Work Text:
It’s been three days. Three days since he’d found the infernal thing, having made the mistake of looking into Dazai’s desk drawer. Going anywhere near Dazai’s desk was, overall, based on his own horror-story experiences, a mistake in general, but actually looking inside it was a death sentence. Twice, he’d seen mice crawl from the bottom-most drawers, and he was certain there was a colony of mold spores flourishing there.
All he’d wanted was the (unfinished, of course) paperwork for a recent case, and instead, he’d locked eyes with a sparkly purple dildo-- with ridges --faintly glowing in the shadow of the desk. Before he’d had the time to contemplate why the hell Dazai would want a sex toy that glowed in the dark, autopilot had taken over and he’d slammed the drawer shut with a slam. Ranpo, who happened to be the only one in the office at the time, waiting up for the president to drive him home, only blinked at him before a smug grin took over his face. Kunikida packed his things without a word and left the office stiff as a board.
Try as he might, the image wouldn’t leave him for hours afterwards. He floated through dinner and his nightly routine in a haze, an ominous purple shape burned into his retinas, an afterimage on everything he looked upon. Three times, he had to cross words from his notebook when his wandering hand went rouge and words merged into Dazai and dildo and sparkly across the page.
He lay in bed, flat on his back, staring resolutely at the ceiling, trying and failing to unpack. Obviously, Dazai used it for… sexual activities, but why the hell was it in the office? Was he perhaps bringing it with him to a sexual encounter after work, and had simply forgotten to take it with him on his way out?
There was, of course, also the notion that Dazai didn’t use it on partners, but rather on himself. Kunikida was a grown adult, he knew how anal penetration worked, and he’d seen pornography-- so the thought should not make him feel like a flustered teenager. Still, there was a flush to his cheeks as he considered that maybe Dazai had brought it along because he had plans of using it on himself, at the office no less.
Honesty was one of Kunikida’s core ideals, so in the privacy of his own bedroom he could, of course, admit that he, of course, had thought about what Dazai did for pleasure, but he reasoned with himself that it was just a natural part of working os closely with someone. He needed to know everything possible about Dazai, so as to better understand him. That was all-- that was the reason that he found himself thinking about Dazai’s face, flushed, as he pressed the dildo into himself. Knowing Dazai, he’d probably try and shove it in all at once, wouldn’t put the effort into doing things slow the way he ought to, the way Kunikida-
He turned onto his side, pressing his hips firmly to the bed. This was not something to get aroused over. this was a work matter- this was just a thought experiment to get to know his work partner better, to improve their partnership. Nothing more. He should not be getting hard at the thought of Dazai lowering himself onto a sparkly, purple, glow in the dark dildo.
He takes a deep breath, rolling onto his back once more in an attempt to center himself. He focuses on the feeling of the sheets beneath him, of the cool air on his skin, of the sounds coming from the open window-- cars going by, cicadas buzzing even in the cover of night-- the sounds of the other agency members moving around the dorms. The walls are absurdly thin, and his bedroom is up on one side against Yosano’s kitchen, the wall behind his headboard a veil between his bedroom and Dazai’s. It’s not unusual for him to hear cheerful humming from the other side at all times of day or night, to even let Dazai’s obnoxious tunes lull him to sleep on the rougher nights.
He strains his ears now, trying to catch anything from the other side of the wall. At first there’s no sound, and he begins to think maybe Dazai really had gone out for a sexual encounter that night, but then he catches wind of a faint buzzing. It’s steady, soft enough that he has to sit up in bed and press his ear to the wall beside his headboard to properly hear it. And then it stops-- Kunikida’s about to lay back in bed before it starts up again, this time appearing and reappearing rhythmically.
With his ear pressed hard against the wall, straining to hear the sounds on the other side, he ponders just what the hell Dazai could be getting up to at this late an hour. What kind of machinery would Dazai need to use when he ought to be sleeping? Furthermore, what kind of machinery would Dazai have in his house that would make such a sound? As far as he knows, Dazai doesn’t have anything remotely expensive to his name, so it must be something small, something easily controlled obviously, if it can be used at a rhythm like that.
