Hi guys, thank you so much for waiting for me. Thanks to all the readers who left me a comment – they're much appreciated. Thanks to all the sweet people who left on my Tumblr profile some very supporting comment, to my beloved Su and my beta Kay. And also, thank you so much if you're still willing to read my fic even if I haven't updated it regularly. I really want to hug all of you.

P.S. There's another chapter coming soon.


The sky above the wild lands had unstable emotions. In the afternoon it had been limpid, but now it was packed with clouds; rain hammered the ground in diagonal sheets and thunder tore it apart. Animals and mythological beings cloaked in dark mantles looked for a shelter, but not everyone was lucky enough to find one. Far away from the village by the sea, into one of the extended forests in depths of those remote lands, one of those unlucky beings wandered helplessly. This, though, was no monster or mythological creature or beast but a plain, middle aged man carrying a bulky backpack.

The man was Niekawa Shuji. Underneath the dark sky, the cold rain soaked him through.

He was far from home, haunted and exhausted from traveling into uninhabited lands, caught in the downpour before he could find a suitable place to camp, hearing only the roar of the wind raging and rain falling and his own racing thoughts about how far was the closest house, how far a road or a car or another human being.

He was looking for a depression in the ground or fallen tree to use as a shelter, when he spotted a cottage sitting on a clearing by a stream. It was the only thing there. There were no other houses around it, and this one would have looked abandoned if it hadn't been for the fact that it appeared too polished to have been forsaken in a place where nature had the upper hand on everything - no spider silk adorned the windows, the slate roof was still in perfect shape, the dark wood looked untouched as though nature and weather decided to skim it, keep a distance from it to neither chip nor fade it.

When the man slipped out into the clearing and approached the cottage, a horse hidden somewhere in the back of the house neighed a "what the fuck are you doing here?" kind of noise that made him jump on his feet and flatten his back against the wall. Despite exhaustion and fear and the ache coming from every part of his body, he felt satisfied with himself: he hadn't only found a shelter in the downpour; the person who owned this cottage must know the secrets of these haunted places enough to be able to survivein those lands that killed everyone who dared to cross them.

Shuji was a step from reaching the target of his life, writing an article called Wild Lands: All the Truth. Indeed, if he managed to discover how somebody could survive in these lands unscathed and even build a cottage on their ground, he could leave the third-class tabloid he worked for and become so loaded he would stop being a journalist for good. He would offer his daughter Haruna a change of life. Would she respect him, then?

Abruptly, a tremor of fear reached through the darkness, raising his temperature and making his heart beat faster. This building looked like a normal cottage. It was not. Shuji's back wasn't resting against bricks or wood, but against a material that reacted to the presence of his body, extending and retracting to tickle the back of his neck like the furry legs of a fat spider. It was alive.

He jerked away, breathing hard, though when he looked at his back he saw that the wall hadn't moved. Was he going crazy?

The wind raged between the trees like a frustrated child screaming for attention, scattering raindrops everywhere. Some of them fell against the window glass, producedripples into the surface, and then disappeared into the darkness inside the house. Strange, he thought. The window glass reflected his own face and the trees at his back, how could it be that there weren't raindrops sliding on its surface? Ignoring his own terrified face reflected in the glass, he extended a shaky finger. Ripples propagated in concentric circles from the point where his fingertip broke the material's surface, and he felt like he had touched a thick layer of steam, but cold, like he had stuck his hand in a refrigerator. Sure as hell, this wasn't glass as Shuji knew it.

He fought the instinct to flee because, rationally speaking, how could he expect to find something usual in a place like this? There were no electricity poles in those godforsaken lands, no technology where myths were the only facts. There were no cars, no phones, no roads and no standard building materials, just unresolved questions that he, Niekawa Shuji, soon-to-be popular journalist, would be willing to answer once he came back. He breathed in. Breathed out. Fought the hysteric voice in his head repeating, "if you come back," and knocked at the door.

The door echoed back a muffled, sinister sound, but nobody replied. He swallowed the lump in throat and called out, "Ahem, hello?" No one answered. His hand trembled when he twisted the handle and stepped inside.

