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“Baby,” Dazai’s voice is making him shiver from the other end of the line, the low rumble of it managing to vibrate down Chuuya’s spine.“Don’t be mean.” Chuuya is standing in the middle of Dazai’s penthouse, trying to set his shoulders straight and focuson what he’s supposed to be doing. “It’s been six days.”
Six long days—Dazai left for a business trip to Seoul at the beginning of the week. He begged Chuuya to go along, claiming it would just take three days—and now Chuuya is relieved that he refused, because at this point he would have missed an entire week of class. “That’s not my fault.” Chuuya grumbles, pointedly ignoring the door to the bedroom. “But I’m not going to jack off for you.”
“You’re so eloquent with your descriptions, angel,” Dazai sounds so amused on the other end of the line. Chuuya hates him, really—that’s exactly why he’s standing in the man’s living room, wearing nothing but one of Dazai’s dress shirts and a pair of cushy, overtly fuzzy socks, and watering his plants while he was out of town. “One of the many things I love about you."
Mind you, Dazai didn’t buy the plants, Chuuya did. And was it necessary for Chuuya to stay at Dazai’s place the entire time he was gone to look after some succulents and a bonsai? No. Was that what Chuuya was insisting to himself every night when he tucked himself into their—Dazai’s—bed, pressing his face into Dazai’s pillow as he fell asleep? Yes.
And there’s a chance that Dazai already knows as much, because he does have security cameras in the entire building—but Chuuya likes to think that he’s not creepy enough to check them just to see if Chuuya is cuddling his pillow while he sleeps or not.
It’s wishful thinking.
“Compliment me as much as you want,” Chuuya grumbles, tossing an empty latte cup into the trash as he walks towards the fridge. “I’m not doing it.” He’s reaching for the handle when he hears it—he almost doesn’t believe it but—
“Please.”
Chuuya’s hand freezes, fingers loosely wrapped around the fridge handle but not pulling. His jaw is slightly slack, because Dazai sounds—well—needy, but Dazai is always needy—
—but he sounds raw too.
And in this moment, for the first time, Chuuya sees an opportunity to seize the reins—so he does. “I don’t know…” He drums his fingers against the fridge contemplatively, well-manicured nails clacking against the stainless steel. “What do I get out of it?”
“You’re expecting me to negotiate in this situation?” Dazai sounds a little breathless, and the edge to his voice is one that Chuuya has become intimately familiar with. “I’m almost a little proud.”
Chuuya isn’t expecting the way those words send a blush straight to his cheeks, but he’s refusing to be distracted, not when he finally has Dazai on the ropes. “You’re the one who always says to never cut the enemy any slack.”
“Am I the enemy right now?” Dazai sounds incredulous and delighted, and Chuuya is biting his lip to hold back a smile.
“Maybe,” he hums, clicking his index finger against the fridge one last time before stepping away. “Are you touching yourself right now, Dazai?” His own voice is low, an almost feline purr—and he can hear Dazai’s breath catch. Right now, Chuuya has more of an advantage than he ever does when Dazai is physically present, because as soon as the mafia boss has his hands on him, Chuuya melts. Right now, Chuuya can hold his own.
“I’m trying to, but I need…”Dazai’s sigh sounds like a faint crackle over the phone line, but Chuuya still has goosebumps rising on his arms.
“My help.” Chuuya finishes for him, his eyes flickering over to the blinking red light of one of the security cameras in the corner. “Are you watching?” The pause on the other end of the line is enough to tell Chuuya that yes, he is—and suddenly Chuuya doesn’t feel embarrassed about it at all. He turns away from the camera, letting Dazai’s shirt slip to the side as he walks towards the bedroom, sliding off of one of his shoulders delicately.
“This isn’t much of a negotiation, sweetheart.” Chuuya smiles softy, pushing the door to Dazai’s room open and flicking on the lights. Normally he wouldn’t bother for something like this, but—
Camera lighting is important, after all.
He puts the phone on speaker before tossing it onto the bed, reaching up to toy with the buttons on his shirt. “Hmmm, I didn’t say I was going to,” Chuuya hums. “I haven’t been convinced yet, have I?” Dazai makes a low noise, something between a snort and a growl, and Chuuya shivers.
“I could bring you along, next time…”
“On a business trip?” Chuuya muses, toying with the top button contemplatively. “No, thanks.”
“No,” He can hear rustling on the other line, like Dazai is maneuvering his computer around to get a better view. “A vacation. Anywhere you want.” Chuuya’s lips curl up into a smirk as he undoes one of his buttons.
“That is tempting,” Chuuya tilts his head to the side, slipping out of his socks. “But I might want to go somewhere far, would you make time for me?” He asks softly, turning his head just enough so that Dazai can see his expression through the cameras—how coy he looks.
“Fuck, Chuuya—” Dazai breathes, and Chuuya’s heart is starting to pound. “Anywhere. Name it.”
“I’ve never been to New York…” Chuuya muses, popping another button open. The shirt is halfway undone, exposing his nipples, hard and raised, along with smooth planes of muscle that make Dazai’s mouth water. “Do you think I’d like it?”
