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To the onlookers glance they have never appeared as lovers. What with their constant quips and violent taunts. From the way Dazai teases Chuuya relentlessly about things out of his control, i.e. his height, his skin, and his dependence upon the brunet; you would be hard pressed to realize that Chuuya is the only thing Dazai believes in. That faith unparalleled and unrepeated by anything else. So when eavesdroppers hear the atrocious threats of grave bodily harm, inhuman torture techniques, and good old fashioned homicide lashing freely from the shorter but much more menacing of the two; they clear out of harm's way. Almost never hearing the taller begging him to follow through on his words.
Once they’re alone, behind a locked door with no chance of being interrupted or overheard, this unforgiving banter ceases and is replaced entirely.
No longer pretending to show distaste for his partner’s appearance in the slightest, almost every word falling from Dazai’s lips becomes one of undying praise.
Chuuya can’t begin to give a thought about his empty threats to his most loyal devotee. Certain if there were a shrine to him, Dazai would never leave it other than to bring offerings.
Taunts such as “Chuuya’s so pale! He’s going to get sunburnt and his freckles will become melanoma!” Transmute into “I’m going to map the constellations on your skin with my lips.”
Threats like “Touch me again and I’ll pull out your fingernails and soak your hands in bleach.” Restored to “Don’t even think about letting go.”
Chuuya is well aware of Dazai’s religious affiliation to him. Finding himself high off the fact Dazai unabashedly worships him in their space.
Their apartment his temple, the bedroom the oracle chamber, and visions taking place within nothing short of small miracles.
Today is no different than most days with their partnership in the Port Mafia, other than Dazai being more handsy than usual. Impatient and impertinent in his clinginess, with insults lacking their usual bite. Though he is more than making up for that with the annoyance factor.
Dazai had the audacity to rest his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder in front of a subordinate.
“Get off of me this instant unless you're curious as to what life would be like missing your jaw and tongue.” Chuuya shakes him off roughly, not caring the bony part of his shoulder makes his mouth snap closed again harshly.
At least he pretends he doesn’t care while Dazai hisses in pain.
“Fuck you, short straw. You made me bite my tongue off.” Dazai’s voice even sounds hurt, covering his mouth with his hand, but Chuuya won’t concede that swiftly.
“You’re still talking so there must be enough left. I could take care of the rest for you.” Chuuya twirls his knife between his fingers, and the subordinate is fleeing down the hall.
Dazai whines uncharacteristically. Usually never showing any sign of Chuuya’s attacks actually causing harm.
Chuuya glances around and once he is sure no one’s around he softly commands “Open your mouth.”
Dazai pulls his hand away and opens up to showcase the damage.
Chuuya is filled with regret at the sight of his blood.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
Dazai covers his mouth again and obscures Chuuya’s view of his face.
“Don’t apologize. I've been hedonistic today.” He mumbles.
Chuuya agrees that he’s been overly self-indulgent today with how much he’d been finding ways to touch him at every slight chance. But he does feel bad about injuring such an..intimate place.
“Let’s head home for the day.” He offers instead.
Dazai’s eyes give away his surprise, though he doesn’t say a word.
“So you can rinse your mouth with peroxide.” Chuuya gives a rather composed excuse, but he can see Dazai’s unoccupied hand twitching at his side.
Rationally he knows, as soon as the deadbolt locks there won’t be anything to stop Dazai’s venerating touches.
*
As Chuuya unlocks the door he wonders if he’d hate the taste of Dazai’s blood. It’s a strange thought and he almost wants to find out. After pondering it as they crossed the threshold he figures the brunet is wound up enough, and he doesn’t need to add Dazai’s list of kinks intentionally.
Besides, he may be a wrathful god, but he knew he needed to draw the line somewhere. Blood sacrifice should stay on the other side of that line.
“Go take care of your mouth. I’ll be in the bedroom.” Chuuya tells him and starts to turn away to lock the door.
Dazai removes his hand from his mouth just then, and something catches the shorter’s eye.
There’s dried blood in the chapped crease where his lips meet. Not a lot, but he must’ve been bleeding quite a bit if it managed to stain his lips a little visibly. Chuuya is angry with himself for being so violent. Knowing in most aspects of his life it’s necessary, but wishing he could show more restraint for Dazai at times. The insubstantial warnings he offered were entirely for show, so why did he feel the need to back them up with a gesture now and then?
Dazai lingers for a bit in his gaze before deciding to appease Chuuya’s wishes.
