Chapter Text
It started with the same catalytic violence: with teeth and fists, the flash of a knife. The dance was so finely choreographed that a particularly voyeuristic onlooker would be hard pressed to tell if they were indulging in brutal foreplay or tender homicide. In all fairness, the participants were pretty confused themselves.
“Fucking slutty Flea,” Shizuo hissed as he yanked Izaya’s hair so the shorter man’s head tilted back at a precarious angle. Despite his vulnerable expanse of neck, Izaya continued grinning maliciously, red eyes slit as he refused to break visual contact with the brute. There was no indication he was planning to run, however. There was no need. Izaya knew he could “win” these battles.
“And what does that make you, Shizu-chan?” Izaya shot back, giving an indelicate squeeze to the bulge in Shizuo’s uniform. The blond grunted, somewhere in between pain and arousal, before slamming Izaya back against the crumbling brick of the alleyway.
“Shut up. Hate you so much,” he murmured over the top of Izaya’s lips as they panted the same air. The kiss that followed was more a face-to-face assault than any display of affection, a violent demonstration of dominance that was one part bruising and two parts asphyxiation. Izaya returned the favor by biting deep into those crushing lips. He giggled around the metallic tang before the world was spinning and a hand was shoving his face against the filthy pavement of alleyway.
“Fuck you into submission,” came the fragmented growl from behind, accompanied by the ringing harmony of an unbuckling belt. “Feral piece of shit. Can’t even fuck you face to face.” Immobilized by that irritatingly strong hand, Izaya resorted to pushing his ass back towards Shizuo and grinding.
“Try it, you Neanderthal. See if that pitiful dick of yours can get one ounce of respect out of—aahhh!” the taunt was cut short as Shizuo unceremoniously ripped the pants right off of him. Goddamnit, those were expensive.
“Of all the- you lowlife simpleton brute. So you ha—ahaaa. Hnnnah- ah- ah,“ his indignation at the unwarranted wardrobe destruction was brought to a screeching halt as Shizuo rammed into the informant without any preparation. Despite this- because of this- Izaya was hard pressed to complain. The sudden onslaught on his nerves oscillated radically between searing pleasure and scintillating pain, making his own cock swell in a maddening surge of lust. He couldn’t help the whimpers and moans that were wrenched from him as he pushed just as violently back against the throbbing length, undulating his hips in an obscene, wanton pulse that dragged an extended moan from the violent creature behind him. “Ung, fu- oh God. Deeper-”
“Shut up shut up shut up,” came the growled mantra behind him, in synchrony with violent thrusts. Before he knew what was happening, a piece of Izaya’s own demolished pants were being shoved into his mouth as a makeshift gag. Izaya didn’t even manage an indignant growl before Shizuo struck a new angle and succinctly started decimating the spot that made him melt.
In a helpless writhing mess, Izaya whimpered and cursed around the fabric. Without any grace or preamble, his orgasm was upon him, ripping through his system in an agonizing blaze of stars and a muffled scream. He emptied his load onto the cold pavement, arching helplessly and reaching back belatedly with one hand to pump furiously, squeezing out several more spurts of semen. His vision hadn’t even cleared before warm slickness filled him, shooting deep into his system to the tune of Shizuo’s groan. Several more off kilter thrusts, and the blond was pulling out, cursing Izaya’s existence, and buckling his pants. As quickly as it had started, the encounter was over, and Shizuo left the alley, nothing but the trailing scent of cigarette smoke and the thick, viscous globs of white running down Izaya’s thighs to show he had been there at all.
Izaya sat up slowly, spit out fragments of trouser, and ran a shaking hand through his hair. His erection hadn’t even fully flagged yet, he noted with disgusted interest. A hand absently massaged his groin amid the mess he sat in until his heart rate slowed. He silently regarded the slick mixture of semen and blood coating his legs before wavering to his feet and mopping himself with shredded fabric.
Izaya’s mind flitted around odd thoughts as he worked. It wasn’t that is wasn’t enjoyable. Hell, the glistening flecks of white on the pavement were proof enough of that. He was strangely unsatisfied though. In multiple ways, in fact.
On the superficial level, it was the utter lack of finesse. He was a connoisseur at heart. Expensive furniture, luscious food, the complex and masterful deconstruction of the human psyche- all spoke of a certain pride he took in the particularly delectable things this world had to offer. A quick and sloppy fuck was just a momentary release. An insulting twinkie when he wanted crème brulee.
On the deeper level, it was the irritation that the outcome of these encounters had become so predictable. Shizu-chan was an infuriating, terrifying opponent, but Izaya couldn’t deny the rush he got with having to deal with such an unpredictable creature. It was… vexing, that each round of frenzied alleyway sex followed the same pattern, the same motions. Izaya was bored.
