[Open] April Catch-All

[thetaintedsorrow]

Who: Chuuya Nakahara (thetaintedsorrow) & you!
What: Event aftermath and various shenanigans
When: April
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): None yet, but NSFW will be marked if it happens



I. Bird is the Word

[To all those familiar with Chuuya, the news of the mystery egg he’d magically acquired finally hatching isn’t surprising, nor is the news that it’s a bird. However, what they may not know is that Apollo (a name carefully chosen for his precious child) has grown into something quite flashy in the past month. A royal flycatcher, to be precise, with beautiful plumage to rival any peacock. It’s quite fitting that Apollo is tiny and beautiful, considering who his mother is, but don’t tell Chuuya that.

He’s quite an energetic little thing, and Chuuya can be found out and about in town with the little guy perched on top of his hat, or in the mansion with Apollo perched on his shoulder.

Should anyone get close (within five feet) of Chuuya, they’ll find themselves with a faceful of feathers and an earful of chirps as Apollo checks them out, up close and personal. Of course Chuuya is amused.]

Looks like he likes you.

II. Shots, Shots, Shots

[Chuuya can also be found, sans Apollo, in one of the multitude of bars located around town. He’s currently nursing a glass of fireball whiskey, but anyone who approaches him for either company or simply to harass him will be abruptly challenged to a drinking contest. God bless your soul if you take him up on it.

Should they decline he’ll simply shrug and continue sipping at the amber liquid in his glass.

Either way, they’ll receive this greeting: ]

You here for booze or company?

III. Among the Stars

[Lastly, Chuuya will make a trip to Thesa Station to see all the newly awakened refugees. He can be found checking out the stasis pods, hanging around in one of the lounge areas, or simply indulging in a glass of wine at the mess hall.

He’ll have Apollo on his shoulder, but don’t be afraid. He won’t peck your eyes out. Chuuya may very well try it though, if you see fit to call him tiny. Otherwise he’ll be friendly enough, no matter where he’s approached on the station.]

How’s it going?

IV. Wildcard!

[Surprise me! Or plot things with me! I’m over at arcanestardust!]

Comments

[thetaintedsorrow]

[The lights reflect off the bottles of alcohol neatly shelved behind the bar, giving them a glittering, alluring appearance that has Chuuya licking his lips and pondering over the selection. A few free samples have been slid his way simply because he’s no stranger to the struggles of bartending in a place like this. A sympathetic ear, even one only half-listening, is more than your average server gets on any given day, and the prim and polished young man seems to appreciate Chuuya’s shared tips and tricks so much that he even lets him sample the top shelf selection.

Which is how he’d chosen this whiskey, and how he’d planned out each set of shots in his head for anyone who wants to join him.

Only when a familiar, annoyingly nice irritating voice addresses him does Chuuya snap out of his thoughts, and he immediately bristles like a particular pissy cat when his booze is snatched away.]

What the fuck?? Give it back, you bastard!

[Ugh. There goes some of his delicious fireball whiskey, right down Dazai’s stupid throat. What a fucking waste.

Whatever, he’ll just order another. Who wants that bastard’s cooties?]

What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off chasing skirts or whatever bullshit you get up to when you’re not trying to off yourself?

[cassus]

...That's really cute, Chuuya. It almost sounds like you've missed me.

[ Except that Dazai utters the word between them in the tone of a secret worth sharing. As if the concept of longing lies somewhere along a spectrum of the obscene, halfway between a profane declaration and a sexual invitation.

Chuuya's stolen glass is still in one hand, yet it does little to hide the hitch of a grin that's nearing wolfish satisfaction. It hovers at his lips, patiently awaiting another kiss of Dazai's mouth until he finally obliges it's insistence on attention. The entirety of that long hard swallow plays out with their eyes locked, the whole moment reading like a continued discussion without any need for words.

The scene tonight overlays like thin vellum atop too many with the same theme, varied in every way except their paired presence amid shot glasses and tongues tinged in liquor. This was of course before Odasaku or that single irreversible shot which sent their trajectories spinning outward. The death of one man caused Soukoku's unified orbits to careen away at light speed, and ironically it wasn't either of their own.

