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When Chuuya opens the door into his parlor, there’s an angel draped over his couch. It looks like the sort of scene some ridiculous noble would commission an artist to paint on their vaulted ceiling. The painting would likely be titled something like “The Mischief of the Divine” or something, because the angel’s eyes betray that he’s an angel mostly in name and anatomy.
“Dinner tonight?” the angel asks smoothly.
“Hm,” Chuuya says. He doesn’t see why Dazai has to play this game every time. “There’s a new gentlemen’s club down by the docks. A handful of those sexually repressed little weasels, and…”
Dazai rolls over onto his stomach. “My wings are itchy,” he whines with a pout that not even the softest of hearts would be fooled by.
“Groom them, then,” Chuuya says.
“But you’re better at it,” Dazai croons, sliding his nose down the arm of the couch into a throw pillow so he can look up at Dazai with the largest eyes. “So much better.”
Chuuya runs his hands through Dazai’s feathers, and the angel hisses. His feathers are rumpled and bent and dry as sandpaper – he really has no ability or desire to groom them himself at all. Chuuya scratches at the irritated skin. Really, Dazai doesn’t make anything easy.
Then again, Chuuya’s never liked fast food.
Without warning, he grasps the angel’s swollen and dry glands, and Dazai yelps. “Don’t whine,” Chuuya scolds. “I even gave you special oils for this. Even if you’d just dump it over these, you’d still be better off.”
“Maybe I should just come to Chuuya more often,” Dazai says.
Chuuya doesn’t remind him that would kill him, because Dazai will just be even more eager to do exactly that.
“Just for grooming?” Dazai purrs. “You don’t always have to feed.”
“So you want me to be your personal groomer because you’re too damn lazy to learn how to do it yourself.” Chuuya digs his thumbs into the glands – they feel as large and as hard as walnuts – and Dazai whimpers.
“Chuuya likes grooming me,” Dazai says, voice even. Still, Chuuya can tell he’s in a considerable amount of pain. He slows just a little. Massaging them too painfully won’t help them yield oil, but Chuuya doesn’t intend to get Dazai away with this much negligence easy. “I need grooming… mutually beneficial.”
“You’re angling to be a filthy freeloader in my house and you expect me to find the arrangement mutually beneficial?”
The left gland manages a weak spurt of oil and Dazai hisses.
“An incubus with a fallen-but-reformed angel as a housepet,” Dazai says. “Think of the social clout that would get you.”
Chuuya hums. There’s no reason to keep humoring him. The glands are inching closer to working properly, and Chuuya has a meal to prepare. He switches the pattern of his strokes, instead swiping his thumbs across the swollen skin, hard, and Dazai swallows down a whimper at that.
“Do you like being in this much pain?” Chuuya asks.
“No,” Dazai says tersely. “I just get distracted.”
“Mm,” Chuuya says. By his do-goodery, no doubt. Chuuya still can’t quite believe he’s earnest about that project of his. He remembers all too clearly how sinful Dazai once was. But still… he does taste different since he set his mind to all this salvation.
He tastes so much better, and he tastes better each time. Chuuya is tempted to take him up on the offer, keep his wings properly oiled and silky so Chuuya can get right into it. Then he could have the soothing experience of kneading those glands and pulling his oily fingers through the feathers without that awful scraping feeling of trying to spread too little oil over too many dry feathers.
Dazai’s breaths are pained only in the most hidden of ways, but Chuuya keeps kneading, getting close to the joints and sliding his fingers through them. The inner feathers are finally loosening up under the oil, and that makes it so much easier to knead the whole area with the glands.
He feels the oil squelch under his finger tips, finally dripping through the down feathers like they should, and finally Dazai starts relaxing. Chuuya collects the oil in his fingers and drizzles it down the backs of Dazai’s wings, letting a little bit of it collect before he kneads the glands again for more.
It’s getting hard to ignore his hunger. Maybe he’s been neglecting himself too, frankly.
