Author's Nonsense:

Hello beautiful people :) I made you a present.

Enjoy teh ghey.

(Rated M for a reason, people).


I had come to hate Saturday nights. Of course, I really work whenever I want to. The weekend doesn't mean anything to me. My weekend could start on Tuesday if I wanted it to. But Saturday nights were representative of something that was currently out of the realm of possibility for me:


It wasn't like I was an undesirable spinster or anything, God no. Women find me plenty attractive. I have that "bad boy" thing going for me, what with my yakuza connections, my skill with a knife, and my general sinister demeanor. Plus, I'm sexy. I have silky black hair and velvety red eyes. Shizuo likes to yell at me that they're the colors of evil and demons. I like to think of them as the colors of rose hips. Yes, I Googled red and black things because I couldn't think of any off the top of my head and this was the best I could come up with. But apparently they actually suit me, because you feed rose hips to chinchillas and horses, both of which I like. They're also good for you. Vitamins and stuff. Izaya Orihara: a healthy supplement for the general public. Ooh. That sounds a bit dirty. Or is my mind just in the gutter?

Anyway, I have a whole sub-section of contacts in my phone consisting of random women who have hit on me or who I have hit on at bars, on the job, on the street. I have researched every single one of them to make sure they aren't prostitutes (I am obviously above that), and have procured little stashes of background information on them. Just in case. Although I don't actually think any of these women are smart enough to pose a threat to me.

So, the problem was not that I had no willing partners.

The problem was…well certainly nothing was wrong with me. That was impossible. If there was one person I had investigated down to their very cells, it was myself. I had to make sure, of course, that no one ever got the better of me. My research has found me to be an exceptionally healthy individual (maybe my ancestors ate lots of rose hips). There was something in one article about my great-great-some number of greats-grandfather having a severe form of insanity, but I don't believe in mental illness. As long as you're happy, right? The point is, nothing was wrong with my physiology at all. The women I was attempting to sleep with simply weren't attractive enough.

Nonetheless, I picked up my cell phone and flipped it open, tapping through the list impatiently. Akiko…no…Haruna…no…Kasumi…no…Meiko…definitely no. I reached "Yuuko" and sighed, snapping the phone shut and tossing it across the desk, only to have it collide noisily with a jar of pens and pencils.

Frustrated, I got up and collected them from the floor. That was when I half-noticed something pink out of the corner of his eye that was lying under the desk. Picking it up, I saw that it was a Hello Kitty pen. A really excessive one, with a giant cat head towering on the back end of it, surrounded by a neck brace of fluffy pink and silver fuzz, pictures of the dancing beast spiraling down to the tip. I licked the end of it and scribbled across my hand. The ink was pink too. I wet my fingers and rubbed incessantly to make it go away. I hate pink. Purple is better.

"What the hell, Namie…" I chucked the offensive pen into the trash can, making a mental note to scold my assistant the next time she was around. Bored, and uncomfortably horny, I plopped down on the couch, hoping to distract myself with TV. But where had that woman put the damn remote…?

My crimson eyes darted up, focused on nothing in particular, but rather as a side effect of my sudden realization. Namie was a girl, and a decently attractive one at that. Plus, she would do anything I asked her to. Not that she was a slave or anything; I don't force people to have sex with me. I'm sexy, remember? But come to think of it, hadn't I been amusing myself the other day, noticing how flustered she had gotten when I had pointed out her mismatched socks made her look unattractive? Not a very good example, but still, I was fairly certain she had a crush on me.

Mood substantially lifted, I picked up my phone once again, holding the speed dial key for a few seconds before raising it to my ear. She picked up on the second ring. "What do you want, Izaya?"

"That's not a very nice way to speak to your boss," I cooed back. On the other side of the line, Namie cringed, imagining my smug, carefree look. She chose not to reply. "I need you to come over here," I said.

"It's 10 o'clock on Saturday, Izaya, I've got plans."

