Rated: E – NSWF
Warnings: implied past rape.
There wasn’t an occasion Shizuo could remember not enjoying touching Izaya with affection. Be it the flat on his hand over his collarbone or the harsher dig of his fingers into sharp bones, be it unthought and quiet or drowned in the sleek night hours with panting to fill the silence. It vaporized the dregs of his own fear to nothing every time; and every time, when he felt the give of Izaya’s shoulders, or his hips, or his breath, it lathered love over the memories of violence.
He had asked Izaya. He had said, “Will you fuck me?” between rough kisses, his heart alight with the prospect and his fingers tingling from the thought of hanging onto Izaya’s shoulders for once instead of the other way around.
“What?” Izaya had replied distractedly. His lips were wet with spit, his cheeks crimson from the heat.
Shizuo had felt his own face burn. “I want you to be on top,” he repeated. Embarrassment flared inside him, but he fought it off with as much grace as he could.
Izaya kissed him again. He had one knee on each side of Shizuo’s thighs on the couch of his living-room, and summer daylight bathed them, feeling like raw warmth where Shizuo’s skin was open to the air, dragging the shadows of Izaya’s face above him into a shade of gold. “Don’t you want me?” Izaya said, trailing his lips over Shizuo’s chin like a branding iron. “I feel like being sweet.”
Shizuo knew. Izaya had indulged him in over twenty minutes of kissing as soon as he walked in, like a gift. It was the reason he asked at all, because Izaya’s idea of kindness in sex rarely matched with his—too often required marks and welts and a weight at Izaya’s throat where his skin bruised the easiest.
“I want you.” He felt the way Izaya’s thighs tightened around his at the words. “I just—I want to know. What it feels like, you inside me.”
Izaya said nothing. He leaned back, sitting down on Shizuo’s knees instead of kneeling over him, and his face looked tense.
“We don’t have to,” Shizuo said. Then, when the silence stretched longer: “Never mind.”
There was a tinge of irritation in him that he felt guilty for, the same kind that he had smothered for months before confronting Izaya on what they were. In this situation it felt worse, somehow.
“Are you going to ask me again?” Izaya said after a while. The air had cooled around them, and Shizuo felt sweat turn to a chill along his back.
“I don’t know,” he replied. He didn’t hide the disappointment in his voice at least. “Probably.”
Shizuo had turned his head so he wouldn’t have to see the face Izaya was making. He had extended his arm over the edge of the couch to drag his cigarettes closer with the tips of his fingers, catching them before they fell down onto the floor. Izaya hadn’t moved at all while he was leaned away, not until Shizuo sat back again properly to stick one between his lips.
And then he had looked up.
Nothing was more striking on Izaya than emptiness. If it were disgust Shizuo could’ve handled it with more grace, and anger was familiar, almost comforting. But Izaya was staring at Shizuo’s face without meeting his eyes, his mouth turned at the corner as if tied to weights, blinking slowly at nothing. It was the face he made whenever something went too far, or not far enough; when his entire body slackened into chilly stillness in Shizuo’s arms, and Shizuo struggled to make sense of what had gone wrong; or sometimes even with a brush of fingers on his nape that he hadn’t expected, that made him jump out of his skin and keep his mouth shut for an hour.
Shizuo stilled under Izaya. His hand was halfway to his mouth, lighter caught between his index and his thumb, but he didn’t dare move further or drop it altogether. He watched Izaya, and he didn’t move, and his stomach clenched on icy disgust and his heartbeat sped up until he didn’t know whether he wanted to ask or run away. The words tasted like bile on his tongue.
It didn’t last long. It never did. When Izaya blinked out of it maybe a minute had gone by, and if his movements were slow as he stepped off the couch to go sit at his desk at least tension had tightened at his shoulders again, curling his mouth into something a little appalled, a little self-deprecating.
The smoke burned in Shizuo’s chest when he lit his cigarette. As his brain worked to bury the memory somewhere he wouldn’t see it replay itself behind his eyelids while he slept, he hoped the cold would ice his heart over.
