Work Text:
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
If looks can kill, then Shizuo has just smashed his phone into tiny pieces. And it’s not the first time tonight, the poor thing is already sporting cracks on its sides where his fingers squeeze a bit too tight every time he picks it up to read a new message, like he’s doing now; brow creased in a deep frown at first, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the glaring light of the tiny screen and fingers twitching with rising agitation right before his eyebrows arch in disbelief, pupils blown large with what might have passed as surprise if it wasn’t for the warm flush spreading over his face and that vein popping on his forehead.
“It hasn’t stopped all night; looks like you’re a very popular man, Shizuo-kun!”
Shizuo regrets looking up before he’s even registered the knowing smirk on Shinra’s face and hopes the rest of his company aren’t as observant as the damned doctor is. He looks away, back down to the message displayed on the screen of his phone, before anyone else notices the look on his face – perhaps he can’t see himself, but he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and he suspects his pupils are blown wide and dark with…irritation (he will never admit to anything other than irritation, his sanity depends on that and at this rate, his sanity might soon be all he has left).
“Yeah, uhm, people are texting to say ‘happy birthday’.”
He wonders if he might have been able to fool a stranger, someone who doesn’t know him at all, a small child even, but Shinra makes sure he knows there’s at least one person who hasn’t been fooled.
“These must be some really embarrassing birthday wishes!”
He doesn’t bother look up, his eyes are glued on the digital characters staring back at him and with his friends’ voices in the back – he can hear Kadota’s dismissive ‘leave the man alone’ almost at the same moment as Shinra yelps, from a jab in the stomach no doubt, while Karisawa squeals something in the palms of her hands that he likes to pretend he can’t make out – he thinks he can almost see them flashing him a taunting grin, all razor-blade sharpness and dripping poison.
From: flea
[It’s no fun playing this game alone, Shizu-chan. After all, I happen to have slender fingers, nowhere near as thick as your cock.]
He swallows and it’s like his throat is constricted, almost aching at the effort it takes to get the muscles to obey his mind. His fingers itch to make contact with the keyboard, but he knows the moment he gives in, he’s lost. When the next message is received, the vibration feels like electricity coursing through his body.
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[If you keep ignoring me, I will have to come over to Russia sushi and spoil your little dinner party.]
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[Or maybe I’ll send a few gangs to deliver my wishes.]
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[Better still, I might just send the police to arrest you and your dear friend, the Black Rider.]
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[What should I set you up for this time, Shizu-chan? Would you like to see how wild my imagination is?]
If the bastard is getting vicious already, then he must be really bored. The worst thing is that Shizuo has a pretty good idea how wild – say twisted – his imagination is and he’d rather not test him; he wouldn’t put it beneath the louse to ruin his birthday like that.
To: flea
[Can’t chat. Shut up.]
There is a moment of silence that almost tastes like peace, but it’s over too soon.
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[In that case, maybe I’ll come over there so you can shut me up. I’ll just crawl under the table on my hands and knees]
He knows where this is going and Shinra’s giggles in the background don’t help at all.
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[unzip your fly while you’re having dinner with your friends]
Damn the bloody pest!
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[pull that long thick cock out]
Fuck!
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[flick my tongue over the head, flushed and swollen and weeping pre-cum disgustingly sweet like all the trash you eat]
The fucker never texts him at all, not even to say ‘hi’ when he’s so deep in the shit he calls ‘work’ that he has to disappear for weeks, but of course he has to torment him tonight, with all their friends gathered around the same table. Shizuo knows that the best way to deal with this is to turn the phone off and let Izaya boil in his own boredom-inflicted frustration. But his finger refuses to listen to him, and perhaps it’s for the best, perhaps his body knows Izaya better than his mind does, perhaps his skin has been imprinted with the knowledge that a bored to frustration flea is like a tragedy waiting to happen and he wants no tragedies tonight, especially not the kind that show up uninvited, all taunting smirks and cutting comments.