It's dangerously easy to let the years apart slough off like leaves from seasons already spent, revealing the bare branches that tangle and knot them together. And why not? Nostalgia is a good enough excuse to simply coexist for a moment. Even if it's torture to resist ruffling Chuuya's feathers purely for the sake of making him scream Dazai's name, red-faced and breathless in a way that shouldn't remind him of Chuuya on top of him, yet always does. ]

Who says I'm not chasing something?

[ The words coil out, all smoke and dark promises, sounding less like he's correcting Chuuya's assumption and nearer to that of a cautionary warning Chuuya has never heeded until it's too late.

Dazai leans in close enough for it to read as a threat or some conspiratorial discussion, as though he's bestowing his prior partner with some time-honored lesson about courtship. Not that either of them need it. Everything there is to know about sex was learned ages ago, long before his partner could hold his liquor well or stumbled home with anyone but the man at his side.

Reflecting only the flicker of candlelight and amber hues dancing along the wall of caramel-colored bottles, Dazai's eyes shunt out all other light, losing their tawny tones in place of something brackish, edging just this side of red. ]

Isn't a bar the perfect place for that?

[thetaintedsorrow]

Cute my fucking ass.

[Thank god for the alcohol that’s already in his system, or Chuuya might actually be irritated right now. It’s not Dazai’s presence that grates on him (not tonight, anyway), nor is it the taunting words that spill from wicked lips that Chuuya is all too familiar with. No, Chuuya’s annoyance is based solely on the unknown; where the hell has Dazai been, and why is he here tonight? Sex could very well be the endgame, but Chuuya sincerely doubts that Dazai would seek him out solely for physical pleasure. Unless, of course, their meeting is purely a coincidence.

As fucking if.]

If you came here to get laid then you’re gonna have to fucking wait. I’m not done drinking.

[Chuuya takes a drink of his whiskey for emphasis, the amber liquid burning his throat like hot coals, and yet that’s exactly what Chuuya needs right now. Too much shit has happened for him not to want to drown it all in booze for a night. The riots, the kidnappings, the PTSD, the inevitable threat of war looming on the horizon; why the hell wouldn’t Chuuya want to get wasted on the daily?

At least back home he had a purpose. Now? He’s got far too much freedom and no idea what to do with it.]

This planet is no fucking better than where we came from. Some paradise.

[cassus]

[ How blatantly Chuuya dodges even attempting denial over missing him isn't merely noticed, instead it hits Dazai harder than a solid right hook. But the explosion of pain aching through him with every heartbeat isn't mercifully flesh deep. That sailor's mouth of Chuuya's, filled to the brim with brusque swearing in the immediate aftermath, is meant to throw him off. And it'd work for anyone and everyone who doesn't read Chuuya like the cliffsnotes to a convoluted book that doesn't need prying open for him to understand it completely.

The admission, which it is, settles somewhere inside Dazai's chest. He wants it to stay there, nestled inside a heart he's hollowed out time and time again, until it was sufficiently numb. But of course it sinks like a stone, anchoring itself at the very pit of his stomach. The answer Chuuya is waiting for, the why Dazai bowed out of contact and has been dodging him ever since, rises in the back of his throat like a bad taste he swallows down.

No one wants to hear you run away from them for their sake. Their freedom. To permit Chuuya to be whoever and do whatever he wants.

Chuuya has a good thing going on here. On this world he's no longer one of the Port Mafia's most valuable pawns, and so long as Mori sleeps Chuuya has no lingering obligation to the organization. He's free as the creature he owns, calling a mansion home and building his found-family of people worthy of his endless devotion. Dazai's a smart man, and it doesn't take more than a single night to figure things out, then remove the one element out of place in Chuuya's path of etching out a happy home for himself. And that's fine. Dazai has always embraced that he's an outsider, an eternal wandering vagabond outside looking in, when it comes to any degree of normalcy. ]

Maybe not. [ He lowers his glass, sliding fingers thoughtfully across wet beads of condensation. ] Does it have to be?

