Archive of Our Own

Safehouse — current day

First and foremost, pain is Dazai's arch nemesis and right now, his body is ensuring that the omega knows he’s been pushed past his limits. 

Completely unique to familiar aches and pains—stab wounds included—each miniscule flex of muscle fibers feel like a toppling mountain that sends painful, sparking avalanches down each nerve ending and right back to his sluggish brain. 

The one type of pain he's never grown a tolerance to is one that he's only experienced twice in his entire life: once at sixteen and again presently. Back then, Dazai presented as an omega in the middle of the night and disappeared from the mafia's radar into complete and utter darkness. One second he's removing soiled bandages stuck to his skin, and the next time he comes to, Dazai's face is pressed against the cold metal of his shipping container. Its rugged, ribbed texture left scratches across his cheek and arms when he curled into a ball, all of the air knocked clear from his lungs with blunt force.

Dazai's mind entered into an uncomfortable, all-consuming headspace where his only coherent thought was, Empty. Too empty.

He always felt devoid of anything besides his essential organs to a degree, but the deep, roaring voice that grabbed hold of his throat and squeezed until all he could manage were wheezing breaths repeated that he needed to be filled. Stuffed in each hole until he finally felt complete, not like these fragmented, splintered parts. Dazai doesn't remember many details, but he can perfectly recall the first time that his hand drifted lower and dragged through a puddle of sticky, thick fluid seeping through his pants.

Every sensation felt wrong in those moments: the cotton against his skin, the tang of gunpowder and iron, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding against his eardrums like a march, the overwhelming scent of fiery spices.

That first heat was the most miserable and pain-staking four days that Dazai has ever experienced. Somewhere along the line, somebody had entered his space considering he woke up with a knotting toy he's never seen before and extra sheets across his bed (come to find out it had been Mori. The thought of his boss finding him in such a vulnerable state, hearing the pathetic noises he made, smelling the deplorable odor of desperate orgasms and quiet pleas; It made him sick to his stomach. But Mori is an omega too. At least there was that sliver of comfort.)

The aching sensation he experienced that day is nearly identical to what Dazai feels right now: like his body has been dragged through the wringer seven ways to hell. The only other heat he ever experienced had been spent alone so the after effects have never been this intense. In fact, he isn't even positive how much having an alpha there might change the outcome. Currently, his naked skin feels touched, burning from ghostly grazes that Dazai can't quite place.

Doing inventory on his surroundings, the omega tries to pinpoint his location. A modest bed with tall wooden posts, blankets that lack softness, walls decorated with generic artwork probably bought from a second-hand shop. Luggage lays on the floor unzipped, and that small context clue conjoins the bridges. 

He's in the safehouse. 

He was on a mission with Chuuya to run intel on and likely kill a corrupt politician who was found to be the source of an assassination attempt on the leader of the Guild. With the alliance formulated between their organizations, it always becomes an all hands on deck situation and the plan their strategist thought up specifically involved Dazai and Chuuya's combined prowess.

Plus, Francis offered Mori a vein in the underground operations of one of America's largest drug states, so of course his former boss roped the ADA in as well. So here they are in a safehouse on the outskirts of a bustling city along the Eastern coast and Dazai went into heat. Gods, he went into heat with Chuuya down the hall. Crass, clueless, ever-trusting Chuuya who's been under the impression that Dazai is a beta since their teen years. Nobody knew of Dazai's secondary gender besides Mori and Fukuzawa (and Dazai only told the latter after he skipped a day of suppressants and the president's keep nose picked up the smell immediately.)

Dazai inhales slowly, squeezing both eyes shut. The sheets around him are rather itchy, made from a material that rubs his sensitive skin in all the wrong ways. Carefully, he pinches the slightly damp (with what, he doesn't want to know) fabric and rubs it between his thumb and index finger. Immediately, he needs it to go away or he's going to start pulling his hair out. So, Dazai erratically throws blankets onto the ground until he reaches a tolerably soft layer then seeps into the mattress.

Then, his nose picks up on a scent distinct from his own.

He knows that smell. The faint, earthy sandalwood mingles with his own spicy chai to create a concoction that no barista could replicate. It's a scent he used to bury his face into when stolen clothing somehow found its way into his shipping container. The road leading to an unsavory conclusion clears.

"Oh, you're finally up."

Dazai damn near jumps out of his skin at the voice of his former partner, any plans of escape immediately squandered. Chuuya isn't wearing a damn thing outside of his boxers which provides a completely unobstructed view of his skin that looks… well, like he's been attacked, quite frankly.

"Chuuya."

"Who the hell else would it be? Don't sound so surprised." In Chuuya's hands are a glass of water and a plate overflowing with fresh fruit. Not Dazai's absolute favorite, but it probably wasn't meant for him to begin with. 

Chuuya as a whole looks worn down: shadowy remnants underneath each eye, red hair a tangled mess, neck and bare shoulders covered in dark, blossoming bruises and open wounds. One especially eye-catching wound is planted on the inside of his right wrist. Shaped in the perfect arch of a set of teeth, Dazai doesn't need to perform rocket science to realize that he probably put it there. Despite his physical appearance, Chuuya seems in decent spirits, sitting the glass of water and plate on the bedside table after pushing four plastic bottles to the ground. Dazai winces.

"Damn, I knew you'd hate the blankets, but I didn't expect you to kick 'em off right away," Dazai ignores the odd pangs that crawl straight out of a reminiscent, sentimental chasm. Chuuya remembers some of his preferences. "Sorry. Couldn't find anything else."

