Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara.
Rating: M for adult content
Notes: IzaNamie is probably the only pairing I will ever smut for. They just don't function the same without it.
It was bad enough that he'd convinced her.
He did not convince me, it was my idea.
Yeah, right. Namie was pretty sure Izaya could convince someone to poke out their own eyes with a shrimp fork if he really wanted to. She welcomed it. At least a shrimp fork was better than her bare hands to get close enough to stab him. Childish, annoying, vulgar son of a—
"How much longer, Namie? You've been chopping for hours."
Namie brought her knife down on an unsuspecting onion, her hand quaking when the stainless steel embedded deep in the wooden chopping board. Izaya hovered behind her, curious, like he'd never seen anyone chop an onion before. Maybe he hadn't. Namie had never seen him lift a finger to cook in all the time she'd been here working for him. She was about to inform him that she'd move on from chopping onions to something a little closer to home when she felt his hand in her hair, pulling it away from her neck so it was out of her face.
Namie whirled and slashed, thoughtless of the consequences. To her sheer delight, she managed to nick him across the cheek. The cut was shallow, but at the sight of his blood Namie couldn't bite back a malicious grin. Nevermind that he caught her wrist in a grip that would leave bruises in the morning. Nevermind that he'd produced his favorite switchblade, which was now getting intimately acquainted with the space in front of her right eye.
It was worth it. It was worth him seeing her tears, even if they were just a byproduct of chopping onions. For a split second, he hadn't even seen her coming.
Izaya laughed softly, that laugh he reserved for secrets and sad places. Namie's smile faltered.
"You shouldn't smile like that. It ruins the mood," he said, sliding the edge of his switchblade along her cheek and catching tears.
"I have to wash this now that you've soiled it."
He watched her a moment longer, and she could almost hear the wheels turning behind those bottomless eyes. Whoever said eyes were the windows to the soul had never met Orihara Izaya. He had no soul, only darkness. Look too long and one was bound to turn to stone and spontaneously combust.
He blinked and the color returned to the world. Namie's wrist was free and he danced a way, even did a little spin. That stupid grin was back, and Namie relaxed a little.
"Sorry~ I guess I can't control myself when you're cooking all for little old me," Izaya said, waving a little.
Damned circus freak.
Namie wondered what bout of insanity had let him convince her to go through with this hot pot dinner for two. Mercifully, Izaya let her finish the prep in peace. By the time Namie brought the nabe, various plates of food, and beer to the table, Izaya was finishing up a phone call and twirling a flower between his fingers. She didn't bother telling him it was ready and proceeded to ignore him, busying herself with filling the nabe and waiting for the ingredients to cook.
His footsteps drew her attention, and she frowned. He had the flower he'd been twirling between his teeth and he bowed deeply. "Señorita."
Namie bopped him on the head with a soup spoon. "Stop messing around. I made this, so you better eat it."
Izaya gave her his best wounded puppy look, which only made Namie roll her eyes for how ridiculous he looked with that damned flower stuck in his teeth. He placed it in the now empty beer bottle like a queer romantic gesture. Classy.
Namie served them both and they ate in relative silence for awhile. For as lean as he was, Izaya sure knew how to put food away when he got going. Namie was almost disgusted, but he ate so delicately that it felt wrong. No one but Izaya could make stuffing his face look elegant.
"So," he said, slurping up a tofu square. "I bet you never made this for your dear little brother, hm?"
"All the time."
Lies. Seiji was never at home much even when he still lived with Namie. And now that he had Harima Mika, he'd virtually disappeared. Namie had no money to give him since she'd run their family's business into the ground and Izaya, of all people, had to haul her out of that mess.
He sucked on his spoon like a lollipop, watching her with a look in his eyes that would have been endearing on anyone else on the planet. With a pop, he pulled the spoon out of his mouth and waved it at her like he was tempting a cat.
"And here I thought I was special."
Izaya's problem was that he knew people better than they knew themselves. It was a gift and a curse, and Namie had no words for him now, nothing to convince him that she wasn't lying, that he hadn't baited her knowing he could catch her in a lie. Don't we all lie for the ones we love? Maybe that's why Izaya never lies. This is a feeble justification for her ignominy, though.