"Cancel them," I suggested. Or rather, commanded.

Namie frowned, thinking that her life was not fair. She mentally calculated what sort of ramifications there would be for her if she didn't show up, and after a long silence, decided she would be wise to follow my orders. "I'll be there in ten minutes," she said begrudgingly.



Ten minutes and seventeen seconds later (I counted), the doorbell rang. I had been pacing uncharacteristically, attempting to walk off a bit of my lust lest I burst into flames. I jumped when she knocked, and forced myself to calm down as I answered the door. Namie was frowning. She obviously hadn't included time to change when she'd told me when she'd arrive, as she was still wearing clothes from her aforementioned "plans", which included a slinky black cocktail dress and pumps. Her hair was up off her neck in a messy but attractive bun, and a silver star on a thin chain hung from her neck, with matching earrings dangling from her ears.

"Glad to see you out of those frumpy clothes," I smiled my Cheshire smile.

Namie flushed and pushed past me, dropping her sparkly silver purse on the couch. "What's the emergency?"

I strode around the table pensively, finally coming to a halt and sitting next to her on the couch. "I don't remember saying it was an emergency. Tea?" I poured myself a cup, and held the teapot ready over a second one.

She blinked. "That's the first time you've ever offered me anything in your life," she remarked, genuinely astounded.

"I didn't say it wouldn't come with a price either." I put the teapot down and sipped my own drink.

Namie stared at me, afraid to ask what the price was, on guard because of my strange behavior. She settled for an open ended response. "Oh?"

I nodded and leaned forward again, setting the cup back on the table. In a suave continuation of the movement, I slid my hand over her shoulder and behind her neck, pulling her forward and to my lips. Shocked, she tried to pull away, but I persisted, running my tongue over her bottom lip seductively, requesting entry. Distracted by the taste of sugared tea on my lips, she opened her mouth, allowing my tongue to slide over hers.

The kiss lasted at least a minute before I broke away, frowning internally. No spark, no thumping heart, nothing. Maybe I needed more.

I pressed my face into the crook of her neck, nipping at the tender skin as the hand not supporting me slid the zipper of her dress down. She leaned down as I pushed her, once again at the whim of my hands as I slid the sleeveless garment down over the curves of her body. I ended the contact again in favor of discarding my own shirt. I pulled it up over my head and flung it across the room, where it landed on the jar of pens, toppling them to the floor again.

Namie crossed her hands over her exposed stomach, probably subconsciously, as I surveyed her. She was wearing very nice lingerie, adorned all over with black lace. She had almost a perfect hourglass figure—I prefer a bit more on top, but she was still well endowed. Her skin was smooth, the color of heavily milked coffee, which is coincidentally the only kind I drink. She had a little freckle next to her right hip bone, above the line of her underwear. Her stomach was a little mesa of the lightest muscle, dipping to both sides gently. Her legs were smooth against the rough fabric of my jeans, with no red marks or razor burn. Her dark eyes watched my face, pupils dilated as her chest rose and fell in swift little waves. She smelled like coconut and lavender, a strange but pleasant combination.

It was doing nothing for me. She was practically naked and nothing. My heart wasn't even going one beat faster. After another minute, I sat upright and ran my fingers through my raven hair. "Nevermind, I don't want to do this anymore," I said casually.

Namie gaped at me. I continued to stare back at her, looking bored. She scoffed and yanked her legs out from under me. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Her heels clacked noisily on the tile as she stalked over to where I had thrown her dress. I watched her ass as she bent down, hoping to get a tiny little jump out of it. Nothing. "I had things to do tonight, and you invited me over here just to fuck with me?"

"No, I changed my mind about that part," I pointed out, stretching my arms.

By now, she was clothed again. She grabbed her purse and stomped over to the door, muttering under her breath. "Fucking ridiculous. I really need to get laid."

As the door slammed, I dropped my smile. "Yeah, me too," I said, falling back on the couch in defeat.