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[maybe I’ll slide a finger inside your ass while sucking you dry, I think you’d like that]
The voices around him are engaged in a conversation about something that Shizuo can’t exactly identify, not because he’s not familiar with the subject (he has no idea what the subject is, really) but because his brain is shutting down any ‘unnecessary’ functions as his blood surges and pools in his groin. Izaya had offered him the chance to spend this night with him, but Shizuo had turned him down, choosing to celebrate with his friends instead. A night of unromantic sex with a lousy bastard who would be out the door and probably plotting his murder the moment his lust was spent seemed like an unhealthy choice, to say the least. Right now though he wishes he had taken him up on his offer; he could be home with Izaya sprawled out underneath him, naked and flushed and panting, a sweaty mess of stuttering ‘Shizu-chan’s and blunt nails scraping down his back hard enough to draw blood, desperate, needy, beautiful, pure… That’s the only time when the insect looks pure, that’s the only kind of purity Shizuo can expect from him; the kind that he can lick off milky white skin, the kind that he can suck in angry red blots until Izaya can no longer breathe, writhing underneath him with teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut.
Vzzzzz…vzzzzz…vzzzzz
From: flea
[Your friends would have no idea that I’m sucking your balls and fucking you with my fingers while they’re having dinner at the same table]
To: flea
[OUR friends. Cut it out.]
Izaya doesn’t comment on the possessive pronoun, the louse probably doesn’t even bother read the text, but just goes on with whatever this thing he’s doing is supposed to be.
[I bet you would come screaming my name, Shizu-chan]
There’s no reason why this should be any more embarrassing than the rest of the obscene strings of text that have been blipping on the tiny screen of Shizuo’s phone all night, but somehow it is and somehow the device disintegrates in Shizuo’s hand, offers a rough crack before dropping to the floor in pieces. Shizuo is too busy growling like an irate beast to register the silence that has taken over the booth where he is seated with his friends, but the emergency is dealt with successfully by Celty who clearly knows too much if she has foreseen the disaster and bought him a new phone for his birthday; a sturdy device which she practically shoves in his hand while flashing a nervous [Happy birthday!] on her PDA. And as quickly as it appeared, the anger dissipates. The new phone remains on the table, off, the whole night, and Izaya doesn’t show up to ruin the party; he’s probably watching through his binoculars from a distance and laughing his ass off, is all Shizuo can think for the rest of the night, and the thought is enough for his brain to fill with the louse’s scent – more like stench – and the ugly smirk that haunts him night and day.
*
He’s not entirely surprised to find his door unlocked when he finally returns home, only it’s much later than he had expected it to be and he has made the mistake of hoping that no vermin will be up so late in the night – is torturing him so entertaining that Izaya would gladly sacrifice his sleep on a weekday? Sometimes, when he returns home to find his lock miraculously unlocked, he is overcome with the urge to announce that he has arrived, as if he expects a comforting figure to emerge from the bedroom in sweats, with dishevelled hair and sleepy eyes. In this fantasy world of his, the sleepy eyes are a soft crimson and they are matched by a tender mouth curved in a welcoming smile, warm and unguarded, the way it could only exist in his imagination. The thought unnerved him at first, filled his chest with a dull ache and the persistent question mark of why him; why did he have to fantasize about the shitty flea when there were no boundaries in his imagination? Why couldn’t he fantasize about a nice pretty girl? Or a boy for that matter, it’s not so much the gender that frustrates him, he hardly ever thinks about such details, it’s that crimson that pulls his world apart. He doesn’t bother with the question anymore; the louse is the only lover he’s ever had, perhaps it’s normal that he should be the only person Shizuo can associate with anything intimate, even if he still hates his guts – and he does. Half the day he fantasizes about smashing the insect’s face in – oh, how handsome the creep would look with Shizuo’s hands around his neck, squeezing the life out of him! – and then he returns home to fantasize about receiving a welcome peck from those poisonous lips – and his hands move from that neck to the small, almost feminine, waist of that skinny body. He tries not to think about it too much.
