(ugly, ugly, ugly. he thinks what scars his skin is the complete opposite - a story of the failure of doing the one thing he has ever wanted. a story of a man so empty, so lonely, that he resorts to this - and he can't even do it right. the more chuuya claws, kisses, bites, the more dazai reveals, as if the more he commits, the more chuuya might distance.
except -- that's simply dazai's m.o., after all. his skin isn't soft from the neck down, tough, perhaps unfeeling in a few places, but the way chuuya's teeth take, there's no way he can't feel it and respond it in kind. if chuuya is going to maul him, he might as well grip for dear life, pull the other towards him as much as he can.
and then, a laugh. it merely means - you idiot. we've been ruined the moment we met. dazai still remembers how he felt on the ground, every inch of his back sore, and yet, he smiled, and he told chuuya exactly how he made him feel not long after. one, and last time.
off with clothes. can chuuya distance at least enough for dazai to rid him of his shirt?)
[And the more skin Dazai reveals, the more Chuuya seeks to leave his mark on, the more he relishes the feel of warm skin beneath his hands and mouth. It's simple, in Chuuya's mind: Dazai's struggle isn't a clear cut, singular desire to die, but a struggle to find a reason to live. To him these are battle scars, proof Dazai has managed to make it to another day, still breathing.
It's all the more reason to savor the warmth, the breath, the feel of Dazai's grip on him. All the more reason to let him tug his shirt away, to tug Dazai's open, to feel more skin against skin.
Chuuya straddles Dazai, body humming with that barely contained violence, too much emotion and power for too small a form, and it's an echo of that day: The day they met, that moment they connected. Two kids who didn't quite fit into the world properly, who never had, souls too stained with darkness from the moment of their birth, finding that spark of something in each other so desperately needed.]
(perhaps it's karma. once dazai bared chuuya's hands from his gloves, he'd been relentless, seeking for that sensitivity, that touch no one gets to have that easy. he's played with it, teased it, made sure chuuya couldn't forget how it felt to have his humanity in dazai's mouth. here, it's almost like that, but dazai's entire body lies untouched, covered, hidden, and it's tender to the touch - not that chuuya cares with all the biting he's doing, dazai attempting to muffle each and every sound that comes out of him with little success.
skin against skin. it's a new feeling, and if it weren't burning in passion, dazai would have time to realize what it means - right now, however, chuuya's telling him so much that he doesn't have time to distance himself emotionally. instead, he's saying it back. a confession he would never give chuuya outloud.
[It's truly only fair, isn't it? Right now both of them are baring more of themselves than they ever have before to each other, in their own strange way. Chuuya wonders if Dazai even realizes what his own words meant, feelings that have been buried so deep they ache to even utter.
Feelings... and a choice. Chuuya doesn't hesitate to leave marks upon every single inch of Dazai's skin bared, as if trying to carve his presence into the man with his mouth, lips and teeth. This is a confession of Chuuya's own, an acknowledgement of the truth they've both always known. Yes Dazai might run again, but Chuuya will doubtlessly follow, because this man is half of his very soul.
Speaking of Chuuya's hands, he's reaching up to tug his gloves off, one at a time, with his teeth, tossing them aside so he can touch properly, feel Dazai beneath his fingers with nothing in between. His hands trace scars, some familiar and some not, memories of past battles etched into Dazai's skin, and his lips are quick to follow, lower and lower still.
He thinks he recognizes one of the longer ones here, from when they first met, and that one in particular is graced with slow, reverent kisses along the length of it.]
(chuuya's killing him, if only he recognized it - or perhaps, that's what the intention is all along. the bandages are in the middle of his waist, and he removes the last of them that leave his upper body exposed. skin marked, skin red, some recent, some old, all undeniable as he leaves them for chuuya to touch.
dazai's trying his best to keep the noises stuck in his throat, but it's becoming each time harder with skin that has never been touched having such intense kisses. he twitches against chuuya's hips - this is such a confusing thing that it's awfully alluring, and dazai's hands move to open his pants so he can inflict at least a little bit of what chuuya's making him feel.
that one scar? he too remembers. he'll allow the slowness, as he strokes the other with the same pace.)
