The next two weeks are the quietest Shizuo can recall. He knows there must have been peace in his life, years and years before, before the knife-scar across his chest and the burn of Izaya in his city, but it's been years since he had such calm in his life. The air even lacks the thrumming electricity of anticipation, the calm before a thunderstorm that has been the closest to relaxation Shizuo has had in recent years.

He doesn't know what happened to Izaya, other than that he assumes the other continues to survive. It's impossible to imagine Izaya dead, even after very nearly seeing it close-up, and the city doesn't feel like it's missing something, just that there's an absence of an infection, the satisfaction of half-forgotten health. Shizuo tried calling Izaya's phone, or at least the number he had stored for him, but it offers an emotionless apology and an announcement that that number is no longer in service, and Shizuo isn't even surprised.

He doesn't dream. He sleeps without nightmares and clear through the night, and during the day everything is calm and peaceful and easy, the way he's always wanted it to be. The city smells clean and Shizuo can smile, when he remembers to, and he can feel this life reaching out for him, curling around him like the comfort of a blanket on a cold day, easing away the tension lingering in his shoulders like the last aftertaste of Izaya's presence. But when he gets home he pours himself a drink without thinking, collapses boneless onto the couch until he can convince himself to lie down and let sleep take him into an oblivion so deep it feels like dying before his time.

There's nothing special about this night in particular, no reason for him to jerk awake in the black hours of true nighttime with his heart pounding with days worth of underutilized adrenaline. The room is dim and silent but for the hiss of Shizuo's own breathing against the sheets; even the blur of noise from outside his window has dimmed to nothing, the late hour turning down the perpetual volume of the city. There is no reason at all for him to be awake, less so with his entire body tense like he's in the middle of a war.

Then he takes a breath, and his tongue burns with the familiar bite of metal, and everything makes sense all at once.

He sits up all at once, pivoting to get his back against the wall while he tries to pick a person's shape from the shadows around him. He blinks hard, waits for his vision to adjust; then there's movement alongside the door, pale not-shadows resolving into the line of a collarbone and the shape of a face, and Izaya steps forward across the floor, his hands hidden in the weight of his coat.

"Shizu-chan." Shizuo knows that voice, the steady pull of taunt under the words and the iron control framed stiff around the tone. It's missing the eerie tremble he has in his most recent memories, absent the accidental insight into Izaya's self that Shizuo glimpsed before. It's not exactly the same as it would have been before - Shizuo's not bleeding yet, for one thing - but Izaya's also not moving quite right, there's a limp to his motion that he can't entirely disguise as he moves closer and comes to stand at the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" Shizuo finally asks, when Izaya is close enough that his spine is prickling with the promise of danger, his veins nothing but adrenaline ready for a fight.

He can see the white of Izaya's teeth when he smiles, the sideways flicker as he tips his head. "Returning your clothes." He jerks his head back towards the other room. "They're on the couch."

"What are you doing in my room?"

A shrug, the flutter of eyelashes in the shadows. "It seemed a waste to pick your lock and not make the most of my time here."

"To do what?" Shizuo asks, and he lunges at the shadow Izaya is making at the edge of the mattress. He moves quickly, as fast as he can manage and with as little warning, and even so he's expecting Izaya to dart back with the whiplash reflexes he's always seen in the city streets. He's almost right. Izaya starts to jerk away, dodging the grab at his coat the way he would dodge a streetsign or a vending machine, but his injured leg doesn't obey as rapidly as his reflexes try to move. Shizuo's hand closes on a solid handful of jacket, and Izaya is falling before the blond can decide what to do with this hold, so what was intended as a drag becomes a catch instead, Shizuo holding Izaya's balance for a few brief seconds before Izaya can get his left hand up and clenched around the blond's wrist to steady himself.

"Not the welcome I was hoping for," he says, but his voice is cracking into uncertainty, and his grip on Shizuo's wrist is too-tight, his fingers are pressing bruise-hard against the other's skin.

