The Agency office bustled with its usual morning hustle and bustle: the soft clicking of keyboards, the occasional rustle of paperwork, and Kunikida's voice, already sternly reprimanding Atsushi for a minor clerical error. Dazai Osamu, in contrast, was reclining on the back of the sofa with the elegance of a cat in the sun, flipping through a file with one hand and absentmindedly sipping lukewarm coffee with the other.
Nestled safely inside the scarf tied loosely around Dazai's neck was something, someone, small, warm and at that moment vibrating with frustration.
“Would you stop moving?” Chuuya hissed, his voice weak but filled with annoyance. He stood on Dazai’s shoulder like an emperor on his throne, his arms crossed and his tousled orange hair blowing slightly in the breeze from the air conditioner. “I’m trying to keep my balance, jerk.”
“But Chuuya…” Dazai drawled with a lazy smile, shifting his shoulders just enough to make Chuuya stumble a little. “If you’re going to act like a parrot, you better learn to hold on tighter.”
“I’m not a damn parrot!” Chuuya snapped, his small fingers grabbing the edge of Dazai’s collar.
In fact, he was a borrower: a ten-centimeter person with strength that defied his size, a cunning born of necessity, and a withering gaze. He lived in an apartment carefully concealed among Dazai's drawers, tucked away among notebooks and silk scarves, and had been a part of the detective's life for just over three years.
Their relationship was complicated. Or it would be if it weren't so absurdly simple.
Dazai adored him.
Making fun of him? That was the icing on the cake.
"I should have stayed home," Chuuya muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. "You said I could accompany you to the ADA for a 'quiet day.' This isn't quiet. You're swaying like a drunken tree."
“I’m offering you the full experience,” Dazai said innocently. “A front-row seat to my majesty.”
Chuuya's response was a kick to the jaw. Soft, but effective. Dazai made a theatrical face.
“Ow~! My delicate face!”
“Delicate my ass,” Chuuya muttered, and for a moment, Dazai simply smiled.
Then a thought struck him, one of those thoughts that come when you are bored, naughty and completely unconcerned about the consequences.
He looked around. Kunikida was distracted, shouting at Tanizaki. The coast was clear.
"Hey, Chuuya," said the man.
Chuuya, still standing near Dazai's neck, narrowed his eyes. "What?"
Dazai's smile widened. "Ever wonder what it would be like to be inside my mouth?"
Chuuya froze. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
“I mean,” Dazai continued, his voice suddenly melodious and mock-melodious, scooping the borrower up in one hand. “you’re pretty small. Portable. Convenient. I could just…”
And before Chuuya could jump, run, or curse him, Dazai opened his mouth.
It wasn't a serious threat, obviously. Just enough to stick out his tongue, maybe scare the little one...
But Chuuya stumbled.
And landed right in that tongue that was waiting.
There was a moment of stillness. A heartbeat. Two.
Dazai blinked.
Chuuya spluttered, thrashing about on the wet surface, his small fists pounding into the warm muscle beneath him.
”DAZAI! LET ME OUT!”
Dazai closed his mouth.
It wasn't his intention. But, oh, now this has gone from provocative to irresistible. The taste of his boyfriend—slightly powdery, like the inside of his tiny coat and the cinnamon soap he used—tickled his tongue.
“Mmm,” Dazai hummed around her, his voice vibrating softly.
Chuuya yelled and braced himself as Dazai threw his head back slightly. "Don't even think about it!" he yelled, muffled up.
But Dazai, his eyes narrowed, swallowed slowly and mischievously.
And Chuuya started to slide.
The movement was careful: a gentle tug of tongue and throat, a small, writhing figure pushed back by the movement of muscle and air. Dazai's fingers ran over his neck as he felt Chuuya's small body form a slight bulge in his throat, slowly sliding under his skin like a wriggling pill. It was light. Warm. A strange pressure that made Dazai's shoulders tremble.
Then it disappeared. The lump disappeared under his collarbone.
Dazai sat there, stunned.
A small and a very slight shudder was felt just below his chest. He could feel it, just behind his ribs. Chuuya.
He was inside.
Alive, perfectly safe, although extremely angry.
“Oh my god,” Dazai whispered, gently placing a hand over his stomach. “I really did.”
A dull thud was heard from inside, as if Chuuya had just kicked the stomach lining.
“YOU...! I SWEAR TO GOD, DAZAI!”
He grimaced, then chuckled. "Hey, calm down. I just wanted to try."
“¡LET ME OUT! ”
“You’re warm,” Dazai murmured aloud, tapping his chest as if knocking on a door. “And you’re squirming… Like a spicy jelly bean.”
Chuuya shouted something unprintable from inside his head.
Dazai laughed so hard he almost doubled over.
—
Ten minutes later, after some careful maneuvering and gentle coaxing, Dazai leaned over a cup and opened his mouth, letting Chuuya crawl out, soaked and furious.
He stood on the table, soaked, his fists shaking at his sides.
"I hate you."
Dazai handed him a napkin, trying not to laugh. "Come on, Chuuya. You have to admit, it was amazing."
“¡You swallowed me!”
“I brought you back,” Dazai said happily. “Save and sound!”
Chuuya snorted. "You're the worst boyfriend in the world."
Dazai leaned in and rested his chin on the table beside him. "And yet... you're still dating me."
Chuuya blushed and turned sharply, pointing a soaked finger. "I'm only staying because if I leave, you'll probably die trying to tie your shoelaces!"
“Ah~ So you do care .”
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH."
Still smiling, Dazai reached out and carefully took the little borrower in his palm. Chuuya squirmed, but didn't jump away. That was a victory in itself.
Dazai pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head, ignoring the small comment of indignation.
"I love you, you know that," he said softly.
Chuuya stood still.
“Yeah,” he murmured, reluctantly snuggling into the safety of Dazai’s hand. “I know. Just warn me next time before you make me into food.”
"I don't promise anything," Dazai whispered with a smile.