The redhead now perches on the edge of the bed and runs the back of his hand across Dazai's forehead and cheek, eyes focused. The omega flinches at the touch and Chuuya pulls a face.

"I started thinkin' your fever wouldn't break. Almost had to call that agency doctor of yours to hassle the Guild out of meds," Chuuya produces a small, damp washcloth from the bottom of the bed then dabs Dazai's skin. "How you feelin'?"

Dazai blinks owlishly and shrugs. Chuuya fixes him with a knowing look.

"You don't remember a thing, do you?"

Slowly, Dazai shakes his head as waves of sobering realization wash over him. He's naked in his room, legs covered in dried slick, his scent pouring out of him in droves, and Chuuya is right there in his space with matching battle wounds. He smells of Dazai and sex and slick, once dewy sweat now dried with a tacky finish. He knows. Oh Gods, Chuuya knows.

Chuuya huffs out an irritated noise, reaching forward to poke a comically small fork into a watermelon cube then holding it expectantly in front of Dazai's mouth. Under some sort of spell, the brunet accepts the offering, sighing through his nose as cold juices coat his tongue and parched throat. The alpha continues to feed him melon and grapes, both fruits on the sweeter side like Dazai can tolerate.

There it is again. More catalogued memories.

"Seven days ago, I woke in the middle of the night to the unbearable smell of an omega in heat. Thought you brought someone over so I nearly broke the damn door off its hinges to give you a piece of my mind,” If Dazai’s chest weren’t being sat on by a figurative elephant, he’d have laughed at the imagery. “Imagine my surprise when I just found you shakin' like a leaf in the middle of the bed."

His words are so casual like Dazai's entire adulthood facade didn't just shatter before his eyes. He isn't supposed to be an omega, he's supposed to be void of any particular smell outside of his laundry detergent like the average beta who slips undetected beneath the radar.

"Chuuya knows."

"Now I do," There's a hint of betrayal behind his tone, this sad intonation that makes Dazai's heart squeeze uncomfortably. "After I opened the door, you… I could hear you callin' my name. You were being asphyxiated by your bandages and humping the pillow while you kept asking for me. Begging, almost."

Dazai might actually kill himself tonight; the mental visual is enough for him to date and sign his own death certificate.

"Why were you callin' for me?"

"I don't… know."

"Bullshit."

It's glaringly obvious that he sought out Chuuya because he wanted his alpha, he wanted comfort and safety from the only person he's ever come close to loving. Gods, Chuuya wasn't his alpha, but he was the next best thing. Always has been. Back then he felt at ease knowing that the redhead was nearby, soothed by his scent on more than one occasion.

"How long have you been an omega?" Chuuya asks quietly, offering sips of water between fruit pieces. He sounds irritated but is still hyper-focused on nursing Dazai back to a place of coherency.

"Sixteen."

The redhead's movement stops while he does the mental math, scent becoming slightly displeased with wilted, molding influxes. Dazai lets out a barely audible whimper, heartbeat increasing against his own demands.

"So when we—"

"Yeah. I was an omega then, too. Just on suppressants."

Chuuya's eyes scrutinize, disbelieving. "I would have smelled it."

"I was on stuff from the black market. I figured if I took it long enough that it'd make me a defective omega sooner or later and I wouldn't have to deal with being this way."

"How'd that plan work out?"

Those words hold more venom than anticipated, but as soon as Chuuya realizes Dazai's starting to shake, he rectifies it by turning his scent into more of a sweet, white wine then props the gland on his wrist on Dazai’s shoulder. The brunet hates how his body succumbs immediately. For a few minutes, neither of them speak, clearly lost in thoughts unknown to the other. Then, Chuuya's voice comes out small and afraid like he's a teen again revealing the ugliest parts of himself to Dazai's hands.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

And for a split second, Dazai finds that he has no good answer.

Safehouse — seven days ago

A slow, rhythmic thumping yanks Chuuya out of his sleep and before explanations even start firing, he's pissed off. The air is stuffy with pheromones obviously designed to reign an alpha in from miles away. The only people who know of the safehouse location are Dazai, the Agency president, and Mori, so there's no way someone else broke in while he slept. Besides, he'd hear it and be up in a second.

No, the only logical conclusion stems from Dazai bringing someone over—an omega in heat who is getting absolutely rocked into the mattress if those thumps are any indication.

Irritation outweighs surprise and Chuuya wants to bang his head against the wall. He's already had to remind Dazai a hundred times that they don't have time for luxuries, this isn't a vacation where they can go sight-seeing and walk the infamous streets of Washington, DC to view monuments that mean nothing to them. So, Dazai bringing a random person over only cements his disdain. Chuuya didn't sign up to be a babysitter, and he told Mori that much before they left.

With a gruff noise, Chuuya throws the sheets off and stomps directly down the short hallway until he's standing in front of Dazai's door. There's definitely an omega in there, one whose scent is trying to suffocate him. If he were any lesser of a man, Chuuya's alpha might be telling him to do some rather unspeakable things, but that voice has never once won. Through the door he can hear frantic, hushed cries paired with obvious desperation thick in the air. Without thinking, he kicks the door open and storms inside with curses on his tongue and red outlining his figure. But the sight in the dimly lit room stops the alpha in his tracks.

There's no omega, it's just Dazai.

But Dazai is a beta. He's been a beta since they were teenagers, Chuuya would have seen through even the most elaborate of lies. There's no identifiable way that he hid his smell, the glands, his heats, or the instinctual reactions that omegas typically get from dominant alphas. Sure, maybe Dazai's body had taken his knot better than most betas he was with later in life, but Chuuya chalked that up to pure enthusiasm and semi-decent prep.

