Sorry about the wait! Senior year isn't the breeze that it should be! But anyway, thank you to each and every one of my reviewers, I literally jump around and do a happy dance and eat a celebratory cookie when I get a review. And thank you to everyone who fav'ed and followed this story. I love you all.

Durarara! isn't mine. If it was, there'd be considerably more buttsex and less shiptease.

OH GOD IT HURTS! Well, that wasn't quite the right description, Izaya thought as his knees crumpled beneath him and his vision whited out. More like he'd never felt this good before, the pleasure assaulting him so intense that it bordered on pain. When he regained some semblance of awareness, he was on the ground, gasping for air, his head cushioned by Phil's lap.

"Uhnn…" Izaya's voice came out hoarse and raw. Had he been yelling? He'd be surprised if he'd been able to keep quiet throughout that… tumultuous… episode. Phil chuckled. This sound awoke Izaya's protective barriers. No one should have the right to observe him in such a… vulnerable… state. He tried to move, he really did, but his limbs were impossibly heavy, and it took so much focus just to remember how to breathe.

"I'm curious," Phil's voice was like a smack to the face, slightly less deep and less rough than the one that had filled his ears moments before, "who is it that is so desirable that he made you come that hard just from the mere thought of him?" Izaya became uncomfortably aware of the warm sticky wetness in his pants. He'd come without even being touched. How embarrassing, he thought vaguely, but the emotion was still distant from him. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you," the incubus continued, stroking long fingers through Izaya's dark hair. Izaya shuddered. Not the fingers he wanted. Not that I want anyone's fingers. Fuck. "I still get to feed, whether I induce orgasm or not. I stuck around to tell you thanks for the meal. So thanks for the meal. Goodbye Orihara Izaya." Izaya's head hit the floor with a loud clunk as the demon vanished in a wisp of black smoke.

Izaya didn't stand up, didn't move. The shell-shocked informant lay sprawled spread-eagle on his carpet, his mind, finally clear after being rid of wanton desire, fixed on his miscalculation. How had Shizu-chan of all people evoked that kind of common, vulgar response in him? Izaya's eyes lidded. He'd never thought that he'd… enjoy that type of thing as much as he did. As a fresh wave of satisfied exhaustion rolled over him, his mind drifted, despite his protests, into a hazy daydream, recalling what had happened perhaps seconds, perhaps hours ago…

His knife fell from his shaking fingers, his snarky comment escaping his lips as a whine. He couldn't aim at Phil. He couldn't see Phil. Shizuo was in the way. Shizuo was supposed to help his aim, not hinder it! Shizuo was supposed to be powerful! Powerful. The word reverberated, a husky purr in his mind, spoken in Shizuo's own deep tones.

"Take the tie, you flea scumbag." Izaya was powerless to resist. After all, the blonde man had him cornered, had chased him into the narrow alley between two tall brick buildings. At the taller man's urging, Izaya pulled at the black bow tie, so that it hung open around the blonde's neck.

"Now the buttons." Large hands guided Izaya's own to the muscular chest, which he proceeded to uncover, inch by precious inch. He tugged the unbuttoned shirt from the black pants in which it was tucked and pushed it from Shizuo's broad shoulders. He looked up at Shizuo, meeting his light brown eyes, the pupils blown wide with lust. He waited unashamedly for more instructions, panting lightly. He had lost control the moment he had been caught. There was no point pretending to pull the strings anymore. He'd just pretend afterwards that this had never happened. Just a momentary lapse of sanity.

"Buttons." Shizuo's growl interrupted his struggle for rational thought. "All of them, louse. You're not done." Izaya's eyes widened. Tentatively, he reached out towards the blonde's slacks, brushing against a hardness that definitely wasn't a button. With a low groan, the larger man fisted his hands in Izaya's jacket, pulling him forward into a steamy, passionate kiss, slowly grinding against him for good measure. The rough clash of tongues and teeth tasted like strawberry milk with a hint of metallic blood.

"Ah! Shizu ch-" Izaya's mouth was reclaimed before he could finish, the larger man ravaging him with a powerful and erotic dominance. Shizuo pushed the informant back against the brick wall of the building, grinding mercilessly into his hips. Izaya desperately clawed at the debt collector's shoulders before fisting in his hair…

Izaya jerked out of his reverie as the deadbolt to his door slid open and Namie strode in, looking annoyed as usual. It was probably a mark of her utter distain for him that she didn't bother to inquire as to why her boss was laying on the floor, but he was glad all the same as she stepped over him, no questions asked. Groaning, he hauled himself to his feet, pulling at his jacket to hide the shameful stain on his pants.

A shower was the best way to unwind. The incubus was gone. Everything was back to normal. Izaya could control his own body, and his own thoughts. He would not think about what had just transpired, wouldn't recall the rest of that horrible fantasy. Because it hadn't stopped at kissing… Izaya cut off that line of thought, stepping into the hot shower. He registered that it must be morning since Namie was here. Maybe this was all a dream. If not for the gravity pulling hard at his eyelids, he would've been tempted to believe it. His sleep deprivation reminded him that he'd spent the majority of last night staggering around Ikebukuro with a boner. How distasteful. Better to just wash all this away, sleep it off, and learn how to fortify himself against parasites like that one. Phil. Izaya still giggled a little at the name, even though he found nothing remotely amusing about his situation. It was ironic, all right, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh at his own misfortune the way he did with others. He knew one thing and one thing only: he would never be helpless like that again.

