Envy
A/N: IzaNami short. I may or may not have spent two hours looking at fanart and reading fanfics….
Izaya finds himself envious of Namie's green sweater.
The damned sweater she always wears.
It's a nasty shade of pea-soup green. It reminds him of The Exorcist.
He laughs at that fact. It's one of his favorite films, and yet it manages to sicken him to the stomach.
He hates that sweater that reminds him of vomit for another reason, because it clung too closely to her body
—almost like a layer of second skin, something like her armor.
And Izaya wants to get past that layer of skin.
He wants to rip that sweater off her body and bare her skin, bare her nudity, bare her truth to him.
(She has a collection of identical green sweaters and that annoys him.)
The green sweater act as her armor, her line of defense primarily because she knows that he hates the color green. He hates the color green because it's too bright, too vivid, too lively compared to the bleak colors of his apartment. It's just another thing she uses to tick him off, to get him to keep his hands and his eyes off her.
(But it actually keeps him looking at her.)
He can feel his hands twitch at the thought of ripping the sweater off her body, to feel the rough texture of the fabric with his fingertips and his lips.
(He manages to do so once.)
He sweeps up behind her when she is filing case files under the subjects, "The Cake is a Lie and other theories" and "Izumo, the Hulk-in-progress".
Before she can attempt at a protest, he loops his arms over her waist and her shoulders.
"Izaya. Get. Off."
"No."
"Izaya."
"C'mon Namie-chan."
"I'm serious. Get off."
"You're no fun."
He holds on tighter and lets his chin rest on her shoulder.
"Get off me, Izaya."
"You're tense all over. Someone needs a massage."
"And someone needs to get off before I toss him out the window."
He smirks. She scrunches her eyes and prays to the devil and the gods to let him off of her.
"You don't have the strength."
He turns them and slams her back to the wall and presses in close, until his lips manage to brush hers and his weight is slowly crushing hers.
"Your sweater looks better on the floor."
He says before she moves this time (and he tells himself that it's not anything surprising, but it is); raising one of her legs to hook him in place, pushing her arms off her sides and all over his back, his neck, her fingers curling into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp.
She grunts, groans, screams, and moans into the bruising sensation all over her body. She wants to push him away, to kick him where it hurts, to throw him out the window if she only had the strength this Heiwajima fellow has. So she pulls him closer, prefers to suffocate him with his own action, to kill him with his own breath.
(But she knows that she has failed when she finds herself clawing at the bare skin of his back and she sinks into the cold, white sheets)
Bare skin of Izaya's back?
Cold sheets?
And then she sees her favorite sweater, along with her skirt, ignored on the floor, together with Izaya's shirt and pants.
He notices her staring at the pile and kisses her to force her attention to him and only on him. It goes on long enough to have her gasping and panting when her shifts to her neck. He manages a passionate whisper against the shell of her ear,
"It looks better on the floor."
(And then she moans
he groans
she rakes her fingers down his back
he pulls on her hair and her skin
she screams
and he muffles her screams with an open-mouthed kiss)
In the late hours after the incident, when she is placed between blankets, pillows, Izaya's arms and legs, does she only realize that he is right.
It does look better on the floor.
A/N: Short is sexy. Apparently anything is when it comes to these two.