Chapter Text
The marble floors of the Port Mafia atrium were freshly polished, just able to catch the reflected evening glare. Shades of orange, yellow, and magenta cast the entire room in a glow through stained glass motifs. Another day was about to disappear over the horizon of Yokohama. As soon as night fell, the work would just begin on securing the ammunition for their new mission. Chuuya’s leather loafers clacked on the immaculate stone. Gucci Winter Collection, with a 2 inch heel. Just enough height to still look natural, and it made his ass look fantastic. Mori had just given him his orders on the mission up north, but he was not looking forward to all of the work ahead.
He slipped into his room at the end of the hall, shutting the large oak doors behind him. Everything was drenched in dark colors that mirrored his overall style – rich crimson, decadent purple, sleek onyx. To the left sat his favorite velvet couch, which faced an impressive floor-to-ceiling window. Along the far wall was his stunning mahogany desk, embossed with gold. Various papers and documents lay strewn about; even on his best days he was less than organized. Off to the side was a doorway, half lit from when he had walked out this morning. Through the doorway led to his plush bedroom, filled with expensive sheets and gold accents. He slid his coat off of his shoulders, letting it fall to a heap on the floor. He ran his gloved hands through the ends of his hair, working his way up to his scalp as he massaged the growing migraine. He stepped carefully up to the edge of windows, looking out over the water. Everything looked so incredibly fragile up here. The lights of the city, his city, were just starting to wake up.
“Chuuya, you’re not even gonna say hi to me?”
Oh, his migraine was back all right. Chuuya froze at the sound of this own name, his shoulders gone rigid. He slowly turned to see a long figure draped over the couch, smiling to himself like he owned the fucking place. Once upon a time, he had.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I can’t come say hi? So you didn’t miss me?” Dazai sat up a bit, turning the full weight of his gaze onto him. His body was stretched out along the couch, his feet hanging loosely off the arm. How long had he been laying there, just waiting for him to show up?
“Don’t make me laugh. And you can’t just show up around here whenever you please!” Chuuya turned on his heel, staring out the large window again. He was blowing smoke – of course he could show up whenever he pleased. Chuuya had not changed the locks on his private room. He always left the light on, so to speak. Regardless, he didn’t even bother asking how Dazai got inside the actual building. It would be a waste of time.
“Aw, but Chuuya, didn’t you miss me, just a little bit?” Soft as air, he felt his presence behind him, thin fingers encircling his shoulders. He could feel the soft breath of Dazai’s lips exhaling on his hair, dipping down to nuzzle into his hair, holding him tighter, strong and secure. Without really thinking, Chuuya could feel his body relax into the touch. His eyes fluttered closed, savoring the feeling. How long had it been? More than a few months, at least.
“Does Mori know you still sneak in to fuck me?” Chuuya muttered. He couldn’t tell from his breathing if Dazai had heard or not. In reply, the brunette just slid one of his hands around the gun holster attached to his hip and took out the automatic. It shone brilliantly in the fading sunset.
“You know I’m more for handcuffs, but this could be fun too.”
“Oh, piss off.” He shrugged Dazai off of him, crossing his arms in front and turning his back to him. The universal body language of I’m Upset. They stared each other down. Two sides of the same coin. The boy who was forced to join, and the one who gave it all up. Everyone in the Port Mafia knew of their present arrangement. In the beginning, the other Executives had passively tried to stop it. Increased security, higher surveillance. Chuuya had never been called to Mori’s chambers, but he could tell that everyone knew. The feeling of eyes on him when his back was turned. It was one thing to sleep with the enemy, it was quite another to sleep with your disgraced boss. And yet there was more to it than that. Everyone in the Port Mafia still respected Dazai. They worshipped him. He saw firsthand the impact his absence had on the entire organization. Once they realized there was nothing they could do to keep him locked out, the outright whispers faded away. The newly installed video cameras were suddenly gone. But Chuuya could still feel the eyes of everyone on him: curiosity, suspicion. From Akutagawa, maybe even jealousy? It was not unnoticed that Chuuya was always in a much better mood after these meetings. Regardless, everyone knew to stay clear of the hallway when Chuuya’s door was locked.
“What’s wrong?” Dazai said. His voice had a rare ring of sincerity to it. With an air of what he hoped would read as aloof, Chuuya turned on one heel, though he was unable to meet his gaze. He tried not to pout, but he was oh so good at it.
“I don’t think we can do this anymore.” He felt the words push out of him, barely a whisper. When he finally met the man’s face, looked into his brown eyes, he saw with disdain that he was smirking.
“What do you mean. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Oh, you know.”
“Humor me.”
“You know what I mean. You dropping by ... unannounced.”
“Oh okay. Do you want me to give you a call first?” Fast as ever, Dazai reached down into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a sleek, jet black flip phone. He snapped it open and put it to his ear. Within a few seconds, Chuuya heard the burner phone on his desk ring - the one whose number he never gave out.
“No.”