Shizuo ripped the sunglasses from his face. They were pointless and hindering in this dark atmosphere. Where was Izaya? He searched for pinpricks of red in the darkness, knowing the rest of his target would blend in with the shadowy setting. He put his hand in front of his face, and was disappointed to discover he could see nothing of it, even when he brought it about an inch in front of his nose. That was when he noticed the smell. An overwhelming stench of sugar. It made his nose itch. He almost felt like sneezing. Aa—aa—


Shizuo blinked pointlessly and looked around. That hadn't been him. But the sound had come from...

He lunged to his left with blind hope, hit the body with a thud, and landed on the floor with a disgusting squish.

Blinding lights dizzied them both, spotting their vision with little pink dots. In fact, the newfound illumination brought everything into a pasty magenta. Izaya lifted his head with difficulty, as Shizuo was laying on top of him, and felt for a lump on the back of his head. He drew his hand away in shock, feeling a massive coalescence of goo and thinking immediately that it was blood. He looked at his hand. The blood was white. And chunky. And smelled of coconut. On a hunch, he licked it. It was cake. They had landed in a pile of cake.

Shizuo had discovered this before Izaya, having a better vantage point. He was propped up on his elbows, knee deep in some strawberry concoction around Izaya's shins. The room was full of cakes and pastries of different shapes, sizes, and flavors. He sat up on Izaya's thighs, ignoring the glare he received. Some of the baked goods towered above him, nearly as tall as the fifteen foot ceiling. "This is amazing…" he muttered.

"Shizu-chan." Izaya had raised himself to his forearms since Shizuo had erected himself. His coat slipped around his shoulders and into the mess they had landed in. "Would you mind getting off of me?"

Shizuo seemed not to hear him. He was still looking around the room, Izaya thought, like a child in heaven. Izaya was personally not enjoying himself, feeling the cake squelch through the fabric of his clothes and moisten his skin. He yearned for a shower.

Still looking up and around, the blonde raised his hands to his tie and undid the knot, tossing it aside when he was done. His hands move slowly down to the buttons of his black vest, which he proceeded to undo. Izaya gulped as he watched him, not really having much of a choice considering his position. He raged at the slight way his abdomen was contracting and burning. Certainly, he thought, he must have been sitting in the position for too long. His muscles were starting to protest, was all.

"Shizuo, what the hell are you doing?" he asked as the other discarded his white shirt. Izaya tried desperately to focus on Shizuo's face, but his eyes were drawn to the slightly muscled pectorals and abdomen before him.

Finally, the other man focused on him. "I don't want to get my clothes all dirty," he said simply, as if this were the most rational thing in all the world. He stood up and stepped over Izaya, undoing the buckle of his belt and pulling his pants down to his ankles before lifting his feet out of them.

The informant quickly forced his eyes away, choosing instead to focus on an ornately decorated wedding cake. Until he noticed that at the top were two figurines that strongly resembled…Shizuo and himself.

Somehow a slight breeze had worked its way into the windowless, doorless, ventless room. It chilled Izaya's shoulders. He looked down at them and saw that they were exposed. Bare down to his collarbone, Izaya was wearing a frilly pink wedding dress. The bodice hugged his skinny torso tightly like a corset before the fabric blossomed out into a multi-layered skirt at his waist. Glitter and lace surrounded him down to his mid-thigh, where a few inches of his skin showed before disappearing under pastel tights. His feet were encased in equally pink pumps, with heels of about four inches.

Shivering with rage, Izaya realized he also wasn't wearing any underwear.

He hastily closed his legs and tried to stuff the ridiculous poofy skirt between the crease of his thighs and around the sides. Distracted by his activities, he yelped when a shadow appeared over him. Shizuo licked at the shell of his ear, slipping his tongue inside and causing blood to rush to Izaya's groin. The dark haired man, flustered, pushed him away. "Shizuo, what the hell are you doing!" he repeated, this time with a greater urgency.

