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The first time Izaya sees Shizuo isn’t when Shinra introduces them, for all the credit he’ll take for it later. No, it’s earlier than that. It’s when he’s standing fifty feet above the ground, watching the crush of humanity pile into school on the first day of classes.

Izaya laughs now, because Shizuo was almost just another face in the crowd, albeit one rebelling against dress code. Just another human to watch from afar. No, that’s not quite right. He marked himself as special from day one, didn’t he? He did what no one else milling around on the front steps had the awareness to do.

He looked up.

Izaya will swear for years that they locked eyes, that he knew, in that moment. Because no one looks up. Even those that feel his eyes on them turn side-to-side, spinning themselves in circles like dogs chasing their own tails. It never occurs to them to look up, their tiny lizard brain tells them the threat must be nearby, on the ground. Stupid, the lot of them

But Heiwajima Shizuo looks straight at him, like he knew he was there the whole time. Izaya can feel the weight of his eyes as they settle on him. If he smiles, that’s no one’s business but his.

The second time, Shinra has finally caved to increasingly unsubtle hints to introduce him to his elementary school friends. And Shizuo’s made himself nice and visible on the soccer field, how kind of him! It’s like he knew Shinra was looking for him. No, it’s like he knew Izaya was looking for him, wrote him a love letter of carnage and bodies.

“He’s not always like this,” Shinra says, leaning against the stack of mats that Izaya’s sitting on. “He’s usually quite calm.”

There’s a dull thud as Shizuo hits someone with his pole, another as they land limply some feet away.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Izaya says, looking out across the bodies littering the field. He doesn’t want to believe him, at any rate.

“No, no! Really!” Shinra says, a bit of a laugh in his voice. “I’m sure you two will get along famously!”

That Izaya agrees with.

The soccer net Shizuo was swinging around as a weapon lands with a final crash against the soccer field, kicking up some dust. But he’s not facing them, hasn’t looked their way at all. Now that won’t do .

Izaya’s first clap sounds like a gunshot in the silence over the field. The next is less shocking, but it pulls Shizuo’s attention like a magnet.

That’s when the monster in the middle of the field finally catches sight of them.

“This is Orihara Izaya from my middle school,” Shinra says, helpfully, intrusively, pulling Shizuo’s eyes from Izaya to Shinra. “Well, he’s not that good a person, maybe I should say he’s a horrible person.”

“You’re so mean, Shinra.” Look at me, you idiot.

“No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Shinra says, laughing. He probably doesn’t, the idiot. He wouldn’t know a social skill if it bit him in the ass.

“I don’t like him,” Shizuo says, twenty feet away, eyes heavy on Izaya again.

“Huh?” Shinra says. But Shinra’s stupid, can’t read an atmosphere for the life of him. Can’t tell when he’s not wanted.

“Oh?” Izaya says, not terribly surprised. He’s smiling, can’t help it, probably showing too many teeth. He doesn’t care, he’s leaning back to tug his switchblade out of his waistband, twisting it into his palm. “That’s too bad. I think I could have some fun with you.”

“Shut up.” Shizuo’s stalking closer.

“Don’t say that, Shizuo-kun,” Izaya drags his name out long, stretching the syllables. That seems to enrage Shizuo more; his pace increases, his fingers curl into a fist. Izaya can see the punch coming a mile away; subtlety clearly isn’t Shizuo’s speciality. Before Shizuo even draws his hand back all the way, Izaya’s moving, tensing his legs under him, shifting his feet ever so slightly, but he doesn’t leap until the very last second, lets the fist swing past and unbalance Shizuo. His knife is in his palm, but he doesn’t release it until he’s in motion, until he’s pulling his arm back for a slash. The blade flips free of the handle as easily as it always has, cuts through the fabric of Shizuo’s shirt and his skin with minimal resistance.

“See, this is fun, isn’t it?” Izaya says, sing-song and taunting. He’s still smiling, and now he knows he’s showing far too many teeth, looking a bit manic.

At first, Shizuo doesn’t look hurt. If anything, he looks shocked, as if he can’t quite connect the blood on Izaya’s blade to the cut on his chest. But Izaya can pinpoint the moment he does. Shizuo’s face drops, it’s not a smile, not by any real measurement. There’s no joy in it. It’s more comparable to an animal baring its teeth, ready to attack, eyes are wild above it, nothing human about it. His muscles are tensing like he’s about to pounce. It’s animalistic and primitive and it should be terrifying.

Izaya can feel the adrenaline kicking in, his heart racing, his breathing coming faster.

He turns on his heel and runs, folding his knife into his pocket as he goes. He can tell by the footsteps behind him that Shizuo follows, can tell where he is by the trashcans he doesn’t avoid and knocks over. He runs along streets that fade under his feet, twists along sharp turns. His lungs begin to burn, his breath scratching and catching in his throat. But this is the most fun he’s had in ages, he can’t possibly stop now.

He leads Shizuo around the streets of Tokyo, dodging the occasion trashcan, weaving around traffic, that is until his luck turns sour and he’s in a dead end, brick wall rising feet too far above his head to even think of climbing.

It’s like a bad movie, the way Shizuo is framed in the light from the street, casting a shadow over the road. Over Izaya. He comes closer slowly, each step calculated. Izaya can see the moment he knows his prey is trapped, when he bares his teeth and his eyes go wild.

Izaya is acutely aware of the weight of his knife in his pocket; his fingers twitch with the ache to wrap around the safety of the hilt.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he smirks, lets his eyes go half-lidded. Pretends that his heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest.

“You’ve caught me now, Shizuo-kun,” he says, licking his lips. “What’cha gonna do with me?”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Shizuo says, drawing his fist back. Izaya can see the trajectory of it, leans out of the way, feels chunks of cement graze his cheek as Shizuo’s fist embeds itself in the wall behind him.

Izaya fists his hand in the tatters of Shizuo’s ruined shirt, lets Shizuo’s own trajectory and momentum bring them closer together until he crushes their mouths together, chests pressed close.

For a long second, two, three, it’s just two mouths pressed together, Shizuo stiff and rigid. Izaya brings a hand up and fists it in Shizuo’s hair, tugging sharply until Shizuo opens his mouth to protest, and Izaya’s in. He bites sharply down on Heiwajima’s lower lip, sucks it gently before running his tongue along Shizuo’s teeth.

Shizuo makes a noise in his throat before trying to shove at Izaya’s tongue with his own, pressing his face closer like that’ll help anything, crushing his nose against Izaya’s cheek. Izaya lets him chase his tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it gently when it gets there. Shizuo makes another noise, this one less confused and more wanting, a lower register altogether. Izaya angles one knee up and in, pressing gently with his thigh until— bingo. Shizuo presses in closer, hips moving slightly and rhythmically. Probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, animal that he is, rutting ingrained into his instincts. Izaya scrapes his teeth against Shizuo’s tongue at the same time he uses his nails to dig in at the cut on Shizuo’s chest, can feel dried blood scrape up underneath his fingernails.

“What the fuck?” Shizuo pulls back, shock quickly becoming anger. “What was that for?”

“We should get that checked out,” Izaya says idly. “It might scar, otherwise. Wouldn’t want that, would we?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side. “Unless you want my mark on you forever? Wouldn’t that be romantic!”

“What the fuck!” Shizuo’s pulling away entirely, pulling his fist out of the wall.

“To Shinra’s, I suppose,” Izaya says, taking a right at the end of the alleyway. “He doesn’t live far from here. Likes to play doctor, too.”

“Why the fuck do you need to go?” Shizuo says even as he follows Izaya like a lost puppy.

“You’re too rough with your toys, look what you did to me,” Izaya says, showing off the myriad of cuts and scrapes littering his hands. “You’ll need to be more gentle in the future.”

“Who says there’s gonna be a future?” Shizuo grumbles.

“Did you not like it, Shizuo-kun?” Izaya says, stopping and spinning on his heel. Shizuo almost crashes into him, reeling back at the last moment to stop a collision. “You sure seemed to.” Izaya lets his gaze drop meaningfully down, below the waist. “Is it because I didn’t finish you off? I can.” Izaya stretches a hand out, but Shizuo skitters away like Izaya’s something dangerous. “Maybe another time.” Izaya spins around again, takes one step, two, before Shizuo’s heavier footstep trail behind.

It’s a short trip to Shinra’s place, but the sky is dark by the time they get there. They traveled far, almost out of Ikebukuro. The elevator ride to Shinra’s floor is quiet, with Shizuo staunchly avoiding Izaya’s eyes, pretending like he’s the only one in the space, like the gentle hum of the motor is the only sound. How rude .

“You don’t have to like me, you know,” Izaya says at last. “That’s not what it’s about.”

Shizuo’s eyes snap to him. “Not what what’s about?”

“Sex, of course.”

“That’s exactly what it’s about!” Shizuo shouts, working himself into a snit. Izaya steps closer into his space, chest to chest until Shizuo is forced to look down to see him.

“You seemed perfectly willing a few moments ago, hm? So which is it? Do you like me or is it not about that?”

“I— I—” Shizuo splutters, face going red.

There’s a small ding as the elevator arrives on Shinra’s floor. Izaya walks out without turning back. “Let me know when you figure it out, hm? I’ll be fascinated either way.”

Shinra opens the door on the first knock. “So you didn’t manage to kill each other! Haha! Hi, Shizuo! What are you doing back there, come in! That’s a rather nasty cut isn’t it? Better clean it, who knows what Izaya’s been doing with that knife!” Shinra leads the way in, babbling the whole way. “Celty! Look! I brought friends! Two of them!… What, I don’t need more than that, these two are a hand full already, haha! Besides, how else would I dedicate time to you! Shizuo, why don’t you sit there and take off your shirt. Izaya, take off your jacket. Celty would you get the—”

Shinra is nothing if not efficient, swabbing this, bandaging that. He’s got Izaya’s hand bandaged in under five minutes, is inspecting Shizuo’s chest not seconds later. “Hmm, doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches. Knowing you, probably won’t scar. You sure you won’t—”

“Stop trying to take samples of me!”

Shinra lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright.”

Shinra bustles off to the kitchen, something about drinks, something about Celty, it doesn’t matter. Shizuo gets up and leaves without another word, the door slamming behind him.

“What’s with him?” Shinra says, coming back holding three glasses of water.

Izaya shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Who knows, with an animal like that?”

 

The next day brings another school day, Izaya standing over the crowd, as is his wont, idly watching students pour in. They’re not as excited today as they were yesterday, the shine of seeing friends again dulled by the reminder of the drudgery to come. By the end of the week, they’ll barely be able to drag their feet through the gates.

A spot of yellow in the sea of black draws Izaya’s eye. He checked yesterday, and what do you know, dyeing your hair is actually against school rules. He imagines that no one would dare to tell Shizuo that, though. How do you discipline a student with a hair-pin temper and the ability to punch you through the next wall?

Hm, now that’s a question worth exploring.

This time, when Shizuo enters the gate, his gaze is pointedly down, staring at his feet. Even as his shoulders tense when Izaya stares, he doesn’t look up. Doesn’t meet Izaya’s eyes.

Now that won’t do.

That won’t do at all . Izaya thumbs open his phone, switching onto one of the forums. Ignore me now, you idiot .

Class comes and goes, a mass of people herding from one room to another. It’s as dull as usual, the shine of new faces and new dynamics wearing off faster than it has any other year. It drags slowly, painfully. New material, sure. It might even be mentally stimulating if you weren’t expected to cram it all in, sheer memorization over any form of actual thought. But school’s not actually for thinking, now, is it?

Honestly, he wonders why he still even comes. He could get just as much fun sitting in a coffee shop for six hours, and then he wouldn’t be obligated to sit and feel his brain rot.

Maybe he won’t come tomorrow, there’s nothing really stopping him.

He could wander around Ikebukuro for hours before he really has anything to do. It’s tempting, really is.

Oh, but he might miss the conclusion of Mamiko’s and Suzuki’s rather volatile relationship. She’s rather unstable, really is. She might even bring a knife to school and stab him! Better yet, she might stab Yuri , the rival! Oh, now wouldn’t that be interesting. But you know what would be even better?

Izaya tunes out his math teacher, not that it’s that hard, and pulls out a piece of paper, tapping his lip thoughtfully. It has to be delicate, something subtle.

Suzuki—

I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings the way you want me too— I still like you as a friend, but I think that’s all we can be.

I would still love to go to the movies with you, if your offer is still open! If you still want to see me. If you don’t, I understand.

—Akari

Infidelity. Unrequited love, being second best. Ooh, it’s perfect. Now, to slip this into Suzuki’s—no, that might not work. Mamiko’s best friend has a locker right next to his, it’s an easy mistake to make in a hurry, right? And it guarantees it ending up in the right hands.

Izaya hums happily to himself as he slips the note into his pocket. Maybe he will come to school for the next week. It does promise to be interesting, after all.



It’s easy to brush off Shinra after school mostly because Shinra usually only gives a half-assed effort to look for him in the first place. Really, all he wants to do is disappear in his apartment with Celty. Alone.

It’d be irritating if it wasn’t so convenient.

It’s not so hard to find Shizuo. He carves a path wherever he goes, and he’s sunshine blond. He’s rather hard to miss. Easy to follow out of the front gates, trailing about twenty feet behind. Shizuo doesn’t look over his shoulder once, but Izaya supposes you don’t need to when you are the boogeyman that lives in the closet instead of the scared child. That is, until they’re further away from the crush of humans, as much as you can ever be in Tokyo.

Then Shizuo becomes as twitchy as a dog, constantly stopping and checking over his shoulder. Shizuo’s shoulders tense with every step he goes, until he’s snarling as he spins around on his heel, scanning for something.

Izaya doesn’t quite know for what, but he’s not taking any chances. He’s ducking behind trashcans, potted plants, one particularly put-out expecting mother.

But apparently Shizuo’s not looking for anything that spells danger, because he honestly looks shocked when a gang melts out of the shadows. Idiot.

Izaya doesn’t quite catch what they yell at Shizuo before attacking, though he wishes he could. It’s always interesting to see what spits out at the other end of the telephone, what his innocuous statement on the right forum might have mutated to in the hours since.

Shizuo doesn’t dodge the first punch, doesn’t even try to. He takes it straight across the face, the slap reverberating across the alley. Shizuo’s head moves with the punch, but not much. It’s not the overdramatic snap of the neck Izaya’s seen before. It’s barely a movement.

Things seem to go still, like time has slowed. Like the alleyway itself is holding its breath. Nobody moves, not even the one to throw the first punch. Shizuo’s shoulders creep up, up, and then fall back down in one movement.

Then Shizuo moves.

He’s not all that fast, if Izaya’s being completely honest. But his blows seem to land with all the unwavering finality, like his opponents can’t seem to bear to move out of the way.

Ah, but where’s that fabled strength? Izaya could see a street fight anywhere he wanted, really.

Shizuo doesn’t disappoint. There’s the sound of metal crumpling, straining under the force of his hand. There's a cracking sound as he rips it free of the pavement.

From then, it's a matter of moments for him to clear the crowd surrounding him, wielding the street sign like a particularly long baseball bat. Bodies are flying every which way, landing with dull thuds against the pavement.

It's beautiful. He's poetry in motion, flowing from one opponent to the next with barely a pause. He's not trained, that much is certain. But it's more beautiful for it, nothing like technique to get in the way of his raw power.

He shrugs off every hit like it's nothing, moves from one attacker to the next. It almost makes the school day worth it, being able to watch this in person.

Shizuo lays down the last attacker, his head lolling back onto his shoulders. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling. His back is to Izaya, allowing him to see the moment he tenses, fingers digging harder into the metal of the signpost until it complains with the strain, just snapping under his fingers.

Shizuo whips around, staring right at Izaya.

You,” he snarls, starting to stalk forward. Like Izaya’s going to stick around after that.

Izaya takes off running, a laugh bubbling on his tongue, adrenaline singing in his veins. His feet respond faster than they ever had, with more accuracy. He’s twisting around members of the crowd with ease, hearing the disgruntled muttering behind him as Shizuo shoves his way through.

It’s almost a shame that it comes to such an early end, poor, dear Shizuo ignoring his basic preschool training and running in front of a truck.

Idiot.

He gets quite a bit of air, landing a good number of feet away.

“Oh, poor dear,” Izaya says, kneeling in front of Shizuo, watching him struggle to get his feet under him. Izaya reaches a hand out, running it through Shizuo’s hair. Shizuo tries to swat him away, unbalancing himself in the processes, saved from face planting into the asphalt only by Izaya’s grip.

“I didn’t see him,” comes the panicked cries. “He came out of nowhere, did you see that?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Izaya says. “He’s sturdier than most. Isn’t that right, love?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says, pushing himself shakily to his feet.

“He’s fine, see?” Izaya says, starting to tug on Shizuo’s sleeve, watching Shizuo stumble after him to keep his balance. “Don’t you fret, I’ll take good care of him.”

“What the fuck,” Shizuo says, “this is all your fault.”

“Hm, I’m flattered, but I can’t control the movement of every truck in the city,” Izaya says, herding Shizuo into a corner alley off the main road. Presses him further, till they’re hidden from view by a dumpster. Presses closer, until Shizuo’s back is to a wall and Izaya is barely an inch away. “I can make it up to you, if you want.” Izaya lets his voice drop an octave, lets his eyes go half-lidded. Even someone as thick as Shizuo can’t miss it.

“Why would I want anything from you?” Shizuo says, but it comes out weak, no real hint of a threat.

“It’s not my place to decide why, but I know you do.” Izaya’s mouth curls up into a smirk. “Did you dream of me last night, Shizu-chan? Did you wrap your hand around yourself thinking of me? I bet you did.”

“I-- I didn’t--” Shizuo tries, but his face is red and he’s having trouble working it out, judging by the way his throat is working. “I don’t like you.”

“Are you sure?” Izaya says, closing the last inch, pressing his chest against Shizuo’s, slotting one of his thighs between Shizuo’s. “Are you sure? Are you sure you don’t like me?” Izaya presses his thigh upwards, and is rewarded by a choked-off moan. “I think you do.”

“I don’t, ” Shizuo insists. “I don’t.”

“It’s common, you know,” Izaya says casually. “For people to mistake adrenaline for other feelings. Maybe you were wrong, hm? Maybe it was your excess adrenaline talking. Maybe you should give me a chance.”

“You said you would make it up to me,” Shizuo says, and is his voice rough. “How do--how would you do that?”

“Want me to show you?”

“What are you going to do?”

“You have to say yes first,” Izaya says, nuzzling his face into Shizuo’s neck at the same time he moves his thigh. “I promise you’ll like it.”

“I wanna know--” Izaya presses up harder, nipping at the skin of Shizuo’s neck. “ Yes .”

“Good choice,” Izaya purrs, popping the button on Shizuo’s pants, snaking a hand down, fishing Shizuo out before dropping to his knees.

There’s sharp inhale above him, a shocked, “You’re--” that’s abruptly cut off as Izaya sticks his tongue out to taste the tip, swirling it around before plunging his mouth down.

Hands fly into his hair as he sucks lightly, careful to leave his teeth out of it. That’s what the internet said to do, at least. He’s not hearing any complaints. Izaya brings his hand up to grip around the base, trying to move his hand in time with the bobbing of his head.

His jaw starts to ache, but it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t take long at all before the hands in his hair tighten to the point of pain, before a groan above him is the only warning he gets before his mouth is filling with something hot and bitter.

It’s such an unexpected taste he almost gags, but he tamps down on the urge and instead looks up to meet Shizuo’s wide, brown eyes as he lets it pool in his mouth, pulling off only when he’s sure he’s done. Izaya makes a show of swallowing it down, licking his lips as Shizuo watches wide-eyed.

“Are you sure you don’t like me?” Izaya asks again. “I think we could have a lot of fun together.”

Chapter Text

Orihara (god, after that he should be able to call him Izaya, shouldn’t he?) abandons him in the alley with barely a backwards wave and an echoing laugh, leaving Shizuo to stumble home by himself in the rapidly fading light.

What the fuck was that?

No, that’s not the problem. He does know what that was, kind of hard to miss it.

Why the actual fuck?

Does Izaya really think he can push him into an alleyway and do that with no consequences? Fuck that guy. Fuck him hard.

…Or maybe not. Fuck, this was complicated.

Save thinking for another time, putting one foot in front of the other is harder than usual tonight. His left foot seems to want to fuck off in some other direction than his right foot, trying to sabotage him whenever it gets the chance.

Fuck, no more thinking of Izaya until…never. Can’t do two things at once. Ice travels down his spine.

Did he put himself back into his pants? Oh god, maybe he’s been walking through the streets of Tokyo with his dong hanging out, Christ.  …no, he’s not indecently exposing himself. Christ. He’s so turned around he can barely think straight.

Straight. Ha.

What the fuck.

Focus on getting home first, then think about Izaya. But it’s so hard to ignore him when his smell of sickly sweet rot seems to cling to everywhere he was pressed against his body, making Shizuo himself reek.

What’s his fucking game, anyway? Can he really just not stand not being liked by one person, is that all this is? Just a way to get everyone under his thumb?

That would be a bit extreme, wouldn’t it?

Shizuo shakes his head and it makes his world spin a little on its axis, but he recovers before he brains himself on a nearby wall.

Ah, but what did he say? It’s not about liking the other person?

But it is , isn’t it?

He’s wrong. You have to like the other person, at least a little, don’t you?

Wouldn’t being so close to another person be repulsive without it? Wouldn’t you be vulnerable without it? He could have crushed Izaya’s skull like a grape if he had wanted. Hell, even if he hadn’t wanted. Entirely by accident. That takes a level of trust, doesn’t it? Whether you want it to or not.

Fuck.

His hand finds the doorknob of his house and he’s fumbling, the key just won’t fit in the lock, it’s not right, the lock is moving he swears, but the door swings open all by itself to reveal Kasuka, staring at him, taking one look at his disheveled appearance before stepping aside to allow him in.

