Chuuya's back was beautiful.

All the fine, hard muscles there, flexing and quivering under his freckled skin. His tendons, moving those gorgeous masses of muscle over his arching spine and restless shoulder blades which protrude like angel's wings when Chuuya squirms and pushes his body with his arms. His shoulders, rising and falling sharply and unsteadily with heavy, panting breaths and choked moans of pleasure. And that sensitive neck, scrunching and erupting in goosebumps when Dazai folds his body over Chuuya to mouth hungrily at the warm, flushed flesh, already abused by his tongue and teeth.

"Ngh, O-samu...." Chuuya huffs, his voice ragged between strangled noises. He sounds vaguely frustrated. Osamu hums in response, snapping his hips forward in practiced, repeated motions. His lips drag along the nape of Chuuya's neck, biting there yet again. Chuuya grunts.

"Dammit...!" Chuuya growls, shifting with only minor difficulty. The washing machine whirled beneath them so fast it vibrated, sending subtle reverberations through Chuuya's chest where it was pressed flush to the partially glass lid on top of it.

"Why'd you have to... do it here--ah!" Chuuya drops his head down onto the washing machine with a thump, his frame shuddering as Osamu changes the angle of his hips and grips Chuuya's waist tighter. "My feet d-don't even touch the fucking gr-ound! You couldn't haahhn~ Fuck, you couldn't have con-trolled yourself, ba-bastard?"

Osamu smothers his smile into Chuuya's warm, sweaty skin. "Ha, it's cause you're so short, Chuuya. The washing machine isn't that tall. And as for not controlling myself? Hm," He nuzzles Chuuya's hair with a satisfied sigh, his breath only slightly labored from the pleasure his husband's body was giving him. "You just looked so cute doing laundry... like a true house husband."