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Think So Little Of Me

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Dazai half-carrying him back to the base after using Tainted is a familiar feeling. It makes Chuuya sick.

"My, have you gotten heavier, littlest Mafia?" Dazai pokes his side. "You certainly haven't gotten taller." He has an arm around Dazai's shoulders and the height difference is enough that he's practically dangling. It's awkward and for a second he imagines Dazai scooping him up to carry him properly in his arms — but that would be ridiculous. He'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm in no mood for your crap," he grumbles. "Just drop me off outside."

"But that's no fun!"

"What part of this is fun?"

Dazai wags his eyebrows in a disgraceful way. Memories of nights with Dazai come rushing back, as though they were still teenagers messing around with their abilities and their bodies, Dazai's smirk vanishing into kisses and moans as Chuuya touches him.

Chuuya glares. "You have a perverted mind."

Dazai shrugs and laughs and Chuuya can feel it deep in his stomach, running all down his back.

"You keep a room here, right?" Dazai asks outside the Port Mafia building.

"I have an apartment too," a beautiful luxury apartment in a high rise overlooking the bay which he almost never made it back to because the mafia paid well but demanded so much of his time it was easier to stay on base. He kept the apartment all the same, well stocked with wine and fine art, because what was the point of making a mafioso's salary if you weren't spending it on beautiful things? "But yes, I have a room here."

"You should have said! We could have gone back there instead." Dazai is real fucking sure of himself. Chuuya somehow manages not to punch him.

"You're not going back anywhere. You're leaving me here, I can get upstairs by myself." He pulls his arm away from Dazai and takes a step forward. He doesn't fall and that's good enough. He starts to walk to the door when he feels a tug on his wrist.

"You're shaking." Dazai pulls him back. "You wore yourself out. You're not used to Tainted anymore, how long has it been—"

"Since you left, duh, you jackass!" he shouts and wrenches his hand away.

"So let me take responsibility!" Dazai says, laughing and infuriating. "Let me take you upstairs and tuck you in for bed." He brushes a strand of hair from Chuuya's face. "I'll behave," he half-whines. He sounds like a stray puppy begging for a new master and a part of Chuuya — the part that always let Dazai get away with this crap, the part of himself he's been silently judging for years — gives in.

He sighs. "Fine. But only because I can barely move and this outfit has a lot of buttons and it's your fault."

"Don't blame your poor fashion choices on me." Dazai holds out his arm and leans down, inviting Chuuya to come back to rest on his shoulder. "I've tried to intervene, save you from your own extravagantly poor taste many times."

Chuuya puts an arm back around Dazai's shoulders. "At least I don't just throw on whatever drab worn accoutrements I can find as though posing as a member of the dying nobility."

"Better a dying nobleman than a drunk Frenchman," he says as he opens the door. Chuuya stomps on his foot but Dazai just laughs.

"You better hope no one sees us like this," Chuuya mutters.

"I know, I know, my reputation as a ladies' man would be ruined!"

Chuuya scoffs. "Your reputation as an annoying suicidal flirt, you mean."

He strokes Chuuya's hand on his shoulder and looks at him, half smiling. "It worked on you, didn't it?"

Chuuya swallows hard and looks away. "Not at all."

When they get to Chuuya's room, he expects Dazai to try something immediately. Instead he just places Chuuya carefully on the bed. He slips Chuuya's coat off his shoulders as Chuuya watches him.

"Careful with that," Chuuya says as Dazai takes his hat. He flicks the chain lightly and places it and the coat on their rack.

"Don't worry, being murdered by you for hat desecration doesn't strike me as a romantic suicide." He returns to the bed and begins to undo the fastenings on Chuuya's vest. It's agonizing, feeling Dazai's fingers through his clothes, working them so carefully but never touching his skin. When he undoes his tie, Chuuya silently prays he'll brush his neck; when he gets to his shirt buttons, he hopes a hand will press against his chest and push him back onto the bed.

It doesn't come. Dazai is business-like and focused, entirely like a valet undressing his master in an Edwardian novel, except that Chuuya is splayed on the bed and half-hard. Even when he moves to undo Chuuya's pants, Dazai doesn't react, just gently pushes him to lift up so he can slip them down over his legs.

Chuuya sits in his undershirt and shorts on the bed and watches as Dazai carefully folds his clothes to place them by the laundry. Then he begins to undress himself and Chuuya watches even more closely, eyes narrowed, trying to untangle his current view from the history of all the times he watched Dazai undress. He's older now, his body less scrawny and more filled out with wiry muscles. He takes off his shirt and Chuuya briefly forgets himself in studying the dark trail of hair vanishing into his underwear.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Chuuya snaps, when he realizes that Dazai undressing means Dazai isn't planning on leaving.

"I'm getting ready for bed," Dazai says, as he pulls on a pair of Chuuya's sweatpants. "These are a little short though." He holds out his bare ankle as proof.

"Then don't borrow people's things without permission!"

"Lending a guest pajamas is the least a host can do!"

