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During his time among Kouyou’s courtesans, Chuuya had been dressed up in a cornucopia of dresses and girlish outfits. He was told, once he became a courtesan himself, that he would be expected to dress as his customers requested of him.
Dazai had seen him in everything from frilly maid outfits to schoolgirl uniforms to elegant kimonos. He used to visit Chuuya when his soon-to-be-partner lived at Kouyou’s brothel, before his Ability was discovered and he was moved into a very different sort of training.
Girlish frills didn’t suit Chuuya, despite his pretty face. Chuuya had a confident countenance that belied any efforts at playing the simpering, servile maid. No, he always looked better draped in a kimono, displaying elegance and refinement rather than blushing and scraping.
He looked even better as he did now, in a long, black evening dress clinging tight to the contours of his body. His hair was pulled into a complex up-do pinned with a glittering and diamond studded clip, revealing the dress’ lacey back. His bangs were allowed to hand loose as they always did, framing his stunningly beautiful features.
His pale skin was displayed underneath a sheer veil of dark, patterned lace that spanned his back and teasingly hooked around to his right hip. The lace split into a cut high on his thigh that exposed his seductively long leg. The dress’ train was loose enough to prevent a distinctly male bulge at Chuuya’s groin exposing him.
The rest of the dress was stark black, long sleeved, and undecorated as to not draw attention away from the skin on display. The collar was high as to hide Chuuya’s male chest, but his lack of breasts did nothing to reveal his sex. His curves were too feminine to believably belong to a man, in the eyes of the rest of the party’s guests.
His legs and ass were always tight and pert, but his, also stark black, stilettos certainly didn’t hurt his looks. Many party goers besides Dazai had noticed.
Oh, did they notice.
That was the point of dolling Chuuya up like this, to attract the eye of the criminals, thieves, and murderers attending this gathering. They were here to gather information, to make the men here stupid and stuttering over Chuuya, make them talkative to impress the seductive temptress before them.
It was working a little too well for Dazai’s liking.
“Hmm, a thousand men under your command, you say? I like a man that knows how to…take charge.”
These men were scoundrels, but they knew everyone else was a scoundrel equal to or worse than them. Despite Chuuya’s flirtations and forwardness, they knew “she” was as dangerous as anyone. Dazai’s one consolation in this was that no one was stupid enough to try and grope Chuuya.
They’d lose their fingers if they did, and that was after whatever Chuuya did to them.
The plan was working. The criminal lords gathered here from across the world were stunned, as anyone would be, by the attentions of the gorgeous redhead making rounds to each of them, smiling and purring. They tried to one-up each other, bragging about their criminal empire to draw Chuuya’s attentions to them.
“Oh, but the handsome Irishman over there says he can shark a loan from any man, woman, or child. And his accent is quite charming, don’t you think?”
Chuuya was in his element, playing the horny men’s pride against one another to draw out more boasting, given to him as a bid for the right to bed him.
It made Dazai seethe to think they were picturing Chuuya on his back beneath him, even if they were picturing him as a woman, even if he knew that every one of them would have nothing but their own hand for company tonight. Even if he knew that Chuuya would be in no one’s bed but Dazai’s after the party drew to a close.
He didn’t like Chuuya smiling that like, wandering his eyes like that, letting his gloved hands be kissed like that. He wanted Chuuya’s eyes and hands on no one but him.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dance that satisfied me. Do you think you have the stamina for it?”
Chuuya knew Dazai was watching and listening intently. The occasional taunting wink sent his way proved as much. Chuuya had, at last, found a way to tease Dazai in return for all the teasing Chuuya had to endure. He was milking it for all it was worth.
Dazai allowed himself a flash of vicious glee at the thought of all the delicious things he was going to do to punish Chuuya for this.
As Chuuya worked his magic on an entranced crooked businessman, his hand was suddenly taken by another and without ceremony , he was whisked to the dancefloor. Chuuya was now the one flushed and fumbling, and his sudden dance partner was the one smirking at his triumph.
This newcomer was dressed in a thick, furred coat that fell to his knees. He was pale, almost ghostly, and hanging over his face was hair as black as midnight. His eyes were a strange violet that seemed to glimmer blood red when the light reflected in them.
Dazai hated him immediately.
Through the listening device hidden in one of Chuuya’s diamond stud earrings, Dazai heard Chuuya say indignantly as he followed his dance partner’s steps, “I was having a conversation.”
