Durarara Lemons

Impatient

When Shizuo awoke, he found the bed beside him empty. He flung an arm over to try to gauge how the cold the sheets were, to see how long it had been since he left, but didn't have much success. It wasn't like Izaya generated much body heat in the first place. If anything he'd be better off seeing how much residual body heat he had, considering Izaya's propensity for trying to steal all of it, especially when it was a cool night like it had been.

The first few times Shizuo thought he'd felt something akin to disappointment or even confusion when he found Izaya gone in the mornings and, at the time, had been irritated at himself for caring in the first place. Nonetheless, some part of him had understood the other's urge to slip away unseen. When he thought about it, waking up together had seemed like much too large a step at the time, too intimate, too strange considering their previous relationship. Now, though, Shizuo had come to two possible conclusions about Izaya's continuous escapes:

1. Izaya was still a sneaky flea bastard at heart and did it to piss Shizuo off—as he did a lot of things, if not, perhaps, with quite the same intensity as he once had.

2. He actually had some work to do this early because he had a shitty, shady job working with shitty, shady people.

Hell, maybe it was both. Shizuo couldn't find it in himself to really care anymore. They were in Izaya's apartment anyway, so he couldn't have gone far. Rebellious rays of light were pushing their way through the heavy curtains drawn over the window in Izaya's bedroom, indicating that he probably needed to start moving soon, not that he really wanted to. If he was at his own place he'd probably roll back over for a couple more hours, no questions asked, but he didn't want to run into Izaya's secretary again. He didn't like the cold, knowing way her eyes followed him around and he liked the way Izaya laughed at him when he complained about it even less.

The warm, familiar smell of coffee being brewed drifted up to his nose around that time, a good indicator of Izaya's continued presence in the apartment. That was better motivation that the fear factor of Namie to get him up and moving. Slowly he urged himself up into a sitting position, stretching and hearing his back crack less times than usual, probably thanks to Izaya's ridiculously expensive mattress which he wasn't above admitting was a perk of being with the other man. Shizuo swung his legs out of the bed, pausing only to ponder pulling on some semblance of presentable attire before deciding it probably wasn't worth it, and began making his way downstairs, feeling the drowsy sluggishness staying up later than usual had begun to weigh on his body in the recent years settle down upon him as he walked.

Izaya had been on a business trip for the past week, not arriving home until late the previous night and Shizuo had waited up for him. He didn't like when he was away for so long. Shizuo didn't know where he was and he knew that with Izaya's clients, anything could happen. Over the years his paranoia had evolved into a sort of worry that could be exhausting if he let it occupy his mind too much. Normally that wouldn't be a problem if he could just blow off some steam somehow, but that was even more difficult with Izaya gone, since he was the prime candidate for such things. All it did was make it an extremely stressful work week for everyone involved with Shizuo more on edge than usual and more likely than not to snap over something relatively stupid if given the opportunity, resulting in a lot more jobs ending with some deadbeat getting beaten up for simply being disrespectful.

Shizuo hadn't told Izaya any of this, figuring he'd only get a mocking reply, but he'd tried, at the very least, to show him last night just how much he'd missed him and he thought he'd done a pretty damn good job. Memories of Izaya with eyes fluttered shut and his mouth open wide on a low note of satisfaction flittered across his consciousness, making heat stir low in his abdomen again. He shook his head at himself, at how little it took for him to be aroused by the other man. It was really no wonder their chases had become something more like races to see who could get home quicker.