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Stumbling into bed with Dazai hadn’t been in Chuuya’s plans for the night.
Normally when he got drunk, he just did stupid shit, like arm wrestling, or cheating at pool. He’d show off by walking upside-down on the ceiling and make his friends float. The most embarrassing thing he’d done was lay on Yuan’s lap and tell her how lucky he was to be her friend.
He hadn’t realized the movies were serious.
One second, he’d been sitting with Dazai on the couch, leaning just a little too heavily on his shoulder while Dazai kicked his ass in some fighting game Chuuya swore he was good at. Then the next second, Chuuya was horizontal on the couch, Dazai towering over him. Somehow, they’d migrated to the bedroom, Chuuya’s back to the wall. One of Dazai’s hands was on his hip, the other fisted in Chuuya’s hair, tilting his head back as they made out. It was inexperienced and sloppy, too much tongue and clanking teeth and not enough spare breath.
Dazai used his grip on Chuuya’s hip to pull them flush together, allowing Chuuya to feel the way his erection was straining against his slacks. At the same time, Dazai slipped his hand under the hem of Chuuya’s shirt, fingers slotting along Chuuya’s ribs and thumb brushing against his stomach.
The combination dumped a bucket of ice water over Chuuya’s head, soaking his hair and causing water to drip into his lungs.
“Wait,” Chuuya gasped, trying to lean his head back out of the kiss. He pulled his hands from Dazai’s back to push at his chest, though he accidentally put too much force into it, causing the other boy to stumble back.
“What?” Dazai questioned, squinting at Chuuya, “Does my breath smell bad? Because–”
“No, shut up,” Chuuya interrupted, crossing his hands over his chest instinctually as he glared at the floor.
“What happened?”
Dazai was doing nothing to hide his frown, an unusual display of expression for someone so used to masking his thoughts.
“We can’t–I can’t–”
Chuuya’s face scrunched up as he snarled at the floor, the words stuck on his tongue. Fuck.
“Why not?” Dazai asked dumbly, tilting his head.
There were a million more reasons than just this, but…
Chuuya didn’t want to tell him. He wasn’t ready to be mocked, to be seen differently, to be treated like an exotic other. What he and Dazai had was–it was good. Not that he’d ever say it out loud. No matter how much he couldn’t help but hate Dazai, he was still the closest friend Chuuya had ever had. He’d seen through the way the Sheep were using him and plotting against him within seconds, had gone out of his way to try and save Chuuya, in a way, no matter how twisted and forceful it was.
They slotted together like cogs manufactured for each other.
Chuuya wouldn’t let himself lose that, not the first nice thing he’d had in, well, ever.
“Because we can’t,” he reiterated, pushing himself back against the wall as if it would remove himself from Dazai further.
“Chuuya is hiding something,” Dazai said blatantly, stepping back into Chuuya’s space, “Tell me.”
Recently, Dazai had hit (another) growth spurt, now standing over Chuuya enough to tilt his head down at him.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” Chuuya said defensively, sneering up at his partner, “I don’t want to do anything anymore, so fuck off.”
Dazai stared at him blankly.
“Okay,” he finally spoke, after what felt like an endless stretch of silence.
He stepped away from Chuuya, bent down to pick up the coat he’d discarded on the ground, and slipped out of the door.
When Chuuya followed him out moments later, Dazai was gone.
The next time he got drunk with Dazai, Chuuya thought he was prepared.
Before they started drinking, he’d told himself before he started that no matter what, he wasn’t going to do anything with Dazai.
Turns out drunk thoughts can supersede sober thoughts. Who would have guessed.
It wasn’t Chuuya’s fault that having Dazai’s tongue down his throat made him feel stupid, all of the thoughts rushing out of his brain and into pants.
This time, Chuuya had wound up on Dazai’s lap, sitting on one of his legs. Chuuya particularly liked this position because it put him above Dazai, forcing the boy to tilt his head back so Chuuya could lean down and lick into his mouth. Dazai’s hands were groping him through his jeans, cupping large handfuls of his ass and trying to encourage Chuuya to move.