Dazai clicked the phone back together, sliding the phone into his pocket again. For the first time, Chuuya noticed his hands, his soft, nimble hands, and the bandages encircling his arms. The bandages that covered his arms and hands were stained with flecks of dried blood, but he didn’t seem to have any noticeable injuries. One would bet, the blood was not his own.
“Well then what is it?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Red tendrils snaked up Dazai’s thin frame. The force of his gravitational pull was unleashed just so, sending him pushed back into the velvet couch. He knew that Dazai could push back and dodge his attacks, so he must just be humoring him. This thought only made Chuuya feel worse.
Dazai leaned back on the couch, one eye staring right at him under his thick mop of hair.
“Oh, so you don’t want me to fuck you anymore? Is that it, Chuuya?”
He slowly arranged himself neatly on the sofa, posture straight as an arrow. “Why not? You’re just not that into me anymore?”
Chuuya couldn’t meet his gaze. They both knew that wasn’t the case. Right now, just the sight of him, the smell of him, the memory of his callused hands running over all the places that no one else can see, all of it makes Chuuya’s throat go dry. He feels the heat pooling between his legs. No, that is not the reason why. He waits for Dazai to go on, to say something, but there’s nothing. Just silence. He looks up, meeting the man’s gaze with cold fire. A small smile perks up at the corner of Dazai’s lips.
“Or maybe, you just feel a little embarrassed. For being seduced by me.”
Chuuya’s eyebrows narrow down into red slopes. “Yeah right, don’t flatter yourself.”
“Or maybe it’s deeper than that. You don’t want anyone around here to know your dirty little secret. Do you know how loud you can get, kitten?”
Dazai’s entire upper body was suddenly horizontal, allowing the thin butterfly knife to sail past his head. It stuck squarely in the thick velvet upholstery behind where his head used to be.
“Fuck off, god you’re the worst!”
Dazai chuckled, slowly sliding off the couch into a kneeling position with his hands held above him on either side of his face. A sign of surrender. A peace offering. He motioned with two fingers for Chuuya to come closer. Letting out a deep sigh, the redhead sauntered over. It was always refreshing, and quite the rush, to feel this power over him when he was the one shorter for a change.
“But I’m the best for you, right?” Dazai said, sickly sweet. Slowly, slowly, his hands came up to grab Chuuya’s. He brought a thin, gloved hand up to his lips, tracing the deep lines of his palm with his tongue. Chuuya suppressed a heady groan.
“Yeah, you are the best,” he whispered. Dazai peeked up at him, liquid golden eyes shining. He slid Chuuya’s hand out of the glove, massaging the pale skin gingerly.
“Don’t worry about what other people think Chuuya. I always knew you were a little whore, just like me.”
Everything happened in a moment. The sound of clothing in the wind, the cock of a gun, the solid thud of a body hitting tile, the choked sound of Dazai’s throat caught in a silent scream.
Chuuya had pulled the knife out of his belt. Dazai had brandished the knife from the sofa, which he had apparently held onto. There was a struggle - Chuuya would use his power, Dazai would deflect, and they would wrestle for dominance. Chuuya dodged a solid right hook, falling into a crouch to kick Dazai’s feet out from underneath him. Dazai grabbed the end of his hair as Chuuya lunged. They lay locked together like two puzzle pieces, Dazai was pinned to the desk underneath him. Chuuya held his stomach down with his knee. In the confusion, Chuuya had grabbed the gun with his ungloved hand, and now had it pointing directly at Dazai’s temple.
“One word, I swear to god. One word and I’ll blow your entire head off.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good-.”
Click. The sound rang out, eclipsing every other sound in the room. Chuuya had not even realized that he had closed his eyes, but they were shut tight against the blast. Everything fell still. He hadn’t meant to shoot the gun, he just felt- well he didn’t know how he felt. He was so tired of that stupid smirk, of listening to him run his mouth all day. He was tired of Dazai feeling like he was invincible. He didn’t want to kill him, he just wanted to be the one in control. He wanted to have the final say. After a moment of pure silence, he forced himself to open one eye.
They were both breathing hard. His finger shook against the trigger. The container had been empty this time, no blood on the mahogany. But when he fixed his eyes onto Dazai, he was met with one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. The tops of his cheeks was flushed a baby pink, eyes glazed over like he was drugged. He looked … stunning. A realization began to dawn on Chuuya, one that made his entire body glow with an incredible power. He was still angry at him. Furious even. But our emotions have a way of being malleable. Anger, to pain, to lust. The anger he felt for Dazai, was just a thin veil for the anger he felt towards himself. He tightened his hand on the gun, and forced it to stop trembling.
“You’re right Dazai,” he muttered, taking in the dethroned Mafia boss in all his glory. His body was sprawled out, laying back against the desk between his legs. “I am a little whore, just like you.”
“C-Chuuya, I-”
“Ah ah,” Chuuya muttered, fixing the barrel of the gun on the base of Dazai’s bottom lip, pulling it just slightly down. “Did I ask you to speak?” Dazai gazed up through his beautiful eyelashes, that fucker. He turned his head a fraction back and forth.
“We’re gonna have some fun, okay? Now open that pretty little mouth.”