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Izaya stood barefoot and shirtless in his bathroom, turning his head over his shoulder in attempt to look at the harder-to-reach part of his back. He pressed his fingers to the skin under his shoulder blade as he found what he was looking for. He stared at it for a moment and hummed noncommittally at his reflection.
After a moment of staring, he released his tense posture before twisting over the other shoulder, this time his eyes searching lower down his spine towards the small of his back above where the elastic of his underwear rested on his hip.
Izaya frowned at the offending skin as he recalled the night before—which was really more like four hours ago, but Shizuo had already left Izaya’s apartment that morning bleary eyed and mumbling under his breath about work policies and sick leave and an unlit cigarette already dangling from his lips, so Izaya was free to stare his reflection down and reminisce in solitude.
***
Izaya was face down, cock trapped between his stomach and the mattress. His fists clenched tight, twisting the bedsheets as he gritted his teeth and refused the moan that clung wantonly in his throat.
Shizuo’s hot breath was on his neck, his hands firm on Izaya’s hips, body heavy over his, pressing Izaya down, down, down an unyielding anchor surrounding Izaya, protecting him, destroying him, doing everything in his power to break him and then hold him together.
Usually, he was rough; they both were. It was routine, a product of being them. Izaya sought out the roughness like he needed air and savored it even more. But today, Shizuo was languid, pushing into Izaya slowly, so slow.
Whatever roughness they lost from an alleyway to his bed was made up for with every steady thrust. The burn of Shizuo’s cock inside him as Izaya was stretched open felt like it would go on forever, suffocating Izaya with his closeness, around him, on him, in him, and Izaya’s cock weeped at the too-much of it.
And the retreat was unbearable, a slow pull as Izaya could feel every inch of Shizuo’s cock leaving behind a disastrous emptiness that made Izaya’s toes curl and made him choke back a whine, hoping Shizuo wouldn’t notice his desperate need. Oh, the emptiness was a catastrophe, a cataclysmic horror, but then Shizuo was pressing back in, sedated but no less demanding than he’s always been, and Izaya would slump back into the mattress with the relief of being filled.
Shizuo sighed, a self-satisfied gust of air that ruffled the hairs around Izaya’s neck. It was the kind of sigh he let out when he felt like he’d sufficiently silenced Izaya in a way that even Izaya would have to relent to. Izaya almost bit out a retort, but Shizuo’s cock finally slid all the way home, and instead Izaya hummed in response, a moan trapped in his closed mouth. Besides, his head had come away too empty to find anything to retaliate with.
“Yeah,” Shizuo responded, another pleased sigh, and pulled his chest away from Izaya’s back.
He didn’t fully withdraw, his lips grazed over Izaya’s neck to the notch at the top of his spine before drifting slowly down his back with careful, lazy attention never stopping the aching pace of his thrusts. His mouth paused for a moment to press a deliberate kiss under Izaya’s left shoulder blade before continuing on his path over Izaya’s skin.
Shizuo always did that, Izaya thought with a funny little tickle in his belly. Every time he had him like this, face pressed against the mattress or against a wall, and his back exposed, Shizuo would kiss under his should blade, sometimes hot and openmouthed or chaste and feathery or scraping teeth and harsh words. Shizuo never missed an opportunity to kiss that little bit of skin. Izaya’s eyebrows furrowed as all the memories overlaid on top of each other to provide him with enough evidence of a pattern, and the little tickle in his belly trilled at the uncertainty of what he didn’t know.
“Why do you do that?” The question was out of Izaya’s mouth before he’d thought about asking it.
“Huh?” Shizuo asked, his voice gruff and preoccupied with pulling out and leaving Izaya horribly empty before steadily pressing back in.
“Why do you kiss me like that?” It came out wrong, a little too hoarse, a little too accusing. Izaya had nothing to defend, he just wanted to know.
“What? I’m not allowed to kiss you?” Shizuo responded, his self-satisfaction replaced with newfound frustration, but his pace didn’t change from those smooth, languid thrusts that destroyed Izaya. “My dick is inside you, and,” Shizuo pushed in flush against Izaya as if to prove an unnecessary and very clear point. “I’m not allowed to kiss you?”
Izaya had reached back to pinch Shizuo’s side in childish admonishment for twisting his words, but the full stroke of Shizuo’s cock caused him to gasp, and his hand pressed against Shizuo’s side as if to keep him close instead.
“No,” Izaya puffed when he was certain he wouldn’t moan. “You always kiss that spot. On my back.”
“Oh,” Shizuo said simply, voice suddenly clear of any lingering irritation.
Izaya felt him kiss the spot again.
He let out a hiss that had more to do with the unexpected press of Shizuo’s lips against his skin and only mild annoyance at his question being unanswered.
“You have a freckle here.” Shizuo told him.
“Huh?”
