Title: Couldn't Help It
Summary: He smiled crookedly. "I told you you didn't mean it." – Izanami.
Notes: Fear the fluff.
Unless taking advantage of someone isn't called fluff. Then, oops. Forget you read this.
Disclaimer: DRRR! and all of its characters are owned by Ryohgo Narita.

-X-

It was exactly 2:35 am.

Namie's eyes flickered toward the bottom right-hand screen of her laptop, momentarily pausing from her paperwork and taking in the time. Her lips quirked down just slightly when she realized that her employer should've been back already.

He always returned at midnight, the time when demons came out to play and when Boogeyman crept out from children's closets. Yet, it was almost 3 o'clock.

She wondered why she suddenly felt so curious, and hastily reminded herself that the only reason she noticed his tardiness in the first place anyway was because she had been staying up late to finish all of her paperwork in order to get that day-off tomorrow, and just happened to look at the time.

It was now 2:37 am.

An irritated groan quickly escaped from her lips. Namie rubbed her forehead with a tired hand, idly checking her watch with some impatience. She briefly wondered how her cat was going along without it receiving its dinner yet. Namie cursed, Damn it. He better not be chewing up the couch again.

Just when she started to forget about the deal entirely, going back to her laptop and focusing on her work, the front door of the apartment suddenly barged open.

A loud curse resounded somewhere near the entrance, followed by a clatter of noises that immediately made her want to yell at him to shut up. She stood in the middle of her work and slammed her paperwork against the coffee table, stalking off towards the front door.

The woman abruptly stopped, however, when she saw his bleeding and battered form sitting up against the door.

He looked up at her, and instantly grinned. "Honey, I'm home." He greeted somewhat teasingly, sounding very tired.

It mystified her how he could even still grin at her cheekily like that despite his current state, busted lip and all, but she cut her thoughts off before she could start to over-analyze his character.

Maybe if she hadn't met him yet, or maybe if she didn't know his personality any better, then she'd buy his act. But you couldn't really pity a psychopath.

"Aw, were you waiting up for me?" His voice made itself known again, breaking through her thoughts. It really did sound ragged, even when he let out a laugh, faintly touching his chest. "Oh, Namie-san, you shouldn't have."

The woman snorted, crossing her arms. "I didn't. I'm working overtime so I can get a break from you, even if it's just for one day."

His grin instantly dropped at that comment, and it made her smile.

"Well, that's very hurtful." He tried again, giving her a kicked-puppy look that was no doubt aimed for a guilt-trip. "Since the mere thought of coming back home to you was the only thing that kept me going, you know." He said very primly, very dramatically, like something that you'd hear straight out of a movie or a novel. But it was also said very tenderly, especially when matched with his voice, able to mimic any emotion with just a tiny bit of mockery in his tone.

But she wasn't fooled. She's immediately able to spot that barely-there sarcasm without even looking at his expression, and so merely rolled her eyes. He should've been an actor or something.

"If that's true, then that's really sad, Izaya, considering I don't even like you and all." Namie said, regarding him with slight contempt and annoyance.

"Actually," She added, quite bluntly. "You're one of my least favorite people in the world. I hate you. If the apocalypse suddenly came and we were the last two people left on Earth, I would instantly commit suicide. If we were stuck in an island together, I would—"

"I get it." He immediately snarled at her spiel, and she smirked in satisfaction. "Well, are you going to help me up or what?" He muttered finally, arching a brow towards her.

"I'd pick or what."

"Namie-san." He droned.

Namie took one look at him and instinctively frowned, staring at the hand that was gripped around a wound on his lower left side and his other hand that was held out towards her expectantly. Izaya gave her a pointed look, and she huffed in resentment, shoulders sagging in reluctant compliance as she grabbed his hand.

He smiled when she chose to cooperate, though his body didn't even shift when she pulled at his arm, only managing to make his palms sweaty.

"Really?" His eyes crinkled down at her efforts, before a devilish smirk split his face. "Come on, Namie-san, put your back into it!"

She let out another irritated huff, muttering darkly under her breath. "You should lose some weight."

His ears instantly perked up at that comment, and he stared at her, looking incredulous and a little offended. "Excuse me? You're the one who doesn't exercise."

"I exercise enough." Namie hissed, clenching his hand with enough force that her nails dug into his flesh.

Izaya winced lightly, though it didn't stop him from his tirades. As if anything ever did. "I've never seen you run once before, Namie-san."

"Just because I don't run doesn't mean I don't exercise."

"Uh-huh."

Namie growled again, and just to prove that she did in fact exercise, she grabbed even more tightly unto his arm, with both of her hands, and forcibly yanked him up with every force she could muster.

"Gentler, gentler!" He yelped in alarm, and she would've almost fell back when his larger body came crashing unto her chest if she hadn't quickly shifted her weight onto her feet.

