A/N: If Shizaya actually happened during their Raijin days, it'd be a chopped up recollection of impulsive sex , carefree nonsense, and most probably nothing more. That's what came to my mind, and that's what I tried to achieve in this one-shot. I really don't know why I felt compelled to write a DRRR fic since I haven't watched the show in ages, but here it is. There's also an appendix thrown in down the bottom. (And when on earth did ffdotnet stop allowing double space?! Apologies for the random fullstops, they're for spacing.)
It might come off as tongue-in-cheek but I'd love to hear what you thought about it—if you loved it, let me know, if you hated it, give me constructive criticism.
Happy reading!
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1. THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE
Finders Keepers
There's love at first sight, then there's hate at first glance.
The moment they laid eyes on each other they instantly knew hate. A pang of unsettling disgust in Izaya's chest, a new kind of rage in Shizuo's blood.
"What's this we've got here?"
Perched on an umpire chair, Izaya flicks through a porn magazine, interested in the loosest sense. His eyes dart across fraying, vivid images of women spread out wide open like dirty flowers.
"Not." Hurdles are fingernails on a chalkboard screeching across the hardwood floor. "Mine." Clash. Ten down, thirty to go.
Shizuo is famished and wants out. How many times has he been through this? He doesn't have enough fingers on his hands to count them all. The teachers never know what to do with him either; if they suspended him every time he had a raging fit he'd miss half the school year, so they just put him on detention, shaking their heads. "Heiwajima, you heathen," they'd sigh. This time he got the honourable job of cleaning the gymnasium storage room in exchange for his lunch break.
"Blonde, Latino, blonde, blonde, big tits, brunette... I never knew you liked youmono, Shizzy! A little too protozoan for my taste, but whatever."
"I mean it bastard, get out of my sight before I pulverise you."
"I'm so scared." Raking a translucent hand through raven hair, he drawls lewdly.
Izaya is fond of heights because it gives him a bird's eye view of the world; the chain reactions pulsing through his beloved humans, the hair whorls on the tops of their heads. The umpire chair is Izaya's latest addition to his collection of thrones, serving him the purpose of watching Shizuo receive detention. A great seat with a nice view, he reckons.
"Say, Shizzy, do you ever masturbate? I mean, do monsters get urges too? If you don't mind my asking. What do you watch? Normal porn or beastiality specials?"
Izaya catches a muscle clench in Shizuo's jaw as his body jerks back to face him. Yes, this is it, he's been waiting patiently for this moment. Through tufts of unruly blond strands, sanpaku—the white of his eyes pooling beneath acidic irises lit ablaze.
"You know what? You fucking clean this shit up. You're the sole reason I get detention."
"It's not my fault you can't control your anger and break faucets. It's called control, Shizzy. You're so devoid of discipline that it makes me wonder why you haven't been expelled." Hands in the air. "You deserve nothing past compulsory education, really."
He shakes an angry fist in his direction. "You're such a damned prick, you know that? You're such a damned prick!"
"You needn't say it twice. Makes you sound dumber than you already are. It's true when they say blondes are dumb, eh? Here's living proof."
"Condescending piece of scum!"
"Your ignorance is more scandalous than my insincerity."
"I hate you!"
"Hate you more," he chirps, ducking a hurdle lunging towards him with ease. He retaliates by hurling the magazine, a perfect slap in Shizuo's face. Pandemonium breaks loose. Five minutes of thrashing about and trashing aloud is more than enough to mat Shizuo's hair and shirt with blood and plant new bruises beneath Izaya's gakuran. And give him ample time to think of an escape route as he tries to writhe free. Sure, his utility knife was a piece of crud against steel muscles, but he thinks if you can't fight 'em, fuck them—for now. He gets to it, smashing a kiss on the mouth and grinding suggestively.
Stopping dead mid-motion, Shizuo teeters painfully between lust and disgust. He can't quite put a finger on it. Never in his life has he been this confused by the indescribable whirl of libido and bloodthirst in his abdomen. Fuck it, he thinks, and succumbs to carnal instinct. If the bastard wants it he can have it. A sexually deprived frenzy of spit and limbs and clashing teeth tumble across the floor, finally settling down on a stack of gym mats.