"What were you hoping for?" Shizuo demands, and drags at Izaya's coat. The other hisses in protest but he's slipping over the bed, barely managing to get himself turned around so he's on his knees on the sheets by the time Shizuo lets him go. They're closer now, well within the range of danger, but Shizuo can see Izaya's face, now, or at least better than he could, and proximity is as much as advantage for him as it is for the other.

Izaya smiles at him again, the curve lingering at his lips but not touching his shadowed eyes at all. "What would you rather hear, Shizu-chan?" His fingers loosen on Shizuo's skin, trail up against bare skin to his shoulder, brush against the thin fabric of undershirt. "That I came to kill you?" Fingernails scrape the back of Shizuo's neck, map out the shape of his spine under his skin. Shizuo deliberately doesn't let himself shiver. "That I came to fuck you?" Izaya is leaning in closer, he's right inside Shizuo's personal space, and Shizuo can taste the danger on his tongue and can feel it burning hot with recognition under his skin. Izaya dips his head so low even without clear sight of his eyes Shizuo knows he's looking at the blond's mouth. "Maybe I just missed you, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo coughs a laugh. "Yeah, as much as I missed you."

He means it as sarcasm. He doesn't feel it turning to sincerity in his throat until he's speaking, until the words are coming softer than he intended past his lips.

He can feel the weird stutter in Izaya's breathing as he catches an inhale, telltale surprise even when he manages a laugh and a "Shizu-chan, I knew you had a heart in there somewhere." Shizuo knows he should lean back, or pull away, or maybe replace his bracing hold on Izaya's coat to match the fingers curling around the back of his neck; it's not like he doesn't know where this is going. But he's leaning in instead, unintentionally responsive to the thin fingers pushing up against his hair, and Izaya's mouth is on his and Izaya's teeth are catching at his healed lip and his heart is pounding harder than it has in days. There's pressure, the threat of a bite against his mouth, but Shizuo doesn't jerk away and after a moment Izaya lets him go without drawing blood, laughs against his lips and opens his mouth like Shizuo's passed some kind of a test. The taste of his mouth fills Shizuo's head, floods over his tongue and hazes his thoughts and he was fine, he hasn't missed this and he didn't want it but now that he has it again his breathing is unsteady and his heart is thudding too-fast in his chest and his hands are grabbing at Izaya's shirt, pushing up the fabric to press against the friction of bare skin and drag the other in closer to him. Izaya doesn't offer any resistance at all; he just tips forward, so far Shizuo loses his balance and falls back to the mattress. He could throw a hand out to catch himself but he doesn't, he holds onto Izaya instead, and Izaya lands on top of him with all his boneless weight so Shizuo grunts in the brief pain of impact as all the air leaves his lungs.

It doesn't distract him for more than a breath. Izaya is fitting their legs together, shifting so he can match his body to the shape of Shizuo's, and there's still a blanket between them but Shizuo can see where this is going and isn't going to offer protest. Fingernails are scraping against his scalp and dragging down the line of his throat but Izaya's breathing as hard as he is, Shizuo can feel the rushed pace of his inhales in the pattern of ribs under his fingers, and he's waiting for the panic, the self-preservation telling him to shove Izaya off him and run, but it's gone as silent as the city is without the other's influence.

"I know what your problem is," Izaya says suddenly, sounding as calm as if he's just collecting the thread of a dropped conversation, and confusion stops Shizuo's trajectory of kissing against the sharp line of his jaw. He drops his head back to the pillow and Izaya doesn't follow, just stays where he is so he's looking down at the blond. The light is still not reaching his eyes, but the rest of his features are clear, Shizuo can even see the tug of tension at the corner of his mouth.

"My problem?" he echoes back, too derailed to process the meaning for a moment. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You don't trust me," Izaya says, delivering this with an air of gravitas that seems to imply it's some great revelation.

Shizuo blinks. "Yeah?"

