A.N: Special delivery for Tenshi-no-Hikari! Thanks again for the amazing plot idea 3! I started out with the "seduction" plot in mind, but it ended up spiraling into something bigger, I think XD. Izaya seems to play the "dominant" role in a lot of your comics (which is the best XD!), but in here he turned out more on the submissive side. Your comics really inspired me to write this, as I told you before, so I hope the story turned out okay ^^
To the FanFiction public: If you like the Shizaya pairing, or anime in general, take a look at Tenshi-no-Hikari's awesome, adorable comics! http :/ tenshi-no-hikari. deviantart. com/ (minus the spaces, since this site has a fear of links for some reason LOL)
Caution: Yaoi pairing! :D (Oh, and they don't really get "together" until a few chapters in XD; sorry for the pacing, I wanted it to be realistic T_T).. Oh, and profanity. There's a lot of that LOL… OH! And I promise this won't end in R-rated promiscuity :D! Aside from fluff, drama and swearing, this is clean, I promise :D
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Durarara!, any of the characters, ideas, memorabilia or affiliates associated with it. I am not trying to steal anything, I promise! :3
Probably the only world Shizuo could associate with the bastard. Not in the sense that he was handsome or anything, but in the sheer certainty that every freaking time he went for a walk, he'd run into him. Some way, somehow, that damn flea would come prancing out from behind a dumpster, or slip out from an alleyway. He could bet his life on it.
He bet Izaya's life on it every time, the slippery mother. The guy always got away somehow, worming out of his grip like a fucking-…well, worm. No, he was lower than a worm. He was dirt, he was the germs in the dirt, the microscopic cells that make up those germs. He was the invisible matter. He didn't matter.
He was the worst.
And Heiwajima Shizuo despised him. Abhorred him. Hell, he wanted to kill him every time he saw him. Was there a word to convey that level of dislike? Was there? It was just his face, that damn smugness that he always had. What Shizuo wouldn't give to really give the guy a shock, really shake him up. Do something that Izaya couldn't predict.
Because Orihara Izaya couldn't predict everything, could he?
And that's when hot coffee spilled all over Shizuo legs. He sprung up with the surprise, not so much the burning pain, and grumbled, "Shit." He had been getting so fired up over that bastard that he had gone and strangled his coffee mug to death. It lay in shards on the floor, amongst the brown, scalding liquid. "Fuck."
He always did this. Not that he didn't come to expect it by now, naturally, but the saying, "you don't know your own strength" was a daily occurrence with him. And it got old. Really old. Sighing, attempting to swallow the remainder of his anger, Shizuo crossed his apartment and ducked into the kitchen to grab a towel.
Stupid flea. Even when he was truly alone he couldn't stop thinking about him. Scrubbing at his stained pants with a vacant expression, Shizuo closed his eyes, trying to push the image of that ridiculous man and his switchblade from his mind. All it did was piss him off.
"Bastard. I'm going to kill him next time I see him."
Izaya pitched forward with a sneeze, hunching his shoulders as he walked down the sidewalk. He didn't bother lifting his hands from his pockets, and just rubbed his nose on the shoulder of his jacket instead. Namie wrinkled her nose at him, not even bothering to give a polite "bless you," or anything of the sort.
"Better not be catching a cold, because I certainly won't be tending to you," she said, voice bland. She hitched up her brown grocery bag, full to the brim of Izaya's request orders. Cooking for him was certainly a chore. Izaya only laughed at her, tilting his head back to look at the sky.
"Ah, Shizu-chan must be talking about me," he said, his grin as smug as it could get. Namie rolled her eyes. Izaya was always talking about the man, whether about how much he hated him, or how excited he was to blame the poor guy for another crime. It irked her that someone he apparently hated so much was always cropping into the conversation.
"What makes you say that?"
"I just know," he stated, plain as day. With him, Namie speculated, perhaps he did somehow know. He was an informant, after all. A dangerous job, but he didn't seem to mind most of the time. Sure, it made him countless enemies and she was practically the only person who could stand to be around him, but what did that matter to Izaya? He was above all of that. He was above people, humanity. And by now, after all this time watching him work, she was inclined to believe it. Nothing could take him off guard. She blinked as he sneezed again, this time yanking out his hands to cover his face. She made another face at him.
"I mean it, Izaya. I'm not going to nurse you back to health or anything."
"Relax, it was only twice," he said, straightening back up, smirking again. "Shizu-chan is talking badly about me." He seemed proud of this. Namie readjusted her hold on the groceries.
"Why you seem prideful, I have no idea." She stared ahead, shaking her head to get some hair out of her face as the faint, chilly breeze blew it around. Then she mumbled at him. "Why do you even believe in that stuff?"
"Because," he said, wrapping an arm around her as he leered, wide smile very close to her face. "It's completely true." When she gave him a strange look, he only closed his eyes to smile wider, putting his arms behind his head. As he walked ahead, he spoke to her, or perhaps to just himself.
"I should pay Shizu-chan a visit today," he said, nearly fondly. "He probably misses me."
Namie snorted a derisive spout of laughter, shaking her head. "As if, Izaya. The man hates your guts. He wants you dead."