The light is on in his kitchen and he knows for a fact that he didn’t leave it on before heading out that morning. There is not a single sound in the apartment, but Shizuo knows too well that the damned flea can be quiet to a fault when he wants to – namely, when he wants to sneak up to someone, stalk someone, or do any other of the creepy, downright infuriating things fleas do. He takes his shoes off, drops his keys on the coffee table in the living room – Shizu-chan is messy! How do you ever find anything in this dump? Or is your sense of smell heightened, like a dog’s? – and rubs his face with his palm, reluctant to take those few steps that will bring him face to face with a fantasy twisted into a nightmare. He has half a mind to ignore the louse, to just head straight to his bedroom, strip out of his clothes and go to bed with all the good memories of a night out with his friends, but he knows Izaya would take the opportunity to stab him in his sleep and perhaps set the apartment on fire for good measure. And it’s not like he’s completely against the idea of adding the memory of Izaya coming undone beneath him to the sum before he closes his eyes for the night. He’s just not willing to play the games – the mindfuck – that go hand in hand with every single encounter with his enemy-turned-lover. Lover; the word sticks in his mind and refuses to let go. Do words carry a meaning of their own, or is it all attributed through experience? Shizuo would say that ‘lovers’ means intimacy, perhaps even love, but if not that then certainly a level of caring. If that is so, then it doesn’t apply to them – it doesn’t apply to this – but then again nothing does. Perhaps there is no word for what’s happening between them, perhaps no one ever needed a word to describe this because no one else ever experienced this. The thought is ridiculous and he shakes his head to dismiss it; to identify this as something unique is to pretend that it actually is unique, when it’s not. It’s ugly and hateful and a total embarrassment when his friends are so clearly on to him and he has nothing more to offer than an unconvincing ‘I hate him’.
“I am not going away, Shizu-chaaaan~”
He hates the way his name is turned into a perverted musical tune in that mouth and makes sure to let the louse know how irritating his voice sounds by grumbling an annoyed ‘shut up’ as he finally steps into the kitchen. If he dares admit that this is the way he imagined his birthday would look like, he’ll have to punch himself to unconsciousness afterwards, hoping to god that his inhuman strength will give him a bad enough concussion to erase every memory of that thought from his brain. So instead he shushes it all with a growl.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, evidently.”
Izaya is perched upon the kitchen counter in his jeans, V-neck and coat, despite having been in the apartment for hours already, knees bent and socked feet flat against the edge of the counter. His arms are spread out and he stretches himself like a cat, the motion pulling his V-neck up and revealing perfect pale skin over flexible muscles. There’s a fancy piece of cake on his left, in a plate that’s none of the chipped ones in Shizuo’s cupboards, with a candle that’s completely burnt on top of it – burnt and melted on the seemingly delicious chocolate topping. The sight makes Shizuo angry for no particular reason; he has already had his cake, bought by his friends with all the love they bear for him, and he was not expecting a cake from the louse anyway – he would never eat anything that this scumbag gave him, not unless he wanted to die of poisoning.
“And why the fuck are you sitting on my kitchen counter, flea?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… Why the fuck this and why the fuck that… Didn’t your mother teach you how to speak properly?”
It takes effort not to smash his fist in that judgemental know-it-all face, but Shizuo chooses to take a step closer and grab a skinny ankle with the intention of pulling the louse’s feet off the counter instead. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to put your filthy feet where people eat?” Before his brain can decide whether he should apply enough strength to shatter the bone under his fingers or not, there’s a leg snaking around his waist and pulling him closer, startling him enough to let go of the ankle in his hand and allow that leg to join the other one, hugging him tightly from behind and forcing him close – close enough for Izaya’s giggle to send warm gusts of air in Shizuo’s face. They share a moment of silence there, just staring at each other, challenging crimson taunting scowling mocha, before Shizuo speaks again. “I’ve warned you about picking my lock.”
It’s supposed to be a threat, but Izaya’s mischievous grin suggests it’s not very scary. He squirms a bit, effectively grinding his hips against Shizuo’s and drawing a disgruntled grunt from the blond’s lips, before he produces a key from his right pocket. “I didn’t pick your lock; I unlocked it!”
“What the…!” Shizuo almost crushes the bony fingers holding up the key as he grabs for it and it’s a good thing Izaya lets go without a struggle or else he might have to spend the rest of the night at Shinra’s getting a cast for a broken arm. The louse has the nerve to shrug indifferently at Shizuo’s incredulity.
“You don’t like me picking your lock” as if that explains why the psychopath went and made a key for that lock, without asking for permission! “Besides, there’s a sense of…domesticity in carrying a spare key to your apartment, which I thought you’d appreciate.”
Domesticity? Appreciate??? The key collapses into a shapeless mass in Shizuo’s palm and just what the fuck is this bastard insinuating??? “Why the fuck would I want a domesticated insect infecting my house?” He didn’t mean to shout, he swears he didn’t, but Izaya’s lips curl into a smirk that tells him perhaps he didn’t shout loud enough.
