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(tell me it's love, tell me it's real)

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Chuuya drives fast, zipping past the scarce houses and trees and walls of the highway. Dazai, too, knows how to handle himself in the driver’s seat of a car but it’s nothing like Chuuya’s mastery of the vehicle. Chuuya leans into it, as though he’s listening, sensitive to every subliminal message it gives him, the music throbbing in the small, enclosed space like a beating heart as he flies with the wind, controlled but fast as hell out of the city. Dazai watches him quietly, the screeching wind and the bass guitars (Chuuya’s choice) blaring from the speakers making it impossible for him to get a word through. But like this, Chuuya’s motions themselves are enough to enrapture Dazai, to fill the large compartment in his brain that is dedicated to the smaller redhead. 


When Chuuya’s hand moves to shift gears, Dazai’s eyes follow it, the way his bare, scarred knuckles stretch. He observes the minute changes in Chuuya’s posture, taking in everything from the picture before him. It’s fascinating to watch, among other things, how he moves as though the car is an extension of himself, how his grace is effortless in a way that several other people may have had to practice endlessly to achieve — the way his hand is curled around the shift, the way his back is elegantly curved and arched in all the right places. The corners of his mouth lift in a grin, excited as he speeds up, the car tearing through the golden evening air.


Dazai’s eyes are drawn to the strands of hair that’ve escaped his low ponytail, and are clinging tantalizingly to his plump lower lip, the way his teeth bite into it briefly as he makes a sharp turn.


“Chuuya,” Dazai says once they reach a clear patch of grass on the side of the road, raising his voice so he’s audible above the wind. “Stop here.”


Chuuya slows, his hand shifting on the stick again, his position changing slightly. His nails are filed down, painted black. Dazai knows that if he didn’t require them short for ease in the more physical aspects of his job, they’d be long, threatening, perfectly manicured talons. It makes the corner of his mouth tug upwards.


“Huh?” Chuuya says, his eyes darting easily in Dazai’s direction before returning to the road in front of them, still being eaten up steadily by the car. Dazai reaches out, tucking the stray strands of Chuuya’s hair behind his ear and letting the heel of his hand brush the corner of Chuuya’s mouth. 


“Stop here,” he repeats, softer now that he’s got his lover’s attention. a slight, knowing smile pulls at Chuuya’s lips as he slows the car and pulls it to a stop where Dazai had suggested. 


The area is quiet, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here except for the occasional car that passes by on the highway. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a diffuse glow on them and their surroundings. Chuuya’s hair gleams copper as he shakes it out, lifting a hand to brush his windblown bangs off his face. 


He turns to Dazai, his cheeks a little pink from the breeze. Dazai leans over the shift almost immediately, pressing a kiss to the edge of Chuuya’s mouth, a smile of his own forming at the laugh Chuuya lets out. 


Now that they’re together, really together, he can finally admit it to himself — Chuuya’s beautiful when he laughs, when his laugh is born out of simple, peaceful joy. And Dazai couldn’t be more grateful that he happens to find that joy with him.


“Hey,” Chuuya whispers, grinning against his lips and then parts them briefly for a kiss, running a hand through Dazai’s hair and guiding their mouths in line. His fingers feel familiar as they brush across Dazai’s scalp, and he kisses back, his love genuine and real. this is a relationship that’s been a long time in the making — too long, almost. There’s no need for desperation anymore, no need for stolen, illicit, fast-and-hard encounters that neither of them will acknowledge when they’re done with each other. 


Dazai drags the kiss on, raising a hand to cup Chuuya’s cheek as he savors the feeling of Chuuya’s soft lips on his own, the feeling of having nothing to hide, which used to be so alien to him but comes so naturally now. He doesn’t remember when the shift happened, but hiding his feelings for Chuuya now feels like rebuilding walls that aren’t necessary and never were. 


“Love you, chibi,” Dazai says simply when they part. It’s like a drug, once he started saying it, once he started feeling it — really feeling it, in his bones. I love you so much. 