At first, Chuuya followed the guidance instinctually, throbbing between his legs. He could literally feel wetness dripping out of him and coating his underwear. It was disgusting in more ways than one, but it also served to arouse him further. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, hands clutching Dazai’s shoulders for dear life.
“Chuuya?” he asked suddenly, turning his head to the side to avoid Chuuya’s next attempt to plunder his mouth.
“Eh?” Chuuya mumbled. It took a moment for him to process that Dazai was talking to him.
“Are you not enjoying this?” Dazai asked seriously, shifting his hands off of Chuuya’s ass and to the more neutral points of his waist.
“What?”
“Well, you’re not hard,” Dazai explained blandly. He used his grip on Chuuya to pull him down slightly, drawing Chuuya’s attention to the way Dazai’s erection poked against his ass.
“Oh.”
Chuuya blinked down at Dazai.
“Um–”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Dazai said, dropping his hands to his sides.
Chuuya stared at him wordlessly.
He must have taken too long to respond, because Dazai tried to move Chuuya off.
“Wait, it’s not that,” Chuuya said loudly, digging his heel into the couch to remain in place.
“Then what is it?”
Chuuya blinked.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Okay, then get off.”
“No.”
Chuuya didn’t know why he was refusing, but if he complied, he knew Dazai would run off again.
“Then move,” Dazai stated, “I’m serious.”
“But–”
“Get off, Chuuya.”
Chuuya got off.
Just as he predicted, Dazai picked himself up off the couch, brushed imaginary dust off of his pants, and floated out the door like nothing had happened, a ghost creeping through the walls.
The third time was when Chuuya realized he was whipped.
Like their previous encounters, Chuuya was too drunk to remember who came on to who first. All he knew was the universal truth of Dazai’s lips against his own, hot and wet and perfect–
And the fact that one of his hands was rapidly approaching Chuuya’s pants.
He knew it was morally wrong of him to let this keep happening, at this point, but the alcohol always washed all rational thought from his brain and replaced it with nothing but the heat of Dazai’s hands and the depths of his mouth.
Chuuya shot his hand out to grab Dazai’s wrist, his grip bruising as he desperately clutched the boy’s skin.
“Not there,” he said quickly, pulling Dazai’s hand away and bracing for another rejection.
“Alright,” Dazai responded instead, drawing his hand away.
“Alright?”
“...What were you expecting me to say?”
Chuuya’s eyes flickered between Dazai’s face and the wall.
“Nevermind.”
Still holding Dazai’s wrist, Chuuya repositioned it so Dazai’s hands could fall instead to his hips.
“There’s fine,” he explained.
Dazai nodded before leaning back down to lock their lips together once again.
Chuuya really needed to tell him.
They were drunk, again, a common denominator that Chuuya should have realized by now that he needed to avoid. Sober, their words were biting; intoxicated, it was their teeth.
“Is it because the chibi wants to top?” Dazai asked, staring up at the polluted sky instead of looking at Chuuya.
They were laying on top of an old blanket on a rooftop. It must have been at least 3 A.M., and although the sounds of the city never stopped, they’d dimmed somewhat with the early hour.
Chuuya had walked up the side of the building and waited for Dazai to figure out a way up himself. (It had taken his partner less time than Chuuya had expected to join him.)
“What?”
“That you don’t want to have sex,” Dazai clarified, “Because there are different ways to have sex that aren’t just–”
“Gross, cut it out,” Chuuya moaned, reaching over to whack Dazai.
They were side by side, not yet holding one another but close enough to share an intimate moment neither would admit to.
“Is that it then? I’m not a bottom, but we could definitely work something out–”
“No, stop it, that’s–not what it is.”
“Then what is it?”
Chuuya turned his head away.
“I don’t want to tell you,” he said into the distance, “You’re going to be weird about it.”
And then I’ll lose my best friend.
“Yeah, probably!” Dazai agreed, the smile evident in his voice alone.
“Fuck you.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“You’re so nasty.”
The conversation lapped into an uncharacteristic silence as the pair watched the clouds shift behind layers of smog.
“It’s because I’m trans.”
It just kind of came out of Chuuya’s mouth without him intending to say it.