"That's your problem." Izaya leans in close, scrapes his teeth against Shizuo's jaw in something that is almost-but-not-quite a kiss and almost-but-not-quite a bite. "And my problem."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Shizuo repeats. He starts to sit up but Izaya doesn't follow, keeps leaning forward so his weight is pinning Shizuo to the bed. Shizuo doesn't really want to throw him off, at least not at the moment, so he stays still, keeps watching Izaya's teeth in case this is leading into direct attack. It's not really in the other's idiom, but still.

"I trust you," Izaya says, and this claim is so absurd Shizuo barks a laugh. Izaya huffs, lets his neck go to clap a hand over his mouth instead. "Shut up, Shizu-chan, some of us communicate with words as well as fists. I called you, I passed out on your couch, I slept in your bed." The last comes out raw, vicious at the edges, and Izaya's fingers tighten against Shizuo's lips. "I didn't have a choice. But you think I'm some sort of god, maybe, like I could materialize weapons out of thin air, and while I'm immensely flattered I'm not going to get what I want this way." He takes a breath. "So I'm going to make you trust me."

Shizuo laughs from behind the cover of Izaya's hand. Izaya lifts his fingers away and Shizuo pulls up the most vicious smile he can manage. "You want me dead, Izaya-kun. How exactly are you going to prove your trustworthiness?"

"I don't," Izaya says, so softly Shizuo almost doesn't hear the words. "I don't want you dead."

"You're full of shit," Shizuo snaps, because Izaya sounds almost sincere, and that idea is like missing a step. "How fucking gullible do you think I am?"

Izaya's expression goes soft around a laugh, amusement collecting in the corners of his eyes and flashing off his teeth. "Pretty fucking gullible, Shizu-chan." He leans in closer again, and Shizuo doesn't shut his eyes under the pressure of his mouth but he doesn't pull away, either, lets Izaya brush his lips to the blond's before he pulls back just enough to speak. "You didn't think about weapons at all, this time."

Shizuo hears the words, but it takes a moment for him to backtrack the meaning to their implication. He can feel the blood drain out of his face when it sinks in, when he realizes that's Izaya's left hand against his neck, that he hasn't seen the other's right at all, and that's when there's the scrape of metal against his skin.

Izaya's fingers close into his hair, drag his head sideways so lips can brush against his ear. "If I wanted you dead I could have killed you when I came in." A thumb catches the edge of his undershirt, pushes it up while Izaya slides the knife edge up in its wake. "I could have killed you when you pulled me onto the bed." Izaya's teeth catch at Shizuo's earlobe, pull sharp and hard enough to bring a burst of pain with them before he lets go. "I could kill you now." The knife presses in harder, threatening Shizuo's skin; Shizuo doesn't move his hand from along Izaya's back, but he can feel all his body tensing in expectation of pain, in preparation for adrenaline surging through him.

Then there's a movement, that same stunning speed that Izaya usually demonstrates on his feet, and Shizuo flinches even as he processes the lack of pain, the lack even of numbing adrenaline in his veins. Izaya's touch is gone too, the warmth of his fingers against Shizuo's ribs lost, and when the blond turns his head he sees why; they're gripping the handle of a knife currently buried at least an inch into the wall over his head.

Izaya lets the handle go, fits his fingers back against Shizuo's ribs to press warmth into his skin. "Relax." His lips brush Shizuo's shoulder, slide against the edge of his shirt. They are warm but Shizuo still shivers like he's made of ice. "Just trust me, Shizu-chan."

"Trust you," Shizuo says. He intends it to sounds sarcastic. It comes out trembling instead. "Fuck." A memory slides up to the surface of his thoughts, presses against his attention until he starts to grin with the edge of hysteria. "You make it sound so easy."

Izaya doesn't even hesitate, shows no sign of surprise at Shizuo quoting his own words back at him. "It is easy," he says, so smoothly Shizuo wonders for a moment if he was expecting the blond's answer. "Just relax."