Chuuya locks the door as his footsteps fall out of earshot.
He makes his way to their bedroom and slowly the regret and anger at himself start to subside. Taking off his hat first, remembering how much Dazai hates it. His shoes are next because he forgot to take them off at the door, which Dazai never did. Starting to shrug off his coat when he feels two hands help ease him out of it from behind. He folds it and tosses it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room he was undressing in.
When it was just the two of them in this haven Chuuya never bothered to deny himself any pleasure Dazai could offer. He knew that Dazai adored showering Chuuya in his reverent touches and glorifying praises. Chuuya was a needy god, who desired worship at his core as he assumed any other deity would. Dazai had always been more than enough and eager to comply.
The funny part about this whole exchange is that Chuuya never actually told Dazai to revere him, or that he wanted his submission. Dazai had just went for it, pouring himself as an offering to Chuuya in a brazen passion. The human part of Chuuya ached now with the unfamiliar twinge of what the smaller realized was insecurity.
For the first time since he and Dazai had started this dynamic he found himself feeling slightly undeserving.
Dazai’s powers of observation were unmatched in every sense of the word.
Chuuya found himself being shoved against the wall, a bit rougher than when Dazai was usually handling him. He looked up into the younger’s eyes and half expected to find anger and half expected to find desire. He was met with adoration.
Dazai tilts Chuuya’s head up and leans down to connect their lips.
Chuuya focuses on the feeling rather than the taste.
Dazai pulls back slightly, enough that they aren’t kissing but their lips are still brushing against each other with every breath.
“Guilt,” Dazai exhales “is unbecoming of Chuuya.”
He kisses him again. This time with no hesitation about deepening the kiss, forcing Chuuya to taste the mint of their mouthwash, and the underlying peroxide. There was no longer any blood for Chuuya to feel repentant for spilling.
They kissed like that for some time, Dazai’s knee sliding up between Chuuya’s legs until the shorter was practically sitting on it. He ground his hips into the friction, clothed cock straining against Dazai’s thigh. The brunet’s skillful fingers undo his harness and unbuttoned his vest and dress shirt, barely breaking their kiss as he tossed the offending accessory and articles of clothing onto the aforementioned chair.
Dazai pulled away from his lips reluctantly, but doubtlessly eager to touch more of Chuuya.
Tentatively, bandaged hands with only his fingers free, began pressing into the sensitive pale skin of Chuuya’s sides.
He knelt down and easily rid Chuuya of his slacks and briefs. Wasting no time in lavishing his cock in sloppy, wet kisses. Dazai’s unyielding devotion always manages to stir at the deeper heat in Chuuya’s core. The touch of No Longer Human may have nullified his ability, but not his true nature.
His fingers wove themselves into soft brown locks, and he gets a rather firm grip on Dazai’s skull. He recognizes Chuuya’s intent instantly, pulling off him slightly to speak his praises.
“You are the deity I fall to my knees for.” Dazai gazes up at him with eyes that look intoxicated before opening his mouth and presenting his throat to Chuuya.
The tip of Chuuya’s cock rests against his bottom lip, and he can’t stop himself from thrusting forward.
He’s too rough, too harsh, zealous, and needy with his greed. Dazai’s throat spasms around him. Tongue pressed against the vein along the underside of his dick helplessly, and eventually he starts moaning around him unabashedly.
Watching in awe and satisfaction as Dazai’s eyes begin to water from the force of what he puts him through, and he doesn’t attempt to retreat all the same. He loves when Chuuya uses him, lives to be bent, and molded to his will. Any power driven entity wouldn’t be able to resist being advantageous of such a willing participant.
There’s drool and tears and even his nose starts running a little, as Chuuya pulls his hair and fucks his face raw. Swollen lips are bruising in his wake, and his cheeks are struggling to hollow around him. Giving up on sucking altogether, he focuses on relaxing himself enough for Chuuya fuck all the way into his throat.
Total submission is a great look on him.
Normally, as per usual of their exchange, Dazai was the one whose voice was most often heard. Dazai was the one who always had something to say. Right now, he was rather occupied. So Chuuya felt like he deserved a little recognition.
“You‘ve never looked better than this.” A cruel attempt at praise leaves his lips.
