Durarara Lemons

Sexual Tension

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Summary: This, Shizuo thinks, is what one would call "Sexual Tension".

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"you want it from me on both knees
but not until you beg me please"

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This, Shizuo thinks, is what one would call "Sexual Tension".

It's been a game of cat and mouse, even more so than usual. Every time he's run into him, it's all secretive glances, lingering touches, leering mouths whispering things that are violating and profane enough to compel Shizuo to go red and throw the nearest heavy object in mortification.

It's driving him mad.

He's being played with, he knows that, but slowly, gradually, it's getting harder and harder to suppress the flush that rises to his cheeks every time he thinks about the soft, pale skin, the smooth expanse of his neck, his slim figure—Nononononono stop it!

He groans out loud and bangs his head against the nearest wall in sheer frustration.

"S-Shizuo? Are you okay?" Tom's concerned face is barely visible from the corner of his eye. "Your face is red... Are you sick?"

He decides he hates everything.

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After apologizing profusely to Tom, lying about some illness or the other, he's left to spend his evening alone in his apartment, moping.

But honestly, what else could he do? Go outside, take a stroll, smell the flowers, watch the children play, maybe run into—

don't even go there

It's like his brain has been wired to think only about the flea and nothing but the flea. All he can see even now is the fullness of his lips, his seductive crimson eyes, his silky skin and raven hair—

Goddamnit.

He needs a distraction. He needs a distraction right now.

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Somehow, despite his misgivings, Shizuo finds himself in the park, smelling the flowers, watching children play, and most definitely not running into any provocative, perverted, violating, yet irresistibly alluring—

"Ah, Shizu-chan, what a wonderful coincidence!"

He's hard fought not to crush the cigarette between his fingers. Slowly, he turns around, ignoring the imploring wails of his common sense, (NOOO, DON'T DO IT, JUST IGNORE HIM)—

—and does a double take.

It's probably the first time he's seen the flea in anything that isn't black and long-sleeved. He blinks, mouth hanging open slightly in the perfect image of shocked disbelief.

He's in a satiny, blood red button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the top few buttons left open to reveal the creamy pale skin of his chest, and dark pants that cling to the contours of his legs in a way that makes his mouth go dry.

You're staring, idiot.

Shizuo clears his throat and pretends that he can't feel the heat creeping up his neck; instead, he opts to shove the cigarette back in his mouth and continues to walk in the other direction, repeating the (slightly panicked) mental mantra of don't follow me, don't follow me, don't follow me, please don't follow—

But already he knows it's a vain hope; he can hear the flea's footsteps catching up to his own.

"Aw, why are you running away, Shizu-chan?"