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“You look so beautiful this way, Dazai. It really suits you.”
Chuuya leaned against the open door of the toilet, a lit cigarette poised between two long, gloved fingertips as he took in the delicious sight before him: the normally proud and well-poised – every move carefully crafted and well-thought out two, three, more steps in advance – form lay absolutely bare and made filthy already. And they had only just gotten started.
Stripped of his clothes and with his knees pulled up to his ears, Dazai was at his – or anyone’s – absolute mercy. The toilet seat provided the base for him to rest on, while the tank gave his back a solid support. Chuuya had been careful in choosing this particular toilet, needing one with handrails on either side to feed the ropes through that bound Dazai’s legs up and open, while another thread of cord ran from the plumbing behind the toilet to his bound wrists tucked against the small of his back. Chuuya had, at least, been kind and rolled up the detective’s own coat to shove beneath his head to provide a makeshift pillow: a balm against the ceramic to keep him from being too uncomfortable in the evening.
Chuuya took a draw from his cigarette and exhaled it into the stale air, sapphire eyes watching the curling wisps with glittering curiosity for a moment before he tapped ash aside and tucked the cigarette between his lips to move into the stall and investigate Dazai further.
“Maybe you weren’t made to be a detective at all. Ever consider that? Not meant to be a detective, not meant to be an executive. . .” His eyes roamed over the naked form, taking in the way it looked so damp in the dull fluorescent lighting of the dingy stall – but not from sweat. A gloved fingertip reached out, and Chuuya drug it through the white across Dazai’s abdomen, earning a soft whine from the brunette. “But, instead, how about a whore? You sure seem to be playing this role awfully well. . .”
Chuuya didn’t know if it was Dazai’s own cum or someone else’s he had on his finger, but he brought it up to Dazai’s lips regardless, prodding. “Open.”
Wordlessly, Dazai’s mouth fell open, and he extended his tongue with a little mewl of desire.
With his free hand, Chuuya reached out to snag a fistful of the brown hair in front of him – never mind how soaked it was, or how he had to almost peel it away from Dazai’s forehead from how thick the cum was – and yanked to force his gaze up. Dazai’s pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed a dark red, and with his mouth open and tongue lolling out in desperation to reach the offered digit. . .
“You’re absolutely obscene, you slut.” Chuuya laughed softly, dragging his cum-soaked fingertip in a swipe down the length of Dazai’s tongue, and a shiver of delight raced up his spine at the throaty noise Dazai made in response, tongue lolling and working to clean at the leather. “Look at you: you’re gone. You’re so far gone. You don’t care anymore, do you? You’ll take any cock that comes through that door, and you’ll say thank you after each and every one, won’t you? Because you know this is a privilege.”
“Yess, Chuuya, yes.” Dazai moaned, his eyes fluttering as he mouthed at the – now clean – leather of the glove.
Chuuya smiled, hooking his fingertip up to catch the roof of Dazai’s mouth, effectively holding the other man there. It was satisfying, somehow, seeing him like this: absolutely used and fucked out, gasping with his mouth open, his body defiled, and begging for more. All the years of listening to his taunting. All the years of missing having that bastard’s warm presence at his side – something familiar that just suddenly left him in the night, with nothing more than a love letter in the form of a fucking car bomb —
This really wasn’t the time or place for that. Chuuya dropped his hold on Dazai’s hair and made a great show of wiping his hand off on one of Dazai’s calves – possibly one of the only dry parts left on the man at this point – before he took another draw from his cigarette and plucked it from his lips. Chuuya bent at the waist, angling Dazai’s head with the finger he was using as a hook, and leaned in to blow the smoke into his open, gaping mouth and relished the little reflexive, sputtering noises he earned for it.
“That’s exactly what I thought, you—” The bang of the restroom door interrupted his sentence, and Chuuya’s lips curled upwards in a sneer. “Never mind. Seems we have a visitor. You here for the free hole, buddy?”
Their guest was nothing memorable in appearance: a man in a suit, and Chuuya could assume enough by the way he turned the handle of his briefcase over in his hands to draw a picture about the personality of the patron. Meek to his boss, kept his head down, deeply repressed, ring on his finger, cock straining at the seam of his suit trousers at the sight of Dazai just waiting to be thoroughly used. The typical sort to show up for this sort of affair when the word got out, and usually the type that lost themselves the most in it.
Chuuya stroked his fingertip along the curve of the roof of Dazai’s mouth, earning a hard shudder from the pliant form, before he popped his finger out and extended his hand to the gentleman, wet digit gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. “Give me your number. I like keeping up with just how many have used my whore.”
The businessman – Meek, Chuuya had already decided to nickname him – nodded, dropping his briefcase to the floor as he reached inside of his suit jacket to produce a ticket with the number “17” scrawled on it. “This correct?”
“Yeah.” Chuuya carefully plucked the scrap of paper away, sliding it into his own breast pocket. “Consider it your admission fee. Hole’s all yours. Just don’t break it.”
“How could you tell if I did? Look at it.” Meek retorted, and Chuuya was forced to quirk an eyebrow and rethink the spine on the businessman with the quip. “He already looks so. . .”
“Debauched? Yeah, that’s because he is.” The redhead tapped the ash off the tip of his cigarette, eyes watching Meek’s movements as the businessman kicked his briefcase aside and reached up to hastily loosen his tie. His lip curled at the sight of Meek licking at his lips in want, hands pawing at his straining trousers as he advanced into the stall with Dazai’s exposed form. “Hurry up and use the cumdump, won’t you?”
Meek laughed softly, throwing his suit jacket over the stall wall, narrowly avoiding an errant spray of cum. Chuuya could remember the man that had caused that one: a tall, gorgeous blond tourist – English or Australian, Chuuya couldn’t tell, the accent had been too muddied in bliss – had pulled out at the end and wrapped his hand around Dazai’s desperately weeping prick. It had only taken two hard strokes before Dazai was arching and screeching beneath the ministrations, his seed painting the wall instead of himself this once .