Apparently he was wrong. Because what other explanation exists for why Dazai is clutching a pillow between his arms and legs, grinding his leaking cock against the fabric while he mutters a single word: Chuuya.

His own name slips in a continuous stream from Dazai's lips, coated in despair and desire while an overwhelming spicy chai scent lathers the entirety of Chuuya's lungs. Now that the shock of pheromones has settled, he's hit in the face with a scent so uniquely Dazai that it makes him want to laugh. He smells… delicious. The alpha has never experienced a scent like his before, sweetness at first sniff that leaves a tingle of cinnamon and cardamom and nutmeg in its wake.

What started as contempt for the random omega taking refuge in their safehouse quickly morphs into a mouth-watering craving that Chuuya's too embarrassed to acknowledge. This isn't some random person, it's his ex-partner, the other half of Double Black that's always been prevalent in Chuuya's life. He never stopped loving Dazai after he vanished from the mafia, but figured that the feelings were buried deep enough that they would never resurface.

His alpha is screaming 'yes' and Chuuya feels helpless from the pull.

Maybe he is lesser of a man.

The space between door and bed disappears as automatic steps carry Chuuya to the plush surface where he half collapses onto his ex-partner, propped over Dazai's body. One knee rests on the bed, his other foot holds sturdy on the floor, and his arms cage in Dazai's shaking figure while he watches in complete bewilderment as his name becomes louder, more frequent and lustful.

"Chuuya, Chuuya, Chu—"

"Oh shit…" the aforementioned mumbles to himself, eyes bouncing all over sweat-covered features. "You are an omega."

Those words stir Dazai immediately. Long lashes flutter open to reveal pretty eyes with blown pupils that expand and shrink rapidly as he registers another person suddenly in his space.

For a second, they just stare at each other. Dazai pants hot air across Chuuya's face and the redhead starts to shiver. He isn't cold, but in a state of pure shock, weakened by the way Dazai searches his face so desperately, like he doesn't believe this moment is real. Then, whatever self-imposed restraints he has snap as the omega lunges upward.

Their lips smash together in a completely one-sided kiss, hard and bruising. Chuuya's brain lags behind Dazai's actions so his eyes remain open, seeing nothing at all. The battle for cognition is quickly lost in a mouth he never stopped craving. Whatever physical contact there is can be categorized more-so as frantic panting against each other's mouths while Chuuya's pajama shirt gets torn open. It's all happening so fast, mental inactivity leaving the alpha vulnerable. Cold air smacks his chest before hot, sweaty fingers brand his skin and the contrast is searing.

His eyes slip shut as he groans into the brunet's mouth, stirring the pot. 

Dazai's hands wander too fast to keep track of: underneath his shirt to the broad panes of his back, down to squeeze his ass and hips, back up his chest to pinch at his nipples and scratch his abdomen, then right back down to the waistband of the cotton pajama pants now being relentlessly tugged on. Chuuya tries to stop him with a splayed hand on his chest and distance between their mouths, but that only aggravates the omega who growls lowly.

"Why?" Dazai asks. The gentleness in his hands is rapidly melting away with their insistent pull. "Won't alpha fuck me?"

And Gods, if that doesn't ignite a burning fire within. Still, there's a moral dilemma playing at Chuuya's conscience, his own voice reminding him that consent can't be taken seriously from an omega in heat. Rejection doesn't bode well for Dazai as he becomes a little more aggressive with each passing second, a tad bit stronger in his impossible magnetic pull. His voice comes out authoritative to an alarming degree when he glares deep into Chuuya's very soul.

"If alpha won't, go find me someone who will!"

"I'm not going to do that," Chuuya muses as his hands slowly float down Dazai's chest and abdomen, grazing his smaller, leaking cock. The omega growls again, lighter this time without such potent venom. It takes an extensive amount of willpower for Chuuya not to devour him right here on the spot. "I'll help you. But we talk once you come back to your senses."

Making the deal with his ex-partner in his current state of mind is about as useful as promising a fresh layer of paint to a brick wall. Dazai nods dumbly and spreads his legs as an invitation, leaning up so he can nibble at Chuuya's uncovered gland. They haven't done this since they were teens, but dropping down Dazai’s mature, developed curves brings a new, hypnotizing twist to the muscle memory that kicks in.

Back when Dazai was in the Mafia, Chuuya never saw him like this. They fucked as a means of letting steam that built over the span of weeks release or running off the adrenaline of a particularly dangerous fight. Dazai never divulged his own fantasies or particular likes outside of bottoming.

(The one time Dazai tried topping was an absolute disaster and Chuuya banned him from trying again until he figured out how to use his long ass limbs.)

So right now as he stares at a watery-eyed, rose-faced omega, he feels a certain… responsibility. Dazai may only be trusting him because of the convenience and as much as he makes Chuuya want to throw him off a skyscraper, he isn't heartless enough to want to hurt Dazai during his heat. Long fingers wrap around Chuuya's wrist, applying pressure until his flat, open palm lands firmly on the omega's cock.

His back arches off the bed and Chuuya's own dick twitches.

Next thing he knows, two fingers slip inside Dazai's wet heat without any resistance and Chuuya gasps like he's been shot. The omega shifts and moans, this high-pitched wailing noise that pounds against the alpha's eardrums. His pajama shirt is still slung over both shoulders, but there's enough room for both of Dazai's hands to slip underneath, nails digging into skin like an anchor tethering them together.

