"Everything that deceives may be said to enchant."

― Plato

Izaya was almost hyperventilating, super aware of the manner in which Shizuo pressed to his side, and the way everything seemed to slow its pace to make way for the raven's inevitable breakdown. He felt the soft pants of warm, whisky breath along the column of his neck, too close, too close. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, why this was happening, he was confused and angry and part of him knew if he didn't act now, this would have all been for naught.

"What do you think you're doing!" Izaya hissed under-breath, looking spooked and outraged, pulling at Shizuo's clothes to push him away. It was no use; he felt the blond's arm snake around his waist, while the foreigner's eyes were lit with an emotion Izaya knew well: betrayal. He thinks I'm with Heiwajima for real! Izaya was panicking in his mind, for once not knowing what to do to get the unpredictable beast off him. He's going to ruin everything! I won't get what I want! Izaya always got what he wanted. Always.

"Hey babe, I really missed you," Shizuo sung, pressing a soft kiss to the raven's cheek, his lips warm, force strong, "and my," he took a slight step back to admire his beautiful black bird, "you're looking fucking gorgeous tonight, yeah? So I forgive you for letting this ugly bastard touch you, okay?"

"Kanra―" the foreign man began, watching from a safe distance as Shizuo made a guttural sound in the back of his throat, trailing loud, wet, claiming kisses down the expanse of Izaya's neck, as the smaller man tried to shove him off vainly. Izaya felt every stroke of Shizuo's lips, every slight brush of his tongue, and heard every loud and unacceptably vulgar smack he made. The raven could feel the livid tension build in his posture in a very unladylike manner, a vaguely aggressive snarl possessing his scenic features, nails digging into the strong man's arms. There wasn't much he could do without scaring off his prey as well; pulling out a knife then and there would not hurt the monster, and would serve to earn the foreigner's ultimate distrust.

"Don't worry at all, Chris! Heiwajima-san is just about to leave, yes?" The word was strained, and Izaya's carmine eyes were burning with unhidden rage, despite the amicable smile on his face. Izaya curled a stray arm around the man who pressed heavily to his side, unbalanced, and possibly a little drunk, before dragging long nails painfully across the expanse of the blond's back. Shizuo looked up, his expression apathetic, brown eyes seemingly bored.

"Why babe?" a slow grin made its way onto his features, "Kanra-chan should introduce me to her―" Shizuo looked the man over with a cruel predatory grin, "friends, no?" Izaya gave a loud, fake laugh that would have sounded joyous aside from the heightened pitch.

"Aha, ha, ha.." Izaya leaned in close to Shizuo, taking the chance to growl lowly in his ear, "you better fucking scram, Shizu-chan, I'm in the middle of something here," Izaya breathed through his wide grin, as though coming down from his laughing high, "and I don't fucking care what the hell it is you think you're doing."

"Oh, Kanra-chan, so kinky!" Shizuo winked at Izaya, to the raven's mortification. Izaya was going to die. He was going to die and gut Shizuo and kill Dotachin who thought it was subtle to spy from the restroom's door, and Odin's beard― "save it for tonight, babe, not in front of people!"

"What the fuck?!" Izaya hadn't even attempted to keep his voice feminine. Catching his folly, he turned back to the man who looked angry and disgusted at the outcome. "I am so sorry, Christopher, Shizuo is simply troubled, and there is no telling what he would say or do or―"

Shizuo rolled his eyes, listening to Izaya drone on and on to a man who had already stopped listening. He smirked, watching the dark cherry red lips move in a hurried dance to come up with a half-assed excuse. Izaya was pretty like this, flushed in anger and embarrassment and ill-hidden resentment, he found himself admitting. He had always been the victim of such games, thinking them ones that needed intellect and skill - but that wasn't the case. Shizuo didn't need Izaya's pretty little mind to drive the raven up the wall, effectively destroying his well-crafted cool. The mahogany-eyed man's fuse was much shorter than what Shizuo had previously anticipated, and he would be damned if he didn't admit how painfully satisfying it was to light that cold, damp candle wick with such a seething fire. Izaya truly was beautiful in his rage, eyes gleaming in faux tears that trailed the length of thick onyx eyelashes, long porcelain neck heavy with a single emerald necklace― pretty. That was, as long as he kept that mouth of his sewed shut.