“Tch, you’re never gonna stop calling me ‘chibi’, are you,” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes when they part, but there’s no bite in his words. His hand lingers on Dazai’s cheek, his deep blue eyes looking into Dazai’s own for a moment, brimming with affection, before he draws away, leaning over him to retrieve his lighter and cigarettes from the glove compartment.


The sky around them is beautiful, dyed several shades of pink and orange, and the air is cool. It’s quiet. The only noises audible are the flick of Chuuya’s lighter, the cars rushing past and the distant sounds of the birds in the evening light, and Dazai closes his eyes, wondering what he did right to deserve this, to deserve Chuuya as he is now, utterly relaxed and vulnerable around him, despite everything that came before.


He sighs softly, snagging Chuuya’s cigarette between his fingers and taking a drag of it, focusing on the feeling of the smoke passing through his lungs and back out again. 


Chuuya’s knee comes to rest against his thigh as he leans towards him, to reclaim his cigarette and to look into his eyes again. “What is it now?” he asks, smoke escaping his mouth as he speaks. 


“Just thinking about how cute you are~” Dazai sing-songs, beaming at Chuuya in a way which he knows will irritate the man. He steals the cigarette right out of Chuuya’s mouth, taking a drag off it while doing his best to look insufferable. It doesn’t take much of an effort on his part. 


Chuuya glares at him and opens his mouth as if to snap back, his eyes narrowing. He closes it again, seemingly dismissing whatever he wanted to say to take one last drag on the cigarette before grinding the end into the ashtray installed in the car. 


“Idiot,” he says finally. it comes out a sigh, his chest deflating and his body going slack against the seat. He tilts his head up momentarily, closing his eyes.


“Chuuya,” Dazai responds, watching the stray lock of hair hanging near his lover’s temple dance in the light breeze. He straightens up a little, adjusting so his eyes meet Dazai’s, and it’s like it always is, like they belong nowhere else. Dazai counts the specks of darker blue that mingle with the sapphire, he gets lost in it.


“Love you too, mackerel,” Chuuya murmurs, reaching a hand out to cup Dazai’s cheek, and he leans into the touch, relishing in the warmth of Chuuya’s gloveless hand on his skin. It’s softer than it has any right to be, considering what he does for a living, but Chuuya’s obsession with skincare is probably to credit for the smoothness of his fingerpads as they brush across Dazai’s cheekbone and then his bottom lip, gingerly stroking the skin. 


They’re kissing then, their mouths barely moving against each other, tender and unhurried. Dazai tastes whispered renditions of his name when their lips part, followed by open words of love that he’s still unaccustomed to hearing from his former partner, stolen by his lips. He smiles, feeling Chuuya’s hand slip into his hair, tightening it and tilting his head to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth with Dazai’s. 


Dazai slides his tongue against Chuuya’s, savoring his familiar taste. He hums in appreciation as he feels Chuuya’s sharp canine press into his lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but it’s a communication of intent as clear as day. 


They have all the time in the world. 


“Osamu,” Chuuya murmurs smilingly when they part. Dazai presses his lips to Chuuya’s neck, right under his chin, and he can feel the hitch in Chuuya’s breath against them, the sigh in his voice as he speaks. And he feels the shaky breath Chuuya lets out when he lets his tongue swipe at the salty skin. He’s falling, sinking, drowning, and when Chuuya puts his hand on Dazai’s thigh, he can’t stop his own from finding its way to the hem of Chuuya’s shirt. “Osamu, lets…”


“Hmm?” he asks, sucking another small, pink bruise into Chuuya’s skin where his choker would normally be. He slides his palm up the planes of Chuuya’s abs, feeling the muscles tense pleasurably against his skin. And when he lets his teeth skid across a sensitive spot, nipping at it, Chuuya’s jaw drops in a gasp, short and soft but speaking volumes. Dazai moves to another spot then, and then another, drawing more noises from him; gasps, sighs, soft moans that Chuuya tries to hold back, his throat moving against Dazai’s lips as he swallows harshly. “Chuuya?”