He makes a pointed effort to thrust deep into his throat and hold him there for a moment. Enjoying the struggle of his breathing and the fluttering of his throat around his cock. Dazai moans, the vibrations reverberating through Chuuya and up his spine. Whether it was because of the out of character words or the excessive roughness Chuuya was expressing he didn’t know. Truthfully, he could barely think. Dazai begins choking on him, for real this time, from the way his eyes have gone from watering to full tears; Chuuya can tell. His torment is pleasurable, but Chuuya lets up on him. Releasing his grip on his skull and pulling him off by his hair.
Dazai gasps loudly after having been deprived of oxygen. His face is wet and flushed a deep red. He wipes his eyes, cheeks, and chin with the back of his sleeve as he struggles to collect himself. Chuuya is kind enough to wordlessly hand him a tissue from the box on their bedside table. He takes it, shakily, and wipes his nose.
Seemingly Dazai has caught his breath because he’s soon standing over Chuuya again. Towering, is a better word for it. He’s got an arm above his head and the other caging him in, close to his still clothed body. By now, Chuuya doesn’t even know what shame is.
“Do you want control tonight?” Dazai asks him, voice low and provocative.
Chuuya knows he’s being considerate, but it’s well established between them that Chuuya prefers to bottom. They’ve switched it up before, but Chuuya goes too rough on him and gets carried away. Dazai hasn’t complained, his devotion shining through, but working to his disadvantage. Chuuya noticed he was too harsh without Dazai saying anything, and was glad that he naturally preferred relinquishing control to Dazai. It gave him ample opportunity to be praised and worshipped when Dazai was the one taking care of everything. A bit of a pillow prince at heart, Chuuya favors receiving.
“I don’t feel like doing any thinking.” Chuuya replies easily, letting him know that he did not feel up to the task of taking the lead.
There’s no hesitation when Dazai’s hands grab the back of Chuuya’s thighs to lift him, and take him to the bed. It was really only a few steps, but Dazai hardly needs an excuse to manhandle him. Though he sets him down carefully and kisses him gently.
When he pulls away he confesses his sins reverently into Chuuya’s parted lips.
“You are the God I follow.”
Keeping in mind the connection to their livelihoods, both an innocent and deplorable crime.
With much delay and hesitation Dazai pulls away from him. Blinking slowly and enjoying his view of Chuuya’s body. Never could Chuuya find that gaze disconcerting, the purest form of dedication was to be beholden in your devotee’s eyes.
Allowing him this sight for a few more moments before giving him a raised eyebrow. A slight inflection of an expectation. Dazai strips himself quickly and rifles through the bedside drawer for the lube and a condom. Hasty in his own endeavors and taking his sweet time lavishing Chuuya in attention. Preferably Chuuya would rather him rush through the tedious process anyway, so Dazai compromises by being quick with himself and gathering what they need.
Impatience and patience, what do they matter? What is the difference? If you’re doing what you want, or in the process of getting what you want is it worth the wait or is the wait disregarded?
That line of thought is abandoned when Dazai’s hands return to his skin.
Something Chuuya could not help but notice is Dazai’s love of his thighs. Thick, muscular skin pressed into and squeezed by delicate fingers and bandaged palms. The secrecy of their affections for each other yields several causes and effects. One that Chuuya could not be fond of was how Dazai never left marks on his body.
Not that he could leave any in return with the bandages in the way, it would still be nice to see evidence of Dazai’s devotion purple and red on his skin. Though an off chance could occur from any mark left in any place that someone may see it and wonder who Chuuya let between his legs or close to his carotid artery. Dazai’s tongue against a pink nipple has Chuuya arching into him and out of those thoughts momentarily.
The idea is nice though, of people imagining who Chuuya would allow to touch him. Rejecting any and all advances and propositions and receiving many of them; Chuuya knows others would be jealous. That they would imagine what it would take to be loved by him.
Heavy lidded, lustful eyes take in the sight of Dazai’s hands tracing his every curve and lips caressing his every edge. In Dazai’s hands Chuuya has never felt small. This power both gratifying and immense. Gravity is unnecessary when he can pull towards him exactly what, or who, he wants to.
Faultlessly Chuuya’s own hands move with no thought behind their actions. Gripping Dazai’s bandaged shoulders and pulling on chestnut hair.
Lips, tongue, and fingerprints pray for the salvation only calamity can provide.
An insistent tug has Dazai sitting back to busy his hands with lube, as Chuuya never has to ask for anything out loud. Glances, touches, and the slight shift of his body is Dazai’s most fluent language.
Thighs spread apart and Dazai moves to grab a pillow. Hips lift instinctively so that he can settle it under him for added comfort. Arching Chuuya’s lower body for him in the most enticingly indecent display.
