(it's difficult. looking at this whole situation, as intelligent as he is, is each time more suffocating than the next. dazai's loved chuuya ever since he first laid eyes on him. he has said it once, he will never say it again, but is it possible that chuuya doesn't know himself? dazai's never been particularly great for chuuya, either. betrayals, upon betrayals, upon abandonment, upon breaches, and yet, chuuya chooses to sleep against dazai's chest every day. this is not great, this isn't supposed to be, and dazai has never been wrong with predictions. they're ruined. they've been ruined from the start, and isn't that absolutely mortifying?
co-dependence, as it is. he feels the feelings chuuya does, and god, he has names, and he refuses to allow them to be called as they are. the kiss, breath-taking as it is, demanding as chuuya has always been, confirms what he has always known and had been too much of a coward to see it through. perhaps chuuya himself knows why dazai's gripping so hard against his clothes, but not him perse - fear, even if his lips respond with the same fervor.
the bed is so much more comfortable than anywhere he has been in the past few days, even as roughly as he hits it. he's screwed, he knows - just make him get out of his own head.)
What have I done that you must want to torture me?
[Does Chuuya know himself? Yes and no. He's so much more emotionally intuitive than Dazai is, and yet his lack of experience with such emotions speaks volumes. Chuuya loved deeply and fiercely, but it's another thing altogether to have the ability to parse it all, to have the language to define it. It's in every underestimation of people's care for him, it's in how he gives and gives and never asks for anything in return, it's in how he will gladly bleed himself dry for the things and people he loves.
But Dazai? Dazai makes him want, makes him greedy. He's demanding because he needs this, needs to dig his claws in as deeply as he can, to hold on tight. Dazai has always been an anchor in Chuuya's life, edges a little too sharp but there under his skin, keeping him tethered even at moments when nothing else did.
They're ruined, but Chuuya can't find it in himself to be afraid. Where Dazai runs from potential pain, Chuuya will rush towards it, because it's his.
Alcohol might have loosened Chuuya's lips, but that only makes him more honest, now. When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he's bristling, lips reddened and eyes bright.]
What haven't you done? You're trying to run away, again! Don't you get it? You're the one person I fucking know here, Dazai!! I need you!
[I need you. He has always needed him. And isn't that the worst part? Isn't that the most terrible part of it all? His last words come out a snarl, teeth bared. He's straddled Dazai like a lover, like a hunter.] You don't get to run, asshole.
(that chuuya needs him, it's no news. even at the fundamental basis of their relationship - dazai being the one thing that protects his body from dissipating as 'corruption' takes over, he has always known he's chuuya's lifeline. a humanity link, from someone who barely sees himself as such.
he's being yelled at, and it only makes him yell further. he would never win a battle of muscle against chuuya, but he'll hold his arms against his back to prevent any punching to a man in such a vulnerable position. dazai's never been prey. if anything, he's an opportunistic fox, and he'll strike when time is right.
and it so is.)
I don't get to run because you need me?! You always needed me. Can't you use your stupid brain to figure out what it means by yourself for once?! Why do you keep forcing my hand?! Just understand, already!
It's not about fucking corruption, you asshole!! It never has been!
[Oh, oh, Dazai that is not the tactic you want to take here. Dazai grabs his arms, and Chuuya seethes, leaning closer in spite of his grip, arms burning from pain but expression furious.]
You don't want to fucking get it! You never have!! But this time? You don't get to run because I'll hunt you down.
[And what follows--
Is Chuuya leaning in, his arms burning from the angle and sinking his teeth into Dazai's neck as he tries to twist himself free of Dazai's grip. It's what's closest in this position, but Chuuya's point is: He can hold on, too.]
(he'll dislocate chuuya's arm if the man keeps moving closer, and it won't be his fault - but neither will he let go of the grip he has on the man.)
You're not helping my case!!!!