Shizuo takes a breath. "Okay." He swallows hard, laughs weakly. "I deserved that."

"Yes," Izaya says against his collarbone. "You did." He's dragged Shizuo's collar down to the side, has his lips pressed so close to the blond's skin Shizuo is certain he's leaving a mark. He doesn't care. He already has an arm around Izaya's waist; the other doesn't have enough weight to offer any true resistance, once Shizuo twists his arm under himself and shoves them both sideways. Izaya lands hard on the mattress, starts to put voice to a whine of protest, but Shizuo covers his mouth with a kiss instead, bites at his lip until the protest turns into a purr of mocking reaction and Izaya rocks up off the bed against the blanket still trapped between them.

"That was a nice show," Shizuo says as he pulls away, kicks at the blankets to free his legs from the sheets. "How do I know you don't have more knives hidden on you right now, though?"

Izaya blinks at him, slowly and deliberately in the darkened light, tips his head back so the faint illumination catches off his throat. "I guess you'll have to check to be sure."

Shizuo doesn't wait for more of an invitation. He was really just trying to get his feet free, anyway. Izaya doesn't move as Shizuo comes in, doesn't start laughing with sharp-edged pleasure until Shizuo has his mouth pressed up to his throat so he can feel the shiver of the vibration under his lips. He keeps his mouth there, catches his lips to form a seal and sucks a bruise into the skin; it'll show over the neckline of Izaya's shirt, a mark more deliberate than their usual exchange of blood and bruises and concussions. Izaya tastes like fire under his lips, heat and smoke and poison bitter as cigarettes until Shizuo can't resist the urge to slick his tongue across the steady thud of pulse under his skin. When he pushes at the heavy weight of Izaya's coat the other lets his hold on Shizuo's waist go to slide his arm free, is replacing his hold before he tugs his other hand loose and reaches up to hook his entire arm around Shizuo's shoulders. With the better angle he can arch entirely off the bed, press himself in against Shizuo's chest, and that leaves not much between the heat of their bodies but an undershirt and a t-shirt that might actually be thinner than Shizuo's own.

"Aren't you cold?" Shizuo asks the dip between Izaya's collarbones as he shoves the black fabric high up across his ribcage. The bandages are gone but the tenderness remains, enough that he can feel Izaya almost-flinch at the touch of his hand.

"Not right now, Shizu-chan." It's a fair response. He's burning like an open flame, flaring hotter as Shizuo gets higher against his chest; Shizuo pulls back for a moment and Izaya lets him go in the same breath, lifting his arms and twisting against the sheets so Shizuo can strip his shirt up and off him. The loss of the covering leaves the dark stitches clear against the pale of his skin, stretching up over his shoulder and across the line of his hip as evidence of the injuries that have faded out of the purple-blue bruises Shizuo remembers. More importantly, it leaves the tremor in his breathing clear, the quiver under his skin making him look as fragile and human as he did that first night.

Then he grins and the moment evaporates, he's just Izaya again, all sharp edges and dangerous eyes and flame-hot skin It's still intriguing, and Shizuo can't see the mark from his mouth yet so he ducks back down, takes the offer of Izaya's slanted throat and sets his mouth in under the cutting edge of jaw while he pulls roughly at the fastenings of the other's jeans.

"Gently," Izaya purrs, the word more a suggestion than a protest. "I want to still have clothes to wear out of here." One hand drops from Shizuo's hair, slides in underneath the push of his fingers, and the button slips free like it was never held at all, the zipper all but falls open. Shizuo would protest or at least growl irritation but he's too busy getting his hand inside Izaya's jeans and pushing his clothes aside to get at the heat of skin-on-skin.

He's just starting to find a rhythm to the shift of his hand when Izaya's fingers close on his wrist, that same sharp-edged dig that leaves crescent tears in Shizuo's skin, and there's real danger in his tone when he speaks. "If you try to do that one-sided thing again I actually will kill you." It's a promise, Shizuo doesn't have to look at his eyes to be certain of that.