“Yes, I heard you say you appreciated a man that takes charge, so I did just that,” the mystery dancer replied smoothly.
Dazai saw Chuuya’s blush deepen and his glare darken.
“Besides, you weren’t going to get any more out of him. He played his best card with you and had nothing further to impress you with.”
Chuuya arched a plucked eyebrow and a slow smile stretched his painted lips. Chuuya wasn’t actually charmed by this, was he?
“You’re the first to call me out, Mr…?”
“Dostoyevsky. Fyodor Dostoyevsky,” the dancer introduced. He dipped Chuuya low as the music swelled and he leaned down to murmur softly, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chuuya Nakahara of the Port Mafia.”
Chuuya laugh, genuinely laughed, at his dance partner’s correct identification of him. This wasn’t Chuuya playing with the heartstrings, and the libido, of a target. He was enjoying himself.
Chuuya was charmed by this! Just by being caught by an amiable stranger? Chuuya wasn’t so easily taken in, so why did this Fyodor Dostoyevsky enrapture him so quickly? Dazai gripped his champagne flute until it was at risk of shattering.
Dazai knew of this man, of course. He was the leader of the St. Petersburg based criminal organization, the Rats in the House of the Dead. It was powerful in its home city, but had little influence outside of Russia. He wasn’t a man that made a blip on Dazai’s radar among the international crime bosses present.
But Dostoyevsky didn’t carry himself like he was any less powerful than the others in this room. He twirled and spun gracefully over the tiles with Chuuya in his arms, taking what he wanted and displaying to every crime boss, with far larger empires than him, that he had won what none of them had managed; a dance with this enthralling “lady.”
Dostoyevsky didn’t miss a step of the waltz, and neither did Chuuya. Dazai remembered Chuuya spending weeks practicing walking, and after that dancing, in stiletto heels. Dazai had laughed when Chuuya fumbled, then fucked him while he wore nothing but those heels when he finally got the hang of it. It was a very effective lesson.
And now Dostoyevsky was reaping the benefits of that lesson. Chuuya already belonged to someone, and neither of them was acting like that was the case.
If Dostoyevsky didn’t catch his interest before, he certainly had it now, but not in the way of a worthy rival. Dostoyevsky was a scavenger, a rat that took what wasn’t his. Dazai would teach him the consequences of laying his hands on another man’s lover.
The band drew the waltz to a close, and Dostoyevsky bowed to Chuuya and kissed his hand like a perfect gentleman, then continued to hold that hand as he led Chuuya away from the dance floor. Dazai met them after chugging the last of his champagne and schooling his face into a mask of gentility.
“Pardon me, but might I take this beauty off your hands, good sir?” Dazai asked with a charming grin.
Dostoyevsky returned the look with a charming smile of his own, more reserved than Dazai’s. “I believe that is up to the, ah, ‘lady,’ isn’t it?” Dostoyevsky’s smile turned into a smirk for the brief second that his lips formed the word ‘lady.’
“Yes, it is. And I’d like to go with him, Fyodor.” Chuuya removed his hand from Dostoyevsky’s grip, and Dazai grinned triumphantly as his insides writhed with Chuuya’s familiarity with this man.
“I see.” Dostoyevsky did an admirable job of hiding his disappointment. “Well, thank you for the dance. It was a marvelous experience.”
Dostoyevsky left them, but Dazai understood this man quite well from the few moments he had spent observing him. He was kin to Dazai, a man that knew of his own competence and had no shame in showing it off. A man that took what he wanted and did as he pleased, all the while knowing that the consequences could be dealt with.
Dazai knew Dostoyevsky had his eyes on Chuuya, and wouldn’t surrender him easily. Dazai felt just the same.
So, he took Chuuya’s hand and said, “Come with me.”
Chuuya went willingly, likely thinking this to be a clandestine meeting to discuss their mission’s progress. Dazai had nothing of the sort planned, but Chuuya didn’t need to know that quite yet.
It was easy enough to find a room not already occupied by moaning couples. This estate had plenty of rooms for the guests to find some privacy. They slipped into one such room and Dazai shut the door behind them, leaving it unlocked.
“So, what’s this about?” Chuuya asked, dropping the high pitched feminine voice he’d been affecting for the entire night.
“Chuuya, you’ve been trying my patience all night. You think you can get away with it?”
Dazai stalked his way towards Chuuya like a predator approaching his prey. Chuuya smiled and tilted his head coyly.
