(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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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.)