Shizuo ignored the questioning sound Izaya made and retreated, his cock slipping out completely, and Izaya made an uglier, gutted sound at the abrupt loss. But before Izaya could even look over his shoulder to glare at Shizuo and demand to know what his issue was, to return and finish what he’d started, Shizuo said, “And here too.”
And pressed a kiss low on the small of Izaya’s back close to his hip. More memories akin to before of Shizuo kissing and nipping at that specific spot near his right hip suddenly overlapped to make clear to Izaya another pattern he’d overlooked.
More memories crowded the front of Izaya’s mind suddenly, ones that he could actually see instead of just feel, where Shizuo would pull at Izaya’s arm and mouth the inside of his wrist right beside the bundle of blue veins that would cause Izaya to gasp every time teeth scraped over the sensitive skin no matter how many times Shizuo did it. Izaya would watch him do it, and never once did he make the connection that Shizuo was kissing right where a freckle showed on Izaya’s skin under the bend of his palm.
And again, memories played just to mock Izaya, Shizuo kissing the inside of his wrist then moving closer into Izaya’s personal space, choking him with his presence, suffocating him as his mouth made purposeful pressure above the bend of Izaya’s elbow where more delicate nerves and veins were so visible and so very life-threatening for the sake of kissing a freckle.
Shizuo—his Shizuo, not memory Shizuo—suddenly leaned back over Izaya, chin on Izaya’s shoulder and cock slipping over his hole, catching occasionally on the rim but never pressing further just torturing Izaya with the whispering promises of fullness, of Shizuo’s cock stretching him, of that ever present demand that Izaya give in to him, and Izaya wanted to. Oh, Izaya wanted it more and more with every catch of Shizuo’s cock and every time he never took him.
Izaya’s thighs quivered with tension, and he tried subtly to shift himself back just enough to invite Shizuo without giving away his own ulterior motives. Shizuo’s cock slid against him again with another slight thrust and caught again on Izaya’s rim and then slipped away again.
Izaya huffed in frustration, a tight whine he couldn’t hold back even when he tried to close his throat against it.
Shizuo puffed a laugh, his self-satisfied demeanor clearly returning and said, “Yeah,” again, as if he could tell what Izaya was doing, what he wanted, and Shizuo agreed with him and still didn’t push back in, just held Izaya’s hips in his hands, pinning him with his body, and his mouth by his ear murmuring sighs and pleased hums.
But this time Izaya could retort, he would because he needed, he needed, he needed—
“Are you just going to hump me like an animal until you get off or are you actually going to fuck me?” Izaya groused.
Shizuo did not usually display this level of patience especially with Izaya, and especially when Izaya was almost begging—but he wasn’t—for his cock. Normally, they wouldn’t even have the patience to remove their clothes, just loosen their belts and slide their pants down until Shizuo could fuck into Izaya with a hurried, rough pace that left them so breathless kissing turned into openmouthed gasping, sharing the same air, Izaya’s nails biting into Shizuo’s scalp as he grabbed resentful fistfuls of hair, and Shizuo’s fingers leaving angry bruises on his thighs.
But Shizuo was always a little more laid back with alcohol in his system, and after running into him at Russia Sushi, Izaya let himself be talked into the restaurant’s peace grounds by Simon and was on his own way to tipsy when taking Shizuo home started to sound like a good way to spend a sleepless night.
Now Izaya wasn’t so sure, caught off guard by the lethargic, heady sex and feeling himself turned only a little inside out over finding out about Shizuo’s habit.
Shizuo didn’t even grace Izaya’s jab with anger. “Maybe,” Shizuo said, a barely audible mumble against Izaya’s skin.
It was a joke, he could tell. He was probably smiling, the asshole. Izaya couldn’t see him, but that smug voice was always accompanied by an equally satisfied smile like a cat that had caught the canary. Irritation flared in the pit of Izaya’s stomach again, and he opened his mouth to bite back when Shizuo started speaking.
“Y’know, they say where you have moles is where your lover from your past life kissed you the most,” He said. It sounded more like he was making an observation, like it was a pleasant but mostly unremarkable occurrence.
That tickle in Izaya’s belly joined his irritation. “I’ve heard.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Shizuo said, but there was no heat behind his words.
“I didn’t,” Izaya lied. A bitterness rose in the back of his throat at Shizuo’s calm confidence in Izaya’s behavior without even having to see his face. “What do past lovers have to do with you fucking me?”
He knew what Shizuo was referring to, but he blatantly disregarded it, hoping Shizuo would become distracted enough to forget and fuck him into the mattress like he was suppose to. No more of this gentle, ritualistic kissing and aching, deep thrusts, but their usual hateful urgency like they were racing each other to the finish line.
Instead, Shizuo pulled back again, just enough to kiss the freckle under Izaya’s shoulder blade.