"I should have poisoned your drink," she said. How's that for the truth, you twisted fuck?
Izaya brightened. "Well, that's more like it. I was beginning to wonder if you'd died and been replaced by a nice young lady, and then where would I be?"
Namie finished off her beer and pushed her chair back to stand. "You'd like that."
"Never." Izaya rose and followed her into his kitchen. "You're such a good assistant, why, I hardly have any work to do myself since you're so efficient!"
Namie eyed the cut on his cheek, a small consolation. She only put up with him because he cut her a sizeable check twice a month for doing practically nothing. Maybe it was his way of paying for his own safety around her wicked hands, hands that could mix arsenic and start fires. He did have a well-stocked kitchen, after all.
"Close your legs, you cheap slut," she said, depositing their dirty dishes into the sink to wash later.
He laughed too near to her ear, and she froze. Namie was a whole different breed when he crept too close to the divide separating them. He called it a game, this strange chess with too many pieces and no rules to speak of, but it was more of a hunt. Ask him and Izaya would say he was used to being chased. Everyone wanted a piece of him these days, to burn or to break or to kiss stupid, depending on who got ahold of him.
No one ever got ahold of him.
But he'd gotten ahold of Namie, and she was sorely wishing she'd pocketed the beer bottle opener before getting up so she could give him another cut to even out his leering face.
"What can I say? I love people. I'm here to serve them all."
Namie could understand why the cute teeny boppers were so taken with him. He was a good actor, charming, even easy on the eyes if you liked angles and scars (who didn't like angles and scars?). But they didn't know him like she did. They didn't see him standing in the shadows, watching people topple all around him. As far as Namie knew, Izaya had never killed anyone. But he'd never stopped them from killing themselves.
He'd come back at all hours of the day or night, sometimes bruised or bleeding. Usually the blood wasn't his, and usually she didn't ask. He'd pace, drum his fingers on his desk, sometimes juggle the many pieces of his game like a clown hiding behind colorful facepaint and silly dances. Other times he'd send her home early, barely hearing her shut the door behind her. She knew better than to ask how they died, or why, or how young they'd been this time. He might actually tell her. She hated that she knew these things about him.
What did it matter? His breath tickled the shell of her ear as she ran the water in the sink. Far more important than silly thoughts of how much she wanted to shove a fork down his throat and watch his blood stain the expensive venetian tiling in his kitchen.
He pulled away and Namie caught the growl in her throat. She was never in a good mood around him.
"Namie~ Let's play a game."
"Aw, you haven't even heard what game I want to play."
Namie turned off the water and shot him a cold glare over her shoulder that would have sent normal men to a dark corner to cry. "Just go die already."
Izaya clapped his hands together and rested his cheek on them, like some fairy princess out of a shoujo manga. "You're so cruel!" He smirked, and Namie's glared faltered just a bit. "Come on now, it's the least I can do after that delicious meal."
Damn right the meal was delicious. Namie prided herself on her cooking even if it wasn't her favorite thing to do. Like her work, be it cutting edge chemistry or the trivial office work Izaya had her doing on a daily basis, Namie always took everything she did seriously and put her maximum effort into achieving perfection.
"Grab two glasses and meet me in the living room, 'kay?"
He skipped away, giddy, and Namie let herself fantasize about amputating his feet while he slept so he couldn't skip ever again. She could do it, too. All she'd need was a strong enough anesthesia to knock him out so he wouldn't scream and wake the neighbors, a sharp bone saw, and—
"Na-mi-e~" he called.
Namie grumbled curses under her breath and retrieved two crystal glasses from the cupboard over the sink. They clinked together pleasantly. Izaya had good taste (expensive taste), which was one of the few things about him that made him barely tolerable on a daily basis.
She found him sitting on a couch in the living room bent over a glass chess set. A bottle of whiskey, aged eighteen years, sat next to the board, full. Namie resisted the urge to knock it over and spoil his imported leather couch. That would be a waste. She took a seat opposite Izaya and filled their glasses just as he finished setting up the board.
