[Fic] Advances
Rating; T
Summary; He's gone past the point of no return, and it was all Shizuo's fault. [Shizuo/Izaya]
Warning/s; Mentions of rape. And it's me writing that, er, circumstance. Be afraid.
Note/s; Written for iu_fanfiction's 22nd Challenge // prompt; Loss
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He’s being tracked down in his dreams. First, through an intricately-built labyrinth that seemed to perpetually stretch on foreign ground. And then, fortunately or unfortunately, through the all-too familiar streets and corners of Ikebukuro.
The transition between the two places wasn’t even coursed through. Everywhere, everywhen, footsteps were hot on his trail.
He couldn’t see who his hunter was. No, perhaps there wasn’t anything to see at all?
Desperation was driving him, making him breach through obstacles rather than simply leap over them. The night was clawing at his back, darkness and all, attempting to catch up with his pace and devour him entirely. It was a different thrill altogether, a greater challenge.
It was an up-close peril. It was too realistic.
Everything was closing in.
Which, being Orihara Izaya, he didn’t allow to happen.
-
It was cold.
It was fucking cold and apparently he didn’t have anything on.
He heaved himself up and the bed creaked in protest. Huh. Was it that rough?
He was aching all over as he lulled his body to a sitting position. His bones clipped back to their respective places, and his muscles gave out in silent creams as they rearrange themselves. He cast an unimpressed glance outside and the moonlight began to absorb the blackness inside his head.
The moonlight has also unraveled a revelation, wow. Bruises spread themselves all over him- he appeared like a human map more than anything else.
Pitiful.
He lied back and the stale air went with him, crushed him down. He tried to stifle a laugh, but he broke it all out in the end. He laughed, drew a lungful of air, then laughed again (-and the clock ticks to midnight and states, you are insane, you are delusional-). The room was soundless, bleak, dead. Except for the peals of laughter that came tumbling out of his mouth.
It was strangely relieving, that.
It took him another minute to contemplate on who his bed-sharer was. As if the bundle of disheveled blond hair beside him was any indication. The bartender looked awfully comfortable in his sleep, with regular breathing patterns that matched the movements of his chest quite harmonically. He looked very much like an overgrown boy.
He looked clean. His image was envious.
Izaya didn’t exactly appear to be that squeaky clean.
Right. He was the victim here, wasn’t it. Unlawful rape. Really.
He couldn’t admit to himself that karma was fast enough to equal the rate he’s going at. This was all a game. The traces of blood on the sheet, the hickeys that span all over his alabaster skin, his clothes thrown out in unspecific planes- this was all a game.
(-so he leans in, past the other man, towards the drawer, grabs the blue sunglasses and smashed it in his hands, blood freely gushes out of his fingers but he is victorious, just the same-)
He’d have to call it a draw, then. Just this time.
--
END
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