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Kara Sevda

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Chuuya had been in the Mafia for almost four months now. He’d quickly made a name for himself as the best up and coming martial artist. He was feared and respected by underlings and subordinates, and the Black Lizard squad often requested his assistance on jobs. Officially his partner was the youngest Mafia Executive in history, the demon prodigy Dazai. They didn’t necessarily get along well but their combined work ethic yielded incredible results.

Their verbal interactions were laced with barbed wire, but Chuuya had been recently getting vibes from his body language that were telling a different story. It was subtle, a sharp inhale here and there, averting his gaze, the soft thrum of his fingertips to his desk, to the nervous chewing on his pen. These were things he only did when Chuuya was around, the older was sure of it. Though he didn’t really know what it meant.

They were on an international assignment; St. Petersburg, Russia. They were surveilling a meeting between a Port Mafia representative and a rival corporation’s CEO. It was a high profile arms deal, heavily anticipated, and thoroughly guarded. Dazai, being an executive himself, was in the conference room, keeping an eye on the exchange. Chuuya was posted outside the room’s only entrance, looking down on the corp’s goons with guns from his position on the ceiling.

They had earpieces with mics, but Dazai hadn’t given him any updates for almost three minutes.

He presses the button on his piece. “All good?”

“About to close out. Clear out there?” Dazai’s calm voice comes through.

“So far.” Chuuya informs him.

Then in a moment of perfect irony, explosions go off somewhere on a floor below them.

“Come get the rep, and take him out of the window. I’ll make my way down and we’ll rendezvous at the маска.” Dazai is collected but his calm is gone.

The goons with guns position themselves around the door at the end of the hall so Chuuya is free to waltz into the conference room.

He drops down from the ceiling next to the Mafia rep.

“это было весело. надеюсь, ты разберешься.” Dazai bids his farewell to the CEO before drawing his gun, shooting out the windows, and heading out the door.

Chuuya grabs their ambassador and jumps.

“What’s the plan?” He asks Chuuya.

“You have a date with a helicopter to Kotka. Once there you’ll have a first class flight back to Narita. Call Mori to check in when landing from both.”

The rep nods and Chuuya takes him to the helipad.

After ensuring that he’s well on his way to Finland he heads to the masquerade-themed nightclub Dazai and he had agreed upon.

It’s an exclusive venue, complete with VIP roped off areas, and rooms. Chuuya had a fake French ID, and must’ve seemed high class enough because the doormen let him right in. When you enter there’s a long hallway lined with tables on both sides. The tables are stocked with a wide variety of masks, though there are a lot of plain ones that look exactly the same. Chuuya is wearing all black today, but in a split second decision he grabs a basic white mask. He puts it on just as he enters the first floor of the club, an open dance floor with a bar in the center.

He scans the room for Dazai and finds nothing, no sign of him. He decides he might as well get a drink and relax while he waits. His eyes are peeled for any suspicious activity as he makes his way to the bar. There’s a singular open seat on his side, as it’s a rectangular bar that is wrapped around by bar stools. It’s crowded, lots of men and women, drinking, dancing, and placing orders to the several on the clock bartenders.

He sits down and waves the closest bartender over.

“Что будешь пить?”

“Не русский. Французский?” Chuuya doesn’t speak Russian, so he tries to see if the guy knows French.

He doesn’t, if the scoff is any tell.

“Поторопись.” Chuuya doesn’t know what that means but the guy is getting impatient.

He holds up a gloved hand, 1 finger, 5 fingers, and 1 again.

The guys nods and turns around to make Chuuya a drink with Bacardi.

Chuuya isn’t one for carrying small bills, and he doesn’t know how much he’s going to get to drink before Dazai arrives so he puts a 5,000₽ bill on the bar. The barkeep hardly bats an eye as he takes the bill and replaces it with Chuuya’s drink.

Chuuya takes it and sips as he turns around to crowd watch from his seat.

The building has multiple stories and looking up Chuuya can see that the second floor overlooks the dance floor. He makes a mental note of the locations of all the doors and emergency exits, then trains his eyes to the entrance, waiting for Dazai to come in.