“That’s not very nice, Shizu-chan! I went out of my way to buy a cake for you -”
“Only to let it go to ruins!”
“It’s not my fault you weren’t here to blow your candle!”
It’s not like he expects to hear anything that makes sense coming out of that mouth, but the nonchalant attitude of the shitty flea grates on Shizuo’s nerves and makes him want to wring that neck, just for the fun of it.
“You could have waited until I was here to light the damned candle!”
“You could have been here when I arrived”, an enticing smile highlights those words and sends Shizuo’s heart in a stutter. Taking a step back to put an end to the warmth that dares wash over him, skinny limps untangling from around his waist as some space is forced between their bodies, Shizuo notices a take-out sushi box abandoned at the other end of the counter and his irritation reaches a new peak.
“You picked my lock -”
“Unlocked it” Izaya corrects him with a shake of his head.
“You broke into my house to have dinner on your own in my kitchen?”
“This is not a house” the vermin scrunches his nose with distaste, “it’s a dump. And I was tired and hungry, and you were away with those losers you call friends, there was nothing eatable in your fridge…", sighs, "I’ve had a long day.”
The anger dissipates halfway through that lame explanation and Shizuo is left staring at him in disbelief – there is something seriously screwed up in that head if any of that sounds normal to the fool.
“You were invited to have dinner with us.” It’s not something he was supposed to know, as Izaya’s amused look reminds him, but of course Shinra made sure he was informed of that little detail.
“I am not your friend, Shizu-chan.”
The way the word ‘friend’ is spat at him, Shizuo remembers that other term that Celty had once used while trying to get him to explain the situation to her: ‘friends with benefits’. It hadn’t taken him long to decide; this term doesn’t apply to them either. They are not friends with benefits, simply because they are not friends – never have been, never will be. Enemies with benefits, maybe, but is that even an actual term? He doesn’t care. It’s late and he has to work in the morning, and the way Izaya spits that word makes him feel like a total failure and an idiot for fantasizing about those lips around his cock all night. Izaya was just trying to ruin his dinner, the man is a tease and nothing more than that, and Shizuo doesn’t really marvel in the thought of having sex with a man who is disgusted at the sheer possibility of ever being friends with Ikebukuro’s monster. He turns to leave, to go to bed and erase this whole meeting from his memory, mumbling a gruff “take your crap and get lost”. Not that he expects the bane of his existence to comply with his wishes, but he still makes the mistake of hoping against hope occasionally.
“Oh no, Shizu-chaaaan~” the insect follows him into the bedroom, shrugs his coat off his shoulders and lets it land on the floor in a heap, “I have spent too long alone in this rat hole, you owe me a bit of fun.”
“Not my problem, flea. I’m not interested. Now get lost.”
He’s learnt all the warning signs by now, he knows exactly which curve of Izaya’s lips means trouble, how narrow his eyes get when he gets consumed by anger (it’s amusing and almost comforting that the louse gets consumed by rage just like Shizuo does, even if he’s better at controlling it), how sharp his tone is when his words aim at drawing blood… What surprises him this time is the fact that there are no warning signs; as if Izaya can’t care enough to take offence at the blatant rejection. Instead, he walks over to the bed and lies down on it, lifting his shirt to reveal a tight stomach, and unzipping his fly. Shizuo swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight and makes sure his next words come out as an irate grumble.
“Great, now I’ll have to change my sheets as well before lying in bed.”