All of the times he’d meant to, the words always caught in his throat, blocking his speech and refusing to come out.
Man, Chuuya really had to stop drinking.
“I knew Chuuya wanted to be a girl,” Dazai gasped, sitting up abruptly, “It was the only explanation for that stupid haircut.”
“Hey!” Chuuya yelled, following Dazai up, “Wrong way, you idiot!”
“Oh,” Dazai said, tilting his head, “Wait, really?”
Chuuya scrunched his nose up.
“Yes, really. Don’t make me say it again, or I’ll chuck you off this rooftop.”
“I know Chuuya too well to believe he’d be so benevolent.”
“Stop it with that suicide shit.”
Dazai blinked at him innocently.
“So, can we fuck now?”
“Eh?”
“Can we fuck now,” Dazai repeated slowly, making a circle with his hand and poking a finger through it crudely.
“Not like that, we can't,” Chuuya sneered, regret immediately beginning to color his vision.
“What–no, that’s not what I meant,” Dazai sighed, “You really do have the brains of a slug. Have some creativity.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Well, it depends on what you’re into,” Dazai shrugged, “I wouldn’t want to do that anyway.”
“Okay, good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
A beat of silence.
“I’m not, by the way,” Chuuya added, looking away from Dazai.
“Not what?”
“A top.”
Dazai laughed.
“I know,” he said simply.
“What–what do you mean I know? Didn’t you literally ask–”
“Just because Chuuya might have thought something, doesn’t mean it would have been right.”
“Eat shit.”
“So does that mean the chibi’s had sex before?”
Chuuya risked a quick glance at Dazai before darting his gaze away.
He knew it was impossible to lie to the other boy, so he didn’t even bother trying.
“Then how does Chuuya know he’s a bottom?”
“Wha–I just know, okay, why are you even asking–”
“Well, we can test it out, if you want.”
Chuuya’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
“You want to?”
“What can I say? I have a thing for slugs. The French eat them, you know.”
“You’re not French.”
“So is that a yes?”
Somehow, they made it back downstairs to the bed. It was a miracle Dazai hadn’t broken anything in his drunk stumble down the stairs. (Chuuya might have followed him down the stairwell instead of floating down the building, but it wasn’t because he was worried about Dazai hurting himself, or anything–he just wanted to get his steps in.)
Their dance across Chuuya’s apartment was a blur, all stray hands and fumbling fingers and near tripping. Dazai lost his pants first, shoving them down his hips and kicking them down his legs haphazardly, only nearly falling twice. Chuuya unbuttoned his dress shirt after Dazai got stuck on the third button, and they managed to work as a team to shove it off of his arms and to the floor. Chuuya ditched his jacket somewhere near the doorway, but he didn’t lose his shoes until he nearly got onto the bed without them.
Feeling bold, Chuuya shoved Dazai onto the bed, pushing him onto his back. Black hair fanned out around Dazai’s head like a devil’s halo, the bandages around his eye cutting through his nearly ethereal figure. Chuuya climbed onto the bed after him before belatedly realizing he was yet to discard his pants, so he wiggled out of them awkwardly before throwing them vaguely towards the headboard and out of their way.
Dazai reached out to snatch Chuuya and pull him closer. Chuuya wound up straddling one of Dazai’s legs, and bunching bunched fistfulls of the sheets in his hands where they rested besides Dazai’s head, who was left only in his undershirt and boxer briefs, one knee slightly bent. His bandages were still wound tightly up his arms and neck, but now Chuuya could see stray bandages twined around his thighs and calves as well. Dazai’s erection stood proudly against the mesh of his underwear, giving Chuuya a clear view of his size. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, but it was intimidating regardless.
The smirk that slinked onto Dazai’s face was the only warning Chuuya got before the other was reaching up to grab his ass, shamelessly groping Chuuya with both hands.
“I should smack the shit out of you for that,” Chuuya said, though he pushed back against Dazai’s grip.
“Chuuya knows I don’t like pain,” Dazai complained, slipping his fingers under the hem of Chuuya’s boxers to push his fingers against the crease of Chuuya’s ass.