"Who invited you," Chuuya mutters but then Dazai comes back to the bed to kneel between Chuuya's splayed legs. He touches his thighs gently, as though inspecting them for any damages and Chuuya feels almost embarrassed.

"Do you want me to give you a bath?" Dazai says, looking up at him.

"The bath here is no good," Chuuya says, though it sounds lovely. "Too small."

"Next time at your apartment then," Dazai chuckles. "You probably have a whole jacuzzi, right?"

Chuuya does, indeed, have an entire spa room. "There won't be a next time, you prick."

"Wow, such negative thinking! You need a brighter attitude." Dazai leans down to kiss his thigh and then moves to pull his underwear down over his erection.

Chuuya bats his hand away. It had been one thing to have sex after a fight when Dazai had still been around; that had just been fun and adrenaline and blowing off steam and not having the time or energy to find someone he didn't also want to punch in the face. But then Dazai had left, making all of Chuuya's memories of him more fraught and complicated than he'd ever asked for and having sex now would feel too much like dirty backslide sex with an ex. Not that they're ex-anything. Besides ex-colleagues. Ex-partners. Ex-people-who-trusted-each-other-with-their-lives-and-sometimes-(all-the-time)-also-fucked. Fuck. Chuuya is fucked.

"You really don't want to?" Dazai says, confused.

"No, I don't. I just—" He just needs someone to ground him after Tainted, to keep his body solid and whole, and it has to be Dazai, because only Dazai is safe. But he can't say that because, as he knows better than anyone, Dazai isn't safe at all. "I need to sleep."

"Come on, you're always horny after using Tainted."

"No, you're always horny after I use Tainted, and isn't that kind of fucked—"

"What can I say, seeing you almost kill yourself turns me on."

"You're sick."

"I just know what I like." He strokes a possessive hand down Chuuya's neck. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it when we used to fool around. I remember you begging—"

Chuuya laughs. "You're the one begging now, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm begging. Let me help you sleep, Chuuya." His name is purred so quietly in his ear that Chuuya almost gasps.

"Why can't we just sleep?" he mumbles instead, aware of his cheeks turning faintly red as he says it.

"You want to just sleep with me? You want to cuddle? I had no idea you were such a romantic—"

Chuuya pushes his face into the pillow. "Shut up, stop talking, please die and never speak to me again."

"Isn't just sleeping weirder than fooling around and sleeping though?" He sounds like he's genuinely asking, which makes Chuuya look up. Dazai is staring at him, brow furrowed.

"How the hell would that be weirder? This is why women hate you—"

"Women don't hate me—"

"You're all about fucking or fighting or dying and you can never stay still and just fucking live." Chuuya realizes too late he's not just talking about Dazai's bedroom habits.

"Living is pretty miserable, you have to admit—"

"Living is all there is. We're probably all going to die violent deaths because we do dangerous work, but you're the only one determined to bring death sooner rather than later."

Chuuya used to say it all the time — scream it, really, when Dazai's obsession with death was growing particularly annoying — but now he is so tired, it comes off not as angry but as a simple statement of fact, as something he'd thought so many times since Dazai had left that it had become rehearsed. He bites his lip.

Dazai studies him.

"I'll stay," he says. "But let me suck your cock. You like that, right? What did you always used to say?"

Chuuya doesn't even have to remember; he still thinks it's true. "Such a better use for that damn mouth."

Dazai laughs. "That's it. So can I?" He's excited like a puppy, again, or like a little kid, and Chuuya remembers when they were kids, how eager Dazai was to test every limit, to talk himself out of or into trouble on a whim and Chuuya knows this is going to be more trouble, but Dazai sure is handsome when he's begging permission. Chuuya's never been able to say no.

"What sort of guy would I have to be to say no to a blow job?" he grumbles.

"Your usual contrary self, probably," Dazai smirks.

"Stop mouthing off and start..." Chuuya loses his train of thought as Dazai pushes his underwear down.

"And start 'mouthing off'?" Dazai presses a kiss to Chuuya's stomach as he moves down his body.

"Yeah, yes, get on with it."

Dazai slips his mouth over the head of his cock without another word and Chuuya finds himself engulfed in another type of consuming darkness, the warmth of Dazai's mouth. He focuses on the tip, letting his tongue wrap around it, barely taking more than the head into his mouth and just moving lightly over it. Dazai is always such a fucking tease.

"Your dick's so pretty and elegant, Chuuya," Dazai says, pulling off, "Just like you."

"I hope you choke on it and die," Chuuya says and Dazai looks at him sharply.

"You always know what to say to a guy, don't you," Dazai mumbles, pressing light kisses to the base of Chuuya's cock and, through his frustration, Chuuya realizes what Dazai wants.

"If you want to choke on my cock, Dazai, you should just say so." He pushes a hand through Dazai's thick hair. "Instead of just teasing me into losing control."

"What— I— what do you mean?" Dazai's fake innocent voice is by far the worst in his acting repertoire.