[Oh, Chuuya recognizes. That's his intention, in a way. He needs Dazai to remember this, to remember every touch, every mark, with iron clad certainty. Not an inch of skin is left untouched, unkissed, unwitnessed-- In this moment, Chuuya is making a point, a claim.
This scars is a reminder of where they began. The moment a bond was forged that neither could ever escape, seared into their very being, shackles and solace both.
He rolls his hips slowly into Dazai's stroking hand, a groan escaping him before he sinks his teeth into Dazai's hip.]
I see you, Dazai. And no matter what you show me, I'm not letting go. I can't.
[He'd never been capable of it. It was unbearable. Quick fingers go for the waistband of Dazai's pants, tugging him loose, pressing their bodies flush.] Do you understand?
(when they're done, dazai might be a little more comfortable with himself. he might be able to sleep with his scars against chuuya's back, pressed, open, but for now, that all feels so unimaginable. logically, he understands. chuuya has never really let dazai go, even when dazai fucked off to the ends of the world, whose voice did he hear most when he ran his answering machine? emotionally, he doesn't understand it. perhaps, he isn't supposed to.
perhaps it's something he has to accept.
when hips roll, dazai makes sure to give it a last stroke before chuuya's cock is too far for him to have. he won't even be graced distraction? his head tilts back, and if chuuya looks at his face, it's red.)
No, I don't understand. I'm never not going to be me. Do you accept that?
[And that's the real issue here for Chuuya, isn't it? The knowledge that no matter what, Dazai will always be Dazai. There's no true cure for Dazai's problems, nothing that will ensure he never seeks out death again. Life just doesn't work like that. People don't work like that.
No matter how tightly Chuuya holds on, there is always a possibility Dazai will leave in a way Chuuya can never drag him back from.
It's cruel of Dazai to make him think of that when they're like this, sets Chuuya's blood boiling, but that's the point. Chuuya grinds their cocks together, suddenly furious once more.]
Acceptance is a big fucking word coming from you. [Said as Chuuya reaches up, curling fingers against Dazai's throat. It's an odd counterpoint to his words, a warning squeeze.] But live with? Yeah. I'll drag you back from the edge every damn time, kicking and screaming if I have to, because if anyone gets to decide when you die it's going to be me. Can you accept that, bastard?
(that's part of what he wants to warn chuuya about, a pull, a reminder that dazai is not only a coward, he's also willing to be one. his steps towards the light are full of challenges, and yet, while he can change and has, the darkness has never really subsided. it still lives in his heart, in each and every plan, no fear if it's for a greater good - even if that greater good is himself.
dazai's always been fond of being gasping for air, so those hands bring out such an interested sigh from him, eyes closing as if he's not only allowing it, he's asking for it.
the fact that he leans into the touch and right into chuuya's lips, devouring and starved all the same, should be a good answer.)
[Oh, Chuuya knows. He knows Dazai is the way he is for many complex reasons, and he also knows he's not much better, no matter what anyone else might say. This brutal confession is testament enough. If their respective lifestyles don't kill them, they'll probably end up killing each other.] Shit, we're so fucked up.
[It's an acknowledgement of something they both already know. That hand against Dazai's throat presses down as Dazai presses up for that kiss, squeezing with precise strength to leave Dazai gasping for more oxygen-- oxygen Chuuya will not help him with, as he kisses his like he fully intends to devour him, stealing his breath in more than one way.
When he pulls back, he's sliding back just enough to line up their hips, ass sliding against Dazai's crotch, his one free hand fumbling to position them both. His voice hitches as he moves, a choked groan.] But maybe we're both just fucked up enough in the right ways.
(this is not unlike drowning. the myriad of emotions - desperation, pleasure, adrenaline, his mouth wants to draw air, but his brain doesn't. it only wants to swallow chuuya whole with his kisses, keep him in his place with the strong grips of his hands, hurt as he is hurting, scream as he had been screamed at. once the squeeze lets up, the gasp is audible, but chuuya leaves him not a single moment to calm his fast-beating heart, for his brain to process the once more not entirely death experience.
it's pleasure that takes him, with how he feels chuuya position, and with his grip, it's just so easy to pull the other down on him as he descends himself, until there are no gaps, and he's...
home. fucking home. his eyes close, with brows furrowed as the gasp comes with a moan. he hates that chuuya is making him vocal. he hates that this is home.