“Oh, hush, Shizu-chan~” Izaya’s voice comes out breathless and Shizuo allows his gaze to drop down to the bastard’s unfastened jeans. The stretch of tender skin and inky pubic hair combined with the slow but steady pull of bony fingers underneath the expensive fabric of Izaya’s black jeans knocks the floor under his feet, sends waves of shock down his groin and makes his hands ball into fists automatically. Izaya’s eyes are watching him, heavy lidded with lust, and Shizuo finds he has forgotten how to breathe. He feels like making the louse beg for it, but his body doesn’t wait for an invitation; he only realizes he’s moved when his knees sink in the mattress, on Izaya’s side. There are no words exchanged, he knows exactly what the flea wants and Izaya is aware of the fact that he doesn’t need to vocalize his expectations. The black jeans are violently tugged off wiry legs and the bed creaks as bodies shift on it, limbs tangled and sheets kicked aside. A hand reaches for the lube on the nightstand – whether it’s his or Izaya’s, Shizuo has absolutely no idea, it might as well have been some stranger serving as audience, he’d hardly notice – and his fingers are doused in a generous amount of the clear liquid before reaching down, between spread apart and hooked over his broad shoulders legs, to find that tight hole that twitches shamelessly at his touch. Izaya jolts and giggles at the coldness invading him, but the giggle turns into a guttural moan soon enough, erupting from his thin parted lips and filling the room. It’s the same every single time; it only takes Shizuo a fraction of a second to lose himself in desire, to drown all his hesitation in pure, honest lust and jump head first in this madness that is Izaya panting and moaning underneath him. The flea’s bony fingers keep working his erection hungrily while Shizuo’s fingers prod and scissor and open him up. Further touches are not necessary and they both make sure not to indulge in them for any reason. Shizuo does crave for them most of the time; he fantasizes about nipping on the louse’s collarbones while fucking him with his fingers, licking the shell of his ear and dragging his fingers down the ribcage outlined under alabaster skin while his cock stretches Izaya to incoherency, but every single time he’s tried to touch/kiss/hold/caress the shitty flea he gets a taunting ‘I’m not your girlfriend, remember?’ in response, and even though he knows it’s first and foremost a tease, it still makes him want to crush every single bone in the vermin’s skinny body (sometimes he thinks he could have the most intense orgasm in his life pounding inside the flea while at the same time breaking his bones, and the fact that his mind would even consider that scares him enough to make him shut out the thought of touching his enemy at all). Izaya’s hand moves fast and his eyes are shut, lips slightly parted to pant with an urgency that is met by Shizuo’s rough scissoring. It seems his frustration has built up through the evening and Shizuo is vaguely aware of the fact that his fuck buddy (nah, buddy is just another way to say friends and they are not friends) is just trying to get off, quick and impersonal, so he can walk away with little regard for his partner’s frustration (funnily enough, that seems to be the most acceptable term; partners in crime is what they could be said to be). He grabs both the flea’s skinny wrists and pins them against the bed, just over raven hair, ignoring the whimper the lack of friction draws from Izaya’s lips, and spreads the legs that are braced over his shoulders even wider to position himself between them. He’s seen this scene play out too many times by now, but he still can’t make up his mind as to what is the most paralyzing element: is it the sensation of being swallowed up by Izaya’s tight and warm and fucking amazing hole? (He tries hard, every single time, to not allow the thought of being ‘connected’ with the fucking louse, of the two of them melting into one, to taint this moment of bliss.) Or is it the image of Izaya tossing his head back, eyes squeezed shut and lips stretched in a silent ‘o’, fingers clenching tight, currently intertwined to channel the tension from one hand to the other since Shizuo’s steady hold won’t allow them to get hold of the sheets? The right answer is who cares. Who cares when the fucking flea is falling apart in throaty, stuttered moans, shaking with pleasure as Shizuo sets a pace of rough thrusts while holding on to those frail wrists with bruising force. It feels good, too good, and he’ll have the whole night to regret every second of it after it’s all over and Izaya is gone.
“L-let…g-go, Shiiiiz -”
“Shut up!”
The stammer in Izaya’s words sends shivers down Shizuo’s spine and he hates the effect. Of course, the louse is too observant to miss it.
“It’s n-not en-aaaah!-en-nough, Shizu-chaaan~”
“I said shut the fuck up!” He squeezes the bony wrists under his fingers enough to get Izaya’s brow to crease with pain, at the same time picking up the pace and drinking in the moans that spill from those poisonous lips – pain and pleasure mingling into one delicious mix. He’s not allowed to enjoy it for long as the moans evolve into giggles – how can anyone giggle so fucking much during sex, Shizuo will never understand.
“T-touch – ah! Owww, Sh-shizu~ Tttouch me!”
“I am not your dildo, louse! It’s not all just about you!”
More giggling and a flash of danger in that crimson gaze. “N-not a di–ngh!-dil-do, just my p-personal…who-re~”
“Keep your fucking mouth shut!” Shizuo slams his fist on the mattress gaining even more giggles that he silences by grabbing the bastard’s face and forcing it on the side against the sheets so that he no longer has to look at it. It must be uncomfortable the way Izaya’s neck is twisted, but that doesn’t stop him from taunting the man who is forcing him down on the sheets.
