Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates these past couple days, my social life took a turn for the better and I haven't really had the time to sit down and write, so this is just a little bit of smut to keep things ticking over until tomorrow~. Updates should be back to normal now so I'll see you all tomorrow with another update!
Gentle, that's what it was, the kiss, and those lips on his. Gentle like the wind on some soft summer afternoon, tugging sweetly at the flowers and the trees with a tender caress. Shizuo would have laughed at the very notion that the louse was capable of something like that if he wasn't so lost in the fact that he was capable of it too. He was slipping under, allowing himself to be pulled along with this madness, this kiss, and these stirring emotions inside of him that he still didn't fully understand. It was impossible for someone like him to suddenly understand those feelings. He was new to love, and to pair that with the idea that he had fallen for a man he was meant to hate, no, no, it was impossible for his mind to work through that quickly. But that was fine, for now, maybe, maybe, maybe—
Tomorrow he would think some more, because today all he could focus on was the way that mouth connected with his, the weight on his lap, the warmth that seemed to radiate slightly into him. It was wrong, it should be, and yet Shizuo seemed to have changed in that second, racing forward into someone else, changing and changing and changing into a man who wanted this, who didn't hate the flea, who didn't have the curse of strength. Just two people in love, was that what this had become? Was that how he was meant to look at this now? He didn't know, and really, maybe, maybe, maybe it didn't matter.
Shizuo wasn't sure when they broke apart, to suck in a breath of air that both of them needed, struggling on, surviving. He wasn't sure what he was thinking or supposed to think when their eyes met and their hands lowered the sofa, still entwined. He wasn't sure what to say when Izaya's head tilted to the side and a half sighed, half whispered call of his name left that mouth of his. Shizuo wasn't sure what to think or what to do when the raven stood, tugging at his hand, pulling him up from the sofa, and into that free fall, down to the abyss that neither of them were ready for.
Shizuo wasn't sure when he stood, he wasn't really aware of anything; just like he hadn't been the last time they had headed down this path, this way. He wasn't aware of the loft as it passed them, barely even aware of his own thoughts and the little voice at the back of his mind that was screaming at him to wake up, to realise who he was, where he was, that it wasn't a good idea. He wasn't aware of how or when or why they ended up curled together on the bed in a tangle of limbs, both moving with slow, sinuous grinds, only that they did and then had.
Tomorrow he would think about it all, tomorrow he would, because right now he was lost in that blissful state of unawareness, numbness. Tomorrow he would think and Shizuo half wondered if tomorrow would ever come. Maybe, maybe, maybe it didn't matter if it didn't. Maybe, maybe, maybe this was just—
Just what? He didn't know. He didn't care. Not yet. Tomorrow he would. Tomorrow. Heh. It was mad, mad, mad. Shizuo guessed he never had been quite alright in the head though, why should it be any different now? No. No. No.
The pair of them were aroused, aching, but there was no fierce lust or rough passion like last time, no, no, it was something sensual, exploratory. It was different than before; it had shifted, just like they had, into the abyss, into something they hadn't felt before nor were likely to feel with someone else, anyone else. It was enticing, intoxicating. Shizuo was fast falling under its spell, this slow heat, this slow descent into madness with the raven that had fallen under him when they had reached the bed, covers quickly coming undone and unmade under them. Neither had yet made a sound beyond little gasps, slight moans, soft, light, something that was as foreign to them as anything else. Their eyes locked, in what had once been some kind of challenge, the first to break becoming the loser; light and dark, liquid, hot.
Izaya ran a hand down Shizuo's form, fingering the buttons of the shirt, the waistcoat, still staring, still breathing, struggling, struggling, just surviving. The blonde could feel something, deep in the pit of his stomach where that heat had built last time, some stirring sensation, in the core of his very being. It was different than before, everything was different, this was different, he was different, and the louse was different. It was some possessive feeling, the sort of feeling that someone was supposed to have for a lover, for someone dear to them. It was mad he should be feeling this for the louse, that bastard, that— it was madness, and yet he found himself willing to step into it, willing to lose him mind and just let go in exchange for this feeling, this—
Izaya's lips were tilted up into a smile, some kind of smirk, something, whatever, at him; an expression that Shizuo had noticed appear on the flea's face more and more often lately in the past few times they had met, run into each other. How was it that seemed enough now to quell the anger he should be feeling? How was it that someone who had once been the cause of that rage, those feelings, could now turn that upside down?