"I won't," he says, because his heart is pounding so hard he can barely see and every breath he takes feels and tastes like Izaya. "I just like you desperate."

"Fuck you, Shizu-chan," Izaya spits, scratching against Shizuo's skin, but he's not stopping the half-rhythmic motion of his hips, isn't letting his hold on Shizuo's wrist go. Each time he moves his leg presses in against Shizuo and it's friction and it's heat and it's not enough and Shizuo's patience is fraying fast.

"Shit." He jerks his hand away, breaks free of Izaya's hold at the cost of a row of scratches across his wrist before he rolls sideways on the bed. He doesn't process the strangled sound of protest Izaya makes until he's halfway out of his shirt, doesn't realize that must have looked like retreat until he's tossing the fabric aside and pushing at his boxers.

"I'm not going," he blurts as he kicks one leg free. "Take your fucking pants off, Izaya-kun, do you want to do this or not?"

Izaya hisses, so vicious it sounds like negation for a moment, but when Shizuo glances back he's dropping back to the bed, arching so he can push his clothes down off his legs. Shizuo topples sideways, stretches to reach for the drawer in the bedside table; he's still fumbling through the contents, looking for a half-forgotten bottle, when there's a touch at his hip.

"Hurry up," and the fingers drag harder, scrape maybe hard enough to draw blood and certainly hard enough to draw a shudder. "I'm tired of waiting for you."

"You're such a pest." His fingers close on the bottle and he twists back, nearly hitting Izaya's face with his forehead before he realizes how close they are. There's a whole expanse of bare skin, now, stitches Shizuo remembers setting and pale legs skinnier than he remembers, but Izaya is toppling back to the sheets and arching up in anticipation and Shizuo doesn't want to take the time for aesthetic appreciation, right now. He slicks his fingers fast and messy, barely getting the bottle closed again before Izaya is reaching for his hand to slide his palm across the slippery skin.

"What are you doing?" Shizuo demands, hesitating for a moment, and Izaya reaches down and pushes slippery fingers against warm-flushed skin.

"You don't understand basic commands, Shizu-chan." He shifts his hand into a grip, heat blossoming in the wake of his fingers, and then he moves and Shizuo can feel his spine arch in the burst of tension that follows. "Hurry up."

"Fuck you," Shizuo repeats, lacking the mental concentration for anything more substantial, but reaches down to do as he's told anyway. Izaya is shivering under his touch, spreading his legs wider and arching up to meet the push of the other's hand, and Shizuo can hear his breathing stall as the blond moves against him. His own heartbeat is thudding faster, his attention caught by the convulsive almost-moans he can see working in Izaya's throat, and he's finding a rhythm, falling into sync with the drag of Izaya's fingers like it's a race to take the other to incoherency first. Shizuo rocks forward to press his forehead against Izaya's shoulder, so close Izaya's gasped inhales ruffle his hair, and he's moving as hard as he can but Izaya is matching his effort; Shizuo has no idea what he's doing with his fingers but it's burning up his spine with every movement.

"Stop," he finally manages. "Christ, you have to stop, I won't last like this."

"Don't you have any stamina?" Izaya taunts, but he's breathless and shivering and it dulls the edge of his words. Shizuo laughs, sharp and short, draws his fingers back and grabs at Izaya's wrist to pull him off.

"Shut up." He shifts his weight, pins Izaya's hand up over his head and takes his balance onto that arm so he can use his other to push the other's legs wider and fit himself in closer. Izaya's radiant against him, all burning heat and sharp edges, and Shizuo drops his weight, and Izaya arches up, and Shizuo's there and Izaya's panting he's breathing so hard, and Shizuo doesn't contemplate stopping before he rocks his hips forward hard and fast.

Izaya makes a noise, a groan that echoes in his throat into a lower tone than Shizuo has ever heard from him; Shizuo is perfectly silent, can't breathe and can't speak and can't do anything at all but move in one desperate-fast motion to drown himself in friction and heat and pressure.