He’s at a loss, and feeling like a failure of a detective, when an entirely new sound echoes from the other side of the wall, so faint that he most certainly wouldn’t have caught it if his face wasn’t smashed against the wall.
Was that-
No. No, that is most certainly not what that was-- although, he realizes now, maybe Dazai had brought his sexual partner home with him?
Another moan rings through the wall, and Kunikida’s certain now that it’s in Dazai’s voice. He feels his face flood with heat. He can hear gasping now, and more tiny moans, and he really shouldn’t be listening, and he really, really shouldn’t be getting aroused, but Dazai sounds almost desperate in a way Kunikida’s never heard from him.
He doesn’t hear any other voices, so he deduces that the man must be alone , and all of a sudden it’s painfully clear what the buzzing sound is. He feels his toes curl in his socks, and he resolutely resolves himself not to think about it, prying himself from the wall with embarrassing difficulty and lowering himself into bed once again, throwing the blankets over his overheated body and screwing his eyes shut.
LIke this, he can’t hear the buzzing, and he can’t hear the moans. Like this, he can almost pretend he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on just feet away from him, kept from his curious eyes by a thin, devastatingly thin, wall.
He doesn’t sleep that night, the echoes of moans and gasps bouncing around his mind, the image of a sparkly pink dildo and the visions of Dazai flushed and panting and stretching himself haphazardly on clever fingers haunting him. The following night, tossing and turning and contemplating chaining himself to the bed to keep from pressing himself against that damned wall again, and ultimately failing to refrain from doing so, he sleeps only a few hours, passing out from stress and sheer exhaustion, and maybe an eternal boner. The third night is much the same, leaving him where he is now, sitting at his desk and watching Dazai wrap his lips around a lollipop, seemingly completely oblivious as he pores over a magazine (a magazine that is very much not his paperwork) and twirling a finger in his hair idly.
He’s meant to be working on his own paperwork, but he’d heard the crinkle of a wrapper and had looked up to watch pink, plush lips close around the red head of a sucker, and he’d been absorbed since. A glance around the office proves that no one’s paying him any mind-- him staring at Dazai isn’t necessarily a unique occurrence, he’s loathe to admit-- save for Ranpo, who’s watching him over the top of his manga, eyes all too knowing for his own good. Shaking his head and hoping to shake Dazai and his reddened lips from his mind as well, he focuses on the forms in front of him. It’s only a minute before the words begin to swim, and he peeks back up to where Ranpo’s grown bored of him and returned his attention to his manga. Kunikida directs his own attention back to Dazai.
The man is leaned over his desk, laser-focused on the glossy magazine spread across his desk, right on top of the paperwork he’s meant to be dutifully filling out. Kunikida can’t even bring himself to spare any rage over it, too engrossed in the way thin, nimble fingers are twirling around and around a lock of dark hair. His other hand is poised beside his mouth, those same dainty fingers lightly gripping the stick of the lollipop. It rests just so against lips shiny with spit, almost wet , and Kunikida finds himself licking his own lips.
He’s been close enough to Dazai to know exactly what the man smells like-- earl grey and antiseptic-- and even closer still, has felt Dazai’s breath fan over his face whenever Kunikida gets fed up and feels the need to grab Dazai by the throat. He can see in his mind’s eye the way the man’s eyes always seem dark and never-ending up close, the way they dilate whenever Kunikida chokes him out, either in fear or some strange lust for death, can even imagine clearly his own reflection in those bottomless eyes.
And then he can imagine taking it a step further pulling the man, finally, towards himself, letting his hands migrate from that scrawny neck to a soft cheek. Dazai would probably let him, he thinks, would let Kunikida guide his lips to his own. They’ve always looked soft, if not slightly bitten, but that’s one aspect of Dazai’s overall lack of self-care that Kunikida can find endearing, even if he’d never admit to it.
