Rated: E – NSFW

Length: 2,000


Ranpo hadn’t been overjoyed at first upon learning that the empty room next to his was to be occupied by the agency’s new member. It had taken him a while to warm up to people joining the agency since its inception, Yosano excluded. The woman was interesting. He had only learned to stop prying into her affairs after she asked him, scalpel in hand, to mind his own business. He had kept his deductions to himself after that, no matter how enticing they were.

Dazai was another matter entirely. Ranpo had dismissed him at first, a mistake he was loath to admit to even more than the usual; but ten days after joining them, ten days after taking the free room next to his and making himself absolutely silent and boring, Dazai had knocked on Ranpo’s door with very clear intent writ all over him.

Ranpo wasn’t about to refuse. Not even when he gave Dazai his first proper look and erased his previous judgment of him, proving himself faillible once more.

“You’re heavy,” Dazai muttered into the pillow of the futon.

Ranpo’s trail of thought didn’t abate. He gave a hum in answer, his thumbs pressing quickly over the screen of his phone—he needed those damn gems before the day was over if he wanted a chance at this pull, and just because he had already made his displeasure known to the developers by emailing them this morning upon learning of the special event that he should have known to save his items for didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try—and leaned more strongly upon Dazai’s bare back. It was surprisingly comfortable, considering how skinny Dazai was.

Maybe it was the bandages. Maybe Dazai had more muscle than he liked to pretend hidden under those.

“Don’t move,” Ranpo said when Dazai made as if to squirm away.

“Is this what you’re into, then?” Dazai replied in amusement. He stopped moving, though, ever-obedient. “Crushing your partners under you until they suffocate? I might not mind it so much.”

“If you have time to lie to me you have time to find someone else to have sex with,” Ranpo whined.

“It’s not like there’s any sex happening right now, senpai.”

It was laughably easy to let his mouth fall to the sharp curve of Dazai’s shoulder, right where gauze let through a patch of unscarred skin. Ranpo breathed against it and rocked into the small of Dazai’s back until friction got the better of his human mind and heated the space between his thighs.

Dazai’s breaths became thinner.

“Give me five minutes,” Ranpo said, lifting his head once more.

“I’ll fall asleep.”

“Then go sleep with Yosano or Kunikida instead.”

Dazai didn’t answer.

Ranpo finished his combo perfectly. He tapped impatiently at this screen, skipping through as many of the congratulatory screens as he could until he finally got what he needed.

“Seventeen percent chance of getting that UR today,” he breathed, thumb hovering over the pull button. “Higher if your first pull of the event is during the last hour. And this is the last hour.”

“You’re not gonna get him.”

“I will. You can’t jinx pure statistics, Dazai, don’t be mad because you didn’t get him.”

“I did get him,” Dazai groaned. “This morning. I don’t even know why you want him that much, he’s the worst character of the game.”

“Slander Milo-kun once more and you’ll find yourself without a job.”

“Why do you even like him?” Dazai moved his head to the side so he could meet Ranpo’s eyes over his own shoulder. Ranpo gave him back his glance fleetingly, still focused on his screen, waiting for the results of the pull to appear. “I’d have thought you’d be more of a Reika fan. Reika-chan’s smart, and her ability is dead useful. All Milo’s UR does is reduce enemy damage if you’re under twenty-five percent health, Reika has deadly hits.”

“He’s stupid and I like it,” Ranpo answered.

The game rang loudly. Milo appeared over the screen, dressed in the special Vampire Parade outfit, the golden UR mark stamped over his left shoulder.

“Got him,” he breathed, satisfaction rolling hotly through his belly.

“Finally,” Dazai replied in kind.

Ranpo didn’t protest when Dazai took the phone out of his hand and slid it away against the polished floor. He raised himself to his knees so Dazai could move, satisfaction turning to a different kind once Dazai was on his back under him and batting long eyelashes at him in a poor parody of seductiveness. He kissed him anyway as he lowered his hips into the spread of Dazai’s legs.

Dazai never cared much for kissing—at least not in this context, Ranpo thought idly, at least not when the extent of his feelings ran no deeper than mere camaraderie for a coworker—and so the exchange was brief, Dazai breaking away from him with wet lips and a red face. He rocked their hips together until air became sparse between them, until Ranpo felt his own face warm with blood and his cock flush hard between their crushed bodies.

He occasionally wondered what Dazai would look like with someone he truly cared about. Someone he could make love to.

“What are you thinking about?” Dazai asked lowly, his hands busy unbuckling Ranpo’s belt and pulling down his trousers.

“Can’t you guess?” Ranpo replied with his face in Dazai’s neck.

It was difficult to find places to mouth at on Dazai’s body. He was sensitive in the neck, but most of it was wrapped up; he enjoyed being blown, enjoyed his thighs being squeezed and petted, but wouldn’t let Ranpo touch his torso at all, not even the places where bandages didn’t cover the obvious.

