Pairing: Shizuo/Izaya; Izaya/Shizuo
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Shizaya - kissing. Just some good ol' fashion mouth and tongue action :P

Enkindle

:

It burns, sets them alight.

The kiss always starts slow, just a soft fanning of breath against a mouth; he teases, eyes lion-dark in his tanned face, watching and waiting and poising himself for the perfect moment to strike as warm, mint-scented breath caresses over the other's mouth-taunting and just out of reach, waiting for that moment of relent that comes when fingers tangle in blonde locks, dragging him downwards.

Mouths finally clash, the kiss now a battlefield, brushing and retreating before finally surging forward to claim what is his, has always been his, and the unstated assumption is enough to force the claret-eyed man to bite back in retaliation, teeth harsh against sensitive skin-vicious enough to draw blood, but that was something that he had expected from the start. It's never the same, never as good if there wasn't that small bit of retaliation in the beginning.

Victory is so much better when there's fury and blood and flashing eyes, all flavoring the taste that was as familiar as his own: his, his, his.

A tongue swipes then, licking away the small drop of crimson, and parts suddenly willing lips, plundering a mouth that's so wet, so hot, so perfect, and he feels an answering stirring from his cock. But the sudden craving to have this mouth lower, somewhere else-the desire is set aside because, now, he wants nothing more than to taste and savor and claim again and again and again and again.

And as his tongue strokes against the other's, curling to press possessively against the roof of his mouth, he is rewarded with a soft moan-grudgingly given, to be sure, but given all the same. The brunette's tongue finally comes into play, challenging and cocky, pushing back his tongue so that he could, in turn, trace along the edges of the blonde's teeth, lingering in (once more grudgingly given) fascination over a small chip in a tooth, tongue's tip flicking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until it took everything within him to keep himself from finally just pinning down that too-skinny body and pushing towards that final conclusion.

But it starts, as always, with a kiss:

Wetter, lips covered in saliva and with mouths slowly, torturously sliding against one another's; neither willing to break the kiss, not for breath, not for words, not for anything-because pulling away means that it's too intense and neither likes losing. Especially to the other. So they kiss and kiss and kiss, slow and hot and heavy, breath steaming between them as their mouths search for that one particular angle, that one particular glide of tongue, that one particular lewd suck on a lower lip that would finally make the other's breath hitch and stutter, body shuddering and finally giving those two words that are just as good as running up that white flag:

Fuck me.