But his face was now hovering just mere inches above hers, and he had an arm slung around her shoulders to support himself—Namie abruptly noticed this and immediately planted both her hands against his chest, roughly pushing him away.

Apparently, Izaya noticed their close proximity too because a quick smile had flitted up to his face, and he instantly covered back the distance that they had lost.

Namie gritted her teeth, shifting uneasily, more than a little uncomfortable. "Can you make it to the living-room?" She asked, and frowned when his smile widened.

"M'afraid you'll have to carry me there." He mumbled into her hair, resting his cheek against the top of her head. He looked too comfortable, she realized, and so quickly punched him in the gut, breaking him out of whatever stupor he seemed to be having.

His features twisted at the harsh gesture. Namie snarled at him, "Get over it." She said, and Izaya frowned.

"Get over what?" His trademark smile resurfaced back unto his face, though, managing to disappear for only a slight second.

Namie rolled her eyes at his antics, and then tried to ignore the rest of his existence altogether, focusing on trying to walk in reverse towards the living room.

She had to crane her neck around her shoulders to see where she was going, and found out with extreme unenthusiasm that she had to place her hands at the sides of his waist if she didn't want them to crash together again, God forbid.

Izaya watched the brief changes in her expressions— from anxiety, to embarrassment, to frustration, and eventually, to anger— with a hint of amusement, absently leaning in a little too closely before quickly edging away when the woman had whipped her face around.

Namie growled softly. As if walking backwards wasn't already a big enough of a problem, she couldn't maneuver around as quickly as she wanted to with him practically strapped unto her, movements too stiff and awkward with one of his arms wrapped around her back and with her leg going in between his and his leg brushing against the almost-bare skin of her thighs with every step that they took.

Slowly, she became flustered and enraged all at the same time with how intimate their positions seemed to be—which was just ridiculous—and how they've barely managed to walk halfway from the front door to the living-room.

She turned around, temporarily meeting his eyes. "Tell me where to go, okay?" She instructed, facing him as she brought a hand to her neck, massaging it.

"Just keep going straight." He said, staring above her head. She complied, walking steadily, and in the next second, slammed herself right into a wall, back hitting against it with a loud crash.

Namie winced, hissing out a muffled curse when she noticed him suddenly towering over her, drawing close, far too close, his chest pressing against hers and his head lowering to the side of her neck—

She gnashed her teeth at him threateningly, daring him to come any closer, and when it did nothing but make his brows arch, mouth forming into a conniving little smirk as he licked his lips, she viciously shot him a fierce glare, telling him to cut the bullshit out, it's not funny, and roughly pushing at his arms to get away.

He slammed a hand at the side of her head, though, before she could even take a step away from him. Namie immediately gave him a snarl, and responded by elbowing his gut.

Izaya abruptly pulled away with a sharp "Ugh!", before a short laugh tumbled out of his lips, making her growl.

She turned around on her heels, brushing past him to return to her work so she could finally go back home. This crap had been going on for too long enough, and he could bleed there to death for all she cared. But he clapped a hand around her elbow, forcing her into a stop.

"If you don't let go—" She hissed again. He gave her a pleasant smile.

"I was just kidding, you know, a joke? Heard of it before?"

She merely shot him another a piercing glare before turning away once more. Izaya frowned at this, and made a whining sound at the back of his throat.

"Come on, Namie-san, don't be such a killer." He said, and slung an arm around her shoulder. He placed it back there again when she hastily shrugged it off.

She stared at the gesture with much contempt, and didn't trust him enough again to tell her directions, not giving a damn if she got a crick in her neck from craning around too much as long as the situation earlier didn't happen again.

Namie somehow managed to walk faster, though, in her haste to be rid of Izaya, and instantly dumped the man on the couch before immediately turning around.

"I'm still injured." He scowled at her, specifically emphasizing on the last two words.

Namie gritted her teeth, and patiently reminded herself that she was the bigger, more mature person, and that she shouldn't dwell on small things like the fact that she loathed him with every fiber of her being because she was a professional.

"That's why I'm getting the first aid kit." She finally answered when he continued in his incessant whining.

She filed into the bathroom, practically wrenching the cabinet door open and grabbing the white, plastic box before slamming it closed. She placed it on top of the bathroom counter, turning the faucet on and washing her hands. Flicking the lights off, she shuffled out of the bathroom, and was relatively surprised when it was suddenly quiet in the living room.

Namie peered towards the couch, taking in the sight of her employer splayed out on the sofa in an exhausted heap, his arm slung over his eyes.

For a short—very, very short second, she considered leaving him alone, since he did look quite peaceful. Then a growl immediately tore out of her lips, and she sneered. To hell with letting sleeping dogs lie, she already had the medical kit in her hands. She was going to patch that wound up before he could continuously pester her about it tomorrow morning.

Plopping down on the sofa, Namie flicked Izaya on the head non-too-gently. The man shifted, taking off the arm slung over his eyes.