Dazai rolls a thumb against Chuuya’s nipple, feeling it harden against his touch, Chuuya’s entire body tensing at the contact. He will never get tired of how responsive Chuuya is to him, his touch, how he craves his touch. 


“Osamu,” Chuuya breathes, his breath stirring Dazai’s hair. His voice is higher than usual, laced with heat. Dazai circles Chuuya’s nipple with his thumb, slowly, pulling a sigh from Chuuya, followed by a curse. “C’mon. just...”


Dazai looks up from Chuuya’s neck to look at him, admiring how his cheeks are tinted with red, his eyes heavy with lust. He wants to hear him say it. He wants to hear it repeatedly, to confirm that Chuuya wants him like this. “Tell me,” Dazai whispers, letting his breath ghost Chuuya’s lips, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Tell me what you want. Tell me—”


“Suck me off,” Chuuya mutters, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again, yearning written in the deep blue. Dazai smiles at him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw, his hand moving to stroke at the tent in Chuuya’s pants, feeling his jaw part under Dazai’s lips in a moan. Hands move to tangle themselves in Dazai’s hair, lightly tugging at it in request. Dazai chuckles against his skin, nipping at it and drawing another moan from him. 


When Dazai sucks at the spot on his neck, worrying at it with his teeth and taking his time with it, Chuuya seems to realise what he’s waiting for. “Please,” he adds, his breath growing labored as Dazai palms at his erection. “Osamu. C’mon, I need you,” he whispers, and Dazai almost shudders at the want in his voice.


“Yes, my love,” he breathes in response. He moves to Chuuya’s neck again, kissing him as he speaks. He stoops, barely registering the awkward angle presented by the car, and mouths at Chuuya’s clothed erection, letting his warm breath surround it and causing Chuuya to whine impatiently and tug at his hair again. 


Obediently, Dazai slides his hands up Chuuya’s hips, bidding him to lift them as he slides Chuuya’s shorts off, baring his cock that’s dark with arousal. Dazai feels his mouth water as he kisses the tip and then down the shaft, opening his mouth against it, pulling curses from Chuuya.


“F… fuck , just do it, stupid mackerel,” Chuuya hisses as Dazai laves his tongue against his vein. 


“Okay, okay,” Dazai responds, amused but he can’t keep the heat out of his voice as he says it. he complies, opening his mouth around the tip of Chuuya’s cock and beginning to suck at it, tongueing the slit before sinking further, taking more of it into his mouth as he glances up at his boyfriend through his lashes. 


Chuuya looks wrecked, his cheeks pink and his chest heaving, bottom lip snagged between his teeth as he tries - and fails - not to let the evidence of his unraveling escape from his lips. He shifts his hips, obviously trying not to fuck into Dazai’s mouth. Dazai appreciates the effort, using a hand to hold Chuuya down as he takes half of him in, rolling his tongue over the shaft and sucking with the amount of pressure he knows drives Chuuya mad. 


Chuuya lets go of his lip then, tilting his head back to let out a groan that comes from deep in his chest. “Osamu,” he says, gasping breath chasing the sound. “I… shit,” he breathes, taking a moment to glance out the window, perhaps to check if there were any passers-by. Dazai takes offense to this, taking more of Chuuya into his mouth and dragging his tongue across a sensitive spot, sucking hard to bring Chuuya’s attention back to him. 


“Bastard,” Chuuya hisses, and then cuts himself off with a low groan. He’s close - his breathing has gone erratic, his thighs tense and hard as rock under Dazai’s palm that holds him steady. 


“God, fuck,” he moans as Dazai moves up and down his cock, cupping his balls and bracing himself on the seat with his other hand. “Fuck, yes, just…”


The noises he makes, the words that spill from his mouth, they’re filthy as hell and they hit better than any drug that Dazai’s ever injected into his veins and he’s hard in his pants. Chuuya’s gripping the edge of the seat, his knuckles white as Dazai works at his cock. 