That was it.
Shizuo never brought it up again. Izaya loosened against him sometimes, or jumped at a caress, and every time Shizuo pulled out or off and waited for it to pass. He watched the rise of Izaya’s chest as he breathed because he couldn’t look at his eyes—because the haze in them made Shizuo’s blood solidify to ice in his veins and every one of his breaths feel like sobs. He swallowed back the bile and didn’t say a word. It was okay that Izaya was a little irritable afterward. Okay that he only relaxed when he was sure Shizuo wasn’t going to talk about it.
Izaya had always been the one to set the pace for sex between them. It wasn’t out of deference on Shizuo’s part so much as habit, so much as a lifetime of violence telling him any forwardness on his part could only lead to pain. And then it was just how it went. Izaya coming over, or inviting him, Izaya sitting down in his lap or pressing him against a wall—or dragging him forward so he could be pressed against a wall.
Shizuo didn’t mind. He loved Izaya in every way he was allowed to, every way Izaya wanted him to. He loved kissing his neck and he loved pressing him into the mattress so he could feel the clench of his body on orgasm, and he loved fucking into him afterward, loved the sounds Izaya made when he did. He never minded the rough though he wished for more of the kind; maybe the kind felt sweeter that way, handed over sparingly, whenever Izaya was in the mood for kisses instead of bruises.
It was months before the incident was brought up. Shizuo had smoothed the memory and its implications into something seamless and dreamlike, put as much distance between it and himself as he could. Izaya came over at Shizuo’s place that day, and maybe that should have been enough of a tell. Izaya never cared to go out of his boundaries without a reason.
The bed winced when they fell onto it. Shizuo had a knee between Izaya’s legs and both hands framing the other’s face so he could bite into his lips and press against his body—a few minutes in and he was hard, cock aching inside his slacks and finding its echo in the resistance at the inside of Izaya’s thigh. When Izaya flipped them over Shizuo complied; he wasn’t sure yet how Izaya wanted to do this and his hands were tingling in advance. To stroke, or to hold.
He didn’t expect Izaya to fall back on his knees and open his mouth for him, quick and warm. Shizuo felt his chest freeze in surprise and then burst with heat, and now each of his breaths felt like fire.
“Shit,” he panted. Izaya made a noise, like laughter, and sucked at the tip— “God, what the fuck Izaya—”
Izaya pulled back and smacked his lips at him. His eyes glinted in the dark. “Want me to stop, Shizu-chan?”
“Fuck no,” Shizuo said. He pushed himself upward, hands flat on the bed behind him so he could look down at Izaya between his legs. Izaya smirked, and licked him, and Shizuo breathed fire.
“Put your hand in my hair,” Izaya said softly. He didn’t wait for answer, or maybe he could read the flash of fear in Shizuo more clearly than Shizuo himself could have; he said, “It’s no different than what we usually do,” and he grabbed Shizuo’s hand, dragging it palm-down to the crown of his head.
Then he took Shizuo’s cock into his mouth again, and Shizuo moaned lowly. This way he could feel the soft of Izaya’s hair and the way he moved, and he knew that if he trailed downward to his nape and spread his hand open to touch under his ears he would be able to tell the rhythm of his jaw. Izaya made a noise of protest after Shizuo did nothing but drag his fingers through the other’s hair; so Shizuo made a fist of them and pushed down as slowly as he could.
Izaya’s eyes glazed over immediately. He stopped looking up at Shizuo and stared blankly at his groin, the air from his nose coming in slow breaths now instead of pants, his body sagging behind him.
Sucking Izaya off was something Shizuo took delight in. And he didn’t understand why Izaya didn’t like doing it to him while still being into a ton of equally messy stuff, nor did he understand why, now that it was happening, it had to happen with Shizuo pushing him down almost to the point of choking—but he still knew how it felt to have this kind of liberty. He still knew the pleasure of being trusted enough not to bite.
