Beautiful Monster...

Summary-Izaya and Shizuo love to hate each other and that's just the start of their problems,

Disclaimer- wishes I did own it but I don't :-( why is nothing mine!

Rating- We'll go with R

Izaya is deadly, he smiles like a razorblade and has eyes the colour of blood, his mind ticks with every second and he knows everyone that walks these streets, their fears, their secrets, knows everything that they pretend nobody does so that they can sleep at night. The chilled air ruffle's his hair and his balance perched upon the railing wavers slightly, a sway to his form that he regains with cat like grace, the night grips to the end of his coat, it jerks the zip and causes it to jingle in the otherwise dead silence. He likes to watch the creatures from here, watch the way they move and talk, the way they interact, so endearing, beautiful; he loves them all and hates them all at once.

He sees a flash of blonde amongst the darkness, a waft of cigarette smoke trailing behind it, he smirks his devious smirk and chuckles to himself, he loves when the world bends to his whim. He descends the railings and fire escapes like a well versed criminal, he doesn't slip, doesn't miss a trick because he knows this city better than he knows the back of his hand. He knows every speck of dirt, every deadly alley. There are drones in this city and he dodges their lifeless swaying as the moon beats through the clouds, he follows the smoke like a trail of breadcrumbs, knows the smell, the exact brand, exactly where he purchases it.

He slips into unknown alley's and backwater roads and he ends up leaning against a vending machine that he is far too closely acquainted with as the blonde nears him. He smirks again and the weight of the blade in his pocket is obvious against his skin, it's so much a part of him these days that he can feel it in his hand long before it is pressed to his palm, long before the blade is pressing against his flesh.

Shizuo is level with him in seconds, dark eyes slipping to glance at him from behind his shades, there's a fire within them, concealed though it is and Izaya knows in the way he feels his blood boil beneath his flesh, in the way it bubbles in his veins from the one simple glance. The blade slips to his grasp as if by magic and Shizuo turns and steps back all in one beautiful precise movement.

"Izaya..." he grumbles in that same drawn out tone that he uses whenever he sees the informant, it's a dance that the two of them know so well, Shizuo hits out first a fist smashing into the vending machine and Izaya dodges all too perfectly, neither of them have ever thought to question why it is always Shizuo that throws the first punch, it's just the way it's always been. Izaya's blade is fast and flashes in the dim street lighting, it catches Shizuo's arm, slices the skin, scalpel sharp but the blonde doesn't even register the flesh parting.

The streets part for them and Shizuo lands a punch to Izaya's ribs which see's him slip to one knee, he steadies himself quickly a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips even as the blood begins to pool beneath his skin. They dance again, every step perfectly matched, there's a smile on both their lips even if they refuse to admit it, there's blood and there's bruising and Izaya ends up with a blood spattered leather glove clamped around his throat, it's not enough to wipe the smirk from his face. Izaya is defiant to the very end and maybe it's that trait that drives Shizuo so mad.

The wall is cold on his back, the hand crushing his oesophagus warm to the point of being uncomfortable; his own hand grips the leather attempting to peel the hand from his flesh. Izaya is beautiful when he's gasping, trapped, Shizuo definitely should not be thinking such things.

There's only ever been one person who has made the blonde's blood boil so ferociously and managed to keep breathing, Orihara Izaya, the flea that even now would not struggle against him. Izaya is far too proud for such things.

They stand there for what might seem like hours and Shizuo knows he could have crushed the other's throat ages ago, put an end to this feud, yet he hasn't, he can't force his grip to tighten any further and he doesn't understand why. He can feel the bruises forming in the shape of his hand, can feel the other's pulse, quick and steady beneath sweat beaded flesh, blood red eyes simply watch, then again what else are they supposed to do, Izaya is fast but Shizuo is far stronger.

Though Izaya is no fool and there's a blade casually held to the base of Shizuo's ribs, it's cold even through his clothes and so they continue to stand and watch, wait, it's this part that makes or breaks, who gives in first, who makes the first attempt, the last.