"More." Dazai immediately demands, words feeble now that he's got something inside him.

Cute, Chuuya distantly muses while pumping his fingers at a steady, near brutal pace. Dazai doesn't need tenderness right this second, he needs relief from the sweltering pain that plows through him as easily as a streamlined ship through raging rapids. A gnawing sense of pride occupies Chuuya's body considering Dazai was calling his name while likely imagining a knot stuffing him as cum painted his insides. On the flip-side, Chuuya has to wonder if that desire implies something deeper that Dazai has kept buried all these years too or if it's purely based on lust and situational irony.

"You'll come on my fingers and nothing more."

A desperate, wounded sound fills the air and Chuuya's alpha fights relentlessly to take control of the wheel. By now, his dick is so hard it hurts.

"Why?"

"You want to make me happy, don't you?" The redhead asks, grinning widely when Dazai starts nodding before he's even finished the question. "Make alpha proud?"

"Y-ye—"

Shifting his weight, Chuuya frees up his other hand to wrap around Dazai's cock. It's about the same size as when they were younger: smaller but certainly not tiny. A low, needy groan gets punched out of him as he watches Dazai dissolved like cotton candy in warm water. White paints his abdomen in spurts so hard that it might be considered painful. Just how long has he been waiting to be touched like this?

The handjob goes on for another ten minutes until Dazai finally stops begging and relaxes into the bed. He doesn't allow Chuuya to remove his hands entirely, but at least he's gazing up at his partner with some semblance of clarity.

"You in there?" He chances, slowly dragging a loose fist along Dazai's cock.

"'s Chuuya."

"Mmh," Chuuya responds, voice tight. "You never told me you're an omega."

Dazai nods like his secondary gender was always common knowledge, glazed eyes tracking Chuuya's mouth with nothing but yearning behind them. "Made for alpha."

And by the Gods, Chuuya is going to shrivel up to die on this soft, baren bed with one major regret: not getting to fuck Dazai senseless on his knot. He's been backed onto a ledge with jagged rocks waiting to impale him at the bottom, and even his gravity can't do a damn thing to stop once he plummets.

"You want me to help you?"

"Help?" Dazai's cluelessness would be a turn-on if Chuuya didn't feel like he was about to violate each and every boundary known to man. He continues to tell himself that it's this or pain and suffering—which Dazai hates. At least he's getting taken care of by someone who won't just fuck him past his limits then leave destruction in his path. No, Chuuya will take care of him until his mind clears and those annoying quips return.

"A knot?"

Oh, Dazai lights up like a Christmas tree and snakes his legs around Chuuya's mid-section, yanking him upward until they're face-to-face. "Knot?"

And honestly, stalling won't progress the situation.

Four minutes later, Dazai's rocking himself relentlessly on a fat knot, continuous destitute sounds struggling to find release around the three fingers occupying his mouth. Chuuya mutters sweet nothings and bites back the overstimulation starting to burn his nerves; the omega looks far too peaceful and content for the first time since he walked in for the alpha to try taking that away.

Chuuya's dick hurts.

At some point it's going to shrivel up and fall off, but Dazai is insatiable in his desire and he's only slept for a brief fifteen minutes since Chuuya found him late last night—even in sleep, Dazai wouldn't let Chuuya leave the bed. He had to use the detective’s phone to call the Boss and explain their issue. He didn't want to cross that line at first, but Mori needed to know why his top executive abandoned a mission. Arrangements needed to be made in their place so Francis didn't come knocking on their door.

That left them to their devices and Chuuya spends majority of his time either rubbing sore muscles or fucking Dazai until he's teary-eyed with a heartrate low enough to soothe him to sleep; It isn't always long, but he'll shut his eyes and purr with Chuuya's knot is still suspended inside him and that restores a little bit of energy. Half-way through the first day is when Chuuya finally gets a bathroom break and looks at himself in the mirror.

He looks horrible. Like he's been at war for months. It's an odd concept: sex turning his body from a well oiled machine to a clanker on its last legs.

The sex itself was… great.

Dazai makes him feel needed in a way he hasn't in so long. He wraps all four limbs tightly around Chuuya's torso and practically screams, making his alpha feel like a million bucks. There are certain desires that Chuuya gives in to, allowing himself to stew in the feelings that have been lying dormant for so many years. Some of their affection hurts. Like it's all going to disappear at the blink of an eye when Dazai comes back around. But there is no way that Dazai would bare himself like this to any other alpha, heat or no heat.

Right?

The second day goes about the same as the first, though they do get a delivery of food and water from an unknown accomplice that Chuuya retrieves early in the morning. He'd had to use his alpha voice and command Dazai to let him go (which he felt a little bad about), but he was starving and cranky so any regret was short-lived. The two of them struggled for a long time, battling between getting Dazai to eat something and the omega relentlessly demanding more, more, more.

Chuuya got him to eat some food and drink some water while sitting in his lap on a knot. Dazai purred the entire time and leaned into Chuuya's gentle hand that explored his features in between bites. If he's being honest, the redhead isn't sure he's ever seen Dazai so at peace and it's a look he never wants to erase.

The third day was so much worse. Dazai was in constant pain no matter how many times Chuuya knotted or scented him. Whatever soothing techniques he tried only made the omega whimper louder, curling in on himself like the pain would snatch his soul straight from his body. It was miserable.