Within, the walls and floor were pitch black, and it was so dark that he couldn't perceive what lay a few feet from his nose. Frost hung steadily in the air inside and, even after he'd walked past the threshold, no hint of old wood scent, past meals, coals being left to extinguish in a fireplace could be perceived. The house smelled of nothing, like a shadow.

Though it looked like the owner wasn't here, he felt that the house wasn't empty. The atmosphere was heavy as though someone was in the room with him and waited, hiding in the darkness, observing.

"Hello?" Shuji called out tentatively.

The door snapped shut at his back.

Shuji felt a tight pull of fear in his guts. He cried, "Who's there?"

No answer. Silence reigned everywhere. He couldn't even perceive the sound of his own harsh breathing anymore, only feel the chilly air flooding in and out of his lungs. Shuji couldn't hear the sound of the rain, and the wind had fallen shut as though all of a sudden it had passed by to die somewhere else, far in the distance, far beyond the hills on the horizon, which was the place where he wanted to be right now.

Something moved behind his back, like a breeze – a fragile, cold breath of air.

Shuji whipped around. Through the fake window glass, he saw nothing but ragged veils of rain.

God, it's so quiet in here, and so dark, he thought. His shaky hands fumbled in his pockets for a flashlight, and when the unsteady yellow light flickered and broke the darkness, he recognized that in the whole room there was no furniture beside a chair and a table with a roundish centerpiece on top. He drove the light on the centerpiece, and the bull's eye on the black countertop showed that it was no plant or vase.

Fear curled up inside of him, clamped his ribs and settled in his chest like another organ - dark, uncomfortable, pitch black like the room he was in.

The centerpiece was a woman's head.

From the lack of blood, it looked like the severed head of a doll – a hypothesis which he discarded immediately. It was too real to be a doll. It was a perfectly preserved part of a corpse instead. Coppery hair fell in loose ringlets over the pale skin, and its eyelids were half-closed over green eyes. As he gazed at those delicate features, the man thought that this head must have once belonged to the most beautiful woman he had ever met. In a trance, he found himself stroking its cheeks and eyelids, brushing the lips that felt full and pliable despite being so cold, and felt at ease, grateful even, that there was so much beauty in this godforsaken place.

Abruptly, it was as though a cold blast of air had sucked the molecules of oxygen out of his lungs, stealing his breath.

Rising from the dark corners of the room, a sinister noise electrified the air.

Though the sound formed words that humans understood, that wasn't the sound a human being made. Shuji felt like he was Eve hearing the first time the Snake spoke. It was a sepulchral, ancient voice.

"Welcome," it said. A chill ran up the back of his knees.

Before he had time to understand what happened, the wind mounted a sudden assault on the cottage, slamming the entry door open in a frigid blast of air and rain. Fanned away by the draft, the clouds unveiled the moon, and by its silver beam, Shuji caught sight of a tall figure standing on the threshold.

It was a woman, cloaked from neck to ankles in a dark cape.

A strangled shout left his mouth as he saw the trail of smoke coming out of her neck.

She had no head.

For a moment, there was stillness on both the man and the monster's sides. Then, the headless woman drifted like a ghost in his direction, gesticulating violently and then raising her hands above her neck while she shook her nonexistent head, as though she was trying to talk to him. Though he wouldn't ever believe that a monster like her meant no harm; he wouldn't ever trust her!

The flashlight he threw hit the woman in the chest hard enough to send her kneeling on the floor. Too bad, he thought, he wanted to smash her to the ground, erase her presence from this world. His hands fumbled in his pockets to find something to use as a weapon, and when he found none and only hopelessness remained, he shrieked, "Die, monster!"

Rising all of a sudden from the darkness, that ice-cold breeze froze the sweat trailing down his forehead. "You heard him, Celty. He called you monster. And said that you should die. Funny, isn't it?"

By the dim light of the moon, as it forced its way in the dark cottage, the journalist understood where the sound came from – the severed head on the table was alive. Its eyes, wide open, were fixed on him. Amusement shone through their neon green gleam, vicious and malignant.

