A/N: I really love these two, such a captivating couple—they hold a special place in my heart because they were what got me into slash back in the days (I feel old). It was originally written as a oneshot, hence the shortness. I'm contemplating writing a second chapter from Izaya's point of view but oh man, that'd be a challenge.

"Must be my lucky day; we meet again."

Those red eyes piercing me from across the room—I knew them too well.

In the strangest way things happen in this city, that stupid high school trio somehow got involved with everything and Celty tried to sort things out but made things worse; one thing lead to another and we were both under the same roof. Thugs I'd beaten up lay unconscious on the kitchen linoleum down the other end of the corridor. A break-in, a raid. The room was trashed but not so much as our minds.

I trudged through piles of clothing, magazines, documents, all strewn over the carpet—a yakuza's bedroom clutter couldn't have looked less interesting.

"Get lost, Izaya."

"Tough luck, I got here first." He leant an elbow against the dresser and slipped what looked like a confidential piece of document back in its drawer, flashing a wry couple rows of small teeth. "Besides, that's not the way to greet someone who's come all the way from Shinjuku to pay you a visit." The sarcasm was so prevalent in his voice that my blood boiled and I felt like bashing his face in, something I'd failed doing earlier that day. Deck him right in the mouth, knock out all his teeth so he'd never be able to talk in that glib way of his ever again.

Trying to come up with something to say, I took a long drag on my cigarette. Say anything tactless and he twisted your words. I exhaled in his direction, hiding that smug expression for a fleeting second.

"You blew smoke into my face," he laughed.

"Yeah. So?"

"According to popular belief, it apparenty means 'let's fuck'."

"You're sick." And deranged.

"At least I'm not ignorant like you."

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. "You have no fucking idea how strong the urge is to kill you right now."

"You always say that, but I'd like to see you try." A spiteful grin spread across his face. "For once."

The cigarette dropped to my feet and I was already lurching forward to shut him up in the wrongest way possible.

In hindsight I should've just walked out the room, past those bodies lying on the floor, away from the one who made me both fuck and fuck up. I still don't know why the hell I didn't. Instead I smashed my mouth onto his and shoved him up against the wall harder than ever, a headache flowering behind my eyes. For a second I'm at a loss as to what I was doing but he reciprocated; he cocked his head up, eager, drinking me in. Tilted it to the left and got the right angle for lips to mould in sync and teeth to bite down on tongues. He seemed well-practised, made me wonder how many people he'd been with before. The fact that I'd even remotely cared made me shudder with hatred, or disgust, or jealousy, whatever it was.

It was all unravelling too fast—in one smooth motion he straddled me, shedding off his jacket. The bed creaked, the room spun. As he clawed a hand through my hair, pushing my head down on the mattress with the heel of his palm, my scalp stung and I felt the weight of the world come crashing down. The point of no return.

"Actions speak louder than words, Shizu-chan," he whispered through jagged lips.

Something in me snapped. We had sex.

No, it was an easy act of violation. Just this once, and never again. Give him something to be ashamed of to keep him at bay. What the bastard can't stand is indignity, and I convinced myself over and over again that this was the best form of humiliation I could afflict as the bed screeched under our weight and my mind shrieked with lurking fear.

Get away, get away before you do yourself in, you retard.

When your body stops listening to your brain, when you're driven solely by this sharp, unnamed hunger inside, that's when you know you're fucked. The police could've been there any minute, one of those gangmen could've regained consciousness and walked in, but none of it mattered to us because I'd lost it completely and Izaya, he was probably enjoying the thrill of it all being the usual freak that he is.

The sheets started to tear and pools of sweat collected in protruding collarbones. He was like a white twig in my bare hands. The thought had never hit me that despite the fact that he looked so thin, felt so small against my body, there was this wiry strength pulsating through him. I wanted so bad to break the bastard, to corrupt him, but it didn't seem to work, because no matter how hard I pushed into him I got no sense of empowerment, and no matter where I sank my teeth into porcelain flesh I received no negative response. Unsatisfying beyond belief.

He murmured through thrusts, pressing his jaw against the side of my face to bite the rim of my ear and I swear I could feel his swollen lips stretching across my cheek into a breathless sneer, his words seeping into my skin.

"You lack control...you know that?"

He always asked rhetorical questions. I hated it, because I never could come up with an equally biting remark. All I could do was shut him up physically with a kiss, my mind too paralysed to even speak.

It would've been so easy to just snap his neck.

But I never did. What I was doing instead was wrong, so completely out of control and I kept falling, falling repeatedly into crimson pooling beneath hooded lids, down what seemed like a bottomless pit, feeling a rush of vertigo shooting up my spine. It wasn't until I saw purple fingerprints caging his arms afterwards that I realised I'd been grasping him the whole way through in blind desperation.

Black streaks of hair stuck to his sweaty face as he spasmed; I spiralled down release. And then he was sprawled out in front of me, legs open, eyes shut. It was over.

Dawn broke through blind slats and reality kicked in. He dipped down reaching for his things, flickblade first, noncommittal. I shuddered in the stillness of the room, lit a cigarette, hid from his gaze in the midst of smoke. It wasn't long before we were fully clothed again, walking down the same street but in opposite directions; back to our own lives, our own cities.

"Till next time, Shizu-chan."

Before we parted, he took my sunglasses as a crow would shiny pieces of scrap; I should've known better. A twisted smile flashed before my eyes as daybreak stung and I squinted in reflex action.

"Wh—hey!"

A blink of an eye and he'd gone. Not a trace of him in sight, save for that demeaning smile burnt in the back of my mind. If he thought I was going to come rampaging after him to get them back, he was so damn wrong. With my sunglasses gone, I rubbed my eyes and cursed, turning on my heel to start the long trek back to my apartment, stopping now and again in front my own reflection in windows to tighten the bowtie around my collar in a paranoid attempt to hide fresh claw marks and lovebites. I could still feel his breath moist on my lips, hear those words taunting me on never-ending repeat.

You lack control. You lack control. You lack control.

It'd been nothing more than a careless act of self-destruction. I'd fucked up big time. It was just this once, never again, or so I'd thought—just like that time in high shool when I lit my first cigarette and never thought about the consequences of an addiction. But who cares? Because as much as I hated it I knew it was going to happen again.

In the end he always got his way.

Let me know what you think! One-liners, constructive criticism, vending machines, they're all welcome.