[Dazai, gasping for oxygen and overwhelmed, is a vision. Chuuya is quite enjoying the sight before him, in truth. It's a good look on the man, one he plans to memorize in detail.
At least he was, until Dazai reaches up and drags him down on his cock, the ache of two days without sex far less present in Chuuya's mind than the heat of the man, the presence, the fullness. Dazai feels like home, like completion, and the startled groan Chuuya lets out is edged with pain but entirely pleasure as he settles on Dazai's cock, body clenching greedily around him as he gasps.]
And you think... Ha... you think I am? Oh hell no, Dazai.
[That hand is back, settling against the base of Dazai's throat.] I'm not nearly done fucking you up.
[He grinds down on Dazai's cock slowly, but those strong legs of his make it easy for him to slide himself back up off Dazai's length, his fingers tightening around Dazai's throat in the same motion, nails of his other hand dragging down Dazai's chest--
Before Chuuya's slamming himself back down with another gasp, another clench of his body around Dazai.] You aren't the only one calling the shots here, Dazai.
(being like this with chuuya is far from unfamiliar. it's been in his mind since they first met, it's been in his mind when they were apart, it's been in his mind till he grew the courage to go for it. the way they are, however, is news. confessions upon confessions, too loud and too quiet, hidden in between the lines of promises of ruin. part of dazai expected the man to halt a little, give him some time to breathe, but instead, the gamble is a double down on him, and he can't help but grip so tight he's sure the outline of his hand will never leave.
it's almost instinctive, the need to hide his face, knowing fully well that the attempt will cause chuuya to squeeze his throat harder, to move faster, and from his lips, the faintest moans arise, as much as oxygen allows as he thrusts up in unison.)
[Chuuya hopes the bruises linger on his hips for a long, long time. He hopes his grip leaves similar bruises on Dazai, as a reminder, as a promise that Dazai will never escape his grasp again. So that Dazai can't deny it, at least in his head.
The pace Chuuya starts is excruciatingly slow, his own physical strength put to use in setting the speed here. His grip loosens just a little when he drives down on Dazai's cock, but it tightens each time soon enough, never letting Dazai properly catch his breath, permitting just enough oxygen to stay conscious and feel every single thing Chuuya does.
Chuuya lets out a gasp of a laugh as Dazai fumbles for enough breath to speak, pleased and so terrible affectionate.]
Fuck, you look so good like this. Do you see now, Dazai? Do you see what I mean?
(there's not much he can do when chuuya's keeping his eyes fluttering close, his lungs screaming for air, being allowed so on the rate chuuya decides it can draw. it's not bad, it's just... vulnerable. this has never been a look dazai wears, much less in front of chuuya, like both of them are allergic to being this open - but they are being so. both terrifying and endearing, infatuating desire mixed with love, and just how much he wishes his brain was working proper, so he could do more than pull chuuya down on him whenever he moves up, thrust when chuuya gives him an opening.
dazai has no choice but to let chuuya lead. each time air fills his lungs, they come out with a pleasurable moan. it's almost like he is seeing heaven like this.
[And Chuuya might have underestimated how much all of this would affect Dazai, because with the empathetic bond open wide between them, he's drowning in everything he's making the other man feel. He shudders visibly as the feelings of infatuation and love wash over him, and if he wasn't flushed from their activities and his earlier temper before, he certainly is now.
His nails dig into Dazai's chest, right over his heart, hard enough to break skin.] Fuck. Why is it... It's always you, isn't it?
[He hates him. He loves him. Dazai is an anchor point in Chuuya's world, a lodestone. That he needs him this much is enraging, but that he's still here is.... solace itself.