Shifting his weight onto one hand, Chuuya retaliated by sliding a hand up Dazai’s side. His partner’s face twitched minutely–a small movement that Chuuya only noticed because he spent an embarrassing amount of time studying his face.
Chuuya dragged his palms back down Dazai’s sides, pushing his nails into the material of his shirt to press lines into Dazai’s skin.
Dazai arched his back slightly, but when Chuuya gripped the hem of his undershirt, he dropped back down and grabbed Chuuya’s wrist, a startlingly familiar action.
“Don’t,” Dazai said simply.
Chuuya squinted at him, trying to decipher whatever the fuck Dazai was thinking.
He shouldn’t have expected to be able to figure anything out.
Withdrawing his hands, Chuuya sat back, legs around one of Dazai’s thighs. He propped himself up against his chest instead, taking the liberty to feel Dazai’s chest and thumb at his nipples through the fabric.
“Chuuya is too heavy,” Dazai complained, “He’s going to crush me, and not in the fun way.”
“You’re fine,” Chuuya dismissed, though he sat back on his heels.
The position change caused Chuuya to rub against Dazai’s thigh where his underwear had ridden up, a red flush rising to his cheeks.
Dazai’s eyes blew wide, and he hitched his leg up to press between Chuuya’s legs. Dazai’s hands also appeared on his hips, pulling Chuuya down.
The friction sent sparks shooting through his stomach. Chuuya’s legs clenched around Dazai’s thigh, and he dropped his hands back onto the bed so he could start lightly humping Dazai’s leg.
“That’s hot,” Dazai said, letting out a heavy breath, “Shit.”
Red crept up Chuuya’s neck. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being so perceived–it made something uncomfortable squirm in his gut. He wanted Dazai to be attracted to him, to want him, but at the same time the idea that Dazai was attracted to him made him slightly nauseous.
Dazai used his grip on Chuuya’s waist to encourage him to move, guiding Chuuya back and forth against his thigh. His underwear was soaked through–some of it had gotten on his pants earlier, actually–so he was gradually coating Dazai’s skin with slick.
Still, the movements pushed Chuuya’s underwear against his cock, and he ground down against Dazai as he chased the friction. After Chuuya began to jerk his hips against Dazai in a steady rhythm, Dazai shifted his hands under Chuuya’s own shirt to slot his fingers between Chuuya’s ribs.
“Watch your hands,” Chuuya muttered, giving Dazai a threatening look.
The boy responded with a wink, stating, “I’m a little busy.”
“Eh?? With what? We’re literally–”
“With watching your face, of course.”
Chuuya’s brain short circuited for a minute.
“Fuck off,” he mumbled, turning to stare at the wall instead of having to look at Dazai’s face.
Dazai laughed at him, moving his hands up Chuuya’s back and feeling across the planes of his back. The movements made their positioning a little awkward, nearly tying the pair together like a warped pretzel.
“Hey,” Dazai called, pulling his hands out of Chuuya’s shirt so he could instead cup the back of his neck, “Come here.”
Chuuya followed Dazai’s pull willingly, moving down until their noses touched.
“I want to make you come on my thigh,” Dazai breathed against Chuuya’s mouth, bumping their noses together.
The flush on Chuuya’s face spread to his ears.
“I don’t–”
Chuuya cut himself off, tilting his head to push his forehead against Dazai’s.
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t know if I can,” Chuuya admitted with a frown.
“Oh,” Dazai shrugged, “That’s okay. We can just–”
“No, I mean–I don’t know if I can, uh. Come.”
Chuuya shut his eyes so he didn’t have to see the way Dazai laughed at him, though he was only met with silence.
“What?” Chuuya finally asked, pulling back to glare at Dazai defensively.
“Nothing,” Dazai responded, holding his hands above his chest as a sign of surrender.
“That’s what I thought,” Chuuya sniffed, before finally tilting his head to take Dazai’s lips back against his own.
Chuuya couldn’t help but hope that he hadn’t destroyed Dazai’s expectations too much. It was probably an awful thing to hear from someone you were going to sleep with–and Chuuya didn’t want Dazai to think it had to do with him. He also didn’t want Dazai to be bored, or disappointed, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Not that he’d tried to do much about it, either.