He was panting now, neck damp with sweat and chest rising chaotically; Izaya swallowed him down and Shizuo swore again, the words spilling like blood off his tongue. His arm shook behind is back and eventually he fell back down, the image of Izaya’s mouth open around him printed into his eyes and his hand still fisted into black hair.
He tugged Izaya up when the lowest of his belly started clenching on heat and deep shakes spread to his toes. Izaya went up obediently, followed the motion of Shizuo’s hand until he was lying on top of him and Shizuo could catch their mouths together, licking the salt and the bitter off his lips and tongue. “Thank you,” he let out. Izaya hummed in answer.
This was another kind of pleasure already. Izaya’s body was languid on top of his, relaxed for all but his hands now digging into Shizuo’s hips.
“I brought lube,” he said suddenly.
Shizuo blinked at him owlishly. “Yeah?”
For a second he thought Izaya wouldn’t answer at all. He was biting his lips, and the act was thoughtless; Shizuo could see long-lived marks whitening again, deepening again. Then Izaya clenched his teeth, and took the bottle out of one of his pockets.
It was a different brand the ones they had used thus far. It looked expensive.
“Is it special?” Shizuo asked, taking it from him. “Because I know you know I still have some in the bathroom.”
“It’s…” Izaya hesitated. He didn’t feel as relaxed anymore. “It’s supposed to make it easier.”
“I thought you didn’t like when it was too easy.”
“I don’t,” Izaya said. “But I thought you might.”
Shizuo didn’t understand immediately. But Izaya’s face was white, his flush receding to leave everything translucent in its wake, and Shizuo inhaled harshly.
He put the bottle on the blanket with slow movements. Eyes never leaving Izaya’s, he touched their fingers together at his hip. As he expected, Izaya felt like an armed bow.
“Izaya,” he started.
“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” Izaya cut in. He was aiming for annoyance, but with how tense he was above him Shizuo couldn’t fall for it. He must have realized, because he scowled immediately.
Shizuo felt cold. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Boring,” Izaya replied.
“That’s just called being fucking decent,” Shizuo growled, and then he regretted it, because Izaya tensed even further, until he could see it at his shoulders. His own ached in sympathy.
But then Izaya closed his eyes. He sighed deeply, and sat up on Shizuo’s thighs, fingers trailing over the bedspread to find the lube again. He looked a little less strained when he glanced back at Shizuo.
“I do want to fuck you,” he said.
“Please don’t lie to me. Not about this.”
Izaya’s jaw clenched. “Fine,” he snapped. “I want to make you happy.”
It would’ve been sweet to hear, if Shizuo didn’t feel like his heart was about to beat out of his throat. “I’m glad you do,” he said slowly. “But this isn’t necessary. I’ll be happy with or without you fucking me.”
Izaya aborted a move, as if he was about to put his hand over Shizuo’s mouth to make him stop talking; but then he blanched, a hiss escaping him and his lips curled into something pained. “Do you want this or not?” he asked.
Shizuo couldn’t answer.
“Look,” Izaya said. He took a breath. “Just, for once in this entire farce, stop thinking about me. What do you want?”
This was easy. “I want you to be comfortable, and have fun.”
Izaya flinched bodily. “You’re making me feel like I’m—” he stopped himself halfway, and his fingers shook lightly against Shizuo’s. “Like I’m forcing you.”
“No,” Shizuo rasped out immediately. “No, Izaya, I swear—”
“Shut up,” Izaya said. And he did press his palm to Shizuo’s mouth this time, shaky as it was. There was something wild in his face, like regret or fear, and though Shizuo felt as though his entire body had been doused in cold water, his eyes burned.
He breathed open-mouthed into Izaya’s palm. Maybe blowing hot air on his skin would make it feel like deathly. “Izaya,” he said again, muffled against the other’s hand.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” Izaya replied weakly. “Since you asked. I thought, I thought you wouldn’t mind. That I’m always the one to take it.”
Shizuo blinked the burn off his eyes as hard as he could, and said, “I don’t.”
“No one’s ever asked before. It was never an issue.”
