Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal.

The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)

Wherever You Will Go

Chapter Three

And promptly shut it again, but not before the image that greeted him burned itself onto every sense.

That was… what the fuck was that?

Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back to thunk hard against the wood. Once. Twice. He tried to ignore the fact his hands were shaking as he raked them through his hair, because he couldn't even wrap his thoughts around the reason they would. Even the rage couldn't soothe him; it had been rendered as stunned and unresponsive as the rest of him.

Taking a breath to try and calm his racing heartbeat, he wished he hadn't extinguished that cigarette; he needed something to steady himself, something to do with his hands before they wrung the shit out of the flea's neck.

Or worse.

This was why he had to leave. This was the last straw. He'd reached the point where he had no idea what the damned louse might try next, because if he'd already stooped this low...

Images skipped across his closed eyelids: pale skin; black leather; red eyes. Shit, it was like some fucked up version of Snow White, except the only poisoned apple in this story was currently naked, gagged and bound on Shizuo's bed.

Fuck. His fist connected with the wall next to the door, crumbling plaster raining over his fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Okay, fine. If this was the flea's final attempt at driving Shizuo to homicide, he'd be happy to oblige.

No, you won't, a little voice in the back of his head pulled him up short before he could reach for the door handle again. Or you would have already.

Whatever. Leaving Izaya breathing while kicking him out to wander Ikebukuro in that ridiculous get up would probably piss him off more anyway. Still, his hands were still shaking as he shoved the door open so hard it almost rebounded to smack him in the face. Pointless. The scene before him did that particular job just fine.

He wished he could look away, but the sight had him spellbound. It was like the morbid curiosity of gawkers at a traffic accident —no, not a traffic accident, something else— he told himself. And if Izaya insisted on putting himself on…on display like that, then what the hell did he expect people to do?

Pressed chest-first against the dark blue of Shizuo's sheets, Izaya's skin was milky pale and flawless. Testament to how good he was at running away, probably; Shizuo'd lost count of his own scars around the time he lost track of how many times he'd been his hospital to set another bone. Izaya, on the other hand, looked as though nothing had ever touched his skin before the black leather restraints that criss-crossed his torso and kept his ankles bound close to his thighs, preventing him from straightening his legs. From this angle, Shizuo could only guess —not that he was, fuck..!— where the thinner black straps that disappeared over Izaya's narrow hips went. Bad enough that one was definitely running down between his ass cheeks like some half-hearted attempt at covering him up. The handcuffs that bound his hands at the small of his back just looked like an afterthought.

He'd look away, but honestly… there didn't seem much point now. There was no way to unsee this.

Incongruously calm red eyes met his above a ball-gag that turned the usual smirk into an obscenely taut 'o', and any hope Shizuo had that someone else had orchestrated this and just dumped Izaya here to piss them both off evaporated.

Stupid. This stunt had the flea's scent all over it.

He felt his face flush, and Izaya's eyes crinkled in a smile at the reaction. Fuck.

Not trusting his voice, he stomped over to the bed, yanked Izaya upright, and ripped off the gag.

"Really, Shizu-chan?" Izaya murmured, and Shizuo didn't look away quickly enough to miss the way he licked his lips, pink tongue darting out like a cat delicately lapping cream. "I honestly thought that was the one you'd leave till last."

"Shut the fuck up."

The handcuffs were next, the chain between the bracelets tearing as though they were made of paper. Stupid, but there was an intrinsic unfairness in fighting a man who couldn't even use his hands. Even a sly little bastard like this.

Izaya laughed softly, but, for some unfathomable reason, did as he was told. Neither did he move his hands; they remained behind his back as though the cuffs were still in tact.

There wasn't much space to pace in his bedroom, but Shizuo forced himself to stalk from the door to the window and back a dozen times before he felt the dryness in his throat abate enough to ask, "Let me guess. One last fucked up joke for old times' sake?"

No answer, but when he looked up, Izaya just shook his head. Oh, great, they were playing this mature game, huh?

"What do you even…" He stopped pacing, brain too overloaded to move and speak at the same time. "No, I don't even wanna know. Whatever you want, I don't care. Just get the fuck out."

Not only did Izaya make no move to comply, he didn't even shift from his position. Now Shizuo could see that those other straps trailed over sharp hipbones to hold in place a thick leather cock ring. The erection that strained against those bonds was dark and flushed, the tip already glistening as it curved up towards Izaya's stomach.

If it was anyone else, Shizuo might've been impressed they could carry out a… well, semi-normal conversation in that state. But given Izaya's endurance in fights…

Shit, why am I even thinking that?

"Can I say something?"

Honestly, if it'd drag his attention away from Izaya's cock, Shizuo wouldn't have minded much if the flea wanted to drop a vending machine on him. He already felt like something had just dropped on him from a great height.

"Since when the hell do you ever ask?" He managed to growl. Hell if he'd let Izaya see how badly he was floundering; like the flea needed more ammunition. "Since when the hell don't you love the sound of your own voice?"

"Since now." Izaya's tone was so disarmingly matter-of-fact, Shizuo had to wonder whether this was the voice he used when he really wanted someone to believe him. Because fuck if it wasn't convincing. Someone who didn't know the louse underneath could easily be taken in. But the flea was still working some angle; Shizuo was just too stupid to work out what it was. "Since you decided to change everything."

"I… what? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I haven't…"

Oh, but he had, hadn't he? Taken Izaya's favourite toy away. No wonder a few screws had wobbled loose.

"You're leaving." It was more an accusation than a question, but Shizuo wasn't particularly surprised. He figured the Ikebukuro rumour mill had churned that piece of news out days ago. Izaya looked up at him with a half-smile, the buckles rattling against the broken handcuffs as he shrugged. "Well, then… consider this a parting gift."