By the time day six rolled around, both of them are completely spent. Chuuya's never been through something so physically demanding—hell, even Corruption doesn't leave him feeling as drained as this heat has. Still, Dazai's lust outweighs the exhaustion and the omega paws at his bare hips then turns over into a perfect presenting position with whimpered pleas on his tongue. Instinctively, Chuuya growls. Who can blame him? His body feels raw and exposed, completely spent in more ways than one. As soon as the sound slips out of his chest, Dazai reacts like a scared animal.

He cowers at the corner of the jumbled mess of blankets, something just shy of a nest.

"Angry."

Chuuya sighs then crawls close, fingertips dragging along the already damp skin of the omega's cheek. "'m sorry. Alpha's not angry." Dazai makes hesitant eye contact but can't hold it for very long before a faint, distressed sound squeezes his chest. His skin isn't clammy anymore, no longer hot to the touch so Chuuya thinks (prays) that he’s nearing the end of it.

The connection between them—while dulled—is electric. Chuuya lifts his face with tentative, soft hands, and peppers kisses along his forehead, cheek, and neck. Dazai huffs out a shaky breath, body immediately becoming blissfully slack, clouded eyes drooping as Chuuya's warmth and scent shroud him in blissful comfort. The apprehension from moments ago is gone.

Chuuya has to pretend such an immediate reaction doesn't alter his brain chemistry. Even after this is over with, he'll never be able to get this picture out of his mind. Nor will he erase the image of Dazai's glossy brown eyes focused solely on him while Chuuya holds both his legs in the air and pounds him into this semi-shitty mattress. Nothing but incoherent pleas and chest-shaking moans filled his ears, a sound he hadn't heard so unabashedly since their teen years. Hell, even then Dazai was never this vocal.

Gods, jerking off will never be the same, he already knows it.

Throughout this entire heat, they haven't kissed a single time. Sure, they both left kisses across each other's skin and mangled bruises that will take weeks to heal completely, but not once have their lips made contact after that very first day. For some reason, that feels like a line he'll never come back from because them fucking is a necessity, kissing is something Chuuya does because he wants to. He can't help himself. Not when Dazai's cheeks are so rosy and breath so warm.

So, the alpha kisses him. He holds his face and connects their lips, shaking when Dazai wheezes, high-pitched and sudden like this is the piece he's been waiting for over the last six days. It's akin to the pretty sounds he makes when he's squirming on Chuuya's knot. Needy, desperate almost. And it makes Chuuya's vision blur. Dazai wants him. He wants this—the affection intertwined with searing hot lust.

Any control Chuuya has been holding onto shatters. If this is the last time he's going to be with Dazai, he's going to treasure every waking second, imprint new memories into the back of his mind until this beautiful vision will never disappear.

Dazai pushes Chuuya over, follows his mouth like a glutton prepared for his last meal. It's overwhelming, mind-jumbling, earth shattering. Especially as the omega is the one to initiate now that he's been given permission. From there, they wrestle—Dazai's long limbs go everywhere Chuuya doesn't want them to, Chuuya's weight shifts in unfortunate accidents. Finally, after struggling between kissing and moving, Dazai flips over and falls back into a deeper presentation than before.

This time, there is no hesitation when Chuuya buries his face between Dazai's asscheeks, groaning at the dizzying combination of pheromones and sweetness that drips like a god damned faucet from the omega's hole. His flat tongue drags along the puckered entrance, a motion that has Dazai literally grinding back into his face, babbling incoherently. Chuuya might be able to decipher them if he tries, but that isn’t worth the effort.

Not when he thrusts his tongue into hot, tight heat and Dazai reaches his hand around to grab the back of Chuuya's head with a death defying grip. To feel so needed sends something particularly sickening throughout his body, but there's this floaty sensation that tries to take him away from the moment. From Dazai wiggling nonstop, begging for "alpha, alpha, alpha". Another gush of fluid splashes along his tastebuds, bittersweet with an overwhelming spice, and it causes Chuuya's muscles to go completely slack. He manages to rut his hips against those disgusting sheets, primal urges within threatening to derail him completely.

How the hell did he hold off for so long? How could he look Dazai in the eye this entire week and pretend like he wasn't doing this out of persistent love that never quite vanished over the years? Granted, the omega most likely won't remember what comes out of either of their mouths, which leads Chuuya to decide that the risk is worth getting it all off his chest.

"So good," he mutters into Dazai's hole, barely stopping himself long enough for the words to be intelligible. "Doing so fuckin' good."

The omega whimpers, nodding his head blindly like he's thoroughly agreeable to anything right now.

"Can't believe you hid this from me," Chuuya continues, arms wrapping tight around Dazai's hips to hold him steady. "We could have been doing this the entire time. Coulda been your alpha."

"Mine?" His voice is meek and timid, but that somehow turns Chuuya on more.

"All yours."

"Alpha's—ah!—m-mine."

The sound of it sends butterflies hammering in his chest, cock throbbing where he continues to hump the bed. Being Dazai's alpha. Shit, if he had known back then, he would have been trying to get in his pants more. Not because he's an omega but because they fit like a glove here in this lone bedroom. Dazai's ass swallows his knot so tight and pulsates until every last drop gets completely trapped inside.

Thinking about it makes Chuuya remember just how badly he needs to be in his partner, how much his cock aches to sink deep. So, he does. He pushes Dazai's hips down toward the bed to make it easier, crawls up his body, and slips right into his drenched hole as both arms support him on either side of Dazai's head.

This time is different. Right now, they're supercharged with motivations once buried six feet under, tumbling rapidly toward a single goal that is: mate.

Chuuya won't bite him.

Can't bite him.