"Nothing, baby. Just giving you your wedding present," he muttered against Izaya's neck. He bit down lightly and sucked, slicking up the skin hotly. The informant flushed and weakly put a hand against his attacker's shoulder in another feeble attempt to remove him. "What's wrong?" Concerned mocha met with confused crimson. "Want some cake?" He held up an unscarred piece of devil's food chocolate. Izaya's favorite.

He shook his head. "No, I want to know what's going—Mmph! Mmm…"

Izaya bit off the piece that had been shoved in his mouth and swallowed grudgingly. It was quite possibly the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. It melted down in his stomach and turned into butterflies. Shizuo smiled at him and gently licked the excess off the corners of his mouth before dirtying the rest of his face with a cakey hand.

Izaya, dazed from the sweetness, eyes unfocused, snaked his hands up around the bigger man's neck, pulling him down with him into the sticky pillows. Lips pressed together and parted, they explored each others' mouths. Shizuo stuck trailed one hand from the whipped cream topping of a cheesecake and trailed it over the informant's thigh, dirtying his tights.

Izaya gasped away from the kiss and dug his nails into Shizuo's shoulders as a sugary finger worked its way into his entrance. His shut his eyes, blushing, and moved his legs back to allow for better access. The first finger was joined by a second, and they danced around each other, moving back and forth, up and down. The dark haired man moaned and his breath snagged on a little eruption of pleasure. The blonde smirked and dotted kisses across his cheek to sooth him.

The sensation was withdrawn too soon for Izaya's liking, and he whimpered as the cold, biting air chafed against the skin Shizuo had left exposed. However, it was not for long. In the next second, a thick heated shaft filled him up to the hilt. He gasped and clawed at the skin available to him, streaking cherry red lines that caused the other to hiss. As a mixed revenge, Shizuo bumped forward, increasing pressure before all but relieving it. Then he rhythmically sunk back in and out; in and out, in and out. They screamed each other's names silently, panting and moaning in a synchronized pattern. The fabric of the dress chafed against their skin, but neither cared. Each was too enveloped in his own passion. Shizuo moved faster as their climaxes approached, faster, faster, faster—!

I came and jerked awake at the same time. And then I fell off of the couch and crushed the files that had been lying on my chest.

"Uuck…" I glanced down at my crotch awkwardly, and saw that it was pretty much soaked. That hadn't happened to me since I was thirteen.

I got up and limped to the shower, discarding my clothes with distaste. I set the faucet to cold, unwilling to deal with the remainder of my problem, and cursed as the water rained down on my burning skin.

"Fucking Jesus fuck motherfucker shit damn FUCK!" I remarked elegantly as I attempted to rub my arms quickly enough to get them to ignite. I didn't see that happening in the near future. When the threat was gone, I hastily spun the knob all the way around and relished in the warmth.

Business time.

What the fuck was that?

Okay, retracing my steps…Last night…rose hips…Namie…No more Namie…couch…boredom…file reading. I had picked Shizuo's file from my vast collection. His is the most entertaining. The man makes no sense. He claims to hate violence, yet he's always trying to kill people. Namely, me. So I read it for fun. That's logical.

But that dream had been nothing close to logical. That dream had seen logic, kicked it in the balls, and run away. Logic was lying in a corner, dying, with tapeworms digesting its organs and maggots eating its eyes.

Shizuo Heiwajima was my greatest enemy. Ever since we met, we hated each other. Okay, well, that's not entirely true. He hated me. I don't make very good first impressions. My devilish handsomeness and charming demeanor intimidate people. So Shizu-chan hated me. Tried to punch me in the face. I cut him open. I blame the adrenaline. Anyway, after that I hated him. It's very rude to try to crush peoples' brains in when you first meet them. I suppose if I fail at first impressions, Shizuo tanks them. And by that I mean you take Shizuo's good first impression and crush it with a tank.