They're close now, so close that Izaya can smell the cigarette smoke on Shizuo's clothes, his breath, the slight scent of aftershave beneath the nicotine, Shizuo can taste the smirk on Izaya's lips, can feel the arrogance beat off of him in waves, he grips a little harder and Izaya groans and grits his teeth. This stalemate seems as though it carries on for years and the blonde finds himself far too aware of the other's heartbeat beneath his fingertips, almost as if Izaya is laughing at him, whispering to kill him.

It's almost a misjudgement, almost; Izaya pushes forward against the elder's hand, stares Shizuo straight in the eyes and presses his lips to the blonde's biting at the bottom lip as he pulls away. Deep brown eyes never once falter and the hand grips tighter and shoves Izaya back against the wall, his head cracking against the brick and making a sickening sound in the dead of the night. Izaya groans again, there's blood that trickles, he can feel it slip through his hair, it tickles as it moves and tangles with his hair, thick and dark against the strands.

Shizuo's lips crash against his own seconds later whilst his mind is still fogged by the pain and it's bruising and crushing, it's the furthest thing from gentle and Izaya wants more, so much more. They part panting and Izaya's still held against the wall. Shizuo releases his grip and the younger slips to the floor, his neck is red, turning purple as the air hits against it and the blonde seems more than pleased in the outcome, he lights a cigarette lets it hang loosely from his lips.

"If you ever touch me again flea, I'll kill you," it's a challenge that Izaya won't let pass and he chuckles and chokes against the tightness in his throat.

"Why don't you just kill me now, Shizzy-chan," he stands and sways on his footing, rights himself like all the bones are popping back into joints. He stalks towards Shizuo like a cat towards it's pray, all smiles and claws ready for the kill. Izaya is beautiful when he's angling for a fight, it's not like they've been completely blind to this, this love hate relationship that they have, this desire for the chase and the fight. "Or maybe you don't want to," he chuckles and stalks away and that's the dilemma, he's no intention of killing Izaya, not really, he couldn't bring himself to do it and the younger knows it. It drives him mad until all he can see is red, he turns, intent to throw Izaya into orbit only to find that the informant has vanished. It's enough to make him see red,

"Izaya," he grumbles, smirking to himself, because the informant is not the only one who knows more than people expect him to.


Hours later and Izaya's cleaning the blood from his lips, staring at the bruises that stain black against the pallid tone of his flesh, he hisses when his fingers brush across them and chuckles as he strolls across the living area, he stares out of the glass windows into the darkness. Shizuo amuses him greatly, provides him with hours of entertainment and when he walks away broken and limping, blood dripping, he feels fulfilled, as though he's achieved something.

Izaya doesn't have many friends, he's not very social, and he can't remember his family, just the vague imprint of disappointment on their behalf whenever they were forced to look at him. He's so much more than any of them and he won't admit that it hurts him to think about it, just twirls his favourite blade with expert precision and looses himself in the darkness of his memories. Izaya needs himself and that is all, that's the way it's always been but he likes Shizuo, likes to fight with the blonde and feel his heart racing in the recesses of his chest. He's never denied that he's felt drawn to the elder since the first moment their paths crossed.

He slumps into his couch the laptop in front of him plays music track after track until he can't remember what came before or what comes after just watches the flickering on the screen. He logged out of the chat room ages ago but continues to read comment after comment, it's an addiction, he studies human interaction, obsesses over it and he has no idea why.

There's a knock at his door and he's uncertain because he rarely has visitors as it is, let alone so late, his rent is paid automatically every month for the sole purpose of not having to stare at the landlord's overly chubby face. He chuckles and slips from his seat, that same motion of a marionette that's had a tug to its strings, all lifeless and no bones, he slips to the door with a switchblade carefully palmed in his hand.

He opens the door and has the wind literally knocked out of him, his back becomes acquainted with the floor and his already bruised ribs threaten to crack with the pressure. The door slams from the other side of his apartment and Shizuo smirks as he lights a cigarette.