“You’re late,” comes from the kitchen. “We’re having dinner soon, go wash up. No dirt at the table.”

For a long, long, long, horrifying second, Shizuo thinks she’s talking about him. That, somehow, she knows what happened. That he just got sucked off in an alleyway in downtown Tokyo by someone he barely knows. Some boy he barely knows.

Would it be more acceptable if it was a girl? But they’ve always looked so fragile, so delicate, like a misplaced grab could have them shatter in his hands.

Not that that’s not true of anyone in his hands, but the point stands. They just look more pure. Maybe it’s better?

Nah, doesn’t bear thinking about. Not really. What’s done is done, right? Don’t cry over spilled milk, just pretend you don’t know anything about the trashed desk or street or playground.

 

“Anything interesting happen today?” his mom asks. She’s casting a glance over in him in the same way Kasuka did, except this one isn’t a silent gaze, it speaks volumes. It clearly says ‘I don’t want to know’, sprinkled with a little judgement and a lot of fear.

“A bird flew into my class today,” Kasuka says. “It died.”

“That’s nice,” his mom says.

“Nothing really,” Shizuo lies, in as casual of a tone as he can muster. His mother gladly looks back to her food, but Kasuka’s eyes snap to him. He knows something, but he’ll never guess what. Will he? You can’t tell that sort of thing, can you? Not by looking at a person?

You know what? He’s not really hungry.

He stands up from the table, and it rattles with the impact. “Not hungry, going to bed.”

He ignores the way his mother flinches. He’s never hit her, never even tried to, but she flinches all the same, walks on broken eggshells around him all the same.

No one stops him on his way up the stairs, but then again, who could.

He may be a little dizzy, but not as bad as it had been. Not when—

Shit shit shit, he’s not thinking of that.

Nothing happened .

But it did, didn’t it? Can’t undo that.

Nothing happened if you didn’t want it to.

But that’s not true. Not wanting things doesn’t fix them, does it.

But…he looks down at his hand. He could have stopped it if he had wanted, couldn’t he? He can swing light-posts around, he can fend of one scrawny middle schooler, can’t he?

He said yes , didn’t he? He knew what he was getting into. He knew.

Izaya knew too, saw him on the field outside, saw the carnage strewn at his feet. Fuck, Izaya even felt it first hand when Shizuo chased him through the streets of Tokyo.

And yet he still pressed himself close, between an immovable object and an unstoppable force. Put his fragile, delicate skull in Shizuo’s hands.

But.

But he doesn’t like Orihara Izaya. Doesn’t like him with the same visceral reaction to seeing puppies kicked.

But… he let him close. He has to like him, doesn’t he? Otherwise, it makes no sense. None at all.

So he does like Izaya. Has to. Maybe Izaya was right, that it was just the left-over adrenaline from the fight that made that smirking face into something else, something evil. Maybe he doesn’t really smell of rot and damp and decay, but Shizuo’s projecting.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

What’s real here?

Izaya.

Izaya on his knees in some alleyway, shadows over his face.

Izaya with a stupid smirk on his face as he—

Nope. No .

Before that.

Izaya in an alleyway, close.

Close enough that Shizuo can feel the heat of him against him. Then closer. It’s odd, he’s always thought that other people’s mouths would taste like something, not like nothing, maybe a hint of toothpaste.

Maybe he’ll sleep on it? That helps right? Getting some perspective?

It’s early, far too early, but he gets into bed, turns off the light and everything. He should be able to fall asleep, it’s even dark outside. But he can’t quite get comfortable, no position feels right. He’s too warm, too cold.

 

No, he’s too tense. His teeth are grinding. Maybe, if he was anyone else, they would crack.

Damn that Izaya. He was fine.

Well.

He was good enough.

Damn that Izaya and his stupid smirk and his eyes that seem to say that they know far too much, more than Shizuo, certainly. His stupid hands, soft and warm, wrapped around him—

No. Nope.

Shit .

Might as well. Might as well snake a hand down. Couldn’t hurt anything.

Might as well think of Izaya in front of him, on his knees. Maybe this time, he doesn’t look insufferably smug. Maybe he looks shy. No, that doesn’t fit. Maybe he’s not looking up at all, maybe he’s fixated on what’s in front of him. Maybe he starts out with his hands, reaching out and grasping Shizuo with both of them, maybe he strokes just like Shizuo likes, a bit fast, a bit tight. Maybe he licks the tip like he did the first time. Maybe he’s looking straight up when he does it, with those red eyes of his. Maybe he’s standing now, pressed against Shizuo, but Izaya’s the one against the wall this time, legs wrapped around Shizuo’s waist, tilting his head to the side as Shizuo bites and licks at it. Maybe Izaya’s mouth is free but he’s not saying anything, he’s so overwhelmed. Maybe his eyes are screwed tight, and his mouth gaping open and Shizuo’s pressed hard against him, in-

Shizuo’s coming over his hand, and maybe he really should have thought this through, but it’s too late now, he’s got come all over his hand.

God, he can swear he can hear Izaya’s ringing, taunting laugh. It’s not fair, it’s his fantasy, Izaya should shut up. But Izaya’s laugh chases him into a restless sleep.

 

Izaya’s not in his perch above the school when Shizuo gets there, not smirking down at the masses like some indulgent god.

But he’s here. It’s something in the air, something that smells vaguely rotten and spoiled. It’s the smell of him, easily identifiable and distinctive after only two days.

Shinra is easy to find, standing in the hallway for their class, idly rummaging through his locker. He waves Shizuo over when he sees him.

“Hey! Shizuo! Wanna—”

Shizuo grabs the front of Shinra’s shirt, hauling him closer. Shinra looks neither scared nor surprised, the bastard.“You know Orihara, right?”

Shinra brightens, “Oh, yeah, we were friends in middle school! Well, friends might be a bit strong of a word—”

Shizuo gives him a shakes, setting his glasses askew. “Where is he?”

Shinra shrugs. Or tries to, the fabric of his jacket pulling taut over one shoulder. “No clue. Have you tried somewhere high? He likes to lord over others like that. I think maybe he has a—”

“He’s not there,” Shizuo drops Shinra back to his feet.

“Maybe he’s off terrorizing some new students. Hey, I’ll be sure to let you know if I see him!” Shinra waves and toddles off, but that doesn’t matter.

The sickly sweet stench of rot is somewhere around here. It gets stronger as he moves down the hall, as he gets closer to the side of the building that houses the middle schoolers. Stronger, stronger, until— there he is.

He’s standing in the hall, shoulders against the lockers behind him, looking at his phone and scowling.

Shizuo’s moving, no clear plan, but to make him pay.

See how he likes it when—

Shizuo grabs Izaya by the front of his shirt. Izaya’s gaze snaps from the phone to his face, and there’s a moment of shock, “Oh, Shi—”

Shizuo slams his lips onto Izaya’s, pressing him back into the lockers behind him, slamming a hand up against the lockers to keep him there.

Distantly, he hears gasps around him. There’ll be rumors before the day is out.

Under him, Izaya is stiff, clearly surprised.

Take that, you bastard.

Shizuo pulls back, and his face is curling into the start of a vicious grin, anticipating Izaya’s shocked look. Will his mouth gape open? Will his eyes go wide? Will—

He’s fucking smirking.

He doesn’t look shocked at all, he looks just like the cat that’s gotten the cream. His eyes are glittering above his smirk, like the way the sun glittered off his switchblade. Like he expected this.

Izaya’s arms come up to drape around Shizuo’s shoulders like Shizuo hasn’t got a fist in the front of his shirt.

“So, Shizuo,” Izaya says, words coming out smug and condescending. “Is that my answer?”

Shizuo matches him smirk for smirk. He’s not going to lose to this little shit.

“Yes.”

“Excellent,” Izaya says, his arms clasping to pull Shizuo closer. “I knew you’d come around.”

One of Izaya’s hands is fisting in his hair, dragging him back in and down until he’s kissing Izaya again.

It’s not softer, not in the slightest, but Izaya’s tongue is skating around in his mouth, pressing against the roof of his mouth.

It’s pretty uncomfortable to be pressing against his own fist, so he moves it, slides it down to Izaya’s waist instead. Izaya’s shirt has ridden up a bit, so Shizuo snakes his hand underneath and up, skating his fingertips across the bottom of Izaya’s ribs.  

Izaya sucks in a breath and Shizuo uses the opportunity to chase Izaya’s tongue back into his own mouth, where it belongs , damn it.

There’s something poking his back. That’s not right, it’s Izaya who’s pressed up against something, so what—

“Shizuo! You found Izaya! Hey, what did you want him for anyway?”

Izaya’s moved his hands to shove lightly at Shizuo’s chest, so Shizuo moves away, letting his one hand stay over Izaya’s shoulder on the locker.

“What do you want, Shinra? Can’t you see that I’m busy?” It it just him, or does Izaya sound just a little breathless?

“Oh, yeah,” Shinra agrees. “Do you want to go to the arcade today?”

“Why, Celty kick you out?” Izaya’s regaining his footing. He’s artfully leaning against the lockers now instead of using them to hold up his body weight.

“Yeah! She says I should spend more time with my friends, it’s good for development. Maybe she’d say differently if she actually knew you two, but…”

“I’m so happy that I can be a friend of convenience, aren’t you?” Izaya says up at Shizuo.

“Hey! Don’t be like that. I think Kadota might even be able to come.”

“Dota-chin?” Izaya’s eyes light up in a way that makes Shizuo uncomfortable. “Well, why didn’t you say so before? Hey, Shizuo, wanna go to the arcade? It might even be fun this time.”

 

They don’t ever actually make it to the arcade.

 

Shizuo’s coming out of the front gates, when Izaya snags his sleeve and falls into step beside him, little tugs guiding him out of the front gate and onto the main road.

“Where’s Shinra?”

Izaya shrugs, a graceful, dismissive gesture. “Who knows.”

“Are we gonna meet them at the arcade?”

“Do you really wanna go to an arcade? That’s dull. That’s not a good first date at all.” Izaya shifts his grip on Shizuo’s hand util his fingers are tightly entwined with Shizuo’s stiff and resisting ones.

“Who said we were dating?”

“Why Shizuo, you did. It front of everyone, I might add. I thought you said that you liked me.” Izaya’s smiling up at him, and it’s full of malice and bad intent.

Shizuo’s lets his fingers clasp back at Izaya’s, giving his hand just the barest of squeezes. Izaya’s face goes a little pale, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Well, then. What did you have in mind?”

 

Izaya’s dancing through the crowds, zipping this way and that, dipping slightly closer to a tourist or a suit, before falling back and showing Shizuo what he’s found.

“Look here,” Izaya says, holding out his hands with a child-like joy, “it’s a ring. What do you think it’s for?”

“Maybe they were going to propose to their girlfriend?” Shizuo suggests, lolling his head back against the back of the bench.

“No, no. That’s boring. Think bigger, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chides, brow scrunched in false annoyance above glittering eyes. “I think they stole it from their grandmother. Look at the elegant cut, the small diamond, the wear around the band. Yes, look. They couldn’t wait for their grandmother to die, and they took the ring, hoping the grandmother won’t notice.”

“To propose to their girlfriend.”

Izaya rolls his eyes. “Sure, Shizu-chan. To propose to their girlfriend.”

Then he’s dropping the ring into Shizuo’s lap to lang with the collection of wallets, a bracelet, a pacifier, a watch, and dashing back into the crowd, looking for his next target. Shizuo pulls out his carton of cigarettes, tapping the box idly to pull one out with his teeth, reaches to pull out a lighter—

Ah. Shit. Must have left it at home. Well, there’s an easy fix to that.

The next time Izaya comes skipping over, hands cupped around a new treasure, Shizuo asks, “Could you possibly get me a lighter?”

Izaya blinks at him, clutching one hand around his prize to wag the other at Shizuo. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine, I can always buy one.”

Izaya laughs, uncurling his other hand to show his treasure. It’s a lighter, a nice one too, not one of the cheap ones you get for a few yen. It’s metal, with a cap and everything.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Izaya says, playing it through his fingers, letting it slide down the back of his palm before catching it and lighting it with a flick of his thumb. He holds it out for Shizuo to light the end of his cigarette before he snaps it closed, spiriting it away to the depths of one of his pockets.

“I’ve never smoked before,” Izaya says, too casually and calm to not be angling for something.

“I have a box in one of my pockets,” Shizuo says, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you says it was bad for you?”

“It is, it is.” Izaya’s focused on his mouth now, eyes tracking the path of the cigarette to and from, taking stock of when Shizuo exhales the smoke. Shizuo’s not stupid. He knows where this is going.

Shizuo takes a drag before fisting his hand in the front of Izaya’s shirt, dragging him closer. He catches sight of Izaya’s smirk before he’s sealing his lips over Izaya’s, exhaling slowly as Izaya inhales. Izaya pulls back as far as Shizuo’s grip will allow him, wisps of smoke trailing from his lips.

“You taste stale. That’s not very pleasant, Shizu-chan.”

“You weren’t complaining before.”

“I had other things to worry about then.”

Shizuo rolls his eyes. “So, what’d you think?”

Izaya raises an eyebrow. “Fishing for compliments? Too bad. Your technique needs improvement and—”

“No, you twit, the cigarette.”

“Oh,” Izaya puts on a mock thoughtful face. “It’s a filthy habit. You shouldn’t corrupt your junior with such a thing.”

Shizuo just puffs directly into Izaya’s smirking face and feels a sense of vicious triumph as Izaya splutters, hands coming up to ineffectually bat the smoke away.

“You’re mean,” Izaya whines, but sits down on the bench next to Shizuo, pressing his side against Shizuo’s so they connect shoulder to hip. “And after all the presents I got you?”

“Presents?” Shizuo fingers the pacifier, holding it up in the palm of his hand. “How kind of you. What was this again? The Pacifier of Panache?”

“Of penance,” Izaya corrects, snatching it out of Shizuo’s hand and holding it up with his own. “It seals the offending hell spirit’s mouth shut until they’ve learned the value of silence.”

“That sounds cruel and unusual.”

“What’s cruel is having to listen to them wail.” Izaya suddenly stands and spins, so he’s in front of Shizuo.

“I’m bored now,” Izaya says, grabbing Shizuo’s freehand and tugging. “Take me somewhere more interesting.”

“Like what?” Shizuo says, standing and spilling Izaya’s treasures all over the ground. Izaya doesn’t seem to care, just tugs harder.

“I don’t know , isn’t the date planning supposed to fall to you?”

Shizuo lazily follows along, twisting his hand to catch Izaya’s wrist and tugging him back so Izaya falls against his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. “If it’s supposed to fall to me, then let me lead, why don’t you?”

“Oh, the commanding type, I see how it is.” Izaya doesn’t seem all to concerned about being dragged around like he doesn’t weight a thing. Seems to enjoy it even, swinging over to Shizuo’s side, not even trying to dislodge Shizuo’s arm. Not that he could. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Shizuo says.

 

“Ah, a tourist destination,” Izaya says, looking up at the skyscraper. “Sunshine 60. What a choice, Shizu-chan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then?” there’s a dangerous, teasing tone in Izaya’s voice that makes him wish he kept his mouth shut. “Honeybun? Pumpkin?”

“How about Shizuo? Since it’s my name.”

Izaya pouts. “That’s no fun at all. I think ‘sunshine’ suits you best. Because you’re always cheerful, like a ray of sunshine.”

Shizuo takes a final drag of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. He turns to smile down at Izaya with a matching edge of danger. “Whatever makes you happy, snookums.”

There’s a faint reaction, if you know what to look for. Izaya’s eyes widen slightly, before his grin grows just the tiniest bit, taking on a sharper edge. He looks exhilarated, like they just agreed to jump off the building instead of climb it.

 

The view at the top is interesting. Shizuo’s lived in Tokyo his whole life, the gray of buildings and streets stretching as far as the eye can see isn’t new to him. It’s not unexpected either. Maybe it’s the sunset that’s making him feel nostalgic, the way the sun shines off of the windows of the building below, the way the sky turns that interesting shade of rose-pink before shading down to bruise purple.

Izaya’s looking too, but his arms are behind his back, his expression is not one of calm serenity. It’s one of superiority, like an emperor looking over his subjects. He can tell the moment Izaya sees him looking. There’s a flash as Izaya’s eyes cut to him before the rest of his head follows, fixing Shizuo with a smirk.

Shizuo throws an arm around his waist

“How did you know I like high places, Shizu-chan? How romantic.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Good job,” Izaya says, snaking one of his arms around the back of Shizuo’s neck, swinging so he’s standing in front. “I suppose you deserve a reward. Positive reinforcement does wonders for beasts.”

“And what would that be?”

Instead of answering, Izaya tugs gently on the back of his neck, and Shizuo goes down easily.

He’s still not quite sure what to do with his tongue, but Izaya does, licking around his gums and teeth. It feels. Interesting. Kind of tinglingly. But in a good way.

But the first step is getting his tongue in Izaya’s mouth. That’s easy enough, he just clutches Izaya a little closer with one arm, cradles the back of his head with the other, leans over just a tad. If Izaya has any complaints with being bent over backwards, he doesn’t show it, just brings his other hand up to clutch at Shizuo’s shirt.

He runs his tongue along Izaya’s gums and teeth, and while that’s fun and all, it’s really a bit boring. What else did Izaya do? He bit at his lips a bit, that was nice.

Shizuo brings his tongue back into his own mouth, move it out of the way, before bringing his teeth down gently, carefully on Izaya’s bottom lip.

Immediately, the the metallic copper taste of blood hits his tongue. Oops, maybe even that was a bit too hard.

But Izaya’s groaning and he can feel it resonate from where they’re pressed together. They’re pressed so tightly Shizuo can even feel the outline of Izaya’s phone against his front.

He pulls away despite Izaya’s hand on the back of his neck. Izaya looks the slightest bit dazed, but he pouts in confusion. “Why’d you stop?”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing behind Shizuo, and he turns to look. There’s a security guard standing there, not looking particularly thrilled.

“If you two want to do that, I’m afraid you’ll have to go somewhere else.” He sounds bored, slightly disgusted.

Shizuo doesn’t like his tone.

The security guard takes a step back, hands coming up to protect his face, even though he hasn’t moved.

“Shizuo-” from his front, a breathless quality in the voice. Oh. Whoops. He may be crushing Izaya a bit. He lets go, and Izaya lands heavily on his feet, but he doesn’t back away.

Instead, he grabs Shizuo’s wrist tugging him off towards the elevators. Shizuo thinks about resisting, but following Izaya tends to be worth it more often than not.

“As entertaining as it would be to see you throw the common masses around,” Izaya is saying, not looking back. “You could throw them through the windows by accident. That would be a murder charge, wouldn’t it? Can’t play with you while you’re in prison.”

“You’re so kind.”

Izaya flashes a grin. “A real saint.”

Izaya doesn’t even manage to keep his hands to himself the elevator ride down, tracing his fingers delicately along the inside of Shizuo’s wrist with one hand and—.

Izaya tugs Shizuo to the bathroom, pulling Shizuo along with him.

“I really don’t have any interest in seeing you—”

Izaya pulls him down again for another kiss, pressing his body flush against Shizuo’s and leaning back. Izaya’s lip must still be bleeding faintly because he still tastes of copper.

Shizuo can take a hint.

Can give one too.

Shizuo takes both hands, grabbing Izaya’s ass and smirking when he stiffens and tugs him up. Izaya throws his legs around Shizuo’s waist. It makes it easier for Shizuo to snake one hand up underneath Izaya’s shirt, the material snagging around his wrist and following his motion upwards.

His fingers can almost count Izaya’s ribs, catching in the valleys in between each one. His hand goes higher, spreading and catching on something that makes Izaya shiver, then bite Shizuo’s lip.

Hard.

“What the fuck ?”

“What? Turn about not fair play?” Izaya says, smirking.

Oh, it definitely is.

He’ll have to put Izaya down first though.

It’s easy to dislodge Izaya, to break the legs around his waist and setting him back on the ground.

There, now he has two hands to reach for Izaya’s fly, though that doesn’t actually make wrestling the damn thing open any easier. It’s hard to work a belt backwards through the buckle.

“Need help, Shizu-chan?” Izaya says, but makes no move to actually assist, apparently content to let Shizuo struggle on his own. It take a while but he pops the damn thing open, yanking Izaya’s pants down with anything that’s underneath.

Huh. Maybe he should have started with that.

Oh well. Too late.

It’s also too late to consider that he has no idea what to do with someone else’s junk.

“Need help, Shizu-chan?” Izaya says again, actually moving his hands this time. “Here, let me show—”

“No,” Shizuo says, gathering Izaya’s wrists in one of his and pinning them against the wall. “I’ll do it.”

That leaves him with only one hand, but that’s fine. He only uses one hand on himself anyway.

He reaches out, stroking lightly along the side. The skin is soft, really soft. He wrap all his fingers around it, stroking lightly. The angle is wrong for what he normally does, so he lets his fingers roam instead, stroking down over and under, gently pulling back the foreskin—

“One might think you’ve never seen a dick before,” Izaya says, watching Shizuo’s fingers play over him. Shizuo wraps his hand around Izaya then, and Izaya groans. Oh, maybe he should loosen his fingers. Can you break a dick? Best not to find out.

He strokes up and down, trying to get the rhythm right, figuring he’s got it when Izaya starts to squirm, gently pulling against his wrists, hips moving rhythmically.

He doesn’t make a sound, though, biting his lips instead.

It’s more interesting than watching what his hand is doing, so Shizuo’s surprised when he feels Izaya pulse, once, twice in his hand but not surprised when he sees blood welling around Izaya’s teeth.

Chapter Text

There’s a water stain on his ceiling that looks a bit like Africa, but mostly like an elephant.

Funny, how you don’t notice these things.

Izaya rolls onto his side, gaze moving away from the offending stain. He feels indolent and lazy, body heavy, but pleasantly so. Relaxed. It’s nice.