None of this explained why I had a sex dream about him! A really…hot…sex dream…I felt my face sting as its temperature rose above normal and was pounded by the searing shower water and jerked the knob back to cold. This was ridiculous. I was not gay. Gay was something you were born with, like blindness.

Okay, bad example.

Like…like…dwarfism…No, dwarfism doesn't really make you look short until everyone else is taller.

"Auuuhhhh!" I hit my head against the shower wall in frustration. "Ow!" That had been a bad idea. I turned off the water and ruffled the towel across my hair, shaking it into place when I was done. Then I wrapped it around my waist and tossed my clothes into the dirty laundry. I continued frowning on my way to my room.

What if I am gay? I wondered tentatively. But there was another possibility. This thing I felt towards Shizuo, the way I felt compelled to grin evilly every time my heart pounded at the sight of him…maybe it was just for him. That wasn't nearly as bad as being all gay. You could be partially blind, or kind of short.

I decided to test my theory.

And maybe find some cake.


Shizuo had been having a really good day, too.

But, like all good things in his life, they were abruptly brought to a by a certain little insect appearing in his beloved town.

"," he roared as the mailbox went soaring through the air.

I, the target, dodged it easily. "You know, Shizu-chan, if you really want to hit me, you should be quieter about it. People tend to notice when someone screams their name and then tries to throw a giant metal object at them."

Shizuo ignored my taunt and charged, ripping up a street sign as he went. I darted into the adjacent street. This was going to be easier than I'd thought.

I led the rampaging man across town and back, weaving through the streets I knew by heart, my fur coat trailing behind me like a fluttering red flag for Shizuo the bull to follow. I easily weaved through the crowds as Shizuo crashed into them, too preoccupied to mutter a simple "Excuse me". I actually had to wait for him as I rounded one corner when a large truck blocked his path. He was wary of trucks since our first meeting. He said nothing when I remarked that he should lay off the sweets, they were weighing him down, but I did have to speed up a little bit, my words having given him an extra surge of energy.

Finally, I reached my destination: a dead end. I turned around, feigning panic as the blonde man finally caught up, chest heaving, as he was out of breath. Somewhere along the way he had lost his sign.

He closed the gap between us, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and hoisting me up against the fence, other arm poised to bash my face in. I wiggled my shoulder blades, a little uncomfortable for being pressed so close against the slanted checkerboard wires. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now? I told you never to come to Ikebukuro."

"Umm, cuz I'm gonna give you a vasectomy unless you help me?" I nudged the blade of my knife against Shizuo's thigh dangerously. The blonde stared at me with intense hatred before gingerly releasing his grip on my shirt. With my spare hand, I patted it back into a smooth sheet of cloth, a little put off. Mind you, despite my seemingly pleasant demeanor, I was not entirely happy about this. It was a bit of a life-changing decision.

"What do you want," he grunted.

"You should be nicer to me, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo glared. His pride refused to give in to my taunts, even if it cost him his manhood.

Still, I was enjoying his discomfort, which seemed to be greater than my own in that it was exposed. "Move your head down a little…" I ordered, nudging him again to elicit obedience. Shizuo obliged awkwardly, refusing to look at me, but choosing instead to count the bricks in the wall until I got whatever I wanted.

Unfortunately for him, this became impossible when my forehead obscured his vision. More precisely, when I kissed him. I put my free hand against Shizuo's jaw, applying pressure to help it open. Utterly confused and drugged by the soft, wet heat of my tongue, Shizuo offered no protests. His tongue flickered lightly out of habit when petted by the mine, responding stronger as the seconds passed. We sucked at each other's mouths lightly, trickles of saliva running from the corners.

That was when I made the fatal mistake. I lost control. After being so deprived for weeks, my loved and hated little organ (well, not little, per se) was finally giving me a tickle of a response. I moaned and dropped my knife in favor of wrapping my hand around Shizuo's neck to deepen our already passionate kiss.

Okay, I was definitely gay for Shizuo.

