Getting lost in Wonderland is a matter of course - it’s Wonderland, after all. Being separated from the rest of his party is slightly more of a concern to Chuuya, but only slightly.
It’d be worse if he had to deal with a lot of Taints all by himself - even he’s not crazy enough to think he could last long against the more powerful ones without any backup. But this part of the book doesn’t have many Taints - a Writer’s Block here and there - and is mostly populated by… he hasn’t settled on what to call them, since ‘inhabitants of this book that aren’t Taints’ is too long. The Yakumo in the book of ghost stories from a while back had been evasive on what he was exactly, and he’d been by far the most self-aware of his existence in the book as a character.
Call them characters, then. Some of them are familiar: the white rabbit hurrying by holding a pocket watch, or the egg perched on a wall with nothing helpful whatsoever to say when Chuuya stopped to talk. Those are characters he knows should be in this particular book. On the other hand, some of them don’t fit in any of his own memories of Alice in Wonderland, and however much was lost in translation to Japanese, he doesn’t think entire characters went missing on the way.
In particular, instead of a March Hare and a Dormouse, only a Hatter sits at this tea party.
“That’s sure a familiar face.” The Hatter tips his hat back to get a better look at Chuuya’s face - exactly the same as his own. “My face is still on my head where I left it, right?”
“Looks normal to me.” Chuuya shifts his weight from one leg to another. If the theory about filling in tainted parts of a book with people the delver knows is true, of course he’s the obvious choice among the authors for a Hatter - at the same time, being made a Mad Hatter has him uncomfortable, if only because it’s just as apt with ‘Mad’ added on.
“Alright, good. It’s such a pain to find your face after you’ve misplaced it.” Apparently satisfied with that, the Hatter fills another cup of tea. “Have a seat. It’s always so lonely to drink and eat cookies by myself.”
“Won’t you still be drinking by yourself?” Chuuya asks, even as he finds himself taking a seat next to his lookalike.
“If you look at it that way, I’ll have half as many tea drinkers and drink twice as much tea. Not a bad alternative.” The Hatter refills his own teacup and clinks it with Chuuya’s.
The tea is better than the sake, Chuuya has to admit after he drinks some. Maybe Wonderland runs on that kind of backwards logic where an alcoholic likes tea more than alcohol, or maybe the book is just so British that it makes the tea better by default. He can add that to this world’s mysteries.
“Are you another one that got lost?” the Hatter asks. “People from other worlds wander into our country by mistake sometimes, especially lately.”
This is probably a good chance to get information from a resident of one of these white books, not just about this book in particular but about the nature of the white books and the characters within them.
Chuuya doesn’t bother trying. “I came on purpose, but I got separated from my group. Have you seen three other people who don’t look like they belong here? A wimpy guy who’s in way too much red, a guy in a leather jacket with a face that makes you want to hit him, and a sad-looking guy with a crooked bow on his obi?”
“Haven’t seen any of them,” the Hatter replies, with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve got a weird way of describing your friends.”
Chuuya can’t help it: he snorts with laughter. “We’re not friends. They’re coworkers at best, and more often just annoyances.”
“Do you have friends?” the Hatter asks.
That’s a direct question with a simple, if uncomfortable, answer. “…No.”
The Hatter says nothing for a moment and just stares at him. Chuuya is the first to avert his eyes - there’s a keenness in the Hatter’s gaze that’s only seen in the eyes of wisdom or the eyes of madness. They’re more difficult to distinguish than you would think.
“You’re lonely. It’s always so lonely to drink by yourself, so I can’t help anything that way,” the Hatter says at last.
Chuuya could argue that he gets people to drink with him, they’re just not friends, except the Hatter has taken a hold of his tie and is tugging him closer. “Hey, what the hell-”
That’s the feeling of Hatter’s lips on his, he realizes, about a moment after the Hatter actually kisses him. Is this what kissing Chuuya is like for other people? No, it can’t be, that’s definitely flavored lip balm that doesn’t match their tea. Strawberry? He doesn’t wear strawberry lip balm.
