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It would be easy to snap Chūya’s neck like this, Dazai thinks. With Chūya lying so openly before him, battered and tired and so willing .
The thought makes his cock throb anew. He cradles Chūya’s jaw in one of his hands, as he wraps the other around the thin, pale column. It is already littered with red and blue and purple of bruises and bite-marks, and a deep outline of his teeth. He might have been bleeding at some point. Dazai hopes a little that that's the case. His partner is enchanting when he hurts.
Dazai would be careful with him — such an obvious lie — but Chūya’s not fragile enough for it to really hurt him. Not for long. There’s scarcely anything in this world that could. It isn’t the physical wounds that damage the most.
Chūya doesn’t move to stop him. He doesn’t blink. Just wraps his legs weakly around Dazai’s waist, as if begging for another round.
“Osamu,” he says, voice pathetically, pleasantly small. Wrong for chibi and fitting him all at once. His hands twitch on the bed, as he holds onto the sheets, anticipating Dazai’s assent. “ Please .”
It’s a pity that Dazai has to take one hand off of Chūya to hold him as he slips back inside. It’s an easy slide, with Chūya still so open and slick with Dazai’s release. It makes the teen under him gasp and draw his eyes shut. It’s pleasure, of course. Chūya’s just as hard as he is, his cock straining up and dripping precum right onto his bare stomach. But it looks like pain too. Dazai can’t help but admire it. Chūya wears both equally gorgeously.
His thighs must be sore from the exertion anyway. And covered in red where the fabric of Dazai’s only open trousers rubs against them with each thrust. Yet he doesn’t say a word about it. Doesn’t whine.
Dazai sets a hard and fast pace right off, holding Chūya’s thigh unnecessarily harshly as he does. It is only a pity that the bruises won’t last. There’s only a single mark he left on Chūya that does. It isn’t of the sort that can just heal.
He wonders if Chūya would let him end it too. In moments like this, Dazai can almost believe that chibi wants it as much as he himself does. In the moments when Chūya is reminded of his past; Still, years after. In the moments when he can see, can feel the aftermath of himself losing control. In the moments when someone seeks to remind him how inhuman Chūya is, no matter how blatantly wrong they are.
He thinks he can, if Chūya lets him.
Dazai doesn’t like the more physical aspects of their jobs, sure, preferring to let his dog dirty his hands instead, but it doesn’t make him weak. Killing a human with bare hands isn’t easy, but he’s done it before. It isn’t like he hasn’t been with the mafia for years before he met chibi. It’s not like he hasn’t been told to deal with annoyances before on his own. Mori-san wouldn't care, so long as the job is done. So Dazai simply couldn’t allow himself to be weak.
And, certainly, Chūya is stronger than him, despite how tiny and delicate he appears on a good day. Just as much three years later as he did the day Dazai dragged him in. Neither eating well nor training changed it. Still, he is strong enough to fight Dazai off if he goes too far in his fantasies. But that is only when he’s himself. Not broken and tired, the fight and the strength of his sapped away by the god that lives inside him.
Like this, Chūya is pliant and almost unresponsive. He’s willing to let Dazai do whatever he desires to him. He wants Dazai to do anything he desires to him, because he is far too stuck in his own head, and he craves something to get him out of it, to ground him. To have someone who’s even more monstrous than him to show him just how delightfully brittle he really is.
Dazai can’t understand the impulse himself; He can acknowledge that his own experience with giving up control is vastly different. He finds delight in it all the same.
He bends chibi almost in half, holding tight, pressing in mercilessly. It can’t be comfortable. It must hurt like hell, must pull on the stitches, must press on the litany of bruises and burns under those bandages of his. Chūya only moans as Dazai treats him roughly.
Chūya trusts Dazai to hurt and to bruise and to make him bleed but not to break him. Not like the men that remade him into a weapon in their labs. Not like idiots that kidnapped him this time, somehow , to try and use him like mafia does. Smart enough to figure it out, but still far to stupid to realise how terrible of an idea it is in the first place.
Just because chibi was alone for a bit.
Just because he’s already been too reckless as of late.
Just because he’s been stuck with the reminders of his past again, left to be wrong.
It’s foolish of Chūya to trust Dazai too. After everything. He’s just the same in the end — it’s only that he’s better at what he does. Chūya is only lucky that what Dazai wants from him is so different. Life or death, he won’t let go. He wants to see that lovely fire, wants to burn with it; Or he wants to take it with him. If only he could.
A murder suicide isn’t as romantic as a double suicide, but it holds its appeal too. And really, from a certain angle, isn’t it the latter not the former if Chūya can stop him but chooses not to?
Dazai doesn’t think it’s the foolishness that turns him on, but it certainly isn’t the trust. Chūya’s attachment to him, maybe. The loyalty that it implies. Really, just like a dog, no matter what he says. One of few people that really is his own
His stomach tightens as he feels another orgasm coming on.
“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” Dazai coos, as he watches, mesmerised, the way his hand fits against the other's skin. The way Chūya lets him press harder, to clasp it tighter, until his eyes go dull and glossy like a doll’s, and his mouth opens in a silent scream.
He looks pretty like this. Precious. If not for the bruises and the burns that litter his body in the aftermath of Corruption . The jealous god making its unshakable claim obvious each time Chūya has to turn to it. It doesn’t matter if it’s conscious or not, Dazai hates that there is something out there that has a prior claim.
It’s only that he hates it more when others try to take him away when he so clearly belongs with Dazai, if not to him. Enough that he doesn’t mind pushing Chūya when he’s already down. Just to make it all the more clear. To the dead men standing beside them. To whoever might hear about it. To Chūya himself, who let it all happen.
Dazai prefers the god’s marks to the ugly cuts and gunshot wounds that they cover. They mix much better with Dazai’s own marks.
Chūya comes, untouched, as Dazai chokes him, staining the fabric of his shirt and trousers yet again. Such a messy pet; He’s lucky that his owner doesn’t mind.
Dazai himself is soon to follow.
Red splotches bloom in the darkness of his thoughts.
Chūya spreads like a rag doll as Dazai lets him go, his legs falling on the bed, his head to the side. His body is shaking as he struggles to catch his breath. White and red mix on his chest and his stomach, come and blood running down onto the sheets. And yet still just lies on the bed, looking as pale as his stupid fine cotton sheets. Perhaps unable to do much in his condition, more than unwilling. Too fragile like this after all. How terrible.
Dazai reaches for his phone, and dials a long familiar number. Mori has been less than helpful lately. Obtuse and frustrating — and if Dazai didn’t know better, terribly unsubtle in trying to push him away. But for cases like this Mori always makes an exception. He cares for Chūya in his own way. Dazai knows he can trust the man to keep chibi functional, to keep chibi useful.
Dazai himself isn’t too keen to ask the doctor either, but… It would be such a pity if Chūya has to be out of commission for longer for such a simple issue. Exacerbated, but not caused directly by him. He simply can’t stand to see it.
Dazai is nothing if not a careful and caring owner. Sometimes, that requires sacrifices on his own part, whether he admits it or not.