Taking that winding road would lead straight toward the end of their… whatever this relationship is. Without consent, he won't do a damn thing.

Gods, Chuuya wishes he had a gag or something, anything that might deter his teeth from snapping as he leans down and buries his nose into the sweaty hair on Dazai's nape.

The tightness and searing heat is driving Chuuya to insanity, but he can't bring himself to fuck into Dazai like he's been doing the past six days. Because now he isn't thinking clinically, his heart is beating a deep bruise onto his chest, a reminder that he's human and he feels. Dazai attempts to rock his hips, but those actions get squashed by Chuuya's increased pressure. He waits, hips flush to asscheeks, allowing every single pheromone, sounds, and sensation to imprint into the very fibers of his being.

He never wants to forget.

"Alpha—" Dazai's nasally voice indicates that his patience has worn thin. Chuuya pulls out inch by inch until only the tip of his cock is left surrounded by a fluttering hole and admires their connection. The slow, long drag tears a sound of pleasure right out the omega. Then, after a moment of anticipation, he slides back inside until he's swallowed whole, a curse slipping under his breath, a leisurely pace building, focused on hitting a bullseye each time as opposed to popping a knot like he's been doing the last few days.

The languid drag is maddeningly good and listening to Dazai ramble about the bulge he feels in his stomach tests every ounce of Chuuya's self-restraint. There's a slow build-up to his thrusts while he takes his time, allowing the tension to grow, the anticipation to mount, Dazai's voice to climb. One of his hands grabs a handful of Dazai's hair and turns his head to the side so Chuuya can watch how he unravels.

And oh, he's so pretty. Despite the layers of grime and greasy hair, Dazai's glazed eyes bounce between the wrist directly beside his head and Chuuya's face over his shoulder.

"This is how you wanted me, right?"

"Mmh!"

Chuuya grins coquettishly when he nails that squishy bundle of nerves deep inside. Dazai's mouth latches on to Chuuya's wrist directly over his gland and teeth scrape tender flesh a little too hard. Electricity crackles up his arm, drawing a long, pleased groan out of him. Dazai, of course, takes the sound as encouragement and starts nipping harder, distantly muttering about how yummy he tastes. Mostly jumbled still, but clear enough that Chuuya thinks Dazai might emerge.

Then his knot begins to inflate and chances of that happening get tossed out the window into an abyss below. Chuuya rocks his hips in smooth circles a tiny bit faster, driven easily to the brink of insanity.

"Gods, you should have told me. Fuck, Dazai—"

"Please?"

"You have no idea how badly I wanna bite you right now."

"Please!"

Chuuya shakes his head frantically, mind reeling. Dazai doesn't want this, it's his omega and even if he did consent prior, he would want to mark his future omega outside of their heat. Call him a romantic sap.

Once again, Dazai devolves into strings of begging, rushed explanations that sound something vaguely like the word 'pups' and Chuuya can't hold on much longer.

What was once a languid adagio has developed into a staccato allegro to the beat of their skin slapping skin, all rhyme and reason dissipating into thin air as Dazai's insides squeeze around his steadily filling knot. He's sensitive as hell, but couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Chuuya bites his neck teasingly, a deeply disturbing form of torture for his fervent alpha.

"You want my knot, right?"

Once again, Dazai nods dumbly. "Knot! Knot, please."

"So well mannered." Chuuya teases, snaking a hand around to rub Dazai's ignored cock—though he's been keeping busy with friction from the mattress.

"Love you."

The words come out so abruptly that the alpha is sure he misheard. Then, Dazai repeats.

"Love you, love—"

Chuuya's hand flexes, fingers pulling fabric so taut that it tears. None of this is real, Dazai isn't here, this is an omega desperate for connection. That's what he has to keep telling himself because hormones make you believe crazy things, but reality is a bitch.

"Don't do this to me." He begs, eyes clamped together. Hope, hurt, desire, a thousand emotions bubble in his chest, but the redhead can't decipher between them.

It isn't him, he wants an alpha and I'm right here, that's all this is, don't let it get to you, he's going to wake up and—

"Mmf, Chuu—"

A shattered noise of shock turns into a cut-off gasp as Chuuya's cock gets squeezed so tight he fears it might snap in half. Pulsating waves along his length, hugging him tightly, reminding him of what he could have if life had been different. If they talked. The justification that Dazai's consciousness was buried deep just got wiped off the table with a single sound. Not just alpha, but Chuuya. What is he made to believe?

Fuck, why are Chuuya's eyes burning?

Then, the world spins on its axis and any conflicting thoughts get wiped clear. Scalding pain shoots up his arm, the brutality sending him right over the edge. He looks down to see Dazai's jaw enclosed around Chuuya's wrist, high-pitched keens now fluttering out of Dazai's nose. Blood drips around the sides of his mouth, but he remains locked tight, a cross between a purr and moan causing black spots in Chuuya's vision.

Time becomes an irrelevant concept as cum spurts into Dazai's ass and blood into his mouth. Chuuya collapses on top of him, though Dazai stubbornly refuses to let the wrist go. The ramifications for what just happened don't sink in, but the gooey, stifling possession sure does.

"Mine. Mine, mine, my omega." He manages through shallow, tattered breaths. Dazai might come again, there's no way to be sure when every nerve sends mixed messages to his synapses. It hurts but causes more cum to dribble into the omega's already stuffed hole as Chuuya's brain sprints after the rest of his body. Dazai removes his teeth briefly only to immediately bite again, deeper this time.

And that does it: Chuuya does pass out from the sheer force a mark has on his body.