It was generally a bad thing when Izaya was bored.
At length, he was clean of evidence of their debauched activities. He gave one last wistful glance at his designer pants, and settled for zipping his parka up like a particularly skanky dress. As he unceremoniously dropped the ruined pants in a nearby dumpster, he began to scheme.
It was time to change the rules of their little game, and he was going to have a hell of a time forcing Shizu-chan to switch gears. His smile widened in anticipation.
Shizuo stretched his legs lazily and reclined against the shaded back of the park bench, letting the soothing smoke of his cigarette curl in his lungs. It was a quiet day for ‘Bukuro, and he was content to simply sit back and enjoy the summer breeze. In these moments, he could almost pretend tranquility was something he was able to call upon at will. It was a charming illusion.
He was dozing lightly, contemplating what cranny he would next eradicate the Flea from, when the sound of silence alerted him to another’s presence. Cracking open an eye, his gaze focused in on a small pocket of darkness in the otherwise blindingly bright square. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Yo, Celty. What’s up?”
The dullahan wheeled her bike over to him and cocked her helmet to the side. She made an absent motion towards her PDA, but dropped the hand and simply went back to regarding him. Puzzled, Shizuo sat up fully and opened both eyes. They gazed at each other for several more moments.
“Oi, everything okay?” he questioned, toeing the wheel of her motorcycle. The motorcycle, without any manipulation from Celty, reared up and smacked him in the shin. He shrugged. Weirder things had happened.
Celty was still for one more moment before she made a decisive reach for her PDA and started typing furiously, as if she didn’t want to focus on what she was actually writing. Curling the PDA towards her chest for a moment, she hunched her shoulders, and then quickly extended her arm to display the screen.
[Do you care for Izaya? Does he make you happy?]
Shizuo swallowed his cigarette.
In the following struggle, he divided his attention between evacuating the burning stick from his esophagus and reeling at the (numerous, terrifying) implications of her statement. The swallowed cigarette was the first of the two to be remedied.
Celty was possibly the best friend he had, and they had shared many cathartic heart-to-hearts over the past few years. That said, there was an unspoken (heh) agreement between the two of them: Celty didn’t clarify exactly how intimate her relationship was with Shinra, and the only time Shizuo talked about making Izaya sweat was in relation to their most recent parkour escapades. Celty was not like that spastic otaku that hung around Kadota- if she was prying into this, there was a reason behind it.
Curiously, he was too preoccupied with why she had asked such a thing to give much thought to what she had asked. If he had stopped to think about the honest answer (however skewed it may be from the intended connotation), he may have been even more disturbed. As it was, he rubbed at his watering eyes and looked up at her in bewilderment. Celty took this as her cue to explicate.
[He hired me for another job] she typed, and Shizuo hoped to God this was going to end with her asking his permission to kill the Flea for whatever the bastard had her doing. That was the only way his heart rate was going return to a safe reading. Her next sentence vaporized this hope. [I was assigned to find out what makes you happy. His direct words were “I know Shizu-chan hates losing control of his temper, I’m just not very good at helping in that respect. Find something that can help him keep his cool. I’m curious about his smile.”]
Shizuo’s alarm was going through the proverbial roof to the point that even Celty could feel his anxiety. This likely had less to do with the sensing capabilities of her ubiquitous smoke, and more to do with the sweat on his forehead and the unfocused look in his eyes. It was obvious to any outside viewer that he was either slipping into a serious internal freak out, or was suffering from a spontaneous cerebral hemorrhage. Perhaps both.
She set the kickstand on her motorcycle and sat down next to him, hands in her lap. They both stared blankly ahead in shell-shocked camaraderie. Though they were both worried about Izaya’s most recent set of antics, it was for radically different reasons.
Celty was fearful the informant was planning some sort of strike on Shizuo. How, exactly, he was hoping to use this requested information was beyond her- poisoning Shizuo’s favorite food? Kicking that odd stray dog that followed him around in hopes of pushing Shizuo into an apoplectic fit? She didn’t know, but Izaya’s interest was rarely conducive to the happiness and health of his target.
Shizuo’s thought process was on a different tangent entirely. Izaya had never made the effort to get to know him. From the very first day of high school, they had established the healthy, simple practice of attempted homicide in the face of any action the other took. There was no puzzling out motives. Each felt an overwhelming, all consuming passion to watch the other bleed , and that had always been enough. After almost ten years , Izaya was suddenly changing his tune? Shizuo could only come to one conclusion: he had actually hurt the Flea.