Dazai’s tongue darts out to swipe over the lollipop where it’s pressed to the pillow of his bottom lip, and Kunikida feels a bit weak in the knees. It looks so soft , wet and velvety, and the way Dazai circles the tip of it across the sucker makes him wonder, shame flooding him and doing a poor job of chasing away the swell of arousal, how it would feel doing the same to the head of his cock. How it would feel pressed to his slit, to the crown or the underside, gliding up over veins and down around his balls… Kunikida closes his eyes, pressing a palm to his forehead. He is at work . He cannot afford to be having these thoughts anywhere but especially here, with Dazai three feet away, going to town on a cherry lollipop and twirling his damn hair and looking entirely too innocent and entirely too kissable for his own good.
“Are you okay, Kunikida?” Yosano asks, “You’re all red.”
Kunikida coughs, sitting up straight. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Oh?” It’s Dazai’s voice this time, that horrible, horrible, lovely voice that only brings back memories of stilted moans and gasps and- “Not sleeping well? I would offer advice but that’s not really my forte either.”
And Kunikida hates himself. He hates himself, because they’ve been getting along so well recently-- Dazai had been making an effort, hadn’t been so insufferable and maybe even been a little nice , and Kuniida just had to go and ruin it by developing terrible fascination with his partner and his sex toys and kissable lips and sexual habits. He clears his throat and glances up at where Dazai is looking at him with almost painfully open eyes, something he’s only recently gotten used to. And then Dazai’s words hit him, and he wants to scream, of course you’re not sleeping, you’re fucking yourself with vibrators and damn sparkly purple dildos all night and ruining my life in the process but instead he just sighs, “I appreciate it, thank you. I think I might have to leave early this afternoon.”
Yosano, oblivious to his strife, nods. “Well, I’m always around. I got a new machete, and I’ve been dying to try it out. Ha, get it?”
Kunikida gets it alright. He gives her a dry look, and she rolls her eyes. “Killjoy.”
“I thought it was funny,” Dazai informs her cheekily, lapping at the lollipop again as if that’ll make his point. What it makes is Kunikida want to kill the man, but that for once isn’t Dazai’s goal.
“Thank you,” Yosano says, earnest, standing beside Dazai’s desk and dropping a hand onto his shoulder, “You get me, Dazai. You make me feel seen.”
The menace removes his hand from his hair to pat hers in a show of solidarity. “I try.”
Kunikida scoffs, turning back to his paperwork. The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, and Kunikida doesn’t get through even half of what he had planned for the day, too wrapped up in images of Dazai’s tongue wrapped around that infernal lollipop, of Dazai’s tongue wrapped around other things.
That night, he finally caves, snaking his hand down his pajama pants and wrapping it around himself. At first, he tried to picture some nameless figure, no one he knows, something impersonal and practical. But then unruly brown curls crop up, and plush red-pink lips, slick and cherry-flavored, and then bottomless eyes are looking up at him and he can’t not think about Dazai’s tongue swirling around the head of his cock the way it did the lollipop, and his hips are cucking of his own accord. He comes in record time, not even caring enough to be embarrassed, drifting off to sleep at long last.
The next day passes in a blur, Dazai staying mostly out of sight with a case he and Atsushi are working on, and Kunikida knows relative peace for the first time in days, breathing easy. He finishes all his day’s work and yesterday’s before going home and setting about making dinner. the sun is well set before he even thinks about Dazai, but then once he starts, it’s like he can’t stop. He’d thought that jerking off would solve the problem, that maybe he’d just been pent up, but it’s no use.
Standing in his kitchen and drying the last of the dinner dishes, he’s reminded again of that plush mouth, of the faint sounds coming from the next-door dorm. And then he’s setting the dish on the counter and wandering to his bedroom, mind clouded with images of Dazai on his knees. When he presses his ear to the bedroom wall, he’s not actually expecting to hear anything.
And for a moment, he doesn’t . He’s about to turn away, to tell himself it was stupid to even think of checking, when there’s a soft gasp from the other side. Kunikida stiffens.
I’m hallucinating , is his first thought, god I hope not , his second. The sound rings again, high-pitched and reedy but definitely Dazai. They start slow, soft and almost gentle , but then the pace picks up, and they’re getting louder and louder and Kunikida is going to lose his damn mind.