“Ready for dinnertime?” he asks, reaching back to slip his tail out of his pants.
“They still itch!” Dazai whines, wings fluttering helplessly.
Chuuya picks him up. The angel is absurdly light. Lighter, Chuuya thinks, than even an angel should be. “That’s part of dinner, isn’t it?” he croons, flicking his tail up to brush it across Dazai’s lip. Dazai licks at it absently, and Chuuya finally gets a proper taste of the angel’s desire.
He suppresses a shudder, but only barely.
He carries him to the – for lack of a better word – dining room. It’s full of dark pinks and reds, silk ropes and the odd sex toy arranged tastefully around the mahogany shelving. In the center, though, is the heart of the room. It’s too big to be a chaise longue, but too adeptly shaped to be a bed. It’s circular, and made of velvet cushions, and it’s so satisfying to arrange Dazai on it.
He chooses his position carefully – presentation is an integral part of the meal, after all. He spreads Dazai’s wings over the pillows, then slides a few more under his chest and hips so Dazai can bow his back and spread his legs, bent at the knees so Chuuya can see his toes curl, but he’s still supported well enough to relax.
Chuuya’s tail doesn’t need to be lubricated - it’s already slick by design, sleek and pointed, but he relishes the way the angels feathers quiver under his tail. The touch of his tail makes even the most benign touches feel like excruciating pleasure, but along Dazai’s worn, slick glands they must feel like the most glorious torture.
Dazai groans as the tail, slick with Chuuya’s magic and Dazai’s oil, slithers down to wrap around Dazai’s dick and balls and then slides inside him. It’s taken a lot of practice to get his tail this long, but this allows him to control the entire situation while he massages his fingers into Dazai’s wings.
Dazai squirms as the end of Chuuya’s tail settles on his prostate, undulating from there to the shaft in a perfect, slow roll that gets Dazai on edge in moments.
Chuuya sits back and sighs happily. With his tail inside the angel, Chuuya finally gets to drink down his aching want. He all but purrs as he slides his fingers through the feathers on the angel’s back – the glands here are smaller, but all the more sensitive when they’re touched just right.
The angel squirms under his fingers as Chuuya touches just right, perfectly in sync with his tail. He squeezes his tail where it loops around the base of the cock, and the angel whines until Chuuya milks a gratuitous helping of oil to smooth through the long, grey flight feathers. He works the oil into Dazai’s feathers one by one, keeping the oil glands busy by milking them every time his hands get dry.
With the absolutely atrocious state Dazai leaves his wings in, getting them nice and smooth all over is going to take at least eight hours, during which Chuuya’s tail will keep the angel hovering in precisely the degree of pleasure Chuuya wants him in.
Despite being the one who always comes back for this and the one who neglects his wings like this, Dazai always squirms and flaps and whines during this part of the process. Though Dazai never allows it, Chuuya asks, once again, “Would you like to be charmed while I work?”
This time, strangely, Dazai is silent at first. “Can I stay, if I let you?”
“The charm would be to your benefit, not mine,” Chuuya says, though he has to admit his blood throbs hot at the idea. His charm doesn’t do much – it’s not even as powerful as subspace. But it does leave his meal lax and blissful. It would be fascinating to work with Dazai’s wings while he drifts in that haze instead of twitching with every feather Chuuya smoothes back into place a little too firmly.
Dazai huffs a laugh. “Don’t try to lie, you’re not good at it.” Now that the idea of the charm is on the table for real, he sounds nervous about it.
“You don’t have to do it,” Chuuya says. He doesn’t like his prey nervous. He likes leaving them as stated as he is, even if they’re weakened by the energy drain.
“Does it hurt?” Dazai asks.
“No.”
“Can I wake up if I really want to?”
“I wouldn’t waste my time seducing people if you couldn’t.”
Dazai squirmed again.
“I won’t tell you when it’s happening,” Chuuya said. “I’ll just ease you into it gently.”
“Fine,” Dazai mumbles.