That’s when he feels it.

Eyes are on him.

Not just fleeting glances but it feels like at least two people are staring at him.

He glances from side to side, but doesn’t see anything suspicious. Then he feels movement to his left and turns his body to face the threat.

“ты один сегодня вечером?” It’s a man, wearing a simple gray mask. Chuuya is aware he asked him a question but has no idea what he asked.

“Не русский. Французский?” Chuuya repeats the only Russian he knows.

“attendre quelqu'un?” He’s asking if Chuuya is waiting on someone.

His French is bad, but now Chuuya doesn’t have an excuse not to talk to him.

“Qu'est-ce que cela vous importe?” He wonders why the man cares what he’s doing.

He smiles at Chuuya before responding “Je peux vous tenir compagnie.”

Oh. Chuuya realizes then the guy must be flirting with him.

“Je vais bien. Non, merci.” He denies him right away, hoping he’ll go bother someone else.

“Quel est le problème?” He asks, evidently offended.

“Je ne suis pas intéressé.” Chuuya says, clearly and with no hesitation.

What a creep, not taking no for an answer like this.

He reaches out for Chuuya then, like he’s going to touch his hair or something. Chuuya is about to knee him in the dick and headbutt him when a bandaged hand catches the man’s wrist.

“Отойди, если только ты не хочешь потерять зубы.” Dazai smiles while he says this but from the way the guy gulps Chuuya knows it a threat.

“Сколько?” The guy tries something. Chuuya doesn’t know what.

“Тебе должно быть действительно не нравится своя улыбка. Не продаётся.” Dazai sounds much colder, doing little to hide his distaste.

He throws the guys arm into his chest and stares him down. The stranger concedes and disappears into the crowd.

Chuuya can feel his cheeks heating up and is thankful for the mask. He doesn’t say anything and calmly finishes his drink.

Dazai orders something next to him and Chuuya doesn’t know what to say to him. Maybe thank him for making sure he didn’t get kicked out of such a nice establishment?

“And I thought the KGB were dicks. That guy must not hear ‘no’ often.” Dazai says soft enough only he can hear, not that it matters much because he doubts anyone here speaks Japanese.

“What did you say to each other?” Chuuya questions, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“I told him to back off, or he’d lose his teeth. Then he tried to buy you from me. I told him he must not like his smile very much and said you weren’t for sale.” Dazai glances at him, reading his expression, before thanking the bartender and taking his drink.

He sips it calmly, leaving Chuuya to his thoughts.

What a prick! Did he think Dazai was his pimp or something? Or could he tell they were traveling together and was offering to buy his silence? Now Chuuya had half a mind to find him in the crowd and lure him away to stomp his skull into the pavement.

“Get better at hiding your animosity. Order another drink and then we’ll go back to the hotel.” Dazai issues his commands and informs him of the plan at the same time.

“Can you get something for me? It’s weird not being able to tell them what I want.” Chuuya asks of him.

Dazai’s uncovered eye blinks at him slowly before he nods.

“Yeah. What are you thinking?”

“Wine.” Chuuya says with no hesitation.

Dazai chuckles at him. “Yeah I should’ve known. Have you ever tried Massandra?”

Chuuya shakes his head no, but he has heard of it. It’s famous port wine and the oldest kind in the region.

Dazai turns back to the bar and presumably orders it for him.

While he’s turned around someone else approaches Chuuya. Another man, this time wearing a white mask with gold trimming.

“Привет. Почему бы нам не провести вечер вместе?” The man reaches for Chuuya’s hand to try and pull him to the dance floor, but Chuuya hurriedly gets out of his reach.

“Не русский. Je ne suis pas intéressé.” Chuuya’s back hits the corner of the bar. Jesus Buddha creeps wouldn’t leave him alone today.

“Он здесь со мной и в тебе не заинтересован. Тронешь его ещё раз и тебя найдут в балтийском море. По частям.” Dazai speaks cheerfully but from the way the man stutters before giving up on a response and walking away Chuuya assumes he didn’t say anything nice.