He raised his hand to take Izaya’s, to tug it off his face and hold it, to diffuse warmth into icy skin. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to do,” he replied. He hoped none of the ache inside him showed through his voice.
Izaya looked at him in silence. He was still pale, still skittish, as if expecting to be thrown off the bed.
Shizuo swallowed painfully. “I promise,” he insisted. “It’s not a problem. I don’t mind. We’ll do whatever you want to do.”
“I feel like we’re always doing whatever I want to do,” Izaya said, and though his hand was slack in Shizuo’s grip he didn’t try to take it back.
“That’s also what I want.” Shizuo smiled. “That’s all I want.”
The rush from earlier was gone now. Shizuo’s cock had softened, saliva drying to a chill on its skin, and he knew if he were to press a thigh between Izaya’s legs he would find him equally distracted off the heat.
Izaya had been honest with him, though. Sort of. It would be an insult not to be honest in turn.
“I’d love to know what it’s like,” he continued. “I’d love to have you fuck me, and I want you to feel the way I feel when I’m fucking you, too, but if it’s not something you want to do, then it’s not something I want to do either. I don’t think that far.”
“Simple-minded beast,” Izaya replied, a little off-beat.
“Yeah,” Shizuo laughed. “Life is easier that way, though.”
Izaya’s free hand came to rest on his chest, dragging lightly on the fabric of his shirt. He looked pensive, the bottle of lube still caught between two of his fingers, and a frown marred the skin of his forehead. It made him seem older in the dark.
“If I do this,” he started. His lips lifted at a corner, like a parody of a smile. “If I fuck you, it’ll be maybe twenty-percent for you, eighty-percent for me.”
“I was expecting a ninety-ten ratio,” Shizuo said evenly. He laughed again when Izaya dug his nails into him.
“I’m doing this for me,” he repeated, and Shizuo noticed the change in tense and the hint of certainty behind his words, and this time the ice receded for good to be replaced by the first burn of want.
“All right,” he said.
Izaya kissed him with more teeth than lips, tugging painfully at his skin without going far enough for blood. There were a lot more things Shizuo wanted to say. He wanted to press, You can just stop whenever and Just take your time, but he thought if he did Izaya might run off like a wild animal, more offended and hurt than helped. So he stayed silent.
“Don’t expect me to be terrific at this,” Izaya said against his lips.
“No problem,” Shizuo tried to answer, but Izaya was kissing him again, more deeply, and Shizuo closed his eyes. He still tasted faintly bitter.
Izaya tugged Shizuo’s shirt out of his pants. When his hand made contact with the bare skin of Shizuo’s belly the muscles there contracted involuntarily, and the heat spread further, as if a pathway had been created between his heart and his groin for the sole purpose of carrying it. Izaya’s touch was light on him. Barely more than a hover. Still it was new and old at once, not a reaction but an action, and the knowledge clouded Shizuo’s brain until he couldn’t think at all.
He couldn’t focus on more than this hand, stroking over his skin and then down to tug insistently at his slacks still caught high on his thighs. Shizuo lifted his hips off the bed obediently, and groaned when it made him rub against Izaya above him, and when his underwear and pants reached his calves he kicked them off without hesitation.
Izaya kissed into his neck then, and Shizuo thought it wasn’t so much out of affection as it was to hide the face he was making. He heard the cap of the bottle open with a pop, and then he felt only stillness as Izaya slicked his hand. His heart was beating steadily against his chest. He was almost certain Izaya could feel it.
To his credit, he didn’t jump when Izaya’s wet hand found the inside of his thigh. Izaya pushed lightly against it, and Shizuo nodded uselessly, opening his legs so that Izaya could kneel between them. He breathed in shakily when he felt that same hand drag slowly upward, pushing up so that he had to raise his knees and put the flat of his feet on the bed.
For a moment neither of them moved. “Izaya?” Shizuo asked softly.
When Izaya answered he sounded winded. “You’ll tell me, right? If I hurt you.”
“Yes. Yeah, of course. But you won’t.”