The thought occurs to him, then, that maybe he’s not the only one who can hear them. Afterall, Dazai’s bedroom shares a wall with Yosano’s bedroom and Atsushi’s living room. The concept of Atsushi having to hear that makes him shudder with horror, and before he knows it, he’s marching out into the corridor and banging on Dazai’s door. (Nevermind that Kunikida himself had to seek out those sounds before even hearing them. He disregards the thought, telling himself that if there were even a chance that Atsushi would have to bear witness…)
There’s no answer. Tapping his foot, Kunikida sighs. He’s still in his work clothes, and he’s tired, and he knows he won’t be able to sleep until this is resolved. When it’s been five minutes, he decides that the situation has become dire, and his hands are tied. He’s fully prepared to kick the door in, is even gearing up to do so, but thinks perhaps he ought to try the knob first, just to be able to say that he’d tried being reasonable.
It opens on the first try, and Kunikida wants to kick himself for ever thinking the imbecile would ever deign to lock his door. He closes it behind him and reminds himself that this will be quick and he absolutely cannot get distracted.
The living room is surprisingly neat, if not a bit bare of personal effects. The door to the bedroom is straight ahead, and Kuniida toes his shoes off and makes for it with his shoulders set and mind made up-- this will be in and out. He’ll pop his head in and yell at Dazai, tell him to keep it down, and then he’ll turn around and leave just like that-
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greets him when he slides open the bedroom door. Shoulders propped against a pile of pillows, Dazai is spread on the bed, legs open to allow one frail arm to snake across his body and down, down … Kunikida follows the trail of it to find three of those thin fingers buried in his ass, copious amounts of lube spilling out the sides and sliding down Dazai’s flesh to meet the sheets beneath him. His face is flushed, twisted in an expression of pure pleasure that dissipates immediately at the sound of the door opening. He hoists himself up on his spare elbow to glare at the door, fingers stilling inside himself.
“You-” Kunikida starts, but his words die somewhere in his throat as his gaze flits from Dazai’s spread legs to his flushed face, to the way the red reaches up to his dainty ears and down to protruding collarbones. His chest is bare save for a few scraps of bandages thrown haphazardly across his stomach, exposing a myriad of scars Kunikida can only begin to guess the origins of, but his attention is less drawn to them than it is to his pink nipples. They’re hard and pebbled, and Kunikida wonders if Dazai pinched them, if he took them between his fingers and tugged, or if he just brushed over them, a tease of real stimulation.
“Why the hell are you in my bedroom?” Dazai asks, and in all the time he’s known him, Kunikida doesn’t think he’s ever actually heard Dazai sound embarrassed , but he’s hearing it now. His flush has only deepened, and at last he clamps his legs together, slipping his hand up from between them.
“You were being a bit… loud…” Kunikida tries, but it sounds like a poor excuse now, even to his own ears.
“And you couldn’t have just banged on the wall like a normal person?”
Kunikida feels like an idiot now, because the thought never even crossed his mind. At the first excuse to march over here and investigate, he had , because some part of him, an admittedly huge and loud part of him, hadn’t been able to cope with the idea of not knowing exactly what Dazai was doing to make him sound like that .
“Well?”
Kunikida blinks at Dazai. “Well?” He repeats, confused.
“Are you going to leave? ”
Oh-- Kunikida supposes he has been standing here, silent and stock-still for a bit too long. But when he considers leaving, turning and marching right back out that door the way he’d planned… his eyes fall on Dazai’s dusty nipples again. He swallows.
He won’t be satiated until he knows just what it is that makes Dazai moan that way. He’s already seen enough to last him a lifetime of pitiful jerk-off sessions, and he reasons that the only way to truly get Dazai out of his head is to follow through with things.
And when he considers exactly what following through means, his cock-- already half-hard in his pants at the sight of Dazai alone-- twitches in his pants, and his mind’s made up. “No.”
“ No? ” Dazai echoes, furrowing his brow. Confusion, just like embarrassment, is a terribly good look on him, Kunikida thinks, as he reiterates:
“No, I’m not leaving.”
“ Why? Do you want me to shut up? I promise I’ll keep quiet, just get the hell out!”
