poor princess,” Chuuya says, patting his cheek, “Relegated to pancakes for breakfast in bed.” Leaning back and stretching his arms over his head, he listens to the satisfying crackle of his spine before turning to make his way to the kitchen. “Are you gonna help, or are you going to sit around and watch?”
“I dunno yet,” Dazai says, following a few steps behind. “I could be convinced, though.” When Chuuya turns to glare over his shoulder at him, he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“Don’t you start that again.”
“Boo. I hate you,” Dazai whines, flopping onto a kitchen stool.
“Liar,” Chuuya says, smiling.
“You, too.”