A/N: Wrote this as a Christmas gift for a friend, and another encouraged me to post it on here. First time writing DRRR fic, so I apologize for...everything. (Oh, there are two authors on this accound, because you all totally care, and I'm Keira.)

Kida Masaomi had hoped he would never find himself on this particular doorstep again.

Actually, that was a lie; he'd known in his heart that he would come crawling back. He'd just sort of hoped it wouldn't be so soon. He didn't want to need the man who awaited him on the other side of the door, but the sad truth was he had no one else to turn to.

Kida took a deep breath, the cold air shaky in his lungs, and rang the doorbell.

The one who answered the door was not who he was looking for, because last time Kida checked Orihara Izaya didn't wear such short skirts.

…Well, not on a regular basis, or anything. And he would never put those two colors together.

The woman, who he'd recognized as that one chick who was Izaya's secretary, or something, frowned. "…What do you want?" Kida noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the tangles in her long hair; she looked mere steps away from insanity. Common side effect of prolonged exposure to her employer.

"I'm here to see Izaya-san."

"Are you here to take him out of the house?"

Kida wasn't sure if he was more surprised by the question, or by how damn eager she sounded. "What…no? Why would I be?"

"Fuck," she mumbled, voice so low he suspected he hadn't been meant to hear at all. "…Well, you might as well come in."

"Thank you…" he ransacked his mind for her name, which didn't take very long; there wasn't that much there, "…Namie-san."

Namie simply grunted in reply, fleeing in the direction of the kitchen as soon as Kida was inside. Izaya's apartment was completely dark save for a small Christmas tree in the front hall, but Kida knew his way around.

"Izaya-san?"

The older man was sprawled out on the couch under a massive pink comforter, clutching some sort of stuffed animal to his chest. His red eyes were transfixed on the flat screen television; the blond followed his gaze to find…

To find…

Jesus, was that Barbie? Not that Kida, um, knew what Barbie movies looked like or anything. He'd just made an educated guess based on the fact an animated blonde was skipping through a field of rainbows, her princess gown flowing behind her. Izaya was watching the scene unfold with a look of pure fangirl joy on his face.

"…What are you watching?"

The informant jumped, grabbing the remote and changing the station the moment he realized someone was there. The new station was one of those movies with a lot of explosions and all-around manliness.

"What does it look like?"

Kida took a hesitant step closer, examining the hot pink DVD case laying open on the coffee table. Specks of glitter fell onto his hoodie as he picked it up to read the title. "Barbie And The Nutcracker?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Izaya, oh-so-subtly hiding the plushie under his mountain of blankets. "This is Die Hard."

"There's no need to be ashamed." Kida grinned as he added, "Unless you're afraid I'll tell everybody that Orihara Izaya likes the same movies as a five-year-old girl."

"I know what you keep on your computer, Masaomi-kun." Izaya was really the scariest when he smiled, Kida decided, if only because he knew nothing made the man happier than the suffering of others. And, apparently, Barbie. "I hardly expected you to come and see me so soon…what an interesting development."

"This isn't about that."

"That?"

Kida waved his hands vaguely. "Any of that. It's something else."

Before Izaya could ask what, a slightly terrified and extremely disgruntled Namie walked in bearing a plate of freshly baked holiday cookies. The informant clasped his hands to his chest, crying, "Ooh, was Namie-san nice enough to bake for me without my asking first?" Amidst all his glee, the black-haired man failed to notice his beloved plushie had tumbled out of the confines of his comforter and onto the floor. "Maybe she'll finally do that home pedicure kit together!"

Kida reached for a cookie, hoping that was sarcasm; Izaya and his secretary-with-a-little-brother-fetish sprawled out on the floor, doing each other's nails and talking about boys, was one of the worst mental images he'd had all week.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you, Masaomi-kun~"

Against his better judgment, the blond hesitated with the cookie centimeters away from his lips. "…Why not?"

"Namie-san probably poisoned them." Izaya's smile never faltered as he turned to trollgrin at the secretary in question.

"…" She glared silently down at the carpet, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like foiled again before stomping back to the kitchen.

"Now, I believe you were about to ask for my help~."

Since Izaya had been so kind as to not offer him a seat, Kida sat cross-legged on the floor, close enough to the forgotten stuffed doll to see what, exactly, it was. He picked up the plushie, gaping at it in pure disbelief, hoping, praying it wasn't what he thought it was.

Miniature hoodie, miniature jeans, miniature earrings in little fabric ears…

Oh lord. It was.

"What the hell is this."

"Karisawa-san had it made especially for me~" the informant sang. "Don't you like it? I know the eye color is a little off, yours are a little lighter brown. But it was the best she could do."

"…Why do you have a…doll of me? Is this for voodoo?"

