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A God Worth Worshipping

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 Dazai shuts the doors to the Executive boardroom behind him and lets out a slow breath, watching Chuuya retreating into the elevator, doors starting to close already. Being back really is worth it if he gets to watch Chuuya prove what a formidable force he’s grown into at every meeting. The line between god and chibi is getting blurrier and the two personalities, if they can be called that, seem more fluid than before. He’s never known Arahabaki coming out like that before. Perhaps as Chuuya matures from the hothead, reckless chibi to elegant, effortlessly intimidating Executive he’s closer to Arahabaki.

 Not that Dazai cares if he gets to keep watching performances like that. He has far more important things on his mind right now.

 Dazai hurries after him, trying not to look like he is, long sweeping strides carrying him to the elevator just as the doors shut. No. No no no. He’s not waiting any longer. He slams his hand against the button to open the doors again but there’s nothing.


 His phone rings in his pocket and Dazai frowns. Slug flashes on the screen. He’s being toyed with.

 “Desperate?” Chuuya purrs on the other end of the line.

 Dazai’s mouth goes dry and he swallows thickly at the heavy tone. He doesn’t know which part of Chuuya he’s even talking to; if the all powerful god simply wishes to make him suffer or if Chuuya has simply learnt how to be seductive or perhaps something in between. It’s not important though. It’ll be his Chuuya the moment he touches him anyway.

 “Enough to beg?” Chuuya asks as Dazai presses a hand to the elevator doors. They don’t budge so it’s not his Ability holding them closed. “Enough to get on your knees before me? Just like you promised?”

 Dazai laughs breathlessly. He had promised, hadn’t he?

 “Show me a god worth kneelings before and worshipping, Chuuya, and I just might do so on the way back down.”

 He’d not been expecting to see Arahabaki coming to the surface but it had the effect of stealing his breath and stirring up his desires all the same. And now it’s just this one set of doors between him and the partner he’d wasted a meeting fantasising about.

 “Don’t tease, chibi-”

 “No,” Chuuya, or maybe not Chuuya, chides. “You don’t get what you want like that. Ask for me.”

 Dazai licks his lips. “I want you.”

 “Ask for me.”

 “Let me have you.”


 “Chibi…” Dazai resists a moment longer, phone creaking in his fingers. And then his need to feel - and the knowledge that it’s Chuuya who makes him feel most vividly - wins out. “Please, let me be with you.”

 “It’ll do,” Chuuya replies.

 “Open the door, chibi-”

 “No. Not like that,” he says. “I’m a god, you don’t get what you want by being disrespectful. Address me by my name.”


 “Dead wrong, bastard.”

 “Chuuya,” Dazai groans, half embarrassed by the raw, tightness of his voice.

 “You sound like a horny teenager trying to resist the need jerk off in public,” Chuuya replies. Dazai feels like one right now too. “You’re lucky I’m a benevolent god of calamity who takes mercy on pitiful perverts like you, aren’t you?”


 The line goes dead and Dazai drops the phone into his pocket as the doors open up to reveal Chuuya smirking back at him. There’s a moment of tense silence before Chuuya grins, tilting his head and beckoning him in with a slight curl of his finger.

 “C’mere and prove you’re not such a waste of bandages.”

 Dazai doesn’t need to be told twice. It barely takes a moment for him to sweep into the elevator, for his hands cup his face and to guide Chuuya’s mouth to his. Chuuya’s hands grasp his hair and he pulls Dazai down and closer. Their overcoats end up on the floor and Dazai doesn’t care for a moment, more focused on Chuuya’s lips and teeth and tongue and fingers in his hair and tugging at his shirt, kisses that steal his breath and touches that have his heart pounding. Focused on Chuuya who makes him feel so alive.

 “The kind of god you’d kneel down and worship?” Chuuya whispers against his lips.

 “The kind of god I’ll sacrifice my first born to summon,” Dazai replies and pulls him back for another desperate kiss.

 “Another reason I thank every other god that you will never find a woman willing to have kids with you,” he laughs and then pauses and pushes Dazai away a step. “Unless you mean the weretiger.”

 “I think Akutagawa was there first.”

 “Yeah but I need him. He actually does his work.”

 “I wouldn’t actually do it,” Dazai says. And since Chuuya is easily stronger than him and won’t let him close enough to kiss his mouth again, Dazai has to settle for bringing Chuuya’s palm to his lips, pressing fluttering kisses over soft leather until he reaches the tender skin of his inner arm. “You think too much of my devotion to you if you believe I’d actually sacrifice my pawns to you so readily.”

 “Or maybe I know how little you think of you pawns. You’d throw us all aside in a second for your goals.”

 “Not you.” He catches Chuuya off guard when shoves him against the glass back wall of the elevator. He hisses, arching off the wall and into Dazai’s body, fingers snatching at Dazai’s hair and drawing a low groan from his lips. “Never you, chibi- ow!”

 “You started it, you know how bad my back is.” Chuuya tugs at his hair a bit harder just to make the point clear. “And if you wanna get laid anytime soon, stop trying to ruin the mood.”

 “You’re the one who thinks I’m gonna sacrifice people.”

 “Will you shut the fuck up!”