Now would be exactly the right time for an attack, some distant logical part of his brain points out. If Izaya wanted to do some real damage Shizuo has no defenses at the moment, no way to resist even if he saw danger coming. But Izaya's moaning instead of breathing, gasping on every inhale like his lungs aren't working, and Shizuo doesn't care, right now, even if Izaya did try to kill him, as long as he can have satisfaction first. He's got his mouth pressed against Izaya's throat again, just the damp of his lips on skin without even the almost-threat of teeth, and he can feel the thrumming resonance of sound against his mouth as clearly as the slide of fingers across his stomach as Izaya shifts his hand against himself, the motion of his wrist falling in time with the movement of Shizuo's hips.

Shizuo doesn't try to resist the rising tension he can feel gathering against his spine and low in his stomach. He's already capitulated to the danger; at this point all the adrenaline is doing is pushing him to the edge faster, promising stronger relief when it hits. He digs his fingers in hard against Izaya's skin, can feel the give of skin catching and tearing under his fingernails, but Izaya doesn't offer even a hiss of protest around the desperate gasping he is offering in lieu of breathing. Shizuo doesn't slow his movement; he's too far gone, can only observe distantly that he's going before pleasure hits him in a single convulsive wave. He groans into Izaya's shoulder, his fingers slip against the other's hip, and for a small infinity of heartbeats there's nothing but heat washing his vision white and sweeping all his physical control into shuddering relief.

He's still breathless, still blinking starburst light from his eyes, when he registers how quick Izaya's breathing is going, how jerky his movements have become. It's not deliberation as much as instinct that loosens Shizuo's hold on Izaya's hip in favor of pushing his hand aside; Izaya offers a whine of protest for the pause in the friction, but then Shizuo replaces the other's touch with his own and Izaya chokes, reaches up to grab at Shizuo's shoulder, and that's agreement enough. Shizuo moves over him as fast as he can, rough and irregular but hard and quick, and it does what it's supposed to, brings Izaya shaking into orgasm in a matter of seconds. Shizuo doesn't feel the scratches across his shoulders for the heat along his spine, doesn't notice the effort of his own breathing for the whine in Izaya's, and in the first moments of mutual satisfaction he doesn't even want to pull away from the sharp edges of the other's body.

"Are you going to stay?" he finally asks, before he lifts his head from Izaya's shoulder and before he's pulled away.

Fingernails scrape against his shoulder, retracing aching skin. Shizuo does feel that, hisses weak protest, but the ache of hurt isn't worth the effort of pulling away. "I haven't decided." Izaya sounds considering, his tone only slightly ruined by the way he has to pause to breathe in the middle of his sentence. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

"Not at all," Shizuo lies. "I'd sleep better knowing you weren't here."

"Mm," Izaya hums. "I'd hate to keep you up, Shizu-chan. You need your beauty sleep."

Shizuo huffs an exhausted laugh. "Fuck you, Izaya-kun."

Izaya shoves at his shoulder. "Get off me, at least let me use your shower before I abandon you to your dreams."

"Don't drown," Shizuo suggests as he pulls away and lets Izaya go.

"Of course not." Izaya is unsteady on his feet but he doesn't pause to bother with clothes before making for the door. "I would hate to deprive you of the pleasure of killing me."

He takes a long time in the shower; by the time the sound of running water stops, Shizuo has pushed their tangled clothes off the bed and is on the verge of sleep himself. It's disconcerting to be woken up by damp skin and the sharp edge of a voice demanding "Move over, Shizu-chan, you're taking up the whole bed." But then there's a thin shoulder fitting under his arm, wet hair that still smells familiar under the clean of soap, and skin flushing warm to more than make up for the chill of evaporating water it brings with it. Shizuo curls in closer, rolls half-over to pin Izaya down to the bed, and lets sleep take him.

He dreams through the rest of the night.