Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara.
Warnings: Sexual situations.
It's been three months. He lives in Osaka, his old wounds open.
Doesn't matter, he's laughing.
Kida's sick of himself and he's tired of life. But he's more sick than tired by the time he reaches the street Dotonbori, still part of the capital city Osaka, still part of the Osaka prefecture. And walking down here and seeing all the neon signs and flashing lights, kind of reminds him of his home, his past, A.K.A Ikebukuro.
It's not worth remembering things like that though, especially if you willingly left it all behind. No trip down memory lane here, no thank you sir.
But that's what memories are for, aren't they? Except Kida has no use for it. Because memories will cling onto to you until you accept it and embrace it. That way, it can come mess you up later in just the way it wants, the way it should be. It has to be in just the right way and what happens when it does?
—Makes it your absolute, your God—
And it will do it; Kida knows this, which is why he has no use for it.
It started out as rumors, hushed mumblings, whispers and "shhh", all behind closed doors and backs. About what one gang 'did this' and what the other gang 'did that'.
But then some rumors became facts. And when it did there were fights and fights and fights. All Hell broke loose but that was gang life.
Gang life and petty wars masking the deep fragile truths that laid hidden beneath it all. Yet each unwanted secret was carefully and precisely played as game pieces by the No. 1 broker paid for information, dancing on the game board himself.
Those times became a blur to Kida and what could he do?
Nothing. Except, move on. Run.
He's on his own now. A lot like how it was back then, where he had nobody to truly turn to.
There's no Saki. There's no Anri or Shizuo or Celty and her head. There's no Yellow Scarves or Dollars. There's no Mikado.
Nobody.
This is Kida's story. This is his perspective, and baby he's burning.
He's burning and raising high fevers, all impartially Izaya's fault. Because Izaya is Kida's nobody but he's also Kida's everybody, it's a special title that only Izaya owns.
It's his trademark and he has the copyrights.
Kida can't breathe with the informant's fingers clutching his throat, the ring cool on his jugular. Can't think when he's clawing at the fur cuffs of the infamous coat, tickling invisible wounds on his wrist, prickling memories from the sensation.
The situation is all so unseemly and it makes Kida want to throw a fit like an impertinent child. Instead, he finds it easier to laugh.
"So, you really followed me all the way down here, you're relentless."
Izaya's sadistic obsession much like his love for humans distracts him from benevolence. He sighs, endlessly chipper in his search of sweet blood, sinking closer to bide wet licks with a hollow but hungry tongue under Kida's jaw.
"Oh, come back and love me again, Kida-chan. You're being very unreasonable. "
Relentless, really. Izaya's fucking relentless.
"Have you any idea what it took for me to find you?" He takes a small bite of flesh, not enough to ease his appetite. "You're truly being very unreasonable. I'd hoped you'd be more welcoming at least by now, but noooo." He stretches the last word out like a gossipy school girl, and giggles like one too while his chin falls on Kida's shoulder, thinking. Critically about him, "you're so unbelievably unreasonable. But that's what I love about you~"
Oh yeah. Has Kida ever mentioned how Izaya's confessions drive him hysterical?
Their bodies fit together; Kida's waist caught in the hold of Izaya's arm, as he almost topples over the edge of sanity. He's too tired to fight back, too sick to kill, maim and destroy the attempt to at least try. Instead he lefts himself be cornered in the dark slip of a very piteous street, where there's nothing but Kida, young and folly with Orihara-San shooting up hubris through the veins.
Kida feels like he could die here, in the dirty alleyway, sick and suffocated by Izaya Orihara, who would suck away Kida's very last breath to breathe for himself.
"Just give in. You can give into me, my sweet Kida and what will it cost you? You don't need yourself more than I need you," Izaya doesn't mind begging, doesn't need the pride, it's all apart if his insane but faultless reasoning and he smacks their mouths together, teeth fighting teeth, bloodying up their lips, tongues dueling.
Kida bites his way out of the kiss, jerking his head away, still flushed in delirium. "Fuck you."
Their glances meet over a silver flick blade. He can't look Izaya in the eyes right now but he can't help hearing him and worse, feeling him. "Fuck you, Kida? Hmmm, already have. You're not very original today."