Ranpo made do with pulling down Dazai’s boxers and tugging at him with dry fingers until slickness spread from the head of his cock to the full of his palm and eased up the movement.

Dazai choked up a moan.

“You like hearing yourself talk,” Dazai said once he found his voice again. “Especially for things like this.”

“My ability can’t work while I’m working on you,” Ranpo retorted, drawing back to pout at him.

Dazai only gave him a wry, mocking smile. Ranpo reached lower to wrap his hand around his balls and press at the wet rim of his entrance to shut him up.

Dazai was nicer to talk to than most people because he seemed to get the ways in which Ranpo’s mind erred and connected; he was not nice to talk to when he spoke without words like this and made Ranpo want to curl away from the truth.

“I was wondering why you came to me all those weeks ago instead of Kunikida or Yosano,” he said once Dazai was adequately flushed, the soft inside of his thighs sufficiently slick and warm to the touch. “I’m not your type.”

“Maybe I’m your type, Ranpo-san.”

“You’re really, really not.”

Not that Dazai wasn’t attractive. If only for the physical then Dazai was Ranpo’s type—tall and gangly and soft, malleable, obedient. Their compatibility for intimacy was nothing to frown at. But Dazai was also cold as marble, distant and closed-off and eternally far no matter that Ranpo’s cock was inside his mouth or ass, a soul’s worth of secrets and hurts Ranpo had no desire to unravel. Or rather, that Ranpo wasn’t meant to unravel.

“You would’ve had less trouble with Kunikida,” Ranpo mused, grabbing a condom from the side of the bed. He tore it open quickly to put it on. “He’s the same age as you, he’s a virgin, he’s hot in that trussed-up secretary who turns out to be an expert martial artist way. I bet he looks very nice under his clothes.”

“I bet he does,” Dazai repeated, amused.

He briefly distracted Ranpo from his words by shuffling down onto the futon, putting himself within easy distance to grab Ranpo’s hip and cock and align them the right way. Ranpo moaned pleasantly at the heat and pressure of penetration, both hands grabbing Dazai’s shoulders so that he could rock farther into him, let Dazai feel all of him and keep him caged as he seemed to enjoy. Dazai’s head fell back onto the pillow as he breathed, still silent, eyes half-closed.

For a moment they said nothing. Ranpo thrust into Dazai’s pliant body, his back swarmed with needles of heat and pleasure, his mind buzzed by base sexual gratification. This never got old no matter how many times he did it. Dazai’s reactions especially never got old or tiring, not when Ranpo managed to pluck out of him something other than careful, guarded gasps.

One day he’d make him moan.

“Like I was saying,” he went on once a rhythm had been established, “Kunikida or Yosano—”

“Yosano wouldn’t be interested,” Dazai panted under him, his exhales hot against Ranpo’s forehead.

Ranpo bent his neck to look at him better. “Then why not Kunikida?” he asked. “It can’t be because he’s a virgin. You were a virgin too. If anything he’d have been nicer about it than I was.”

Dazai stilled for a long second. Ranpo stilled as well, half of him still warmly caught by the grip of Dazai’s body.

“Don’t tell me you thought I wouldn’t notice, Dazai,” he said, frowning.

Dazai uncoiled from his tension slowly. His hand slid from Ranpo’s spine to the side of his waist. “I thought I’d hidden it well enough,” he replied. “Obviously I underestimated you.”

“And I thought you were smart.”

Dazai rocked back against him in poorly-disguised intent to cut the conversation short. Ranpo let him, if only because he didn’t care in the end why Dazai thought the topic of his virginity was such a sore topic.

Dazai hadn’t been bad that first night. In fact he had come prepared, as he always did on the nights they had sex, his body wet and open so that they had little time to lose on preliminaries. It suited Ranpo just fine, and Dazai had been responsive despite his weird boundaries, attractive before and during, nicely sated afterward. There hadn’t been anything to complain about regarding his lack of experience.

It was nice that they had sex so often, though. Ranpo could afford a modicum of roughness with him, one which Dazai appreciated, judging by the way his breathing caught and his face tensed in pleasure. He fucked into him more harshly then, fingers digging deep into the gauze hiding his shoulders and drinking in their perspiration, his hips hitting the swell of Dazai’s ass with a satisfying smack. He was familiar enough with Dazai’s body by now to know what he could allow himself.

Ranpo’s shirt was starting to stick to him unpleasantly. He sat up on his knees, still inside Dazai, to take it off; Dazai watched him all the while, gasping quickly, wordless as ever.

Ranpo grabbed him by the hips and fucked him kneeling up this time.