"Bet you won't even last 5 minutes, it'll be a one pump jump." He swings his legs over broad shoulders. Izaya knows Shizuo's never had any luck with girls. He'll hide the fact that he hasn't either.
Izaya believes Shizuo is a beast; the way his eyes swivel manically and flash like amber, the brute force in his movements, the tousled hair, those serrated teeth. Shizuo is a beast, a monster, therefore he must fuck like one, Izaya extrapolates. Shizuo however exceeds his sexpectations like a miscalculated parabola. He savages him down from his neck to his arms and past the tangle of wiry white legs; Izaya reciprocates and tears lips, claws skin, rips hair, thrusts harder, thwack heels against his enemy's back.
"I fucking hate your guts!" he snaps with gnashing teeth, blood and spit trailing from his mouth.
"Hate you to the moon and back," he cackles, sweat crawling down to his eyelashes.
This showcase of resentment is their oddest yet.
So is the sickening orgasm building up in Izaya's throat. He nearly sees stars bursting in his eyes from exponential pain and rapture when their jackhammering sex is interrupted.
"Shit!"
A teacher comes booming into the gymnasium and like morning cockroaches in a kitchen they flee out of sight, stumbling over unzipped trousers; Izaya leaping acrobatically through the window and into the schoolyard, Shizuo bursting out the storage room, tearing down the backdoor.
Izaya never leaves empty handed. He makes sure he's snitched Shizuo's wallet before they split.
"Finders keepers, losers weepers."
Calculus—he slinks into his seat at the back of the classroom and spills its contents onto his desk. Spare change, a student ID stamped with a scowling mugshot, two bank cards, a crumpled Hideo Noguchi—and a condom.
"Oh Shizzy!" It gives him a giggling fit. But he eventually gets bored of that, too, and flicks it out the window to watch it flutter away in the wind, a moth of leather in the chill winter air.
Sixth period—physical education. Izaya would rather be doing something more practical like parkour instead of gymnastics. Nevertheless he has his own fun and cartwheels across the hardwood, kicking Dotachin in the face pretend-accidentally. He is yet to realise the spreading numbness collecting in his thighs and ass.
"Hey Orihara! No cartwheeling till we've got the gym mats out, ya'll break ya neck!" A coach whistle. "Alright class! Get 'em ready."
"Dotachi-i-in. What's wrong?"
His day is complete when he sees Dotachin in the storage room, whimpering in awe.
"Th-there's come on the gym mat."
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2. THE DOC
Curiosity Killed the Cat
When he wakes the next day, there's blood in his pants.
He is turning into a girl! All those hours in cyberspace anonymity pretending to be female have finally started to bear fruit!
That of course is not the case and he knows. Could the throbbing pain in his thighs and ass be a warning sign? Maybe Shizuo drilled a gaping hole in his backside and he was chronically disembowelled. He stares blankly at the red blot on his boxers for a while and it vaguely reminds him of a Rorschach test. He thinks he'll consult Shinra Kishitani.
Izaya likes Shinra a fair bit because unlike most humans he has come across in his life, Shinra knows how to mind his own business. In fact he doesn't need to mind anything because he's never a part of anybody's business in the first place. He can ask Shinra anything because Shinra doesn't really give a damn about anyone's intent other than Celty Sturluson's. Izaya secretly envies how he always keeps to himself without ever losing that fusion of avuncularity and child-like curiosity.
Another thing Izaya quietly respects in Shinra is his abundant, almost obsessive knowledge of the human body. He can still recall that day in junior high school when he first learnt the amazing concept of menstruation and ruthlessly pestered his friend with questions during Algebra 1.
"Is it possible for guys to menstruate?"
The young doctor clicked his pacer against his chin in deep thought.
"Maybe? If you have the money to go to Thailand and get a vaginoplasty. But otherwise no. Where would we bleed from, the anus?" Shinra's eyebrows shot up as he laughed breezily, his glasses flickering under fluorescent light. Then he wrapped up the quadratic formula case he had been working on with a "Q.E.D".
Izaya thinks Shinra is pretty awesome, just as long as he doesn't hang around him too long with his overdose of proverbs and prattling. So it was never a tough decision to make when he chose to ask him the question during Biology.