As sweat trickled all over his body, he felt like his skin had grown another layer on the outside, cold and rigid like Arctic permafrost, that enveloped his body and made his every muscle shiver and twitch, every instinct screech flight. With a low moaning cry, the journalist fled across the threshold into the clearing.

The headless woman followed.

On the grass outside the cottage, a dark shadows lurked on the damp soil, chasing him, stretching to graze his ankles. While he waded across the stream, the pebbles of the riverbed gave way under his feet, and he fell with his back into the freezing cold water.

The smoke rose across the sky and the sight of it sent a wave of panic through him. It was close, too close. He struggled to get on his feet.

His scream filled the wild lands. The shadow had caught him. It started wrapping across his wrists and ankles, until he was strapped in tightly, its thick strands cutting deep enough into his skin to cut off the blood from reaching his fingers and toes which soon grew tickly. When the shadow had encapsulated his whole body, he felt trapped like a fly in an amber amulet. Secured into that darkness, the man screamed and clawed, but the shadow swallowed every effort he made, and into that unbreakable silence, the only sound came from inside his head in the form of two whispered words: his name.

Dying didn't take him longer than flipping off a light switch - as the last syllable of his name had been spoken, his soul vanished in the night air like light in a black hole. Only then did the shadow dissipate around him like smoke being blown away, and he fell. The stream dragged his corpse away, slowly, like a predator dragging a carcass into its nest to savor it in peace.

In the meanwhile, the Dullahan stood on the bank of the river, thinking.

A few hours ago, she was wandering in the forest nearby pondering about what she must do with herself, when she got caught in the downpour and decided to go back. In her home there was a human being called Niekawa Shuji and, somehow, his presence managed to reestablish the bond between Celty and her head, waking it and hence giving her the ability to kill. What had come next happened so fast. The man had ignored her pleas to calm down, hit her, called her monster, escaped, and then—

In the following seconds, Celty swore she had acted like stranger but, no, it was the other way around: lately she had felt like a stranger and in those few moments in which she had killed that man she had felt like herself. And even now, the weight of her head across against her arm made her feel whole, and that sensation crumbled the feelings in her heart, shattering them to glass pieces that reflected the light only faintly.

The head chuckled. "Feelings in your heart? You never had a heart to begin with. You think that I'm the mean part in you. I'm not. The look in that man's eyes when he saw you will be the look that human you claim to love will show you one day. This is our nature. He's human and you're a goddess of death. Why follow some forgotten memories of your past lives? Killing humans was what you were born for. How can a snake fall in love with a rat?"

Right. It hadn't changed anything to go in the human world either – she came home more confused, more shocked, longing for a life that didn't belong to her. Maybe in another life she had lived among humans and loved a man called Shinra, but in this life she was supposed to kill humans. Maybe it was all coming from her head, but the sensation she felt when she killed that man concealed the last sparkles of doubt like stars in an overcast sky.

"It's not over yet. There's one mistake you need to correct. Those two men-"

Those two men were supposed to die while embracing in that field studded with wild flowers that night. She was supposed to call their names. It was her duty as Dullahan. Neglecting her nature only weakened the bonds with her head enough to make it fall in a deep slumber, leaving Celty alone with her thoughts. Nothing good came from postponing their death or meeting Shinra; all that remained was reverie and sterile remembrance.

She knew what to do. Smoke and rain vaulted around her when she hopped on the coach and incited her horse Shooter at a gallop.

I have to find them.

I have to kill them.


Izaya shivered at the gaze Shizuo sent him.

It ran through him in a shudder that momentarily stopped all thought about what this was, what this might mean, what hell of a mess he did create for himself. It came to him like hunger, powerful as rage, and then they were crashing into the dark alley, all hands and lips, kissing until Izaya became conscious only of the scent and taste and feel of Shizuo.

Izaya felt himself leaning against a wall, strong hands all over him, stroking his nipples through his soaked shirt, threading into his hair. Shizuo's touch became so overwhelming that Izaya screwed his eyes shut, feeling Shizuo's lips on his neck, feeling his fingers tracing the length of his spine. He felt Shizuo's strength increasing, the heat growing. Izaya felt his mouth being pried open, and a bolt of fear lanced through him because for a split second he wished to spend the rest of his life like this - at night, in this village, his arms around Shizuo's neck, Shizuo's hot breath on his lips. Izaya shivered. This was all too good. Too scary.