Probably has to do with Shizuo jerking him off in a bathroom in Sunshine 60. Classy. Ah, there’s time for him to improve his dating game, but he certainly started off on the right foot.

Maybe training Shizuo will be easier than he thought.

He certainly seemed receptive.

Ah, it went much better than he could have thought.

Of all possible outcomes, the least likely was Shizuo brazenly declaring himself in front of the whole school - physically, with no room for miscommunication. It was much more likely that Izaya would have been dodging punches that could dislocate his jaw; being chased through Tokyo if he was unlucky, leading Shizuo to an abandoned corner of the school if he was.

Hell, it was even more likely for Shizuo to pull him to the back of the school, stuttering out a confession like a shy girl in a goddamn anime.

But hell. Who could have thought it’d be that easy?

Get his attention with sex. Check, done.

But did Shizuo really take him out on a date? It makes a laugh start to bubble in Izaya’s stomach. He hadn’t been serious. He’d been joking. Wanted to see how far Shizuo would let him take this shit.

Apparently pretty far. Shizuo sat patiently while Izaya played Magpie, swiping things of increasing value over time. Starting small, watches, wallets. Going bigger value, harder targets. A ring. And when Shizuo started getting twitchy, unconsciously flicking his fingers against the wood of a bench, a lighter. Nicotine addicts are, in the end, all the same.

And then Shizuo took him to the top of a building. Cute. Didn’t try to shove him off the top either.

Izaya half-expected a movie. Maybe some shitty junk food joint.

Heiwajima Shizuo is full of surprises.

Reciprocation, for one. He wasn’t expecting that. Half expected to have to remind Shizuo at some point that he, too, was a sexual creature.

Izaya turns back on to his back, bringing his fingers to his lips, palms pressed together. They could go far. Would go far, if Shizuo’s reaction was any indication. He’s interested, at the very least. Maybe completely smitten. Probably completely smitten, if Izaya’s being honest with himself.

It’s a good thing. There was a sort of power in being able to wrap a hand around Shizuo’s wrist and have his full attention come to him at once. Being able to stop an unstoppable force.

It’s electrifying. Tantalizing. Exhilarating.

He can’t stop the wide grin from spreading on his face. He’s got Heiwajima Shizuo wrapped around his little finger, more binding than any sort of ring.

 

He briefly entertains the idea of not going to school the next day because it sounds mind-numbingly boring. He can feel brain cells die just thinking about it. But.

Mamiko has yet to react. It’s still within the range of possibility that’s she’s plotting something, still worth going to school to see the results. Might even be something truly spectacular, knowing her and what she might be capable of.

Then there’s seeing Shizuo, which is fun.

It’s easy to tell when Shizuo arrives at school because one moment Izaya’s in the middle of the hallway walking to class and the next he’s crushed against something hard and there’s lips on his.

“Miss me?” he says to Shizuo as soon as he pulls away for air. Someone should tell him that breathing through nostrils is a possibility. Izaya considers it, briefly, but where’s the fun in that? Maybe he’ll figure it out on his own.

Shizuo opens his mouth to answer, tightening his hold on Izaya’s waist, pulling him closer but—

“Izaya! Shizuo!”

God damn it, Shinra.

“You didn’t go to the arcade with us,” Shinra says, not looking terribly upset. “You said you would.”

“Did I?” Izaya says lazily. “I don’t remember saying anything like that. Do you, Shizuo?”

Shizuo pauses, looking down at Izaya.

Izaya looks back up at him, keeping his face neutral, questioning.

“No,” Shizuo says at last. “I don’t remember that.”

Izaya rewards him with a smile, turning to Shinra. “See? Two against one. I think you made that up to make me look bad. That’s not very kind of you.”

Shinra’s peering at them through his glasses, the lenses turned opaque by the light. He’s got that smile on his face, the irritating one that means he’s seeing seven layers to the interaction where there’s only three. He might tell Izaya what they are if he asks.

Izaya won’t ask.

“Ah, my mistake, then,” Shinra says, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his head. “I can be so forgetful sometimes.”

“Mhm.” Izaya says, because they both know that’s not true. “Maybe next time.”

And they both know that’s not true.




He spends lunch engaged in his favorite activity: people watching, forgoing his usual haunt on the roof with Shinra and Dotachin. If he’s not visible to high schoolers finding themselves in the wrong part of the building, it’s not really his fault, now is it? Absence does make the heart grow fonder.

He’s not actually sure how long that can last, though. Shizuo, on more than one occasion, came distressingly close to finding him. Best to cut that off at the head.

But not a whisper of Mamiko and her relationship with Suzuki. They’re still cuddling up together near one of the tables, she’s still smiling at him in her nauseatingly sweet way.

In the end, it’s sheer chance that he learns anything . Irritating.

It’s near the end of class and he’s roaming the halls under the guise of using the restroom when he hears faint sobs emanating from one of the girls bathrooms.

That’s always promising.

Izaya pushes open the door, and the crying stops with a sharp inhale.

“Hello?” he says, shaping his features into neutral concern, making his voice a little uncertain. “Is anyone in here?”

There’s a shuffling of cloth from one of the stalls, but none of them are locked. “I thought I heard somebody crying, are you hurt?”

That gets him a broken sob. He pushes open the door to reveal a dark-head bent over curled knees. It takes him a minute to place her, without seeing her face, but there isn’t any doubt. It’s Akira.

Izaya crouches down, careful to make sure that he’s still a picture of quiet concern. “Are you alright?”

She glances at him over one arm, before ducking her face back down. Irritating.

“Do you need me to call a nurse?”

That gets her into action.

“No! No,” she’s looking towards him now and now he can see that there’s sharpie bold on her face, ‘whore’ spelled out cleanly on her forehead.

So that’s it, huh?

Oh, how dull. He expected more of Mamiko. Well, goes to show if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

Izaya sits down on the floor next to Akira, mimicking her posture.

“What happened?” he asks in a quiet voice as he settles onto the bathroom floor, face a picture of cautious concern, mind anything but.

There’s a restless sort of energy growing under his skin as he comforts a crying girl, something that threatens to leak into a smirk, something that makes him want to jump off a building to see if he’ll survive the fall. Something that makes him want to hunt out Shizuo.




At the end of the school day, Izaya decides he’ll grace Shizuo with his presence.

“Shizuo!” Izaya calls, skipping towards where he can see Shizuo walking in the hallway. He’s  nearly tempted to hop on Shizuo’s back, but decides against it.

Shizuo turns halfway towards him, stopping so Izaya can catch up.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I had a good day.” Izaya pauses. “Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”

Shizuo looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Where were you all day?”

“Oh, here and there. Why?”

“No reason.” Shizuo stops in front of one of the lockers. Probably his, going by the way he spins the dial. And the awful, horrible shape it’s in.

“Is that so? You look irritated. You didn’t even greet me properly,” Izaya says as Shizuo grabs his books and closes the locker.

“How’s this?” Shizuo says, coming forward a bit into Izaya’s personal space.

“Like this.” Izaya grabs Shizuo by the tie, pulling him in. Shizuo goes easy, crowding Izaya into the wall behind them, bracing hands above each shoulder.

Shizuo rocks forward a little bit, pressing close against Izaya, pressing them together from chest to thigh. How easily he’s trained. It’s barely been an entire day, after all, and he’s already coming to Izaya for more.

Oh .

Shizuo apparently feels it too, his hips starting to move rhythmically. Wouldn’t it be better if…? Probably. If he can get his leg that high. Izaya throws his legs around Shizuo’s waist. That’s better, with his hips a bit more open. But then Shizuo’s hands move from around his neck, traveling down his back to his ass, hoisting him up. Izaya’s legs wrap around Shizuo’s waist for balance, and Shizuo rocks against him again.

Like this, he can feel that Shizuo’s hard too. Plainly, clearly. If he had just a tad less self-control, it might make him giggle, the jittery feeling and the arousal more freeing than any drug.

Shizuo’s given up on anything close to resembling actual technique in kissing, mostly just flat-out breathing into Izaya’s mouth. Izaya finds that he doesn’t much care, not able to offer up anything himself. He can’t move his hips, pinned as they are between the wall and Shizuo, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He wants to, but Shizuo’s moving a bit faster now, breath coming more ragged, and Izaya’s not much better, he’s pretty much panting into Shizuo’s mouth, fingers curling into Shizuo’s jacket, toes curling in his shoes.

He feels languid, after. Warm. He’s still pressed up against the wall, but it’s a nice wall. It’s comfortable. Soft.

But Shizuo.

Now he can feel the outline of Shizuo clearly from where they’re pressed together, he’s so sensitive. He can feel every time Shizuo brushes against him, the sensation richoteting up his spine, down his legs. It’s almost too much. No, it is too much, going from pleasure to pain the longer Shizuo goes on, but it feels so good. It feels like electricity running up his spine and down his legs, his thighs are beginning to tremble around Shizuo’s waist when he finally feels a surge of warmth against his front and Shizuo stills against him, moving his head to rest against Izaya’s shoulder, panting softly against his neck.

God, even that he can feel clearly. He swears he can feel every molecule of air brush against his skin, can feel the moisture clinging against his skin. Izaya moves his hands to Shizuo’s hair, carding his fingers through, trying to ignore how they shake and focus on the feel of Shizuo’s hair. It’s remarkably soft for having the living hell dyed out of it.

“Boys,” a stern voice says from Izaya’s right. Izaya doesn’t recognize the voice, but apparently Shizuo does, judging by the way he stiffens. Izaya slowly swings his head to look, can feel Shizuo move his head to do the same.

It’s one of the teachers, that much is obvious from how old she is. She looks vaguely familiar, but Izaya couldn’t possibly come up with where he’s seen her.

Izaya’s probably flushed, more than likely hair sticking every which way. He’s pinned against a wall, come drying in pants, facing a teacher down in the school hallway.

Yet he has the power.

Funny, isn’t it?

He doesn’t loosen his legs to drop to the floor. Instead he tightens them.

He favors the teacher with a smile. “Yes?”

“It’s nice that you’re discovering your sexuality,” she says, her voice wavering, just a tiny bit. “But it’s not appropriate to do it at school.”

This is it. This is the interaction that defines what will follow. He can feel Shizuo tensing between his legs, muscles hardening.

That’s what gives him power in this situation.

But that’s not the way to solve it.

“Ah, of course,” Izaya says, loosening his legs so he can plant his feet on the ground. He smiles at her, not apologetically, but warningly.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he has seen her before.

Shizuo is still tense against his palms, his stare unwavering and not looking at Izaya at all.

“Shizuo,” he says, singing the vowels a bit. “Take me home.”

Shizuo’s attention shifts, he can tell by the way his muscles relax ever-so-slightly. But he’s still looking at the poor teacher.

Izaya uses the hold he has behind Shizuo’s neck to pull himself close enough to Shizuo’s ear that he can whisper, “I’ll take care of her later. But now, now you should take me home so we have a bit more privacy, ne?”

That seems to get Shizuo’s attention, and his gaze snaps to Izaya.

 

He doesn’t say anything, interested to see where Shizuo interprets as ‘home.’

Shizuo’s fingers tangle with his as Shizuo tugs him one way without asking for directions. Apparently, home is one place. That’s a beast-like way of thinking, but Izaya won’t hold it against him. He’s got a lair and everything, best to let him have his little creature comforts.

Izaya starts to swing their linked hands between them.

“Am I supposed to ask you how your day was?” he says, giving his voice a sing-song lilt.

“It was fine,” Shizuo says. “Pretty boring. How was yours?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Izaya says.

“I thought maybe you’d get the hint.”

“Ooh, you have a little bite,” Izaya laughs, starting to skip, letting go of Shizuo’s hand to walk backwards in front of him. “I heard you got lost in the middle school wing around lunch today.” Izaya cocks his head to the side, “what were you doing there?”

“Nothing. Like you said, I got lost.” Shizuo can’t lie for the life of him. His face is turning an interesting shade of red high on his cheekbones, and he can’t meet Izaya’s eyes.
“Is that so?” Izaya says, clinging onto Shizuo’s arm. “You know, you can just ask if you want something.”

“There’s nothing I want, what are you talking about?”

“Ah, of course. Silly me.” They walk along for a bit longer, Izaya getting bored and picking up Shizuo’s hand and humming.

Finally, Shizuo sighs, and Izaya bites back a smirk.

“So, where do you spend your lunch period?”

“On the roof, of course.”

Shizuo lifts an eyebrow. Izaya wasn’t anywhere near the roof today, and he’s sure Shizuo knows it.

“Dota-chin and Shinra usually join me. I’m surprised you don’t know, with you and Shinra being childhood friends and all.”

Shizuo grimances. “That’s stretching it a bit.”

“Shinra has that effect on people.” More importantly…“Are we almost to your house?”

The sensation of dried come is starting to grate and itch. It’s very unpleasant..

“A few more blocks.”

He manages to hold out, but barely. Mostly because he can’t just rip his underwear from his body without removing his pants first.

“I’m home!” Shizuo calls, closing the door behind him. There’s no response. “Kasuka must have club today.”

That’s all the indication Izaya needs. His hands are on his belt buckle and his fly is down before he can blink and he’s wiggling out of his pants in record time.

Shizuo blinks at him. “What are you doing?

Izaya holds up his underwear in triumph. “Come-encrusted. Not very comfortable.”

Shizuo puts his face in his palm, his cheeks turning red.

“What are you embarrassed about? Yours are just as bad.” Izaya stops to consider. “And you’ve already seen my junk.

Shizuo just blushes harder.

Izaya laughs, he can’t help it. “It’s the same junk you had your hands all over--”

“Stop, stop , just put your pants back on.”

“You’re no fun.” But Izaya does. It feels weird, with no underwear. He feels a bit freer , as it were.

Shizuo excuses himself to the restroom, and Izaya can hear the sound of the tap running, the sound of water being splashed. It all makes sense when Shizuo emerges, face dripping, something white balled in his left hand.

“You couldn’t stand it either, could you?”

Shizuo just rolls his eyes. “It’s uncomfortable.”

The living room is just inside the door, with a low table in the middle. In the winter, they might set up a kotatsu, but for now it’s just a plain table. Shizuo sits with his legs crossed in front of him, starting to take books out of his bag.

Izaya plops on Shizuo’s lap, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning his side against Shizuo’s chest and his head against his shoulder.

“Who said you could sit there?” Shizuo says, even as he wraps his left arm around Izaya’s back so he has some support.

“I did. Look, I’ll even help you with your homework, because I am kind and merciful.”

Shizuo can’t quite turn his head to give him a skeptical look because of the angle, but Izaya can feel it anyway.

“I’m a grade ahead of you.”

“Hm. So I’ve heard.”

“You’ve never taken this level of Biology in your life.”

“And yet,” Izaya says, pointing at the piece of paper, “I know that’s wrong, and I can tell you why.”

“Oh, yeah?” Shizuo says, but he stops writing.

“You see, judging by your answers, you view the Krebs cycle as an actual cycle, but it’s more a series of intermediates.”

“Thanks, that makes so much sense,” Shizuo starts to scribble again, but Izaya smacks his chest with his hand.

“Hush, I’m not done. Imagine you’re making pancakes. To make pancakes, they don’t just come into existence at once, right? There’s steps. ” Izaya steals Shizuo’s pencil from his hand, drawing a circle on his paper. “So the RuBP? That’s your bowl.” Izaya draws a little bowl next to his symbol for the RuBP. “You’re gonna use your bowl every time, right? Next, you add your carbon dioxide, that’s your ingredients, the thing that make your pancakes. They’re used up every time you make pancakes.” Izaya sketches a bag of flour and whatever else goes into pancakes next to the circle. “When you cook your batter, it changes properties, right? Just like your rubisco changes into 3-PGA. Then you eat your pancakes, and get energy, just like the cell makes energy from the 3-PGA.” Izaya draws a stick figure eating pancakes. If it has an unflattering resemblance to Shizuo, well, that’s not his problem.

“How does it do that?”

“It makes ATP, but that’s not important right now. One thing at a time. Now you have to clean your bowl, just like the cell has to regenerate RUBP, just in case you ever want to make pancakes again.” Izaya draws a bowl and a bar of soap. Because bottles are hard. Who cares if it’s not technically accurate, it gets the point across.

“Now I’m hungry,” Shizuo says, his stomach rumbling to convey his point.

“Aren’t you always? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Shizuo picks his pencil backup, erasing a few things here and there and replacing them.

“Aren’t you going to do your homework?”

Izaya closes his eyes and curls into Shizuo’s shoulder. “Homework is for the feeble-minded.”

Izaya startles as Shizuo jostles his shoulder, making Izaya’s head wobble. “Do your homework.”

“I did it already, thanks, Mom,” Izaya mutters as he re-curls into his position on Shizuo’s shoulder. Shizuo’s arm squeezes his waist, as if in apology.

It’s calm, peaceful.

The only sounds are the tick of a distant clock and the scratch of Shizuo’s pencil against paper.

It’s amusing and novel for an entirety of fifteen minutes.

“No,” Shizuo says as Izaya opens his mouth.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say. Aren’t you at least curious?”

“Not until I finish my homework.”

How tedious. Whatever. Izaya fishes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the forums.

There’s one that’s the exclusive playground of Raijin academy. It’s the usual, mostly. Complaints about excessive homework, mostly. Speculation about whether the high school geography and English teachers are really banging, etc, etc.

Oh, wait. That is interesting. The first post in that thread is from last year, with a spring of activity around it. It peters out for a few months before reviving itself with a vengeance.

Now that’s interesting.

But requires investigation with an actual computer. Izaya bookmarks that and tabs over.

It doesn’t solve why the teacher he saw earlier looks so terribly familiar. He rips her picture from the school website, cropping it so only her face is visible before plugging it into one of those ‘see where your friends are now!’ sites.

“You’re plotting something.” This close, Izaya can feel the rumble of Shizuo’s voice as he speaks.

“Maybe,” Izaya admits. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t involve you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Shizuo says, tone wry, but he lets the matter drop.

The first few results are boring. A few images of the teacher with people he supposes are friends, arms draped over her shoulders.

But one result. One result is for a social media account for a ‘Yuki Love,’ porn star. It’s undoubtedly the same person, if maybe a few years younger.

Izaya smiles, curling into Shizuo’s chest, and takes a screenshot.

“I’m bored,” Izaya says after a while, stretching over Shizuo’s arm until his back pops.

“I’m almost done. And…there.”

“Finally.” Izaya shifts so he’s straddling Shizuo instead. “It’s not very kind to keep a houseguest waiting, you know.

“Hm.” Izaya rocks forward, pulling Shizuo down at the same time. It’s easy. Shizuo comes down easily, like he’s been trained. Maybe he has been.

That’s a pleasant thought.

He’s getting better, at least. Quickly. Shizuo’s tongue skates around his teeth at the same time one of his hands works it’s way up Izaya’s back, skating up his spine.

Izaya leaves one hand in Shizuo’s hair, lets the other return the favor, working it’s way up Shizuo’s stomach lightly. He’s not as muscular as Izaya expected, he can feel shizuo’s ribs as clearly as he can feel his own, can’t feel any around his stomach. Odd.

Izaya moves his mouth away from Shizuo’s, working his way down Shizuo’s jaw, to his neck, nipping lightly. He liked it when Shizuo bit his lip, maybe Shizuo will like it when—

Nope, that wasn’t favorable.

Moving on.

Shizuo’s hand apparently gets bored counting Izaya’s vertebrae, works its way to his front, lightly brushing under his ribs—

Ahhh—” Izaya says, squirming away before he’s properly considered the motion.

Shizuo blinks down at him, hand hovering in the air, confusion lit large on his face. Then, horribly, understanding dawns.

“Izaya,” Shizuo drawls, hand flexing threateningly in the air, “are you ticklish?

“Of course no— knock that off.” Izaya tries to scramble back, but it’s too late, he’s trapped in on both sides, a double attack descending on his ribs. He fruitlessly tries to bat hands away, but it’s like smacking a brick wall for all the progress he makes.

Izaya tries a different tactic, wiggling forwards into Shizuo’s chest for cover.

It doesn’t stop.

Izaya changes tactics, reaching down instead, grasping at— there it is.

Shizuo stiffens and his fingers stop. Finally.

“That’s a cheap tactic.”

“So is tickling. Didn’t stop you.”

Izaya unzips the front of Shizuo’s pants, pulling him out. It’s a bit more of a struggle to pull himself of his pants, the stretch of the material working against him.

“What are you—”

Izaya grabs himself and Shizuo in one hand, Shizuo cutting off. Oh, no wait. It’d be easier to grind down, wouldn’t it?

No, he can just— a bit higher up on his knees, and he has the leverage to rock forward—

Oh.

That’s nice.

Shizuo thinks so too, if his head dropping to Izaya’s shoulder is any indication.

So Izaya does it again.

One of Shizuo’s hands drops to cover his, and it’s larger that Izaya’s, covers more of them together. Suddenly, there’s more pressure. That’s nice.

Good job, Shizuo. Izaya rewards him by leaning in to kiss him. It’s sloppy, most of his concentration is taken up by trying to move above Shizuo, but Shizuo hardly seems to care. Hardly seems to notice for that matter. He’s responding enthusiastically, pulling Izaya down by his hip and his hair.

If he’d tug on his hair just a littl e—

Like that.

That’s nice.

He’s coming, and he can feel himself pulse in his hand, can feel wetness spreading through his fingers.

He’s moving his hand out from under Shizuo’s to reach further back, behind—

Shizuo makes a surprised noise, and he’s coming too.

“What—?”

“Perineum, Shizu-chan. Don’t they make you take Sex Ed in middle school?” Izaya says, wiping his hand on Shizuo’s pants. It’s not actually something they teach in sex ed, but Shizuo doesn’t need to know that.

There’s the sound of someone scrambling at the lock, and Shizuo freezes. Izaya becomes acutely aware of their location, in the living room of Shizuo’s home, next to the front door. Shizuo’s tugging off his school jacket as fast as he can, pushing Izaya off his lap at the same time. Shizuo tosses his jacket over Izaya’s lap as the door opens, leaving himself hanging out in time for Kasuka to appear in the door.