“Not at all,” he purred, “I’ve been thinking about my due punishment all night. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To punish me?”
“You minx, you know me so well,” Dazai said with a rumble deep in his chest. Chuuya was in quite a mood tonight, feeling bolstered by the attention showered on him and well aware of how sexy he was in that dress.
Chuuya curled a finger to beckon Dazai forward as he backed up. The back of his legs hit the bed and he sunk down onto it, leaning back on his hands and flipping his hair a little.
Dazai tutted and shook his head, “Trying to skip to taking your pleasures, are you? That’s not how this is going to happen.”
With a smooth motion, Dazai scooped Chuuya’s small body from the bed and turned them about so Dazai was sitting and Chuuya was seated on his lap. Chuuya gave an indignant huff at the turnabout, and Dazai grinned shamelessly back at him.
“What sort of punishment is it if we skip to your favorite part? Getting fucked long and hard, I mean.” Dazai chuckled and Chuuya glared. “No, you’ll have to earn my forgiveness before getting what you want, belladonna.”
Dazai flipped Chuuya about, laying him over his lap. Dazai traced the delicate lace along his back, down his spine, until his hand reached Chuuya’s backside. He squeezed the supple flesh before slipping his hand in the dress’ slit and shifting the dress up to expose the perky ass.
Panties as black and lacey as the dress barely hid Chuuya’s backside from Dazai’s view.
“Really dressing the part, aren’t you, Chuuya?” Dazai hummed, running a finger just under the panties’ fabric.
“It’s not like I can wear boxers in this dress,” Chuuya defended weakly. This light touch was enough to undo him. The swagger had given way to arousal and desperation.
“Mmm, I’m not complaining,” Dazai murmured before delivering a hard, swift strike to Chuuya’s ass. Chuuya cried out, his voice echoing through the room. A pleading whine entered his voice as the cry faded away.
“Ah, Dazai-” he cut himself off with a choke. Dazai wouldn’t let him be quiet, though.
The doorknob jiggled, as Dazai expected it to, and the door creaked open just enough for a voyeur to see what lay within. A flash of black hair and violet eyes told Dazai he had predicted Dostoyevsky’s actions correctly. He had followed them, hoping to draw Chuuya away from Dazai, and would bear witness to what he would never have.
Dazai struck Chuuya’s ass again, making it quiver and redden. Dazai could feel the heat against his palm, so surely Chuuya was feeling the sting. But Chuuya was nothing if not resilient, and managed to keep his lips closed out of sheer stubbornness.
He struck again, three times in quick succession. Upon the third strike, Chuuya moaned. As a slight reward for the lovely noise Chuuya had graced Dazai’s ears with, he gently massaged the sore flesh with tender fingers. Chuuya moaned again, this time with a more subdued, sighing voice.
Then, he spanked Chuuya again, this time with five quick strikes all in a row. Chuuya arched and writhed, simultaneously trying to squirm away and offering his ass up for more.
The door shut again, Dostoyevsky getting the eyeful he needed to understand how completely out of his reach Chuuya was. Dazai could lay Chuuya out on his lap and spank him, could do anything he liked with Chuuya’s body, and Chuuya would allow it all. Chuuya was owned, and Dostoyevsky would now understand how hopeless his desires were.
Dazai could move on to more entertaining things now that eyes were no longer upon them. As much as he liked to show off his beautiful lover, there were limits to his willingness to share. Some things, like Chuuya's fully naked body, were for Dazai alone.
Chuuya was managing to keep himself supported with his knees and hands on the bed, on all fours and hovering over Dazai's lap. This minor show of defiance wouldn't last and they both knew it, so Dazai allowed this bit of independence before he made Chuuya collapse in ecstasy.
Dazai slipped the lacey panties down Chuuya's slender legs. His beaten, reddened ass was unveiled, free to be molested by Dazai's probing fingers. He circled the little pucker now available to him before slipping a single finger inside.
Chuuya shuddered and moaned, circling his hips to find some friction against Dazai's legs. Dazai used his free hand to give Chuuya another little, chiding spank.
"Ah ah ah, no cheating. You cum when I want you to," Dazai purred, patting the red ass cheeks gently.
"Bastard..." Chuuya muttered into the sheets, gripping with trembling fingers.
"One of these days I'm going to get you to call me 'daddy,'" Dazai mused with mirth.
"Over my dead-hah!"