"Hey doc." He gets the right tone of nonchalance. "What exactly happens after one has gay sex?"
Shinra twirls around in his seat and bores his eyes into his face. Izaya keeps cool, stares back, his pokerface unchanging. A moment of hushed silence passes between them both.
"You mean top or bottom?"
Izaya pops a cherry stem out of his mouth, tied into a perfect knot with his tongue. "Bottom."
There is a suspicious twinkle in Shinra's eye. "Is this one of your newest obsessions?"
"Not even close." The corners of his mouth twitch up as he remembers how embarrassingly pathetic Shizuo looked when he jumped his bones.
"You really want to know?"
"Quicker. You're keeping me hanging."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"...but satisfaction brought it back. Well? Let's hear it then."
"Nothing," Shinra shrugs. "Your ass just hurts, that's all."
As he positions his glasses and parts his lips to elaborate on the subject in his usual matter-of-factly way, a laser beam of pink chalk comes whizzing past their ears.
"Oi! You two! Pay attention or shut your trap and sleep like everyone else in class!"
Izaya knows the teacher is gay.
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3. SUPERVIXEN
No Man is an Island
Two freaks sit on a set of concrete stairs a block away from Raijin High; one ethereal hotbody clad in black with a yellow, feline helmet crowned upon a smoking neck, one distraught teenager with cowlicked hair like a dandelion, head wedged between his knees. It's their special quiet place amongst the bustling streets of Ikebukuro, but they can never quite escape the occasional speculative stares from passersby.
Most often think they are loons and walk on. Otakus often think they are cosplayers and whip out their digicams in excitement. Children often think they came right out of an anime and gawk in amazement. Whatever the case it is true that they complement each other well; an uncanny pair with matching yellow heads and sinister vibes.
It's a special day! she thinks. Celty has never heard Shizuo spill any sort of confession, up until this very moment. She gets ready for some groundbreaking information on her friend, secretly ecstatic they've finally made some progress on their brotherhood.
"I fucked Izaya," he croaks, dark half-moons bagging under hooded eyes.
This is not what she was quite expecting and she freezes on the spot, startled beyond belief.
She doesn't know which is worse: imagining them having the type of raunchy, hate-fuelled sex Ikebukuro girls swear by, or picturing him crying over his lost virginity like a pubescent girl.
[You mean to say you fucked him up?]
This upsets him even more.
"I can't believe I fucked that goddamn flea."
Passersby do a double take, alarmed by the outrageous confession and crumbling cement. Celty has never wanted anything more than to hide in a hole somewhere.
Oh damn, she thinks, raising her shoulders to sigh. Oh damn, she thinks again when she remembers she doesn't have a head to sigh with anyway. A pity, for she reckons she could've heaved one so heavy that she'd blow him off the staircase.
Comforting people is not exactly Celty's cup of tea and she knows it. What is one supposed to do in a situation like this? she questions herself. She racks through her mind in haste. In romcom movies she watched with Shinra, girls stuck to the following ritual: coo a "there, there", put a soothing arm around the shoulders, initiate some kind of emotional deep talk. Nah, she thinks, and decides against it.
She gives him a hearty slap on the back instead.
[You'll get over it.]
He groans and sums up everything perfectly into one word.
"Fuck."
You sure did, Celty thinks and laughs at the troubled teenager. All tension seems to have left his body and he hangs his head between his knees yet again. Oh, the pains of being pure at heart.
[Stand up,] she holds out a hand, helmet bobbing closer to peer into his face. [Let's get you a milkshake, a real good one. We'll go to the Milky Way Café, the one on the corner of Sunshine City—my shout. Up you get!]
She knows a little dairy nourishment will get his spirits up.
[Come on!]
He is a puppet on strings as she steers him towards her bike, a little too tall for her control. She knows exactly who he's hexing when she hears him chant "kill, kill, kill" with seething animosity, and a bright idea comes to mind.
Maybe she can get him a voodoo doll for his birthday. Give it some character; throw on it a red T-shirt, wrap it up in short-cut gakuran, glue a little flickblade into its hand.
She'll do that.