“I’m home,” Kasuka says, face registering no surprise at Shizuo’s state of dress, even as Shizuo desperately attempts to rectify it.

“Welcome back,” Shizuo says. “This is my friend, Izaya.”

Kasuka stares for a long moment.

“I see,” Kasuka says, disappearing upstairs.

Izaya can’t choke back his laughter anymore, letting it explode out of him.

“Ah, Shizu-chan, I thought we were more than friends!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve been playing with my— ah, no!” The fingers are back, mercilessly at his ribs again, Shizuo smiling absolute murder above him.

 

Chapter Text

Izaya leaves before Shizuo’s mom gets home, but not after swinging his underwear in Shizuo’s face like it’s some sort of prize.

“You sure you don’t want to keep it?” he says, smirking like the devil himself. “I hear perverts like to keep these things to smell afterwards.”

“Oh my god, I don’t want your crusty underwear, is all Shizuo can say as Izaya laughs himself out of the front door. Shizuo can hear him laughing all the way down the front walk, the asshole.

Shaking his head, Shizuo turns to go into the kitchen to get a glass of milk, but pauses when he sees Kasuka standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at him levelly.

“Brother,” Kasuka says, and his voice is the same monotone it usually is, but Shizuo swears he can feel a sense of judgement.

“Yes?” Shizuo says as evenly as he can.

“You look happy. You should stay that way,” Kasuka says, and there’s something else there that Kasuka’s not saying, but Shizuo’s never been good at this kind of thing. He’s never been able to derive a hundred meaning out of a conversation like Kasuka has been able to, and all he can do is flounder in the unsaid as Kasuka pads back upstairs on quiet feet.

He decides to take it at surface value. If his brother wanted him to know something, he should know well enough to come out and say it.

The thing is, he feels happy. Or, at least, content. He’s humming as he pours himself a glass of milk. He watches an entire episode of whatever anime’s on TV without feeling the need to put his fist through the glass. He stretches out and reads manga after that, comfortable just being.

It’s nice.

The good feeling lasts all the way to dinner, where it evaporates like it’s never been.

He’s waiting for Kasuka to mention in that offhand way of his: “I saw brother’s penis today. I think he was rubbing it against someone else’s. Pass the salt?”

But Kasuka doesn’t and instead, his mom says, tentative and hesitant: “You look happy.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, between mouthfuls of food, “I had a good day.”

“Oh?” his mom says, asking-not-asking in that way of hers.

“Yeah. I hung out with a friend,” Shizuo says, fighting to keep down his blush. Hung out. God, what a poor choice of words.

But his mom just replies: “Oh, that’s nice, dear.”

She doesn’t say anything else the rest of dinner, cutlery scraping the plates the only sound in the room.

The silence is heavy, uncomfortable. It’s nearly a tangible thing, making the hairs on Shizuo’s neck stand up.

It’s heavy enough to feel like a physical weight, and he’s tired and irritable by the time he stands up from the table, making the plates and cups rattle.

 

Izaya’s back in his usual perch at the windows, overlooking the crowds as they come in. He blows a kiss as soon as he catches Shizuo looking, laughing as Shizuo turns red.

Izaya’s perch is about three floors up in the middle school wing, only accessible by the stairs in the middle of the building, through some quirk in the architecture. It’s not that high schoolers aren’t allowed in the middle school wing, since that’s where the library is, but more than it’s uncommon for them to be there. It gets him attention, the bright blue of his uniform stark against the black of the other’s.

Even though everything about him demands attention, from the uniform to his hair to his stride, as he rounds a corner, there’s a thump against his side and a shrill “ Watch where you’re going!”

He glances down, and there’s a girl on the ground, glaring up at him. As he watches she pales, scrambling back and picking up things as she goes.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time!” she’s saying as Shizuo walks away, determined to see Izaya before classes start.

Shizuo climbs the stairs until he’s on the right level, coming up from behind Izaya.

Izaya turns to look over his shoulder and Shizuo takes the opportunity to kiss him soundly, hand coming up to cup Izaya’s face.

Izaya pulls back first, smirking up at him. “See? You’re learning.”

Izaya turns back to look out the window and Shizuo contents himself with hugging Izaya from behind, soaking in the silence until the bell for the start of class rings.

 

He’s just trying to eat his lunch, for fuck’s sake.

“Stop squirming, damn it.” Shizuo moves his sandwich out of the way of Izaya’s flailing limbs.

“I can’t help it, you’re so bony,” Izaya whines, but he stops moving on Shizuo’s lap, finally settling into a position.

“Then sit on the floor!”

“But that’s covered in bird crap.”

“You know, Izaya,” Shinra says, “it’s you who chose the roof. If you don’t like it—”

“Oh, please,” Kadota says from Shizuo’s left. “Izaya just wants to sit on his lap. He’s never cared about bird poop before, I’ve seen him practically rolling around in it.” Kadota looks straight at Shizuo then, the first he’s be openly acknowledged.

“You could always shove him off, you know. You don’t have to put up with him.”

Izaya snakes his arms around Shizuo’s waist, clinging tight as if that would in anyway stop Shizuo if he wanted Izaya off his lap. “You’re so mean, Dota-chin.”

It’s actually kinda nice to have Izaya warm weight on his lap, even if he just threw himself there like he had an open invitation. And if he’s here, then he’s not somewhere else, making trouble for everyone involved.

It’s a public service, really.

“It’s fine,” Shizuo says, because it really is, even as he pretends he didn’t see Izaya take a bite of his sandwich. “I’m Shizuo, by the way.”

“I know. I’m Kadota, no matter what he says.”

“Ah, but Dota-chin,” Izaya says, bending his back so he can curl his body to fit entirely against Shizuo’s torso, head tucked under Shizuo’s chin, “nicknames show how close we are, how far we’ve come.”

“We’re not close,” Kadota says, with a resigned air that makes it sound like he’s already knows he’s lost. It makes something that Shizuo didn’t know was tense relax, something that felt prickly and unhappy. By the way Izaya’s body shakes in silent laughter, he can feel it.

Probably even knows why, the bastard.

“Oh, pumpkin,” Izaya breathes, “don’t you fret. I still like you best.”

Shizuo strokes a hand down Izaya’s back. “I know, cupcake.”

It’s because his hand is on Izaya’s spine that he can feel him tense.

Speaking of spines…

“You’re too thin.”

“What are you, my grandmother?”

“Don’t you have something to eat?” Shizuo says.

“No. Clearly— hmpf .”

It seems most expedient to just introduce food to Izaya than try to convince him that it’s necessary. Izaya glares at him over the sandwich before taking a bite. Shinra’s laughing over in the corner as Izaya and Shizuo stare down, Izaya’s expression suggesting that Shizuo might have a glob of un-chewed sandwich gracing his shirt in the near future. But Izaya relents, swallowing down the bite with a glare.

“What if I was allergic to something in that, huh, darling? Did you think of that?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t eating it when I wasn’t looking, honey.”

“Then why’d you shove the sandwich in my mouth? Your leaps of logic are lacking.”

“It seemed the fastest way to shut you up.”

“Oh, there’s much more effect— hmpf.”

Shinra cackles. “Bite off more than you can chew, Izaya-kun?”

Izaya flips him off, but finishes the rest of Shizuo’s sandwich, licking Shizuo’s fingers when he’s done. It’s oddly pleasant, having something wet and warm snake in between his fingers.

“That’s classy,” Kadota says, rolling his eyes, but looking away.

“I think it’s sweet. I wish Celty would do that,” Shinra says, eyes becoming unfocused and glazed.

“Celty doesn’t have a tongue,” Izaya reminds him, and Shizuo and Kadota both whip around to stare at him, but Shinra just laughs.

“That’s true. I suppose I’ll just have to eat straight from her palm. Or maybe from her--”

“Please, god no,” Izaya says, clapping his hands over his ears.

“From her what?” Shizuo asks, confused.

“Shizuo no, ” Izaya claps a hand over Shizuo’s mouth, but it’s too late.

“From her lady parts of course! Nothing else could be so pure.”

“Can you even put food down there?” Kadota says. “Can’t that cause infections and things? Why doesn’t Celty have a tongue?”

“Because she doesn’t have a head,” Izaya informs him gleefully, wiggling in Shizuo’s lap again.

“Why? Is she a sex doll?”

Izaya’s eyes light up as Shinra wails. “Yes,” Izaya says, “that’s exactly what she is.”

 

He finds Izaya after school sitting precariously on the edge of a window sill, leaning over the courtyard.

Shizuo wraps his arms around Izaya’s waist, and Izaya doesn’t even startle, just leans back into his chest.

“That was quick.”

“What was?”

“You found me. How’d you know?”

“I have a second sense for bullshit.”

Izaya laughs at that, but doesn’t turn away from the courtyard.

“What you looking at?” Shizuo says, trying to see what might have caught Izaya’s attention. There’s nothing particularly interesting in his direct line of view. There are a few trees, but they’re not doing anything particularly noteworthy either, still bare from the receding winter.

There are a few girls meandering about, but no one Shizuo knows or recognizes at first glance. No one worth staring at, at any rate.

“Humans,” Izaya answers, breezy and vague.

“You could do that anywhere. Why here?”

“I’m watching an intricately changing social structure, Shizuo. It’s the minutiae that change everything.”

Uh-huh.” Shizuo props his chin on Izaya’s shoulder. “And what’s changing so dramatically?”

“The balance of power.”

There’s a sudden flurry of movement down below, one girl charging at another, full speed, knocking her to the ground.

It’s fascinating watching a fight from the outside. He can’t even remember the last time he wasn’t a part of the fray, throwing bodies around, cracking a few jaws. Shizuo’s pretty sure there’s less hair-pulling when he fights, though. Like, ninety percent sure.

Okay, maybe seventy percent. It looks pretty effective.

Izaya’s happily drumming his heels against the wall below him, humming down in his chest. It reverberates through Shizuo’s own, like he’s got a cat sitting on him.

Shizuo’s vague suspicions seem to crystalize in that moment, turning from a vague feeling to absolute certainty. He’s absolutely certain that Izaya caused the fight down in the courtyard, that he’s watching with undeniable glee. There’s no doubt.

Shizuo doesn’t know how or why though.

The how is almost, not meaningless , but not as important.

“Why?” Shizuo says. It’s easiest to get answers from the source.

“Why, what?” Izaya says, watching as a teacher pulls the two girls apart. His heels stop drumming against the wall.

“Why did you cause that fight?”

Izaya tenses, just a little. His head turns minutely towards Shizuo, as if that would help him gage his expression any.

“I didn’t say that I did,” Izaya’s voice is still light, but there’s an edge under it now.

“I know. But why did you?”

“Why does Shizu-chan say I did?”

Shizuo shrugs, knowing Izaya can feel it even he can’t see it.

“I just know.”

“Instinctual. Like an animal, ne?” He’s been called an animal before, and usually that’d be enough to send him off, pushing Izaya out of the window. But the intent under Izaya’s words is different, he can hear it. It’s not mocking, it’s almost pleased. It’s almost a compliment. It’s something Izaya likes about him. It makes something fuzzy and bubbly emerge in his stomach.

“Hm. Answer the question.”

Izaya is silent for a moment. “I did it because I wanted to.”

The air is still, heavy. The moment is pivotal, Shizuo can feel it in the careful way Izaya’s holding himself.

But Izaya’s hands.

Izaya’s hands are lifting off the window sill and settling themselves lightly on his lap. If Shizuo pushed Izaya now, there’d be nothing to stop his fall, nothing at all. Shizuo and Izaya’s balance are the only things keeping him stationary.

“Do you do it often?”

A shrug. “I suppose. It’s great fun.”

Shizuo thinks of Izaya playing god with their classmates, thinks of the two girls fighting in the courtyard.

But it’s hard to feel anything about that. Shizuo expects a rush of anger, how dare someone play with other’s lives like that?

But.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he feels Izaya turn in his grasp, leaning against Shizuo’s arms to get a good look at his face.

Shizuo’s the only thing keeping Izaya off the ground.

Izaya trusts him.

Implicitly.

Izaya likes him, seeks him out.

“Shizuo, I have a question for you.”

Shizuo blinks. “Uh, okay?”

“Is it worse to do something bad because you like it or because you can’t stop yourself? Does it matter, in the end, what the intent was if the result is the same? Is one thing less monstrous than the other?”

“Intent is important,” Shizuo says, but it sounds empty.

It sounds like the broken sobs of a woman being robbed and the clink-clack of crutches against a tile floor.

“Is it?” Izaya says, folding his legs criss-cross, leaning further back into Shizuo’s hold.

“Why do it if you don’t have to? Why make them fight?”

“See, the thing is, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, spinning a finger lazily in the air, “I didn’t really make them do anything. Sure, I gave one an idea, but in the end, it was up to her to follow through.”

“She wouldn’t have had that idea without you. The entire thing could have been avoided.”

Izaya shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Humans are unpredictable. That’s what makes them so much fun.”

“Us.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s what makes us so much fun. We’re human, too.”

Izaya laughs. “No, we’re not, Shizuo.” Izaya’s leaning forward, into the building, wrapping his arms around Shizuo’s neck and his legs around his waist and tucking his face into Shizuo’s neck. “No, we’re not.”

“Then what are we?”

Shizuo can feel Izaya smile against his neck. “Monsters, of course. Two-of-a-kind.”

Izaya’s calm and still for a few beats, Shizuo resting his hand on his spine. He’s not quite sure what to think, if he should be thinking at all.

There’s something in him, very faint, that’s protesting. Something that doesn’t like being called a monster. But it’s swamped and overpowered by a warm, fuzzy feeling. One that recognizes Izaya clinging to his front and likes being included in something.

Likes that Izaya thinks they’re the same.

One that feels relieved.

He’s… not quite sure why.

Maybe… it’s because he won’t have to explain to Izaya that he’s not human. Not kind or good or gentle. But. Izaya already knew that, didn’t he?

Maybe it’s having someone that’s like him?

Maybe…

It’s because he’s not alone.

The warm feeling surges at that thought. Yes, that’s it. He’s not alone.

Izaya begins shifting under his hand, small movements.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Izaya says at last.

“Probably not.”

“I think,” Izaya continues as if Shizuo hadn’t spoken, “you should blow me.”

“Alright,” Shizuo says and Izaya blinks. And waits. And waits.

“What, right now?”

Izaya give him a look. “What, are you busy?”

“No, just. Why ?”

“Why not?” Izaya says.

“Because we’re at school?”

You’re no fun today,” Izaya sighs, but he slithers off the window sill to grab his bag and follows Shizuo out of the building.

 

“Let’s go somewhere,” Izaya is saying, spinning with restless energy as they leave the gates.

“Like where?”

“I dunno. An arcade? A park? We live in Tokyo, the options are nearly endless,” Izaya stops and grabs Shizuo’s arm. “We could go to a maid cafe. They’d call you master, I know you’re into that.”

“I am not.”

“But you’re blushing.”

It’s true but—

“Not because of that. Eh, but not today, though. I have a test tomorrow.”

“You’re very studious, Shizu-chan.”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“Because I am! I didn’t expect it from your delinquent looks at all,” Izaya puts a finger on his lips. “And it is Raira. Not exactly known for it’s…ah, academic reputation, ne?”

It’s true. It’s more known for students getting mugged on campus. But at least he’s in high school. Right?

Izaya’s wandering in the wrong direction. “Where are you going?”

Izaya looks over his shoulder and lifts an eyebrow. “Home.” He continues to amble away, still talking, like he expects Shizuo to follow. “Since you’re so against completely private oral sex. There was no one there!”

Shizuo trails after Izaya after a moment, long strides bringing him to Izaya’s side in no time.

“Why your house?”

“Because my computer is there. Honestly, Shizu-chan, I have more things to do with my time than atrophy in your lap.”

Huh. That’s fair. He supposes.

 

Izaya’s house is kinda dusty, large and cavernous. There’s a lot of spaces that seem to suggest furniture could be there, and its absence is conspicuous and glaring. Izaya barely pauses to toe off his shoes before climbing up the stairs, beconing Shizuo to follow.

There are four doors scattered upstairs, all firmly shut. Izaya opens one without hesitation, and the room it reveals is huge. There’s enough room for a bed and desk, for a bookcase, and for a low table. It’s maybe slightly larger than Shizuo’s parent’s room, and absolutely puts his own to shame. There’s even what looks like a bathroom tucked off into the corner, behind a door.

If this is Izaya’s room, he can’t even imagine how big the master bedroom is.

“Come, sit,” Izaya says, gesturing idly at the table. “You’re obsessing over your grades, right?”

“It’s not obsessing, it’s concern. It’s normal.

“Sure, sure,” Izaya says, waving a hand. He’s grabbing a rather serious looking laptop off of his desk, and coming back to the table.

“Sit,” Izaya says again, and Shizuo does. Izaya lays his stomach across Shizuo’s folded legs, settling his laptop in front of him, powering it up.

It’s nice. It’s really convenient to put his textbook on Izaya’s back and his homework on the table for writing, even if Izaya turns to give him a look every time he does it.

But that can usually be rectified by giving Izaya’s ass an appreciative squeeze. Really, he’s so transparent.

The moments tick by, tranquil and relaxing. Shizuo will once in a while ask a question, Izaya answering in that lazy way he has. It’s like having a personal tutor right at his fingertips. Every once in a while, he’ll glance at what Izaya’s doing on his computer.

Sometimes it’s interesting. Once it seemed to have the dark lights and poor graphics of a porn site. But another, it appeared to be nothing but a wall of code. Yet another, it was a spreadsheet, numbers so small it was enough to give Shizuo a headache just glancing at it.

The shadows have lengthened by the time Shizuo closes his last book, stretching his spine so it pops and cracks.

Shizuo runs a palm up Izaya’s spine, using the heel to apply some pressure, feeling Izaya’s spine pop and crack under it.

“Feel free to do that whenever you want,” Izaya says, closing the lid of his laptop and rolling over, using Shizuo’s thigh to crack his back further.

“What you’ve been doing this whole time?” Shizuo asks, trying to restrain the impulse to dancing his fingers over Izaya’s vulnerable stomach.

“This and that,” Izaya says. “Hey, did you know the school paid a lot of money two years ago to have all the desks replaced?”

Shizuo frowns, thrown by the question. “Uh, no?”

“Neither did I.”

“They’re kinda in shitty condition to have been replaced only two years ago, aren’t they?”

Izaya smiles up at him. “Exactly. You get it.”

Shizuo does not get it.

Oh no, wait.

So, Izaya thinks he’s given Shizuo all the information he needs to follow.

So. The school paid a lot of money to have the desk replaced.

Izaya thinks the desk haven’t been replaced.

“So, where did the money go?”

Izaya’s smile brightens by a few watts.

“Now that, Shizuo, is the million-dollar question.”

Izaya gets gracefully to his feet, walking over to his bed and sitting on it, patting the mattress beside him.

“Come on.”

Seems like a good idea. So Shizuo does, sitting next to Izaya on the mattress.

Izaya’s mouth is warm on his, tasting of nothing in particular. Izaya braces his hands on Shizuo’s shoulders, pushing against them once.

Then harder.

Then smacking them.

“Oh my god,” Izaya breathes, pulling away from Shizuo’s mouth. “Lay down already.”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to make— oof!

Izaya bounces a little as his back hits the mattress, blinking up at Shizuo, startled, before his expression melts into his customary smirk.

“I forgot that you like to be the one in charge. Say, do you want me to—”

Shizuo doesn’t care for what Izaya’s about to say, a wicked gleam in his eyes, so he cuts him off with his tongue, climbing on top of Izaya for a better angle.

Izaya’s hands start in his hair, grabbing handfuls, before they get bored and wander down and around, one hand slipping fingers into the knot of his tie, working it open and off.

“Why do you even bother to wear this?” Izaya says as Shizuo moves attention to his ear.

It’s a nice ear. Delicate. And Izaya shivers when he blows gently on it before nibbling at the earlobe.

“It’s part of the uniform,” Shizuo says, before moving to Izaya’s neck. It’s a nice neck. Elegant. Pale. Little pink marks appear wherever he gently nibbles and he can feel Izaya’s pulse increase under his lips when he kisses there.

“Harder,” Izaya says when Shizuo nips lightly as his pulse.

So Shizuo does, increasing the pressure a tiny bit.

“Harder,” Izaya says again, and Shizuo bites a little harder, feeling the give of flesh under his teeth.

Harder,” Izaya snaps, breathless, and Shizuo bites incrementally until he can taste copper, and he pulls away, but Izaya’s groaning, a hazy look in his eyes.

Left behind are red intents, one bleeding the tiniest amount.

Izaya scowls at him. “Why’d you stop?”

“You’re bleeding,” Shizuo says, watching as a drop of blood beads up in the bite mark.

“So?” Izaya says, tugging on Shizuo’s jacket. “I like it.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Shizuo says, watching the drop of blood start a slow streak down Izaya’s neck.

“Of course it hurts,” Izaya snaps, “that’s the point.”

Shizuo looks dumbly down at him, not quite sure what to do with that. “What?”

“I like,” Izaya says slowly, “that it hurts.”

“Oh,” Shizuo says. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s fascinating. Before Shizuo can think about it too hard, he’s licking gently at it, like he might if he found a cut on his hand. Izaya arches his back when Shizuo does that, pressing his hips flush against Shizuo’s.

He’s hard.

Already?

Well….Shizuo is too, now that he thinks about it. When did that happen?

More importantly, Izaya’s hands are now making a coordinated effort to unbutton the front of his shirt, leaving the fabric to dangle to either side. That’s just unfair. Izaya’s wearing a freaking t-shirt under his jacket, all the fabric does is bunch up under Izaya’s back when Shizuo tries to ruck it up his ribs.

Shizuo hisses in frustration as Izaya runs his hands lightly along Shizuo’s ribs.

“Having trouble?”

