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There aren’t many decisions that Dazai regrets, but he’s starting to rue a certain one, day by day. More accurately, night by night.
Dismayed and not bothering to disguise it one bit, he hefts up a heavy sigh as he spies the way wooden splinters scatter across the tatami flooring. Thankfully, it seems that the window itself hasn’t been destroyed completely, so he doesn’t have to worry about other creatures skittering into his room.
…Well, there’s already one tiny slug who’s too small to realize that windows and doors are two different concepts altogether.
Flatly, “You’re paying for that, Chuuya.”
A wallet is chucked towards his forehead in response. Perhaps one of the unfortunate side-effects of some microorganism getting affected by a vampiric condition—but he’s become even stupider lately.
“I want to drink from you tonight,” is said with such an earnest tone that he almost sounds like he’s putting forth a reasonable request.
“I want to sleep in peace, but we can’t all get what we want.”
For extra convenience, his low coffee table is right beside his futon. There are three empty tins of canned crab, two and a half bottles of grapefruit soju already exhausted. This month’s issue of Young Ace is on his tabletop, while a two-year-old issue serves as a makeshift coaster.
Under the table, there’s a tissue box, his phone and a gaming console, some chargers. Also some scattered snacks, a seasonal Pocky flavor, a harlequin paperback that’s mostly there to scandalize his coworkers.
“If you have low blood pressure, you’ll feel sleepy,” Chuuya offers with such a reasonable tone that tries its hardest to hide his eagerness. “I’ll drink from you and then you’d faint directly.”
To anyone else, it sounds like a direct death threat. Between the two of them, it only elicits a scrunched nose from him. “I don’t like the feeling of getting gnawed on by a dog.” And that’s a massive understatement.
A simple, straightforward man launches simple, straightforward attacks. Chuuya frowns then says, “But you get hard when I drink from you.”
He doesn’t want to debate natural physiological responses to certain sensations, so he ends their conversation with an empathic, “Chuuya, stop talking.”
“This is your fault.” Of course, he continues talking, because he’s never been the type to roll over and follow his orders. Instead, he’s the sort to have so much belief in his skills at making plans for an entire altercation with several factions involved. “It’s within your plans to have me be transformed to a vampire. So, it’s your fault that I’ve become like this.”
He purses his lips at this accusation. “An old dog has learned a new skill of blaming me.”
“I’m letting a shitty fish learn how to take responsibility for his actions,” is the snippy retort.
Casual clothes somehow make him look even tinier.
Usually Chuuya’s work clothes are all body-hugging affairs, with his overcoat acting as a flaring cap for when he likes to peacock his arrival with a bang. His home clothes lean heavily towards comfort: thin loose shirts in stretchy fabrics, shorts that don’t go past his thighs and have enough room in them for someone’s forearm to slide up his leg.
It paints a picture of the chibi executive returning to his home, finishing his evening routine, then launching out of his bed upon being besieged by the leftover vampiric instincts to feed.
…Tsk, what a miscalculation.
He’s expected that Chuuya would be placed under Stoker’s Ability just so he could temporarily be pulled towards Dostoevsky’s side. He’s looked forward to how Chuuya would handle an additional presence in his inner psyche, considering that there’s already Arahabaki inside him.
He didn’t expect that the desire to bite and drink blood would somehow be imprinted into the slug and make him more into a dog who only prioritizes getting to bite his choice of prey.
And Chuuya’s chosen Dazai each and every time, for the past fourteen nights.
Still, it’s the best-case scenario out of this miscalculation. After all, with how touchy-feely the slug has been acting with his designated ‘food’, it’s better for everyone that he comes to him for such things.
Chuuya climbs up to his lap, trapping his hips with knees on either side. Gloved fingers possessively run all over his torso, gripping his waist, clutching his lower back, kneading the butterfly bone below his neck. Movements that seesaw between gracefulness and franticness.
“I can smell your excitement,” would probably make it to the top ten list of cliché phrases from harlequin paperbacks. Unfortunately, the chibi isn’t saying it in attempt to be seductive—he’s merely saying it as an observation. His nose has always been like a dog’s, and with the heightened senses as leftover side-effects of being a vampire… he really has become more fittingly a dog.
A dog who’s nosing into his neck, using his lips to massage the skin over his shoulders and collarbone. Without preamble, he then opens his mouth and sinks sharp teeth into him.
Part of a vampire’s ability is to have fangs that can penetrate a human’s skin, release anesthetic venom that not only numbs that part, but also induces a dizzying mix of hormone cocktails to reach his brain.
That’s the only acceptable explanation for why his entire body tingles each time Chuuya drinks from him. He hates pain, after all. There’s no other way that he’d tolerate even the smallest pinpricks of pain, especially if it comes from someone he hates.
There’s no other reason as to why he ends up clutching Chuuya back, growling back in turn and yanking his head away by hooking his finger inside the line of his choker. There’s no other explanation as to why he plunges his tongue inside the shorty’s mouth, chasing the droplets of blood that has been sucked out of his neck.
Blood has a pungent, metallic taste to it. He knows this, because he’s gone through injuries before where he’s had to cough up blood. Somehow, instead of that metallic flavor, he tastes Chuuya clearly instead. His apple-flavored toothpaste, his inherent tart sweetness that must have been cultivated by years of drinking expensive wines.
They bite and scratch at each other, nipping to the edge of their lips, bruising their jawlines, marking their backs. Being a vampire is contagious, and he’s infected by it by breathing so much of the chibi’s scent.
Even when they were teenagers, he’s always desired to know and have everything that belongs to Chuuya, and that possessiveness swells up in full force now. He’s the one who’s first recognized that Chuuya’s the black wolf left amongst the flock of sheep. He’s the one who’s first made contact with him and brought him back down from the sky. He’s the one who’s made a deal with him, who’s introduced him to the mafia’s inner world. He’s the one who’s been there, witnessing him act like a wrathful angel. He’s the one who’s had to witness him worry about his humanity, even when it’s so glaringly obvious that he couldn’t be anything but a human being—and more importantly, he shouldn’t be anything else but his dog for life.
He wants to inhale Chuuya into his lungs. He wants to drink him in his entirety, so he could only be locked inside his stomach for safekeeping. He wants to invade Chuuya’s veins with his blood, so that he can circulate to each tiny inch of the chibi’s body.
He wants, he wants, he wants.
“See?” Chuuya pulls away with a hoarse voice, lips swollen and eyes bright. Their arms are looped around each other’s bodies, making sure that they’re pressed as tightly as possible. “I knew it, you’re very excited.”
He tilts his head back so he can show off the line of his neck, where he can still feel the throb from the other’s bite that seems like a claiming mark. In a mimicry of his tone, “See? I knew it, you’re really such a dog, Chuuya.”
It’s obvious goading, but things that are very obvious still finds room in their dealings.
Chuuya bares his teeth at him, before lunging towards his neck once more. On the other side this time, so that he’ll sport a symmetrical pair of bites.
A wet, sucking sound that’s more of the other’s spit squelching against his skin than anything else. They moan together. From the sensation itself, from the appreciation of such savage affection. It almost feels like they’ve both turned into liquid, mixing and blurring together.
It’s really terrible, being infected by his dog retaining his vampiric instincts.
After all, now even Dazai can’t help but look forward to doing this night after night from here on out.
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