Fanfiction: Breaking News (Durarara!!)
Title: "Breaking News"
Status: Complete
Fandom: Durarara!!
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Disclaimer: Copyright @ Ryōgo Narita. No infringement intended.
Rating: T
Genre: AU, slash, friendship
Warning: none
Summary: There is your truth and mine. And then we have what's really going on...
Breaking News
The alley was deserted. Almost. The eyes of a black cat, unblinking, gleamed eerily in the flickering light cast by neon signs. Music hammered in the humid air, like a racing heartbeat, accompanied by drunken shouts and hysterical giggling. Filth collected in every corner and cracks ran up the buildings that leaned and huddled too close together. Fliers from Russia Sushi and old newspapers stirred in a breeze that reeked of ammonia.
A fitting place for them to meet.
"I-za-ya-kun," Shizuo sing-songed with murderous glee, pupils blown wide with adrenaline.
Izaya smiled and stayed on a collision course, his switchblade tucked away in his jacket pocket, within easy reach.
Shizuo's bartender dress, style of choice and convenience as well as a good luck charm, was rumpled, one sleeve torn and bloody. His waistcoat was rucked up, exposing a sliver of pale skin. Izaya knew every freckle above his hip bone, had spent lazy hours in bed, counting them. That was the fun part.
Of course it was not exactly hard work, to arrange for a bunch of troublemakers - wannabe color gangs, yakuza, plain idiots - to attack Shizu-chan every day, like clockwork. He needed an outlet, a workout, free of guilt and worry.
He didn't like violence, after all.
Besides, Izaya loved watching the show from afar, when Shizu cut loose, curb stomping anyone unlucky enough to get in his way. Who needed fireworks when thugs and loose teeth flew sky-high just as well?
"Konban wa."
"Those guys really pissed me off," Shizuo said with a shit-eating grin that aggravated a cut running along his cheekbone. Following Izaya's amused look, he finally let go of the lamp post he had dragged all the way from Ikebukuro. "Good choice."
"My, Shizu-chan, you say the sweetest things."
"Don't I?"
Carelessly, Shizuo leaned close enough to be snatched by his lapels and pulled into a kiss. Their teeth clicked together on a breathless laugh. This was them tamed and on the same wavelength, at least temporarily.
Shizuo pulled away to take a breath and Izaya tasted metal on his tongue. He smiled and allowed himself to be crowded against a wall layered with ugly graffiti. - At least until too eager hands slipped underneath his shirt. He brushed them off with a warning hiss.
"Not here." He straightened his clothes and started walking, towards the faint noise of the crowd. "You taste like a chimney."
Right on cue, Shizuo lit his last cigarette and licked a drop of blood away before the filter could soak it up. Bad enough that his shirt was ruined and that the flea was oh-so-decidedly not worried for his health. It was touching, really, in a sickeningly sweet and heart-warming way that they would never openly talk about. Not that they needed to: Izaya was, after all, an information broker.
He had to jog to catch up. "I'll be fine."
"Of course you will be." Izaya scoffed. "What a ludicrous thing to say."
Shizuo exhaled a stream of smoke. "Stay at my place tonight."
"Naturally."
It wasn't like a bunch of low lives ganging up on him, hitting their tender flesh and brittle bones, but the gleam in Izaya's dark eyes promised another, even more welcome thrill.
"Hn? What's that?"
"Now don't be stupid, Shizu-chan." Izaya bumped into him, full force instead of playful. "I can't bent you over a kitchen table that isn't there, now can I?"
Shizuo growled, but Izaya had already darted ahead, twirling the apartment keys around his finger. Of course he chased after him. The first heads turned, startled or curious, the street no longer empty, and their game faces snapped back into place.
Tomorrow, people would talk and text about "that crazy strong Heiwajima guy" chasing after "that creepy Orihara guy." Daily Ikebukuro fare, still exciting to chow, but mostly comfortingly familiar, a sign that all's right with the world.