“Why do you want to live with me so badly?” Chuuya asks, and despite his earlier words, he already angles the stinger on his tail towards Dazai’s prostate, reaching under the angels wings to distract him by squeezing his glands firmly.
“It’s cold in my apartment. Heat’s broken, probably, but that’s not the main problem,” Dazai murmurs.
“No?” Chuuya asks. “Do you get lonely?”
“You’re the only person who makes me feel good,” Dazai murmurs, and Chuuya slides the stinger in so slowly, he’s certain Dazai doesn’t even feel a pinch. “And so I want to… to…” His eyes cross as the magic ripples through his prostate and through his body, scattering his thoughts. “Um. I wanted…” He shakes his head, trying to regain his train of thought through the magic settling in his muscles and nerves. “I felt like you might be able to make the times in between feeding a little better. With… with your apartment. It’s always… always warm. And when you eat human food it always smells so… so um… nice…”
Chuuya watches his muscles unfurl as he goes lax, and takes the oil that’s gathered into his palms and goes back to cleaning the feathers. They range from dry to crooked like someone tried to pull out a fist full to downright grimy. Chuuya thinks they might be in worse shape than usual, but Dazai doesn’t buck and squirm under him anymore.
Once his wings are in a decent shape, Chuuya will slide him from the charm to subspace easily. He keeps working. Like this, he’s attuned to every sensation in Dazai’s body, and it helps him navigate all the feathers back into place without causing Dazai any twinges. It will still burn, but Chuuya tries to channel that into a more pleasurable burn.
Dazai moans. Chuuya tries to make this feel like a proper grooming, but with added relief at just how much Chuuya’s fixing, and Dazai keens into the pillows, melting into a puddle as Chuuya soaks each individual feather into several coats of oil, alternating which gland he’s working so they don’t get too worn.
After a few hours, Dazai actually manages to fall asleep. Chuuya tries to refrain from purring in glee at the gentle mewling the angel produces in his sleep as Chuuya combs through his wings. If the charm has relaxed Dazai this much, Chuuya will take his time to make Dazai’s wings beautiful. He can never get any further than making them functional before Dazai starts getting impatient, but now he keeps working until the sun rises and well into the day before Dazai finally stirs.
“’ime is it?” he mumbles, no doubt woozy from all the things being done to his body at once.
“Past noon,” Chuuya murmurs, stroking his fingers all the way through Dazai’s silky wings.
Dazai shudders, mouth falling open at how good it feels. He shivers, trying to pull himself together long enough to inspect his wings. Chuuya flicks his tail happily inside Dazai as he watches. They’re all but shiny, feathers soft and clean. “Have you just been cleaning this whole time?” he slurs, but his mouth quickly forms a startled ‘o’ when Chuuya’s stinger stimulates his prostate again.
Getting Dazai to doze off during grooming is a good start, but it’s wasted if Chuuya doesn’t use his relaxed, sleepy state to start right into the escalation of pleasure. “It will be so easy for me to touch these now while I pleasure you,” he murmurs, reaching under Dazai’s wings to stroke the underbelly.
Dazai moans, wings spreading to give Chuuya more access. Chuuya moves his tail again and Dazai throws his head back. Chuuya grins.
He massages the underbelly of Dazai’s wings in time with his tail, and Dazai keens, toes curling so hard even his calves lift.
“My charm only gives me a little bit of power to change your sensations,” Chuuya murmurs, “but you falling asleep and letting me groom your wings all night, half the day… I’m sure it’s made your wings exquisitely sensitive.”
Dazai whimpers, head lolling onto the pillows. “Mnnn,” he manages, as though he was trying to say something but then realized it was deeply unimportant in the face of the pleasure bombarding him.
“Shall we bet you’ll drop into subspace the moment I let you come?”
“Mnnn,” Dazai protests.
“No? Should I edge you a little longer, then, to make sure?”
“No,” Dazai cries, “let me come, let me come!”
