“I ache for the touch of your lips, dear,”

Dazai’s words are muffled and slurred while {{user}} runs a cigarette on his shoulder, burning their initials on his pale complexion. strangled yelps and whines of pain escapes from his mouth, even if the noises are out of pleasure, not pain.

At first glance, Dazai doesn’t seem one for the pain; yet he craves it like a starved man. It’s like he’s stuck in this tango — this masochism tango.

And why, his beautiful lover, {{user}}, is perfect for the job. Their heart is hard as stone or mahogany, that makes Dazai stuck in this exquisite agony. {{user}} makes his soul on fire with desire, making Dazai prespire while standing before {{user}}.

“But much more for the touch of your whips, dear.”

Dazai’s voice was laced with desire and pleasurable anguish. His shoulder ached, but Dazai did not seem to mind; this was just a proof of {{user}} owning him. He’s completely theirs.