The clang of metal on concrete, however, brought him back to his senses. He quickly grabbed my hands and yanked them over my head, pushing me into the fence once more. I looked at him sullenly, feeling very deprived at the loss of the warmth of his lips.

The blonde tried to clear his head of the rapidly pumping blood, and altogether ignored the similar sensation in his pants. He stared at a spot above my doleful eyes, trying to concentrate his thoughts. What was going on? I hated him. He hated me. It was a mutual hatred. We tried to kill each other. We didn't kiss each other in random alleys. He didn't even like men. That was just unnatural. Blah, blah, blah, Shizuo and his identity crisis. Poor, confused Shizu-chan. It took him a couple minutes to make a decision.

A breeze blew across his face and made him realize how hot he had been from the kiss, and that was the deciding factor.

Transferring both of my wrists to one hand, he ripped his tie from his neck and proceeded to use it as a more permanent form of a bond. I peppered him with questions about what exactly he thought he was doing. What exactly was he bending down for—And WHOA—where exactly did Shizuo think he was taking me, slung over his back like that? Didn't he care what people would think, seeing some poor rose hip-esque boy being carried away by a brutish bartender? Or was he just kinky like that? Shizu-chan? Shizuo?

Shizuo of course, answered none of these, angry that his day had been ruined.


In reality, the door hadn't done anything wrong. It was just doing its job—you know, being a door. Stationary. Wood. Rectangular. Stuff like that. Nonetheless, it was demolished into two heavily splintered pieces and was ripped violently from its hinges, coming to a halt only when it met the opposing wall forty feet away. Really, the door was lucky it hadn't been pulverized into sawdust.

I chuckled nervously. "Really, Shizu-chan. Now how are we going to get any privacy?"

As an answer, Shizuo carried me through the hall to the bedroom and closed the door before flinging me down on his bed. Admittedly, it was more comfortable than his shoulder. My stomach ached a little from supporting me for so long.

I bit at the tie around my wrists like a feral cat. Shizuo just stood there watching me. The bastard had knotting skills; that was for sure. "You sure are offering a lot of protest for someone who tried to rape me in an alley," he quipped.

I stopped my ferocious attacks. "Whoa, rape? Hardly. You were enjoying it too, Mr. McFriskytongue." I was not going to be the only one taking the blame for this. Just like in my dream, he had started taking off his vest. Suddenly I was burning with embarrassment. He looked over at me and uttered a syllable of a laugh.

"You're not exactly in a position to pick a fight with me, flea."

"And that's not exactly bedroom talk, Shizu-chan."

He tossed his shirt on top of his vest in a corner. I gulped and watched him as he paced over to me slowly. He was totally milking this for all it was worth. Feeling a little self-conscious about the way my pants were growing tight, I flopped myself over on my side so I was no longer facing him and continued to tear at my bonds with my teeth. I could feel his eyes on me, and suspected they were focused towards my ass. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. My face was getting hotter to the point where I could feel the reddish color of it.

The mattress sunk down to the right of me as Shizuo climbed onto the mattress. His breath tickled my ear. "How about this, then?" he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't see straight."

Shizuo grabbed my jaw, steering my face around so he could crush his mouth to mine. Not really thinking of the possible consequences, I let him in. He slicked his tongue over mine thickly before pulling it back and drawing it over my lips. I shivered with pleasure and begged him into my mouth, craning my neck up to get closer to him. I wished I could pin him to me with my arms, but they were still tightly bound. He smirked against my lips and pushed me down into the pillows, spreading his legs to kneel over me better. We batted each others' tongues, pet them, twisted around them, fought for dominance, though I knew my role. I considered the dream a sort of premonition. While I wasn't exactly eager, I was…curious. At least I wasn't wearing a fucking dress this time.

I snuck my hands down to his belt and fumbled with it. Or rather, attempted to fumble. I resolved to steal all of Shizuo's ties when this was over and burn them. And then dance on their ashes.