“Nope,” Shizuo says as he works a hand under Izaya, lifting his torso by the small of his back and tugging the shirt off with one hand.

Izaya deigns to help only when it gets caught around his neck, shrugging his arms through the holes.

Izaya’s pale underneath his shirt. Scrawny, at first glance. But that’s not quite right. There are muscles hiding here and there under the skin, he’s just painfully thin.

“You should eat more,” Shizuo mutters, running his hands along Izaya’s ribs until they’re smacked away.

“I’d get fat, ” Izaya whines, shoving and Shizuo’s shirt and jacket, trying to work them off Shizuo’s shoulders.

Shizuo snorts. “You have a long way to go before you hit ‘fat.’ All the way through ‘healthy.’” But he lets Izaya push his shirt off and toss it somewhere on the floor.

Izaya’s hands are roaming, seemingly fascinated with his back. Then, ever so lightly, Izaya drags his fingertips down Shizuo’s back, the suggestions of touch making him shiver.

Izaya cocks his head under him, smirking.

It’s irritating.

So Shizuo bites down on the juncture of Izaya’s neck, leaving behind a row of red indents in his skin. Shizuo’s not quite sure what to do with the expanse of skin under him. Izaya’s hands are trailing along his sides, gently leaving trails of sparks, playing along his waist band before coming back up.

Shizuo decides to go back to what he knows, taking Izaya’s bottom lip in between his teeth, ever so careful to not break the skin, sucking gently. Izaya reaches up to grip his hair, pulling him down.

Then Izaya works a leg between them. But settles it outside of Shizuo’s own, wrapping it around his waist and slapping Shizuo’s back with his heel.

Shizuo might be impressed if that wasn’t so fucking annoying.

Izaya’s heel is getting more insistent.

Shizuo rolls his eyes, but flattens so he’s laying on Izaya, careful to try and not crush him under his weight. He can feel Izaya smirk for a brief second before a thigh comes up and presses against the front of his pants.

Oooooh.

Shizuo moves his leg to reciprocate, Izaya hard and warm against his thigh, leg tightening in approval.

It’s nice like this, chests warm against each other. He can feel Izaya’s stomach press against his when he takes a breath.

But.

He’s kind of curious.

So he moves down Izaya’s neck, pausing only briefly to nip at his neck before moving down to his chest.

He kinda wants to lick it.

So he does.

Hm. Tastes like skin.

Izaya mutters something that might be “dog,” so Shizuo decides to drool all over him, see how he likes that.

It’s when his tongue drags over something different that Izaya’s leg tenses.

So he does it again.

The leg tenses again.

Interesting.

He thought it was girl’s nipples that were supposed to be sensitive, but Izaya certainly seems to like it. Wonder if…

He bites down and Izaya’s hands clench in his hair and he lets out an honest to god moan. Shizuo licks it to soothe the bite, and Izaya starts to squirm.

A heel hits his back. “Stop smirking, damn it.”

So Shizuo bites the other one, using his hand to play with the first one. Izaya’s back starts to arch a little, causing his pants to brush against Shizuo’s chest.

That’s right. He told Izaya he would blow him, didn’t he?

Well. No time like the present.

He moves down further, pausing when confronted with Izaya’s belt buckle, his old enemy.

The leather is even more uncooperative this time than the last, getting caught up in the metal of the buckle, then the loops of the pants.

It goes on long enough that Izaya starts to laugh at him, body shaking with not-at-all suppressed laughter.

But the fool left his stomach exposed.

Shizuo puts his mouth right over the belly button, sucking a breath in and blowing. Who said raspberries were only for children have never heard the un-godly shriek Izaya lets out.

Now Shizuo ’s the one laughing, Izaya’s shocked and scandalized face burned into his memory.

Until he encounters a face full of pillow.

That’s it.

Shizuo gives up on the fastenings of Izaya’s pants and just rips them open, the fabric giving little resistance under his hands.

“Ooh, how manly of you, Shizuo,” Izaya says from above him.

“Shut up.”

So.

A dick.

It goes in his mouth, right? That’s the point of this.

With a mental shrug, he slides his mouth down until his lips hit the base.

Izaya gives a surprised groan, hips lifting off the bed. What else did Izaya do? There was a tongue involved somewhere, he was sure. And hands. But if the cock is in his mouth, were do his hands go?

Oh, the balls, duh. So he takes them in his hand.

Uh.

Shizuo hums, trying to figure out what to do next, and Izaya’s hands fly to his hair again, fisting in the strands.

Shizuo slides back a bit, and Izaya’s hips buck off the bed, shoving himself right back in. Shizuo can feel Izaya scrape along his teeth briefly, the awkward angle and uncontrolled movement making it an inevitability.

That’s gotta hurt.

But Izaya’s hands twitch in his hair, and he does it again, hips lifting harder, and Shizuo can feel Izaya’s cock hitting the back of his throat, Izaya’s skin catching on his bottom teeth.

And then there’s a sensation of pulsing and there’s something warm and fucking bitter holy shit.

Shizuo pulls back, disregarding Izaya’s hands in his hair to spit whatever the fuck that is, holy shit onto the sheets as Izaya laughs.

“What? Come not to your tastes?”

Shizuo’s scraping his tongue to get the taste off, not watching as Izaya pops his fly and pulls his pants down.

“We’ll get dinner in a bit to help you get the taste off, I promise,” Izaya says, sitting up and crawling to where Shizuo is. “But for now—”

Shizuo’s not surprised when Izaya’s tongue enters his mouth, but it is a nice distraction from that god awful taste. Izaya’s shoving on his chest again, and Shizuo lets himself be pushed down this time, Izaya following him. Izaya straddles his waist, reaching behind him, putting Shizuo dick under his ass and grinding down.

Shizuo can feel himself slip between Izaya’s cheeks, tip of his cock occasionally brushing Izaya’s balls, making him jerk like he’d been electrocuted.

Izaya’s leaning forward, bracing his hands above Shizuo’s shoulders, but Shizuo’s hands are free to trace Izaya, lingering around the bite marks on his neck, skating down his back.

Inspired, Shizuo draws his fingers down Izaya’s back, aiming for the light teasing touch Izaya did.

He realizes about halfway down that Izaya’s shuddering, that his own nails have gathered a bit of skin under them.

Oops.

Shizuo kisses his neck to apologize.

Izaya shudders again, and starts to slide down Shizuo’s body, ending up straddling Shizuo’s thighs. Shizuo props himself on his elbows, curious.

Izaya makes eye contact as he lowers his head, licking the tip. Maintains eye contact as Shizuo’s cock disappears into his lips, makes contact with the roof of his mouth—

Fuck.

It feels like his entire body relaxes at once, a moan coming out of his lips he can’t control.

Izaya’s smirking and licking his lips.

“See, Shizuo. Some of us aren’t children and can handle bitter things.”

Shizuo tosses an arm over his eyes, feels the bed move as Izaya comes to lay down next to him, curling on his side with his head on Shizuo’s shoulder.

Shizuo wraps his arm around Izaya, hand settling on Izaya’s hip. On bare skin.

On bare skin.

On bare—

Oh, shit.

Izaya’s naked.

“I was thinking sushi for— are you blushing? Why are you blushing?”

There’s tugs on the arm over his eyes, but Shizuo doesn’t move it.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before. Shizuo. Shizuo .”

“You’re naked,” Shizuo mumbles at last.

There’s a long silence.

Shizuo can feel the laughter before he hears it, bubbling and hysterical.

“Oh my god, shut up.”

But Izaya doesn’t. In fact, Izaya laughs about it the entire walk to a sushi place.

“Has my dick in his mouth but can’t stand it when I’m naked.”

Shut up.”

“It’s okay, honey. We all start somewhere.”

The only issue is when a passerby walking in the other direction gives them a dirty look.

But that’s easy to take care of.

Shizuo introduces them to a trash can while Izaya claps enthusiastically in the background.

Chapter Text

When it comes down to it, there’s not a single teacher in the entire school without something to hide.

Thud.

Some are relatively minor. The gym teacher likes to watch hentai. A lot of people do that. It doesn’t look good, but it’s not uncommon.

Crack.

The librarian took some digging, but he found something eventually. A bit of experimental drug use in college isn’t that uncommon, he knows it happens a lot more often than the population would think. But it’s still not something you want your boss to know.

“Get back here you bastard!”

One of the teachers lost all their life savings in the stock market crash back a few years ago. Not blackmail worthy. What is is the sudden increase in high-stakes gambling. What’s even more so is that he’s bad at it. Awful. Hasn’t won in months.

“What the fuck did you say to me?”

Need to be careful around that one. He’s got nothing left to lose.

Izaya scrolls idly through his phone. He’s got the evidence. All’s that’s really left is to present it. In an ideal world, it wouldn’t link back to him, and that creates all sorts of potential problems.

If you don’t know who’s blackmailing you, how do you dance to their tune? Tricky, tricky. Trying to coax a specific response out of an individual is hard. It’s much more fun to throw a metaphorical firecracker into everyday life and see what happens.

Ah, well. Can’t always have everything.

But apparently you can have the late-afternoon sunshine shining down on you, lounging on the bleachers. Enjoy the slow and steady creep from spring to summer. Izaya can feel his skin burn in the sunlight, the almost-pleasant tingling.

He hates it.

Shizuo better hurry the fuck up.

There’s an almighty crash, and the bleachers shake as a body hits the lower benches with a blinding speed.

“Shizuo,” Izaya calls, “fucking watch it.”

The next body lands three feet to his left with a deafening clang .

Point taken.

It shouldn’t be much longer now, there’s only….four left? Three, now. Shizuo’s going to want to go home and clean himself up, though, instead of going to the strip mall. Something about ‘public decency’ and ‘being barred from some places.’

Whatever.

Shizuo punches the last one out, sending him careening through the nearest wall, before turning to the bleachers where Izaya sits.

Izaya gives him some applause as he stands, as one should always do for a good show, stepping from one bench to another as Shizuo approaches the bottom of the bleacher.

“My hero, ” Izaya croons, stepping down onto the next bench, pausing.

“Defender of my virtue.”

Step.

“My loins surge with an inner fire.”

Step. He’s one above an unimpressed Shizuo now, so he pivots on a heel and falls backwards, unsurprised when two arms catch him behind his back in a princess carry.

“Take me now, you big muscly, milk man,” Izaya moans, throwing an arm around Shizuo’s neck.

“For fucks sake, Izaya,” Shizuo groans, and not in the fun way. “They were threatening to kill you. Be serious.”

“Good thing you were here to save me,” Izaya purrs into Shizuo’s ear, running his fingers along his neck.

“I just beat the shit out of… a lot of people.”

“I know,” Izaya agrees. “It was very arousing. Look at how aroused I am. I can feel my bodice heaving and my pants growing tight.”

“You’re not—” then Shizuo actually bothers to look. “Well, fuck.”

“I’d blow you right here,” Izaya says into Shizuo’s neck. “But I know you’re against—”

“Locker room should be empty.”

Izaya can’t quite hide the smirk that curls across his mouth, so he presses it into Shizuo’s neck instead.

Shizuo’s gotten more confident, more vocal. More grabby. His hands are in Izaya’s hair almost as soon as his knees hit the floor. He’s tugging at Izaya’s hair even as his hips are stuttering forward. Izaya’s pretty sure that’s a no-no in blow-job etiquette, but he likes it. He likes the star-bright pain of hair pulling and the almost sensation of choking every time Shizuo slides in further than he intends.

It’s no different this time.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Shizuo’s muttering, even as Izaya’s sliding him down into his mouth, swirling around the tip. Even as Shizuo thrusts forward. “Getting off on violence.”

Izaya rolls his eyes and uses his hand to stroke what he can’t reach, angling his mouth so Shizuo stretches out the inside of his cheek.

And that’s all it takes.

It’s almost surprising, but Izaya’s used to the taste by now.

“Can’t believe me , huh?” Izaya says, leaning his head against Shizuo’s thigh as tugs turn to carding through his hair. “Seems like you have a similar, shall we call it, taste , honeybun.”

“No way,” Shizuo protests, as Izaya unfolds to his feet and is promptly shoved into the lockers. “You have no proof, cupcake.”

“Not in the slightest,” Izaya agrees, as Shizuo grabs his hips and descends on his neck with more enthusiasm than grace. There’s the sting of teeth on his neck, turning into an ache as Shizuo sucks, the pricking burn of blood rushing to the area when he lets go. Izaya’s just about to wrap his legs around Shizuo when the creak of a door and a wave of voices announces the arrival of the after school clubs.

“Can’t they see that I’m trying to get off here?”

“I think that we should keep it so that they don’t,” Shizuo says, stuffing himself back into his pants and grabbing Izaya’s wrist, making a hasty scramble for the back door.

“You’re no fun, Shizu-chan,” Izaya whines. “No sex in public places, no—”

“You just have no shame.”

“You should try it. Might make your life less stressful.”

“One of us should have a sense of public decency.”

“Or none of us. That would be more fun. Speaking of which, the shopping mall is still open—”

“I’d really prefer to take a shower.”

Just as Izaya expected.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Izaya sighs, putting a hand to his forehead.

“Actually, we agreed to go out for lunch and a movie with Kadota and Shinra tomorrow,” Shizuo reminds him.

“I don’t remember that,” Izaya lies, turning the direction of his own home. Shizuo follows without complaint. “Sounds like a double date.”

“Kadota and Shinra aren’t dating, Shinra’s hung up on his doll-thing. He talks about it constantly.”

“Oh, I meant Shinra and me and you and Kadota, but—” Izaya laughs as he dodges Shizuo’s lazy swat to his head, but swings back to press into Shizuo’s side. “I kid, I kid.”

I don’t think it’s funny,” Shizuo growls, but swings an arm around Izaya’s shoulders anyway.

 

Shizuo’s well trained, now. He never tries to go home when they leave school, or the mall, or wherever they end up. On one memorable occasion, the arcade, but Izaya doesn’t like to talk about that.

“Can I use your shower?” Shizuo asks the minute they clear the door, toeing off his shoes.

“Have I ever stopped you before? Though I probably should. You take forever. What are you even doing in there? Trying to purify your soul with water?”

“No, I’m washing. It takes longer for people not built like twigs. Besides, it’s polite to ask.”

You wouldn’t know polite if it bit you in the ass.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“Casting aspersions on my character isn’t polite either, snookums.”

Shizuo disappears into Izaya’s bathroom, trailing clothes as he goes like the utter slob he is.

Izaya pulls out his computer and starts to code. Might as well make use of his time, not waste it as others are wont to do.

It’s around the fifteen minute mark when Shizuo calls.

“Izaya!”

“What?!”

“There’s no shampoo in here!”

“What the hell have you been doing in there for the past fifteen minutes?!” Izaya calls back as he unfolds himself from the floor.

He’s hit with a wave of steam as soon as he opens the door, swirls of it obscuring his view of most of the bathroom.

“You know no amount of water will ever wash away your sins, right?”

“Fuck off!”

The shampoo is in the cupboard under the sink, where the toilet paper also lives, along with the artifacts of his parent’s sex life that he Does Not Think About, Ever that laid about the room when he first claimed it as his own.

He’d throw it away, but he’s not sure if pink dildos go in the recycling or general trash.

And he doesn’t want to touch it.

His mind feels gross just thinking about it.

He grabs the shampoo and throws off his clothes while he’s at it.

“I’m coming in. And I have shampoo.”

“I wondered how long it would take you.”

“Is that why you’re starting a single man campaign to raise my water bill? You just want some company?” Izaya comes up close to Shizuo, wrapping his arms around him tight. It’s hard, with Shizuo’s skin and his own being wet, but he manages. “That’s almost sweet and not pathetic at all!”

“Shut up.”

“Wash my hair for me.”

“Yes, master.”

“Ooh, that’s nice. Feel free to call me that.”

Shizuo just snorts. Probably because he will at one point, when he thinks Izaya’s forgotten. Fat chance of that.

Izaya rinses the shampoo free and shuts off the water.

“I’m not done!”

“How could you possibly not be done?” but Izaya turns the water back on as he steps out and grabs a towel.

“Your shower is nice! It doesn’t scream like mine does at home.”

“Scream?”

“Yeah, it makes these high-pitched noises…”

“High-pitched like you need to call a plumber, or like you need to call an exorcist?”

“Shut up, I’ll be done in a second.”

It takes him exactly 613 seconds.

“Why are you like this?” Shizuo grouses, rubbing his towel over his hair, strutting around Izaya’s room naked like he owns the place.

“Precision is everything.” Izaya throws his phone off the bed, not looking to see where it lands. “Come over here.”

Another thing he’s trained Shizuo to do. Come when called.

Shizuo braces a knee on the bed before he’s cupping Izaya’s face and sucking on his lower lip, coming easily when Izaya’s tugs him back.

Shizuo still blushes when Izaya’s naked, a faint pink around his cheekbones and down his neck. It’s endearing now, when it doesn’t stop him from trailing his mouth from Izaya’s collar bone down to his stomach, and further down.

For now though, Shizuo’s amusing himself by mouthing at Izaya’s neck, rutting his hips against Izaya’s own.

“Hey,” Izaya says, tugging on Shizuo’s hair. “I want you to finger me.”

Shizuo pulls away from playing vampire, and Izaya can tell he’s broken him a little by the lost look he’s shooting his way. Shizuo wiggles his fingers briefly against Izaya’s side with a questioning look.

“No,” Izaya tells him. “Fingering. Inside .”

And that brings back Shizuo’s blush full-force, his cheeks flushing with color immediately.

“Oh,” is all he says. “How do you— I mean, do we need—”  

Izaya brings Shizuo’s hand up to his mouth, taking one finger in, swirling his tongue around, from base to tip. Shizuo got a sort of glazed look in his eyes, staring at Izaya’s mouth with a sort of enthrallment that’s really very flattering. It’s kind of hard not to make a show of it when you have such an attentive audience. So Izaya hollows his cheeks, sucks harder. Scrapes his teeth gently along Shizuo’s finger.

By the time he’s gently tugging Shizuo’s wrist out of his mouth, Shizuo’s gone a little slack-jawed, a little glazed. He startles when Izaya spreads his legs further, braces his feet against the mattress.

There’s a slight burn as Shizuo pushes his finger against Izaya’s entrance. Not an unpleasant one, more like an overused muscle. Izaya expected this, it’s no different that when he’s done it to himself.

What he didn’t expect was for Shizuo to go so slowly, like he can’t decide whether it’s okay or not, keeps flicking his eyes back up to Izaya’s face like he keeps expecting Izaya to say no. He takes so long sliding his finger around that the spit dries up like it’s never been.

“This can’t be comfortable,” Shizuo mutters, moving his finger gently out.

It’s not, he’s right. The friction burns pleasantly when he’s slow, but it verges on uncomfortable when Shizuo goes too fast.  

That’s when Izaya remembers.

“Hold on,” he says, and Shizuo slowly pulls out his finger and Izaya hops off the bed.

“I’m not putting anything up your ass that’s not meant to go up there,” Shizuo calls as Izaya wanders into the bathroom.

“So you don’t want to fuck me,” Izaya calls back. And the confused and conflicted quality of the silence he gets in return makes him smile. There it is. Hiding in the corner of the cabinet under the sink is the sad, barely-used bottle of lube crouching next to the box of expired condoms. They were there when he took occupancy of the room, and he shoved them back in the vain hope he could keep the thoughts of why they were there at bay.

It proves to be useful now.

Shizuo’s eyeing him suspiciously when he comes back.

“What’s that?”

“Lube.”

Shizuo still looks unsure, a little lost. He’s eyeing Izaya like he just made the whole thing up, which is kind of flattering, in a way.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Izaya says, rolling his eyes. He rubs his hand against Shizuo’s, taking some of the lube off. “Lay back.”

“What?”

“Lay back.”

Shizuo does as he’s told, slowly sinking back on his elbows.

“Open,” Izaya says, scooting forward to kneel between Shizuo’s legs. He’s still looking down suspiciously, dubiously. “There’s no need to look at me like that, you’ll like it.”

Shizuo grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like: “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“That’s the idea.”

Because Izaya is a saint and kind and very understanding, he pops Shizuo into his mouth to distract him, swirling his tongue around the tip.

And yet, Shizuo still fucking squeaks when Izaya gets a finger against his ass. Izaya can’t help it, he snickers into Shizuo’s stomach.

“Stop laughing, you ass.”

“Sorry. It was just such a manly noise— no hitting.”

Izaya tries again, managing to get an entire knuckle in before pulling it slowly out, sliding his finger back and forth until Shizuo loses the scrunched and peeved look on his face.

“It feels weird,” Shizuo complains.

“It’s a finger up your ass. Of course it feels weird.” It has to be around here somewhere. Even someone as odd as Shizuo has to have one.

“Then why on earth—”Shizuo makes an odd face, like he can’t quite decide if he likes it or not.

Bingo.

“Why on earth, what?” Izaya asks innocently, sliding his finger out and adding another, slowly pushing back in.

“What was that ?”

“What was what?” Izaya asks, pressing back onto Shizuo’s prostate. It’s soooo much easier to find and press someone else’s than your own.

Shizuo’s lost the look of befuddlement and discomfort, and has instead taken to squirming, slight shifts of his lower body and tensing and untensing of his legs.

Izaya slides his fingers out one last time, shoving back in with a bit more force. Shizuo lets out a very manly yelp that Izaya doesn’t snicker at, and he’s coming, tensing around Izaya’s fingers and curling his toes and fingers into the sheet.

He blinks up at Izaya like he’s seen God.

It’s a good look on him.

“Um,” he says, eventually, as Izaya resists the urge to wipe his fingers on the sheets. “I. May have been wrong?”

“Oh yeah?” Izaya prompts, going for nonchalant and missing by a few good feet.

“Yeah.”

Then his perspective is changing, twirling and tilting, and Izaya’s shoulders hit cotton and there are hands bracing on his shoulders and a warm mouth on his.