"I haven't seen you play chess like a normal person since I started working here," she said, leaning back on the couch and crossing her long legs. The whiskey eased down her throat like silk. It made her hate Izaya even more, knowing that he never skimped on quality even on her account.
Another chess board, one with strange pieces arranged in a formation that didn't make sense under anyone's rules sat on a coffee table by the wall-length windows. She'd asked him once what rules he played by, and he'd asked her who needed rules in the first place? If they didn't exist, they couldn't be broken. It was a conversation she'd let die before he could somehow turn it against her, like he usually did.
"Don't worry, I never disappoint." Izaya tossed her a long, red cloth.
"...What the hell is this?"
He sighed dramatically. "Really, Namie, you act like I'm going to attack you at any minute."
She glared at him, and he chuckled.
"Please, I'm not dressed for that game."
Namie did not appreciate the innuendo in the least, but he prattled on before she could do something silly like throw her drink in his face.
"Have you ever played sans voir?"
Namie made to rise, the paperthin patience she'd magically summoned on his account vanishing. Lewd, overgrown child. "If you think I'm letting you blindfold me for any reason, you're perverted and delusional."
"Well, if you think you can't beat me, then I guess there's no helping it."
"...That's not what I meant—"
"No, no, I completely understand. I am your boss, after all. Playing around would just thrust us into a sad cliche and I'm sure you've suffered enough already. Poor Namie."
"If you're insinuating that I can't beat you or that I'm afraid to challenge you simply because I work for you, you've got another thing coming."
Izaya put up his hands, like she had a gun pointed at his heart. "Hey now, you're the one threatening me."
Fine. He wanted to play these games? Just fine. Izaya was a spoiled brat masquerading as a responsible adult (hah!). Namie was sure that if anyone could beat him at this silly game, it was her.
Izaya could barely contain his smile as Namie resumed her seat opposite him and picked up her blindfold. He let himself admire her a little, the way one would admire a caged lion. Yagiri Namie was a lot of things: Cold, mean, a little bit psycho (she was in love with her little brother, the crazy bitch). She was also smart as fuck. Izaya hadn't needed much encouragement when she'd made that call for help in the midst of her company's downfall. And let's face it. Izaya wouldn't be here with Yagiri Namie if she didn't have a psycho personality. As far as he was concerned, it was her best feature.
She held the blindfold just before her chest, and Izaya let her see his eyes settle on it.
One of her best features.
He laughed at himself, and she slashed him to ribbons with her heartless, beautiful eyes. It wasn't fair that something so mean could look like that. There was no god, of this Izaya was absolutely certain.
"Ah! Here we go," he said, producing his own blindfold and juggling it a little in his hands. "Sooo, since you're white, you can go first. Just call out your position and I'll come running."
She put on her blindfold this time without a fuss and he smirked. He refilled their now empty glasses (with Namie, he always made good time on his liquor) and put on his own blindfold. The game began with Namie's queen pawn opening. Pleased at the thought of an actual challenge for once, Izaya met her blow for blow, the chess grid alive in his mind's eye.
Namie captured one of his knights and Izaya sighed. "You're so aggressive. But I guess it can't be helped~"
He peeled off his shirt, careful not to disrupt his blindfold, and waited for her to break the silence.
"Did you just remove some clothing?"
"Of course." Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Namie was blind, but she could just imagine him leering at her for invisible eyes to see. She'd suspected he'd do something off-kilter like this. No rules meant a fair game. But she didn't have to like it.
"I didn't agree to strip chess."
"You don't agree to a lot of things."
Bastard. Talking to Izaya was like chewing on broken glass, except he liked the taste of blood and broken things. How could she win a game without rules to keep him in check?
"Anyway, who cares? It's not like I can see anything like this, anyway."
Namie ran through the potential consequences in her head. She'd never found hidden cameras in his apartment for all her snooping, although he could have set something up just for tonight's fun, knowing him. Either way, he could potentially use this to tease her for weeks to come. He'd tease her more if she refused.