Izaya chuckled a little hollowly. “Easier said than done.”
Shizuo unstuck a hand from Izaya’s hip to find the one resting on the bed next to his waist. “You’ve got rich people lube,” he said, and he felt Izaya smile against his neck. “I’m pretty difficult to hurt, too.”
There was no answer. Izaya’s fingers did press into his skin again, though, more gentle than he had ever known them to be. They found the cleft of his ass easily. Izaya spread the lube over now that it was skin-warm, and pushed only far enough that the tip of his finger broke into Shizuo’s body.
He took it out almost immediately, and rose to a more sitting position. His face was red again when it came into Shizuo’s field of vision, but Izaya was looking down on his hands as he applied more of the cold-smelling lube on his fingers. This time his finger slipped in easily, and Izaya looked straight at him with the kind of focus Shizuo had only ever seen him apply for work. Shizuo stared at him too, and tried to imagine how he must look in Izaya’s eyes.
Flushed and panting, no doubt, and a little tense. He sagged against the sheets and let himself blink slowly, let his mouth relax into a smile. Izaya smiled too, without thinking.
It was a weird feeling, if he were to be honest. Izaya’s finger was completely in him now, he thought, but he couldn’t feel much of it; there was pressure moving inside him, and then a stretch when Izaya started adding a second one. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, though, only to make him feel it. He winced a little when Izaya pushed in with the two at once, and Izaya sat back on his feet to free his second hand and take hold of Shizuo’s cock.
Izaya stretched him for a long time. Both of his hands were wet now, one with the lube he kept reapplying and one with Shizuo’s own bodily fluids. By the time he added a third finger Shizuo’s entire body was flushed, his chest and shoulders and neck a slow, vivid burn with every beat of his blood. It felt more internal than he was used to, as if all of the heat was collapsing on itself inside him rather than radiating out. Then Izaya changed the angle of his wrist, or maybe spread his fingers inside him lightly; and something electric ran up his spine and caught at his throat, more a gasp than a moan.
“Finally,” Izaya mumbled. His face was crimson. When Shizuo looked down he could see the outline of his cock inside his jeans—Izaya hadn’t undressed at all.
“Take that off,” he said when his brain was back to a functioning level. “You must be dying with this on.”
Izaya looked at him briefly before glancing down again, shaking his head lightly. Sweat was starting to stain the collar of his T-shirt.
Then—”Okay,” he said. He drew his hand back, and Shizuo grimaced at the feeling, something small and vulnerable making him want to close his legs.
Izaya unbuckled his belt and tugged his pants down roughly. The denim had left red lines on his skin, and when he took off his underwear as well he was hard and dark and slick. He looked into Shizuo’s eyes as he caught his hips in hands, and he fit his thighs around Shizuo’s ass, right under his. Shizuo felt them brush together, the tip of Izaya’s cock just above his entrance.
“Is this okay?” Izaya asked, a little formally.
Shizuo’s hand reached Izaya’s shoulder, tugging him forward a little. “It’s good,” he said. “Go on.”
“This is the most vanilla thing we’ve ever done,” Izaya said under his breath. Shizuo wanted to laugh at that, but Izaya angled himself forward and pushed, one hand braced against Shizuo’s hip and the other holding his cock in place as he sank into him.
Shizuo’s breath caught. It was slow, the stretch different and longer than just Izaya’s fingers; when he made a face Izaya’s hand on his hip trailed down to his cock and jerked him a little too roughly. It did the trick, though, and Shizuo relaxed.
Izaya was panting above him. The stain at his collar was spreading to join those at his armpits, and he looked a little shaken, mouth open on nothing but silence. He clenched his teeth, and pushed forward a little more.
Now Shizuo was definitely feeling it. A very slight burn, nothing more than an inconvenience compared to how hot his entire body was and to the knowledge that Izaya was inside him. Izaya was fucking him.
“God,” he breathed out.
“Just Izaya,” Izaya replied.