Safehouse — Current day

They haven't spoken in fifteen minutes. Chuuya set up a chair in the shower for Dazai then helped him in, quickly leaving him to his devices after their not-so-successful talk. A horrible, heavy sinking sensation of pure dread has Dazai by the neck as a week full of unknowns stare back at him from the blank shower wall. He racks his brain desperately, searching for any sort of insight, how the hell he got there in the first place, why his suppressants failed, what he said to make Chuuya so cool and collected after essentially jumping his bones with a secret hidden all their joint lives.

No, they aren't close like they used to be in the Mafia—and even that can't be considered a friendship—but Dazai never intended to violate Chuuya like that. He left him with no choice but to help and the mere idea of the redhead assisting because Dazai got out of hand has him sick to his stomach. The trip home is going to be the longest they've ever shared.

Returning to work is rather awkward, if Dazai is being honest.

Of course, everybody learned what happened because a week-long absence when he was intended to be gone a couple of days isn't exactly easy to excuse, especially after the president got involved. Nobody dared bring it up to his face, but Dazai felt their eyes all the time. At one point he stood through the obsolete silence and made a lighthearted announcement about the fact that him being an omega didn't mean they needed to treat him differently. Kunikida made a sly remark about Dazai being the same lazy bastard, Atsushi assured him that nothing would change, and Naomi demanded that he come over to nest with her.

Yosano was… well, she was mad as hell. More than mad, she was furious. Not so much at the fact that Dazai hid his secondary gender, but at the way he did it. She lectured him for nearly an hour about the routine use of those shitty, black market suppressants, and what dangers they pose in the long run. She said that he didn't have a choice: she's going to keep track of his medication from now on and make sure that he doesn't nearly kill himself again. Dazai does little more than nod along. She's worried now, he understands.

Ranpo said he had an inkling and left it at that, probably not wanting to make Dazai feel worse that his 'well-hidden' secret was shattered from the very beginning of their friendship.

For an entire month, he doesn't hear from Chuuya and makes it a point to stay out of his business. He's done a lot of messed up stuff in the past and broken boundaries in the name of missions or boredom, but he still couldn't get the look on Chuuya's face out of his mind when he admitted that he didn't remember that week. Dazai was missing a huge piece of the story, one that Chuuya chose to omit.

On a Wednesday afternoon, the Agency steps into Mafia territory for a meeting and Dazai has to face the music.

"Ah, Dazai. Nice to see you well." Mori says carefully, tone modulated like the master jester he is.

"Horrible to see you at all."

The comeback makes Mori smile, and the rest of the group filters into the meeting room without further interruption. Dazai spots that head of red hair immediately, a deep-seeded habit of searching him out prevailing. He looks normal to the untrained eye, but Dazai knows better. He sees the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion leaving deep lines across his face, the way he hyperfixates on the notepad before him so he doesn't have to make small-talk.

His hands are covered again, but peeking out from underneath his right glove is the perfect shape of teeth now scarred into his body. Dazai did that. He still can't believe it.

The brunet makes way to Chuuya's side of the table, shooting a sharp glare at a low level scribe who immediately slithers away. Easily, he slides into the chair beside his former partner and his scent immediately becomes guarded.

"Chuuya's here."

"What do you want?" The redhead is blunt as always, finite in his patience.

"To see him after work."

Chuuya snorts. "Why, so you can try to dissect my inner-most feelings? Forget it."

Dazai doesn't blame him for being so defensive. "We should talk."

"About what?" Piercing blue eyes finally catch sight of Dazai's own and the careful yearning is so obvious that it makes his chest ache. "If it's the bite then there's nothing to talk about."

"There is—"

"If I don't bite back then the bond won't take. Already feels like it's tearing me in two," He shrugs noncommittally, flipping a page in the notebook before him. Dazai knows this man too well to think he's relieved. Chuuya hurts in ways incomprehensible to the omega: non-reciprocated bites are said to elicit jarring effects until it fades. “So don’t think about it.”

"Chuuya wants that?"

"Don't you?"

Before Dazai can answer truthfully, the meeting begins and he's left pondering such a simple question, the desperate, barely hidden longing in Chuuya's eyes etched into his retinas.

A month later, the tension that's been building between the two finally breaks, sending Dazai and Chuuya smashing into each other in a glorious explosion of buried, untold emotions. The encounter occurs just as Dazai leaves Bar Lupin. He walks maybe fifteen feet before a sleek black car skids to a halt, door swinging open, two gloved hands shooting out to clench the lapels of his tan coat. He doesn't fight the abrupt force; Dazai's been kidnapped enough to know how to handle it.

He also knows his partner's hands better than anyone.

Inside, Chuuya slams the door shut and knocks on the closed divider, a signal that makes the car start moving again. For a couple minutes, neither of them utter a word. Chuuya looks like his thoughts are bouncing off the insides of his skull in an obtuse sort of way that leaves him speechless. Ever since the mission, they've tip-toed delicate waltz where one wrong move spelled absolute chaos.

It becomes apparent that the alpha won't break the silence so Dazai swallows around the lump in his throat.

"Chuuya usually leaves the kidnapping to subordinates. Why waste time coming after little old me–"

"I love you."

Chuuya says it like he's been practicing for weeks, as though this moment has been developing in the back of his mind since they were teens. The words come out smooth as the amber liquor Dazai finished off before leaving the bar, and they deliver the same sort of sting in his throat. Lungs both constrict, the air punched right out of him, eyes blurring as waves of nausea twist his stomach into knots.