He wasn't sure whether this was what he'd intended to do all along or whether the last drink he'd taken before coming over was a mistake. Shizuo breathed, leaning in to place a single finger on the corner of Izaya's lips, silencing him, and smudging his burgundy lipstick. Ravishing, Shizuo's drunken mind supplied, fully aware that the aggressive smolder in the raven's eyes made him all the more tempting. Shizuo grinned harshly, leaning down, and to Izaya's utter disbelief, planted a slow, open mouthed kiss on him.

Izaya tasted like sin and pineapple and dry lipstick, but for the most part Shizuo enjoyed it. He enjoyed the fact that even though Izaya remained unmoving, all the fight had seemingly rushed out of him, leaving behind a shell of the resistance that used to lay there. Shizuo smiled into the kiss, introducing his tongue in slow strokes, and with every stroke came the delicate sound of a peck on the lips.

His head changed angles with every press, parting with every press of their parted lips. He felt something move, slow and deliberate, running up the leaning curve of his back and curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. It was subtle at first, but he felt it, felt the unsteady response Izaya had given, the soft, slow opening of his lips and the curl of one of those long legs around one of Shizuo's own. He felt those manicured fingers that dug deep into his scalp, and the hesitant breaths that broke warmly across his tinted cheeks. He felt every curve and every hiss and every flutter of long lashes. He felt Izaya.

The air around them drew in heavier with every ignored catcall, the heels of those elegant stilettos pressing painfully against the back of Shizuo's calves. Izaya's once tense posture failed, as he leaned back against the edge of the bar, taking Shizuo - who pressed forward over Izaya's sitting form - with him.

Izaya didn't know what he was doing, or why in the name of Valhalla he chose to humor a drunken beast's savage desires. The worst of it all came in the form that he didn't particularly dislike it, didn't hate the feel of Shizuo's body pressing his own, nor the feeling of that soft cotton shirt threaded between the fingers of his fisted palm.

With a sting of pain, Izaya felt Shizuo's teeth nip at him. Small bites littering the outside of his lips and the tip of his tongue, which had introduced itself to the other's liquor flavored mouth. The blond tasted bitter in the best of ways, he tasted like raw, chewed coffee beans― Shizuo tasted like violence.

Izaya's breath caught in his throat, his mouth preoccupied and his nose too blocked by the strong scent of aftershave to heed breath. Yes, he thought internally, sliding both hands to the collar of the blond's shirt, drawing him impossibly closer. The heat, Shizuo's nose exhaling against his skin, pressing into his cheek― everything the other did, Izaya felt, he felt the strong hands that clutched his waist, felt them give a deliberate press, a press that left Izaya with a silent gasp and an open mouth and a plethora of bruises.

It felt good, that pain that braided its way up his sides in a steady burn, the way Shizuo was not kind in his hold, the way the blond violently lifted him off the stool and onto the bar. It was all enthralling, and tempting and agonizing in its deliberate slowness. This was the type of touch he wanted, torment and pain― and yes, yes, yes, that hand sliding up his thigh and―

thigh

thigh.

Thigh.

His thigh. Izaya's eyes snapped open, shoving Shizuo away, one of his manicured hands laced through his bangs, gripping harshly as a look of utter defeat and disbelief washed over him. Shizuo looked almost as ruffled as he did, lips swollen, eyes angry and lustful. Izaya breath slowed; he looked down at the half drunken Bloody Mary that sat by the empty seat, knowing he'd fucked up big time.

Shit.

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