Izaya laughed, giving a few hundred thousand children nightmares. "Voodoo? Silly Masaomi-chan, it's not for voodoo."

"Don't tell me this is like your Shizuo posters—"

"We do not speak of those."

"—that you burned in a bonfire after he started dating that blond chick."

"We do not speak of those!"

Namie, walking by with a stack of files, added, "His Shizuo complex was a few months ago, where have you been?"

Masaomi wondered what Orihara had moved on to, but was rather afraid to ask. "Anyway…I still need your help."

Izaya smiled. "I'm listening."

"It's…uh, it's Christmas Eve…" He expected the informant to make a smartass remark, but he was silent, staring at him with mild interest and extreme creepiness. "Mikado's having a party. And, well, I…I need your advice."

From her place at the filing cabinet, Namie snorted. Not appreciating her input, Izaya frowned, asking, "Advice with what?"

Kida took a deep breath, trying to stop his hands from shaking. This was the most awkward moment of his life, worse than even the fifth grade production of Romeo and Juliet. "…On how to get a guy to like you."

Going beyond the impossible, Izaya's grin widened. "In that case, Masaomi-chan, you've come to the right place.~ " Lifting up the comforter, he patted the space next to him on the sofa. "Now, have a seat…"

The blond swallowed, despite the giggles it would produce in the audience, his throat suddenly dry. He was so going to regret this.

This had to be the lamest party of the year, Kida thought. He wondered if maybe the fact it consisted of four people had anything to do with the high concentration of dweeb levels, but shoved the idea away; it surely was because someone was playing a Christmas CD by Mariah Carey.

Thankfully, Mikado's apartment was small enough four people was a crowd. Takeguchi, the random child from his class he had insisted on inviting so he would feel like approximately 69% less of a loser, was curled up in the corner, DS in hand. The blond attempted conversation, but all he got in reply was Gotta catch 'em all. Pokémon was a conspiracy. He knew it.

But now wasn't the time for exposing the government's heinous plot, it was time to put his Get-Mikado-To-Hook-Up-With-Me Plan into action. Start by giving the man in question a sultry look, Izaya had said. Like you're undressing him with your eyes. Go ahead, try it.

Masaomi twitched a little at the memory; he'd thought he'd been immensely successful until he realized Orihara was actually stripping.

The blond attempted this on Mikado. After five straight minutes of failure, he gave up.

Now~ When you finally walk over to him, you need to know how to stand. Pelvis out. When Kida had responded with "Pelvis what?", Izaya had been kind enough to give him a hands-on demonstration of just how to position his hips. A little too hands-on, but the blond had always been a "doing" learner, at least according to his first grade teacher.

Making his way over to his best friend with all the pure, slick class of a mime on stilts, Kida took care to stand exactly as the informant had instructed.

"Hello, Mikado," he said, in what was supposed to be what romance novels would call a purr but came out a little more like a child molester. Close enough.

"Hello, Kida-kun. Is th-there…a reason you've spent ten minutes staring at the wall like you want to hump it?"

Maybe he did have the sultry look down. If only the ones effected weren't inanimate objects.

"What can I say, you have damn sexy walls." That was another thing Izaya had taught him: If you say it right,/i anything ican be a sexual innuendo~. Damn it all, why couldn't he just stop thinking about Izaya, already! The troll was successfully ruining is holiday without even being there.

"K-kida-kun!"

"There's no need to be jealous of your house, Mikado, there's plenty of Kida Masaomi to go around."

His best friend shot him a moe equivalent of a death glare, which is a slight frown. "Could you stop making your lame jokes for one day?"

Plan A: failed. The blond stuck his pelvis out a little farther, earning an odd look from Anri, who was holding hands with Mikado while blushing –wait.

Wait.

Wait. Pause and rewind. Anri. Was holding hands. With Mikado. The realization hit Masaomi like a two-ton anvil from the old cartoons: his Get-Mikado-To-Hook-Up-With-Me Plan was destined for failure. Because Mikado didn't like him. He liked…boobs.

The blond stared at the carpet, eyes going out of focus, gray colors swirling into a rainbow drug trip akin to a musical number from an animated Disney movie. He shook his head, coming to his senses; now was not the time for an LSD sequence. It was time for tragedy. Because Mikado liked boobs. Had his seduction techniques not been enough? He'd Izaya's advice perfectly.

…Waaait. Maybe Izaya was the problem. Of course, that had to be it! The informant had successfully trolled him once again, giving him seduction tips so terrible they had turned Mikado straight!

This new knowledge in hand, the blond took off, ignoring the questioning calls of "Kida-kun?" behind him. As usual, everything was Izaya's fault, and it was about time to get revenge.

He found the informant in the exact same spot as the last time, eating a candy cane like he hadn't just ruined the blond's hope for a successful relationship. If his smile was supposed to be welcoming, it failed.