So Izaya clenches his hands in Shizuo’s hair, vaguely noting that Shizuo will need another shower after this and not really caring, and chases Shizuo’s tongue back into his own mouth where it belongs.

He doesn’t know if Shizuo thinks he’s being subtle or sneaky or whatever, but Izaya is wholly unsurprised when there’s a finger prodding him, sliding in with ease granted by lube.

“How do you…?” Shizuo starts, trailing off.

“I have full confidence you’ll find it. It’s a rather limited area, after all.”

“Are you saying I’m bad at looking?”

“Remember when you used your phone as a flashlight to find your phone?”

“I remember. I remember that you just sat there and watched.”

You were so focused, I’d have hated to—”

Wow. Why do things feel so much different when someone else does it?

Shizuo looks twice as self-satisfied as he has any right to be, but he doesn’t stop, which Izaya supposes is the important part here.

Shizuo’s mouth is back on his neck. It seems to be a favorite spot of his, little bites of teeth here and there.

Something wet and— is that his tongue? That’s new. Not unwelcome, but new.

There’s something building deep in Izaya’s pelvis, something…warm?

Then Shizuo’s biting on his neck, hard , sharp points of pain made so much better when compared to the languid heat elsewhere and—

Honestly, he’s kind of surprised when he comes, there seemed to be no real build up, it just happens.

Shizuo, apparently too tired from his very strenuous workout, just collapses on top of Izaya, heavier than he would look.

Move, I want to clean up,” Izaya snaps.

“In a minute,” is the hazy reply, which is more guarantee than anything that Shizuo won’t be moving for another hour at least.

Izaya resigns himself to wallowing in his own filth.

 

The sushi isn’t amazing, but it’s not terrible either.

It’s interesting, that’s for sure.

There seemed to be cheese in the last one, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“This sushi sucks,” Shinra says. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything worse.”

“We’re supporting local businesses,” Izaya says, even as the last roll he ate threatens a small rebellion.

“We got kicked out of all the other places around here,” Shizuo adds, helpful as always. Izaya would smack him, but that’s not only crass, but proves him right.

“It’s because poor Shizu-chan looks like a thug,” Izaya says quickly. “They just don’t want that kind in their restaurant. Terrible tragedy, clear case of prejudice.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because you—”

Were with you. I know. It just highlights your oddness.”

“Do you have to do that?” Kadota sits at their table, trying his best to simultaneously not look at them and pretend he’s not with them.

“Do what?” Izaya asks idly, gently taking a sushi roll into his mouth.

“That,” Kadota says, gesturing vaguely.

“I think it’s cute,” Shinra says. “I wish Celty would do that with me.

Shizuo offers Izaya another piece of sushi, knocking it gently against his lips when he doesn’t immediately open.

Izaya opens his mouth, not looking up from his phone screen. You have to time when you let the chat go dead, and it’s honestly such an under-appreciated art. There’s only three girls in what Shizuo likes to call his harem, but they’re a handful.

Actually, they’re not. They’re close to being pathetic, but they’re interesting at the very least.

He’s having the time of his life.  

Something vibrates under his ass.

“Sorry, that’s my phone,” Shizuo says, hoisting Izaya just a fraction off his lap so he can fish his phone out of his pocket.

“Who on earth could be texting you? I’m right here.”

“I know more people than you, sweet pea.”

“They’re here, too.”

“Even if I wish I wasn’t,” Kadota says, pulling his jacket up around him.

“It could be worse,” Shinra says brightly. “It could be like the arcade.”

We’re not talking about that,” Kadota says vehemently.

“Do you think they ever managed to get the stain off the wall,” Shinra wonders, popping something that looks like a slug into his mouth. It could be a slug, knowing this place.

“It’s not like we can go and check,” Izaya mutters, tapping off the last few characters and hitting send. That should keep them occupied for at least a few hours.

Shizuo’s knocking another piece against his lips, and Izaya opens his mouth. Shizuo’s going to make him fat at this rate, but it seems to make him happy to feed him excessive amounts of food. By hand. Apparently Izaya himself can’t be trusted to feed himself like he’s been doing for over a decade.

Izaya would resist, but he finds it’s usually not worth the effort. Shizuo can be surprisingly patient, when he feels like it. Persistent, too.

Shinra likes to call that the Great Noodle Incident.

Izaya likes to pretend it never happened.

Shizuo likes to get laid. He also pretends it never happened.

Usually.

The shit.

Shizuo’s holding another piece, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to be intent on feeding it to Izaya. Smart man. It looks like there’s a goldfish cracker balanced precariously on top.

“What’s the movie supposed to be about, anyway?” Shizuo says, in between bites.

“Aliens,” Shinra says brightly. “They fight Americans.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re here,” Izaya says, slipping his phone into his pocket. Yumi can stew in that for a little while.

“Oh, do you like that kind of movie?” Kadota jumps on the change of topic like a drowning man onto a life preserver.

“Nope,” Izaya pops the p, “Celty’s afraid of aliens. But, wouldn’t that be an excellent reason to go? So she’ll cling onto to you—”

“Sorry, got to go—” Shinra tries before Kadota yanks him back down.

“Friend to friend, I’m not letting you do that to yourself,” Kadota says. “Bro code. No weird sex paraphernalia in a movie theater.”

“Celty isn’t weird sex paraphernalia!” Shinra says, then considers. “Are latex bodysuits weird sex paraphernalia? Could they kick her out for that?”

“I don’t want to know,” Shizuo says decisively, over Izaya’s snickers.

 

The movie, for the record, was all sorts of terrible and a waste of time and money.

“Hey, hey. Shizuo. Let’s make out.”

“Shut up.”

Just reaching for Shizuo got him a restraining octopus hold on Shizuo’s lap. Not ideal, but he made do.

“Stop wiggling, damn it.”

Worst. Movie. Ever.

Then someone has the bright idea of going to a park so they can inflict their company on each other even longer and melt and burn in the sun.

“Is that an ice cream stall?” Shizuo says within .2 seconds of arrival.

“I think so,” Kadota agrees, and they’re off like rockets. Understandable. It has been an entire three hours since they last ate.

“Ahh, Izaya.” Shinra stretches out on the grass. “It’s been a while. I don’t see you as much anymore, now that we don’t have the biology club anymore. It’s nice.”

“So that’s why you came out today,” Izaya drawls, leaning more weight back onto his palms. “Miss the company of humans?”

“Oh, no. Celty’s out running errands, I had nothing better to do. It’s nice to be able to go straight home and see Celty,” Shinra says, blunt honesty and cheerfulness not dulling the words any.

“Hm,” is all Izaya says.

“I’m glad you have Shizuo,” Shinra says.

“What, going to wish us luck on our relationship?”

“Sure,” Shinra laughs. “But it doesn’t matter as long as it lasts throughout high school. You could kill each other after that for all I care.”

That… doesn’t sound quite right.

“Ah, the support of a true friend.”

“Mh, I guess. As long as you’re not pining after me anymore.”

The day doesn’t feel so warm anymore, all of a sudden.

“You think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?”

Shinra laughs, bright and cheerful and now it sounds somewhat mocking.

“Not really. It’s good you got over it. It would have been messy, otherwise, if you tried to get between me and Celty.”

“Only you would mistake friendship for pining. There’s more than one way to connect with other humans, you know,” Izaya’s voice is remarkably steady, for all it feels like his throat is closing up.

Shinra laughs again, bright and unconcerned. “Sure, sure. But we both know that’s not what it was. It’s good you have Shizuo now. I hardly ever see you anymore.”

There’s something cutting sitting on the tip of Izaya’s tongue. Something that’s sharp and bright and would cut anybody except Shinra.

Because Shinra doesn’t care.

“I don’t know how to convince you otherwise,” Izaya goes for nonchalance, letting his head loll and his smirk brighten. But his fingers can’t seem to quite unclench.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, Izaya. But you should know better than to try to lie to me.”

“Can you believe they didn’t actually sell ice cream,” Shizuo huffs, coming around a tree with Kadota in his wake. Shizuo throws himself down next to Izaya, splaying limbs all over the place, tugging Izaya down to lay on his chest when Izaya doesn’t immediately come himself.

“It was sorta ice cream,” Kadota tries to say, but Shizuo sends a withering glare his way.

“It had corn in it.”

“Doesn’t mean you had to flip the cart.”

“It was a cart of lies.”

There’s no good reason for Izaya to feel this hollow, but he does anyway.

 

The fluorescent lights are harsh and an intense shade of white that makes everything in the store seem the slightest bit unreal.

Shizuo just looks overwhelmed.

“There are so many, ” he whispers in near awe.

Izaya tries not to roll his eyes. He fails.

“What does it matter what flavor it is? It’s not like your ass has taste buds.”

Shizuo goes that interesting bright red again, swiveling his head around to see if anyone heard. There’s no one else in the store besides the clerk, flipping a magazine and emitting an aura of being grossly underpaid.

“I dunno, why would they make it flavored if it’s not useful?”

“They make scented toilet paper. Tell me that has a use.”

“Okay, fine.” Shizuo continues to stare at the lube rainbow. “I had no idea there would be so many. Does it matter if it’s water-based?”

“I’d go for the one that has a butt on it,” Izaya advises. “It seems relevant to our problem. Better, it doesn’t come strawberry flavored.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Maybe you should just skip the middleman and fuck a strawberry.”

“How would that even— Why are you like this? Why does it matter to you? You said asses don’t have taste buds.” Then Shizuo squints at the next row of boxes. “Do you have a condom preference?”

“What? Condoms? What for ?” Izaya narrows his eyes at Shizuo in mock suspiciousness. “I’d ask if there’s something you’re not telling me, but I’ve had my mouth all over your di—”

Shut up,” Shizuo says, maybe a bit louder than he means to. “Shut up,” he says, quieter.

“At least make sure you get the right size.”

“How am I supposed to know what size I am?”

“I dunno, measure. You’re the one that wants them.”

“I didn’t know they came it different sizes.”

“Here, stick your fingers in my mouth. I’ll tell you when it feels about ri—”

No.”

I’m just trying to be helpful.” Izaya has his most wide-eyed innocent look on, putting a tinge of hurt on right at the corners.

Shizuo clearly doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Uh-huh,” he says, getting several boxes from several brands.

“Wow, Shizu-chan, hoping to get lucky?”

Shizuo shoves a much crumpled pamphlet into his hands, and two men with perfect teeth and better eyebrows smile up at him from under the helpful title: Alternative Sex Lives.

“Where’d you get this?” Izaya says, thumbing through. It has many helpful tips, like how to avoid becoming the victim of a hate crime.

Shizuo mumbles something, blushing again.

“Come again?”

“I said, Kasuka gave it to me.”

It takes a moment for Izaya to give a face to the name. “Oh, your little brother?”

“Yeah.”

“How nice of him.”

“It’s embarrassing, that’s what it is,” Shizuo groans, starting for the checkout counter, herding Izaya away from the celebrity gossip rags. “Can you imagine having your younger sibling knowing what sex is and giving you advice?”

Well. Izaya’s pretty sure the twins have made extensive use of each other’s bodies.

They don’t talk about it.

“Sounds terrible.”

Chapter Text

Going home is always fun. Almost, but not quite, in the exact same way that having bones reset is a good time. In the way things grind against each other that aren’t supposed to.

The door opens more loudly than he would like on squeaky hinges. It’s not late, but it is dark and well past dinner time and far after when he would normally be home, maybe a year ago. His mother is in the living room watching TV, something with a laugh track that plays damn near continuously. She looks up as he comes in.

“I’m home,” he says, toeing off his shoes.

“You’re back late,” her tone is even, steady. “I texted you earlier.” The flashing light of the TV is eerie on his mother’s face, casting it into sharp relief and then darkness in turns.

“I got it.”

“Where were you?”

“Out with friends.”

“Which friends?”

“Shinra, Kadota, and Izaya.”

He can see in the next bright flash that her lips have pressed into thin lines.

Christ, not now . Not again. She turns back to the TV without another word, but the quality of the silence has changed to strained and tense.

There’s a plate left on the table with what looks like the congealed remains of curry and rice, set perfectly with a warm glass of milk where he usually sits.

He leaves it there, because if Izaya has taught him anything, it’s that two can definitely play passive-aggressive asshole, and goes up stairs to find Kasuka.

He knocks gently at the door, next to other knuckle indents in the wood, and is gratified to see that he doesn’t leave any more.

“Enter,” Kasuka calls, and Shizuo swings the door open to show Kasuka, sitting at his desk. He’s got a notebook open, pen poised, clearly in the middle of homework. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Yes,” Shizuo confirms, unnecessarily. Clears his throat. Shifts on his feet. Kasuka’s staring at him. Not expectantly, but he can kinda feel the weight niggling at the back of his mind. “So I. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m doing well.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” Kasuka agrees, turning back to his desk.

Shizuo knows a dismissal when he sees one, closing the door softly behind him.

 

Shizuo texts Izaya the next morning.

He gets a reply five hours later.

Busy.

 

Shizuo’s homeroom teacher throws open the door to his chemistry class, the sudden movement drawing everyone’s attention.

“You cheating bastard, ” she growls. “I saw. I have pictures.

Oh. Not again.

Shizuo flips open his phone. When are you going to tell me what’s gotten your panties in a knot?

The response is immediate. And predictable. I don’t usually wear panties but I will for you Shizu-chan ;).

And then: So she confronted him during class, huh?

Obviously. What have you got against couples?

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Sure. Okay.

This is only, what? The sixth couple this week to explosively break up? Shizuo’s sure there’s more, quieter ones that didn’t feel the need to a) post revenge nudes b) spray paint the lockers or c) this.

This is going nowhere.

The teachers are still going at it, loud voices and obscene gestures and waving arms. There’s no room in the entire spectacle to pretend you don’t see it, and the class sits rapt.

Then why do I have pictures of you with another woman?”

“It’s just my sister!”

The room goes dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

You fucked your sister?”

The class explodes. Chairs scrape back as students stand up. Cell phones are pulled out, and the twitters and giggles and jeers say that the episode will be on the internet before school is even out.

Shizuo decides to cut his losses and leaves, no one making an effort to stop him.

Let’s see…Izaya has, what, English this period? That was second floor, fourth door when he was a middle schooler.

Shizuo slides open the door. The teacher stops mid-lecture to look over.

“Hello, I’m here for Orihara Izaya—”

There’s a sudden clatter as a familiar form breaks from his desk and runs towards the window, throwing it open and crouching on the sill.

“Damn it!” Shizuo realizes what Izaya’s about to do moments before he does it, and he plows through a few desks to get there in time, grasping Izaya’s collar and hauling him back into the classroom before throwing him over his shoulder. He turns to leave, but remembers his manners.

“Sorry for causing a disturbance,” he directs at the teacher, and she manages a faint nod, before taking his haul out into the hallway.

“What a nice manly-man act. Very caveman. Really turns me on.”

And it probably does, knowing him.

Shizuo says nothing, because that’s a rabbit hole they don’t need to go down right now.

“You know, if you were really that horny, we could have just sexted. No need to drag me out of class, my education is very important.”

Like fuck it is.

Oh, but don’t respond now.

Somewhere private. Somewhere Izaya can’t escape.

That only leaves the roof, doesn’t it? One entrance. One exit.

Not ideal, but it’ll have to do.

It’s when Shizuo hits the first staircase that Izaya starts to panic, starts to flail, feet taking turns hitting uselessly against his stomach.

“There’s no need to go to another floor, there’s a perfectly serviceable bathroom on this floor.”

Oh. Bathrooms also only have one exit and entrance. Wait, they also have windows. Never mind.

“Shizuo, this makes my stomach hurt,” Izaya whines, bouncing up and down on Shizuo’s shoulder. “I’m going to puke all over your very nice uniform jacket.”

“Liar. You haven’t eaten since yesterday. There’s nothing for you to puke up.”

There’s a brief moment of small resistant, then a sound of something ripping from the walls. What? Oh, Izaya grabbed a fire extinguisher.

“Strong grip you have there.”

“Thanks,” Izaya says cheerfully, banging the fire extinguisher feebly against Shizuo’s back. Or at least. Shizuo’s willing to give Izaya the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s meant to be a love tap and he isn’t really that pathetically weak.

Shizuo throws open the door to the roof and jams it before setting Izaya down.

He’s not stupid.

He places Izaya gently on the ground, taking the fire extinguisher from him.

Alright.

Time for A Talk.

You can do this, start with What’s Bothering You.

“What the fuck’s your problem?”

There.

Izaya crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t have a problem.”

A Talk only works if Both Parties are willing to Converse on Equal Grounds.

But that’s never been them, has it?

“Cut the bullshit. It’s embarrassing for both of us. You’ve personally started seven explosive breakups since Monday. Seven. It’s Thursday.”

Izaya looks at him challengingly. “What of it? If you haven’t noticed, it’s what I do.

This is stupid.

“Sure. Whatever. But you won’t eat lunch with us. You’re always with that stupid harem of yours.”

“I’m cultivating connections, Shizu-chan. I’ve told you.”

“Nobody would believe for a second that you actually enjoy spending time with them.”

“They do. That’s all that’s important.”

Shizuo runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “It’s like I never see you anymore. You disappear from school the second class is dismissed.”

“That’s not new.”

“It is new. What are you avoiding—”

Shizuo narrows his eyes, considering. “Are you avoiding me?

Izaya….doesn’t flinch, but his shoulders tighten like he’s expecting a hit and his fingers flex.

And that’s as good as anything.

“Why the fuck are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” Izaya’s looking steadily over his shoulder. It could be mistaken for eye contact if Shizuo was a moron.

“You are.”

“Is that why you’ve been targeting couples? Want to break up but not sure how to do it? Gonna run a few experiments first?”

“Who said it was about you, Shizu-chan”

“Then what is it, Izaya? Huh?”

“What’s it to you, huh?” Izaya’s bouncing on his tiptoes, eyes skittering around the roof. But there’s nowhere to run. Shizuo can see him settle his weight back, off his toes. Fight mode. “Not getting laid’s really getting to you, ne?”

Shizuo’s heart is pounding double time and he can barely see and his jaw is starting to hurt.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

“Because I care, asshole. Because I can tell when you’re upset.”

Out.

“Oh, do you?” Izaya’s sneering now. “I wonder how much you care.”

I N.

Release the jaw.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s not about you at all, Shizu-chan. It’s about Shinra.”

IN OUT

“What the fuck do you mean—”

Saturday. They were alone for all of five minutes .

Fuck.

Fuck.

Shizuo can feel his heart stop.

Breaking up couples.

Avoiding Shinra.

Hissy fits.

He’s acting like a jilted lover.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The fire extinguisher is flying out of Shizuo’s hand before he’s fully aware, missing Izaya’s shoulder by a breath.

“Like fuck it’s not about me!” He’s stalking forward, breathing hard, but Izaya’s twisting out of his grip before he can even reach. “What was I? Something to make him jealous? Something to tide you over?” Izaya’s fast, but he’s got nothing to hide behind, nothing to twist Shizuo around, and Shizuo catches him by the neck on the next grab, reeling him in. “Am I nothing to you?”

“What do you want to hear, Shizu-chan?” Izaya’s taunting. “Do you want me to tell you it was all about him? Huh? Maybe it was all about him. Maybe it was about fucking his childhood friend and claiming every bit of his past for myself.”

INOUTINOUT CONTROLCONTROLCONT--

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t or, don’t want to? What do you want me to say?”

“Just tell me the fucking truth .” Shizuo’s trying not to squeeze too hard, be gentle gentle gentle, and it’s hard , so many muscles in the hand to control.

Izaya’s hand is there too, pathetic swipes at his gentle gentle hold, gripping his wrist like they’re holding hands! Like they used to when Izaya used him.

“The truth, huh? Do you want me to tell you I loved him, and didn’t know until he rejected me? That’s what you want to know? Do you want to know how it hurts? Do you want to know how I want to rip him limb from limb? Do you want to know how I want to make him pay?” Izaya’s reaching, pulling something out, and it’s pressed to Shizuo’s throat before he can think. “Do you want to know how I didn’t think of you at all? Does your caring extend that far, Shizuo?”

Controlcontrol. Be gentle gentle, they’re all so fragile and delicate and pale skin and quick fingers and and--

Stop.

“Am I really nothing to you, you selfish prick?

Izaya smiles at him, mocking and empty. “Nothing but a quick fuck.”

There’s blood in his ears and he can’t hear what Izaya says next and his fingers are twitching and he just wants to close his hand and crush the life out of Izaya and feel the delicate bones give under his fingers but--

His mind.

His mind disconnects. He’s looking at himself, and he can distantly feel the tension in his body, but he can think, and he feels like laughing because it’s so fucking obvious.

Izaya’s lying.

So he does laugh and he smiles and Izaya’s eyes widen and he can practically smell the fear and he pushes his body closer.

“You’re lying.”

He can feel Izaya shallow.. “I am not .”

“You are.” Shizuo moves his hand down from Izaya’s neck, and there’s a red print there that will probably settle into a bruise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Does your caring extend that far, Shizuo?” Izaya’s quieter, more serious.

“It can. If you want it to.”

Izaya scoffs, and rubs at his neck and smiles. Like Shizuo’s a fucking child. “You don’t mean that. Nobody does.”

“I do.” Because he does and he can care, damn it. The past is the past is the past, and nobody knows that better than Shizuo, whose past is littered with broken bones and bodies, you just have to want to go forward.

Izaya’s knife is drooping, inch by inch. “Humans don’t care about other people. They use them for as long as they can and then throw them away.”

Shizuo smiles, and he knows it’s not kind, and he knows his rage is spilling out of the corners. “Then it’s a good thing we both know we’re not human.”

Izaya’s eyes widen slightly.

“So, which is it, Izaya? Me or the one who discarded you like trash?”

Izaya laughs, harsh and brittle. “Well, when you put it like that, it’s not much of a choice at all.”

“Then choose.”

“What?”

“Then choose. I don’t want to have to always guess if I’m a replacement for what you couldn’t have.”