[ It's not that Dazai feels particularly attached to this place at all. The ADA is gone, and so is Yokohama, and every plan knitted together like a meticulously assembled needlework masterpiece now lies in shreds. People who trusted and relied on him, who would expect Dazai to come to their rescue if they were conscious, are being held captive in an induced sleep, when they'd been perfectly fine before the supposed world-ending Storm. But if those in power are to be believed, then it's either this or oblivion.

And Odasaku. He'd never forget about the fact that particularly painful ghost of his past lies among those held in stasis, like a yet-awoken hope which only this place can promise. He'll wait an eternity, until his bones are ash and dust, for Odasaku to wake once again.

If he can hold onto the unreasonable wish that Odasaku may awaken once more, then at the very least Chuuya should be able to find the happiness that's eluded him since he was yanked into the cold, stark harshness of this life. ]

A mafia executive and an ADA member living together should be a sign that anything is possible.

[ Dazai's focus comes full circle and back to the glass that was never his, evidenced by two very different sized mouth marks overlapping, one atop the other. One finger traces along the lip of his stolen drink, the caress producing some hollow echoing sound that hums along in the space between them. It's a faintly eerie if not otherworldly melody, reminiscent of a siren's song bestowed by a sailor's would-be lady love before she devours him whole. ]

I'd never imagined I'd live long enough to see Chuuya actually overthink things!

[ The war brewing here is just another battle. And the planet is merely a different slab of earth beneath their feet. If it's similar to back home, then is there anything wrong with that? Dazai's too much of a pragmatist to ever believe for an instant that paradise exists. So the recent horrors are practically expected, no matter how he regrets their impact.

But all of that is irrelevant to the point. Chuuya is making himself miserable over the future, the way he used to when Mori's iron-clad grip tightened like a noose around them, watching Soukoku perform like a pair of mice in a maze Chuuya loathed to run through but determinedly obliged.

There are too many things worth embracing to scoff at getting a second chance to rewrite your own life story. ]

Especially when he's finally allowed to be happy.

[thetaintedsorrow]

[The surest way to tell that something is weighing heavily on Chuuya’s mind is the lack of venom in his words, and the way he seems to be half-heartedly sipping at his current drink instead of knocking them back one after another like usual. There’s a heaviness in the air around him that has absolutely nothing to do with his ability, and his mood has gone from mildly irritated to...whatever the hell he’s feeling right now. He’s never been to think straight around Dazai, god damn it, and that certainly hasn’t changed one bit.]

None of that shit matters anymore. The Port Mafia is gone. The boss is in a coma. The ADA is no more. There’s nothing tying us to that world now.

[This is the first time that Chuuya has admitted those facts outright. Perhaps he’s been in denial that everything he’d ever worked for in his entire life is now gone, scattered among the stars like dust in the wind. His very purpose, his usefulness as a human weapon, hell, even his favorite motorcycle, are all just fucking gone, and Chuuya can’t do shit about it. He’s been wandering aimlessly ever since he came to Nysa, and despite having saved the lives of several innocents and aided refugees in need, Chuuya still doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to be doing with his life. Yes, there’s any number of jobs he could perform, but a job and a purpose are very different things.

He looks up at Dazai with weary eyes the color of a sea right before a storm, as if all the freedom he’s been granted is some kind of burden on his soul.]

Too bad I don’t know what the fuck being happy even means.

[That sounds edgy as hell, but Chuuya honestly doesn’t know what true happiness looks like. Contentment, yes, satisfaction, sure, but happiness?

Is such a thing even possible for either of them?]

Where have you even been? You keep saying all this shit about me, but god fucking forbid you talk about yourself.

[Chuuya has no idea that Odasaku lies in one of the pods, but if he did...]

Don’t sit there and say I’m out there living it up, you bastard. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows now that I’m “free”. I’m still Arahabaki, after all.

[cassus]

Our memories tie us to it.

[ 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.

