31 Days Of Dazai

stab wound

Dazai's breath comes out short and ragged, the rolling of the doctors hips drawing noises from his throat.

He's sat in Mori's lap, in the chair at the doctors desk, his fingers clenching the dress pants fabric tightly as Mori smoothed his fingers down his bare, scared hips, lifting the boy slightly then dropping him down whilst bucking up, chasing the warmth the younger provided.

Thighs quivering Dazai shuffled his legs and lowered his head, shoulders hunching as he attempted to fold in on himself. Mori tsked in response and let go of one side of his hip, the hand rubbing the underside of his thigh before reaching the bottom of his knee, pulling it up and apart forcing Dazai to open himself up further for the man.

Dazai slumped against the doctors chest, lips parting and eyes clenching shut as he felt the raven haired doctor sink in deeper at the angle.

Fire burnt in his stomach as it tightened, he could hear Mori chuckled softly as Dazai dug further into his legs, attempting to find some sort of purchase as the man lifted and dropped him upon his length.

His heart so fast he was afraid the vital organ would pop out of his chest and make a run for it, and frankly he wouldn't blame the rotten thing.

His bandages suddenly felt tight and constricting, the heat generated between the two warming his corpse of a body.

Dazai felt it coming soon, very soon, the knot tightening in his gut as it all became too much, body going even tenser as he felt the beginnings of ruin flow over him and--

A knock.

Dazai's eyes shot open, darting towards the door. Mori let his leg down and slid the rolling chair forward into the desk, leaving their lower bodies sufficiently hidden from sight as he called out to person waiting outside.

Dazai was expecting a denial of entry, but when he cried a ever pleasant "come in!" Dazai's body felt cold, yet hot with embarrassment at the same time.

A man, middle aged, stepped in, not giving Dazai sat in Mori's lap much more than a cursory glance, before addressing the doctor.

Dazai doubted the man could smell the scent of sex over the overwhelming smell of anti-septic and blood.

Dazai took the two adults talking as an opportunity to bury his face in his arms on the table, flicking a pen away that Mori had been using to work on paperwork previous to their current encounter.

Mori was still buried in him up to the hilt, and the pressure of near completion still remained present as he sat there, zoning out the two adults talking about business.

Dazai's oddities had become well known in the last year since he joined the Port Mafia, working under Mori's hand as his assistant at the clinic (and long term accomplice,   working together in taking the throne from the previous boss, crafting their story of gratefulness after the long, laborious treatment. After all, they had been playing the long game in mixing the old bosses drugs to accelerate the dementia.) so for the boy to be sat in the others lap, despite being twelve years old, wasn't too odd to imagine.

Nonetheless, this felt far to close for comfort for him, stopping in the midst of sex to have a conversation with some random fucking nobody.

He did his best to ignore the intrusion as he stared at the table below him, focusing every bit of energy and concentration on holding back that feeling.

The brunettes leg jumped a little as Mori's hand slipped down his thigh, kneading the flesh through the bandages. The mans conversation didn't even stutter.

Dazai's lips pressed together and he ignored it, he could deal with Mori getting a tad handsy, but when that hand slid upwards, rubbing at his hips then stomach, and finally wrapping around him tightly, thumbing smoothing over his tip, he realized that he could, absolutely not ignore that.