Shizuo stared into Izaya's eyes. "Does it hurt?"

It did hurt. Shizuo wasn't holding himself back and Izaya didn't want him to because pain numbed his mind enough to wipe away the memory of Shizuo holding that woman in his arms, Shizuo sparing his life, Shizuo taking care of him as if Izaya was nothing but the ghost of the man that he once was. So Izaya shook his head and underlined the concept by winding his fingers into Shizuo's hair, pulling harshly to see Shizuo flinch a bit, his eyes becoming blazing fires. Izaya would have stabbed him. It didn't matter if Shizuo ended up punching the life out of him - Izaya needed him rougher, more violent, more passionate.

Shizuo wrapped his arms around Izaya, holding him gently now, and Izaya tried to remember how to breathe. When Shizuo's other hand came up, the warm fingers cupping Izaya's cheek, pulling him closer, Izaya laughed at how hesitant Shizuo had become all of a sudden. But then Shizuo kissed him again, and Izaya felt lost in his kiss, all defenses giving way.

There was a flash of warmth in Izaya that spread out of his heart, a flash of heat that burned in his groin. Izaya touched Shizuo's chest. Through the wet fabric, his fingers caught the outline of the scar he had left there when they were sixteen, traced it back and forth, and when he dug his nails into it, Shizuo jolted as if struck by lightning. Izaya smiled through the kiss, and ran his hand over Shizuo's pecs, slowly, moving down his body, down to where the belt held the slacks onto his hips, down. Izaya's blood ran hot, pooling in his stomach and rushing between his legs like iron filings attracted to a magnet.

Their eyes met – held.

Izaya would never know how he had let himself do it, but without lowering his eyes he touched Shizuo's cock. Shizuo hissed and flinched, slamming his eyes shut, as though he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to such a sharp and immediate sensation – as though Izaya had stabbed him and was on verge of twisting the knife. It took enough time for Shizuo's features to relax that Izaya wondered if Shizuo wanted this for real, if he was sure that he shouldn't come back and ask Kyouko out instead of making out with him.

When Shizuo's hazel eyes opened, they immediately read something on Izaya's face that Izaya himself couldn't fathom. Shizuo ruffled his bleached hair and confessed.

"I've never been with anyone. Never wanted to. Not with this strength of mine. I want this so bad, don't get me wrong, but you're gonna have to teach me a lot of stuff, Izaya. And you gotta be patient and clear about what you like and what you don't because I don't even know how to touch you!"

Izaya breathed out, trying to release the pressure locked between his sternum and shoulder blades. "Don't be dramatic. I don't have anything you don't already have. Do you get what I mean? It's not that difficult, even for a protozoan head like yours, since, as you may have already noticed, I have a dick too. I bet you've already jerked off before. So stop freaking out thinking that I'm going to break with a puff of wind and just stroke me like you stroke yourself."

Shizuo snorted. "Oh, that was so helpful. I feel so much better now. Don't blame me if you end up without your thing down there."

"You've already touched my dick before."

"Sure. And then you almost stabbed me. And ran away. Disappeared for eight days too."

"Do you think I'm going to break that easily?"

"The problem is not you, Izaya."

"I'm telling you to go ahead. What the else do you want me to say?"

"For fuck's sake, tell me to stop if I'm hurting you."

Izaya's tongue felt like a lump of sand in his mouth as the words Shizuo spoke sank in, slowly, like a stone in mud. Izaya took in the sight of his golden disheveled hair, wet from the downpour, the gorgeous spread of his shoulders, the bruises from the fight he wore everywhere on his skin. Right now, Shizuo looked as he did after the fights they used to have, before the night of the fire, yet, Shizuo couldn't be more different from that man that only wanted to pour every ounce of his inhuman strength into Izaya's body.

Izaya's hands closed in loose fists. "I'll kill you if you say it again."

