The concrete alleyway is dark, but Izaya's saccharine smile is ever darker.
"Shizu-chan," he whispers, and it's like silk on sandpaper as a flickblade presses into the blonde's pulse hard; when Shizuo swallows in a barely controlled seethe a nick in his neck is made as swiftly and accidentally as the low snarl that rumbles in his throat afterwards. Crimson eyes follow a bead of equally rust-ridden blood: it travels vertically down Shizuo's skin, a vacant vagabond searching for a place to rest.
It finds satisfying sanctuary on Izaya's tongue. He leans forward to lap the heavy drop up, still keeping the sharp weapon dangling from his fingers in an assuredly safe position, and a smirk tugs at Izaya's lips because he can feel the flame sizzling hot that is the simmer of Shizuo's fouler side.
And only he can bring out that one-hundredth degree of rage.
Iron hits the informant's tongue and he soaks it in greedily, drinking in more of the metallic taste by licking his way back up until he meets the steel of his flickblade dangerously and Shizuo knows he can't move, growls because his adversary is getting so much out of this. Izaya simply trails his tongue back down Shizuo's skin until he finds a texture that appeals to him.
He bites.
Teeth break skin and Shizuo's muscles jump like puppets, but already Izaya has relocated to another patch of salt and sweat and given the same attention, blade tilting at an angle in gleeful reminder when Shizuo's fingers twitch in fury. Izaya's grin crowds into the grooves he's just etched into his favorite-least-loved canvas.
"They told me not to play with wildfire, Shizu-chan," he coos, nibbling at his enemy's throat, "but you're just dry air in an oven, hmm?"
Shizuo doesn't quite get the comparison but he knows it's meant to be insulting-and he makes a muted sound of disapproval, curdling at the edges with something animalistic and hair-raising-but Izaya only laughs because he's the one in charge here, at least for now. Shizuo can't do a thing to stop him as his teeth play over the debt collector's neck before finding new niches to abuse.
Stinging, loving, despising.
Izaya has just enough to time to admire the possessive bite marks littering Shizuo's flesh before his knife is brutally plucked out of his grip. He curses because he'd been distracted, and Shizuo's new hold on his wrist aches just as much as it burns.
Shizuo is aware he's leaving bruises but he can't bring himself to even care. Black and blue blooms on Izaya's torso as powerful fingers dig in, eliciting an acute gasp from the smaller of the two as he's shoved forcefully into the alley wall, the crack of his head against the dull brick echoing like a gunshot in the tense atmosphere that permeates the somewhat private area.
"Fuckin' flea," Shizuo grinds out through a clenched jaw before leaning down to savagely attack Izaya's neck with a scrape of teeth and the scent of danger, danger, danger--Izaya shudders, clawing at Shizuo's back with barely widened eyes. He can see his flickblade lying on the ground about a foot away. If Shizuo just slips up, for one moment...!
And Izaya's salvation comes in how Shizuo finally releases his oppressive grip on Izaya's hips in order to work at the front of the informant's jeans, and it doesn't even matter that one hand is still making dents in the wall next to Izaya's head: it's an easy bypass since Izaya needs to twirl in the opposite direction anyways. There's a rush of air and a brush of clothed skin and then the dark-haired man is scooping his weapon off of the ground with a short chuckle; before Shizuo can even realize what's happened Izaya is pressing him against the alley wall with a flickblade to his throat yet again, positioned at an angle just above the ex-bartender's spine.
He trembles in anger and maybe something else as Izaya eases him down lower to the ground and grinds up into his ass, slow as hell and savoring the victory. Izaya nuzzles into the side of Shizuo's neck, brushing against bruises and bite marks from recent encounters-and his eyes gleam as he flicks his tongue over a patch of skin before his teeth sink in, and neither can tell if Shizuo's answering drawn-out groan is out of frustration or pleasure.
Izaya figures it doesn't matter either way, murmuring softly with that ever-dark, ever-present and sweet smile:
"You'll always be only mine, Shizu-chan. Ne?"
:::::
Original Prompt:
"Izaya/Shizuo - bruises and bitemarks
Partially inspired by the song, but I want actual marks. And the flickblade!"