Chuuya turns to him and he hands him his glass of wine.

He sits up on the barstool again and faces the crowd. Dazai sort of hovers closer to him than before, but it doesn’t put Chuuya off. He actually assumes Dazai’s trying to make him look unavailable.

He takes a sip of his wine.

“Wow that’s sweet.”

Dazai drinks his own drink before responding. “Is it good though?”

Chuuya nods. “I think so. Do you want to try for yourself?” He offers him his drink.

Dazai blinks before taking the glass from his hand. He takes a small sip, just a taste really, before handing it back to him.

“It’s alright. Too sweet for me.”

Chuuya shrugs and continues drinking it.

“Someone’s looking at you again.” Dazai says lowly.

“I don’t get it! What about me today is holding up a sign saying ‘Please bother me, creeps!’?” Chuuya says exasperatedly.

Dazai laughs and puts his hand on Chuuya’s thigh. The redhead tenses unconsciously, and Dazai smooths his thumb over his leg.

“I know I’m not your first choice, but at least I speak your language.” Dazai teases him.

Chuuya reaches his unoccupied hand into Dazai’s black overcoat and settles it on his side.

“Who said anything about choices? There’s no list.” Chuuya informs him as he sips his drink.

Dazai downs the rest of his glass and sets it on the bar behind Chuuya’s head.

“Then we understand each other?” Dazai asks him for clarification.

Chuuya squeezes his side. “I’m well aware you’re just looking out for me.”

Dazai shifts him so he’s standing between his knees.

It’s a little hard to breathe normally this close. Dazai’s face is mostly hidden by the mask so it’s hard to discern the expression he’s making. Chuuya hopes the same applies to him.

He takes another drink of his wine, and mourns a little that it’s almost gone. His fingers gently tap Dazai’s side rhythmically, and he recalls Dazai’s previous caution around him. It’s missing in action right about now.

“Have you been anxious lately?” Chuuya questions him, attempting passivity.

Dazai runs his hand up and down Chuuya’s thigh, almost like he’s enjoying the feel of it.

“Distracted is a better word.” His voice is deep and candid.

“I can see that.” Chuuya nods before finishing off his glass.

Dazai takes it from him and sets it on the bar.

A rather sultry sounding song starts booming through the speakers above the dance floor. People start grinding on each other a lot closer than they were before.

“Do you know how to dance?” Dazai asks him.

“Like that?” Chuuya pointedly tilts his head in the direction of the dance floor.

“It’s not hard. Let’s dance before we go. It’ll seem inconspicuous and we’ll less likely be followed.”

Chuuya feels his mouth open in shock.

“You can say no.” Dazai gives him an out, expressing that he’s not going to force Chuuya to dance with him if he’s uncomfortable with it.

Chuuya shakes his head, mostly to clear it. Then he grabs Dazai’s bandaged wrist and leads them into the crowd.

The music is hypnotic and it’s easy enough to follow what everyone else is doing. Dazai is right that this type of dancing doesn’t seem difficult.

So, with his back to the taller Chuuya guides his hand to his waist and starts swaying his hips to the music, grinding back into him.

They dance like that for a moment before he hears Dazai’s voice again, breathless. “As I thought, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Chuuya shows off a bit by pressing into him harder and running a hand through his hair. Keeping tempo and moving his body to the song.
It’s thrilling and sort of a head rush. He’s a little loosened up from the drinks but it’s hard to be tense when Dazai’s body pressed up against his feels so right.

He doesn’t even mind when Dazai’s lips brush against the side of his neck. Well he does mind, but not negatively. It sends a shudder through him that he thinks he might actually like.

The song ends and Chuuya can’t help but feel it was too soon.

Dazai’s fingers interlock with his own and they leave the club.

Their hotel is just a few blocks away, but Dazai’s too impatient to stop himself from pushing Chuuya into an alleyway and up against a brick wall.

Chuuya wants to ask him what he’s doing..what he’s about to do, but he gets his answer soon enough.

