Work Text:
Being on the receiving end of amorous gazes isn’t something new to him. Interested looks, probing stares, heated glances: he’s seen it all. There’s a saying about how someone looking unblinkingly for at least ten seconds means a desire for sex or murder.
He has a feeling that Chuuya would like to overachieve and introduce a third option. Those blues look gray under a certain angle, much like the glint of his favorite dagger. That’s even more apparent now, when he’s all but shooting lasers from his eyes, as if he wishes to vaporize Dazai on the spot.
It’s quite an achievement, given that they’re separated by one street and a throng of people waiting for the pedestrian light to change. Over the hunched necks of salarymen riveted to their phones, of high-schoolers smacking their lips over snacks from the nearby swathe of food stalls, the housewives rushing towards the supermarket’s limited-time sale: it should be impossible to see a tiny man without the aid of a microscope.
However, Chuuya’s already difficult to ignore on a normal day. He’s even more eye-catching now, given that he’s landing that stare that could be considered as a mix of hungry and thirsty, while flavored with rage at the thought of feeling such stomach pangs.
Dazai’s plan for the afternoon is to find a nice spot in the riverbank to jump from; if his drowning trip yields fruitless, he would then resurface and trudge towards the nearest izakaya and flutter his lashes to ensnare a lovely lady with an even lovelier wallet who could feed him for the night.
One of the main reasons for his infamy as a demon prodigy is his adaptability. He adapts his plans now; he catches Chuuya’s searing gaze, holds it for fifteen seconds, before melting into the swell of the crowd as the lights turn green.
Hide and seek is a beloved children’s game, so it’s fitting that they put their own spin to it.
It’s simply him being a good owner and indulging his childish dog’s tricks every once in a while.
That same indulgence is the reason why he only lets out a sigh when he’s unceremoniously shoved into an alleyway, empty save for a stray cat that’s been startled out of her nap by their sudden presence.
A dry spell has ravaged through Yokohama’s streets, and it seems as if it has also wrecked Chuuya’s throat, making his voice come out hoarse. “I hate you so much,” is full of brittle syllables that aren’t softened even when they’re muffled against the bandages over his throat.
The bandages don’t stay long. They’re torn away by an uncoordinated attack from teeth and nails, and then Chuuya’s pressing broad licks over a week-old cut courtesy of a clumsy shaving ‘accident’. Not many things could offer prolonged resistance against Chuuya’s attacks; the wound opens under the prodding of Chuuya’s tongue.
It stings, but it’s immediately soothed by the bone-deep groan that vibrates throughout Chuuya’s ribs, a mixture of satisfaction and pleasure, like an emaciated man finally getting his hands on a meal and water to drink. Gloved fingers cling to his shoulders, and a solid weight pins him against the wall. Expensive leather climbs atop his shoes to stand on tiptoes, in an attempt to bridge their height difference.
Aggression spikes, then ebbs away, as moments pass. It’s easy to tell when satiation overtakes his dog’s senses, as he basically sags against him, mouth soft with a softer sigh of contentment. There are no words of hatred, no declarations of killing intent.
For a brief moment, it’s as if they’re a pair who’ve simply failed to control themselves and ended up necking in the nearest alley.
…Well, it’s partially true, but it’s only Chuuya who couldn’t control himself.
“Uwaaa.” Extending the syllables just as he extends his arms around the other’s waist to steady him against his person. “Have you finally succumbed to your doggy instincts, little man?”
Chuuya’s way of drinking his blood is a mix of assertive and coquettish. Oh, he has no problem biting him hard enough to leave imprints of his teeth over his skin. But he also likes to clean him with kitten licks in the aftermath, as if he’s making up for the violence, while also ensuring that he gets to drink every last drop.
But his words always remain aggressive, no matter the scenario. “Your blood stinks so much,” he grouses, like he’s not the one who lunged at him and tried to employ a kabedon. “I could smell it all the way to my office, stinking up the whole city.”
Of course, his shaving accident is a fruit of his engineering. So is the wayward droplets of his blood that he has smeared all over Chuuya’s belongings: not enough that they could be admitted as trace evidence by any forensic laboratory, but present enough that Chuuya’s nostrils would flare upon scenting him.