With a sound that was some part scoff, some part sigh, the blonde leant down once more, catching Izaya's mouth with his own, tongue tenderly feeding from the addicting mouth. Bold fingers continued to slide up his chest, undoing those little buttons, pushing past those boundaries once again, just like they always did. Shizuo quivered, rolling his hips against the body under him, delighting in the hardness that seemed to greet him. Who would have thought that at one point he hated the louse, the flea, the bastard? And now- heh, no, no, he didn't talk about now.
Izaya all but purred in contentment, allowing himself some control, nibbling at Shizuo's lower lip; the raven, flushed, warm, let his free hand wonder down Shizuo's back and lower, lower, lower, taking that irritating waistcoat and shirt along with it and off, off, off the blonde. This was all so different from before. It was slow and lazy and relaxed; there was no rush, not this time, no, no. it was as if time stood still, frozen, slow, and languid. Everything was so different, one of a kind, they were used to fast, quick, in their life and the time before that they shared, and now—
Everything was different.
Shizuo had almost lost track of where his hands lay. One to keep him up, balanced, propped above the flushed raven, and the other had wondered, down and down and down. Izaya broke away from the leisurely kiss they had been joined in, a moan now tangling out of his mouth, needy, breathless, hips bucking; the sign that the pace of their night was changing, that it was starting to speed up again, that these fleeting touches and slow heat was shifting again, into something hotter, fire, fire, lighting hot. His cheeks were flushed, the cool skin now heated, no longer pale like the moon, now red, rouged, like the blush of a cherry blossom, a petal in the spring.
With a lazy chuckle at the sound that left the raven, the blonde moved his lips away. Some half-arsed act of challenge or a final act of defiance against his old enemy or something else, he didn't know, didn't care. Where would be the fun in fiving the flea what he wanted? His mouth settled at the column of Izaya's neck, licking at the wide expanse of flesh there, nibbling and nipping at the pulse point there while the lithe body under him wriggled, writhed. His mouth moved lower, dipping down the little slither of skin on show under the t-shirt that clung to Izaya's chest. Urgent fingers closed around his hair, tangled in the gold, urging him on and on and back upwards where Izaya lay, decadent and lazy and lips tilted up in a quiet smirk.
Nothing stays the same, never, never, no, no. Time wouldn't stand still for them forever, and it wasn't now. This slow and leisurely exploration was fading, shifting smoothly into something hot and heavy and much more fitting for them, their natures, that fast paced way of life they had come to know, to live with, and to thrive on. Shizuo was losing track of time, losing track of his own world, his own present, and his own actions. He lost track, lost sense, of when his fingers curled around the shirt clinging to Izaya's form to peel it off, he lost track of when the rest of those irritating clothes joined his shirt and waistcoat on the floor beside the bed. He lost track of when Izaya pressed something to his hand, lost track of when his fingers slid down and down and down the flea's body, between legs that parted for him as easily as anything. He lost track of putting them to work, stretching and teasing and swallowing up those shallow moans that fluttered to his ears like butterflies in the spring. It all just melted together in this lazy and unhurried love, this heat and this— He lost track of it all, who he was and who the flea was and what he was meant to feel. It didn't matter. Tomorrow he would think of it, tomorrow he would care. Nothing stays the same, never, never, no, no. Maybe, maybe, maybe tomorrow would never come.
"Is the monster quite done playing with its food?" Izaya half chuckled, half whined out. He was getting impatient now, bored, the heat flaring across the lower half of his body demanding attention, more and more of it, more than it was getting. Hips bucking and wriggling for attention, calling for action from the blonde, poised, hard, stoic, above him.
"You're the one having sex with this monster," Shizuo half laughed in return, low and lazy, a husky sound that vibrated from his very throat, the pit of his stomach. His lips twisted up into a smirk, one to match that of the man below him. Mirror images, hot and cold, dark and light, the original contradiction, that was them. "Don't act like you're any better than this, flea,"
"Just take me already," the raven replied, and laughed. "Beasts don't need to pretend they have manners,"
Well, who could resist an offer like that? Shizuo laughed too, low again, dark again. Bracing one hand by Izaya's shoulder, he did just that. The louse seemed to have given himself up after that, lost the bravado and the attitude in favour of muttering lewd comments in Shizuo's ear, whining, begging and— heh, who could resist an offer like that?
Not Shizuo, not anymore.
There was no turning back now they had stumbled into that abyss. Together, into the dark, no, no, no turning back.