“O… Osamu,” Chuuya mutters, head thrown back and chest heaving. “Osamu, i’m about to - “


Dazai hums around him, eager to taste him on his tongue, and Chuuya’s spilling into his mouth, and Dazai’s licking it clean. His cock pulses as he pulls off, Chuuya’s hands coming untangled from his hair, pulling his shorts back up and then reaching to slip beyond Dazai’s waistband, capturing his lips in a kiss, chasing his own taste on Dazai’s tongue. When they part, he wipes a stray drop of cum from Dazai’s chin and rests his thumb on his bottom lip, begging entry. Dazai obliges, suckling at the finger, causing Chuuya to swear breathlessly.


“I love you,” he says in between kisses, tugging Dazai’s pants down with one hand. when his fingers brush Dazai’s cock, his aborted gasp is swallowed by Chuuya’s lips. “God, I love you, baby.”


He wraps a hand around Dazai’s cock, and Dazai lets out a breath, swallowed in their kisses. “Yeah,” he murmurs mindlessly when they part as Chuuya strokes him, coaxing him towards orgasm. “Yeah, Chuuya, Chuuya .”


His name turns into a moan as Dazai spills over onto Chuuya’s hand. His voice is muffled by Chuuya’s lips almost as soon as it leaves his own, and his kisses are soft, gentle and passionate at the same time. It’s like he’s saying something with each kiss he gives Dazai, movements slow and languid. Dazai lets the ripples wash over him as he drowns in his lover’s touch, unable to keep in the little whine that slips out when Chuuya draws back. 


“Clean me up,” he murmurs, sliding his hand off Dazai’s dick and raising it to his mouth. Dazai complies, holding his wrist, pressing wet, openmouthed kisses to Chuuya’s hand as he licks his own cum off it, swirling his tongue around each finger as he sucks at it. He doesn’t break eye contact, and Chuuya curses under his breath. 


“You’re so hot, mackerel,” he mutters. He quite the picture himself in the low light, hair tousled and hickeys standing out on his throat, reclining against the seat as Dazai lets go of his hand, his eyes closing momentarily and dark ginger lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. Even in the low light of the distant street lamps, his skin seems to glow satisfiedly, his lips parted in a sigh.


Dazai chuckles. “So is Chuuya,” he says, relaxing against his own seat and readjusting his pants, enjoying the evening silence with his partner for a few moments. Times like this, where they can just relax together unhurried, are rare for them with the nature of their jobs; Chuuya is often called on missions that last weeks at a stretch sometimes, and Dazai’s investigative skills certainly aren’t wasted by the agency either - they’ve been used with increasing frequency, ever since Dostoevsky surfaced in Yokohama. They make the most of this peace, the bickering that used to characterise their relationship slowing to stray comments here and there, the majority of words reserved for love stated plainly and genuinely. 


“I’ve missed you this past week,” Chuuya says softly, taking Dazai’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles and palm. “Next time, maybe I’ll take you to Paris with me. Would you like that?”


“And follow Chuuya as he traipses around the place tasting shitty expensive wine and pretending to have taste?”


Dazai’s expecting a half-hearted punch on the shoulder for that one, but all he gets is a chuckle. “Yeah,” Chuuya says, unfazed. “We’d also go where you want, though. I can think of some restaurants you’d like, and…” 


Chuuya lists a few places that he thinks would suit Dazai’s tastes, but he surely knows that he didn’t really have to, because Dazai was sold on the idea of going to Paris with Chuuya from the start, simply because he would be going with Chuuya. 


“Maybe we should just move there,” Dazai muses jokingly, turning to recapture Chuuya’s lips in a kiss. “Leave everything behind, up and vanish out of the blue. Become small-time gangsters in Paris.”


Chuuya laughs against his lips. “Easy for you to say, dumbass,” he responds. “C’mere,” he adds, kissing Dazai passionately. “I’m gonna drive us home and then fuck you into the mattress all night. That sound good?”


“Pretty adequate, yeah,” Dazai responds, smirking as their lips part. 


Chuuya narrows his eyes at him. “I’ll show you adequate,” he says, turning to the wheel and starting up the car again. He pulls it out of the little space they’d parked in and back onto the road, leaving the peaceful, dark quiet behind again.