(the bite, the words. he doesn't want to get it? he's the one who gets it, perhaps too unfortunately, and he winces from the pain.)
I've told you the problem ONCE. You're the one who doesn't want to get it!!!! And if it's not about you breathing, then what is it about? Tell me, show me, surprise me!!!!!
(bait. if he's going to be so fucked up after a possible confession, he wants to drag chuuya under with him. suffer, together, over the ordeal of loving in hatred.)
[Would it stop Chuuya if he did? No, not really. He's pissed off, horny, and a whole slew of other feelings he doesn't want to examine too closely, aching and too tender to touch. It's so much easier to yell, to sink his teeth in, to make sure Dazai can't let go, can't walk away again.]
It's because you're you!! It's always been because you're you, you simpleminded bastard! It's got nothing to do with abilities and everything to do with you being under my skin since the moment we fucking met! It pisses me off!
[It really does piss him off, how much he needs this man. And as if to illustrate how much Dazai pisses him off, Chuuya's knee slides up, briefly brushing between Dazai's legs, before digging harshly into his gut.] Let go of my arms already!!
And you think it doesn't piss me off?! Just die, you should just die already-- OOF.
(his tantrum is cut so short with how that knee sinks into his stomach. he couldn't win against chuuya like this, it was a given something painful his way would come the moment this battle got out of the psychological and into the physical. a lost one, but one he doesn't quite mind losing - he deserves it, after all.
it does work favorably for chuuya, though, because instinct is louder, and his hands press over the hurt. a moment to breathe, second to prepare, and he'll roll them as strongly as he can to the floor, so that chuuya can cushion the impact. hand pin wrists, something he knows that won't do anything for long. the other pulls the bandage out of its tuck, so it unrolls around his neck.
look. this is him, and you shouldn't want him this bad. never has dazai been good for chuuya, he most likely won't start now.)
I ain't dying anytime soon, and sure as fuck not for you!
[a lie, a lie they both know is a lie, because Chuuya has risked his life time and again for Dazai, even at times knowing Dazai might not even be alive. At the rate they're going they might even die together, and that's just intolerable.
His arms are finally free, but Chuuya's only got a second to appreciate it before Dazai's rolling them off the bed, knocking the breath from Chuuya in turn, his head smacking against the wooden floor as Chuuya snarls at the man for using him as a landing pad. There's no way Dazai's hold on Chuuya will last like this, and Chuuya doesn't hesitate to kick out at Dazai's knee before he can properly straddle him.
Dazai is pulling away the bandages at his neck, and Chuuya knows what this is, without words: a warning, a confession. Dazai is dangerous to Chuuya's heart, and this he's always known.
One hand twists and yanks free of Dazai's grip, enough for Chuuya to reach up, fist a hand in Dazai's hair and drag him down-- press lips to scarred skin. It's not gentle, but there's something about the way Chuuya laves his tongue over the scars that speaks volumes. Possessive, reverent.
This is me Dazai says. This is mine, Chuuya responds. He will not let go. He cannot.]
(dazai could argue the same thing. a soul that separated into two bodies couldn't stay alive with only half, and dazai knows for a fact that chuuya could have died countless times for him, or for making the righteous mistake of trusting him if he were anyone else.
except - this is dazai. he has torn chuuya up, down, left, abandoned, and he's terrified enough that he would do it again. what say should a man have on whether dazai'll be hurt? the scars are nothing pretty, and dazai's known that they never were a reason for chuuya to walk away. it's simply him reminding chuuya, all in all, how the man he straddles is.
his neck, his skin, is so fucking sensitive, always wrapped, always untouched, that the way chuuya devours it brings instinct forward. his hands grip chuuya's asscheeks as strongly as they possibly could, to rub him against the erection it brought, the moan that leaves him never heard before.)
[They've both torn each other to shreds, with both violence and words. They've also both kept each other sane through things no one else could understand, a fire in the darkness that burns as much as it warms, for the inability to let go even with charred fingers.
