Chapter Text
The barman tried to ignore the trio, for the most part. They stayed too late and were far too loud for the time of night, but they came with the protection of the Port Mafia, so he supposed he was grateful for that, at least. But really, their antics in the past few days had been way too far over the line.
It appeared the bandaged one had either worn the redheads walls down, or the older man had simply stopped caring about morality given their line of work. Both had come in with a rather satisfied air to them last week, after leaving together—the brunette had been swaying more than usual, though the barman knew from experience the bandaged teen could tolerate far more alcohol than the five shots he’d slammed down, much to the concern of the redhead and exasperation of the man in glasses—when the barman was sure he’d seen them walk in opposite directions to return to their separate dwellings.
Whatever had happened between them, it was obvious the lines the redhead—Odasaku, the barman thought, given how often the brunette cheered it upon the two older men arriving at the bar, and his attention certainly seemed to only be for the redhead, the man in glasses—Ango?—only an afterthought—had kept so carefully between them were long since crossed. Now the bandaged one could be found draped over Odasaku’s lap whenever Ango was running late or had left, and even sometimes when he was there.
Like now, with the mummified brunette sprawled against his shoulder, gasping as Odasaku left a trail of marks down his neck, grinding against the thigh parting his legs as best he could with a large hand on his hips to keep him from tumbling off. Which certainly seemed like a possibility, the barman thinks dryly, as the boy's moans somehow sound more wrecked.
“Come on, sweetheart, that’s it,” the redhead croons in the boys ear, and the brunette gives a gasping shriek before stilling and slumping against the older man.
“Feel good, darling?” Odasaku inquires after a moment, and the form in his arms nods against his shirt.
The door opening brings a sudden break to the hazy moment they’d found themselves in, and the redhead is quick to settle his lover on the stool next to him in his usual place, hand at the small of his back keeping him from simply toppling backwards off of it. The barman gets a good look at the boys face then, flushed and teary eyed, a distinctly fucked out expression etched across what was visible with the bandages. He sighs internally, but says nothing as Ango walks down the stairs and settles on the brunettes left.
Greetings are exchanged, the one in the middle—Dazai, Ango had called him—sounding significantly more exhausted than the other two. The glasses wearing man shoots him a concerned look, but doesn’t ask, and the barman wonders how often they meet each other after Dazai has been fucked by Odasaku. He also wonders if the brunette's job in the mafia is a good enough excuse, and then shoves all thoughts of what the teenager could be doing away. He already has to see him get dick in his bar, the barman really doesn’t want to know anything more about this boy than he has to.
The ritual begins three drinks in. Maybe the alcohol his friends indulge in gives the glasses wearing man courage, he does seem to know his efforts are futile given how he only asks once. Ango tries to get Odasaku to meet him elsewhere during the week, the redhead will miss every sign, and Dazai will get pissed and demand even more of his lovers attention. This has been going on for quite some time now. He’s almost curious to see what would happen when they inevitably reach the breaking point. Although, given what he’s heard about the brunette and what he’s capable of, it’s mildly terrifying to contemplate viewing.
“Odasaku-san, I have two tickets for an art museum that expire next week. Would you be interested in accompanying me? Perhaps Thursday night?” Ango asks, making a move that will go unnoticed by the redhead yet again.
“That does sound nice,” the man says, but his boyfriend is having none of that.
“Odasaku, you already promised to go with me to that thing in Tokyo, remember?” The brunette says, coquettish tone masking the murderous intent radiating from him. The barman will bet there’s nothing in Tokyo.
“Ah, my apologies, Ango, I forgot I’d already made plans with Dazai that day. You’ll have to find someone else.” Never mind, it seems the barman was wrong, there was something in Tokyo. It’s almost nice to see how in love they are, except he’s also seen how in love they are in other ways.
The man in glasses sighs. “You know, Odasaku-san, you really need to stop indulging him.”
Dazai looks awfully close to hissing like a cat. Odasaku’s hand gently pets down his spine, soothing disguised as making sure he didn’t fall off.
Thankfully, Ango doesn’t press the matter, and the night passes by without further incident.
“Mori-sensei is really so annoying,” the bandaged brunette is sighing now, “making me work with Chuuya instead of helping him with the organization.”
Odasaku’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around his glass. “Maybe he just wants you to make friends your own age,” he offers, taking a drink.
Dazai snorts. “Hardly, his closest friend is Elise, and she’s his ability and a kid.” He pauses then, tapping one hand on his chin. “I suppose he is pretty close to Kouyou-san and Hirotsu-san as well,” he says thoughtfully, “but he’s got maybe four friends in total; two of them are kids, and of those, one of them is his ability, and the other is me.”
“He could just want you to have a better experience than he did,” Ango suggests.
“Mori doesn’t care what I do so long as I’m okay with it.” The barman knows that’s a lie, Dazai has complained about how this Mori, whoever he might be, refuses to let him do work he considers too dangerous for a child. From how Odasaku’s lips twitch, and Ango smiles into his glass of tomato juice, they know it too.
“Ah, I should head home before he yells at me for being out too late,” the mummified boy says, in a complete contradiction to what he had just said.
“I can drive you back,” Ango says, looking somewhat concerned as the boy stumbles slightly getting off the chair. Odasaku stands too, pulling the brunette tight against him in a display of ownership disguised as making him steady on his feet.
“I’ve got him,” he says, slightly sharper than his usual dull voice.
“If you’re sure you can do it.”
“I am.”
Dazai laughs a bit, high pitched in a response to the tension suddenly in the air. “Wow, two guys fighting over me? My lucky day.”
Ango’s face wrinkles slightly. “You’re a child,” he says flatly, “that would be highly inappropriate.”
“I guess,” the boy grins, “mm, but wouldn’t it be so much fun though?”
Neither of them answer that question. Whether out of not wanting to offend the boy, not wanting to offend each other, not wanting to think about it for whatever reason, or not wanting to be honest about having thought of it before, the barman isn’t sure.
The barman breathes a silent sigh of relief once the trio leaves, Ango watching his two friends in amusement as Dazai is held against the redheads side possessively, like he had been since Ango offered to drive the boy home.
Please, for the love of god, let Ango figure it out soon. And let the other two stop fucking in his bar, goddamnit!