“You know h-how to shut me up.”
“As if I’d fucking kiss you, snake!” He’s heard this before, this taunt – or is it a plea? – for a kiss and he’s proud of the fact that he’s never given in. He doesn’t know what the shitty flea tastes like and he doesn’t wish to find out – if he has to be honest, the possibility of enjoying it terrifies him more than the thought of Izaya pulling a switchblade out and castrating him there and then. Izaya doesn’t seem offended, like he never has before either, he just laughs in between moans and whimpers, lacing his fingers together and clutching at nothing but air.
The flea is always the one bottoming, even though he’s often offered to let Shizuo experience an orgasm ‘so intense he’d be unable to move for hours’ – it sounds like something he can live without, especially if he has to be at the receiving end with a psychopathic bastard taking control of the situation. Shizuo has no doubt Izaya actually means that part about the paralyzing orgasm. The flea is always the first one to come undone, and it’s not like he lacks the stamina or the experience – in fact, he must be the most experienced between them. It wasn’t the same at first, when they’d just jerk each other off or, less often, blow each other. When it comes to fucking, Izaya is hypersensitive and his orgasms are always loud explosions of inarticulate cries, ragged panting and trembling limbs that leave him a boneless mess, struggling to throw his clothes on and disappear into the night. Intense, to say the least of it. Fucking hot and a truly bewitching sight, if only it wasn’t followed by an empty bed every single time.
Shizuo shrugs the skinny legs off his shoulders and uses his free hand to hook them around his waist as he leans down against the body beneath him - Izaya is on fire and his hard-on digs into Shizuo’s stomach. He knows the friction between their bodies will be enough to pull loose every string keeping the flea anchored to coherency, and starts pounding hard inside him, tightening his hold on those fragile wrists and panting hard near the louse’s ear. The room is alive with noise; the bed creaking, Izaya moaning and crying out with every rough thrust, skin slapping on skin and Shizuo grunting desperately. The louse is close, Shizuo can tell even before he starts begging to be touched, breathing his enemy’s name, or as many syllables of it as can get past his clenched teeth, and it doesn’t take long for his pleas to be answered. It doesn’t take more than a couple of rough tugs and Izaya is arching off the bed, his eyes probably rolling back behind his eyelids, mouth open and voice loud and lewd. Shizuo doesn’t realize he’s loosened his hold on the flea’s wrists until he feels a hand snaking up his arm, blunt fingernails digging in his skin desperately, while another set of fingers force his own apart, claiming the space between them and squeezing tight. He stops moving, less out of concern for the louse and the hypersensitivity that takes over after an orgasm and more out of surprise as he’s left staring at their intertwined fingers; Izaya’s hand pressed lightly against the bed as Shizuo’s is fitted perfectly on top of it. His eyes travel the small distance to the louse’s face only to be captivated by a pure, unguarded expression. It’s not a beautiful one, that’s not the reason he feels enchanted by it, it’s simply an honest one and when it’s the flea we’re talking about, honest is all it takes for Shizuo to find himself paralyzed and at a loss for words. He’s still frozen, mouth agape and expression too soft for a beast, as Izaya likes to call him, when crimson eyes finally flutter open and of course it only takes a second for Izaya to see the whole of that thought process projected on his face and to burst out laughing.
“I think Shizu-chan has fallen in love!”
If he was hard before, Shizuo has definitely gone limp now. “You wish.” He pulls out and jumps out of bed hoping the shitty bastard will choke on his laughter. “You got what you came for, now fuck off.” There’s nothing stopping Izaya from laughing his heart out now, but Shizuo decides he doesn’t have to stick around and listen to him. “I’m going to take a shower; make sure you’re out of ‘bukuro by the time I’m out. And make yourself useful: change the sheets before you bugger off, I can’t sleep in a bed that stinks like you.” He disappears in the bathroom without waiting to hear if the fucking flea will catch his breath or choke on another fit of hysterical laughter.