He couldn’t quite figure out why Dazai hadn’t gone to Kunikida. Dazai wasn’t as subtle as he thought about disguising his flirting as a joke; he was attracted to Kunikida—was attracted to Yosano as well to a lesser extent, though Ranpo guessed that he might have a point in saying Yosano didn’t reciprocate—at least enough to consider him a viable sexual partner. It was harder to tell if Kunikida would accept, but at least Kunikida was into men.

“If you weren’t worried about Kunikida being bad to you,” Ranpo muttered in-between two hard thrusts, grinding his cock into Dazai’s body until Dazai’s free hand turned to a fist into the sheets, “then were you worried you’d be bad to him? You’re not that insecure. You wouldn’t have come to me if you were.”

“Less talking, please,” Dazai replied.

“I’m just saying—”

“Why are you so interested in this?” Dazai’s voice was a groan then, half-annoyance and half-pleasure, his thighs spasming around Ranpo’s hips as Ranpo’s cockhead dragged against his prostate slowly. “I thought you weren’t interested in me.”

“I lied,” Ranpo said. “I’m not interested in the general whatever you’re trying to hide, but this is fun. Details and all.”

Fuck,” Dazai gasped. His legs wrapped around Ranpo’s backside in a surprising display of flexibility, and he pushed him forward with them, trying to deepen his thrusts. “Come on—”

It would be so easy to deny him. Edging was something Ranpo disliked for himself but loved for his partners, and he thought he would not hesitate to use it even once when he finally found the right person to be exclusive with. He imagined himself for a second keeping Dazai on the tightrope of satisfaction, holding him back from the fall with one hand tight around his cock or by retreating from him altogether; he considered the face Dazai would make then, the discovery of another strate of control he could lose in his search for a safe kind of vulnerability.

But Dazai wasn’t who Ranpo wanted to do this with. And Ranpo wasn’t the one Dazai needed for that.

He rocked into the give of Dazai’s body with all the strength in his back, pushing forth until Dazai was all but bent in two, incapable of anything but taking it. His palm pressed the length of Dazai’s cock against his stomach and stroked it up and down until, finally, Dazai lost himself to his release.

He came without a sound. His breathing was harsh once the second of still, white-hot pleasure was past, dragging from deep within his chest and raising the cage of his ribs with every inhale, but Dazai didn’t moan. He didn’t call Ranpo’s name, or any other name.

He slumped bonelessly against the futon and blinked at the flaking ceiling.

Ranpo pulled out of him slowly. He was aroused enough by now to make quick work of his own orgasm with his hand, stroking over the condom roughly, aided by the remnants of Dazai’s lube. He grunted once pleasure finally snapped at the pit of his belly.

He shifted on his knees, going over Dazai’s limp legs to reach the floor. The latex slid off his softening cock easily, and Ranpo tied it with a grimace before throwing it into the trashcan of his bathroom.

When he came back, Dazai was already sitting up.

“Not staying?” Ranpo asked.

He couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by his own nakedness. Dazai had already seen him in his birthday suit too many times to count. Ranpo made his way back toward the futon and let himself fall onto it with a hum of satisfaction, ignoring the careful glance Dazai was giving to the side of his face.

“I think it’s better if I leave,” Dazai said.

“Too bad. I wanted to challenge you at Mario Kart.”

“You’ll just complain about losing again.”

“I won’t, because I won’t lose this time.”

At last, Dazai gave something akin to a chuckle. He dragged his knees toward his chest, grabbed his discarded clothes, and started covering himself.

“To answer your question,” he said slowly. “Kunikida-kun reminds me a bit too much of someone I used to know.”

Ranpo passed him his shirt obligingly when Dazai gestured for it. “I thought it might be something like this,” he replied.

Dazai laughed again. “Then why ask?”

“I like being proved I’m right.”

Dazai stood up. His balance was admirable for someone who was being fucked into breathlessness only minutes ago, but Ranpo said nothing of it. He watched him re-button his shirt and slip what few strips of gauze had been displaced during their coupling back into place.

“Dazai,” he said once the other was done. “I don’t care about people you know or your other issues.”

“What a nice way of saying it,” Dazai replied dryly.

Ranpo made a face. “I meant that it doesn’t bother me,” he amended. “And you can come here whenever. Not just for sex.”

This made Dazai halt his movements.

“How generous,” he said. Careful, suspicious. “And very unlike you.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I just need to make sure you know I’m better than you at every video game in existence.”

“Says the man who would rather waste his gems on getting the Milo UR than Reika-chan’s…”

“You don’t choose your favorite characters.”

Dazai shook his head, smiling, and opened the door. He left Ranpo’s room with a simple wave of the hand.

Ranpo pulled on his pants, forgetting his underwear entirely, and slid his backside against the floor until he reached his fridge. He took out some ice cream, dragged himself to his couch, and turned on his TV.

At least, he thought, fighting brain-freeze for the pleasure of sinking his teeth into cold chocolate, the offer for friendship was out of the way. Whether Dazai accepted it or stuck to the benefits only was up to him.

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