Bleary, unfocused honey-gold eyes rolled to face his newest arrival, and Chuuya leaned against the door of the stall to study the way Dazai’s legs parted just that bit more as Meek pushed his way between with his fingers fumbling at his zip. The way Meek looked at Dazai made his skin crawl, but Dazai looked absolutely delighted by it – as if, instead of being gazed upon as a piece of meat to be devoured without even so much as savouring the fine flavours of, he was actually a treasured prize being given to a valiant hero. With his blown pupils, his plush and swollen, saliva-damp lips, and deep flush across his face, he certainly looked every inch the part.
Meek hastily shoved open his trousers, only enough to pull his cock out – thick and firm, enough that Chuuya was even a bit impressed as he took another drag from his dwindling cigarette – and fingers closed beneath Dazai’s trapped knees to bend his body that bit further. He lined his head up against Dazai’s fucked-open hole and rocked his hips, groaning at the teasing friction it caused.
“Beg me for it,” he whispered, rolling his hips again to give a long drag of his head against Dazai’s hole. “Ask me nicely to satisfy your need.”
The noise that emitted from Dazai’s mouth was positively sinful , and Chuuya was forced to look away and huff out a sharp exhalation of smoke as he heard the high keen falling from his ex-partner’s throat. “Please, please, please fill me with your cock. I need it. Can’t you see I’m so open for it? My hole is begging you too. Give me what I want—ah!!”
Dazai’s head fell back against the lid of the toilet with a sharp cry as Meek gave in to the begging, spearing him in a single, fluid thrust. Chuuya would have winced in sympathy if Dazai had not taken countless men before this one, leaving him almost gaping and drenched with cum both inside and out. He was more than lubricated and stretched, and prepared for the assault that Meek was going to lay upon his pliant form.
“You beg so goddamn pretty.” Meek rasped out, leering over Dazai’s exposed body as he slowly drug his cock almost completely out – Dazai keened, high, needy, his hips trying to arch with the retreat of his salvation – before he plunged back into Dazai’s depths as hard as his initial penetration, earning another wail of absolute bliss.
Chuuya turned away and flicked his spent cigarette aside, watching the last of the embers splash across the tile like men’s seed across Dazai’s face.
Meek wasn’t a man of stamina: with how much he had been straining at his trousers from the very start, Chuuya was surprised that he didn’t burst the moment he shoved inside of Dazai, what with how tight, hot, and wet he had to be – he lasted a few minutes, and that was plenty for Chuuya. He could hear each time Meek’s thighs met Dazai’s too-eager hips, or the low grunts the businessman made into the dingy bathroom stall.
But, more than anything, he could hear Dazai: beautiful Dazai, debauched Dazai, fallen and spent and so goddamn wanton Dazai. Chuuya could hear every sharp inhalation he took with Meek’s thrusts, and every exaltation of bliss that echoed around the bathroom – it practically vibrated in his very core and bones , and he felt by the end of this no baptismal could flush him from his soul.
As Meek rasped out his orgasm – a low noise that was accompanied by a full-bodied shudder as he emptied deep within Dazai – Chuuya’s eyes returned to Dazai to investigate him.
The prone figure’s head was tossed back in absolute elation, mouth hanging open in parted bliss, chest heaving rapidly with sharp breaths. He didn’t utter a word, merely whined a high note as Meek withdrew from his body to stumble back and hastily shove himself back into his trousers. Dazai’s thighs trembled in their ropes, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and cum, and Meek’s own release dripped from his open hole – Chuuya could hear the soft plip plop noises of the droplets striking the surface of the water in the toilet bowl.
“Fucking good hole is what you are, huh?” Meek sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly as he snagged his suit coat from the stall wall. “Why in the hell are you letting a piece get around like this?”
Chuuya narrowed his azure gaze. “That isn’t any of your business. You used the hole, now get fuck out.”
As if all of his bravado had been spent with his seed, Meek ducked his head at Chuuya’s tone and hastily brushed past the smaller man to fumble with his discarded suitcase. He was with them for only moments more before he was out the door, with the same hollow slam as when he came.
Chuuya deftly crossed the distance, gloved fingertips raising to flick the lock into place. Dazai was finished for the night.
“Alright, you’ve more than had your fun, asshole. . .” Chuuya mumbled, so soft he was certain that Dazai did not hear him.
Returning to Dazai’s stall, Chuuya took in the sight before him a final time: Dazai’s glazed expression, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and the way he looked both present and so very, very far away in that moment. . .and sighed, reaching into his breast pocket to remove seventeen tickets, each with their own individual number. For a moment, Chuuya turned them over in his hand before hovering it over Dazai’s prone form and opening his fingers, watching with rapt fascination as the scarlet tickets fluttered down in a cascade; he would have likened them to falling rose petals were the situation more romantic, and the tickets not landing in pools of cooling seed on Dazai’s bent torso.
The thin paper quickly soaked through, sticking instantly against their target. “Seventeen. You serviced seventeen men tonight, Dazai. You lay there and let them take turns on you for free. You were nothing but a public tool. A fast fuck.”
A low, giddy noise bubbled up from Dazai’s throat as the man’s eyes slowly closed. “I know.”
“And?”
“And, Chuuya?”
“Do you feel any better?”
Silence hung between them. The real point of the exercise – a mutual agreement between trusted companions to give Dazai some time out of his head, out of his skin, out of being Dazai Osamu and letting himself just be. . .whatever this was – was hanging in the balance.
Dazai’s lips tilted upward with a throaty sigh. “I feel alive .”