[thetaintedsorrow]

[Memories...how ironic that Chuuya remembers nothing before the age of eight. Perhaps it’s for the best; who wants to remember being a human experiment? And yet there’s some foolishly sentimental part of Chuuya that yearns for memories of a pleasant, happy childhood. It’s practically unheard of for that to be the case in the Mafia, but Chuuya has always been spectacular at wanting things he can’t have. He’s more than made up for lost time by doing and buying everything his little heart could possibly desire, and yet there will always be that missing piece of his life that only lost case files could fill.

Chuuya is silent as Dazai takes the liberty of touching him, but not because he’s pissed or sulking. The look on his face says it all; he can’t recall the last time Dazai had touched him quite so gently, and it’s enough to make Chuuya’s heart skip a beat. It feels like he’s a fine porcelain doll that’s being admired with a borderline reverent touch, and for once in his life he doesn’t want those hands to grab and push and pull. Without a second thought his body seems to lean into Dazai’s hand like a cat that craves petting, and when it comes to rest on his cheek, cupping it so gently that if Chuuya were to close his eyes he’d never guess it was Dazai, he doesn’t slap the guy’s hand away or bite his fingers out of spite.]

What are you even saying, you bastard??

[The slow, tender swipe of Dazai’s thumb makes Chuuya’s heart ache; how many times had he seen Dazai touch a pretty face like this? How many times had he curled up on his bed and sulked well into the night about Dazai casually brushing shoulders with Oda, or sharing a glass of whiskey with him? How many times has Chuuya wished that Dazai would look at him with more than just lust in those dark eyes of his? It’s not fair that he’s doing this now! It’s not fair that Chuuya can’t bring himself to push Dazai away and tell him that he’s too goddamn late to win Chuuya’s affection now! It’s not fair that he’s hovering so closely and yet not kissing Chuuya like he’s done countless times before.]

Shut up.

[Without a single care about prying eyes, Chuuya crushes their lips together with all the ferocity Dazai knows him for, his hand gripping the bastard’s shirt to anchor him there like he’ll float away if Chuuya lets go.

This is the only way Chuuya knows how to express the full extent of his emotions, even if Dazai’s question goes unanswered. Or perhaps that single gesture is enough to tell him what Chuuya cannot.]

[cassus]

....You know what I'm saying.

[ Three words should pale in comparison to all the times they've saved each other; Chuuya salvaging the battered bits of Dazai's demonic soul and breathing humanity into him with every minute they've shared. And Dazai doing the same in return, pulling him from the brink every time Chuuya has thrown himself over and submitted his soul to the wicked force of nature that Corruption is.

After all the late night misadventures, sleepless nights wrought with traumas weathered together like the two orphans they've become and a youth of shared scars to the point that if they lay naked each could trace their joint injuries from lessons hard-learned together, like a road-map of lives lived on the edge...

At what point did he ever not love Chuuya? Wholly. Completely. As much as one small speck of dust in the Universe can desperately need another to exist. ]

Do I have to say the words?

[ Chuuya crashes into him, unrelenting and ferocious, like one solid, towering wave whose undertow seems to take hold of Dazai's body and soul with the unwavering intent of dragging him with it. Hot-mouthed kisses are swallowed down en-mass without any effort at pacing himself as Dazai immediately takes the reins, turning that one hard push of contact Chuuya initiates into a continuous stream.

Every open mouthed and wet kiss, scattered between all the hungry licks of his tongue, are I love yous stacked one on top of the other. Words that Dazai's much too fractured heart has ever been able to heal enough to feel worthy of speaking, even when Chuuya needed it most.

One hand may steadfastly stay on Chuuya's face, but the other twists into the leather straps at his partner's torso. With one singular but ever present pull Dazai drags them together, aligned more or less chest-to-chest. Hands still only when the rise and fall of Chuuya's every breath molds against his rib-cage, feeling achingly like his partner is just now burrowing into his heart. As if Chuuya hadn't made his home there, nesting in the cradle of Dazai's chest, when he first laid eyes on Chuuya seven years ago and felt dry-mouthed and weak-kneed and awed for the first time in his life.

Always, always, no matter how close they are no amount of contact is enough. So leather straps go free, released as he seeks out better options with a desperate haste that speaks of an urgency better suited to first times and first kisses, yet somehow fits this moment now. ]

Hold onto me.