“I’ve never heard anyone say that being kissed by yourself is lonely,” the Hatter says, still close enough that Chuuya can feel his breath on his skin. “Have you?”
“That’d be stupid,” Chuuya says, somehow already breathless. It’s the kind of nonsensical statement you’d only hear in Wonderland, from the mouth of a resident just as mad as the world.
The Hatter’s mouth isn’t doing much right now besides kissing Chuuya again.
Since they’re exactly the same height, it’s a little more difficult to avoid bumping noses, but they manage. Chuuya threads his hand through the Hatter’s hair - is his own hair this soft? - and the Hatter doesn’t complain about his hat being knocked off in the process. Gloved hands find the buttons to Chuuya’s cape and let it fall onto the table, narrowly avoiding dipping a corner into a cup of tea.
“This won’t help anything either,” Chuuya says, while the Hatter pulls off his gloves. “It’s just more nonsense.”
“Sure it’s nonsense,” the Hatter replies. “But it doesn’t have to have a meaning to be fun. Until you go back to your world where you have no friends, why not spend the time with me?”
Chuuya can’t argue that. He especially can’t argue that with the Hatter’s lips on his throat. There’s the thought of what he’ll say to the others if he comes back with marks, but it’s distant, and thoughts of how good it feels to just relax and not dwell on anything with importance are so much more immediate.
Why not go mad for a while?
Chuuya’s tie is almost the same color as the Hatter’s jacket and vest. It’s more obvious that they’re slightly different shades when they’re lying on top of each other in a pile of clothing.
Chuuya isn’t looking at the Hatter’s clothing when he’s too busy staring at his cock. The size is the same as his own, the curve as it hardens - it’s strange seeing it from another angle, but that’s definitely the same as his. Whoever’s memories made up this world, they knew entirely too much about his junk.
So that’s a little bit uncomfortable, but on the other hand, as long as it’s accurate this far…
“Sit on the table or something,” Chuuya says, and the Hatter grins and does as told, clearing off a few plates of cookies to make room.
In Chuuya’s admittedly limited experience, cock tastes like skin with only minor variations. So does the Hatter’s cock - heated skin under Chuuya’s tongue. He doesn’t think many people do this for the taste.
It’s not too difficult to wrap his lips around the head, not too difficult to slide more and more of it inside. The Hatter is thick and heavy in his mouth and down his throat, and Chuuya lets his eyes fall shut as he just enjoys that sensation for a moment.
He feels the Hatter’s hands on the back of his head, nudging him forward just a little, and gets back into motion.
The Hatter’s loud. Chuuya knows that he’s loud too, but it’s a different thing hearing his moans when he isn’t the one making them, when he isn’t the one repeating “yes, god yes” every time Chuuya’s lips reach the base. Maybe later Chuuya will think to be embarrassed, but for now he enjoys drawing those sounds out of the Hatter as much as he’d enjoy drawing them out of any other partner.
Chuuya has to pin the Hatter’s hips down to keep him still. He can feel him twitch underneath his palms, and the motion is flattering, but he still doesn’t appreciate sudden thrusts.
With obvious great effort, the Hatter manages a question.
“If the dove is the bird of peace - what’s the bird of love?”
Chuuya can’t help but laugh around the Hatter’s cock, and the vibrations set the Hatter off into another fit of wordless moaning. He sucks harder, licks harder, until the Hatter clenches his fingers in Chuuya’s hair and spills his come down his throat.
Sweeter than he’s used to, Chuuya notes. He gulps some of it down, and pulls off only once the Hatter has finished. Then he grins with come still visible on his tongue.
The Hatter grins back at him, but before he can answer, distant voices reach their ears. The words are too faint to make out, but Chuuya would recognize Dazai’s whine when he’s in a panic any day.
“Tch. Guess I’d better get back to them.” Chuuya reaches for his clothes, trying to touch his hard-on as little as possible when he gets redressed.
“Come for tea again, won’t you?” the Hatter asks. “I’ll always have something available for you.”
“Heh, I’m sure you’ll have drinks.”
It wouldn’t be so bad to lose himself in nonsense like this again.