"You did it on purpose!" Kida cried, pointing dramatically for good measure.

Izaya just glanced at him, unfazed, giving the candy cane a long, slow lick. "Pay up, Namie-san."

The secretary grumbled, fishing through her purse until she came up with 2000 yen. Shooting Kida a vile look, she asked, "Couldn't you have a little more pride? I didn't expect you to come crawling back for a few more hours, at least."

"I'm not crawling. I'm here to complain." He turned to Izaya, who was licking the tip of the candy cane in a rather unnecessary manner. "Your seduction techniques suck!"

He regretted the word choice instantly.

As Namie retreated to the kitchen, the blond swore he saw a hint of a smirk on her face. Izaya sent him an exaggerated frown. "Maybe it was your delivery that was bad."

"I did everything you asked! And it still failed!"

"Maybe you just need more practice~" He patted the space next to him on the sofa, smiling. Kida got a chill. "Come on, tell me all about it."

Warily, the blond positioned himself next to the informant. "I should have known better than to follow your advice. Those suggestions were so bad they led him to start holding hands with Anri-chan inste—what are you laughing at?"

Izaya quieted himself to giggling, which was worse, somehow. "Silly Masaomi-chan~ Ryuugamine-kun is straight."

There was an awkward silence. Several gay babies were born.

"You…you knew?" The black-haired man nodded, smiling still. "And you let me go ahead with it anyway?" Enraged, the blond got up to leave, only to be pulled back down again by the other man.

"Don't be angry, Masaomi-chan."

Kida shook his arm, but Izaya had a grip like a corpse, or maybe a rapist, hopefully not both; that would be a zombie movie gone horribly wrong. "Don't call me that!"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like it. And why shouldn't I be angry? You lied!" He hesitated a moment, the stupidity of his words sinking in. "Not that it's anything new, but still…"

"You wouldn't have believed me if I told you the truth," he pointed out, adjusting his blanket cocoon so it covered Kida too. "Don't doubt my seduction techniques, they are extremely effective."

The blond was about to throw the comforter off, but it was too warm to resist. "On what, walls?"

"What?" Izaya's trolllaugh was a little less sure than usual. "And they worked perfectly on me."

"E-eh?"

In a move reminiscent of a bad health class film on stranger danger, the informant's arm creeped out of nowhere and pulled Kida close to him, a hand ruffling his blond hair. "You're so cute, Masaomi-kun."

"And you're a fucking child molester!"

"You're legal in six months and this isn't molestation. Molestation would be—"

"No demonstrations, please." Kida's face was burning; he told himself it was anger at the supposedly unwanted contact. This was a lie.

Izaya laughed a little, down to just his natural levels of disturbing. "You know, the only reason I made it so you'd come back over here was because spending Christmas alone would be…boring."

Namie snorted again. "Meaning he's lonely and doesn't have any friends."

The informant ignored her completely. "I also have cookies that actually don't have antifreeze in them," he added, smart enough to know the best way to bribe a Kida was with food. "So—"

"Fine, you win."

"…What?"

The blond refused to meet his eyes, feeling his face grow steadily redder as he responded without thinking. "I'll spend Christmas with you."

Izaya tightened his cuddle and smiled with all the joy of an insane man with a machine gun and room full of innocents. "I knew you'd come—" he giggled "—around! Now, if only Namie-san would be nice enough to stop bitching for a moment and put Barbie And The Nutcracker in the DVD player, then everything would be perfect."

"Put your damn gay movies in yourself," his secretary responded, the vaguest hint of a smile in her scowl. "I'm doing all the work you leave unattended while you troll Omegle."

"Namie-san is so harsh," Izaya whined. "She can't even be nice one day out of the year!"

"I'm going to put arsenic in your drinking water," she mumbled, stomping away, no doubt to rearrange every item in her boss's desk drawers.

Typically, Izaya continued to rant. "Really, Namie-san, I think your unresolved sexual tension with your brother is getting to you, or is it PM—" He was cut off when Kida leaned up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around the neck; the blond was unsure which one of them was more surprised. When he finally pulled away, the informant was speechless for the first moment of his life.

"Merry Christmas," Kida mumbled, getting comfortable in Izaya's stranger danger embrace. It was then it hit him: he'd gotten Izaya to shut up. Didn't he deserve a nobel prize for this, or something?

An old, angry wife of a nagging doubt in the back of his mind pointed out his Get-Mikado-To-Hook-Up-With-Me Plan had crashed and burned like the notion of Pluto being a planet, but, at that moment, he didn't care.

After greatly increasing the world's Gay Baby Population, Izaya called out, "Still waiting on the Barbie movie, Namie-san!"

Kida sighed, betraying his better judgment and leaning on the other man. He could get used to this.