Re-upload - originally written 2010
Neither could really tell when things had changed. All they knew was that it was some time after Izaya had shouted, "Oi, bartender boy!" and Shizuo had cracked each knuckle and responded with, "Fucking prat!" before he tossed a café chair at the other's head.
It had been late in the afternoon on a Tuesday and Izaya was slightly put off to find there weren't many people on the streets. He pouted slightly as he always liked to have an audience for his games with Shizuo. Yet, through all the knife swishes and random punches, running through alleyways and a variety of abnormal objects being thrown by one at the other, there was a heat permeating between the two men that seemed like it would snap at any moment. And Izaya only half realized it wasn't just his oversized jacket making him hot in the summer afternoon.
Neither were gifted with clairvoyance, so neither could tell that when Shizuo had caught Izaya up against a brick wall with a pole and Izaya had one hand free to press his knife to the other man's throat after making a pretty little mark further down on the blonde's chest that the heat that had been packed so carelessly would jump from its container in the form of one attacking the other in a fierce battle of tongues.
Who was the first to move? Neither really remembered. It might have been the trickle of sweat that struck a heated path down the side of Izaya's neck that triggered him to dig his opposite hand into the other's hair, urging Shizuo's head closer. Yet, it also might have been the way Shizuo pressed the pole a little too hair into Izaya's side, causing a pained gasp to escape the other man.
Whatever the case, they had pushed together in a mixture of angry arms and gnashing teeth and Izaya took in one shivering breath as he realized Shizuo was pushing his neck further into the blade to have better access to him lips, caring not that the wound would scar if it got much deeper.
The rest was a montage of blurs between one pulling hair and the other with a punch to the gut. Then they were slamming against rails and fences, lips trailing hotly over cheeks and ears and necks and the now present pressure of wanting more. So they were pushing and pulling and being pushed and pulled and removing vests and losing shoes and forced their way into someone's empty apartment by Shizuo throwing Izaya straight through the door.
Whose apartment? Who cares?
And shirts were lost and belts unbuckled and tan skin melted with paler hues as they tussled about until one pinned the other and distracted him enough with a tongue to a pert nipple that the blonde could position himself and thrust inside the other with startling ease.
It was only at that time that consideration for Izaya's well-being came into play as Shizuo waited for the other to adjust, and thus could convince himself he wasn't a rapist. It was just with his glasses off the room was so bright and the air too stifling. And then Izaya opened his mouth—oh, Shizuo hoped he wouldn't speak because that would ruin the moment—but instead hips rolled slightly and a throaty groan escaped Izaya's lips and that was enough to break Shizuo's patience.
Then one was moving in and out while the other tilted one way then the other, and both found themselves oddly close to the edge of oblivion, for the newly discovered sensations were almost too much to comprehend in the minds of animals. It was through gritted teeth and tearing eyes and husky whispers telling nothing in particular that the thrusting became faster, more desperate. Hands steadied hips and angled deep as Izaya grasped at the baby blue bed—doesn't that look nice? Isn't this a nice backdrop for sex?- sheets and arched his back when white sparked flashed in front of his eyes. With another push and a push back, Izaya was taken by surprise as everything tightened and he came and the groan and the squeeze and the sweaty rivalloverenemy had Shizuo done for as well.
Izaya's form tensed and relaxed, his shirt still pulled up to his chest and legs splayed in the air as he tried to remain conscious. His counterpart had already pulled out and was leaning on shaky, deceptively powerful arms above him.
And subsequently, through the haze and the sexual gratification, their eyes met.
And realization emerged.
And near mortification flitted across each man's features as they quickly looked at anything but each other, Shizuo pulling up his pants and boxers and retreating to the end of the bed where he discovered his shirt and cigarettes. Izaya simply laid in the same stunned position, a red flush staining his cheeks and the feeling of something slimy dripping out of his ass that he really didn't know whether he was disgusted or overjoyed about.
Shizuo sat not two feet away, puffing angrily on the last of his American Spirits with pants splayed open and socks half-hanging onto each foot. He just needed to sit and think and think and sit because between Izaya losing a shoe and smashing one frame of his glasses, casting the room in the shadow of a Warhol painting, he couldn't for the life of him remember who threw the first punch and who threw the first kiss. And that fact made the vein on the side of his temple throb ever angrier.
He felt a slight rustling from behind him and involuntarily tensed as he took another drag and willed, 'Don't talk. Don't speak. Just sit still for a minute and don't open your fucking mouth.' He thought the other would be just as weirded out with the whole situation as he was, so as he expected an insult to be thrown or maybe a knife at the back of his head and he continued to will 'don't talk' like a mantra in his mind.
But it wasn't like Izaya to do what he was told, as was obvious when the smarmy male, eyeing the tense expanse of his companion after simply getting over the fact that they had fucked. Sitting up tenderly on his backside, he rolled his eyes to scan the far side of the room away from Shizuo and whined, "Shi-zu-channn!"
The tension in the room had increased twofold and the sly grin that made its way across his face was only slightly hindered by the pain rolling up his spine.
"Ne, ne. I'm all wet and sticky."
The other grunted and crushed the remains of his cigarette in one hand before cocking his head to the side. "And what the hell do you want me to do about it?"
For a moment, Izaya pondered the options, but instead of telling him to go fuck himself or throw himself off a building, he opted to offer a situation where they really didn't have to think about anything at all.
"Well, I could go for another round," he stated plainly.
All he had to wait were a few moments for the suggestion to kick in.
Izaya felt the fist before he saw it ram into the side of his jaw and his half naked torso flew back against the headboard of the bed of the unknown person who owned the apartment with pretty, pretty baby blue bed sheets.
Izaya was momentarily stunned first from pain then from firm lips on his and Shizuo thanked Jesus, Allah, Buddha that Izaya had simply shut up so they could once again get down to fucking business.