Shizuo hadn't expected that Izaya would grab the dagger from him, let alone plunge it into his own chest. Hadn't Shizuo already hurt him, there? Why would he want to hurt like that again? He opened his mouth, wanting to protest, to tell him to stop, but no words formed. Instead, he watched wide-eyed as Izaya cleaned the dagger with his lips. A dark, sinking fear reestablished itself within Shizuo, because this wasn't going to be an ordinary kiss. This was going to be the kiss. He knew it before Izaya even grabbed his face. He was asleep, and this was going to wake him up.
There was nothing he could do about it, though, because Izaya's move was sudden and intense, and they were kissing in a way that stung and yet felt so incredibly right. Shizuo tasted the blood and felt as though he could taste the anger and violence, too, but he matched Izaya's vigor. He wanted this kiss more that he had ever wanted anything - he knew that now, as Izaya's tongue met his, as everything blended together between the two of them. Shizuo responded to Izaya's body by moving his own so he could hold him, arms around Izaya, passion matched.
And then it was gentle. Perfect. It felt, to Shizuo, in his final moments in the mind frame of the huntsman, that this was what should have happened a long time ago. Lips became gentle, their tongues moving together tenderly rather than with force. And with the final peck, an awareness settled onto Shizuo - slow, like a ripple throughout his mind. There was no crashing, no sense of sudden awareness, just a subtle awakening. His felt felt foggy and he tasted blood on his lips, and Izaya was pulling back and -
Shizuo was himself again.
Only he wasn't. He'd never be the same again, and he knew it. This curse had changed everything.
His expression was tender, at first, but began to change into clear, bright fear. Shizuo brought a shaking hand to his mouth and wiped. Pulling it back, he looked at it. Blood. There was blood on his lips and on his chest - from his chest - and Izaya was bleeding, too - and oh god, he had sliced Izaya's chest days ago, hadn't he? The memories wouldn't stop resurfacing, one-by-one, with an awful slowness. Shizuo stared at Izaya and felt so openly vulnerable and broken that if it weren't Izaya who had been facing him, Shizuo could have cried. Everything hurt in a way he did not understand. His chest, especially. Oh god, his chest - and not the cut. He didn't even feel that.
He had no desire to crush Izaya's windpipe. No desire to send him flying halfway across Vatheon, or even across the garden. He had no desire to touch Izaya at all, because if he did, Shizuo might be violently ill. He put his head in his hands, which became fists in his hair, and groaned, body shaking.
He was awake. Painfully, terribly awake, and all Shizuo wanted to do was go back to sleep.
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There was nothing he could do about it, though, because Izaya's move was sudden and intense, and they were kissing in a way that stung and yet felt so incredibly right. Shizuo tasted the blood and felt as though he could taste the anger and violence, too, but he matched Izaya's vigor. He wanted this kiss more that he had ever wanted anything - he knew that now, as Izaya's tongue met his, as everything blended together between the two of them. Shizuo responded to Izaya's body by moving his own so he could hold him, arms around Izaya, passion matched.
And then it was gentle. Perfect. It felt, to Shizuo, in his final moments in the mind frame of the huntsman, that this was what should have happened a long time ago. Lips became gentle, their tongues moving together tenderly rather than with force. And with the final peck, an awareness settled onto Shizuo - slow, like a ripple throughout his mind. There was no crashing, no sense of sudden awareness, just a subtle awakening. His felt felt foggy and he tasted blood on his lips, and Izaya was pulling back and -
Shizuo was himself again.
Only he wasn't. He'd never be the same again, and he knew it. This curse had changed everything.
His expression was tender, at first, but began to change into clear, bright fear. Shizuo brought a shaking hand to his mouth and wiped. Pulling it back, he looked at it. Blood. There was blood on his lips and on his chest - from his chest - and Izaya was bleeding, too - and oh god, he had sliced Izaya's chest days ago, hadn't he? The memories wouldn't stop resurfacing, one-by-one, with an awful slowness. Shizuo stared at Izaya and felt so openly vulnerable and broken that if it weren't Izaya who had been facing him, Shizuo could have cried. Everything hurt in a way he did not understand. His chest, especially. Oh god, his chest - and not the cut. He didn't even feel that.
He had no desire to crush Izaya's windpipe. No desire to send him flying halfway across Vatheon, or even across the garden. He had no desire to touch Izaya at all, because if he did, Shizuo might be violently ill. He put his head in his hands, which became fists in his hair, and groaned, body shaking.
He was awake. Painfully, terribly awake, and all Shizuo wanted to do was go back to sleep.