“Shizu-chan,” Izaya warned.
Shizuo sighed—true defeat this time—and finally pushed back in, the head of his cock brushing over Izaya’s prostate as he went, and Izaya couldn’t suppress the full body shiver that overtook him.
“Shizuo.”
Shizuo hummed in response, sliding his chest up against Izaya’s back as he continued pressing deeper into Izaya, so deep, Izaya always forgot how much of Shizuo there was, how much he could take, how good being filled felt even when he’d had it only moments before he still craved it endlessly.
Shizuo’s hands left Izaya’s hips to wrap his arms around Izaya’s waist, pressing down on him with his body while pulling him closer still and nosing along Izaya’s jaw, smothering him until all Izaya could feel was Shizuo, all he could breathe was Shizuo’s scent, all he could hear was Shizuo’s gasps and pleased groans. All he knew was Shizuo around him, on him, in him. Shizuo was everywhere, and Izaya moaned, jerking his hips into the mattress where his cock was still trapped before pressing back into Shizuo’s cock.
“Please,” Izaya begged. Being left on the edge and teased only increased the pressure when Shizuo began fucking into him again making it unbearable and so fucking good.
But Shizuo didn’t pick up the pace, he just kept on with his achingly slow thrusts, and Izaya’s abdomen clenched, precum leaking from his cock, and his throat trembling with moans and shaky gasps for oxygen.
“Whatever lover you had in a past life,” Shizuo picked up the conversation from earlier, but his voice had turned to strained gravel as he breathed into Izaya’s ear. “You can forget about them. In your next life, those freckles are gonna be there because of me.”
Izaya reached back on impulse to grab a fistful of Shizuo’s hair as his cock brushed against his prostate.
“Are you stupid?” Izaya gasped out, rocking back with Shizuo’s thrust. “That sort of stuff isn’t real. And even—hmph—even if it was, how could I remember someone from a past life—Shizuo—“
It was too much. Izaya needed more, and he needed none of it. He needed Shizuo to fuck him until he was bruised and cramping, but anymore and Izaya was going to fall apart underneath him, so intense was every thrust in and every time Shizuo withdrew leaving Izaya openmouthed and nearly crying over the loss.
“—Please, oh, fuck—“ Izaya clenched around Shizuo’s cock. Shizuo's fingers dug into Izaya’s skin, but he never stopped his slow pace even as his own breath turned ragged.
“Shizu-chan—Shizuo, I’m going to—“
“Cum,” Shizuo gasped into his ear. “You can do it, cum for me.”
Izaya did. He yanked at Shizuo’s hair, holding Shizuo to him while Izaya groaned openmouthed and arching into the mattress, abdomen quivering as he felt his cock throb underneath him. Shizuo let out a strangled, muffled sound into Izaya’s shoulder as he pulled Shizuo’s hair and rode out Izaya’s orgasm with firm thrusts and an unforgiving grip when he came without warning, forcing deep into Izaya, and Izaya’s cock gave a latent, weak spurt of cum as Shizuo filled him.
They lay there breathing in ragged, deep breathes. Even though Izaya was still warm from the exertion, he let Shizuo’s heat seep into his skin and felt the pressure of his body holding him down as it kept Izaya together.
Eventually, Shizuo pulled out, but he hardly retreated, only rolled on to his back and pulled Izaya with him so Izaya laid on his back too, head pillowed by Shizuo’s arm.
“Want a cigarette,” Shizuo said gruffly.
“No,” Izaya told him firmly, and he leaned up on his elbow to grab the corner of his bedsheets and wipe the cum off of his stomach. Izaya registered from this little act that he was still tipsy, but, courtesy of the alcohol, he didn’t care and let the newly stained fabric drop before resuming a more comfortable position beside Shizuo. “Not in my apartment.”
Shizuo sighed irritably but didn’t argue him.
Late nights and Russia Sushi frequently led to alcohol and sex, Izaya thought as they laid there in silence. It wasn’t unusual to spend an unusual night together when sex itself would be considered unusual for them. They had rituals—rough, cruel rituals that often left both of them more angry and bruised, and somehow unsatiated despite the sex—so it wasn’t strange; or maybe strange was expected of them. If Shizuo had his own, private ritual of kissing the moles on Izaya’s back, then it was just another one of their unusual habits. Nothing out of the ordinary. It even left a sting, just like his fist.
But he couldn’t refuse the thought before it had already formed; a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.
Izaya closed his eyes, eyebrows pinching together before smoothing out and forgetting it, forgetting it, forgetting. He was just a little drunk, he reasoned.
He turned his head to the side, his cheek pressed against Shizuo’s bare shoulder and felt Shizuo’s arm curl around him and his fingers tickling his scalp, lazily running through his hair, and Izaya banished the word lover from his vocabulary.