It was nine o'clock, Izaya's phone told him as he towel-dried his hair. And six hours later, after a deep and dreamless slumber in which he could have been mistaken for a corpse if not for the faint breathing, Izaya had to go out. Life didn't pause, didn't slow down, and there was a man on the run, the same man that he'd practically handed to the yakuza on a silver platter. They'd fucked it up, and once again, Izaya was their only hope.

Life doesn't slow down. Life doesn't pull punches. As Izaya bade a cheery farewell to his secretary, he contemplated his situation, coming to a similarly cheery conclusion: he got trolled by life. The world was a big, strange, wild place. And there were predators and prey. He preyed upon the weak, the fragile humans, and in turn was the prey of the supernatural, the unpredictable. What had happened was one in a million, would never happen again, practically a statistic impossibility. And the… fantasy… was not his fault at all, nor did it reveal anything disturbing about his personality. Many women experience rape fantasies, not because they desire to be raped at all, but because a non-consensual sex fantasy frees them from responsibility and guilt about wanting sex at all. Had his perceived loss of control in his own episode been much different? It certainly didn't mean that he had a hidden desire to be dominated. Definitely not. Definitely. Not. Fuck, he hoped it was that simple. But whatever the deal, it was over now. He would never forget about it, but would be wise and learn from the experience. Never look a demon in the eyes. And keep his apartment under careful surveillance from now on. He was the same Orihara Izaya as ever, he thought cheerily, strutting his strut down the sunny sidewalk. Just with more world experience and knowledge. He passed a couple of hookers on a block without a second glance before coming to the street corner where he would meet his yakuza contact. Normally he would just ask Shiki to stop by his apartment, but it was only good business practice to meet him halfway sometimes. Besides, Shiki had specifically requested this arrangement, and it would have been rude to refuse. And it was never a good idea to offend a yakuza, even if you're Orihara Izaya. His skull was no less fragile than any of his humans', and he could end up at the bottom of Tokyo Bay almost as easily. Almost.

Shiki drove a foreign car, a gunmetal BMW, a sleek little number that still had plenty of foot room in the back seat. Because a grunt drove, of course. Shiki sat in the back, in a haze of cigar smoke and a hint of cologne. Izaya slid into the back seat deftly, waving with flourish, as much in greeting as to waft the copious smoke.

"Orihara." Izaya nodded to the driver, then to Shiki, who had spoken.

"Good morning, Shiki-san! How did you find my information last week? Useful, I hope?" As if he didn't already know.

"As if you don't already know." Shiki was nothing if not observant.

"Ah, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable!"

"That'd be impossible." Izaya chose to ignore this comment. He'd take advantage of Shiki's infatuation eventually, but not today.

"So he escaped. Not very neatly, though. Once we decide on the amount of payment-"

"Let's wait until lunch to talk business, Izaya." Izaya's eyes narrowed infinitesimally at the casual use of his first name.

"Lunch?"

"Yes. A nice meal to talk business. You are far too used to sneaking around like a criminal, Orihara-san. We are businessmen." Izaya supposed that this was unavoidable. He had turned Shiki down for the better part of six months. It was only a matter of time until the gangster took matters into his own hands. Izaya allowed himself to be drawn into the idle chat that the yakuza showered him with. He'd just tough this out. It was part of the job. At some point, Shiki made some hand gesture, just noticeable enough for Izaya to register that his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows in an uncharacteristically casual manner, displaying the intricate designs inked into his skin. Unbidden, a hot pang of desire jolted down Izaya's stomach to his groin as he guiltily recalled the way he'd thought about those tattoos the night before. He smirked in spite of the feeling, forcing the desire away. How was that still happening? It worked at first, but he was in close proximity with Shiki. They were close, and he was a warm body with tattoos and a devilish authority that begged to be undermined. Izaya's control wavered slightly. It wasn't surprising. He'd never had the desire to control himself before. He never practiced self-control, just done whatever he wanted whenever he felt that it would be fun. But he didn't want this. He didn't get urges like this.

"Hey Shiki, stop the car." The gangster cast him a suspicious glance, but allowed the car to pull over. Izaya was silent, unbuckling his seat belt, exiting the vehicle, waving merrily, and slamming the door. If his control slipped that would not be good. So he'd removed himself from the situation. No need to explain himself to mere humans. He darted away into the milling crowds of Ikebukuro before Shiki could think to follow him, simultaneously congratulating himself for an intelligent reaction and freaking the fuck out that he seemed to have retained that heightened libido that the demon had awakened. In this state, Izaya walked indiscriminately, passing by a large blonde man in a bartender's suit without looking up from his own pale hands.

"IIIIZAAAAYAAA-KUUUN!"

MEOOOW! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll try to update at least once every two weeks, more often if I can. Bye-bye for now, you beautiful perverts!