Izaya is quiet for a moment before he sighs and comes closer, snaking his arms around Shizuo’s waist and pressing his face into his shoulder. “I kinda want to knife you right now.”

“I know. Admitting to having feelings is hard for most five year olds.”

“What’s that say about you then, fu--”

“Nope. Stop.” Shizuo wraps his arms around Izaya’s body in turn, and can feel as Izaya relaxes.

Izaya starts to shake and for a heart-stopping moment, Shizuo thinks he’s crying, but then the giggle erupt and if it sounds like a sob, then that’s nothing but coincidence.

“Shizu-chu, I choose you!”

A blink.

“Is now really the time for Pokémon references?”

“It’s always time for Pokémon references.”

Shizuo heaves a heavy sigh as Izaya laughs hysterically.

He chose this, he remembers. And smiles.

 

They ditch classes after that, only partially because Shizuo is bleeding slightly from the neck.

“You’re not very good with that knife, you know,” Shizuo says, dabbing at the wound with a napkin.

“I’m excellent with the knife. It’s you who’s an idiot that knows no pain. And I bought you an apology milkshake.”

“Yes, yes. I can feel your sincerity.”

“You damn well better. I lowered myself for you.”

There’s a pause as Shizuo takes a log slurp of his milkshake.

“I think we’re making everyone else uncomfortable.”

Izaya shrugs a shoulder, still fiddling with Shizuo’s straw wrapper. “Good.”

And he leans over the table and kisses Shizuo, jamming their noses together before sliding back down into his seat.

Shizuo clears his throat. “So, whatcha thinking about?”

Izaya’s eyes flick up to Shizuo and back down to his wrapper.

“How to make Shinra suffer.”

Shizuo pops his elbow on the table, cradling a cheek in his hand. “I didn’t think you were one for revenge.”

Izaya quirks an eyebrow. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

“You did. Something like ‘I don’t care about the outcome as long as it’s entertaining,’ or some shit like that.”

“I’m taking a page out of your book.”

“My book?”

“Yeah.”

Shizuo rubs at his forehead. “You want me to beat him up for you?”

“I thought you and Shinra were old friends.”

Shizuo frowns at his empty milkshake cup. “That’s a stretch.”

“I don’t know how well you know Shinra,” Izaya starts, “but nothing touches him. He’s got an ideal and it sustains him and holds him higher than any human could ever reach.”

“Well, that sounds easy then. Undermine that ideal.”

“Wow, thanks, Shizuo. Brilliant strategy. How do you undermine an ideal?”

“I dunno,” Shizuo says, putting his hands in his pockets. “Depends on the ideal. But don’t you usually, you know, expose it for something less than it is.”

Izaya lights up like someone shoved a stick of hellfire up his ass, lit from within with a burning happiness that’s unholy in its intensity.

“Shizuo. That’s a brilliant idea.”

“Thanks. I’m full of them,” Shizuo says, trying not to show that he has no fucking idea what Izaya’s on about. His shoulders hunch.

Izaya lets his poor straw wrapper go, the mangled corpse of it resting on the table.

“What’s bothering you now?” Izaya says, mimicking Shizuo’s earlier pose with a cheek in his palm and an elbow on the table. “You’re frowning even after a milkshake. Need a cigarette?”

No.

Maybe.

Yes.

But…

“You’re serious?”

“Not usually,” Izaya says, drumming his fingers on the table. “What about?”

“I dunno. This. Us. Being together.”

The drumming stops.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Shizuo’s trying really hard not to feel stupid. “Right. You. Uh. Don’t want to sleep with Shinra, or anything, do you?”

“What, getting self-conscious, Shizu-chan?” Shizuo just stares, and Izaya runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that Shizuo recognizes from himself. “No. Well, once I did. I thought it might get his attention.” Izaya’s smiling, but it’s not pleasant to look at. “But I. I didn’t really want that from him. Not really. I just wanted to be the center of his world.” His smile has something mocking about it, but it’s not aimed at Shizuo. Not completely. ”It’s a heady thing, to be the center of someone’s world, isn’t it, Shizu-chan?”



“You. Want to go. To the library?” Shizuo squints suspiciously. It looks like Izaya. It smirks like Izaya.

“Isn’t that what I just said, my little deaf angel?”

It snarks like Izaya.

But it is clearly not Izaya.

“Why? Is being blown in between library bookshelves on your kink list or something?”

Izaya opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks thoughtful. “Well, it is now. But that’s not what for.”

“Then what? People watching? You said you liked that at malls better. Or intersections. Because people are less self-aware.”

“I do. That’s not why we’re going. Can’t you think of a single other thing people do at libraries?”

“I can think of what other people do. I can’t think of a single damn thing you would do.”

Izaya’s pretending to look hurt, got the entire drooping shoulder thing with wide-eyes, but the corner of his mouth is twitching in the way it always does when he’s trying to bite down on a smirk and his eyes are laughing.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want to learn from books?”

“Yes.”

“Rude, rude. But it’s true. Come on, now.”

Shizuo’s been in the local library, of course. The one closer to his house though. That one’s relatively small, enough space for a few desks to work if you want, and it’s dominated by a sprawling fiction section.

This one.

This one is massive. This one has three stories and a basement, is clearly and obviously old and smells like paper and has an air of hush around it that makes Shizuo feel like someone will come yell at him if he breathes too loud.

Izaya clearly is familiar with the layout, if the way he’s bounding up the stairs is any indication.

“Come on ,” Izaya calls behind him, diving into the bookcases with a kind of reckless abandon.

He should have known that Izaya would feel at home in a library. It just never occurred to him.

“What are we here for?” Shizuo whispers, trailing behind Izaya.

“Here,” Izaya says, shoving a rather heavy tome into Shizuo’s arms. “Read this.”

“What about you?”

“I read it awhile ago. It’s probably the most comprehensive book, if not the most entertaining. My notes are are probably still in there, too.”

Shizuo flips it over in his hands, the title: Collection of Irish Myths and Fairy Tales.

“Irish myths?”

“Yeah,” Izaya calls, already zipping over to another section of the library.

“Why Irish?”

“Do you know what a dullahan is?”

“No. Should I?”

“Normally, no,” Izaya stops so abruptly Shizuo almost crashes into him. “In this case, yes.”

Shizuo glances around the aisle where they’ve stopped as Izaya stoops for the book he’s after.

“Languages?”

“Don’t fret, sweetheart, I’m not expecting you to learn anything difficult. Just a bit of sign language.” Izaya finds what he’s looking for, grabbing it with a triumphant smirk.

“Wait. Why am I learning sign language?”

“Because it’s easier to learn a language if you have someone to practice with, of course.”

“Why are you learning sign language?”

“To make a friend.”

 

Shizuo can concentrate, no problem, really. When he wants. But.

It’s not that it’s not interesting. It is, really. Headless fairies with human spines for whips and an interesting aversion to gold. But the print is so tiny that it makes him want to claw his eyes out and scratch the itch right out of them.

“What do you want for dinner?” Izaya says casually from the other side of the table, where he has his feet propped up on the table, book on sign language in his lap. He’s been twirling his fingers and hands in lazy circles, fingers flashing and arcing gracefully.

“Uh. I dunno. Anything, I guess.”

“Helpful.” Izaya closes his book with a definitive thump and stretches his arms over his head to crack his back, leaning the chair dangerously far back. “Well, I’m in the mood for ramen.”

“That’s new.”

“Shut up.”

Then Izaya’s scooting across the table to take the place of myths Shizuo was just reading, dangling his legs on either side of Shizuo.

“Learn anything interesting?”

“Oh, tons. Your handwriting is shit by the way.”

Izaya’s mouth tightens and his eyes narrow. “It is not . It’s impeccable.”

“It’s impossible to read. Who writes with purple pen, anyway?”

“I do. It stands out but doesn’t make you want to rip your eyeballs out with the brightness.”

Shizuo leans forward and rests his head on one of Izaya’s thighs, closing his eyes as Izaya cards a hand through his hair.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, do you dye your own hair?”

Shizuo grunts what he hopes sounds like a yes. “My brother helps sometimes.”

“Your roots are starting to show,” Izaya notes, scratching his fingers along Shizuo’s scalp. “Has your hair always been this curly?”

“Nah. It was more curly before I started bleaching it.”

“Bleached the life right out of it, huh?”

Shizuo makes a sound in the back of his throat that he hopes means: whatever you like, just don’t stop scratching my head.

Izaya snorts, so he thinks he may have gotten his point across. “Dog.”

Dog. D o g.

Shizuo’ll show him a dog .

He stands up, sending his chair clattering. He licks up Izaya’s cheek, and the look of pure horror on Izaya’s face is one he’ll treasure till the day he dies. He does it again, and again, until Izaya’s bracing hands on his chest and trying to shove him off and lean back at the same time with decidedly mixed results.

“Shizuo, that’s disgusting,” Izaya whines, having run out of places to escape, foolishly having gone down instead of back.

Shizuo more or less looms over him, now, hands braced on the table, fully prepared to lick Izaya’s face if he makes a wrong move.

It’s fun. He thinks Izaya would be a better person if more people loomed over him threateningly. He’ll do it for the greater good.

But Izaya doesn’t look decently cowed. Instead he looks…

Oh. Goddamn it, Izaya.

Izaya’s legs are around his waist before he’s got half the coherency to move, and Izaya’s fingers are playing in the collar of his shirt, drawing circles on his collarbone.

“Oh no,” Izaya says, smirking like a cat that’s gotten the cream. “What are you going to do with me now?”

“I’m sure I’ll find something, ” Shizuo assures him, ducking down to kiss the irritating look off his face.

One of Izaya’s hands finds its home in his hair again, taking a handful and not letting go. The other skitters it’s way up Shizuo’s shirt like it’s being sly or something. Like Shizuo won’t notice Izaya’s totally feeling up his abs if he just does it all stealth-like.

It might work if Izaya’s hand wasn’t cold like a fucking ice cube.

Shizuo decides to return the favor, sliding a hand up Izaya’s shirt and ghosting his fingers up Izaya’s ribs until he starts to twitch and bites at Shizuo’s tongue, because he’s a little shit.

Shizuo moves his tongue from the Danger Zone. He heard that someone once died by biting their tongue off and he really doesn’t think that’s how he wants to go.

Izaya reels him in closer with his legs, until Shizuo’s thighs hit the table and they’re grinding together, and Izaya’s wiggling his hips in what he probably hopes is really attractive and sexy and a turn on.

It is.

Damn him.

Mostly because Izaya’s wiggling had made it abundantly clear that Izaya’s having an excellent time, and it feels so nice to grind down into the cradle of his hips, and his one hand is let to roam free on Izaya’s torso, and it always feels so nice to feel the muscles play under Izaya’s skin.

But Izaya’s working his hands between them to—why, exactly?

Oh. Zipper. That’s a good idea.

Here, Shizuo can take a hint. Pull himself free.

It’s warm, and so so nice.

Grinding down works, but. It feels better when Shizuo snaps his hips forwards and back, sliding against Izaya instead. Izaya agrees, if the death grip he has on Shizuo’s shoulder is anything to go by.

And by the noises he’s making, dear god.

“Could you be any louder?” Shizuo says into his neck.

“Oh, harder, Shiz—” Izaya wails, high pitched and breathy, before Shizuo slaps his hand over Izaya’s mouth.

“You’re a menace,” Shizuo tells him, and bites his neck, hard enough to feel the delicate skin break and the tang of copper to hit his tongue. Izaya’s neck looks a wreck. It’s shame, really, it’s such a nice one.

Izaya’s tensing where their pressed together, and Shizuo doesn’t need to feel the spread of warmth on his stomach to know what’s happening, can tell by the flex of Izaya’s thighs around his waist and the odd fluttering of his eyelids and the way he goes loose and floppy afterwards.

Shizuo’s not done though. And Izaya’s thighs start to twitch every time he thrusts forward, and he starts to squirm in earnest, though he never says to stop and he never releases his legs from around Shizuo’s waist.

Shizuo’s learned that this is what Izaya likes too.

He likes to be touched afterwards, until he’s twitching and squirming and making odd noises he can’t choke back.

And Shizuo likes to indulge him.

“Why is it always me that ends up covered in jizz,” Izaya whines, trying to tug Shizuo’s shirt forward enough to mop the mess up, and not succeeding terribly well.

“It is not,” Shizuo reminds him. “And it’s your fault for starting shit.”

“You participated, too. It takes two to tango.”

“Stop using my shirt, damn it.” Shizuo slaps his hand away.

 

“So, why dullahans?” Shizuo asks in between bites of ramen. Izaya’s picking at his, like he can magically discover someway to eat ramen without looking like a dumbass if he just tries hard enough.

“Hm?”

“Dullahans. Why them, out of all the myths? What does that have to do with Shinra?”

“Oh, you couldn’t tell? Shinra lives with one.”

“What?”

“The Celty he goes on about. She’s not a sex doll, she’s a dullahan.”

Shizuo blinks. “The Celtic dullahan’s name is Celty?”

“I know. It sounds kind of like a slur, doesn’t it?”

“Alright. But why the sign language? She’s still got a head, even if it’s not attached to her body.”

Izaya shakes his head, chasing a mushroom around the broth. “If she does, I’ve never seen it. She mostly uses a PDA to type things out. Takes a while, though. That’s why you’re learning sign language, so you can communicate with her better.”

Shizuo raises an eyebrow. “Me? What about you?”

“Oh, I think you’ll get along better. Something about your temperaments.”

“So she already knows you’re a shady fuck.”

Izaya gives him a wan smile. “That, too.”

“So, what, you’re going to steal the object of Shinra’s love right out from under him?”

“You make it sound bad. Having friends outside your partner isn’t generally considered a bad thing, you know. It’s a sign of a healthy relationship. Besides, you can think of it as a rescue mission, if you want.”

“Rescue mission? Why?”

Izaya just shakes his head. “You’ll see. So, what do you know about dullahans?”

Shizuo’s going to get whiplash with all this subject changing.“Irish. Usually male. No head. Usually come to take the souls of the dead. Can’t be stopped when on a mission. Oddly afraid of gold.”

Izaya’s nodding along. “I’ve never seen Celty with a whip made of human spines, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. Far as I can tell, she spends her free time working as a courier for the underground.”

“Do I want to know how you know that?”

“Probably not. Anyway, I was thinking that it’d be easiest to approach her with a package, have her deliver something. How do you feel about drug dealing?”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

“Just once.”

“Why not just go to Shinra’s and say hi?”

“Because.” Izaya looks a little lost. “Then we can talk to her without Shinra’s interference?”

“But if we’re friends of Shinra’s, isn’t she more likely to warm up to us than if we were another business associate?” Izaya glares at him from across the table, but can’t seem to come up with anything against that. “Shut up and eat your ramen. Hunger causes dumbass ideas.”

“Explains why you’re always hungry.”

“Shut up.”

 

Izaya with an obsession is terrifying.

His face is lit with the light from his screen, and it’s not unlike when his dad would hold a flashlight under his face when he was little to tell scary stories. It makes his features sharper, paler, like he’s lit with an unholy light.

“What are you doing now?” Shizuo says, about ready to pitch the book on European Folklore and It’s Commonalities: A Case for More than STD Exchange and it’s tiny print and bland writing through the window of Izaya’s room.

“Research.”

“On what?”

“The local yakuza.”

“What the fuck?” Shizuo crawls over to Izaya’s side of the table. “Why? This is just a forum.”

“I heard a thing.”

“What thing?”

“Someone’s sister went missing.”

“What? Really? Whose?”

Izaya smirks a little, glancing over at Shizuo. “One of my harem. One of her sister’s friends was kidnapped when she came to Tokyo to meet up.”

“No offense, but you care...why?”

“Because her jaw bone was just identified in the police records two days ago, along with a DNA swab from another person and a retina scan matching a third and fingerprints from a fourth. All from the same corpse they found in the river.”

Shizuo doesn’t know what to say to that. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Exactly.”

“So, why the yakuza?”

“Because experimental corporations have to get their humans from somewhere, don’t they?”

“Ugh,” Shizuo rubs his poor eyes. “Too much for me.”

“Then go to bed.”

Shizuo stiffens. “Well. Fine. Then.”

“Not go home, pudding. Go to bed ,” Izaya jerks his chin to the side. “Conveniently, I have one right there.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.”

“Hmm.”

Shizuo falls asleep to the clicking of laptop keys.

Chapter Text

Izaya’s attempting to find the backdoor to the Nebula website when a chat window from a client he’s never used pops up in the lower right hand corner.

00:11:32>>>ST: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

Huh. That’s an interesting security measure. Not one he’s seen before, but it’s a nice psychological tactic, shake the victim up and scare them away. Like a car alarm. Basically ineffectual, but jarring nonetheless.

00:12:10>>>ST: They’ll catch you this way, dumbass. You’re not good enough for this.

Izaya’s cursor hovers over the text box. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, ne?

00:12:55>>>anon2390: And you’re that good?

00:13:00>>>ST: Not exactly.

00:13:02>>>ST: But I can get you the information you want.

00:13:10>>>ST: You want to know about the chimera’s they’ve made, right? Maybe a few other spare body parts they have floating around?

00:13:15>>>ST: Maybe something like, I don’t know, a spare head?

Izaya slams the lid of his computer down before he’s thought the action through completely. But then he realizes that’s probably stupid and he’s stupid and carefully levers it back up.

00:14:32>>>ST: Closing your laptop doesn’t really do anything at this point, you know.

00:14:55>>>anon2390: I figured.

00:15:13>>>ST: Then don’t do it dumbass.

00:15:34>>>ST: You’re way off with the yakuza, by the way.

00:15:59>>>ST: Should have just started with Nebula.

00:16:02>>>ST: Guess you’re not as smart as you think you are, huh?

So Nebula has Celty’s head and is sewing different people together to…? Doesn’t matter. They are, and are probably fetching their subjects themselves, certainly aren’t going through the yakuza.

That’s really all he wanted to know, thanks irritating hacker man.

Izaya closes his laptop. He’ll look into hackers with the tag “ST” tomorrow. Probably from a public computer, maybe over in Hibiya, nowhere near anything he frequents.

Then, he’ll trash this one and get a new one. Never can be too careful.

So that’s settled.

But that just leaves the other problem to solve, the one snoring gently in his bed wearing only boxers and a bit of drool.

Izaya pads carefully over, even though there’s no need for such caution. If Shizuo slept through his showdown with his laptop, there’s no way he’ll wake up from the soft set of footsteps. The house is too new for the floorboards to creak and groan, to give him away.

Shizuo doesn’t wake the entire time Izaya looks, doesn’t stir when Izaya pulls out his knife, doesn’t move when Izaya flicks it open and holds the blade over Shizuo’s neck.

There’s not much light in the room with Izaya’s computer closed, but there’s enough light filtering in through the window to see the rise and fall of Shizuo’s chest, the soft fluttering of his eyelashes as he dreams. There’s not enough light to make out the pulse at Shizuo’s neck, a steady rhythm, but Izaya still know it’s there.

There is enough light to glint dully off his blade. It’s getting old, the handle worn. The blade has been sharpened, and it still shows signs of early inexpert strokes, before he got the practice.

And still Shizuo sleeps.

Izaya could make it permanent. Not even Shizuo could survive a severed jugular, blood gushing out over the floor in a spreading red puddle.

He bets Shizuo didn’t even think of that before he fell asleep, that he’s putting entirely too much trust into Izaya’s hands.

But he’s not , is he?

Izaya folds the blade back into its handle, the motion practiced and smooth and one-handed.

Shizuo wants his full and complete trust, that much is obvious. Couldn’t have been clearer if he spelled it out in twelve foot high letters. Might as well have it tattoo’d on his forehead.

But will he really? Where’s his limit? Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

Hm.

He’s peaceful when he’s sleeping. His face is relaxed, body without tension. It doesn’t make him look younger, exactly, but more open. Happier.

Izaya traces a finger delicately down his cheek, from the cheekbone down.

It’s surprisingly smooth. Poor thing has a baby face, not that Izaya can really cast any aspersions there.

It’s easy to see what Shizuo’s doing. Clear as day, as a bell. As crystal. As glass.

Shizuo’s found acceptance and he’s clinging to it desperately, fiercely. He can’t go back to being alone now, can he, now that he’s gotten a taste. He’s using every weapon he has to keep Izaya close.

Worse, it’s working .

Unconditional acceptance is quite the drug.

“You weren’t supposed to do that, bastard,” Izaya mutters, and Shizuo slumbers on.

There’s a hollow buzzing sound that Izaya knows isn’t his phone, the pattern not quite right. He traces it back to Shizuo’s pants, the pocket lighting up in intermittent flashes of light.

The screen simply reads: Mom cell.

Izaya glances at Shizuo before he flips open the phone, but he’s barely gotten it to his ear before the screeching starts.

“Where are you? It’s past one in the morning. This is unacceptable behavior, and I know I raised you better than this. You better have a damn good reason for not coming home tonight.”

“Hello,” Izaya says calmly, putting a smirk into his voice. “Are you Mrs. Heiwajima? I’ve heard so much about you!”

Who is this? Where’s my son?”

“Your son is sleeping at the moment, hate to wake him. He looks so peaceful.”

“You better—”

Izaya really isn’t in the mood and the bed looks so comfortable, so he snaps the phone shut and does Shizuo the favor of turning it off and putting it back where he found it.

Unlike Shizuo, he actually lives here, so he puts his clothes in the hamper, like someone with class and pulls on a pair of pajama bottoms before crawling in next to Shizuo.

He curls up with his back pressed to Shizuo, using Shizuo’s legs as convenient feet warmers.

He drifts off faster than he ever thought possible.

 

It’s bright in the room when he wakes up.

There’s something moist on the back of his neck. Something warm across his waist. Along his back.

Something that won’t budge when he tries to get up.

Oh.

Shizuo.

It’s a deceptively loose grasp, maybe one that he can wiggle through if he tries hard enough, but the arm tightens and Shizuo curls into him when he struggles.