His finally realized my frustration when I bit down on his lip and pushed my hands into the tight space between his pants and his abdomen. Much to my chagrin, he sat up, breaking away from my hungry lips; however, he did so to hook his thumbs under my bindings and rip them apart. The fabric splintered into wispy threads, much like my composure. As his own hands were taking care of his belt problem, I slipped out of my jacket and applied my digits to mine. To my credit, it was probably the fastest I'd ever taken off a garment in my life. Even though it was a relatively humid day, the air felt frigid against my burning erection. I snapped my hand to it and pumped gently.

Shizuo on the other hand had barely unzipped his fly. He watched me, composed, but obviously filled with lust as he reached over to the nightstand squeezed a generous amount of lotion from a bottle, rubbing it over his fingers. He descended upon me again, one warm hand massaging my balls, the other supporting him as he used his teeth to rip my shirt open. I groaned and pumped selfishly harder as he pushed a slick finger down into my hole. Shizuo chuckled lightly and lowered his mouth to my left nipple, pressing his tongue to it in a way that made me arch my back towards him, moaning loudly as I did so.

As he moved to my other nipple, repeating his glorious ministrations, he slipped another finger in. The combined sensation of him thrusting firmly against me and the friction created by my hand brought me close. With my free hand I hugged him to my chest, arching further and making the sounds of a pleased, visceral beast. I howled when he found my prostate, bucking my hips against his fingers none too gently. He responded in a similar manner, forcing a third finger into the tight space and pushing against me roughly. I came, hard. I was too relieved to be embarrassed about getting cum all over Shizuo and myself (though he really didn't seem to care). God, I hadn't felt so good in months.

I relaxed as he withdrew his fingers and threw my head back on the bed, panting heavily. Shizuo had retrieved something else from the nightstand, a small square package he was ripping open between his teeth and one of his hands as the other pushed his pants and boxers down his thighs.

I believe my thoughts at that moment were something like "Oh dear God". He had to be somewhere over eight inches. I fisted my hands into the sheets and swallowed. Now I was a bit embarrassed. If not terrified.

"Judging by the look on your face," he said as he rolled the condom down his magnificent cock, "you can still see straight. So obviously, my work here is not finished. Just don't pass out on me."

I faltered as he bent down to kiss me again. "Shizu-chan, I—"

"Now now," he whispered against my neck after giving it a rough working-over with his tongue. "You didn't think you were going to have all the fun, did you? You may be gay, but I'm still a man."


I pushed him off of me violently and sat up. "Excuse me, fuck you. If you want to have sex with me, you've got to be gay," I said indignantly.

"I didn't realize there were prereuquisites for this job," he retorted. "Anyway, you're playing the part of the woman here. You're the gay one."

I slapped him hard. Doing so sent chills up my spine and firmed up my slightly weeping erection. He looked surprised, but didn't resist when I pulled him down to kiss him fiercely again. In between pecks, I whispered, "Fine. You're not gay. I'm the queer. Now stop talking and keep doing what you were doing."

On his knees again, Shizuo straddled my left leg and held my right over his shoulder with his muscular arm. I watched him, shivering slightly with anticipation. He pressed his cheek to my thigh and placed his left hand on it reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

"Just hurry up," I snapped, choking on the last word.

I think he was a little too gentle, because it took him forever to push in to me, even with the extra lotion he had slathered on the outside of his cock. I cried out and panted, ripping the sheets from their tucked corners and pulling them to me. I ground my teeth together and tensed as he got deeper. "Izaya, relax," he said in as even a voice as possible. I could hardly imagine how he could be enjoying this while I was in so much pain.

"I c-can't. Ah—!" He had pushed the rest of the way in abruptly, like ripping off a band-aid. My lower body protested so badly I could almost hear it screaming at me. The things I do to get off. Sometimes I hate being a man. But at the same time, I am complaining a bit much. Under the intense pain (believe me, there was pain), the pressure of him filling me was also so good. His dick pushed against my prostate, stiffening me up even more. I could feel the way his blood pulsed as he waited for me to acclimate, and every time it did, I saw little stars.