Izaya's hands deliberately coil around Kida's hips, where clever fingers strip the belt aside, that then whisper over a suddenly attentive cock. It twitches from the slightest movement, "May I show you how much I missed you, Kida-chan? "
Yes, because Kida knows pleasure, knows need, knows the slender arms jousting with his need in particular; he knows how to push against, knows how to writhe, and knows how to draw out the hand that tightens on him.
He knows how to miss the pleasure.
Then it's the dragged ache in Kida's stomach, the push, the pull, and the shiver. This chapter includes Kida lost but found, found in Izaya's massaging hand. The rising action of Kida's hips arching to meet something hard, both characters awaiting the climax.
"Kida-chan see? Don't you miss me as much as I miss you?" And the slip of his name resonates with a taut jerk on his erection.
Protests will die on ignorant ears so instead Kida foolishly wonders out loud, "how long have you known I was here – how long have you been following me?"
The hand flinches and the street light flickers. Izaya's head is now a heavy ache on Kida's chest, all the while gauging for a heartbeat; A fast one.
But the informant immediately finds the purchase of rhythm again in the quick pulse of his hand, now clutching, now making a fist, the other hand quavering easily against Kida's neck, thumb pushing at his collarbone. The skin breaking… in.
"My sweet, sweet Kida, I've been following you all my fucking life."
And the pause deafens all ears.
There is no laughter now.
Kida realized that at the moment Izaya found him, he would only be rescued once his fevered mind decided to shut down and allow him to give into exhaustion and pass out. Too bad he didn't realized that his body was too much depraved; it was too cheeky, too greedy, too ready at the hands of Izaya. But like in all battles that are fought, a victor will gain its prize and the loser will cede. It stands to reason that this bastard informant must have won many battles and in a ridiculous but cruelly twisted fate Kida's body has been made a golden prize.
Kida tries to move away, gives a little push and hopefully the informant takes the hint. He felt like he was melting; skin right off his bones, or from deep within his core, he isn't so sure. It's too much for his fevered mind to handle, the delirium having a strong grip on him.
He watches the familiar slick sheen of raven hair and listens to that God-awful voice, but whose tongue is smooth enough to coax monsters out of human beings; then, pacing forward, to coax Kida's mouth into submission, eagerly, bloodily, with the hint of dark need. There's breathing to be done, but their parting refuses to be quick. Izaya is taking his breath away again; Forcefully.
Izaya falls backwards pulling Kida down with him towards the ground, they turn and twist, until Kida's straddling Izaya's legs. Successfully done with all the skill he's ever learned from fastening sweet Kida-chan's wrists under his hands.
"Forgive him," Izaya preaches while he works his fingers, quicker, stronger, with high powered jolts. Grasping and shifting until Kida comes hotly with a sick little gasp, the proof of it spread over the bastard's yielding hand.
Even wavering in his fever, he is ready to beg for forgiveness to his forsaken God somehow, and ready to leave, slow and quiet.
But Kida says nothing, bracing a hand against his former boss's shoulder. Continues to say nothing, not when Izaya drags him closer, thrusting hastily, knowingly against warming hips, but it's still too dry to simulate perfectly, too pure to hurt. Except soon Izaya muffles the groan of his completion with a hard bite on Kida's shoulder, and they are forbearing, forthcoming, and cold – all of them, the excuses to be made and said, all meaningless now.
"Forgive him Saki for he has sinned" Izaya sing-songs merrily, and it's not a moment longer that has him cradling Kida in his arms. He continues to palm trails over the committed sin, lets it be, and apologizes with grinning lips, "Sorry love." Then he winks at his disheveled lover.
Masaomi Kida does not sob, he wants to but– "It's a world of excuses."
"Really now? What's yours?" Izaya will always be interested.
Izaya's arm is there again, holding and clinging, and somehow Kida can find it in himself to laugh again, he is after all still young and folly.
"We all choose to complacently accept the way things are because we all choose to believe in the things that bring us the most comfort."
He's half panting and half laughing but he's gained an extra half to be bold enough to give one of his memorable sweet kisses on Izaya's lips.
"Wouldn't you agree Orihara-san?"
Something breaks then and Kida receives his answer when Izaya laughs along with him.
It's a draw.
AN: I've been having such a bad week and in my attempt to get my mind off things I ended up writing this (whatever this is). Sorry if it didn't make much sense, this was basically verbal diaherria. But I hoped you all enjoyed it nonetheless.
Who knows if anyone is interested I might just continue with this and actually give it a plot.
Anyways, reviews are appreciated.
Take care.