"Therefore, he thinks about me on an incredibly intimate level," he said with complacency. Namie, behind him and therefore not facing him, didn't see the light pink tint that spread over his cheeks. Izaya's smile was gone. "Taking a life is serious business, isn't it Namie?" Thinking about it, about how close he and Shizu-chan really were, made him uneasy for some reason. It was just a harmless game of cat and mouse. Dog and flea. He was the annoyance, and Shizuo was the antagonist. It spanned no greater than that. It reached no higher ground. There was nothing else.
Just hatred. Just that old resentment they've known since the moment they first saw one another… And yet… Izaya's eyebrows knitted together, but he forced himself not to stew on it. Just hate. That was all it was. All it would ever be.
Shizuo, having washed his pants to the best of his manly, nonchalant ability, gave up about halfway and left them out on the back of a chair to dry, hoping vaguely the stain would just disappear. If he left most things alone, they usually took care of themselves. Or at least, that was his experience. His closet held within its depths several more pairs of the same exact pants, hanging next to identical shirts and ties. No need to fret. Besides, he could probably convince Tom to buy him a pair if he really needed them. Or he could buy them himself. Nothing to worry about.
As he fingered through his closet, his fingers stopped at the edge of one shirt in particular. A ripped one. A ruined one. A bloodstained one.
The one Izaya had touched.
Shizuo felt heat rise up from his belly. God, it ate him up. That damn flea. Always defiling one thing or another. He was relentless, that bastard. He could never get away from him. His hands tightened around the fabric, threatening to rip it further, when his phone started ringing. He glanced over at it, the rage draining away. Saved by the bell, he guessed. He didn't bother glancing at the caller ID.
"Hello?" He stripped some pants from the closet, shaking them out.
Tom's voice echoed over the receiver. "Shizuo. You're late, where are you? We were supposed to meet someone today." There was a pause. "Settle a debt, you know." Tom didn't sound angry in the slightest. At the most he was amused by Shizuo's lack of presence. "Did you oversleep?"
"Shit, Tom," Shizuo muttered, now hopping on one foot as he tried to wrestle on his pants while holding the phone. "I forgot, sorry."
"No problem," Tom said, and Shizuo knew him well enough to know that, on the other side of the phone, he was waving his hand in polite dismissal. "It happens."
"Not to me." The blonde, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, managed to button up his trousers, and then jog to the door to slip on his shoes, straightening things up as he went along. "Where are we going again?"
"That guy on the south side. The one with that beard who borrowed money for-"
"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah," Shizuo said, snatching his keys and grasping the doorknob. "I remember him." He paused, hand to the knob, eyes slowly slitting. He spoke with a sort of dawning surprise. "I hate that bastard."
"Shizuo," Tom chuckled over the tinny receiver. "You hate every bastard."
There was a reverent silence while Shizuo shrugged, sidling out the door. "Yeah, well. Guess so." His free hand fit the key into the lock, and turned. He listened to it click. "I'll be there in a few." Then he hung up.
Became immediately enraged.
"Shizu-chan!" Izaya threw out his arms, trademark jacket lifting slightly as he did so. "Surprise." Shizuo, fists beginning to ball up and tremble, had to seriously restrain himself from laying the man out right then and there, in his apartment building.
"What are you doing here?"
Izaya leaned against the hallway, hands now in his pockets, grin as wide as ever. "Just thought you missed me. Figured I should drop by." His eyes darted up to meet the blonde's. "Been a while since we've seen each other."
Shizuo slipped on his sunglasses, taking marshalling breaths, focusing his mind on Tom. Tom needed him for a job. He was on duty. He didn't have time for the damn flea right now. He didn't have time. He would just have to save it for later. Everything gets sweeter with time. It would all be worth it. It would all be worth it.
Izaya cocked his head with Shizuo didn't snap back with something to say. He slowly began to frown. Well, this wasn't what he was expecting. He tried another tactic. "Shizu-chan is so quiet! What's on your mind-"
"Shut the fuck up and get out of my way," he said, brushing past him roughly. Izaya, by instinct, clenched his switchblade as Shizuo moved closer. But then he was just-…walking away. How strange. How very curious. He was leaving? Since when did he walk away from something like this? On his own home turf, too.
"Running away?" Izaya called after him. He got nothing in return. His last comment was nearly tossed in desperation. "Tail between your legs, Shizu-chan?"
Shizuo, not even turning back, just gave him the finger. Well, it was something at least, and Izaya approved of it. For now. It was certainly not enough to be satisfactory. What would make him just give up like that? Was he sick? Was he hurt? No, couldn't be. So why was he suddenly so disinterested?
He can't stand to see my face, Izaya mused, fingering his blade inside of his jacket pocket. And yet he doesn't take the punch when I know he wants to. Very curious. His face broke into that smile again; the smile everyone knew well. The I'm-Going-To-Make-Your-Life-A-Living-Hell-For-My-Own-Personal-Enjoyment smile. He looked at the clock hanging in the apartment hallway, over the elevator. It was about 8:30. That meant a full day of annoying the shit out of Shizu-chan until he decided to fight him, like normal.
"If he wants to play hard to get," Izaya whispered, slowly pulling out his knife. He flicked it open, watching it gleam in the hazy fluorescent lighting. "We'll play hard to get."