It wasn't a big deal, in the grand scheme of things. She was a confident woman who'd already seen what men had to offer (not much), and her heart securely belonged to Seiji. That kind of pure, beautiful love was her best defense against anything and everything Izaya could ever throw at her. The best part was that there was nothing he could do to stop it.
And of course, the thought of reducing her boss to a shivering, bony little boy in shitstain briefs was too enticing to pass up.
"Fine. But don't cry if you lose more than you're willing to give up," she said, moving her bishop into position.
Izaya captured said bishop and clinked the glass piece against the rim of her drink. It took all Namie's willpower not to throw the chessboard off the table.
"You make it sound like losing's always a bad thing," he said, the smirk evident in his voice.
Namie chose to ignore that.
"Namie, your shirt. I did just capture your bishop. Brilliant move on my part, to be honest."
She topped off her whiskey and took a deep breath. Izaya was not about to win this little game between them, the chess notwithstanding. So she removed her sweater and shivered a little at the air hitting her bare shoulders. Only her lacy bra was left to fend off the chill.
"Ah, allow me."
She heard him scooting across the couch and punching buttons on something. The whir of the heater kicked up.
"Your move," Izaya said, clinking the ice in his whiskey glass.
The game continued, and their clothes gradually fell to the floor. Izaya was good even when he wasn't cheating (she was pretty sure he wasn't cheating since she wasn't exactly losing). A couple times she'd had to take her time and double check the board's layout in her mind's eye. But it was the least of her worries. Chess she could handle. Removing her skirt, not so much.
"Check," she said, moving her queen into position. It was the best she'd felt in only her underwear in quite some time. She even smirked a little.
"See what you can do when you put your mind to something other than fucking your little brother?" Izaya sang.
Any microbe of satisfaction Namie had felt went up in flames at his vulgar comment about Seiji. Her anger, however, was exactly what Izaya wanted. "What's the matter? Jealous because you don't have anyone the way I have Seiji? Poor Izaya."
He cackled. Maniacal, truly entertained. "Is that what you tell yourself at night when you're alone in bed? That one day it'll be his fingers making you moan instead of your own? Namie, I have to say I'm a little disappointed. I was expecting something more scandalous."
Their pieces struck the board, but Namie was too distracted now to worry about the game. "I don't expect you to understand. If I have to wait for him, I'll wait. That's what true love means."
"Hah. Well, I was never the most patient man myself. Check, by the way."
Namie froze, replaying the last few moves in her mind's eye, aghast. The bastard had used her one weakness to gain the upper hand. "That was a dirty move."
"I prefer to play dirty. It means I'm ready for anything."
She was stuck. There was no way to beat him. She could have done it (lies), but now it was too late. Pissed off and a little tipsy, Namie finished her whiskey and set it down on the table a little more forcefully than she'd intended. "It's pathetic that cheating is the only way you can get ahead in life."
"I dunno, I'd say it's paid off so far."
Namie recoiled when she heard his voice directly to her right. She could feel his body heat, and wondered why she hadn't heard him get up and relocate to her couch. She yanked her blindfold off only to find him in his boxers with an arm propped over the back of the couch, a lazy smirk on his face. He held her gaze, but Namie could not fight the blush from being almost totally exposed in front of him.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "I'm sitting on my couch sharing a drink with my secretary."
Conniving, cheeky, duplicitous motherfu—
"Right now you're thinking, 'Izaya, you handsome dog, how did you get me in this position?'"
Namie wanted to shrink in on herself. He wasn't supposed to see her like this. But her natural confidence and the voice in her head telling her not to play his stupid games would not let her. Even in only her lacy underwear, she sat with her back straight and her chin up. She'd never lacked confidence when it came to her looks, so there was no reason to start now. The movement drew Izaya's eyes down to her exposed breasts, although he gave no indication of what he thought. Namie had never wanted to punch him more than she did right now.
"And right now you're thinking, 'I wasn't planning on being this helpless before her,'" Namie said with as much venom as she could muster.