He grinds down on Dazai harder, dragging his nails down his chest with the force of his motions, squeezing his throat tight with each rise and fall. He isn't going to last, not like this, but he has no intention of letting Dazai off easy for being so damn--
(it is. part of him wonders why it is, after all - is it a flaw of dazai to use others, or is it a flaw of chuuya to simply not walk away? hardly matters. dazai can't argue. it's too much happening at the same time, the pleasure, the way his brain fights through it to breathe, and just how masochistically, he enjoys it. all he makes chuuya feel in return, a hand reluctantly leaving the hips it purples to bring chuuya's hair into a pull, all his strength, as he rides the waves of orgasm.
not that he is stopping, it's dry, contained. surprise, chuuya, things he can do with his own control.)
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except -- that's simply dazai's m.o., after all. his skin isn't soft from the neck down, tough, perhaps unfeeling in a few places, but the way chuuya's teeth take, there's no way he can't feel it and respond it in kind. if chuuya is going to maul him, he might as well grip for dear life, pull the other towards him as much as he can.
and then, a laugh. it merely means - you idiot. we've been ruined the moment we met. dazai still remembers how he felt on the ground, every inch of his back sore, and yet, he smiled, and he told chuuya exactly how he made him feel not long after. one, and last time.
off with clothes. can chuuya distance at least enough for dazai to rid him of his shirt?)
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It's all the more reason to savor the warmth, the breath, the feel of Dazai's grip on him. All the more reason to let him tug his shirt away, to tug Dazai's open, to feel more skin against skin.
Chuuya straddles Dazai, body humming with that barely contained violence, too much emotion and power for too small a form, and it's an echo of that day: The day they met, that moment they connected. Two kids who didn't quite fit into the world properly, who never had, souls too stained with darkness from the moment of their birth, finding that spark of something in each other so desperately needed.]
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skin against skin. it's a new feeling, and if it weren't burning in passion, dazai would have time to realize what it means - right now, however, chuuya's telling him so much that he doesn't have time to distance himself emotionally. instead, he's saying it back. a confession he would never give chuuya outloud.
love. fyodor and chuuya hold his heart.)
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Feelings... and a choice. Chuuya doesn't hesitate to leave marks upon every single inch of Dazai's skin bared, as if trying to carve his presence into the man with his mouth, lips and teeth. This is a confession of Chuuya's own, an acknowledgement of the truth they've both always known. Yes Dazai might run again, but Chuuya will doubtlessly follow, because this man is half of his very soul.
Speaking of Chuuya's hands, he's reaching up to tug his gloves off, one at a time, with his teeth, tossing them aside so he can touch properly, feel Dazai beneath his fingers with nothing in between. His hands trace scars, some familiar and some not, memories of past battles etched into Dazai's skin, and his lips are quick to follow, lower and lower still.
He thinks he recognizes one of the longer ones here, from when they first met, and that one in particular is graced with slow, reverent kisses along the length of it.]
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dazai's trying his best to keep the noises stuck in his throat, but it's becoming each time harder with skin that has never been touched having such intense kisses. he twitches against chuuya's hips - this is such a confusing thing that it's awfully alluring, and dazai's hands move to open his pants so he can inflict at least a little bit of what chuuya's making him feel.
that one scar? he too remembers. he'll allow the slowness, as he strokes the other with the same pace.)
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This scars is a reminder of where they began. The moment a bond was forged that neither could ever escape, seared into their very being, shackles and solace both.
He rolls his hips slowly into Dazai's stroking hand, a groan escaping him before he sinks his teeth into Dazai's hip.]
I see you, Dazai. And no matter what you show me, I'm not letting go. I can't.
[He'd never been capable of it. It was unbearable. Quick fingers go for the waistband of Dazai's pants, tugging him loose, pressing their bodies flush.] Do you understand?
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perhaps it's something he has to accept.
when hips roll, dazai makes sure to give it a last stroke before chuuya's cock is too far for him to have. he won't even be graced distraction? his head tilts back, and if chuuya looks at his face, it's red.)
No, I don't understand. I'm never not going to be me. Do you accept that?
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No matter how tightly Chuuya holds on, there is always a possibility Dazai will leave in a way Chuuya can never drag him back from.