“No,” Kunikida tells him once more, “I don’t think I can.”
“You don’t think you can? Just leave , it’s easy-- you walked in here, you can walk out.”
“I can’t. I have to follow through with this.”
If possible, Dazai flushes even further. “With what? Peeping on me like an absolute perv?”
Is he a perv? Kunikida doesn’t have an answer for that, but one thing at a time, and he hasn’t settled the matter at hand. “I’m here, and these thoughts aren’t going to let me have peace until I do something about them.”
Dazai almost smiles at that, the corner of his mouth ticking up slightly. “‘ These thoughts ’? Kunikida, are you thinking lewd things about me?”
“Look at yourself, Dazai. You make it very hard.”
“You burst into my bedroom in the middle of the night, this is not my fault.”
“Everything’s your fault, Dazai,” Kunikida tells him, because under normal circumstances, that’s the case. But these are not normal circumstances, and Kunikida doesn’t want to think about the fact that really, he’s at fault here, so he takes a step forward instead, and then another, until his thighs are brushing the edge of the bed.
“Hey, what did you mean by follow through? What does following through entail?” Dazai asks, peering up at him, but Kunikida isn’t looking at his face, now, or even his chest. Instead, his gaze has fallen on two pink objects resting beside Dazai’s shoulder, accompanied by a half-empty bottle of lube.
“What’s that?”
Dazai follows his gaze, then makes a hiccuping, tittering sort of nervous laugh Kunikida’s never heard from him. “A vibrator, Kunikida. Ever heard of them? They’re fantastic-”
“And the thing next to it?”
“The remote.”
“Oh.”
A silence envelops them, thick and gelatinous and teetering on the edge of possibility, and Kuniida decides, again, that he really cannot turn back now. This is the point of no return.
“Open your legs,” He says, trying his best not to let his voice shake.
Dazai blinks owlishly up at him, lips parted slightly. After a moment, he nods, and his legs fall open ever so slowly. From where he’s standing at the foot of the bed, Kunikida is in the perfect position to finally get a proper glimpse of his ass. His hole is glistening with lube, slightly stretched from Dazai’s earlier ministrations, and it flutters beneath the weight of Kunikida’s gaze. He sucks in a breath, suddenly very aware of how hard he’s gotten in his pants.
His eyes trail upwards to Dazai’s own cock. It’s oddly pretty, thin and flushed and resting delicately against his stomach, a small puddle of precum beneath it. To Kunikida’s amazement, he doesn’t seem to have flagged at all during their conversation, even through the humiliation of it all, and he files that information away for later. You know, to better their partnership and all that more reasonable stuff. Nothing about what he’s about to do is reasonable, but it makes him feel slightly less crazy to pretend as he orders, “Give it to me.”
For once, Dazai doesn’t give him any shit, just scrabbles with a frantic hand for the vibrator, pausing to slick it up with lube before tossing it Kunikida’s way. He almost doesn’t catch it, dazed from watching Dazai’s fingers glide up and down the slim machine, but his fingers catch the end of it at the last second and he glares at Dazai, who only offers him an admittedly shaky grin.
Settling on his knees on the edge of the bed, Kunikida braces himself for what’s next. He can’t decide which is less awkward-- looking Dazai in the eye as he presses it in, or staring at his entrance as it clenches around the vibrator. It’s relatively small, thinner than Dazai’s three fingers, and not very long-- only long enough, Kunikida assumes, to hit his prostate, nothing more. It’s almost cute, he thinks, and very Dazai .
With that thought warming him, he settles for watching Dazai’s face as he presses the tip to his entrance. He’s never been with a man, and he’s never used one of these himself, but those thoughts and the anxiety that accompanies them evaporate as soon as Dazai’s lips fall open on a sigh, his eyes slipping closed. With the lamplight hitting his face, he looks like he’s glowing, pale skin reflecting the light, and the thought makes Kunikida flush further, pressing still on the vibrator.
He feels it when it sinks home entirely, the flared base flush against the taut skin around Dazai’s rim. Letting his eyes skate down Dazai’s body, pausing briefly on his chest, Kunikida’s gaze lands on Dazai’s ass again, taking in the sight of his hole clenching around the pretty pink base. Like he thought, it suits him well.