Chuuya flexes his tail so it hits every erogenous zone it’s nestled again, hands fisting in Dazai’s feathers and glands, and the angel shudders through an orgasm.
He doesn’t stand a chance. Chuuya’s tail has been working him up even in sleep and the orgasm floods him with such pleasure Chuuya almost feels overfed. He goes limp, and Chuuya can feel him sinking into subspace.
Subspace would give any partner control, but for Chuuya it’s even more of a doorway. He can stimulate any nerve, invoke any sensation anywhere in Dazai’s body with merely a thought. He could dial up the pleasure in Dazai’s body so much he’d be screaming and crying, coming time after time until his body gave out in an instant.
But Chuuya prefers a slow build and he prefers to leave his prey strong enough that he can feed from them again after they’ve rested enough. He has his favorites, after all.
He slides off Dazai’s waist and sits beside him. Chuuya’s undulating tail has left Dazai loose and slippery, and he slides two fingers in beside it with little effort. Dazai groans, but Chuuya’s stinger pulses inside his prostate and the angel goes limp with a helpless shiver.
His wings are glossier than ever, and Chuuya pets them and plays with the glands absently as he pushes in a third finger. The more he feeds, the more obvious the black crawling up his arms becomes.
The magic dripping from his tail and now his fingers too means he meets little resistance, but he takes it slow anyway, watching the way Dazai’s toes and hands flex, eyes rolling back and squeezing shut intermittently, too blissed out to chase his orgasm in earnest but craving it with his whole body.
The afternoon passes before Chuuya finally feels he’s consumed enough of Dazai’s pleasure. It’s time for desert. He pushes in a fourth finger, but Dazai barely notices it next to the constant movement of Chuuya’s tail and stinger, squeezing and pushing magic through his body as needed. He hasn’t come since he woke, but he’s too far gone to even notice.
Chuuya pushes his whole fist in, and Dazai’s sweaty body manages a sharp cry before he’s back to clutching the pillows below him and whimpering into them desperately.
Chuuya rolls his fist against where his stinger meets flesh, and Dazai keens, scrabbling for purchase. Chuuya squeezes his dick with his tail and licks where the wing meets skin.
Dazai comes with a helpless noise, and Chuuya grips the orgasm, refusing to let it abate, drawing out the orgasm until the angel is sobbing and his cock is twitching with dry attempts to come again, again…
Chuuya releases his stinger, and Dazai slumps to the side, thoroughly unconscious.
Chuuya pulls his fist out carefully, then uncoils his tail and puts it away. He drags the angel into his arms and into the bath, easing him inside and letting the warm water fill the tub around him. He seals the bathroom carefully – after all, Dazai gets cold easily if his wings get wet, and Chuuya likes him supple and sleepy after they do this.
He gets a glass of wine to wash down his meal. He’s at his most powerful like this, though the feeding has made it hard to hide his lack of humanity. His eyes are slits, his arms black to the shoulder, fingers almost claws.
It’s not Chuuya’s preferred appearance, but it means there’s not a being on Earth that could make it to Dazai while he’s weakened like this. It’ll be a few days before Dazai stops being kitten weak and fuzzy around the edges of his mind, but he knows Chuuya won’t let him out of his sight after he’s fed from Dazai.
Chuua strokes his hair out of his face, peaceful for once. An angel in his house all the time… even for a fallen angel, that would be… unconventional.
But he could keep Dazai’s wings glossy and pleased – Dazai always comes to him with such awfully dry glands that Chuuya has never been able to do the full range of things he’d like to do with a willing angel’s wing oil.
And Dazai is pretty.
And Chuuya would like some snacks every so often. Feeding all at once whenever Dazai shows up is disorienting, sometimes.
And he’d probably fuck Dazai for the hell of it, no tail involved at all.
He sighs. “If you don’t behave yourself I’m going to try to charm your brain to jelly permanently, understand?”
Dazai just slumps against him, dead asleep.
Chuuya sighs. Typical.