“Yes,” Dazai has never sounded like this before, half strangled and desperate. “God, I’d—” Chuuya can hear the familiar click of Dazai’s belt coming undone, and now Chuuya is the one stirring with desire.“—take you to fifth avenue, let you get whatever you wanted.”
“That does sound nice,” Chuuya smiles, undoing another button, his navel and the muscles of his stomach exposed, “do you promise?”
“I promise,” Dazai breathes on the other end of the line, and Chuuya finally snaps the last button, moving to shrug out of the shirt, but Dazai snarls. “No—leave it on.”
Chuuya’s ego isn’t complaining about any of this—not in the least. And even hundreds of miles away, the commanding tone in Dazai’s voice makes him feel a little weak in the knees. “Alright,” Chuuya lies back on the bed, red hair pooling underneath him on the pillows as his legs part, exposing his half hard cock. He keeps one hand over his head, draped across his forehead to steady himself while the other drifts down, taking a firm hold of himself and stroking slowly. His breathing starts to pick up, and the resounding silence on Dazai’s end is enough to tell him that the show is appreciated.
Chuuya works himself up, dragging his thumb over the head, spreading precum from his slit until his entire cock is slick, making it easier for his hand to slide up and down. He knows what he likes, and even if he prefers the feeling of Dazai’s bigger, more calloused hands by now, it’s still enough to make him arch and moan.
Now he can hear soft moans and grunts from the phone speaker—and he knows Dazai is getting off on this, stroking himself while he watches Chuuya writhe and squirm in his bed, and the thought of it makes Chuuya even hotter. He reaches down to cup his balls with his other hand, rolling and tugging on them softly, his neck straining from how hard he’s pressing his head back into the pillow. He’s getting close, so close, and Dazai’s name is on his lips, rolling off of his tongue, when—
“Stop.” Dazai’s voice is so resolute, so commanding, that Chuuya instantaneously freezes. His chest is heaving, his cock is flushed and hard against his stomach, throbbing and ready for release. “You know where the lube is, don’t you?”
Chuuya’s eyes are suddenly wide, and his newfound confidence is shrinking at an alarmingly fast rate. Jerking off for Dazai is one thing, but that—“Dazai,” he hates how wrecked he sounds, how bad he is at this, “—I don’t—”
It’s not like Chuuya hadn’t fingered himself before. Hestill did sometimes, when he and Dazai had to go a few days apart, or when he wanted to already be prepared when he went to his office—but this was different. Dazai was watching, and Chuuya fingering himself, that was just—he—
He wasn’t as good at it as Dazai.
“I’ll tell you what to do, angel—” he sounds like the devil in Chuuya’s ear, whispering sins to him until he caves, and Chuuya never stood a chance. “—do you trust me?”
It hits Chuuya like a freight train then—because he does. He’s spread out and exposed like this, all for Dazai to see—how could he not? He can’t even bring himself to answer, his throat is too dry—so he just nods, swallowing hard.
“Good,” Dazai breathes, and his voice is so warm on the other end of the line, like there’s affection lingering underneath it. And maybe it’s not healthy—no, it’s definitely not—but Chuuya would do anything right now for more of it. “Top drawer.”
Chuuya reaches for it, hands a little shaky. He’s still breathless and achingly hard, fumbling with the cap for a moment before he manages to get it open. He squirts a generous amount into his palm, carefully rubbing it over his fingers the way he’s seen Dazai do it a million times before, warming it up. He spreads his legs a little wider, reaching down to touch himself again, but Dazai orders him to a halt again.
“Wait,” he sounds more focused now, like he’s stopped touching himself in order to focus on giving Chuuya commands. “Go slow, start at your chest.” Chuuya bites his lip, but he obeys, slick fingers drifting over toned muscle. They brush over his nipples slightly, and Chuuya closes his eyes with a soft gasp. “Yes,” Dazai breathes, “linger there.” Chuuya’s fingers rub and twist over them slowly, and when his eyes are closed and Dazai’s voice is in his ear, it’s easy to imagine it’s Dazai touching him instead of himself. He remembers the way Dazai scrapes his teeth over his nipples as he works down Chuuya’s body, the way he’ll pause and work at the spot until Chuuya is shaking.
When he’s squirming and breathing hard, Chuuya moves on—and Dazai doesn’t stop him this time. He runs his fingers over his stomach, his hips; he lays his palms flat against his thighs and opens them wide, all as Dazai coos instructions in his ear. It’s finally then that his fingers drift past his cock, heavy and throbbing with a need for attention, and his fingers rub over his entrance.
Chuuya’s breathing is labored, his eyes are squeezed shut. On the other end of the line, Dazai sounds mesmerized. “That’s perfect, Chuuya…You sound so beautiful like this, did you know that? Fuck, if I was there—”
“What would you do?” Chuuya asks, breath hitching, shoulders shaking with want as his finger rubs lube into his entrance with slow precision.