Shizuo rubbed my leg and kissed it lightly, urging me to calm down. I tried. After a minute or so of intense focusing, I managed to release some of the tension in my lower body by channeling it to my fists. I wondered if any amount of ironing would restore Shizuo's sheets to their two dimensional state.

"You okay now?" he asked. I wondered briefly why he was being so nice to me. We were supposed to be enemies after all. Yet here we were, poised to fuck like bunnies. I'd call it temporary insanity, but again, I don't believe in mental illness. And Shizuo was definitely happy.

Nonetheless, it was a little irritating to be treated like some kind of child. Maybe he had a secret life as a pedophile or something, but that wasn't to be carried over with me. I'm twenty-freaking-three. I pay taxes, dammit. "Shizuo, just fuck me!" I ordered. He laughed again and I scowled, but not for long. Almost immediately I gasped in breath as he drew out of me, and then it was gone in a yell when he rammed back in. "I thought you were being gentle!" My eyes watered as I glared up at him.

"'Fuck' is not a gentle word," he retorted simply. However, he did move with less force in the proceeding thrusts. I moaned quietly as he tried to restrain barbaric grunts of effort; the pain was starting to dissipate, allowing the tingling sensation to rise in my stomach. Maybe he sensed this, because he picked up the pace and started to get a bit sloppy. I suppose it was a good thing, though; one of his frantic thrusts hit the perfect spot and I screamed with ecstasy.

"AH! THERE!" I screamed. He obliged, and every time he pushed against me, I yelled out. He seemed to be losing some of that composure I so coveted (I'm generally not loud during sex, but this was obviously a different situation), because he started exhaling my name from his soft lips. "Shi-Shizuo—!" I called out tentatively. He hugged my leg closer to him and thrust into me, if possible, even harder.

I must have held back at least twice, and I think he did too. We both wanted it to last, the sweat, the tears, the primitive feeling of our flesh burning together. I inhaled deeply, tuning my breathing into the timing of his rocking against me. In and out, him and me together. His warm skin against mine built on the heat that was growing inside me. I bit my lip and curled my hands into the sheets, hugging them to me. "Oh—yes, Shizuo! Yes!" I felt a bit like a porn star, the way I was lustfully calling his name, but I barely cared. He pounded into me again and again, the erotic sensations building on each other as all my nerves tingled.

"Izaya—so good…" he breathed, his movements unceasing. I could tell that he was as much in a state of contentment as I was, the way he was gripping me, tightly, yet affectionately. His thrusts were focused routinely on my prostate, and he hit it expertly each time. I stretched my neck out, trying to straighten myself and improve the angle further.

"Hnn…h-harder, please—!"

He slammed into me, slam, slam! I howled my approval, clawing my way to a pillow and hugged it to my chest. Traces of saliva trickled from my mouth, fixed open in a silent scream. The pounding made me ache with bliss. Finally I couldn't hold back any longer; my cock twitched and the muscles of my abdomen contracted as I came with a loud gasp. Shizuo followed shortly, withdrawing from me politely before messing up his sheets and collapsing next to me.

I fell over onto him, resting my head on his shoulder, not wanting to put pressure on my tender backside. He had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily. When his heart rate slowed to a pace that allowed for movement, he curled his arm over me, pulling my face into his chest. I smiled and put my arm around him as well. "I didn't think you'd be a snuggler, Shizu-chan," I whispered.

He brushed my damp hair away from my forehead and kissed it. "Shut up, Izaya."

For once, I felt inclined to obey. After all, I had a feeling my Satuday nights were going to be a lot better after this.

Maybe Tuesdays too.


Author's Nonsense:

This is definitely the best one I've written so far. Sorry if you're reading it first, you may be disappointed with the others :(

But anyway, thanks for reading! Also, my soul eats reviews so if you want me to stay alive to write you more porn, FEED ME.