Dazai inserted his finger deep, interrupting Chuuya's oath in the most pleasurable way possible. He added another finger to the first, and Chuuya's body quivered with wanting. He panted, leaning his forehead on the bed and losing all support in his legs. He collapsed onto Dazai's lap with a gasp.
Dazai took no mercy on him and plunged his fingers deeper. He deliberately pressed Chuuya's prostate with flawless accuracy born of copious amounts of experience. He knew Chuuya's body better than he knew his own and could play him like a well-tuned instrument. It was why Chuuya always gave in to him, in the end. Because he knew that the result would be extravagant pleasure. He knew his submission would always be rewarded.
Dazai fingered Chuuya hard and fast, fucking him without so much as a brush against his weeping cock. Chuuya’s moans were interspersed with little sobs. Saliva trickled from between his parted lips. His cheeks were flushed and his body was taut and arched.
Chuuya looked well and truly ravaged. He was a libidinous young man whose sexual desires were met by Dazai alone. Dostoyevsky could be as charming and suave as he liked, but he could never measure up to Chuuya’s more carnal demands.
Dazai curled his fingers and pegged Chuuya’s prostate hard, mercilessly fingering him with near-brutality in his thrusts. Chuuya went mad, screaming shamelessly, panting out Dazai’s name.
And then it stopped. It all stopped when Dazai withdrew his fingers and patted Chuuya’s lovely ass appreciatively.
“Now, now, we can’t get your dress dirty, can we?” Dazai chided lightly.
“You fucking prick!” Chuuya raged. Dazai knew Chuuya had just been on the verge of cumming from nothing but Dazai’s fingers inside of him, and he’d been left hanging and needy.
“We have a party to get-Bwah!” Dazai gave an undignified yelp and Chuuya twisted about until he sat straddled on Dazai’s lap. He pushed Dazai back onto the bed and sat astride him.
Chuuya left him lying there and stood. He slowly pulled the dress from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, leaving him entirely naked.
Chuuya was unspeakably beautiful. His body could not have been more perfect if it had been carved from marble. His skin was pale and soft to the touch, cared for with a regimen taught to him by Kouyou to keep him exquisite to the touch. His body was shaved smooth, another habit born of his training as a courtesan. His abdomen and arms were leanly muscled, strong but subtle. He had no need for muscle when his Ability gave him strength beyond any man’s capabilities, but his training in martial arts kept his body firm and taut.
The flesh of his thighs was thick and perfect for gripping when he was on his back being fucked into a mattress. The lines of his body formed gentle curves that Dazai’s hands loved to trace over and over again.
Naked or clothed, Chuuya was a wonder. But Dazai definitely preferred him naked.
Chuuya stalked to the bed, his hips swaying in a seductive strut he’d perfected to attract the party-goers’ eyes, and crawled on top of Dazai.
“You know that every man at this party would kill to have me?” Chuuya purred, leaning down to drag his tongue across Dazai’s throat. Dazai gulped.
“Don’t play coy with me, you waste of bandages.” Chuuya’s tongue met the edge of Dazai’s bandages and traveled upwards again. His teeth nibbled a little on Dazai’s pulse. “You want me as bad as they do,” he murmured into Dazai’s ear.
“But they can’t have me,” Chuuya continued to purr from the depths of his throat. His body shifted downwards as he pulled on Dazai’s tie, making him sit up on the bed. Chuuya slid to the floor and kneeled in front of Dazai, then began popping the buttons of his pants open.
“You know why they can’t have me,” Chuuya said, not as a question but as a statement of fact.
Chuuya took Dazai’s cock in hand once his pants and underwear were out of the way, pulled off and dropped to the floor around Dazai’s ankles.
“Because I’m yours,” Chuuya’s lips murmured against Dazai’s cock just before taking it into his mouth.
Dazai moaned and leaned his head back. Chuuya took his sweet time sucking Dazai off, slowly laving his tongue over the underside of Dazai’s girth, then sucking the tip like a lollipop.
There was an unspoken truth between them, one that Dazai would never confess lest Chuuya learn how very weak Dazai was to him. Chuuya belonged to Dazai completely, in body and soul. Chuuya held the same sway over Dazai, but Dazai would never admit it.
He would never admit that he longed for Chuuya, not just for his sex but for his presence. He would never admit that he would burn Yokohama to the ground if that’s what it took to hold his interest for just a moment longer.