“Remote,” He says after a moment, mouth dry. His heart’s hammering, and despite not touching himself, he feels like he’s going to burst, just watching Dazai’s chest heave as he claws at the mattress, trying to find the remote. After a moment without success, Kunikida takes pity on him, leaning over him to grab the thing, bringing their bodies closer momentarily, and the view of Dazai’s face so close-- long, dark lashes fanning over pink cheeks, brown curls sticking fast to his forehead with sweat-- makes another wave of heat wash over the blonde. He straightens up, unsure what to do now that he has the remote.
“What do these buttons do?” he asks aloud, inspecting the device. There’s three buttons, all unmarked, and he hazards at one, jolting when a buzzing sound rises from Dazai’s ass, louder than he was expecting.
A gasp falls from Dazai’s lips, soft and demure, and when he looks up at Dazai, the man doesn’t meet his eyes. Experimentally, his finger hits the button again, and the thing revs higher, the sound increasing as Dazai’s back arches slightly, another moan like honey filling the air between them.
“Kunikida-” Dazai starts, but he hits the button again, and his name morphs into a drawn-out moan. Dazai’s cock jumps and twitches where it sits on his stomach, and Kunikida drinks the sight in, relishing in the knowledge that he’s the one doing this to him. His free hand drifts to his trousers, working open the clasp to slip into his boxers. Relief washing over him at the feeling of his fingers closing around his aching cock, he hits the button again, watching Dazai’s face carefully this time to catch the moment his eyes light up with pleasure before rolling down slightly to catch sight of Kunikida’s hand moving in his pants.
“Hah,” Dazai pants, hips giving an aborted little thrust, “Kunikida is a pervert.”
Instead of answering him, because denying him would make him a liar and Kunikida has too much pride, he thumbs at one of the other buttons, listening close to the sound of the buzzing. This time, it works itself into a rhythm, one long buzz and then two short ones before repeating the cycle again. The new pattern makes Dazai moan louder than before, stuttering around the sound in a way that makes Kunikida dribble into his hand in what, he considers, is truly an outright pathetic moment of weakness for the man before him.
Toes curling into the discarded blanket beneath him, hips shifting helplessly and back arched to high heaven, Dazai looks a right mess, his hair fanned out above him and his face flushed and shimmering with a sheen of sweat, but he’s never looked more appealing to Kunikida than he does now, completely at his mercy. No matter how much hell Dazai gives him on a daily basis, suddenly it’s all worth it, and Kunikida lets out a groan of his own, watching as it only makes Dazai’s eyes turn hazier.
“Kunikida,” Dazai says on a gasp and Kunikida knows he’s never going to be able to hear his own name from Dazai’s lips again without thinking of this moment. In fact, maybe he’ll never even be able to look at the man again without getting an eternal boner.
But then Dazai makes another desperate sound, and it’s all worth it. Of all the scenarios that had played through Kunikida’s head throughout the past few days, it’d never occurred to him that Dazia might be needy , but there’s no other way to describe him, panting and gasping around Kunikida’s name while his hands dig uselessly into the sheets.
Tossing the remote onto the mattress, Kunikida dives forward, running his free hand up Dazais’ side and startling at how cool his skin is before thumbing at his left nipple. They are, to his delight, apparently sensitive, as Dazai makes a high-pitched noise that echoes in Kunikida’s mind and draws a groan out of him, his hips stuttering into his hand. He’s nearing the edge already, just from watching Dazai and rutting into his own palm, and he would be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Dazai’s practically crying now as he begs, “Please, please, Kunikida-”
“Please what?”
“ Touch me,” Dazai moans, and Kunikida finds himself smiling at the pitiful quality to his voice. Needy, indeed.
“I am,” Kunikdia tells him courteously, like he’s informing him that it’s raining, “What do you really want? I’ve told you before, the most important part of any partnership is-”
“-Communication, I know, ah . Don’t talk about partnership until you get me off, okay?”