It's cruel of Dazai to make him think of that when they're like this, sets Chuuya's blood boiling, but that's the point. Chuuya grinds their cocks together, suddenly furious once more.]
Acceptance is a big fucking word coming from you. [Said as Chuuya reaches up, curling fingers against Dazai's throat. It's an odd counterpoint to his words, a warning squeeze.] But live with? Yeah. I'll drag you back from the edge every damn time, kicking and screaming if I have to, because if anyone gets to decide when you die it's going to be me. Can you accept that, bastard?
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dazai's always been fond of being gasping for air, so those hands bring out such an interested sigh from him, eyes closing as if he's not only allowing it, he's asking for it.
the fact that he leans into the touch and right into chuuya's lips, devouring and starved all the same, should be a good answer.)
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[It's an acknowledgement of something they both already know. That hand against Dazai's throat presses down as Dazai presses up for that kiss, squeezing with precise strength to leave Dazai gasping for more oxygen-- oxygen Chuuya will not help him with, as he kisses his like he fully intends to devour him, stealing his breath in more than one way.
When he pulls back, he's sliding back just enough to line up their hips, ass sliding against Dazai's crotch, his one free hand fumbling to position them both. His voice hitches as he moves, a choked groan.] But maybe we're both just fucked up enough in the right ways.
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it's pleasure that takes him, with how he feels chuuya position, and with his grip, it's just so easy to pull the other down on him as he descends himself, until there are no gaps, and he's...
home. fucking home. his eyes close, with brows furrowed as the gasp comes with a moan. he hates that chuuya is making him vocal. he hates that this is home.
he loves.)
I'm not done fucking you up, there's still time.
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At least he was, until Dazai reaches up and drags him down on his cock, the ache of two days without sex far less present in Chuuya's mind than the heat of the man, the presence, the fullness. Dazai feels like home, like completion, and the startled groan Chuuya lets out is edged with pain but entirely pleasure as he settles on Dazai's cock, body clenching greedily around him as he gasps.]
And you think... Ha... you think I am? Oh hell no, Dazai.
[That hand is back, settling against the base of Dazai's throat.] I'm not nearly done fucking you up.
[He grinds down on Dazai's cock slowly, but those strong legs of his make it easy for him to slide himself back up off Dazai's length, his fingers tightening around Dazai's throat in the same motion, nails of his other hand dragging down Dazai's chest--
Before Chuuya's slamming himself back down with another gasp, another clench of his body around Dazai.] You aren't the only one calling the shots here, Dazai.
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it's almost instinctive, the need to hide his face, knowing fully well that the attempt will cause chuuya to squeeze his throat harder, to move faster, and from his lips, the faintest moans arise, as much as oxygen allows as he thrusts up in unison.)
What--
(he can't speak, fuck. FUCK!!!)
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The pace Chuuya starts is excruciatingly slow, his own physical strength put to use in setting the speed here. His grip loosens just a little when he drives down on Dazai's cock, but it tightens each time soon enough, never letting Dazai properly catch his breath, permitting just enough oxygen to stay conscious and feel every single thing Chuuya does.
Chuuya lets out a gasp of a laugh as Dazai fumbles for enough breath to speak, pleased and so terrible affectionate.]
Fuck, you look so good like this. Do you see now, Dazai? Do you see what I mean?
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dazai has no choice but to let chuuya lead. each time air fills his lungs, they come out with a pleasurable moan. it's almost like he is seeing heaven like this.
it's unfair.)
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His nails dig into Dazai's chest, right over his heart, hard enough to break skin.] Fuck. Why is it... It's always you, isn't it?
[He hates him. He loves him. Dazai is an anchor point in Chuuya's world, a lodestone. That he needs him this much is enraging, but that he's still here is.... solace itself.
He grinds down on Dazai harder, dragging his nails down his chest with the force of his motions, squeezing his throat tight with each rise and fall. He isn't going to last, not like this, but he has no intention of letting Dazai off easy for being so damn--
For being him.]
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not that he is stopping, it's dry, contained. surprise, chuuya, things he can do with his own control.)