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Dazai was being unbearable.
Not in the fun way where he pretended not to care. In the other way—clingy, mouthy, still flushed from sex and clearly offended that Ranpo hadn’t immediately given him more. He kept poking at him, nudging with his knee, dragging his fingers over Ranpo’s arm like he was trying to start a fight with his body instead of his mouth. His thighs were still parted like he didn’t know how to close them, twitchy and loose, the inside of his thighs sticky from when Ranpo had come inside him earlier. And yet he was acting like it hadn’t wrecked him. As if Ranpo couldn’t still see how used he was, how ruined.
Ranpo let it go on longer than he needed to. He always did. He liked watching Dazai dig himself deeper.
“Don’t look so smug,” Dazai said, voice already thin. He was lying on his back, boxers low on his hips, bandages loose, limbs still soft and warm in a way Ranpo could see. “You’re the one who started it.”
Ranpo hummed. He leaned over him slowly, just enough that Dazai’s breath hitched—there it was, right there, the tiny catch he never managed to hide. Ranpo put his weight on him, palms braced beside Dazai’s head, knees pinning his thighs apart without effort.
Dazai’s hands stilled, breath going uneven. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something bratty and couldn’t decide how. Ranpo looked down at him—red-cheeked, tousled, cock half-hard despite himself—and tilted his head slightly, just to enjoy the way Dazai flushed even darker.
That was always the tell. The freezing, the blush he couldn’t hide when he’d been laid bare in more ways than one. The moment his brain tried to decide whether to fight or melt. Ranpo kissed him before he could choose.
Slow, pressing in until Dazai started squirming under him, breath breaking, hands fisting in Ranpo’s shirt like he needed something to anchor him. Ranpo kissed him until his mouth went soft and useless, until the little noises started slipping out—thin, needy sounds Dazai always pretended he didn’t make. He was pliant, flushed, moaning into it—and Ranpo didn’t deepen the kiss. He dragged it out, shallow and teasing, letting Dazai chase his mouth like a desperate idiot. Only when Dazai was flushed and wrecked and clearly desperate did Ranpo pull back.
He smiled.
“Okay,” Ranpo said brightly. “Goodnight.”
Dazai stared at him. “…What?”
Ranpo rolled off him, already turning away, already settling in like nothing was wrong. He could feel it even without looking—Dazai’s frustration, his body still keyed up, wanting, aching.
“You’re mean,” Dazai muttered. He curled toward Ranpo like he didn’t mean to; his legs kicked the blanket off three times.
Ranpo grinned into his pillow. “Sleep.”
Dazai did, eventually. Still sulking. Still too fucked-out to keep fighting it.
—
Ranpo waited until the room went quiet, until Dazai’s breathing evened out, until his body slackened in that specific way it only did when he was really asleep—no tension, no performance, just open and pliant and unaware.
He shifted closer. Lifted the blanket, slowly, carefully. Dazai was sprawled on his stomach now, one leg bent, arms tucked under the pillow. His skin was warm to the touch. His ass was already faintly slick again from where Ranpo had fucked him earlier. A little sticky. A little messy. His boxers had twisted around his hips in his sleep—Ranpo eased them down with both hands, dragging the fabric off inch by inch until they slipped past his knees. Dazai didn’t even stir.
Ranpo touched him carefully at first, not because he was unsure, but because he liked the contrast. Dazai stirred, a soft sound slipping out of him, hips tipping back on instinct. Ranpo’s fingers traced where he already knew Dazai was sensitive, lingering just long enough to feel how ready he still was. Still warm. Still open.
Ranpo smiled. He spread Dazai open with two fingers and leaned in. Let his breath tease first. Then licked—slow, shallow, deliberate. Dazai whined in his sleep, barely audible. His hips jerked and settled again, and Ranpo licked him open slowly, purposefully, until Dazai’s hole twitched with desire. Then Ranpo pressed two fingers in, gentle but firm, and watched Dazai shudder and gasp into the mattress without waking.
He fingered him open with lazy precision, curling his fingers, fucking him slow while he watched Dazai’s cock twitch helplessly. He let it go on like that, unhurried, until Dazai started making little stuttery sounds and shifting his legs open wider without even knowing it. Ranpo stroked him inside with just enough pressure to keep him hovering on the edge of something he wasn’t aware of, toes curling, face starting to scrunch in a soft frown.
Ranpo loved this part—the sleepy edge, the frustration without words.He sunk his fingers in deeper, slowly, watching everything—the way Dazai’s brow furrowed, the way his lips parted, the tiny helpless whimper that escaped him before he was even awake enough to know why. Ranpo held him there, hand curled tight around Dazai’s hip, thumb digging into the bone as he inched deeper. Dazai squirmed again. Another sound. His thighs flexed, then went limp.
Dazai gasped when Ranpo pushed inside him.
He woke right then, eyes fluttering open, face flushed and hazy and completely wrecked before he could get his bearings.
“Ranpo—” His voice broke immediately. Pathetic. Perfect.
Ranpo leaned down, mouth close to his ear. “Shhh. Behave for me, mm?”
Dazai nodded weakly, face burning into the pillow, ass tipped up without being told. He tried to say something bratty—Ranpo could see it forming—but all that came out was a breathless, broken sound.
“Oh, now you don’t have anything to say?” Ranpo murmured, voice sharp and amused. “You were mouthing off all night, and now you’re shy?”
Dazai tried to glare at him over his shoulder, but it fell apart immediately—his breath stuttered as Ranpo ground in deeper.
“You’re awful,” Dazai managed, voice cracking. “You’re—mmf—you’re not even gonna—fuck, ngh—let me—”
“Let you what?” Ranpo said sweetly. “Say something bratty again? Waste both our time?”