It pained her to know that her cruel fantasies were just that. Izaya may act like a spoiled brat, but he was no child. Lean but toned, his scars seemed to blend in with his physique like he'd been born with them. There were no sad gym briefs, but black boxers with little yellow smiley faces on them. She'd almost been disappointed by his passable looks, but the boxers dispelled all that.
"...What is that monstrosity?"
"Oh, you like them? They were a gift."
"I see now why you prefer high schoolers."
"I guess you and I have that in common."
Namie's anger was back with a vengeance and she rose, heedless of his gaze at this point. The alcohol helped. "Fuck you."
His hand was on her wrist faster than she could blink, and she found herself face to face with him. Their knees bumped the glass table, disturbing the forgotten chess board and sending a knight rolling onto the floor.
He sighed and she could smell the whiskey on his warm breath. Mere inches separated them.
"Well, if you insist~"
Something happened then, and Namie felt that precious wall of hate begin to crumble. Izaya was a lot of things, but clumsy was not one of them. His lips on her neck were black magic, evil and unstoppable. A bad dream. Namie would be lying if she said she hadn't thought things would come to this at some point, but she hadn't planned on it happening tonight. Sex was sex, deconstructable and primitive. It had nothing to do with her love for Seiji no more than eating or sleeping did. But the idea of Izaya, of all people, touching her like this was revolting.
He had her lying flat on the couch before she could finish her thought, trailing languid kissed across her collarbone, between her breasts. Those lips that sneered and leered, razor sharp, now nothing but butterflies on her skin. Namie bit her lip to stifle a moan, hell if she'd give him the satisfaction. She felt his razor blade lips smirk against her breast. There was little hiding from him.
His act was well rehearsed, and to tailor to her specific makeup was no daunting task. It was all over her face. Namie had always been an open book to him, but it suited his purposes. His fingers snuck past her panties, and she gave him exactly what he was looking for. So predictable. He laughed, light and breathy.
"I wonder if your sweet brother knows how to do this," he whispered in her. Just to drive his point home, he thrust another finger into her.
"Shut up..." Her words melted into a whimper.
Izaya had to admit she sounded exquisite. Hah. Yagiri Namie, the stone cold incestuous bitch who would sooner slip snake venom in his drink than lift a finger to help him, had somehow kept his attention long enough for him to want to listen.
"Well, maybe he does. I'm sure he's had plenty of practice with Harima Mika, hm?"
Izaya rubbed her with the pad of his thumb and she gasped. Her hands fisted his hair, pulling it out, but he didn't care. She was too fun.
"I bet he's got no idea what he's missing. Bet he wouldn't even know it if you served yourself up on his doorstep. How often do you get off thinking of him?"
Namie writhed underneath him, and he could tell she was close. Good. Let her fall over the edge knowing it would never be Seiji, not now and not ever.
Izaya blinked, suddenly looking up at Namie leaning over him. She rested her weight on his shoulders, her grip firm. Long, dark hair tickled his temples as she panted lightly above him. Hate burned slow and fierce in her eyes, and Izaya was almost angry with himself. This was the second time today that she'd caught him off guard and he'd paid the price. He stilled when she ran her thumb across the cut on his cheek, gentle, like she knew exactly what he was thinking in this moment. Izaya let out a breath and let his head relax on the cushions, grinning a little. She was a fast learner, after all.
"I'm pretty sure this isn't in your employment contract," he drawled, twirling some of her hair around a finger.
Namie's eyes darkened, but not in a good way. Izaya nearly choked when he felt her grab him through his smiley face boxers. They were in the way, and he was prone to chafing when he wasn't careful. Somehow, he felt Namie wouldn't pity him this.
"I'm pretty sure I told you to shut up," she bit out, giving him a sharp tug.
Izaya was usually fine letting others have their fun. Namie was only human and so he adored her the way he adored all the others. Why do for oneself what one could manipulate others into doing? But she was going to draw blood from places that had no business bleeding at this rate, nevermind that the mere thought of it made him hard. Using his superior strength to flip them back into their previous position, he pulled off his boxers tossed them aside, where they landed on the chessboard with a clatter.
Namie got an eyeful of him, and she was relieved those ridiculous boxers were gone if only because they'd justified his accusations about her. Now, there was no question that he was all man and he needed this as much as she did.