This kiss was much more intense than earlier in the night. Their teeth bumped together as they fought, inexperienced tongues fighting to push bluntly into the other’s mouth. Chuuya picked up the motion of his hips again, chasing the way heat was gradually coiling in his stomach with each jerk.
“Here, wait,” Chuuya mumbled into Dazai’s mouth, pulling away, “Sit up.”
“But Chuuya,” Dazai immediately whined, dragging out the vowels in Chuuya’s name, “I’m so comfortable.”
“Don’t be lazy, bastard,” Chuuya demanded, smacking him on the shoulder, “Get up.”
Obediently, Dazai did as instructed. There was an awkward moment as Chuuya repositioned them, sitting Dazai against the headboard. This way, Chuuya could ride Dazai’s knee with his hands free, allowing him to wrap an arm around Dazai’s neck and shove his hand in his underwear.
“Oh,” Dazai breathed.
He brought his hand up to cover Chuuya’s own overtop his underwear, urging along Chuuya’s motions.
Without any type of medical intervention, Chuuya’s cock was–well, it left some to be desired. Chuuya hoped that it didn’t bother Dazai too much; he could imagine that it would suck to try and sleep with a man, just to realize he doesn’t have, well, a dick.
Actually, Chuuya wasn’t really sure if Dazai was gay or not. He’d never seen him flirt with anyone, man or woman.
Chuuya hoped he was gay. At least that way, he wouldn’t have to worry about if Dazai was just pretending to treat Chuuya like a guy to get in his pants.
Not that Chuuya was making that very easy. (He hoped that Dazai wasn’t expecting to fuck Chuuya tonight, despite what they’d talked about earlier.)
Trying his best to drag himself out of his own head, Chuuya focused on the way he was rubbing his fingers against himself. It wasn’t the most elegant motion known to man, but the light, circular motions encouraged by Dazai’s hand made Chuuya feel like he was being drawn and quartered, all of the tension in his body shooting up and down his limbs.
Chuuya dragged Dazai back in to continue making out. The other boy shifted, and Chuuya briefly glanced down to witness Dazai’s free hand entering his own underwear.
They continued like that, the pressure inside of Chuuya’s body building up until he thought he might explode. Suddenly, everything was too intense, and Chuuya pulled his hand away from himself as if burned. Dazai’s own hand dropped away and he hunched forward, tucking his face into the crook of Chuuya’s neck as he moaned. The noise was low and intimate, reverberating in Chuuya’s ear and setting his skin on fire.
Dazai bucked his hips as he bit into the meat of Chuuya’s shoulder, teeth digging into flesh as he rode out his orgasm. The scrambling in Chuuya’s own body gradually lessened, oversensitivity ebbing as the tension uncoiled and slowly drained.
“Holy shit,” Chuuya gasped, falling bonelessly against Dazai’s chest.
Dazai laughed breathlessly above him, bringing up his clean hand to brush through Chuuya’s tussled hair.
“Chuuya really is a bottom,” Dazai mused, tugging lightly at Chuuya’s locks, “Only bottoms moan like that.”
“What–I wasn’t even–Shut up, bastard.”
Dazai grinned down at him before planting a surprisingly soft kiss on his head.
“Hey, fish face,” Chuuya said suddenly, pillowing his head against Dazai’s chest, “Grab my pants.”
“I can’t reach them when there’s a sticky slug on top of me.”
“Yes you can, you lazy fuck, they’re right next to you.”
Without needing to be told, Dazai maneuvered around Chuuya’s inert body to fish the half empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“You got a light?” Chuuya mumbled.
“Why would I have a light? I don’t smoke.”
“Yes you do,” Chuuya snarked, “You’re always snatching my goddamn cigarettes.”
Wordlessly, Dazai produced a lighter.
“Where did that even come from?”
“A good magician never reveals his secrets!”
Chuuya was no magician, his secret now out in the open, but perhaps he’d be able to unravel some of Dazai’s own secrets, one day.