A/N: I know this is probably random coming from me (at least if you've read anything else of mine), but I don't know what happened, because it... just happened. Either way, I hope you like it. :) Theme set Gamma from the LJ community 1sentence.

I don't own Durarara!

explosion existence


Shizuo hates how those stupid rings Izaya wears still manage to shine in the dim streetlight, even though he's holding that small blade of his up to the sky and blood is dripping, dripping down his fingers.


Izaya knows that even though he'll never admit it, Shizuo wishes he could be the hero instead of the monster, and he cannot help the smirk that curls his lips while thinking, How quaint.


Because you see, he hates the fucking flea so fucking much that he subconsciously has a mental catalogue of every run-in, every chase; every time he wanted to kill him, and every time that he wanted to do something way on the other end of the spectrum.


The blond feels he's won a certain kind of victory when Izaya drops his box of ootoro in pure shock at the fact he got greeted with a kiss instead of a vending machine flying at his face at a speed not nearly slow enough to prevent serious damage.


Ninety percent of their relationship is running; running away, chasing - but most of that ninety percent is the way they deny everything that rings loud and clear, and that the only way they know how to quiet it is to shove it down in a tiny, forgotten corner of their hearts.


It looked like a bomb or some other natural disaster had gone off in the room; appliances ripped out from walls, glass glinting on the floor; their clothes are scattered around, but in the eye of the storm they were completely still and silent and spent.


He remembers when he stumbles upon the beast himself, but the beast looks rather tame when he's focused on both helping and not trying to scare the bird lying on the ground, weakly chirping with its wings broken.


"So cold of you, Shizu-chan," Izaya pouts and tells him, because he actually, strangely feels disappointed by the fact he wasn't missed at all during his week long absence from Ikebukuro, the place that the man in front of him calls home.


It's a bright afternoon, and the way the sunlight hits the informant's eyes sets them aflame in such a way that he can't help but think to himself how the brunet surely must be the devil in a human body and a furry jacket.


When Shizuo busts in that scum's apartment, Izaya does exactly what he hates and acts cool and collected, offering him a drink because he, on the other hand, is panting and flushed from anger.


He grows even more pissed off at the fact the clock just struck twelve, here he is on the precipice of a new year; and right there with him, wiping blood from his mouth, is the stupid flea and his fucking smirk.


Izaya only had to briefly struggle with the temptation of wondering how far he could jam his flickblade into the blond man sleeping next to him before it would get stuck; instead, he told himself that it would be more fun if he was awake and ready for the kill.


He gets a little jealous when he realizes the view in Izaya's apartment is infinitely better than his, but that train of thought crashes when the little bastard himself yells out his name into the crook of his neck, the frantic rhythm he had been keeping up slowing, winding down in his arms.


Some people liked pop, rock, rap; but Izaya - Izaya's favorite genre was the mix of angry roars and hoarse yells that only he could elicit from the blond collector.


As he clutches the dark, bobbing head between his legs, he absently notes that his hair is so much softer than his own dyed, rough strands, and takes it down mentally as one more thing to hate about him.


He wonders what the chances are that neither of them have an umbrella, that they end up under the same goddamn canopy when it starts raining cats and dogs; but then two seconds later, Izaya promptly tosses a closed, black umbrella into the street, and turns to him with a cocked head and a glint in his eye.


"Promise me we'll stop meeting like this, doing this," Shizuo demands him desperately; Izaya's body is wedged in between his and the wall as he tells him whatever he wants to hear, even though the both of them know this won't be the last time Shizuo's fucking him in a deserted alley in the dark of night.


Celty feels a need to rub the eyes that aren't there when she shows up at Izaya's to pick up something for a job, because what she saw inside was not normal (for them, at least) and definitely not child-appropriate; surely, she must be dreaming.


As bright as Shizuo burns, Izaya knows he must eventually put him out; still, he can't help but wonder if and how he'll manage when he finally snuffs his light.


Izaya is honestly befuddled when he finds out that the talent scout that discovered Kasuka wanted the brusque Shizuo first - and just decides to chalk it up to another reason why humans interest him so very much.


The only time Shizuo feels vaguely peaceful with Izaya is when he's quiet, but then he'll go and fucking ruin it with his incessant babble until the blond has to literally kick him out of the bed.


What an interesting time we've had with each other, Shizu-chan, he thinks, but a journey like this can only go so far before we both get too tired to keep going.


Smiling coyly, Izaya keeps his finger on the tab that keeps the flame burning on the lighter for a while before lighting his unsuspecting partner's cigarette and then stamping him with the heated metal end while giggling, and he just loves the way it makes him arch his back in surprise and pain.


Rubbing his sore jaw, Izaya really hates Shizuo's strength; however, if it wasn't for such an inhuman trait in a human, he'd have probably played the game for a little bit before becoming bored and moving on like he did with everyone else.