Kunikida snorts. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands right now, Dazai.” But he relents anyway, desperate to hear the kind of sounds Dazai makes when he’s touched just right. He circles his fingers around his length carefully, slowing the hand in his own pants to concentrate on Dazai. He fits perfectly in Kunikida’s hand, and when he slides his thumb over the tip, smearing the precum there, Dazai outright whines .
“You’re so sensitive,” Kunikida notes, “That’s not what I was expecting.”
“So you have been thinking about this. Perv- ah! ” On the upstroke, Kunikida squeezes just slightly, making Dazai squirm. “Meanie.”
“I’m being very generous.”
“No-” Another whine rips out of Dazai, and he seems to lose his train of thought, writhing against the sheets.
“Beautiful,” Kunikida breathes, though he’d deny it if ever confronted about it.
“Wh-what?”
Another harsh stroke adequately distracts Dazai, and he tosses his head back, exposing his throat. For a moment, Kunikida contemplates latching his teeth there, or sucking a mark into the delicate skin to lay claim, to prove that he was here, this isn’t some perverted dream of his. The thought of Dazai traipsing around the office with Kunikida’s mark on his neck makes his hips jolt into his fist, and he comes in a sudden burst of pleasure, groaning loudly even as he works himself through it, his hand on Dazai’s cock never stilling, if slowing a little.
“Oh, god,” Dazai gasps, “Did you just come ?”
Kunikida doesn’t dignify him with an answer, just speeds his hand up once again, watching Dazai look back at him with those deep eyes.
“That’s hot,” Dazai informs him, voice breathy, “ Kunikida , you’re so hot .”
The blonde’s flush flames up anew, and he chokes a little, shaking his head. “Be quiet, you menace.”
“Please- Kunikida,” He whines once again, “I wanna come.”
“Okay.” And it’s as simple as that-- Kunikida speeds his fist up, eyes caught on the way Dazai chews at his bottom lip, and his hand is lifting, still covered in his own cum, to Dazai’s mouth to pull it gently from between his teeth. Dazai’s eyes are wide as he looks up at Kunikida, letting his lips part enough to slip Kunikida’s thumb inside.
Devastatingly, Dazai’s tongue is just as soft and warm and giving as Kunikida had imagined it, if not more. It swirls over the pad of his thumb, skillfully swiping up the cum there, and then Dazai’s arching harder than ever, a long- drawn-out moan muffled against Kunikida’s thumb as he comes to the taste of him.
When Dazai stills-- or stills enough , still twitching slightly with overstimulation-- Kunikida slowly extracts his hand from Dazai’s mouth, watching a string of saliva connect his thumb to Dazai’s lips and trying his best not to get hard again front eh sight. When he reaches for Dazai’s ass after turning the remote off, earning a satisfied sigh from the man below him, Dazai shakes his head. “Leave it. Just come here.” Two bandaged arms stick up in the air like bamboo shoots as Dazai makes grabby hands.
Kunikida sighs. He would much rather clean up before anything else, but Dazai’s making infuriating puppy-dog eyes at him, and he caves embarrassingly quickly, settling down against Dazai’s side. The man rolls over immediately, pressing himself along Kunikida’s side and wiggling his arms around him like a koala, giggling. It’s yet another sound Kunikda’s never heard from him, a laugh so genuine and carefree, and he feels like he’s been graced with some sort of privilege, like all of the pieces of Dazai he’s just witnessed are some secret he’s been entrusted with.
“Dazai,” He says at last. The brunet turns his head against the pillow they share, the cold tip of his nose brushing Kunikida’s cheek as he puffs breaths into the space between them. It’s easy for Kunikida to lean closer, to press his lips to Dazai’s in a chaste kiss. He can head Dazai’s breath hitch, and then he’s pulling away, resolutely turning his head the other way before Dazai can get a look at his face.
Another giggle comes from Dazai as he settles back against Kunikida’s shoulder this time, cheek warm against his skin. He wriggles around a moment, working the blanket out from beneath them and tossing it around their bodies. “Okay,” He says quietly, and Kunikida lets his arm come up around Dazai’s waist before falling asleep.