The flush high in his cheeks tells Chuuya precisely how much this sight continues to affect him.
An unoccupied hand grasps Chuuya’s hip. Touching him with a reverence reserved for this room, this space, between god and monster. Where they lost all knowledge of good and evil through the duality of these occurrences. With his own eyes Chuuya has witnessed these hands coax answers from the people deemed impossible to break. An absolute paradox to the veneration they possess when they hold him.
A knot of heat and desire burns in Chuuya’s lower abdomen as a familiar pressure eases against his entrance. Hips roll down onto it of their own accord and Dazai prepares him gradually. Stretching and shifting his digit around the tight space. Loosening Chuuya with greater patience and intention than the smaller has for himself. A second slips inside easily due to the deliberate pace and Chuuya’s own relaxation.
There was no denying how mitigating he found Dazai’s every touch.
Hearing his own breathy mewls in his ears, and acknowledging that Dazai drew out his own praise from them. Vocal in an outright extenuation to make sure Dazai understood full well the capabilities of his worship. As the third digit spreads him open he loses sight of counting what he has to be thankful for.
Zealously chasing the fervor of sensation, he recognized between the two of them he was more hedonistic. Indulgence is Chuuya’s forte, in alcohol, destruction, and love-making alike. Eyes pry open to give Dazai another cue as to what must come now before he does too soon.
Dazai comprehends the clouded haze as a god given decree.
With a twist and deliberate drag against Chuuya’s prostate Dazai pulls out of him. Lascivious blues watch him put on the condom, rolling it down his thick length. Taut muscled thighs wrap around his waist to pull him closer as he coats himself generously with the lube.
Steadying himself with a deep breath and finding his place above him, Dazai let out a sigh.
Gratuitously, Chuuya’s body accepts him. Along with his heart and mind. Sinful, scarred, arbitrary, without judgement or justification. Through Dazai’s adherence to Chuuya he is temporarily absolved of his wrongdoings.
It would be acrimonious to liken within Chuuya to heaven, after all, does it not make more sense for a Demon to hold a key to the gates of Hell?
The deference in his expression, mahogany irises gleaming with affection and humanity unseen in any other aspect of his day to day life, would make mere mortals think otherwise.
From observing the blissful part of his lips, and the drop of tension in his neck and shoulders; Chuuya resolves to take every offering presented to him.
Languidly, he takes his sweet time. Hips circling deeper within, fullness lighting aflame the heat in Chuuya’s core. Docility prevalent in every touch given to him, as he has innately understood how best to admire him. Intuitively knowing as though he had been psychically given explicit instructions from a higher power.
Fingers sink into bandaged shoulder blades and the pace quickens, earning a lewd moan for his efforts.
Perhaps he had.
Pinkish chest, flushed neck, and ruddy cheeks are adorned with kisses. Alternating between feather light against his jaw and harder and needier against his chest. Hands on his hips and fingers trailing down his sides commend him candidly.
Greedily resigning himself to the voluptuous pleasure Chuuya’s thighs tightened around those hips and his arms pull him in by his shoulders. Their lips meet and spare no equivocation in their parting. Teeth and tongues biting lower lips and hungrily devouring gratified sounds.
To a demon such as Dazai, Chuuya offered a place at his side.
Instead he dreadfully fiends to be on his knees, devoted to his place at Chuuya’s feet.
In return Chuuya gives him the blessing of being the only one to behold him in rapture, shields him from his darkness with blinding euphoric light.
Dazai is the one who pulls him back from Corruption, and Chuuya saw it only fair to corrupt him a bit himself.
Chuuya expresses to him that he is accepted, appreciated, and that he is permitted to seek deliverance.
Flawlessly, Dazai palms at the precum dripping from the head of Chuuya’s cock. Using it to stroke him, inculpable now of his prior faults. Intensifying Chuuya to the greater thrill of glorification, and pulling away to look into each other’s eyes.
The Demon Prodigy, as he was known, fell to his knees for no man, or monster.
“Yours alone is the divinity I recognize.” Dazai confesses with a silver tongue Chuuya knows all too intimately.
Only a single deity’s sweet release could grant him his reprieve.
Vessel succumbing to the ocean, greeting wave after wave of ecstasy, pulls Dazai under. Together they drown in emotions spoken and unspoken. Desires followed through. Ends of the world met. Unquestionably, Dazai followed him. The sky within their reach.
Mortals, gods, and monsters wish they could witness the view Dazai sees.