He tries prying it off, pulling till his arms hurt, but the arm doesn’t even move. He might as well be pushing on a brick wall.

He tries scratching it, briefly, but he feels like his nails will break before he can deal any real damage to his flesh-prison.

“Hey, Shizuo,” he tries. “Wake up .”

No reaction.

Damn it.

He settles in, wiggling to get comfortable on this cursed old mattress, when he finally gets a reaction.

There’s a low moan, and Shizuo’s arm flexes.

Oh.

He pushes back into Shizuo, grinding as hard as he can, and Shizuo moans and Izaya can feel fluttering against the back of his neck.

So he does it again, putting as much swing as he can into the the motion of his hips, the pressure of it.

And like that, Shizuo’s awake.

Looming over him, Shizuo pushes Izaya against the mattress, biting his lip as his eyes travel down Izaya’s torso.

“Good morning,” Shizuo says, low and gravely.

“Morning!” Izaya chirps. “Glad you’re up, I desperately need to piss.”

Izaya can see the processing in Shizuo’s addled brain.

“What?”

“Me. Piss. I’d pee on you, if you’re into—”

“Go. Go.

Shizuo’s padding around the room, holding his pants and fiddling with his phone when Izaya comes out of the bathroom.

“Oh, yeah, your mom called last night.”

Shizuo stiffens. “Mhm.”

“She didn’t seem too happy with you.”

“When is she ever.”

Shizuo fiddles with his phone a bit longer, a scowl growing and a wrinkle growing between his eyebrows.

“Oh shit!”

Wha?” Izaya jumps, looking around for the ravenous beast that burst into the room.

“We’re so late for school.” Shizuo starts hopping into his pants, getting an entire leg in before he starts hopping around for his shirt.

“Oh, is that all?” Izaya looks for the nearest clock. “It’s past eleven, They’ve definitely closed the gates by now, there’s really no point in going. Think of it as a three-day weekend.” Izaya plops back on the bed. He’s got nowhere to be. Nothing will be busy until later this evening, Friday evenings are great for people watching, before they get sloppy drunk and are still riding the adrenaline of freedom.

“I haven’t missed a day of school since eve— middle school.”

“Since eve middle school?”

Shizuo’s stopped his frantic rush for clothes, worrying his shirt between his hands, leaving his pants to drop around an ankle. “I missed a lot of class in elementary school.”

Izaya pats the bed next to him. “Come and tell me all your woes.”

Shizuo tosses his shirt over his shoulder, climbing back on the bed with little hesitation, plopping his head into Izaya’s lap like some sort of massive golden retriever.

School is clearly very important.

It still amazes Izaya how soft his hair is, despite the dye. Maybe it’d be softer if he didn’t. Maybe he uses the high-quality stuff, the kind that professional salons use.

Shizuo makes happy noises, nuzzling into Izaya’s stomach.

“Hey, now. You know how this is supposed to go. ‘It all started when I was born.’”

Shizuo lifts a hand to lazily bat at Izaya. “I didn’t start when I was born, dumbass. I have a younger brother. People with problem children never have a second.”

“Fair point, fair point. Ah, but maybe they’re trying to replace the failure of the first with the glory of the second?”

“I was three. How much of a failure could I possibly have been?”

“Something tells me you haven’t spend much time around toddlers.”

“What, and you have?”

Well. He lived with them. Made sure they didn’t die. That counts as spending time, right?

“Enough. But more about you. Tell me about your delinquent elementary school years.”

“I wasn’t a delinquent, I just broke a lot of stuff, is all.”

Izaya lifts an eyebrow, even though Shizuo can’t see it. “Sounds like delinquent behavior to me.”

“Not stuff -stuff. Okay, well, yeah, some stuff. But mostly bones and junk. I broke a lot of bones.”

Now that’s fascinating.

“And here I thought you were pretty much indestructible. I saw you walk away from a car crash.”

Shizuo shifts, curling more around Izaya’s legs. “Took me awhile to get to that point. Shinra thinks my body couldn’t handle the stress that was always put on it so it grew stronger over time, but no one really knows.”

Shizuo closes his eyes when Izaya traces the shell of his ear with his finger, down to his jaw and up his cheek to trace delicate eyelashes.

They tickle the pads of Izaya’s fingers as he brushes past, sweeping up Shizuo’s temple to bury his hand back in Shizuo’s hair.

“Well, look at you now.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo agrees lazily. Izaya could probably ask for anything and Shizuo’d acquiesce with that hazy agreement. Good to know. “Now I can throw vending machines over my shoulder. Progress.”

“Can you really? Show me sometime, ne?”

Shizuo makes a face. “That’s not the point.”

“That’s entirely the point. I’m very turned on by—”

Shizuo yanks him down by the shoulders so that Izaya’s face is buried in his chest.

“Hush.”

“Ooh, muscles,” Izaya says, muffled by Shizuo’s chest. “Nice.”

“Shut up.”

Izaya does, turning his head so his ear is mushed against Shizuo admittedly very nice pecs instead of his face.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

It’s easy to hear from here.

He’s glad he didn’t slit Shizuo’s throat open when he had the chance.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Izaya puts his hand next to his ear, can feel the slight push-pull of the heart underneath.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Listening to your heartbeat.”

“Why?”

Because it’s comforting.

“So I know where to aim when you hurt me.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Shizuo mumbles, pulling him close. Izaya laughs, and it’s kind of an ugly sound, but not one that he can help.

“No, you will.” Shizuo tenses under his hands. “Don’t be like that. It will happen, despite our best efforts. Telling yourself that you won’t will only break you when it does happen.”

“But doesn’t expecting it create a sort of, I dunno, inevitability?”

“A self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe. Or maybe it’s simply planning for the future, ne?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s a shame that wanting rarely influences reality, isn’t it?” Izaya presses his hand against Shizuo’s heart, it’s rhythm changing as Shizuo becomes agitated. He doesn’t mention the bruise on his neck, rather think it speaks for itself. “But don’t fret. We’ll get through it. Just have to prepare.”

“Hm.”

Izaya clicks his tongue. “Don’t be like that, love. I’ll still be here. You’ll just have to put me back together again, ne?”

Shizuo’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that Izaya thinks that he won’t respond.

“Only if you do the same.”

“Hm?”

“Only if you put me back together, too.”

“I’m sure I can mange.”

Shizuo curls around Izaya, arms tighten for a brief moment.

“I’m hungry,” Shizuo says sulkily.

Izaya tries to think to the last time he went grocery shopping.

Oh, that’s right, never. Because cooking is hard and why bother when you have restaurants.

“Uh. We have lube. It’s even strawberry flavored.”

Shizuo gives him an incredulous look tinged with amusement. “The only edible thing you have in your entire house is lube?”

“Well,” Izaya says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m edible. In more than one way, depends how far you’re willing to go.”

Shizuo smacks him with a pillow, and honestly, maybe he did deserve that.

 

“I can’t eat that, that’s not breakfast.”

“It’s past noon, Shizu-chan. You have to move on and accept that it’s now lunchtime.”

“It’s not my fault that it’s so late,” Shizuo moans, even though it totally is, between his long shower and decided inability to wake up in the morning.

Izaya kindly decides not to mention it.

Also on that list for this morning includes:

1) the way Izaya’s pants don’t quite fit Shizuo right, but only because the hem isn’t quite long enough, and not because the waistband is too small.

2) that Izaya knows Shizuo used his toothbrush like some sort of creep instead of asking for a new one.

3) that Shizuo looks like more of a delinquent in the dark colored clothing that Izaya preferred than he would have in his dirty school uniform.

On the plus side, Shizuo also looks really good in dark clothes and the way Izaya’s pants cling to his ass definitely distracts the eye from any ankles that might be peeking out like a naughty Victorian lady.

Izaya would tap that.

Oh, wait, he has.

Damn he’s good.

“—Zaya. Izaya. Honeycakes. Sweet-cheeks. Are you listening? Listen. Look. There’s an all-day breakfast place right over there.”

So there is.

It looks kinda like a dump, if Izaya’s being honest. And he usually is. It’s got a sandwich board out front advertising the specials, but it’s clearly seen better days. It’s small, you can tell just by looking. One of those local family-run affairs, Izaya would guess.

But Shizuo seems to think pancakes at noon are the greatest achievement since man landed on the moon, so—

“There’s free wi-fi.”

“What are we standing around here for? I thought you said you were hungry, ne?”

“It’s not like you don’t have a data plan,” Shizuo says, but he opens the door for Izaya anyway, amused.

There’s a single waitress in the restaurant with a grand total of three customers.

Despite that, it’s surprisingly clean and well-maintained, none of the air of creeping grunginess that all-day diners usually wear, and the waitress waves a lazy hand, indicating that they should sit anywhere.

Izaya slides into a booth near a window, pulling out his phone. “Oh, I also want to go to an internet cafe today.”

Shizuo flicks his eyes up from his zen-like concentration of the menu. “When you have a supercomputer at home? What’s the point?”

“Lot of point. But some hacker reached out to me last night while I was doing research.

An eyebrow comes up. “Research? Hacker?”

Izaya waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. I want to run a search on the tag ST.”

“If he’s a hacker, won’t he be hard to find?”

“Probably not. Not if he wants to be hired, ne?”

Shizuo shrugs a shoulder and goes back to his menu. “How about you get the waffles and I get the pancakes and then we share?”

“Or you could get both and skip the middleman.”

“You need to eat something.” Izaya lifts a finger. “No, coffee is not a food. It’s a drink.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Tough shit. Pick something or I pick for you.”

“Ne, I didn’t know you were the the dominant type, Shizu-chan,” Izaya flutters his lashes, but Shizuo remains unimpressed.

“You’ll find out how dom—”

“May I take your order?” the waitress appears at the table, pad in hand.

“Yes, we’ll have an order of waffles and another of pancakes. A black coffee and… a glass of milk, I suppose,” Izaya says while Shizuo tries to fight down his embarrassment.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The waitress scurries away, reappearing a moment later with a glass of milk and a coffee before leaving again.

“What was that about dominating, bunny-love?”

“Shut up.” Shizuo glowers at him, taking a swig of his milk. “Hey, when are we gonna go see Celty?”

“Oh, I was thinking tomorrow.” Izaya taps his lip. Yes, tomorrow would be good.

“Tomorrow? I thought you wanted to be able to speak sign language to her?”

It’s not hard, the positions are fairly easy to remember. The grammar is simple. Subject, verb, object. No pesky particles to get in the way, no be verbs to confuse things. Simple, straightforward.

Izaya flashes, I can, at Shizuo.

Shizuo hesitates, tentatively flashes back, I understand.

His movements are stiff with uncertainty, but he remembers them and that’s good enough.

 

Izaya texts Shinra:

We’re coming over tomorrow, look forward to seeing us ( ^ ^) *: ・゚✧

He gets back: Who has the injury??

Rude.

 

They find an internet cafe, a run-down place that hasn’t seen the business end of a vacuum since it opened.

But that’s fine, because it clearly hasn’t seen a security camera either. And the computer works fine even if it looks like it shouldn’t.

Shizuo hovers over Izaya’s shoulder. “How are you gonna find him, exactly? Gonna Google him and see what happens?”

“No, we’re going to ask some forums.”

“Trusting strangers on the internet is always a good idea.”

“It is when their pride is on the line.”

You’d think, that for a forum frequented only by those that can operate a computer with some level of competency, that it’d be a testament to what web design could really look like.

It’s not. It’s graphic interface is more along the lines of barely functional, probably to keep those that can’t even work their keyboard shortcuts out.

14:37:29>>> kachann57: searching for hacker with the initials ST.

14:38:01>>>maballz: some1 pwn u n00b?

14:39:10>>>blackleg: don’t know anyone by that name. Are you sure it’s correct?

Not particularly helpful.

Until a chat window opens in the lower corner of the screen.

14:41:05>>>ST: You could just ask, you know.

14:41:15>>>ST: It’s not very nice to go behind people’s backs, I~za~ya~kun~

Behind him, Shizuo whistles. “That’s not good.”

14:42:02>>>ST: I’m not a “hacker” either.

14:42:05>>>ST: My name is Shinichi Tsukumoya. Or Tsukumoya Shinichi, depends where you live.

14:43:13>>>anon4509: Any particular reason you’re stalking me?

“Don’t engage with him,” Shizuo hisses.

“What do you want me to do? Never go online again? He managed to find what computer I’m using within five minutes of logging on.”

14:44:40>>>ST: Harsh.

14:45:02>>>ST: I thought you wanted to know about Nebula?

“The company?”

“They’re a bit more than that, I think,” Izaya says, propping his hands up on the crustry counter where the the computer sits. “Let’s ask, shall we?”

“Wait a minute.” Shizuo lifts Izaya out of his seat like he weighs little more than a wet kitten, settling him back on his lap and propping his chin on Izaya’s shoulder. “Okay, go.”

14:47:08>>>anon4509: I’m listening.

 

Shizuo wants to go to a park, because of “air” and the freshness thereof.

And also because he looks like he wants to murder someone and a park has no cameras.

Alright, maybe not Shizuo’s reason, but it’s why Izaya agrees.

“That’s so fucked up,” Shizuo says, pacing back and forth, back and forth. He lights a cigarette and puffs on it like it’s the only thing between him and a nervous breakdown.

It probably is.

“He might not be telling the truth,” Izaya says, “what happened to not trusting strangers on the internet?”

Shizuo runs a hand through his hair. “It’s too fucked up to not be true. Who comes up with shit like that?”

Novelists, which Tsukumoya is, apparently. Conspiracy theorists.

The problem is that it does seem to be true. What Izaya’s gleaned off the internet seems to match up with what Tsukumoya said.

But that just raises the question of where the source of the information is in the first place. The same information in two places doesn’t make it true, just makes it in two places.

“Human experiments, Izaya,” Shizuo is hissing, sucking on his cigarette. “Human trafficking. Capturing supernatural creatures. Shit.”

Izaya stands up and wraps himself around Shizuo’s shoulders like a cape. “Aw, it’s okay—”

Gay!”

“The fuck you say bitch I’ll fucking kill you!”

Well, on the bright side, Shizuo is significantly more calm after knocking a few teeth out.

On the other hand.

There is no other hand.

That was amazing.

 

Oh, there is another hand.

Not that Shizuo looks like he’s been in a fight, he just looks...like he’s been in a fight. He’s disheveled and still has that faintly wild air about him that reminds Izaya of a caged animal.

They can’t go into Shinjuku with Shizuo looking like that. They’ll be the spectacle instead of the spectators.

Another time, then.

“I’m hungry,” Shizuo complains, because he’s a human garbage disposal.

“Then eat something.”

“I can only do that if you stop walking for five seconds and let me buy something, jeez.”

Izaya heaves a deep and not entirely heartfelt sigh. “So demanding. Here, there’s a Burger King. Go buy something.”

“But you hate Burger King.”

“But I’m not eating.”

Shizuo gives him a look. Izaya’s seen that look before. In the mirror. That’s just not fair, he can’t play dirty like that.

“You are,” Shizuo says with the casual confidence of those accustomed to violence. “So, what will you eat?”

“I’m not--”

“We’ve already established that you are, so I guess you get to choose between enjoying it or not.”

Scary. Not arousing at all. Nope.

“Fine. How about sushi?”

“Eh, how about something a bit more substantial?”

“You said I could choose!”

“That was before you tried to wiggle out and pick sushi.”

“Fine. Pizza?”

Shizuo’s eyes light up with an frankly unholy glee.

They have to get one take out because no one will let Shizuo in a restaurant looking like he’s gone three rounds with a dust storm.

Izaya perches on top of a planter near a busy street and eats his requisite one slice before dumping the others Shizuo hands him into the foliage, entertaining himself with watching the pedestrians while Shizuo does an excellent method acting of a starving wolf.



Shizuo follows Izaya back home without complaint.

“What a day, love muffin, what a day.” Izaya’s peeling clothes as soon as he hits the threshold of his room, the stink of cigarette smoke clinging to his skin and clothes.

“You could say that.” Shizuo’s watching Izaya take off his pants with far too much interest, not even trying to be subtle as he stares, licking his lips.

Izaya hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, considering.

Nah, shower first.

It’s when Shizuo climbs in after him, running his hands down Izaya’s arms, that he remembers the third option.

Shower together , then sex.

Shizuo really does have his moments of brilliance.

Shizuo’s mouth is resting on his neck. Not biting, not sucking. Just resting.

Shizuo’s presses close to Izaya’s back, hands stroking up and down his arms, thumbs pressing into his shoulders, rubbing in a circular motion.

“Long day?” Izaya says lightly, only getting a hum in reply. “Wash my hair for me, will you?”

Shizuo doesn’t even complain, just sets about massaging the scent of the Tropics into Izaya’s scalp. He’s gentle, so gentle. Cards his fingers through Izaya’s hair. Covers his eyes when he tilts his head back to rinse out the suds.

Shizuo even washes him without asking, running his hands over Izaya along with the washcloth.

It doesn’t feel particularly sexual, even if it feels like it should.

That’s when it clicks.

Shizuo’s spooked. He’s worried. He’s trying to reassure himself that Izaya’s there and present and unharmed.

Tactile people are like that, he’s heard. Have to use touch to express affection and love.

Shizuo must like him an awful lot, can barely keep his hands off.

Izaya shuts the water off and leads a compliant Shizuo into the bedroom, forgoing towels in favor of air drying.

It’s good for the environment, right?

No?

Oh well.

Izaya goes into his closet, pulling out the Drug Store stash, tossing Shizuo a box of condoms.

“Might as well figure out which ones fit, ne?”

 

Shizuo holds the box like it might bite him if he’s not careful.

Izaya picks up another and tears it open, a little piece of paper flutters to the ground.

Izaya kinda wants to frame it, it’s some of the best drawings of a penis he’s seen in his entire life. You can tell it’s a penis because it’s what the illustration shows the condom being rolled on.  

“Ne, Shizu-chan, they come with instructions. Apparently you can put them on backwards.” He squints harder. “Also, don’t use cooking oil because it might make the condom break. Well, I can think of at least three better reasons to not put cooking oil up your ass, can’t you?”

Izaya looks over, but Shizuo’s still bumbling with the first condom box.

For fuck’s sake.

Izaya takes one out of the box he’s holding, pinching the tip just like it said in the very helpful instructions, and rolling it down over Shizuo.

It gets stuck halfway, so he pulls it off and tosses it.

“Well, not that one.”

It makes a sound like a rubber band when he pulls it off and Shizuo winces.

Maybe he should be more careful with that in the future.

Eh, well. Live and learn.

Shizuo finally pulls himself together enough to open the box he’s holding, rolling one on himself. It barely goes down, squishing things in what looks like a highly uncomfortable manner.

Izaya props himself on the bed and decides to just watch, far more entertainment that way.

The third box in and Shizuo finally manages to get one on.

“Now give me a twirl.”

Shizuo frowns at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. Red suits you.”

“Is it supposed to fit like this?”

Izaya shrugs. “I guess so.”

“Why aren’t you trying any?”

“I’m really more of a nudist at hear—”

Shizuo throws two boxes at him, one thumping hollowly against his head.

“Fine, fine.”

He’s efficient and it takes him exactly…okay, maybe a bit longer because the wrappers are tricky, but not nearly as long as Shizuo and that’s all that matters.

“Tee-da!” Izaya says.

“Very nice,” Shizuo says, trying not to smirk. He’s failing.

“Thanks, I always thought so. Try not to be too jealous, Shizu-chan, not everyone can be blessed with—”

Shizuo tackles him back onto the sheets, going right for his stomach, the bastard, with those evil, evil fingers.

So Izaya whacks him with a pillow in self-defense.

So Shizuo fights dirty and pins him to the bed. Ass. But it’s not all bad, because Izaya’s irresistible and Shizuo’s kissing him, sloppy, open-mouthed things that leave Izaya breathless anyway.

Shizuo’s warm, pressed against Izaya like this.

“Hey, hey. I wanna try something.”

“What?”

“Sit up.”

Shizuo does, because Izaya’s ideas are always good ideas. Izaya fumbles for the lube— ah. There. Oh, it’s that strawberry flavored crap. Oh well. Lube is lube, ne? He slathers a healthy amount on the inside of his legs.

Izaya leans back against the pillow, propping his legs over Shizuo’s shoulder.

“The idea here is that you fuck my thighs,” Izaya says to a very confused Shizuo.

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun?”

Shizuo’s arm bands around his knees, keeping Izaya’s legs on his shoulder.

“Like this?”

Something warm slides between Izaya’s thighs and bumps against his dick.

“Yeah, like that.”

Shizuo slides back and forward, seemingly fascinated with this whole turn of events.

Which is great because Izaya’s pretty happy himself, Shizuo brushing past so very sensitive parts, sending happy sparks down his legs and up his spine.

It’s over before Izaya feels like it should be, sensations overcoming him and then Shizuo in near tandem.

“I guess these are pretty useful,” Shizuo says as he pulls his condom off carefully, tying it and tossing it. “Maybe I’ll even have a few shirts without—”

“No, they just sell them for aesthetic reasons.”

“Ass.”

But he tosses Izaya’s too when handed it.

“Now my legs smell like strawberries,” Izaya complains, but the shower is far and he feels floppy and boneless.

Shizuo, king of bad ideas, has a solution.

His tongue tickles the inside of Izaya’s thighs as he sweeps over, up and down. He comes perilously close to Izaya’s cock, and it makes a valiant twitch before settling back. But Shizuo’s not done, his tongue between the crease of his thigh and it feels electric and like a lot.

Shizuo rests his head on Izaya’s stomach, looking awfully pleased with himself.

“Have fun?”

“Me? Never. Fun is a construct to keep the masses content.”

Shizuo snorts. “You’re so full of shit.” But Shizuo reaches to turn off the light and curls around him, tugging Izaya’s head to rest on his chest.

And in the dark, Izaya can hear the ba-dum ba-dum of Shizuo’s heart.