Delic comes when he's called, as he's known to no matter the situation. Izaya had entrusted him with a key to his place some time ago to save them both some minor inconvenience, and so Delic waltzes in as if the apartment is his very own. He eyes the informant while slipping off his shoes.
Izaya calls for only three things; fucking, fixing, and work. A television plays a news station unwatched as the brunet nonchalantly files his nails on the large couch, one leg crossed over the other. If the lack of teasing or curt, formality talk over the phone hadn't narrowed it down enough for Delic, then body language always did. He almost wants to snort. Cute, he thinks. Orihara would never just admit he's lonely. How weak and pathetic and how utterly human would that be?
Delic spreads out the arm not carrying his earlier purchases and sing-songs, "The fun's here."
Izaya's eyes slide to examine him as his head stays still, down turned towards his hands. "Alcohol? Really? Is that what you need to make others find your company amusing or just what you need to coerce another to the bedroom?"
The blond retracts his limb as if burnt. "Someone's testy. Putting me down already?" He sets his bag on the floor by the living room kitchen divider and walks over. Izaya's back to his nails before Delic makes it behind the couch. Leaning down, he slips his hands over tensed shoulders and gently squeezes. "If you wanted me to be below you, all you have to do is say so. You don't even have to ask nicely," he nips Izaya's ear before breathing into it, "Kami-sama." Izaya feels an electric tingle run up his spine as he tries to play off the jerk of his head with a turn of it.
"Now," Delic says while pulling away entirely and turning back to his bag, "What you need is a Screaming Orgasm." Izaya scoffs loudly.
At least the blond had enough sense to choose something more to his tastes. (Delic had long ago picked up on Izaya's preference to things with coffee liqueur.) He places his nail file on the coffee table, attention now on the distant noises in the kitchen.
"And if I don't want a drink?"
"I'll make sure you get what you need one way or another."
"Delichin is so presumptuous of what he thinks I need." Delic hands him the prepared beverage, his lacking the whipped cream garnish of the blond's own.
"Now, now. We both know if you just told me what it is you needed, we wouldn't have as much fun together." He situates himself on the couch so their thighs press against one another. While Izaya warily eyes his drink, a hand snakes around his body. Izaya huffs, the arm's draped over his shoulder to ensure he doesn't scoot away.
"Tell me about your day at the office, Cupcake." Delic has even risen his voice as he teases. Izaya's regretting calling the man over. He considers tossing his drink onto Delic and staining that pristine white suit of his. "Did your boss ride you too hard? What a slave driver! He should know by now that that's my job!" Izaya regrets having any curiosity in the man with Shizuo's face at all.
"Delic," Izaya simpers at the other man, his free hand has found Delic's thigh to trail upwards, "I need you to be quiet." He flutters his eyelashes for extra show.
The blond breaks out in to a laugh as Izaya finally sips his drink. It's not bad, Delic hadn't wasted expenses.
Fingers catch his chin, Izaya lets his head be turned towards his company. Delic's eyes are directly meeting his, glimmering with mirth in the dim room. There's a thumb gently stroking his cheek and jaw. "Absolutely anything you want, sweetheart." Delic says in a calm baritone.
Even if it's just the quiet acknowledgment of your existence.