The words had slipped through his lips without his consent. He regretted them now. Shizuo wasn't supposed to know how much his words had affected him.

When Izaya walked past Shizuo to take his leave, Shizuo spoke.

"Don't you fucking dare to take a step more."

Shizuo's voice was so deep and commanding, making Izaya's groin twist with heat.

Izaya exhaled a shaky breath. At his back, he felt Shizuo's body close to his, Shizuo's breath over the sound of the pouring rain. Izaya could smell him – sweat mingled with rain and blood, the intoxicating scent of the sunrays slightly baking his golden skin, mahogany from the pub, cigarettes and soap and their lavender flavored shampoo.

Izaya jolted when Shizuo's thumb rubbed slowly up and down the sensitive underside of his wrist, right over his pulse point. Shizuo pulled Izaya to him, and wrapped one hand across Izaya's waist, keeping him with his back against his chest. Shizuo licked his ear, sucked gently on the earlobe, and started to slide his other hand under Izaya's shirt, down Izaya's stomach. It moved softly over Izaya's skin. Inch by inch, like a priest's fingers shifting ever so slowly over a rosary, Shizuo traced the course of Izaya's ribcage, abs, navel, going lower and lower. Izaya's heartbeat throbbed deep in his guts, building up the knot at the base of his cock.

Shizuo groaned, deep in his chest, and unbuckled Izays's belt. Izaya jumped at the contact but stood still, let Shizuo undo the button, pull down the zipper.

Izaya felt wetness at the tip of his cock; he knew that he was leaking. His cock, rock hard, thrust up against the elastic of his briefs, throbbed against the damp fabric.

Shizuo was slow, rhythmic, gentle, moving down his body, down, running his fingers over Izaya's stomach, all the way to his navel, and Izaya's legs almost gave out when Shizuo's hand started to move to the hot junction between his legs and groin, with his fingers splayed wide, then moved to the hem of Izaya's briefs, shifting only his fingertips under their hem as though he was teasing Izaya, as though he was just making fun of him. Izaya felt hate for him flash through, briefly. Shizuo's fingers slid softly on the elastic of Izaya's underwear, pulled it away from Izaya's belly and hooked the briefs under his swollen balls, so that his cock reared high above the band and its tip steamed in the cold air, glistening with all the pre-cum it was dripping.

Shizuo grinned, slowly, like he had just bitten into the forbidden apple that the Snake gave to Eve and realized that he loved how it tasted like. He groaned across Izaya's earlobe. "God, you're so hard."

A smirk broke over Izaya's face but barely saw daylight before he felt the shape of Shizuo's massive, clothed bulge pressing and pulsing against his bare ass. The low, pitched groan that Shizuo made at the contact was barely audible, but it broke through Izaya's ear and ran all the way to his cock, making it vibrate with urgency.

And, really, Izaya wished Shizuo would just undress and take him the way Izaya needed it: quick, powerful, brutal. Though Shizuo touched Izaya's shoulder with his hand and, once again, passed his fingers all the way down over Izaya's chest and over his stomach and just lightly near the base of his cock, just to feel the hair. Shizuo traced the shell of Izaya's ear with his tongue and breathed his way down to Izaya's neck, as his fingertips this time slipped through the tangle of his pubic hair near the base of his cock and kept going down, tracing the outline of his thighs, building up pressure. Every muscle in Izaya's body was so tense, steely with desire, that he wasn't sure he wouldn't pop off like a bottle of champagne when Shizuo finally touched his cock.

When Shizuo traced up the underside of Izaya's cock with just a stroke of his fingertips, so lightly that it almost tickled, Izaya looked up at the dark sky, his eyes rolling up. He sighed. At his back, he heard Shizuo doing the same. Izaya felt his cock twitching; a big thread of pre-cum slid down his length and met Shizuo's fingers.

Izaya glanced up at Shizuo's profile. Shizuo looked down at him. Izaya grinned. "Hey Shizu-chan. Don't worry. If it goes bad I can always resort to reconstructive surgery. I'll have it remade bigger than yours."