[ No further words or unspoken warnings litter the path to where Dazai plans to take them as both arms slip low around Chuuya's center. It's telling enough, how he leans in first, balancing their weight on Chuuya's stool in preparation for something before tilting back and hauling his partner back to straddle Dazai's hips.

If Dazai has been evasive about what he wants, that single mystery of his often obscured heart should begin to dissipate when Chuuya is pulled around him like a warm coat, draped over Dazai from the arms he hopes stay slung over his shoulders, to the deliciously satisfying fullness of Chuuya's entire weight pushing into his pelvis. Chuuya makes up for his vertical shortcomings in a way that's felt in his larger than life presence, and the solidity of a body that feels like being wrapped under dozens of blankets in the dead of winter and pushes away any doubt that Chuuya is atop him, here and now. ]

If you asked me how to find happiness- I couldn't tell you where to go.

[ In the midst of relocating their contact falls away, leaving lips free to finally say something. Because Dazai has a lifetime's worth of things left unsaid for too long, and he could fill up every waking moment, if he allowed himself the honesty, to admit all the things he ought to have said years and years ago. ]

It's not a place or a purpose for me. But a person.

[thetaintedsorrow]

[In the seven years they’ve known each other, not once has Chuuya ever believed that Dazai would look at him the way he looked at Odasaku. Whatever bond the two of them had shared had been special enough that even someone like Chuuya could see it, when he’s all but blind to subtle longing and hidden meanings behind words. He never understood why Dazai was so goddamn fascinated with a nobody like Oda, or why the guy’s death had been enough to push Dazai to abandon the only home he’d ever known and defect to the ADA. How could the bastard just throw Chuuya away like that?? They acted as two halves of a whole, fierce and unyielding as the infamous Soukoku, and yet none of that fucking mattered in the end. Dazai had left him behind; it’s as simple as that.

At least, that’s what Chuuya has believed for seven goddamn years, and now Dazai is, for the first time in Chuuya’s life, causing him to question every fucking thing he’d ever thought to be true. If Dazai really cares about him the way he’s saying, then all of Chuuya’s rage and hurt will all have been for naught...

Of course the bastard could be lying; he’s good at that, after all. And yet, as Chuuya is hauled into Dazai’s lap, Chuuya’s conviction wavers, those lips pressing hot against his own breaking down that sturdy wall that Chuuya had built around his heart all those years ago like sledgehammers against glass. It’s not fucking fair how easily Dazai weasels his way into Chuuya’s life time after time, reappearing just when Chuuya thinks he’s gone for good. It’s easier to let go of something when it doesn’t keep coming back and tempting you, after all.

But here Dazai is, once again turning Chuuya’s life upside down in ways that will last and last.

It’s those words, ”it’s not a place or a purpose for me, but a person”, that finally shatter Chuuya’s resolve. He throws himself completely at Dazai then, as if he’s hurling himself right off a cliff with the hope that he’ll be caught before he falls. How dare Dazai reappear now and say the one thing Chuuya has been waiting to hear since they were teens?? To anyone else those words might mean exactly what they sound like, but to Chuuya, it’s a declaration of love louder than any three words could ever be.

Maybe it’s a lie, but if it is, then Chuuya wants to die believing it.]

God damn it, Dazai.

[There’s no real anger behind those words, and the evidence of just how Chuuya feels in return well up in the corners of his eyes and threaten to spill over like a dam that’s been holding back a flood for far too long. When’s the last time he allowed himself to shed real tears?? Stupid Dazai...!

The backdrop of the bar fades from Chuuya’s mind, and all that’s left is the here and now that Chuuya still can’t quite believe.]

You better fucking mean that, or I swear I’ll kill you nice and slow.

[Chuuya devours Dazai’s mouth then, as if he’s afraid to hear confirmation that this is all some sick joke on Dazai’s part. He bites Dazai’s lip and sucks on his tongue, as if he’s a fire that’s just trying to light Dazai ablaze. His weight settles atop Dazai as if they were made to slot together like this, and what happens next is all Chuuya cares about.]