Work Text:
Things went badly today. That's why they're here now.
That's why Dazai looks at him so predatory while drinking wine, that's why Chuuya is so uncomfortable.
He's not sure exactly how he feels around Osamu.
On the one hand, madly in love. He gets lost next to him, gets angry, all emotions are a river flowing violently from the banks, the waves turn into a tsunami, and a light summer wind turns into a powerful hurricane.
Nakahara feels like he's being skinned every day.
He is unbearably delighted when Osamu looks at him a little longer, when he casually touches hot skin with his fingers, when he whispers something innocently in his ear, smiling with a slight pomposity. It's like Dazai grabs his wrist and sticks it into a bonfire while the skin slowly smoulders, covering the ground with the ashes of love and ridiculous affection.
It hurts unbearably when Osamu looks away contemptuously again, when he ignores him, when Nakahara has to go out of his way to draw attention to himself, when this brat sarcastically and mockingly replies something, when he flirts with random ladies, when they respond to this flirtation with embarrassed smiles and sweet-sweet cooing the sweetness of which makes him wants to puke.
He hates how cruelly Osamu treats his feelings, how unfairly.
And at the same time, he is not at all shy about taking something. He just doesn't need responsibility, he doesn't need a relationship.
So, a light affair that will help calm suicidal thoughts for a while.
He wasn't shy about kissing him casually.
Roughly press against the wall and squeeze his wrists, licking his lips like a hungry wolf. Not just hungry, no, famished. For sure, Dazai will not just kiss him now, no, he will swallow, he will swallow everything, he will not spit out a bone.
He will kiss him demanding and roughly, and Nakahara will believe in reciprocity of feelings for a minute, present ridiculous love pictures: maybe an apartment with a sea view, maybe a small garden, maybe a couple of domestic cats.
Unfortunately or fortunately, this illusion will be dispelled very quickly. Osamu will coolly pull away, throw something with a grin and leave, leaving him in the salty pool of love, which will remain ashes on trembling lips. It's disgusting and bitter, but it reminds him of love burned to the ground.
Sometimes he jumps on his hips in a demanding manner. He laughs innocently, pulls Nakahara by the hair, squeezes his sides, but there is something cruel in his gaze. Dazai knows exactly what he's doing. He sees Chuuya devouring him with his eyes day after day, feels the fervent passion that Nakahara bursts when Osamu kisses him.
Oh, Dazai is not a fool at all! Smart, brat. He understands everything and continues to torment.
With the pleasure of an innocent and gentle sadist, he watches Nakahara's cheeks turn red, as he suffocates with feelings. And as soon as Chuuya's trembling wet palms begin to reach for Dazai's belt, he immediately got off his hips and innocently went to smoke on the balcony, laughing at something of his own.
But today will be different. Nakahara feels it.
He knows that.
He understood by the way he gallantly leds him into the bedroom, only to push him on the bed with a demanding and impatient gesture. Oh, Dazai is clearly in a bad mood today, and Chuuya likes it like hell.
Embittered and ardent, he leaves bloody kisses on a pale neck, gets tangled in fiery hair, as Nakahara gets tangled in the flames of his mad infatuation.
How nice it is to watch an offended and angry Osamu.
No, not only because he bites so fervently, feels him all over so much, collects kisses like a good harvest, almost tears off his clothes and mumbles plaintively in his ear. No, it was also incredibly nice to know that he was feeling bad too.
That someone could offend Dazai, someone could anger him, could pick up his rotten ego with a long fingernail, which is riddled with the cult of narcissistic shocking death. Osamu wanted so much to die without pain. Maybe because he causes such inhuman pain to others with his life?
It's a pity that Nakahara will probably never find out.
Dazai will never be with him. That's what Chuuya is thinking when Osamu hurriedly pulls off his shirt (shoes and hat have been lying on the floor for a long time).
Nakahara can't open his skull and dig into his brain, he can't lick frank words and the most terrible thoughts about death from his tongue. He can only take what is given, not bite the nursing hand, only if he is not asked.
Like now, when he leaves teeth marks on his shoulders while his trousers are being pulled off.
Osamu himself, indifferent and cold, soaked in animal lust — the only thing he still has left in this world besides alcohol, does not even look Nakahara in the eye. He's not interested.
It is not interesting to see tragedy in them, it is not interesting to see despair in them, it is not interesting to see love in them.
He is only interested in the body that trembles beneath him. Chuuya, dutifully spreading his legs and burying his nose in the brown hair at his temple. He seems to be whispering words of love in his ear. God, what kind of naivety is this? A pathetic confession that Osamu had heard many times before.
«Abandon hope, all ye who enter here», Dazai arrogantly whispers in response and makes a particularly painful push. Chuuya is used to not being overly concerned about his well-being.
He will sell his soul and tenderness for such necessary rudeness, for such a necessary hell, into which he drove himself by looking into brown eyes, allowing him to be near, touching bandages hiding long-term and very fresh scars.
It hurts him, but he doesn't say anything, just tightens his jaw on the skin. There will be terrible footprints. Osamu is probably just laughing.
How desperately Chuya is holding on to him.
Hands and feet? With his teeth.
Dazai falls asleep quickly, leaving Nakahara in the sticky cold. Osamu's anger, resentment and hatred remain a seed on Chuuya's body, somewhere inside him, moving with wild pain, and Nakahara ignores this, just as Dazai ignores the fact that he is still a human being.
Chop.
A small flame of a lighter greets red hair. Chuuya looks at the flame dancing modestly for a couple of seconds, clutching a cigarette between his teeth. He blinks lazily, but knows he won't fall asleep. He lights up. Exhales smoke.
He looks at Osamu.
A beloved corpse.