"I mean, do you really think I'd say no to fucking your face so hard you cry?" He plays up the exasperation in his voice, but he is a little exhausted that everything has to be such a game to Dazai. "Get on the floor, on your knees." He adds a tug to Dazai's hair.

Dazai scrambles off the bed as Chuuya stands.

"You remember the sign to stop?" he asks, and Dazai raises two fingers and his pinkie on one hand, a gesture they'd agreed on long ago as a sign for no more when one of them couldn't or didn't want to speak. "Good. Open your mouth and keep your teeth out of the way."

He pushes in without a further question, holding Dazai still with his hands in his hair as he slides in and out, as deep as he can. Dazai's mouth is so warm and wet but also frustrating, of course, not so tight on his cock that orgasm would be easy. He feels Dazai relaxing his throat to take more, and that's good, Chuuya obliges him by pushing in slow and deep. He can feel Dazai make a little gasp, of pleasure or of pain, and he groans in response.

"Can't believe I'm the one who did all the work fighting," he gasps as he thrusts in again, "and now you tricked me into doing all the work again."

He pulls Dazai's hair and presses his head all the way down on his cock. He can feel Dazai choking and gasping for breath. He holds it there until he feels Dazai gagging and pulls off. He repeats this again and again, reveling in the feel of Dazai's face against his groin, until Dazai's eyes are wide and looking up at Chuuya with something like awe, something like the look Chuuya's noticed he gets when he watches Chuuya kick the crap out of someone. A pale imitation of the look Dazai gets when he's watching Chuuya use Tainted, which, Chuuya is well aware, really does turn Dazai on.

"More," Dazai gasps and Chuuya thrusts back in, faster and faster, until he can see tears forming at the corner of Dazai's eyes.

He comes, so deep down Dazai's throat that he can feel him swallowing and his knees give out beneath him. He collapses on the bed and feels, just after him, Dazai crawl up to stretch out next to him. There are a few careful licks at his cock, cleaning up the last traces of come left on the tip.

As the haze of his orgasm lifts, he feels only a bone-deep tiredness and remembers how close he had been to fully succumbing to the corruption of Tainted not so long ago. Still, he looks at Dazai and says, "Do you want me to reciprocate?"

Dazai frowns. "I'm good. You should rest."

He squints at him. "You came in my sweatpants, didn't you," he says, feeling warmly smug.

"It's been a while, you know, ever since I started looking for a love suicide partner instead of casual sex—"

Chuuya interrupts him by laughing. Dazai's voice sounds deliciously hoarse and Chuuya wishes it would last, a permanent vocal scarring to keep Dazai from sweet talking anyone ever again. Knowing him, though, he'd just use it to his advantage.

He stretches out on the bed next to Dazai. "You can go now that you've gotten what you want."

"Thanks, but I'll stay."

Chuuya eyes him suspiciously. "What's your angle?"

"Do I have to have an angle?" He smiles the smile of someone who always has an angle. "Can't I just miss you a little?"

"No, you can't." You're the one who left, he doesn't add.

"You don't miss me?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Good," Dazai says. "That's good."

He crawls over Chuuya, lying half on top of him, like he always used to, and Chuuya burrows into him. "You're heavy," he mumbles but he's not complaining. He would never admit it, but he loves Dazai being bigger than him at times like this, when he can use Dazai as an anchor, a weight that holds him down when even gravity can't be trusted. Dazai also can't be trusted, except to be himself, but sometimes that's enough.

"You did well today," Dazai whispers into his hair.

"I know," Chuuya says and dozes off to Dazai's faint laughter.


Of course, when he wakes up, Dazai is gone. He's disoriented at first, not sure why he was expecting someone to be there in bed with him — he never brings men back to the mafia headquarters, obviously — and then he remembers the fight and Dazai coming back with him and knows he's gone. He sits on the edge of the bed for a long moment. He reaches for the water glass on the night stand, takes a sip, and smashes it against the wall.

He pulls on his robe and slinks outside to find a broom to sweep up the glass. Outside, a small crowd has gathered. They all shut up and turn to stare when he comes out. He stares back suspiciously.

"Have a good time last night, Boss?" Tachihara says.

"Sir, with all due respect, I think it's highly inappropriate to bring an enemy back to base for—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Higuchi looks shocked and Gin chuckles — well, her eyes crinkle, that's about as close as it gets with her.

The group parts to let him through. There, next to his bedroom door, is an elaborate bouquet of flowers, almost as tall as he is. He turns bright red.

"There's a card too," Tachihara says and hands it to him.

Chuuya reads:

your "big" "thick" partner

At the bottom, there's a very tall stick figure and a very small — comically small! — stick figure engaged in something obscene.

"I'm going to kill him," he explodes.

"Sweet," Gin says.

"Do you want us to throw out the flowers?" Higuchi asks.

Chuuya glares at the flowers. They are beautiful, though, and don't deserve to be destroyed just because Dazai used them like he uses everyone else. "Have them delivered to my apartment." He tosses the card onto the ground and stomps back into his room, vowing to never let Dazai touch him again.