Shizuo’s laughter was unbridled and genuine. He shifted his hips up a little, and clenched down on Izaya’s cock inside him; Izaya hissed out a breath in answer. “Give me some time,” he protested weakly.
“I know how that feels,” Shizuo said with a shaky smile. “I’m good. You can go.”
“You’re so pushy.”
But he did, dragging himself back and then forward again, the beginning of a rocking motion that would’ve been soothing if it didn’t scorch into Shizuo’s body every time he pushed back in. Shizuo grabbed Izaya’s hand on his cock and stroked himself with it.
It wasn’t cold anymore.
Izaya was hesitant the entire time. Even when he leaned over Shizuo to hold himself up with one arm by Shizuo’s shoulder his movements were slower than Shizuo really wanted them to, and probably not as deep as he could afford to go. Shizuo didn’t comment on it. He lied back into the feeling of Izaya’s cock stretching him open and parted his lips willingly when Izaya kissed him, licking against his tongue and trying to match the tempo of their bodies. He tried to coax Izaya into a faster pace with his hand, but Izaya either didn’t understand or refused to comply, and he stayed as slow and careful as he had been since the start.
Somehow, this was enough. Enough to know that Izaya was doing this of his own volition, enough that he was doing it for himself and for Shizuo, enough that he paused every minute to look at Shizuo’s face and make sure there was no trace of pain there.
I’m so glad I’m doing this with you, Shizuo didn’t say.
The vulnerability alone would have been enough to get him off, he thought. Lying down on his back, legs open, made something inside him flutter awake, a long-time wish now fulfilled and burning itself into his memory. He pressed a calf into Izaya’s ass to try to push him deeper, and he clenched down, and Izaya made a sound low in his throat, unlike any Shizuo had heard from him before. His pace quickened for a handful of seconds; and then he stilled, hand gripping Shizuo’s cock too hard for comfort and the muscles of his thighs tensing under Shizuo’s for the longest moment.
Shizuo stared at Izaya’s face open on orgasm, and his eyes grew damp.
He let go of the hold he had around Izaya’s hand and his own cock. Izaya took a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, and once again that cold discomfort made itself known. When Izaya stepped over Shizuo’s legs to kneel beside him, Shizuo closed them immediately.
Izaya fell down half on top of him. “Told you I’d be bad at this,” he said, voice still rough. His fingers dug lightly into Shizuo’s still-hard cock.
Shizuo would’ve liked to turn his head and kiss him, but Izaya was too far down, cheek resting on his shoulder. “You were fine,” he replied.
It took a while before Izaya moved his hand. When he did it was harsh and fast, as if bringing Shizuo to completion was a formality. Shizuo was still brimming with warmth, so it didn’t take long until he groaned and spilled over Izaya’s fingers, back arching off the bed and toes curling into the sheets.
Izaya raised his head to look at him, surprise etched onto his features. “Really?“
“Told you you were fine,” Shizuo mumbled. He could feel his face burn from more than just the afterthought of pleasure.
“You’re impossible,” Izaya scoffed. His head fell down on Shizuo’s chest again.
Shizuo touched the small of Izaya’s back under his damp T-shirt. It was slick with sweat, already cooling to a more manageable temperature. He drew shapelessly on his skin with the tips of his fingers and ignored the way Izaya’s own hand clamped down on his chest.
“You’re going to want to clean yourself up,” Izaya said a few moments later.
Shizuo shifted his hips and winced at the wetness seeping out of him. “Probably, yeah.” He felt a little too warm and dizzy to move yet, though.
“Waking up with come flaking off your asshole isn’t very pleasurable, I assure you,” Izaya continued.
“Fuck, I get it, okay?” Shizuo groaned. He pushed himself up, and Izaya kneeled again, smiling fleetingly at him. “I’m going to shower. Smug bastard.”
“You asked for it.”
Shizuo paused with his legs over the side of the bed. When he looked back above his shoulder Izaya’s face was glowing a little hauntingly in the dark, in contrast with the black of his clothes.
“I did,” Shizuo said.