 He drags Dazai’s mouth back to his. Not that Dazai minds. They both get what they want, after all. He pushes his hands under Chuuya’s shirt, fingers pressing into firm muscles to make him groan. Every noise Chuuya makes is even more incredible than Dazai’s fantasies. The desperate heavy pants as Dazai presses hot, wet kisses to his throat. He picks visible spot on his neck, right over his fluttering pulse, and bites lightly only to be shoved off with a glove in his face.

 “No marks,” Chuuya snaps breathlessly. Dazai smiles at sight of the deep red across his cheeks, flaming hair stark against the overcast sky on the other side of the glass wall. Chuuya has always been the vivid colour in Dazai’s grey monotonous world. “No visible marks.”

 He pushes himself up onto the handrail, bringing him to a far more comfortable height for Dazai and easing the pressure on his horribly injured back. It should be blasphemy to leave such hideous injuries on his beautiful Chuuya, let alone in such a way that they can’t go to Yosano and have him healed and that will leave permanent scars. Blasphemy should be punished with death.

 But all thoughts of the sort are pushed aside when Chuuya pulls him close once more, wraps his legs around his hips, undoes buttons on his shirt to his waistcoat and guides Dazai’s head down with the hand in his hair.

 “Stop thinking,” Chuuya whispers and Dazai takes the hint, closing his mouth over a spot beneath his collar he can hide nicely. Chuuya tips his head back with a moan, pushing his hips into Dazai’s, legs tightening around him and encouraging him closer. And Dazai hums, grinding back against him. “That’s it, Osamu, just focus on me. Just stop thinking and feel.”

 “Chuuya.” He murmurs his name like a prayer, and of course would never admit how the sound of his name from Chuuya’s lips goes straight to his cock. His fingers dig into Chuuya’s firm thighs, rutting into him shamelessly, wanting nothing but closeness. “My Chuuya.”

 “You’re so much trouble, Osamu. You can’t even worship a god properly.”


 He pushed him down to his knees and Dazai doesn’t resist. A god should be properly worshipped from his knees after all. It’s a good job he’s rather tall or it would be more than a little awkward, but any awkwardness is worth it at the absolutely divine sound Chuuya makes when he finally takes him into his mouth. Curses echo around the elevator as Chuuya comes undone for him. Gloved fingers press against his scalp and Dazai groans around him. He wants to get those gloves off of him. He wants Chuuya’s bare hands hands against his skin, wants to teach Chuuya his bare hands can bring more than mindless destruction.

 “Shit, Osamu,” Chuuya gasps, voice satisfyingly tight and a little high.

 The metal handrail creaks in his grip and Dazai tries - and fails - not to give into the rush of heat at the brief thought of what Chuuya could do to him even without his Ability. He’s still the vessel of a god. Still a highly trained killing machine. Still a beautiful Death. Does winding Chuuya up to the point of murder count as suicide? He probably wouldn’t mind being crushed under Chuuya.

 “Fuck you,” he pants and Dazai yelps at the sharp tug on his hair, sending on hot sparks down his spine and dancing in the pit of his stomach. “I know that look. You’re thinking about suicide even- even now- ah fuck, Osamu!”

 Seeing Chuuya brought to a shuddering orgasm, especially knowing that he’s brought him to it, is absolutely stunning. His head thrown back, back arched, muscles taught and trembling, the handrail dented in his grip reminding Dazai how gently Chuuya really is with him despite how rough he seems.


 Dazai clings to the rails as they’re recovering, to keep himself upright and distracted as Chuuya takes a moment to clean himself up and get his wits about him once more. He watches out the corner of his eye as Chuuya straightens out his clothes a little before returning to his side.

 “Not bad,” Chuuya says, still a little breathless.

 Dazai smiles. Of course he can’t say anything actually nice. “Then show me how it’s done, chibi.”

 He runs his fingers gently through Chuuya’s hair, guiding him in once more, only for a finger to be pressed firmly to his lips. Dazai blinks and Chuuya steps out of his embrace, instead holing out a pack of tissues and tin of mints.

 “Don’t kiss me right after that,” he says. “You’re so gross.”

 “It’s not like I was sucking off someone else,” Dazai argues. “If it’s gross it’s because of you.”

 He takes the items offered anyway, wiping off his mouth and popping a mint. He assumes Chuuya has those for covering up his smoking. When he feels like covering the smoke on his breath, at least. Right now, he’s lighting up shamelessly.

 “I’m getting the feeling you’re not planning to return the favour, chibi,” Dazai says as Chuuya exhales smoke and pushes the button to open the doors.

 “Funny that,” Chuuya replies. He sets his hat on his unruly hair and swings his coat of one shoulder. “Thanks though. Just the stress relief I needed after that meeting.”

 “What about me stress relief?” he snaps. “I walk back into the Mafia to save you and I’m straight into that mess of a meeting. I’m the one who needs stress relief here. I even have to put up with being your partner again. You can’t just leave me suffering like this, it’s cruel.”


 Chuuya pauses just outside the elevator doors, smiling back at him, eyes glowing softly with power and once again Dazai questions just where the line between Chuuya and Arahabaki really is. And while Dazai is rather sure he can’t get any harder, his body certainly seems to be trying.

 “Gods do not debase themselves on their knees fulfilling the sexual fantasies of perverted mackerels.”

 “Chuuya really is the worst partner,” Dazai whines.

 Chuuya flips him off as he walks away. “Do some actual work since you’re here, bastard.”