“Oh, baby—” Chuuya will be mortified at the fact that those words alone make him moan later, but for now, he’s lost his senses;“I would take you apart.” He would. Chuuya knows that. That’s why his body is trembling and aching for the mafia boss right now. Because he wants to be fucked, to be turned over and pinned against the mattress as Dazai pounds into him, his legs turning into jelly, his mind melting. “But first, I would press one finger inside of you, nice and slow.”
Chuuya does as he says, breaching his ring of muscle with one fingertip, grunting in the back of his throat at the sensation. He doesn’t push in deep, like he might do with impatience when he’s doing this alone. He slides in slowly, squirming at the sensation of each knuckle stretching his rim as they slip inside of him. He rubs the pad of his fingertip against his inner walls, breathing slow and deep, flushed all the way down to his chest. He works himself nice and slow, all under Dazai’s soft encouragement, until the next instructions reverberate down his spine.
“I think you’re ready for another, don’t you?” Chuuya nods without even realizing that he’s doing it, spine arching slightly as he presses his ring finger inside, slowly sliding both fingers in and out, pressing deeper each time, until they’re settled inside of him. There’s a pleasant stretch to it, a faint burn that shoots from Chuuya’s muscles straight to the base of his cock, but it’s not enough.
“Spread them—just like that—yes,” Dazai groans softly at the sight of Chuuya’s hips arching away from the mattress, a sharp moan leaving the red head at the sensation of his fingers scissoring against his walls, spreading them wider. Chuuya doesn’t hate it—no, he definitely likes it—but it’s not the same as when Dazai does it. His fingers are longer, thicker, and they bring the promise of something more. Even with the mafia boss crooning in Chuuya’s ear, Chuuya wants somuch more.
“Dazai, I—” Chuuya breathes, jaw clenched and trembling.“I can’t, I nee—”
“I know what you need.” The sureness of his tone is enough to make Chuuya’s back arch by itself. “Curve them in,” he orders, and Chuuya does, biting his lip so hard that he’s surprised he doesn’t break skin,“a little more—deeper—”
“Fuck!”
Chuuya’s eyes snap open as his fingers brush over his prostate—something he’s never done by himself before. It’s like running his fingers over a live wire, sending jolts of pleasure through him that make his body freeze up and shake. His cock is twitching against his stomach, pulsing with Chuuya’s heartbeat, and he’s aching for it, he needs release. “See how tight you get whenever you brush against it?” Chuuya practically whines as he rams his fingers into that spot again, thighs trembling. “It’s fucking perfect around my cock—but I’ve always had a fondness for feeling you come apart on my fingers.”
Chuuya knows that—from the first time they fucked in a parking garage, to Dazai teasing him mercilessly over his desk the week before—he’s more familiar with Dazai’s fingers inside of him than he is with his own.
“Add another, Chuuya.” It’s the third finger that does him in. Now that he knows what the angle of attack is, Chuuya is rubbing against it relentlessly. It’s clumsy, but the pleasant stretch of his fingers and the constant stimulation work him up into a frenzy. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his body, his bangs are sticking to his forehead. Dazai’s dress shirt is wrinkled and clinging to his body in certain places, slipping away from his shoulders.
His muscles clench down firmly each time Chuuya brushes down against his prostate, squeezing firmly around his fingers. The ache is still there—he wants something bigger, thicker, more, but he focuses on Dazai’s moans on the other end of the line, working his fingers faster.
“Beautiful, Chuuya.”
It’s those words, raw and wanting, that push Chuuya over the edge. His whole body tenses and arches off of the mattress as his other hand flies to his cock, working himself furiously as it twitches and spurts against his stomach. His muscles are throbbing around his fingers, clenching so tight that Chuuya can barely even wiggle them anymore.
His throat is almost a little sore from screaming Dazai’s name.
Chuuya comes down from the high slowly, chest heaving as his hands rest limply beside him on the mattress. From the quiet panting on the phone speaker, Chuuya knows that his lover has found his release too. The air is still for a moment, filled only with the sound of Chuuya’s breathing. When he turns his head to see the empty space on the bed next to him, he frowns.
He props himself up on his elbows, glaring at the blinking red light of the security camera in the far corner. “Get your ass back here,” he growls, sounding very ferocious for someone that’s still trembling all over. “Now.”
“I think I can make the four o’clock flight to Tokyo if I leave now,” Dazai sounds smug, like maybe that was his plan all along, and this has been a glorified warm up. “Can you wait that long?”
Chuuya makes a face, pushing himself out of bed with unsteady legs, phone still pressed to his ear as he makes his way towards the shower. “Hurry up.” He wants to sound harsh, demanding—but there’s an edge of longing to his voice that makes Chuuya’s face hot.
Chuuya doesn’t need to see Dazai to know he has that stupid smile on his face, the kind that’s just a little lopsided and arrogant, but with a warmth in his eyes that makes Chuuya’s stomach flip. “Of course, sweetheart.”
Chuuya hangs up with a click, setting the phone on the counter firmly. He stares at it for a moment, trying to find the energy to be annoyed with Dazai—because now he knows this was just glorified foreplay, he’s sure of it—
But Chuuya can’t stop the small smile that works its way onto his face—because Dazai is coming home.