A smile broke on Shizuo's face. "Oh, fuck you, Izaya. You ready?"

"Yeah," Izaya said thickly.

Izaya's breath released in a burst from his chest at the first, long, rough slide down onto his cock. Shizuo's hand was hot, hard, closed in a tight grip, and the blood in it thrummed at the same rhythm as Izaya's heartbeat. Izaya was frozen, because Shizuo had just started stroking his cock raw, without spit as lube, and his world was spinning, and he was about to burst.

Shizuo's hand pulled back on Izaya's length, then ran up to the head of his cock that became hot and red and oversensitive from the dry rub it was getting. Shizuo's hand flowed up along Izaya's cock, slipping and sliding, smearing pre-cum and building up so much pressure that Izaya wasn't sure anymore if the freezing-stinging-burning sensation he felt was pain or pleasure.

Shizuo looked down at him and Izaya hid his face in the curve of Shizuo's neck to save himself from seeing Shizuo's hot, eager stare, his wet mouth whispering the word, "Alright?"

Izaya replied with a shaky nod.

"Good," Shizuo said in a low voice, increasing the pressure enough to make Izaya arch his back and groan softly.

Izaya fought against the climax as it rose inside of him, but Shizuo's hold was firm across his waist, locking him in place, and Shizuo's hand tightened even more, his fist slowed its hyperactive pumping and instead made fast, undulating motions across the base of Izaya's cock. Izaya tensed his muscles to chase it away, but it was going to catch him, choke the control out of him–

Shizuo reached out for him, tilting Izaya's jaw with his fingers.

Izaya turned and was caught unexpectedly in Shizuo's eyes - dark, half-closed, and looking nowhere but at him. Shizuo drew up his hand to the head of Izaya's cock, slid a fingernail across the slit, and then pressed so hard, so harshly that the sharp pain sent everything into slow motion. Izaya gasped, taking in a quick breath, and then stopped breathing.

"Oh," Izaya whispered, as he felt the surge breaking though him. "Oh fuck," he groaned, as the pulsations grew so intense that they were almost too much to bear.

Izaya howled as he thrust his hips into the vise-like grip of Shizuo's hand, pushing, pushing to get all the friction he could. A creaking groan escaped Izaya's lips, his whole body twitched, and the orgasm rose all the way from his toes like a firestorm that left searing splinters in his spine. He arched his back into Shizuo's arms and came fast and hard. From his reddened cock, gripped tightly in Shizuo's hand, the first shot of cum exploded, hot and sticky, splashing itself across Shizuo's hand.

"Thank you," Shizuo whispered, almost breathed, kissing Izaya softly on the corners on his mouth, thumb prying Izaya's lips open to kiss him scorching, heavy, wet, sucking on his lips and drinking his moans while he hugged him fiercely. Against him, Izaya jerked and shook and cried; his whole body was in convulsive motion and everything was shaking but, against Shizuo, he felt solid.

While Izaya struggled to catch his breath, he saw Shizuo lifting his fingers to lick away his cum. Shizuo hummed. "You taste good."

Izaya let out a shaky, breathless laugh. "Better than milk?"

"Can't decide," he said.

Izaya wasn't expecting for Shizuo to push him with his back against the wall and kneel in front of him. Shizuo's mouth now stood an inch from his cock.

Izaya flinched. "You don't have to do it."

"Bullshit," Shizuo groaned. The rain had made his shirt cling to his skin, and the muscles on his shoulders and arms flexed and thrummed as he slid his hands up Izaya's hipbones, making him look as though he had been sculpted out of fine marble. Shizuo met Izaya's eyes with that unblinking gaze that pinned Izaya there. Shizuo's wet lips parted and a feathery whirlpool of breeze teased Izaya's cockhead. Izaya opened his mouth and a long silent breath escaped.

Izaya shook when Shizuo flicked his tongue against the sensitive tip, light as a chaste kiss. Shizuo's tongue pressed into the slit. Izaya yelped. Shizuo closed his eyes and dragged the flat of his tongue roughly up the underside of Izaya's cock, rolling it across the tip, and furled his tongue there, cleaning it from the cum, and there he lingered, suckling.

