[ The Bar Lupin may only be a hazy, rose-colored recollection by now, but that doesn't mean he didn't build something precious there, shared between three people whose numbers have now dwindled down to Dazai alone. It existed, as did everything that happened there. The same goes for the ADA, and all the ridiculous antics or adventures, including long nights spent with stale coffee and crowded desktops, the lot of them stewing over cases Ranpo refused to lower himself to handle. ]
As if I could ever forget my past- [ Or ever want to. ] When...
[ Touching Chuuya is always a feat in which consequences are weighed against rewards. Desperation makes it easier to accomplish, and dulls concern over which reaction Chuuya's temper will determine gets thrown his way in response. But when it truly matters, on those once in a rare blue moon moments where Chuuya is still like the ocean at midnight, his eyes darkened and as depthless as the waves he can't see beneath, Dazai risks contact when he has everything to lose. ]
...It's flesh and blood, right here in front of me.
[ Fingers slip from where they've been perched on his glass and set a course of contact for Chuuya's torso, stilling only when the warmth of Dazai's palm is bleeding down past a wool vest and dress shirt, into the skin below.
That should be enough to get a point across. Yet those fingers linger, skimming up the black bands crossed over a chest that's broadened over the years, or flicking over buttons with digits that press into the body below as they slide upward.
Fingers spread as they trail up a slender throat his mouth has kissed a hundred thousand times, and buried teeth into even more, soon as the both of them got a taste for the sensation. The rational, wary part of his mind warns him to stop long before these touches goes any further. But only when the still-soft curve of Chuuya's cheek is cupped within his palm does Dazai even begin to feel satisfied that enough of his partner's skin has fallen beneath tonight's yearning touch. ]
Where should I be, Chuuya?
[ His response lands in near whispers, mellowed to cushion the impact of just how tenderly Dazai chooses to emphasize his words with an idle thumb that has yet to still as it strokes against the slope of Chuuya's cheek.
And though the pair are already leaning in so close to one another, practically with their heads together in a universe of their own, there's space enough to abolish with a dip of his head.
It's the makings of what would be a very good kiss, if only he wasn't loitering in that intimate space for the sheer sake of drawing the sight of Chuuya into whole of his focus, his world, and every inch of his line of sight. ]
You want me here. Tell when where I'm supposed to fit.
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[ The Bar Lupin may only be a hazy, rose-colored recollection by now, but that doesn't mean he didn't build something precious there, shared between three people whose numbers have now dwindled down to Dazai alone. It existed, as did everything that happened there. The same goes for the ADA, and all the ridiculous antics or adventures, including long nights spent with stale coffee and crowded desktops, the lot of them stewing over cases Ranpo refused to lower himself to handle. ]
As if I could ever forget my past- [ Or ever want to. ] When...
[ Touching Chuuya is always a feat in which consequences are weighed against rewards. Desperation makes it easier to accomplish, and dulls concern over which reaction Chuuya's temper will determine gets thrown his way in response. But when it truly matters, on those once in a rare blue moon moments where Chuuya is still like the ocean at midnight, his eyes darkened and as depthless as the waves he can't see beneath, Dazai risks contact when he has everything to lose. ]
...It's flesh and blood, right here in front of me.
[ Fingers slip from where they've been perched on his glass and set a course of contact for Chuuya's torso, stilling only when the warmth of Dazai's palm is bleeding down past a wool vest and dress shirt, into the skin below.
That should be enough to get a point across. Yet those fingers linger, skimming up the black bands crossed over a chest that's broadened over the years, or flicking over buttons with digits that press into the body below as they slide upward.
Fingers spread as they trail up a slender throat his mouth has kissed a hundred thousand times, and buried teeth into even more, soon as the both of them got a taste for the sensation. The rational, wary part of his mind warns him to stop long before these touches goes any further. But only when the still-soft curve of Chuuya's cheek is cupped within his palm does Dazai even begin to feel satisfied that enough of his partner's skin has fallen beneath tonight's yearning touch. ]
Where should I be, Chuuya?
[ His response lands in near whispers, mellowed to cushion the impact of just how tenderly Dazai chooses to emphasize his words with an idle thumb that has yet to still as it strokes against the slope of Chuuya's cheek.
And though the pair are already leaning in so close to one another, practically with their heads together in a universe of their own, there's space enough to abolish with a dip of his head.
It's the makings of what would be a very good kiss, if only he wasn't loitering in that intimate space for the sheer sake of drawing the sight of Chuuya into whole of his focus, his world, and every inch of his line of sight. ]
You want me here. Tell when where I'm supposed to fit.