He pulled out nearly all the way and pressed back in slower, harder. Dazai choked on a moan. His hips trembled. He clutched the sheets and groaned.
Ranpo moved slowly, deliberately, paying attention to every micro‑reaction. The way Dazai clenched around him. The way his toes curled. The way his breathing went shallow and useless when Ranpo praised him under his breath.
“So good like this,” Ranpo murmured. “All quiet. All open. You love it when I don’t let you run your mouth, huh?”
Whimpering, Dazai tried to push back like he was still a brat. It didn’t work. His body betrayed him completely, desperate and needy and too far gone to pretend otherwise.
Ranpo rutted in again, sharper this time, and Dazai keened. “Thought so,” Ranpo whispered. “You like being ruined in your sleep. You’re such a mess for it.”
“Shut up,” Dazai whined, but it was useless—his voice cracked halfway through, and he pushed his hips back again like it hurt not to.
“Make me,” Ranpo grinned. “Oh wait. You can’t, can you? What a useless little mouth.”
Dazai started crying into the pillow. “Ranpo—please—please just let me—”
“Nope,” Ranpo said cheerfully, picking up the pace just enough to make him sob. “Not until you stop trying to talk back. Not until you’re too fucked out to lie to me.”
He fucked Dazai through it, unhurried, savoring how utterly undone he was—how he took everything Ranpo gave him without resistance, how his voice fell apart into soft, broken sounds.
Then Ranpo reached under him, curled his fingers around Dazai’s cock, and started jerking him off slow. Dazai whined, his whole body jerking like it was too much.
“No—no no no—please—”
Ranpo just laughed under his breath. “You wanna come that bad?” he asked. “Or is it too good and your brain’s short-circuiting again?”
“Please,” Dazai begged, hips stuttering. “Please, please, please—”
Twisting his wrist, Ranpo picked up the pace, and Dazai shattered with a loud, messy sob, cock pulsing in his fist as he came all over the sheets.
He slumped immediately, boneless and shaking. But Ranpo didn’t stop. He kept stroking him, slow and slick, and kept fucking him deep, riding through the aftershocks.
Dazai whimpered louder. His thighs kicked weakly. “Too much—Ranpo, please—”
“Oh, now you want mercy?” Ranpo purred. He leaned in and bit Dazai’s shoulder lightly, fucked him harder, still jerking his oversensitive cock until he felt the second wave building. “Where was that tone earlier, Osamu?”
Dazai whimpered pathetically, thighs trembling, twitching like he couldn’t take it, like the name alone could be enough to push him over the edge again. Ranpo groaned low and sharp as he came inside him, cock buried deep, breath hot against Dazai’s back as he finished.
Ranpo didn’t let go of his cock, thumb smearing cum over the oversensitive head. Dazai’s voice broke properly then—not just needy, but wrecked. He made a thin, helpless sound that cracked in the middle and turned into a sob he couldn’t stop. His shoulders shook as Ranpo pulled out and started fucking him again with his thumb, face pressing harder into the pillow like he was trying to hide from himself.
“Ranpo—no—wait—please—” It came out wrong. Too breathy. Too desperate.
Ranpo noticed everything. The way Dazai’s hands fisted uselessly in the sheets. The way his hips still pushed back onto Ranpo’s fingers even while he cried. The way his cock twitched in Ranpo’s grip every time Ranpo slowed down, like his body was panicking.
“Hey,” Ranpo said mildly, almost fond. “Don’t cry like that. You’re gonna make it obvious how much you need it.”
Dazai shook his head, tears streaking down into the pillow. “I—can’t—Ranpo, please—”
Deliberately, Ranpo slowed his hand. Just enough to make Dazai whine louder.
“What?” Ranpo asked. “Use your words.”
Dazai choked on a sob. “Please don’t—don’t make me—again—”
Ranpo grinned.
He didn’t give Dazai the mercy of speeding up. He dragged it out, kept Dazai right on the edge until his crying turned desperate and incoherent. Dazai’s thighs trembled violently, muscles locking up like he was trying not to come and failing.
“Look at you,” Ranpo murmured. “Crying and leaking all over my hand. This is what happens when you act out.”
Dazai sobbed openly now, hips twitching uncontrollably as Ranpo kept stroking him through it, slow and relentless, every touch setting his nerves on fire.
“Too much—Ranpo, please—can’t—”
His voice went high and thin, words slurring together as his body failed him completely.
Leaning ober him, Ranpo’s voice came low and delighted. “Aw. There it is. That’s the sound you make when you’re really done pretending.”
Dazai shook his head weakly, tears dripping down his nose. “I can’t—I can’t—please stop—”
Ranpo clicked his tongue. “Nope. You already came once. That doesn’t mean you’re finished.”
He fucked Dazai harder, neither hand ever letting up. Dazai’s body seized, legs tensing weakly as he made a broken sound—half-sob, half-moan—and then another orgasm tore of Dazai against his will, his whole body jolting as he spilled messily over Ranpo’s fingers for a second time. He cried out louder this time, voice raw and wrecked, tears soaking the pillow beneath his face.
Dazai collapsed completely afterward—boneless, shaking, still crying softly even as his body went loose and pliant beneath Ranpo.
By the time Ranpo pulled his fingers out, Dazai was shaking, face hot and wet with tears he wouldn’t remember crying, pliant and open and utterly satisfied.
Ranpo pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Such a good boy for me,” he said lightly.
Dazai made a sound like that alone could ruin him.
Pleased, Ranpo settled back down beside him. Brushed his thumb along Dazai’s spine, slow and possessive. Watched the way Dazai flinched and then relaxed again, too sensitive to fight it.
“There,” Ranpo murmured quietly. “That’s better. No more attitude.”
Brat successfully dealt with.