Izaya bristled. “Go shower, Shizu-chan,” he replied tensely.
As he expected, Izaya joined him not five minutes later, opening the old curtain and stepping into the limited space of Shizuo’s shower stall. Shizuo stuck himself against the wall to make room for him, already mostly washed.
“My thighs hurt,” Izaya complained, grabbing the bottle of soap he had left there the last time he had come over.
“Maybe you’ll be nicer to me now, knowing how much effort it is,” Shizuo commented. He watched as Izaya lathered soap over himself and swallowed back the faint tinge of want that crawled up his spine at the sight.
“Mmh. It does demand a lot of multitasking. More than I would’ve given you credit for.”
Izaya’s face didn’t betray anything specific. He sounded a little bored and a little tired, no more than Shizuo would expect from him right after sex. His mouth was twitching, though, almost shaking, so Shizuo waited until had rinsed himself under the spray and put his hand to his back again, tugging him forward until they were close enough to kiss.
Izaya must’ve brushed his teeth before entering the shower, because he tasted like mint. He indulged Shizuo for a few seconds, and then he leaned back and turned his head away. His hand was firm when it closed the tap.
Shizuo considered not saying anything. But the words were already at his lips, “Are you okay?” spilling out of him a little hastily.
“I’m fine,” Izaya answered, predictable.
Shizuo wanted to tell him not to lie. He wanted to ask him how he felt exactly, and if he had liked it as much as Shizuo had, and though his stomach rolled with nausea at the thought he wanted to ask why Izaya felt that he couldn’t be honest at all where sex was concerned, ask about the source of Izaya’s pain in this matter itself.
It wasn’t hard to guess, and maybe that was the most awful thing about it: the fact that Izaya carried the ghost of it around like a physical weight, and the fact that Shizuo shied away from it every time. There was nothing he wanted less than to know the details. He didn’t think he would be able to stomach them even if Izaya decided to talk one day.
He should, though.
Izaya’s hand grabbed his elbow slowly. Shizuo looked back at him.
“Stop thinking,” Izaya said. “We had sex. We’ve had sex a lot of other times, too. It’s that simple.”
“I don’t think it is,” Shizuo replied, and Izaya’s thumb dug into the crook of his arm hard enough to hurt.
“I’m okay, Shizu-chan. Feeling pretty vindictive, actually.” Shizuo wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but Izaya didn’t look like he was willing to explain. “Just don’t expect this to become a habit.”
“I never expect anything from you,” Shizuo retorted.
Izaya smiled, looking pleased.
The sheets had been replaced when they both came back to the bedroom. Izaya had towel-dried himself off immediately, but Shizuo sat naked on the rusty chair beneath his open window. He smoked slowly, letting his damp skin cool with the night air, with behind him the rustling of fresh sheets as Izaya lied under the cover. The orange glow of his cigarette looked a little blurry. He must’ve been more tired than he thought.
He closed the window softly when he was done, and leaned down to the bottom drawer of his dresser where he kept his underwear. If Izaya intended to sleep here then he wouldn’t need anything more than this for warmth.
Izaya himself had his back to him when he crawled into bed. There was a whitish glow from his side, probably one of his phone turned on to check on emails and messages. Shizuo sagged against the pillow, extending a hand to touch Izaya’s nape softly, treading his fingers through the very thin hair there.
“See,” Izaya mumbled without looking back. “I fuck you once, and you get all sappy on me. This is why it was a bad idea from the start.”
I’m sure, Shizuo thought a little bitterly. He recognize the deflection for what it was, though. “Shut the fuck up,” he said.
“Eloquent,” Izaya replied. The glow disappeared, and he shifted to his back, head turned to look at Shizuo in the dark.
Maybe it was the sudden lack of light, or Shizuo’s own fatigue, but he looked a little softer than usual. Pale but relaxed, focused but without a scowl. “Sleep well,” Shizuo offered, and Izaya grimaced in distaste, but he didn’t move away. Not even when Shizuo’s fingers touched his chin lightly.