"A gift?" Shizuo barked an incredulous laugh. "Sorry. You shoulda kept the receipt."

"Ah, this one has a non-refundable policy." Izaya's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You can't send it back. It's yours to do with as you will."

Okay, that was just…

"All right, seriously? What the fuck are you playing at this time?"

Izaya puffed out an annoyed sigh. "Haven't we done this part already? I'm not playing at anything. You're leaving, and I…" He looked away, and Shizuo was too busy trying to remember the last time Izaya voluntarily broke eye contact with anyone that he almost missed whatever the flea murmured under his breath.

"What?" He cursed himself for even asking, for getting sucked into this stupid game, but damned if that hadn't sounded a whole lot like—

"Please." That ruby gaze remained averted. "Please. You can't just walk away now. You just can't. I'll be anything you want. Do anything you want. If you want me to never say another word to you, then that's okay, I can—"

"Shit, are you even listening to yourself?" Are you listening to yourself? That little voice was back. Is your voice really shaking that badly just because you're dumb enough to believe the louse's lies?"Like your fucking ego would even let you."

Izaya looked at him then. "Some things are more important."

"Right." Shizuo scoffed, because it seemed a smarter option than hysterical laughter. "And you expect me to believe that, from you? Just go, Izaya. I'm done. I'm tired. Go find someone else to play with."

"You don't have to believe me." Izaya shook his head. "You can still hate me, Shizu-chan. That's fine. Just don't leave me behind."

Shizuo stared. Maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe the guy trussed up on his bed wasn't Orihara Izaya, was instead some stranger who looked a hell of a lot like him but, somehow, managed to be even more fucked up. But those red eyes met his with their usual defiance, even if the cockiness was conspicuously missing, and Shizuo had to turn sharply for the door just to break the intensity in that gaze.

"I can't listen to this. This is just…" He stopped in the doorway, hands braced on the frame and clenching so hard the wood squeaked its protest, and muttered. "And why the fuck do you keep making me leave? The city, my own fucking room…"

"You don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave, that's the whole point."

Shizuo grimaced. "And that's meant to make me feel better?"

"Then what will it take? What do you want?" There was an edge of desperation in Izaya's voice that made Shizuo want to hit him just to make it stop. "There has to be something, there always is. You can have anything, anything at all—"

"Yeah? What the fuck makes you think anyone'd want you?"

Izaya's jaw tensed at that, and Shizuo's conscience sucker-punched him in the gut. Even if it was the louse, that was just…

Cruel. Cruel, and malicious and vindictive and all the things he could pretend he wasn't as long as Izaya wasn't around. Maybe he'd always been angry, but Izaya made him mean. From that very first day, he'd taken the rage and twisted it into something brutal, something that dug its pit-bull jaws into whatever the hell this fight of theirs really was and wouldn't let go.

So maybe it was for the best that he was the one walking away, in a brief lucid moment where he still could. It wasn't just Izaya poisoned by the mess they'd so carefully nurtured.

"Anything at all, huh?"

"Anything."

"Then I just want what I've always wanted. I want you gone."

Because every time I look at you, I remember how much I hate everything I am.

"Ah," Izaya looked up at him, smile serene and resigned all at once, "the one time I wish you weren't so predictable, Shizu-chan…"

Izaya's jacket had fallen off the edge of the bed. Shizuo's thoughts felt so scattered, he even paused to wonder whether that was one of the sounds he'd heard. Still, he must have been more stunned than he'd imagined, because it took several moments to realize what Izaya intended, by which time he'd already managed to retrieve his knife from one of the pockets. Already flicked it open. Already manoeuvred it to press against his wrist.

Shit.

Even in the heat of their worst fights, he didn't recall moving so fast. Too fast to even gauge what he'd done, except that he must have done something because when the haze cleared, an off-balance Izaya was trying to lever himself up from the side of the bed, and the knife was lying in the middle of the floor.

"You goddamned stupid…!" He could barely breathe to finish the thought, chest so tight he could believe Izaya had wrapped one of those leather straps around him, too. He kicked the knife out of reach. The impact sent it skittering across the floor before half-embedding itself in the doorframe.

Izaya stared at him with an utterly alien look of surprise on his face. "I thought you said-"

"Shut up. Just…" Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to stop the room tilting on its axis, Shizuo dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, his body unwilling to keep him upright. "What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?"

No answer. Part of him doubted Izaya even had one. Probably had never had one, and in that moment Shizuo's fury felt so directionless, so defeated, he couldn't even think.

"You know," he muttered, half to himself; trying to get through to the flea seemed pretty pointless. "Normal people might've tried the 'I'm sorry for making your life hell, I'll stop being a shit from now on' tactic first."

He could feel Izaya watching him, and Shizuo had the distinct, depressing impression that such an option had never crossed his mind. "Well, I thought this might be more effective."

And he can't even see how fucked up that is.

Head still in his hands, he didn't notice Izaya shifting closer until the touch on his knee made him jump. It was almost electric, as though a million volts ran through Izaya's fingers.

"You don't have to do anything." Izaya said again, in a voice like a gentle, insidious lullaby. His hands slid along the inside of Shizuo's thighs, nudging them apart, body nestling between Shizuo's knees. "Just let me…"

Was that really the way Izaya wanted to play it? In that case, it was just as well that any trace of self worth Shizuo might've possessed once was long gone. It was all over. It didn't matter any more what either of them did.

As though it belonged to someone else, he watched his hand reach out, fingers tangling hard in Izaya's hair, tilting the other man's face up towards his own.

"Fine," he said, in a voice he barely recognized as his own. "Give me a reason I should give a fuck."