Dazai leans down and tilts Chuuya’s head up.

He doesn’t know what to say or do, but his silence must be some kind of answer because Dazai starts sucking on his neck just below his jaw.

Chuuya gasps at the contact. This kind of situation entirely foreign to him. This sensation completely brand new. He doesn’t make any effort to protest or stop him.

Dazai sinks his teeth in and that’s when Chuuya regains his senses.


Dazai pulls back immediately.

They’re still wearing the masks. Dazai’s was a basic black.

Chuuya reaches up and takes it off of him. Finally he can see his face. His brows are furrowed in concentration and internal debate, his eye is heavy lidded, and his cheeks are dusted pink. That’s really all Chuuya can tell from the dim street light illuminating the alley.

Dazai takes his off too. He’s gentle about it and brushes his hair out of his face after. It’s strange, seeing him be so tender.

“You want to wait until we get back?” Dazai whispers, which is kind of silly because no one is around to hear them.

“But you haven’t done the report yet.”

Dazai chuckles. “Distract me.”

Chuuya nods, confirming he’s down for the attention.

Dazai backs away from him and runs a hand through his hair. He breathes deeply, gathering himself a bit. Chuuya peels himself off the wall and tries to steady his feet. He’s not drunk, but he’s definitely nervous. Not nervous in a bad way though, more like .. anticipatingly.

There’s no need for words as they make their way back to the hotel.

They had adjoining rooms, but Dazai shoves Chuuya into his own before the redhead can think about protesting.

As soon as the door is shut behind them Dazai is locking it and Chuuya doesn’t know what to do.

Or what to even expect.

His normally record-breaking reaction time is stalled as his lips are attacked by Dazai’s own.

He tastes like brandy and gunpowder, but there’s something else too. He can’t quite describe. His brain stutters to try and respond, but he ends up only able to gasp when one of Dazai’s hands start pulling at his hair and the other squeezes his waist. This is an invitation because Dazai’s tongue invades him enthusiastically.

Chuuya can’t help but whimper at the force. The tug on his scalp is sending shockwaves through him. Dazai does something unexpected then, and grips him just under his ass. Hands lift him up by his thighs, and he’s carried to the bed.

There’s an undeniable haste to his actions, but he puts Chuuya down gently enough. He may be rushing but he’s being somewhat careful with him. Chuuya barely has time to think about what that means when he’s unbuttoning his dress shirt and pulling him out of his matching black overcoat.

Chuuya undoes his own harness and Dazai takes that as an opportunity to get out of his own layers.

Soon they are both bare chested, aside from Dazai’s vast array of bandages. They’re looking at each other in the low light of the room, studying each other’s bodies intently. Chuuya doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out and brush his fingers over the bandages covering his chest, but he does.

Dazai lets him before taking his hand in his own and pushing Chuuya’s back to the bed. Their lips lock again and there’s no equivocation to their tongues colliding in Chuuya’s mouth. He starts to understand that Dazai has a need for control. And truthfully? He doesn’t even entertain the thought of fighting him for it.

Dazai pulls back from him and runs his hands down his body. Fingertips sinking into taut abdominal muscle, palms caressing the soft flesh of his sides, Chuuya blames the alcohol for the trembling.

“You taste sweet.” Dazai tells him seductively before he starts on his chest.

He’s kissing him, sucking bruises, and biting his pale flesh. Chuuya is thankful that it’s a place that won’t be seen, but embarrassed by the reactions he’s having. He’s biting his lower lip harshly but whines, gasps, and even a single quiet moan have escaped his lips. All to embolden Dazai with encouragement.

His mind was unable to focus and his mouth was unable to protest. He may have been confused but he didn’t want to stop. Chuuya was unsure of where he stood, what this meant, if it meant anything at all. He found himself unable to care about consequences.

They were sober enough that they couldn’t blame their actions on drinking. They were well aware of the implications behind what they were doing. Chuuya came to terms with being a distraction. Who cares if this is a one time thing?

He voices no concerns. He offers up no qualms.

He submits completely and irrevocably to Dazai’s whims.