"You can sleep later after I'm done bandaging your wound." She said almost patronizingly, and he frowned at her words.

"I wasn't sleeping. I was waiting for you to come back there doing God knows what."

"I was washing my hands to avoid infection. For your sake." She gritted out, and the desire to suddenly grab a pillow and asphyxiate him with it rang sharply in her mind.

"Oh. Well then, how sweet and very uncharacteristic of you." He drawled, letting a tiny bit of sarcasm seep into his voice as he sat up. Namie sighed in frustration, though she let it slide just this once.

"Take your shirt off." She muttered instead, massaging her temples.

Izaya's face immediately lit up at her demand, and a mischievous grin quickly decorated his face, mouth opening to say something lewd and suggestive when Namie instantly cut him off with a sharp glare.

"Now." She hissed, though it only served to make his smile widen.

"Somebody's eager." He grinned, flashing his teeth.

"Somebody'll be eager to clobber you if you don't hurry up." Namie shot back spitefully.

The man merely let out a soft chuckle at her words, dipping his head to hide another smile, and made a move to pull his shirt off. A sharp hiss wrenched from his lips as he did so, however, and he touched his wound, grimacing as he brought his hand in front of his face and saw that his fingers were soaked in red.

"I think the wound opened up again." Izaya noted dully. He lifted his shirt up, glancing down, and sure enough, blood started to trickle down his wound from when he had tried to remove his shirt.

Namie sighed at this irritably, grumbling as she brought her hand forward and tugged at his shirt. He looked at her with inquisitive eyes, moving his hand aside when she hooked her fingers underneath the fabric of his shirt and pulled upwards, rising on her knees on the couch.

She tapped on his elbows, a sign to raise his arms, and he blinked at her display of kindness, though it was immediately gone in an instant as she hoisted his shirt over his shoulders, practically shoving his head to get it out of the neck-hole and yanking it away from his raised arms.

He found himself grinning, nonetheless. Of course. She was always a rational woman first and then a vicious one the next.

Though it didn't mean he was going to let her live it down.

"How considerate of you, Namie-san, even if it was partly your fault for elbowing me earlier." He said pleasantly, rubbing at the tender area at which she'd so gently yanked his shirt from his head. "But whatever, you know. I like my women rough."

Namie shot him a distasteful look through the corners of her eyes. "Shut up." She scowled, looking over his injuries with a critical eye.

She didn't gasp, wince, or grimace when her eyes landed on his wound. She had seen and done more horrible things during her years in Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, though it did make her lips quirk down in some confusion.

There was a deep gash that glared obscenely back at her on his lower-left hand side, leaking out drops of blood that trailed down unto his waist. Surrounding the large cut were small flecks of bruises—in fact, his whole chest seemed to be surrounded by them, varying slightly from the size of her thumb to the back of some kind of pole.

Namie met his eyes briefly, "Did that man chuck pellets of rocks at you before finally throwing a rabid dog your way?"

"Wow. How'd you guess?" Izaya immediately replied, tone playful. She frowned lightly at him, rolling her eyes before unlatching the first aid kit and fishing out a bottle of alcohol and a clean, white cloth.

She twisted the cap off, dunking the bottle of alcohol against the cloth. "Might sting a little bit," She warned evenly, and began to scrape the dried blood around his wound with the tip of the cloth. He jerked away violently when she came in contact with the wound, a half-yelp and a half-snarl tearing out of his lips.

"Hold still." Namie muttered, leaning in closer to resume cleaning the wound, though he immediately pulled away, grabbing her wrist.

His lips were set in a thin, firm line, expression a bit wary as he drew in a sharp breath, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"Izaya." She said, speaking his name in exasperation as she rolled her eyes.

He stared at her with a sour face, before quickly pouting and launching into a whine. "But it stings." He stressed, making her scoff.

She freed her wrist from his hold. "That's what I said." Namie told him, resisting another eye roll as she once again leaned in to continue cleaning his wound.

"Ah! Shit." Izaya jolted, hissing sharply and gritting his teeth when she moved towards the center of the gash.

"Stop... jumping around!" She struggled, snarling.

"If you'd be a little more gentle—"

"I'm being as gentle as I can." She hissed rather impatiently, and ignored the small scoff that he made. "Look, just distract yourself. Do whatever you can to cope with the pain, alright?"

He laughed at her suddenly, making her pause in her work. Namie gave him a look, and he merely smiled. "You don't mean that, Namie-san."

"Don't talk about things you don't know." She said, eyes narrowing irritably. "I always mean what I say—"

And at those words, he grabbed the back of her head, ramming her lips against his.

GAH. Sorry for the lame writing. I didn't realize how much I actually suck at past tense after the period of writing in present-tense. Or maybe I got that mixed up?

Uhm. Yeah.

Review? *bats eyelashes*