"Yeah. Better," Shizuo said in a rich, silky tone that made Izaya's bones feel as though they were vibrating.

Izaya thought there was nothing better than Shizuo sucking him slowly, deliberately, stroking the whole shaft with the flat of his tongue. The sensation made Izaya's knees give out, and he searched for support against Shizuo's shoulders, folding himself on him with his hands knotted in Shizuo's shirt, his knees locked under Shizuo's armpits, his cock surrounded by wet heat.

Izaya heard faint voices coming up the alley. They were indistinct; he couldn't make out what they were saying. People were approaching. Izaya's eyes were shut, but he knew that Shizuo had stopped to look around. The passersby could be close. Izaya didn't want to look. He was a shaking mess already; shivers passed through his body, and his cock was starting to grow hard, a drop forming at the tip. He didn't care if the whole world saw. He would let Shizuo be the one to worry.

Though Shizuo didn't seem to be terribly worried, either. His skin was hot as a griddle, the muscles under it were as tensed as if he was wearing armor. Shizuo ran his fingers to either side of Izaya's waist, as though he was a sculptor molding Izaya's body from a piece of clay. The palm of Shizuo's hands followed the curve of his ass and Izaya hissed, his hips wanting to thrust his cock deeper into Shizuo's mouth but unable to do it because Shizuo had him pinned.

The approaching footsteps echoed sharply in the deserted alley, each of them ringing in Izaya's mind like an alarm.

"Make me come," he breathed, clutching Shizuo's shirt.

Shizuo rested his hands on Izaya's thighs and stared at him. His eyes burned and a little smile played on his lips. He answered, voice a husky drawl, "Not yet. Let's go home, and you can teach me some more."

And Izaya knew that there was no end to this.

On the way home, Shizuo kissed him everywhere.

When Izaya tasted himself in Shizuo's mouth, he couldn't help himself from lowering his hand to cup Shizuo's erect shaft, his thumb brushing lightly over the tip. Shizuo squirmed against Izaya's fingers, confused, as though he wasn't sure that he was allowed to slide closer to that source of sharp, immediate pleasure. Smiling faintly, Izaya breathed, "Relax." Though if it was meant for Shizuo or himself, he couldn't tell.

Halfway up the sloping road leading to their house, Shizuo tucked Izaya up against his body and made him sit on the railing so he could stand between Izaya's parted legs, the rain all around them. At Izaya's back, the village stretched to the pitch black expanse of the sea. In front of him, the hill rose, and beyond the treetops-trimmed edge, lay the infinite expanse of the wild lands.

Izaya saw a raindrop rolling down Shizuo's lips to his neck, pooling at the hollow of his throat, trailing down his chest. He licked it away, the flat of his tongue following the drop's trail back to Shizuo's mouth. Shizuo let out a deep moan. Izaya tipped his head back and parted his lips to let Shizuo do whatever he wanted with them. The tip of Shizuo's tongue brushed Izaya's, and then their lips were meeting in tentative and relaxed sort of contact, relishing each stroke and rub, each breath and smile.

Against the small gate of their house, they were kissing open mouthed and open-eyed instead, their hands cupping each other's cheeks, knowing what they wanted and wanting it all now. When they crossed the garden, Izaya's legs were wrapped across Shizuo's waist and Shizuo was sucking on Izays's lips between murmured curses because he was struggling to fish the house keys out of his pockets. The keys slipped from Shizuo's fingers and fell on the ground. Shizuo swore. Izaya giggled.

They broke the kiss to pick up the keys and that was the moment where they saw that there was a light on in the kitchen.

Izaya pressed his mouth against Shizuo's strong, bare neck and whispered, "Shizu-chan, what am I supposed to do with you?"

"Shut the hell up. I didn't forget to turn off the light."

A shadow appeared against the window's curtain. It vanished immediately.

"Must be Shinra," Shizuo said.

"Impossible. He was at Kyouko's with you. Why should he wander in our kitchen so late at night?"

Shizuo sighed. "He asked me to stay 'cause of the wound on my head, but I ended up leaving anyway."