The scars aren't pretty, but they're Dazai, a story of struggle and enduring life, even if Dazai might never see it that way. Chuuya does though, trails his lips along the length of the worst of them, worries skin between his teeth until it reddens. When Dazai drags him down his moan is answered by Chuuya's own, the sound escaping Dazai entirely too arousing for Chuuya's furious brain right now, hips rutting up against Dazai. He did that. He can wreck Dazai's composure, and isn't that just fitting?
Fuck, he wants to hear that again and again.] You said it before, didn't you?
[You're going to ruin me. Chuuya knows. Has always known.]
We're probably gonna ruin each other.
[But he isn't running. His hand slides through Dazai's hair, grip still tight, baring Dazai's neck further to his lips, teeth and tongue. He could slit his throat like this, could tear a chunk out with his teeth if he really wanted to-- but he doesn't.
Instead with a sharp roll of his hips he's shoving Dazai off, roughly switching their positions to straddle him properly before diving back in to add more marks of his own making to Dazai's neck.]
(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.
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co-dependence, as it is. he feels the feelings chuuya does, and god, he has names, and he refuses to allow them to be called as they are. the kiss, breath-taking as it is, demanding as chuuya has always been, confirms what he has always known and had been too much of a coward to see it through. perhaps chuuya himself knows why dazai's gripping so hard against his clothes, but not him perse - fear, even if his lips respond with the same fervor.
the bed is so much more comfortable than anywhere he has been in the past few days, even as roughly as he hits it. he's screwed, he knows - just make him get out of his own head.)
What have I done that you must want to torture me?
(aside from all the atrocities.)
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But Dazai? Dazai makes him want, makes him greedy. He's demanding because he needs this, needs to dig his claws in as deeply as he can, to hold on tight. Dazai has always been an anchor in Chuuya's life, edges a little too sharp but there under his skin, keeping him tethered even at moments when nothing else did.
They're ruined, but Chuuya can't find it in himself to be afraid. Where Dazai runs from potential pain, Chuuya will rush towards it, because it's his.
Alcohol might have loosened Chuuya's lips, but that only makes him more honest, now. When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he's bristling, lips reddened and eyes bright.]
What haven't you done? You're trying to run away, again! Don't you get it? You're the one person I fucking know here, Dazai!! I need you!
[I need you. He has always needed him. And isn't that the worst part? Isn't that the most terrible part of it all? His last words come out a snarl, teeth bared. He's straddled Dazai like a lover, like a hunter.] You don't get to run, asshole.
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he's being yelled at, and it only makes him yell further. he would never win a battle of muscle against chuuya, but he'll hold his arms against his back to prevent any punching to a man in such a vulnerable position. dazai's never been prey. if anything, he's an opportunistic fox, and he'll strike when time is right.
and it so is.)
I don't get to run because you need me?! You always needed me. Can't you use your stupid brain to figure out what it means by yourself for once?! Why do you keep forcing my hand?! Just understand, already!
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[Oh, oh, Dazai that is not the tactic you want to take here. Dazai grabs his arms, and Chuuya seethes, leaning closer in spite of his grip, arms burning from pain but expression furious.]
You don't want to fucking get it! You never have!! But this time? You don't get to run because I'll hunt you down.
[And what follows--
Is Chuuya leaning in, his arms burning from the angle and sinking his teeth into Dazai's neck as he tries to twist himself free of Dazai's grip. It's what's closest in this position, but Chuuya's point is: He can hold on, too.]
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You're not helping my case!!!!
(the bite, the words. he doesn't want to get it? he's the one who gets it, perhaps too unfortunately, and he winces from the pain.)
I've told you the problem ONCE. You're the one who doesn't want to get it!!!! And if it's not about you breathing, then what is it about? Tell me, show me, surprise me!!!!!
(bait. if he's going to be so fucked up after a possible confession, he wants to drag chuuya under with him. suffer, together, over the ordeal of loving in hatred.)
