Notes: Written for panicatthedickshow on tumblr.
Title: Don't Ask
Words: 601 words
Disclaimer: It's not mine. It all belongs to others who I am in no way associated with and I make nothing from writing this, got it?
The skirt kept ridding up and he kept pulling it down, feeling just a little uncomfortable with how short it was. It was considerably shorter than anything he would have chosen for himself if he'd been given the choice and it made him look cheap. And he was most certainly notcheap and he would cut anyone who said he was.
He was not going to ask what Namie had been doing with such a short skirt; he just did not want to know.
What mattered was that he'd gotten what he'd been looking for and he could go home and take off the ridiculously high heels that he was teetering on and massage some kind of feeling back into his legs.
If he didn't kill himself first.
Given that it was so late, there wasn't really a need to concern himself about being recognized and him stumbling down the street because his ankles were burning just made him look like a woman who was stumbling home after partying a little too hard. That was the problem, though.
The problem were the men who seemed to either think that he was: a) drunk enough to take advantage of; and b) a cheap hooker they could pick up off the sidewalk.
He was very close to punching them out, stupid four inch heels be damned.
Of course, punching them was easier said than done. He was wobbling about and his mobility was restricted; he doubted he'd be able to take them down quickly enough if they decided to gang-up on him because 'no' just wasn't in their vocabulary for the evening.
He should have knocked on wood. Because, of course, he wouldjinx himself just thinking about it.
"C'mon, sweetie, we're just lookin' for a good time."
"We'll take realgood care of you."
"And... pay... pay you too. It'll be fun. We can go all at once if you wanna."
Izaya sneered at them, eyes flicking about and looking for an exit. His chances weren't looking too good. "Sorry, boys, I'm not into that kind of thing."
And they were probably too drunk to notice that his voice was a little too deep, a little too masculine, to belong to any woman.
"Fuck that, c'mon pretty lady... just a little fun..."
One of them grabbed his arm and he had to bite down on a yelp because shit that did hurt and fuckhe was a lot stronger than Izaya had thought he'd be.
The man was leaning in, breath positively reekingof cheap alcohol and he didn't care that Izaya was recoiling, was trying to quell the panic he could feel rising in his stomach, and –
Then the man was flying.
Izaya would have sunk to his knees if he didn't have any dignity left. But of course the idiot would be there and 'rescuing' him; that was kind of his thing, wasn't it?
So, instead of falling to his knees or anything of the sort, Izaya brushed off his skirt and crossed his arms with a sigh as the three men who'd been trying to solicit his 'services' were kicked to the curb.
"Do you always have to kick them while they're down?"
"If I didn't kick their asses, they wouldn't learn." Shizuo was shoving his hands into his pockets, turning away from the men who he'd single-handedly taken out without even breaking a sweat. He didn't even really look all that angry. He looked... amused and that was never a good thing.
There was a grin tugging at the corners of Shizuo's mouth – Izaya tried not to scowl.
"This is starting to become a habit of yours." And he didgrin. "I'm sort of your knight-in-shining-armor, aren't I?"