"And why did you ignore what he said? He's a doctor, he knows better!"

"Shut up. I went away because I had to." And then he scratched the back of his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded like, It's all your fault. You made me worry.

Before Izaya could tease Shizuo any further, the shadow reappeared again. No matter what Shizu-chan said, that was no Shinra.

That was no human being either.

A shiver ran up Izaya's spine and he was left wondering what kind of thing could produce such a grotesque shadow, though the figure disappeared before Izaya could parse it properly. He and Shizuo exchanged a quick glance. Izaya pulled out his switchblade.

Inside the house, everything was quiet. The light from the kitchen stretched sharply against the dark wooden floor, broken only by a deformed half-moon made of shadow that trembled and twitched. Izaya's breath broke on his lips. He stepped forward to determine who the shadow belong to, but stumbled on something heavy and cold laying on the ground.

Shizuo held him on his feet. "It's Alfred," Shizuo breathed across Izaya's earlobe. "And mind your step, flea."

Indeed, the shadow on the ground belonged to Alfred. The feline arched, his fur standing on end, hissing at whomeverwandered in the kitchen. The obstacle on the ground proved out to be a brown suitcase made of old tattered leather.

A voice came from the kitchen, metallic like it had to pass through a steel windpipe. "Who's there?"

The wind moved the tree outside, and with the projection of the branches on the walls, the whole room seemed to be swinging around. But in between the cat hissing and the branches thrashing like metal-heads at an Iron Maiden concert, standing there in the middle of the kitchen there was a stranger.

Two enormous beetle eyes stared at them. They belonged to a monster with human body and inhuman head, dressed in a white lab coat.

Though what looked like a monstrous shadow shivering on the ground proved out to be a cat instead, what felt like a corpse laying on the ground was only a bag. As Izaya observed closely, the monster as well proved out to be something less frightening: it was a man – a man wearing a gas mask.

When the stranger saw them, he tried to seize the brown bag lying on the ground and run past them. Shizuo grabbed him by the shoulders and immobilized him, Izaya pointed his switchblade at his neck and Alfred's paws dug into the man's calf, making him cry out in pain.

The man with the mask threw his hands above his head. "Wait, wait! Please don't kill me!"

Shizuo cracked his neck and growled, "You gotta give me a goddamned good reason to not break a creepy ass robber's neck."

The man shook his head violently. "I'm not a burglar! Let me explain!"

Izaya lifted an eyebrow. "Come on, explain."

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, you're hurting me! You're gonna dislocate my shoulder! The cat, it's scratching me, it's scratching me!"

"For fuck's sake," Shizuo thundered. "Explain!"

"THIS IS MY HOUSE! Yes, that's the truth - I am the owner! Kishitani Shingen's my name," the masked man said, a bit breathless. "You met my son, Shinra. You two are the men he saved in the wild lands!"

"I don't believe you," Shizuo said. "You know who usually hide their faces? Superheroes, which isn't your goddamned case, and robbers."

The man burst out laughing. "Boy, you surely watch too many movies— Ouch, that hurts! Stop it! STOP IT! I'm not a robber, there's an ID card in my bag! Please, check it!"

Izaya reached for the old leather bag laying on the ground. He pulled the zipper and started rummaging inside. All of a sudden, he stopped searching for the man's ID card - under a pile of clothes, wrapped in a soft woolen cloth, he found a katana.

"What an interesting sword you have here," he said. He gripped his right hand on the sword's handle, his pinky and ring finger pressing tightly on the black silk that composed the handle wrapping. It really was an item of incredible beauty and worth, with a finely decorated tsuba, the round guard at the edge of the blade, and a curved steel completely devoid of impurities. Saika was the name engraved on it.

"Please put that sword back in the bag," the man with the mask said.

Izaya clicked his tongue. "I'm just taking a look, what's wrong with that?"

The man didn't reply. The sword did.

Izaya had his gaze fixed on Shizuo when an alien voice resounded through Izaya's mind like echo in a cave.

"Cut him. I'll love him even more than you do."


A/N: Thanks to my beta Aira Kay, and to my dear Su!