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It's because you're you!! It's always been because you're you, you simpleminded bastard! It's got nothing to do with abilities and everything to do with you being under my skin since the moment we fucking met! It pisses me off!
[It really does piss him off, how much he needs this man. And as if to illustrate how much Dazai pisses him off, Chuuya's knee slides up, briefly brushing between Dazai's legs, before digging harshly into his gut.] Let go of my arms already!!
cw self-harm scars
(his tantrum is cut so short with how that knee sinks into his stomach. he couldn't win against chuuya like this, it was a given something painful his way would come the moment this battle got out of the psychological and into the physical. a lost one, but one he doesn't quite mind losing - he deserves it, after all.
it does work favorably for chuuya, though, because instinct is louder, and his hands press over the hurt. a moment to breathe, second to prepare, and he'll roll them as strongly as he can to the floor, so that chuuya can cushion the impact. hand pin wrists, something he knows that won't do anything for long. the other pulls the bandage out of its tuck, so it unrolls around his neck.
look. this is him, and you shouldn't want him this bad. never has dazai been good for chuuya, he most likely won't start now.)
I hate you so much it's unbearable.
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[a lie, a lie they both know is a lie, because Chuuya has risked his life time and again for Dazai, even at times knowing Dazai might not even be alive. At the rate they're going they might even die together, and that's just intolerable.
His arms are finally free, but Chuuya's only got a second to appreciate it before Dazai's rolling them off the bed, knocking the breath from Chuuya in turn, his head smacking against the wooden floor as Chuuya snarls at the man for using him as a landing pad. There's no way Dazai's hold on Chuuya will last like this, and Chuuya doesn't hesitate to kick out at Dazai's knee before he can properly straddle him.
Dazai is pulling away the bandages at his neck, and Chuuya knows what this is, without words: a warning, a confession. Dazai is dangerous to Chuuya's heart, and this he's always known.
One hand twists and yanks free of Dazai's grip, enough for Chuuya to reach up, fist a hand in Dazai's hair and drag him down-- press lips to scarred skin. It's not gentle, but there's something about the way Chuuya laves his tongue over the scars that speaks volumes. Possessive, reverent.
This is me Dazai says. This is mine, Chuuya responds. He will not let go. He cannot.]
Hate you too, bastard.
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except - this is dazai. he has torn chuuya up, down, left, abandoned, and he's terrified enough that he would do it again. what say should a man have on whether dazai'll be hurt? the scars are nothing pretty, and dazai's known that they never were a reason for chuuya to walk away. it's simply him reminding chuuya, all in all, how the man he straddles is.
his neck, his skin, is so fucking sensitive, always wrapped, always untouched, that the way chuuya devours it brings instinct forward. his hands grip chuuya's asscheeks as strongly as they possibly could, to rub him against the erection it brought, the moan that leaves him never heard before.)
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The scars aren't pretty, but they're Dazai, a story of struggle and enduring life, even if Dazai might never see it that way. Chuuya does though, trails his lips along the length of the worst of them, worries skin between his teeth until it reddens. When Dazai drags him down his moan is answered by Chuuya's own, the sound escaping Dazai entirely too arousing for Chuuya's furious brain right now, hips rutting up against Dazai. He did that. He can wreck Dazai's composure, and isn't that just fitting?
Fuck, he wants to hear that again and again.] You said it before, didn't you?
[You're going to ruin me. Chuuya knows. Has always known.]
We're probably gonna ruin each other.
[But he isn't running. His hand slides through Dazai's hair, grip still tight, baring Dazai's neck further to his lips, teeth and tongue. He could slit his throat like this, could tear a chunk out with his teeth if he really wanted to-- but he doesn't.
Instead with a sharp roll of his hips he's shoving Dazai off, roughly switching their positions to straddle him properly before diving back in to add more marks of his own making to Dazai's neck.]
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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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