"No one walks away from me flea," Izaya chuckles because he's slightly surprised, surprised that Heiwajima Shizuo knows where he lives and surprised that he came all this way to punch him in the stomach. "What's so funny?"

"You," the cigarette burns down and the ash tumbles to the floor and Shizuo's on him, hand to his throat once again but it doesn't crush and Izaya bites down the hiss that threatens to burn through his lips.

Izaya is beautiful beaten and bruised, no one can touch him but Shizuo,

Shizuo growls and tightens his grip until Izaya groans slightly, watching the pain flitter across the younger's face even as he tries his hardest to stay stoic.

Izaya hisses slightly and pushes the taller man off of him, stumbling to his feet and glaring warningly at him, Shizuo smirks and crushes his cigarette beneath his foot, staining Izaya's carpet. The informant rolls his eyes,

"Go away Shizuo, I have no wish to fight with you in my own home," he's annoyed because it's very rare that these occasions don't happen on his own terms and he hates when things happen that he doesn't initiate, they never seem to have the same thrill.

"I'm not here to fight you Izaya," he grips him again, forces him against the window, kisses him until lips bruise and swell, until he's tasted every part of the informant, Izaya is pliable in his arms and he growls and shakes him until he comes to and starts to fight back, until he's the same flea that drives him mad. They're far from gentle; they scratch and tear, pull and shove and grip until flesh burns and bruises their blood boils and hearts pound and the feel of skin is maddening.

Izaya bites and Shizuo bites harder,

There's not much thought to this, desire and lust mixing together and forming the strings that pull, they don't want to over think this and Izaya's hands make light work of the buttons on Shizuo's waistcoat and shirt, they fall and the slanted bowtie meets them seconds later. The blonde's stunning but Izaya's known that for years, there's scars though they're faded and seem to be healing even now, as if nothing can touch the bartender. Shizuo bites Izaya's neck and the smaller male makes the most delightful sound, caught somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

The blonde doesn't do gentle that's more than obvious and he rips Izaya's shirt until it's merely shreds slipping from ivory skin. There are bruises there, bloody cuts and scar's that litter cream coloured flesh, Shizuo takes pleasure in the thought that the majority are from him. Their bodies fit perfectly, like they've been designed that way and soon they're both naked on Izaya's carpet and bucking against each other because there's no thought to this, no plan, no trick, just heat and desperation for something more.


It's hours later when Shizuo finds himself looking at Izaya, really looking at him, his eyes closed and dark lashes falling across pale skin. He traces a scar on the younger's ribcage and the dark haired males thin and fragile in this light and it amazes him how fast and deadly Izaya is when he's awake. Izaya is beautiful in the moonlight and Shizuo's starting to realise that Orihara Izaya is always beautiful, deceptive and manipulative as he is there's something in him that the blonde is drawn to, that pulls them together and who is he to refuse that pull.

It worries him in the dim light of the apartment how much he likes to fight with Izaya, the pleasure he takes in marking the younger and he wonders if Izaya has any idea of the idiots that he's disposed of that have threatened the informant, he knows that the younger can take care of himself but he's coming to realise that he's a little protective of the other. He doesn't like the thoughts, finds himself lying back down beside the other, Izaya looks at him, one blood red eye studying him carefully.

He smirks to himself and closes his eyes, Izaya has been pleasantly surprised by the events of the night, he pretends to be asleep when Shizuo's hand carefully strokes across his throat. They don't have to be aware of sharing intimate moments, it's just not them.

In the morning their paths will cross in Ikebukuro and they'll do what they've always done, tumble through the streets with punches flying and blades cutting. They're not fools and they don't confuse what they are and what they want, they have a love hate relationship and that's exactly what it's always been, it's just slightly more complicated these days.


Hm well ok, I'm trying to shake writers block and I love these two so just have to do something for them, I hope it's not too bad, am hoping to write some more for this pairing so let me know if you're interested... um... hope you enjoyed sorry if any problems got slightly carried away,

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