It has started out as a way to harass his dog.
…It still is a way to harass him, even now.
“Wow, your nose is so good!” It’s 100000% sarcasm. “As expected of a dog!”
“I’m not a dog!” Chuuya barks at him, baring his teeth. There’s no more blood on his mouth, but there remains a pink sheen over his lips, as if the blood that he has licked away from Dazai’s wound has doubled as lip gloss. “It’s because of that damn ability of yours!”
He makes a face, pinching the meat at the other’s lower back. There’s not enough, because this is a muscled brute who actually enjoys sweating during constant training. If he needs to pinch something substantial, he’d have to go for the other’s cheeks; either one would do. In order to retain his old over the other’s waist—therefore, preventing the other from kneeing him in the stomach or groin—he opts to pinch the cheeks covered by tight pants.
He has plenty of experience ignoring the other’s indignant squawking. “How rude, chibikko. I helped you nullify the vampire ability, and you thank me by blaming me?”
“I have no plans of ever thanking your shitty ass.” He sounds proud of his rudeness, maintaining a smug sneer at him. “You’ve probably even arranged it that way!”
It’s a miniscule possibility that has somehow yielded interesting results. He’s aware of the possibility, but he has actually no way of influencing the outcome with certainty. Aside from adaptability, luck is also considered a strength. He’s lucky that the outcome is something that favors his interests.
Now, it so happens that because Chuuya has bitten him before No Longer Human completely erases the vampire’s influence on him, a part of that bloodthirsty instinct remains in Chuuya’s veins, making him seek out his blood.
…Of course, he’s not going to admit that. One of the ways of maintaining his mystique is letting people think that he has absolute control over each thread that could affect a situation.
“Mm, it sounds to me like you’re simply making excuses, Chuuya.” He tilts his neck, tempting the other to bite him again. “Why don’t you just admit that you’re now embracing your doggy instincts, and am now addicted to biting me?”
Chuuya gives him a dirty look, like he’s worse than week-old gum under one’s shoe after walking through a murky alley. “Even a starving dog wouldn’t get any nourishment from biting a beanpole like you.”
“If I’m ever suffering from malnourishment, I’d only have a little slug to blame.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with me?! Blame your own shitty eating habits, damn it!”
“Because you’ve been drinking my blood,” he says slowly, leaning down so he can whisper the words directly to a reddened earlobe. “Like a poor puppy so starved and thirsty for his master’s attention.”
Tucked away in this corner of their own, there’s hardly any light source. But that doesn’t matter, because Chuuya seems to have swallowed up a star into his own belly, lighting up his eyes whenever he looks at his favorite tacky things. It’s a different kind of light now, a different kind of pleasure. It’s the type that gives him a headache, because it’s always immediately followed by Chuuya crowing at him in triumph.
“You’re the one who keeps on tempting me with your blood.” With full conviction, even though he doesn’t have tangible proof. It’s been like that ever since their first meeting; Chuuya’s always had the uncanny ability to know him well, even if he might not know the specific twists and turns of his mind, simply cutting through to look at the inevitable conclusion. “Aren’t you the one who’s thirsty for my attention, huh, shitty Dazai?”
There are many things that could be said about Chuuya, but being smarter than him isn’t one of them. As expected of a tiny dog, his brain is also undersized, rendering him incapable of coherent, logical thought.
It really cannot be helped. It’s his responsibility as a dog’s owner to make sure that he’s disciplined well, and that he could only spout this sort of nonsense to his ears, and not spread it like rabies to others.
It’s just that, there’s nothing that he could use to physically prevent Chuuya from talking. He’s strong enough to pulverize anything that can be thrown his way, after all.
Fortunately, Dazai is a genius prodigy who is very adaptable.
He squeezes Chuuya’s waist and makes him drink back his own words, pushing them back into his mouth using his tongue.
It also comes with the added bonus of him ending up with scratches and bites from the shorty, which would mean that he’d have more tiny wounds to tempt the even tinier man into losing control over his thirst.
Dazai would clap to congratulate himself for a perfect plan, but his hands are currently very full.
-
end