He needed Chuuya like he needed air, he wanted Chuuya as much as he wanted to die.
He would sooner slaughter every last man at this party than let them put their hands on Chuuya. He wanted to gouge their eyes out just for looking upon him.
But he soothed himself with the knowledge that no matter their lustful looks, they would never see Chuuya like this; on his knees with their cock in his mouth and their handprint on his ass.
Chuuya’s tongue swirled in circles, finding every sensitive inch of skin and wetting it. He drew back and kissed along the length, sucking as he went. He left smears of lipstick on the hot flesh, the sticky pre-cum cleaning his swollen lips of their painted color.
Just as his balls began to draw up and his abdominal muscled heaved with the power of his oncoming orgasm, Chuuya wrapped his fingers around Dazai’s sack and stopped the orgasm mid-burst.
“Chuuya~” Dazai whined. He’d predicted that Chuuya would pull a cruel move like this, and as always, his prediction had come true.
But Chuuya, his fiery and obstinate partner, was the only man he’d ever known capable of surprising him.
Chuuya stood and settled into Dazai’s lap, then slid himself onto Dazai’s cock. Dazai gasped and shuddered, gripping Chuuya’s hips to keep him balanced.
Chuuya commanded their pace, ever the only man that Dazai allowed to command him, using his legs and the leverage Dazai’s hands provided to bounce on Dazai’s cock. He made little adjustments, tiny shifts in his angle that made him whimper with need when he didn’t get what he wanted.
Then, Chuuya threw his head back in an elegant arch and released a long moan. He found his target and fucked himself hard on Dazai’s girth, pegging that spot again and again.
Chuuya was tight and hot around him, his insides sucking Dazai in hungrily like they were starving for him. Chuuya was fed often and well, but never seemed to abate in his hunger for more of Dazai. He moaned and murmured Dazai’s name, the only name that would ever be on Chuuya’s lips in moments of pleasure.
“Chuuya…” Dazai murmured, leaning forward to suck a hickey onto the delicate skin of Chuuya’s neck. He nibbled and sucked until he could feel the heat of blood welling up just under the surface, then he kept sucking to make sure the bruise could be seen by everyone that looked at Chuuya.
He belonged to Dazai, and Dazai wanted everyone to know it.
Chuuya could flaunt his beauty and his raw sexuality all he liked, but it was Dazai he would always fall into bed with. Dazai wanted every man that had flirted and licked their lips in desire tonight to know that.
Especially Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
Chuuya’s chest heaved with desperate breaths, the air in his lungs being driven out with each thrust. His arms fell over Dazai’s shoulders to try and balance himself, but his muscles were weakened by the ecstasy. They shook and failed to properly grip Dazai.
Dazai came with a low moan and a bodily shudder, filling Chuuya with his cum until it dripped out onto Chuuya’s pale, quivering thighs. Chuuya followed soon after with a loud cry of Dazai’s name, shouted to the ceiling.
Chuuya collapsed, his body sagging limply in Dazai’s arms. His muscles had been strained to their limit and his body was over-sensitized with ecstasy. He panted as they fell backwards onto the bed, curling together as best they could.
“Seems my clothes are the ones that got all dirty, hmm?” Dazai hummed blissfully after his own breath returned to his lungs.
Chuuya’s orgasm had stained Dazai’s pants with spunk, but the mess was nothing Dazai was concerned about. They wouldn’t be lingering at this party any longer. They got what they came for and the Boss would be pleased with their work.
They had more important things to attend to. Such as fucking each other senseless.
Chuuya hummed happily, shifting a little so Dazai’s cock slipped out of him. He settled on Dazai’s chest as more cum was added to the mess on his thighs. Dazai liked the idea of making their way back to base, knowing Chuuya was all messy just beneath the dress’ seam.
“I should flirt with charming Russians more often if this is what it gets me,” Chuuya teased.
Dazai growled low in his chest. He hoped Fyodor Dostoyevsky never reappeared in their lives. If he did, Dazai would show him all over again how outclassed he was.
"Seriously? This rivalry with Doystoevsky started because he wants to sleep with your boyfriend?”
“Chuuya isn’t my boyfriend, don’t be gross, Kunikida-kun!”
“Yeah, sure-hey, where you going?!”
“I have reservations at this Italian restaurant Chuuya likes. Something about a wine list thirty pages long? I can’t be late or he’ll start drinking without me, and I don’t want him passing out. Ta-ta!”