"Wake up, Shizu-chan."

"Fuck." Shizuo growls against the pillow, throws out one hand without looking. He misses his mark the first try, gets his fingers pressed against the scar in Izaya's shoulder instead of his mouth. "Shut up." There's a laugh, explicit disobedience even if Shizuo had thought for a moment that words would be enough, the scrape of fingernails across the blond's ribcage as Shizuo feels out the shape of Izaya's mouth by running his hand up the line of the other's throat. He gets his fingers at Izaya's mouth, and Izaya gets his teeth against Shizuo's hand, and there is a moment when Shizuo realizes I should have seen that coming just before Izaya bites down and tears blood out over his skin.

"Ow," Shizuo snaps, and kicks at the too-skinny weight next to him. He makes contact but it's a glancing blow, Izaya is twisting away and off the bed and Shizuo is sitting up to grab at him before processing the capitulation inherent in his motion.

"Morning," Izaya drawls, stepping back across the floor to stay out of Shizuo's reach as the blond growls and lunges for him without extricating himself from the sheets. There's no hint of a limp, the evidence of his injuries long since healed to white-traced scars Shizuo can only make out in the brightest of lights or under the gentlest of touches. Unfortunately that proof of health makes him harder to catch, demands that Shizuo climb out of bed entirely in an attempt to pin the other in against the corner of two walls. He's still drowsy, bleary with lingering sleep, and either Izaya has been awake for some time or he comes to full alertness within seconds of waking because he's darting out of the bedroom, skirting towards the living room and leaving Shizuo to hiss and advance in his wake.

"We made a mess last night," he's calling back as Shizuo emerges. Izaya's hanging over the back of the couch, stretching to curl the tips of his fingers under the collar of an abandoned shirt and fishing it up so he can crumple the fabric in his hand and press the cloth to his nose. "When are you going to quit smoking, Shizu-chan?"

"Fuck off," Shizuo hisses. "If you don't like the smell of the smoke-"

"It doesn't smell like smoke," Izaya says, and he's grinning, Shizuo can hear the amusement in his voice even if his mouth is covered by the fabric. "It smells like me," and that stalls Shizuo's words and motion both, leaves Izaya unobstructed as he laughs and swings the shirt around his shoulders so he can fit his arms into the loose sleeves.

"What do you think?" He's smiling, tipping his chin down so his eyes are cast dark in the shadow of his hair and the white of his teeth flashes brighter. Shizuo moves forward without thinking, crossing the distance so Izaya has to hurry in the movement of his fingers as he buttons up the front of the fabric. "Do you still have a fetish for me in your clothes?"

Shizuo's close enough to grab at him now; Izaya doesn't pull away, this time, when Shizuo grabs at his shoulder and drags his balance sideways and stumbling. "I don't have a fetish for you wearing my clothes."

Izaya raises an eyebrow, gives up on the buttoning in favor of looping an arm around Shizuo's shoulders. "There's no use denying it." His free hand presses in against Shizuo's chest, trails down over the bare skin until he can wrap his fingers against the blond's waist and dig his fingertips into the other's back. "We both know you dressed me in your shirt the first chance you had."

"I could have killed you instead," Shizuo points out, even though that's an old threat, the sharp edges worn dull by repetition and lack of follow-through for what have been months of opportunity. It still makes Izaya purr in the back of his throat, the sound the only warning Shizuo gets before the other trusts his weight to the arm around the blond's shoulders so he can loop his legs around Shizuo's hips and pull himself in closer. Shizuo grabs at his waist to counterbalance his weight and Izaya whines, arches in to push himself closer. Nails scratch against the back of Shizuo's neck, Izaya ducks his head, and Shizuo doesn't even flinch at the tear of teeth against his shoulder.

"Why did you even get out of bed?" Shizuo asks. It's a few steps to the wall, where he can shove Izaya's shoulders back against the support and free his hand to fumble at the half-done buttons of the shirt. "This would be easier there."

"You were asleep," Izaya whines, sounding plaintive and harmless. "I just wanted you to wake up."

"You bit me." The angle is wrong, the gap between Shizuo's body and Izaya's too small. Shizuo closes his fingers on the open collar of the shirt and pulls sharp so the thread holding the buttons to the fabric gives way.

"Yes," Izaya agrees. He's laughing against Shizuo's shoulder, pressing in closer even at the pinging of the plastic of the buttons hitting the floor. "You woke up."

"Fuck," Shizuo says again, and he wish he wasn't fighting back a laugh but he is. "You're fucking insane."

"You like it," Izaya says, and it's a statement rather than a taunt and Shizuo can't muster a denial. He pushes in harder instead, crushes Izaya's breath away with the pressure of his shoulders for a moment, and while the other is gasping to regain his composure Shizuo sets his lips at Izaya's ear, close enough that his cheek is pressed against the sharp edge of the other's cheekbone.

"I hate you, Izaya-kun." His fingers are up against Izaya's skin, tracing scars under the shadow of Shizuo's own shirt, and Izaya's heels are pressed in against the curve of his spine, and the words come out soft and gentle on his tongue.

There's a laugh at his ear, breath tickling his hair, and Izaya's teeth close at the bottom edge of his earlobe, tug just short of pain before he lets go. "I hate you too, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo huffs amusement, and Izaya purrs against his hair, and neither of them try to pull away.