The Port Mafia dungeon always smelled like mold, shit and blood.
Dazai knows it. He used to torture prisoners in the same soggy, heavy air of this same space.
Now his circumstances have… changed, one might say.
Suddenly, he doesn’t mind the smell of decay and the stale air, nor the hunger or the ghost pain that the handcuffs left on his wrists. He’s free now, courtesy of a certain redhead, but the discomfort hinders in the back of his brain. And yet, call him a simple man, the fact that he’s being held against a wall by his feisty, yapping, handsome former partner is distracting enough.
“Chuuya,” Dazai drawls out. “Is this the way you greet an old lover? I’m moved.”
Chuuya’s fingers are around Dazai’s neck, his frown deepening.
“Shut the fuck up.” Chuuya said, venom spilling out as he spoke
“No,” Dazai sing-songs “I don’t think I will.”
He’s testing his old partner’s boundaries. He’s pushing his buttons like he used to. And yet, under all that—
“I’m going to kill you.” Chuuya sneered
Under all that, he can sense something more complex.
The threat is half-hearted. Dazai ignores it, focusing on how Chuuya’s gaze keeps returning to his lips. They are drawn to each other; they always were. And Dazai might be held against a wall, but there’s no denying how the air in the dungeon feels charged.
The brunet smiles. He’s getting harder and he’s pretty sure Chuuya’s hand around his neck is to blame.
“Hm. I don’t know why, but I don’t believe you.” Dazai teased
“Don’t fucking test me,” Chuuya barks, and Dazai beams.
“Why not? You’re hot when you’re mad, Chibi.” Dazai said in a cheery tone
At that, Chuuya’s scowl morphs into a smirk. A feline, predatory, unexpected smirk.
“You have no idea.” Chuuya purred