It left an odd sort of sickness in the pit of his stomach, an unpleasant hollowness that he balked at internally. Sure, he wanted to witness (if not cause) the Flea’s messy and untimely demise, but it had always been a goal to strive for, not something he thought he could actually accomplish. In an odd sort of way, Izaya was a comfort for his tenacious ability to survive and walk away from any encounter with Shizuo’s strength. The thought that he may have actually damaged the pest with their most recent alleyway fuck hurt more than he would have thought. He felt his fingertips slipping from the last edge of normalcy he clung to.
Shizuo stood up abruptly, absently smashing the arm rest of the bench as he rose. The familiar haze of fury was once more causing his vision to swim and focus in on odd details of the surrounding landscape. God damnit , all he had wanted was one peaceful day, and that asshole Izaya had manage to ruin it without even showing up. Shizuo shook with rage and frustration as Celty sprang to her feet and laid a hand on his arm
[It’s okay Shizuo, calm down. I didn’t tell him anything.]
Shizuo suppressed a sickened chuckle. That was hardly the largest worry here. “Thanks for your help Celty, but there are some things I need to take care of.” Before she could respond, he broke into a lope and vaulted the nearest fence. He could feel his control slipping, and he hated letting her see that side of him.
A small, still coherent part of his mind whispered he needed help. Needed to verify what exactly had happened to Izaya. Needed some sort of reassurance they could go back to their old routine like nothing was wrong. He ran.
“Hey Shizuo!” Shinra chirped brightly, as if having the strongest man in Ikebukuro in his doorway, panting and furious, was the pinnacle of his morning. “What can I do for you?”
Absolutely no surprise registered on the doctor’s face when Shizuo growled out, “where is Izaya?”
“Ah, you just missed him an hour or two ago. Here, come in. I’ll get you something to drink.” Shizuo had to forgo the formalities of a proper guest with the effort of not vomiting on Shinra’s shoes. The Flea had been here. Some unrealistically optimistic portion of his mind had been holding out hope that this was one huge misunderstanding, and Izaya wasn’t hurt. That was out the window. This only made Shizuo more furious, which of course helped nothing whatsoever.
He shuffled miserably into the living room and contemplated how successful he would be at crushing his own skull.
“You’re looking awfully glum,” Shinra observed, coming back with a can of cola for each of them.
“How bad?” Shizuo asked without prelude.
Shinra blinked behind his glasses. “How bad was what? Oooooh, did you two have some quality time in the alleyway again? He never asks for patch up jobs for that sort of thing. Claims he doesn’t want to give me a free show, but I think it’s more that he is a masochist and enjoys the after effects. Not that I blame him. When Celty decides to-“
“SHINRA.”
“Right, sorry, sorry! What was it you came to talk about anyway?”
Shizuo dug his fingers absently into his blond hair. The overpowering rage was slipping into a pretty hefty bout of confusion.
“Why was Izaya here, exactly, if not to get patched up?”
The young doctor plopped down on the couch and grinned sinfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know. I’ve never seen him that intent on making another person happy, to be honest. I just knew you two would finally figure out all that energy was just repressed sexual urges, though it’s nice you are finally moving beyond casual fuck buddies into something more emotionally rewarding. It reminded me of the first time I took Celty-“
“Shinra.”
“Right, sorry, sorry! But seriously, you just came by to check that he was okay? That’s really sweet. Oh! That reminds me. He left something for you.” The doctor scampered off to an adjoining room and started rummaging around his desk, odd clanks and thumps reaching Shizuo in an offbeat rhythm. “I just had it. Where- aha!”
Shinra reemerged from the office with a moderately sized frame is his hands. “Izaya said he found this just last night and thought you would like it. He asked me to give it to you because he had to travel out of Tokyo shortly.” Shinra turned the frame in his hands to display a breathtaking painting of the Ikebukuro skyline at dusk. Staring at the cityscape in wonder, Shizuo slowly took the frame and turned it over in his hands. A sticky note clung to the canvas on the back.
‘Home. For when you need a reminder of how wonderful the city can be, despite its pests.’
Shizuo’s mouth went dry, and he had to exert a conscious effort to keep his hands loose so as not to crack the frame. It was… beautiful. Perfect. What the fuck.
Unless he was missing a considerable time frame from his memory, they were as of last night indulging in textbook example of hate sex. Sometime in the last ten hours, Izaya had apparently decided to look into all of his favorite things, and made a pit stop to buy him art. What.
Shizuo massaged the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling exhausted. The shift from surprise to anger to terror to confusion was simply too much. Now it felt like someone had taken the whole clusterfuck and thrown it into a blender, leaving him with nothing but a slightly distasteful amorphous goo he had no idea what to do with. Except make crappy similes about, apparently.
He collapsed onto the couch and wondered if he should start worrying about Izaya’s motives. He decided to stare at the beautiful picture instead.
“I’m so jealous, just so you know. That is a perfect view of the city. See, that building right there is where Celty practiced the reverse cowg-“
“SHINRA.”