Shizuo wants nothing more than to viciously rip off that despicable, cocky facade he's so fond of; he wants to hear him beg, plead, and cry - it's only fitting, for a flea like him.


The normally graceful Izaya falls flat on his face when he slips on the ice, and Shizuo can't help but bellow with laughter, and soon Izaya does the same; the only time they've ever laughed together, those merry notes are disappearing with faint wisps into the cool winter air.


It's when Izaya tries to make a spiteful comment and actually has to force one out when it doesn't roll off his tongue like usual, that's when he thinks he might be falling.


There he is, lying there with blood matted hair sticking unattractively to his forehead, and Shizuo momentarily forgets that he hates him and now wants to kill kill kill whoever did it.


The chaotic waltz between them begins, a flurry of knife jabs and punches and flying appliances, and they both know they'll never have a dancing partner that's like the other.


His body pulses in tune with his straining nerves and furious heart beat as Shizuo, without mercy, relentlessly pounds his head against the wall every time he slams into him.


Nothing about them was clean, or pristine; they were too far gone for that, and much too eager to wreck the other for them to possibly be pure.


They never said goodbye to each other, no matter if Izaya was running away or it was the morning after; even saying that word brought them too much on a personal level, together, even if they did fuck a lot.


The world is an awfully big place, with an awful lot of humans, but he considers himself lucky to happen to be a short distance away from the city he's always getting chased out of, and for having found one of the most interesting humans in the same place.


The bartender outfit that Shizuo wears enough for it to become his second skin, it's so stiff and starched and pressed that he can't resist the need to want to slice it up, while he's wearing it.


Sometimes when they met up, it felt like a fever dream; like they were just sick, that's all, and it was okay that everything they did was beyond rational and crossing into deliriousness.


Yet another thing Shizuo hates is his laugh - it's loud and maniacal and fucking annoying, but if he wasn't laughing at him all the time, he might learn to at least tolerate it a little bit.


"Stop trying to fool yourself, will you?" Izaya coos to the blond when he tries to push his slender hand away from the buckle of his belt.


It feels like forever and a day when Shizuo calls out his name, shaking him while he's out cold next to the broken vending machine that got lobbed at his head - and then wonders why he was even feeling regret when Izaya's eyes pop open with a grin and he yells, "Gotcha, Shizu-chan!"


He was overcome with too many conflicting feelings and emotions for it to possibly be healthy when he found himself brushing away a piece of dark hair that had fallen over Izaya's shut eyes, but he quickly removed his hand to light up a cigarette and just not think about it.


The informant is leaning on his tip toes to tell Shizuo exactly what he wants to do with him; the hushed sentences in his ears send chills down his spine, until the flea is walking away innocently, fingering the fur on his hood and glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.


Shizuo's slipping his shoes on when the smaller man grabs his arm and tells him to stay the night; he'll only have a couple of hours until it's the next day, after all.


"Talk dirty to me," he demands as he buries his hands in blond hair; when Shizuo raises his eyebrow, he mirrors the action before adding, "What? Is it too much for your little brain to handle?" and the collector decides to just shove him down on the bed roughly and not say anything, now, just to piss him off as much as he does him.


The both of them will never admit that they actively search each other out, their pride is too tall and to say such a thing would open up a rip inside them called vulnerability.


"I hope you're ready, because I'm not holding back," He warns him, but Izaya just chuckles and tells him he's never not been prepared.


It was a never ending battle for dominance with them; they were always trying to shadow the other with displays of wits and reckless fury, and it was only a matter of time until they'd realize neither would ever win.


Shizuo never came down softly from the euphoric highs that lingered after they had sex, but fell hard and deep when the realization and disgust at who he'd just done such an act with set upon his hazy mind.


He's speeding down the highway on the back of Celty's pitch black motorbike, and wrapped inside the dark night sky and the dark helmet he's wearing, he watches the scenery go by in a fast, whipping blur, and it makes Shizuo think about them.


He didn't know how they'd finally go out, but he was sure of one thing; they would go out with a bang, a bang that would be remembered even after that precious, secret world of theirs was gone.


The nights that he knows Shizuo will show up, he doesn't even bother locking his door anymore; it's only going to get a big hole in it from his fist or ripped off the hinges, and Izaya doesn't have the time or patience to deal with such frivolous details.


The owner of the apartment is in the shower, and Izaya buries his face in the bedsheets that carry the stench of sex and cigarettes, and his breathing evens out as he drifts off to sleep to the sound of water running faintly from the next room over.

A/N: Please tell me what you thought; I'd like to know since this is the first thing I've done of these two, and I'm not sure if it should be the last or not. :) Thank you~