Good thing they didn't know what happened behind closed doors...
The End
Status: Complete
Fandom: Durarara!!
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya
Disclaimer: Copyright @ Ryōgo Narita. No infringement intended.
Rating: T
Genre: AU, slash, friendship
Warning: none
Summary: There is your truth and mine. And then we have what's really going on...
Breaking News
The alley was deserted. Almost. The eyes of a black cat, unblinking, gleamed eerily in the flickering light cast by neon signs. Music hammered in the humid air, like a racing heartbeat, accompanied by drunken shouts and hysterical giggling. Filth collected in every corner and cracks ran up the buildings that leaned and huddled too close together. Fliers from Russia Sushi and old newspapers stirred in a breeze that reeked of ammonia.
A fitting place for them to meet.
"I-za-ya-kun," Shizuo sing-songed with murderous glee, pupils blown wide with adrenaline.
Izaya smiled and stayed on a collision course, his switchblade tucked away in his jacket pocket, within easy reach.
Shizuo's bartender dress, style of choice and convenience as well as a good luck charm, was rumpled, one sleeve torn and bloody. His waistcoat was rucked up, exposing a sliver of pale skin. Izaya knew every freckle above his hip bone, had spent lazy hours in bed, counting them. That was the fun part.
Of course it was not exactly hard work, to arrange for a bunch of troublemakers - wannabe color gangs, yakuza, plain idiots - to attack Shizu-chan every day, like clockwork. He needed an outlet, a workout, free of guilt and worry.
He didn't like violence, after all.
Besides, Izaya loved watching the show from afar, when Shizu cut loose, curb stomping anyone unlucky enough to get in his way. Who needed fireworks when thugs and loose teeth flew sky-high just as well?
"Konban wa."
"Those guys really pissed me off," Shizuo said with a shit-eating grin that aggravated a cut running along his cheekbone. Following Izaya's amused look, he finally let go of the lamp post he had dragged all the way from Ikebukuro. "Good choice."
"My, Shizu-chan, you say the sweetest things."
"Don't I?"
Carelessly, Shizuo leaned close enough to be snatched by his lapels and pulled into a kiss. Their teeth clicked together on a breathless laugh. This was them tamed and on the same wavelength, at least temporarily.
Shizuo pulled away to take a breath and Izaya tasted metal on his tongue. He smiled and allowed himself to be crowded against a wall layered with ugly graffiti. - At least until too eager hands slipped underneath his shirt. He brushed them off with a warning hiss.
"Not here." He straightened his clothes and started walking, towards the faint noise of the crowd. "You taste like a chimney."
Right on cue, Shizuo lit his last cigarette and licked a drop of blood away before the filter could soak it up. Bad enough that his shirt was ruined and that the flea was oh-so-decidedly not worried for his health. It was touching, really, in a sickeningly sweet and heart-warming way that they would never openly talk about. Not that they needed to: Izaya was, after all, an information broker.
He had to jog to catch up. "I'll be fine."
"Of course you will be." Izaya scoffed. "What a ludicrous thing to say."
Shizuo exhaled a stream of smoke. "Stay at my place tonight."
"Naturally."
It wasn't like a bunch of low lives ganging up on him, hitting their tender flesh and brittle bones, but the gleam in Izaya's dark eyes promised another, even more welcome thrill.
"Hn? What's that?"
"Now don't be stupid, Shizu-chan." Izaya bumped into him, full force instead of playful. "I can't bent you over a kitchen table that isn't there, now can I?"
Shizuo growled, but Izaya had already darted ahead, twirling the apartment keys around his finger. Of course he chased after him. The first heads turned, startled or curious, the street no longer empty, and their game faces snapped back into place.
Tomorrow, people would talk and text about "that crazy strong Heiwajima guy" chasing after "that creepy Orihara guy." Daily Ikebukuro fare, still exciting to chow, but mostly comfortingly familiar, a sign that all's right with the world.
Good thing they didn't know what happened behind closed doors...
The End