"I can't keep doing this. Pretending like I don't. It fucking—" Chuuya makes a disgruntled sound, both hands slipping through his messy hair. "I haven't been able to get you out of my fucking mind since that trip. You piss me off all the time, but now it's different. Like all I want to do is trap you in my house so the only person you see is me. I want to be the first one you see in the morning and the one you see when you take your last breath."

Dazai smiles, a small twitch of his lips.

"Just tell me you don't feel this way. Crush my stupid heart so I can move on, shitty Dazai."

Heartfelt words don't come easy to Dazai. Speaking from the heart makes him want to throw up and stab knives in his ears at the same time. It leaves an acidic taste in the back of his mouth, sending his brain reeling from the impact that such things spoken could have; Feelings from so deep down have the power to leave Dazai exposed like a live wire.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles half-heartedly, guilty when Chuuya's face cycles through manufactured relief, then poorly veiled sadness. Not because he doesn’t feel the same, but because he does.

The redhead inhales then mutters, "thank you."

"I love Chuuya, too."

It's nearly laughable how quickly Chuuya whips his head around, eyes blown wide in confusion, mouth parted ever so slightly. He looks exactly how Dazai feels: nervous, flushed, disbelieving that this is happening after so many suppressed years. No, he didn't ever stop loving Chuuya, but labels were tedious and defining. All he knows is that Chuuya completes a piece of him that’s been broken since Suribachi City.

"What did you just say?"

He won't repeat it out loud because his throat is already closing before he can make an attempt, but he does grab Chuuya's face in both hands to tap a silent message onto his cheek. Before the last tap lands, Chuuya's lips break into a smile and he leans in for an easy, slow kiss. Dazai is, for the first time in years, scared of what the future holds. He kisses the only man who has ever seen all his sides, who has more than once stitched mangled skin back together without batting an eye, and sat in the bathroom doorway when Dazai vomited a liquor pain-killer concoction meant to finally take him out.

His omega sings with unbidden delight and suddenly the back of the car becomes stuffy with warmth, want, muttered insults and declarations of adoration all mixed together.

Fifteen minutes later, they go tumbling through the door to Chuuya's penthouse in an impatient mess of limbs and tongue and teeth, door slamming shut with a curt kick. Dazai walks backward until his heels hit the ledge of the genkan and they both collapse with a loud thud. Bubbly giggles make them sound drunk and reeling while they kick their shoes off. Before Dazai even thinks of standing, Chuuya’s on top of him again with frantic lips and wandering hands. 

Perhaps if Dazai were conscious throughout his heat he wouldn’t feel like he’s on the precipice with a single foot to keep him balanced, but Chuuya kisses like he’s trying to eat him alive and there’s no fighting against the soaring, fresh scent of mulled grapes and pine wafting off of the alpha in droves. 

 It’s sweet–too sweet. Emotional in a way Dazai could have never expected. Tying words to this feeling will only dampen its impact, so he remains wordless, carding his long fingers through Chuuya’s stupidly soft hair as a means to ground himself. The talking can come much further down the line when pheromones aren’t leaking from their scent glands. Dazai swears his bandages are starting to feel wet. 

Passion is the driving force behind their movements now, a sultry dance where hands work on their own volition to carefully strip articles of clothing. A couple of piles form around them before Chuuya pulls back just enough to breathe; An action that leaves them both panting hotly into each other’s mouths, traces of whiskey crossing back and forth.

“Shit.” 

Shit? What the hell does shit mean? 

By now, they’re both shirtless, Chuuya caging Dazai against the floor and for a second, he thinks this has been some sort of cruel trick–a ruse meant to prove whether or not Dazai is capable of genuine emotion before throwing him back into the deep end.

“I don’t have condoms.” 

Oh. 

Dazai blinks, analyzing Chuuya’s face for signs of deceit. He laughs, at first through his nose, then his mouth.

“Chibi’s so stupid.”

“Oi!” 

“He wasn’t out sleeping with every omega who batted their lashes? There’s no secret stash?”

“When I planned to sleep with someone, I bought a triple pack and called it good.”

“I wouldn’t want to be catching any slug cooties, so I need a full report of all sexual encounters.” The claim is cloaked poorly in humor, but his scent can’t lie so easily. It turns stale, like the spices have hardened over years in the back of a cabinet. He’s jealous. Envious of the fact that Chuuya has fucked others the way he once did to him. 

Didn’t Dazai just say that all the talking could come later? So why is he starting to open cans meant to remain sealed?

Surprisingly gentle, Chuuya drags his fingers along Dazai’s cheek and down over his now-loose bandages. “Not a single one of them matters. I’m clean, I know that for a fact. Now c’mere.” 

Wordlessly and with much less fervor, Chuuya helps him to his feet then leads the way toward the bedroom with adoration on the tip of his tongue.

Later on in the night when Dazai finds himself bent in half over the edge of the bed as a string of curses fall from his mouth, he'll listen while Chuuya rambles into his ear; Promises to take care of him forever, that they'll work everything out, that he's been waiting for this moment longer than he'd ever admit. A lot of his sappy words can be credited to his alpha that's finally able to openly obsess over its omega, but so much of it comes straight from Chuuya's heart. 

And that alone is enough to have Dazai baring his neck. As teeth sink into his flesh, Dazai comes for the first (but not the last) time, bleary on a pheromone high that has a chokehold around his neck. 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, regardless of the fear and doubt trickling in. Right now, he’s got Chuuya’s deep breaths and pulsating knot to chase those unwanted brain bugs away.