"Namie," he said, voice shakier than it had been before. "I'm not winning any awards for patience here."
She felt him tease her with a finger again, and she moaned before she could stop herself. He released a sharp breath.
"And neither are you."
Namie was done listening to him and was seriously contemplating physical violence, but he was in her in one swift motion and making her see darkness. She whipped her head to the side so she wouldn't have to see that smug smirk at her expense, at how he knew she was enjoying him and oooh he would tease her about this later, for sure.
How she hated this man, hated that he was so damn good at everything, even her. He pulled her hips into him for a harsher angle, and Namie thought she could have cried. He'd figured her out, like she was so obvious, and there was nothing she could do to throw him off. She didn't want to, and that truth filled her with a black rage almost as intense as the desire building with each generous thrust.
She wasn't looking at him. Izaya could smell her everywhere, and it was making him dizzy. He threatened her jaw with teeth, earning him nails in his chest. Her eyes remained closed, unseeing. He wondered what she saw. Maybe her moron of a brother. For all his taunting earlier, Izaya doubted Seiji could find his way around a paper bag much less a woman's body. Namie's body. Namie's too-perfect body with her perfect breasts and her soft hair and that tight squeezing that seemed to tell him to fuck off while her mouth was too busy whimpering under his pressure. He could have laughed. Even now, she was still out to get him.
She cried out, but bit down on her lip hard to silence herself. Well, he doubted she'd be screaming his name today. Maybe next time. Hah.
He coaxed her legs around his waist so she could hold onto him without his help, and at last his hands were free to wander. Her breasts, her hair, her outstretched hand turning purple from when he'd stopped her knife attack before dinner. He saw it all, every detail, and she was blind to the world. It wouldn't do. Unlike in chess, he didn't feel like cheating right now.
Namie felt him yank her chin around to face him, and before she could shove him off her he stole a desperate kiss. Teeth, a little blood from when she'd bitten her lip earlier. It was like a dark void with no air and no light, and her eyes were wide and watching him watching her.
Release came but Izaya silenced her with his tongue. Me me me, says the spoiled child, stamping his little foot. She couldn't think straight in this place where there was only him. Her toes curled and she buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer and deeper, and finally kissing him back. He followed soon after and they sank against his expensive leather couch, slick with their sweat.
Namie panted and absently rubbed her fingers in Izaya's damp hair. His breath tickled her neck, but it wasn't unpleasant. The seconds ticked by and they slowly regained their composure. Izaya pushed himself up enough to rest his forehead against Namie's, a malicious grin on his face.
"Checkmate," he whispered against her lips.
Namie's afterglow immediately evaporated and she threw him off her with as much strength as she could muster. His back slapped against the leather couch in a way she hoped was as painful as it sounded. Namie got up and threw his boxers in his face.
"I've had better," she sneered, making her way toward his bathroom and getting ready to run the shower.
To her dismay, he followed her.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire~"
Namie ignored him and stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door closed behind her. Unfortunately, he caught it.
"Run along now, vermin. I'm finished with you," she said, lathering shampoo to prove her point.
Izaya chuckled and stepped into the large shower after her. "I'm not quite finished with you, though."
Namie was so outraged that she chucked a bar of soap at him, deriving some meager degree of childish satisfaction when it hit him in the head. Izaya picked it up and set it back in the dish, unfazed. He advanced on her and pushed her against the wall. The shower sent a thousand little rivers down his face, washing away the blood on his cheek. Namie followed it with her eyes, the way it snaked around the scars that were as much a part of him as that awful laughter in her ear.
She reached for him, tracing a scar with her finger. Did Seiji have scars? Harima Mika would know. Red slashes across Izaya's chest marked where Namie had scratched him earlier in her hate-lust as he kissed her. Her eyes drifted closed again, but his fingers in her hair forced her to look at him again.
"How about a rematch?" he said against her parted lips. "This time, I get to go first."
One day, Yagiri Namie would kill Orihara Izaya. She would make it hurt, and she would make it nasty. Mean. But that day was not today.
They stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out.