The water is lukewarm, but Shizuo is actually glad for that. He steps under the shower trying to shut out any sound from the rest of the apartment, not wanting to hear Izaya walk out one more time. He should have known that the unguarded expression on the louse’s face was nothing but an aftereffect of his orgasm – of course he’d be as vicious as ever the moment he opened his eyes to the real world again! He’s supposed to know this bastard and yet he keeps making stupid mistakes like that. The worst thing is, Izaya will never let him forget it, just like he hasn’t let him forget any of the previous times that he got carried away and allowed himself to have an honest reaction in the insect’s presence. He does not scream, whisper or even think of the louse’s name when he comes! It happened once – once! But he will never be allowed to forget it! Izaya had laughed his ass off that night and Shizuo had chased him around the apartment and down the stairs screaming that he was going to rip his fucking head off, but in the end he’d had to give up and go hide in his bedroom, swearing to every god out there that next time he saw the flea he was going to make good on his promise. Clearly, he never did. He stays under the shower long enough for the water to go cold and his body to start shivering – he feels that this somehow cleanses him, peels Izaya’s touches, Izaya’s warmth, Izaya’s lingering scent off his skin and leaves him clean and free again. It never fails to disappoint him, the sight of an empty bed after Izaya has disappeared, and yet he swears he has no interest in actually spending the night with him. It’s just that he misses the human contact, not with the flea, just the concept in general. Truth is, he never expected to even have this much in his life - someone to share an orgasm with between tangled sheets – but now that he’s been granted as much, he can’t help but desire more. It must feel good to have someone snuggled next to him in bed and it kills him that he will – most probably – never know. He steps out of the shower with a sigh, bracing himself for the coldness of an empty room but –
“I almost changed the sheets, but then I thought the fresh ones would still stink like me since I’m going to sleep in them, so why bother?” Izaya has taken his V-neck off and is reclining against the tangled sheets on the bed, rubbing his wrists that are turning a bright red. “This is going to bruise badly, you know”, he glances up to highlight the scolding tone in his voice, but his lips curl in a mischievous smirk that steals away any severity those words are supposed to carry. “Perhaps I should visit Shinra tomorrow, for that physical he’s been nagging me about!” If it’s a threat, Shizuo doesn’t look particularly moved by it. Shinra was probably the first one to work this out anyway, perhaps he had seen it coming long before it had actually started. Either way, he is too stunned to care. “Shut your mouth, Shizu-chan, this is not a very pretty sight!”
He obeys, shuts his mouth with a click and paces hesitantly around the other side of the bed, forgetting about the fact that he’s stark naked, his damp towel swiping the floor as he drags it around in his hand. “Why the fuck are you still here?!”
Izaya grins like he was expecting this question – no, not just expecting it, but wishing for it. “I came all the way to Ikebukuro to wish you an unhappy birthday, I couldn’t leave before delivering my wishes!”
Really, what was he expecting? Shizuo throws the towel aside and climbs on the bed on his knees, intent on strangling the damned louse and dumping his body in a trash can, but Izaya is faster; he leans forward and grabs Shizuo’s balls, rolling them in his palm with a sly smirk before squatting down and taking the still limp cock in his mouth. No mouth so vile should ever be allowed to feel so good! Half an hour later they’re both sprawled out on the bed, spent and satisfied, Shizuo smoking a cigarette and Izaya fidgeting like the insect he is.
“Are you gonna fuck off now? Some of us have to work in the morning.”
As if to answer his question, Izaya slides down the bed, making himself comfortable as he tangles his legs with Shizuo’s. “I start work earlier than you do, Shizu-chan. And I’m not going anywhere; I’ve had a long day, it’s late and I’m tired.”
“What’s the matter flea, you wanna cuddle?” Shizuo chuckles as he speaks the words through a cloud of smoke, but some part of him silently wishes that was the case. Izaya’s sharp smirk shatters that illusion fast enough.
“I just want to make you miserable! It seems to me sleeping in your bed is a good start!”
Crushing his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, Shizuo slides down the bed himself, noting how small the mattress is and how close their bodies are on it. “If you kick me in your sleep, I’ll break your legs.”
Izaya’s shoulder brushes against Shizuo’s chest as the flea shifts his weight to turn on his side, facing the blond, and snake a hand around his side and up his back, pressing lightly against a protruding shoulder blade and essentially bringing the two of them even closer. Shizuo thinks he’s hallucinating as he watches that crimson gaze lean closer, curious irises studying him as their lips are brought together in a soft kiss, nothing but a light touch of skin on skin and the louse doesn’t taste bad at all. Then the raven head dives down on the mattress, face pressed against warm tanned skin and breath stuttering in a giggle.
“Unhappy birthday, Shizu-chan~”
“Shut up, flea.”