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4. THE OUTCAST
And History Repeats Itself
Shizuo is a whispering campaign. The guys believe he's a try-hard with all his violent ways; the girls are convinced he's some kind of sociopathic freak. Then there are others who firmly state that he's in fact a spoilt Yakuza brat—how else could he get away with such behaviour? His kumicho father must be bribing the school with hush money! Horror stories and schoolyard myths of the blood on his shirt circulate; in those he lynched, raped and murdered. The Japanese whispers don't seem to stop.
Unlike Izaya, Shizuo regrets a lot of things. He regrets the day he couldn't keep his anger bottled in and lost his first job at a convenience store in 10th grade. He regrets every rage-episode he's exhibited in public. He regrets all those countless times he couldn't say "thank you" or "sorry" let alone "please". He regrets his existence, because he knows he's a big, yellow coward. And now he regrets more than ever having screwed Izaya Orihara, then making things worse by turning up for History class in a fine, bloody mess.
If it's teenage angst, Shizuo knows it all too well.
"Cougar," he sulks, chewing the straw.
Celty cocks her helmet to one side, masked behind black where her eyes are supposed to be. He can see the streets outside the panoramic window glint in her face shield.
[I don't know what you're talking about.]
"You know what I'm talking about." Forcefully he slurps half his milkshake in a single gulp.
Shizuo is an angry, horny teenager who just wants some peace and quiet. And a great lay. He convinces himself that his monstrous strength is the curse that accounts for his lack of luck with girls, although the whole school seems to think that he and Celty are fucking, which is in fact not true, because she's probably banging Shinra.
The only being closest to a girl that he's acquainted with is the Dullahan. He does not consider her a love interest but sometimes he'll have certain...dreams involving her body. No one, not even Shizuo, who thought himself ethical and sensible, can resist drooling over those long, black limbs, those supple tits pressed tight against her bodysuit. She'd ride him like a horse with nubile thighs. A random head is almost always added to the sleek black figure, changing every time to suit his fancy—hence he knows he's not Sturlusexual. He can't fap to a headless body. He is no Shinra after all.
But even those wet dreams abandoned him yesterday when they decided to take a steep turn and feed him the most disturbing images to scar him for life. Izaya Orihara's head on Celty's naked body. That night he screamed and tossed and choked on his sleep until a cranky Kasuka pinched him awake and he was panting from morbid fear, not desire.
He admits he is a little jealous of Shinra. Only slightly.
[I DON'T LIKE LIKE YOU. Just to make things clear.] She ponders for a moment. [Not that you aren't attractive.]
"Tch!" Shizuo clicks his tongue in irritation. "Not me, God! I meant Shinra. Cougar."
[STOP CALLING ME THAT.]
"I'll call you whatever the fuck I want." He scowls, but his shoulders sag down. "At least people don't call you a monster."
Celty's fingers are a flurry as she types the words on her phone:
[If he calls you that again, you tell him, at least you're a monster with a genuine heart.]
"I guess we're two of a kind then, you and me," he grunts, obviously amused when she packs a small but firm punch in his shoulder. For them silence is golden. Just by a crinkle in the eyes or a leaking waft of smoke, they know how the other is enjoying the moment, thinking the same exact thing. They are freaks but they have each other. It'll do.
When Celty offers to pay—she did say it was her shout after all—he shakes his head. He startles her with the gentleness of his touch on her elbow, guiding her away from the kaching of the cash register.
"I can pay for my own shit."
[Suit yourself.] She sees the hidden thank you in his words and lets him settle the bill.
He pats down his right buttock for his wallet. Nada. In a frantic search he pats down every pocket he has in panic, turning pale.
His face is trembling when it hits him that not only did the hateful flea steal his virginity, but his wallet as well.
"IZAYA!"
[Oh boy.]
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Appendix
Sanpaku: The death glare. Refers to the way the eye whites pool under the irises when one looks up.
Youmono: Japanese slang term for "western porn".
Hideo Noguchi: A one thousand yen note.
Milky Way Café: A rather girly café located in Sunshine City that serves enormous parfaits and fancy beverages with constellation themes.
Sunshine City: A relatively shabby shopping area in Ikebukuro popular among young people, situated near Otome Road (yes, Karisawa's humble abode).
Gakuran: A black uniform worn by Japanese schoolboys.
Kumicho: The top dog of a yakuza tribe.