Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1014853.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Durarara!!
  Relationship:
      Kida_Masaomi/Orihara_Izaya
  Character:
      Orihara_Izaya, Kida_Masaomi
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-23 Words: 4244
****** The Security of Known Misery ******
by PreseaMoon
Summary
     Kida Masaomi is an interesting blend of guilt and fear and desire and
     loathing. It’s part of what makes playing with him so worthwhile.
Kida is nervous. That is obvious before the kid’s even stepped a foot inside
Izaya’s office. It took him five doddering minutes to make it from the
building’s entrance to Izaya’s apartment door. Did he pace outside the door?
Did he take slow, painful half steps to delay his arrival? Maybe he stood just
inside the entrance like a mannequin for a few minutes.
Nothing Izaya imagines is particularly dignified. He’d laugh if it weren’t
quite so pathetic. He’d laugh if it weren’t Kida Masaomi, because by this
point, such a routine is so trite.
Kida is wondering why he’s come here, no doubt. He’s trying to reason his
nerves away with irrationality, when he really ought to know better. His
attempts to maintain some sense of self-respect are amusing and not much else.
Kida is such a kid.
Izaya wonders how long it will take Kida to get over himself. Kida knows
perfectly well why he won’t turn away, and he hates himself for it being
selfish and primal and foolish. It only makes him human. Kida needs to learn to
appreciate his humanity and the allure it possesses.
Kida Masaomi is an interesting blend of guilt and fear and desire and loathing.
It’s not that strange a mixture for a teenager, really, but Kida handles it in
a way that is fascinating to observe. His actions all too often don’t fit his
personality, and everything he does is basically a train wreck waiting to
happen. On top of that, he doesn’t have particularly effective coping
strategies. Everything spirals down from there thanks to the choices he’s
already made. It’s part of what makes playing with Kida so worthwhile.
Kida is here because he feels he has no choice. He’s wrong, of course, he
always has a choice, but more than that, he’d feel guilty if he left. Not to
mention he already feels guilty. There isn’t a winning option left for him. So
he might as well choose what results in the most self-satisfaction.
It’s admirably, beautifully human of him. Well, at the very least it’s not
gratuitously masochistic, which is certainly less of a hassle. Unless Kida
views getting off in a worse light than not getting off, but frankly that would
be surprising, and unlikely.
This is Kida’s third visit to Izaya’s apartment.
It’s inaccurate to say he’s shaking like a leaf, but he’s certainly anxious
enough that the physical signs of it are nearly painful to take note of. He’s
either irrationally nervous their inappropriate little tryst is going to be
found out, or somewhat justifiably nervous about engaging in lewd acts with an
older man he alternately reviles and fears. Both of which are equally
ridiculous, because no one is going to enter Izaya’s apartment uninvited and
this isn’t Kida’s first time here for this reason.
Kida lingers by the door, not even looking in Izaya’s general direction. He
looks like a kid at a busy crosswalk. Izaya feels a tendril of annoyance; Kida
was never this timid when he was here for advice and information.
With a sigh, Izaya pushes himself up from his desk and wanders over close to
the sofas and then not far from Kida. “Masaomi-kun, I’m glad you arrived
safely. You may come in.” He makes a point to sound like he’s questioning
Kida’s intelligence.
Kida frowns, and it looks belligerent enough that Izaya is placated. It’s no
good playing with him if he’s too apprehensive to take offense. He has to be
himself. If he’s going to behave like a mindless whore this is all pointless
and boring.
Izaya grips Kida’s nape once he’s able and pulls him in. The teenager is tense
all over, and Izaya has no idea why. He stares into Kida’s eyes intensely, and
Kida stares back in mild confusion, still nervous.
He blinks, waiting. Izaya blinks back, irritated.
Izaya kisses him long and deep and good, but it doesn’t ease Kida’s tension at
all. He doesn’t respond at all to Izaya’s lips on his or Izaya’s tongue
pressing into his mouth. When he pulls away, leaving Kida red faced and
breathless, the kid only looks more on edge.
Kida wasn’t like this last time. Nothing has transpired between then and now
that explains this reaction. His life has been as normal as it ever is.
What it means is, Kida has been thinking about this way too much. With fear and
anxiety at the core, he’s thinking about their ages and where this is going and
how it will end and why, why him, why this, why now.
It’s pointless. So very pointless, and now, annoying in addition to that. Those
questions don’t have relevant answers. Not for Kida, anyway.
Izaya hums low in disappointment. It’s not a particularly grave obstacle, but
it is an irritation whatever the case. Easily taken care of, and perhaps even
best considering his long-term plans for the night, but still. It’s the
principle.
“Would you like a drink?” he says, already heading for the cabinet with the
liquor he’s left unopened for years now. He never quite imagined it would come
in handy like this.
“Ah, not really, no,” Kida responds, sounding confused, and then he looks even
more confused, and maybe a little worried, when Izaya starts pouring him a
glass anyway.
Kida has, unsurprisingly, made the mistake of thinking Izaya was actually
asking.
Izaya pushes the glass across the counter and gives Kida an expectant look.
He’s certainly not going to force the underage teenager in his apartment to
consume alcohol, but Kida is going to drink it whether he wants to or not.
Kida’s shoulders heave as if he’s sighed, but there isn’t any sound or intake
of breath at all. He eyes the liquor warily once he’s picked it up and examines
it closer. He looks unimpressed with it, but then sniffs it and cringes. He
swirls the glass a few times, even though the glass isn’t suitable for the
motion and the liquid rocks back and forth more than anything.
Izaya isn’t crazy about these obvious delaying tactics, but he might as well
let Kida get some of nerves out on his own before the liquor does it for him.
He almost wants to say he hasn’t poisoned it or anything, but that sort of
thing will just make Kida think he has. While it’d be amusing, even if just a
tiny bit, Izaya doesn’t want the hassle right now.
As Kida brings the glass to his lips, Izaya advises, “Down it in one go.”
Kida makes an annoyed face at him. He takes a breath. Releases it. Drinks.
He slams the glass onto the counter when he’s done, successfully draining the
glass as Izaya instructed. He gags and coughs in what must be an exaggerated
display of revulsion. “Oh, my god! That was disgusting. That was the most
disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”
Izaya blinks at him before proffering several mints that Kida eagerly throws
into his mouth.
Izaya pulls Kida along by the hand to the bedroom. He figures it will be best
to start before the alcohol settles in, although by the time Izaya’s pushed
Kida onto the bed he’s already looking somewhat dazed. As long as he doesn’t
pass out or throw up, any condition is fine.
Izaya straddles Kida’s lap and places his hands on either side of his face as
he kisses him and brings his back to the bed. His breath is minty but has a
lingering underlying of bitter alcohol to it. Kida kisses him back with more
fervor than he has before this early on, and his hands curl into Izaya’s shirt,
pulling it free from his waistband in the process.
“Izaya,” Kida mumbles when Izaya pulls back. He shuts his eyes, and his brow
furrows as if he’s trying to regain balance. “Izaya, I feel funny.”
“That’s the point. Haven’t you been drunk before?”
“No. Alcohol isn’t really my thing.”
“Not even a little tipsy?”
Kida shakes his head. “I don’t think I like it. Was this a good idea? Did you
drug me? Will I remember anything? What are you going to do to me?” Each
question comes out with an increased level of panic.
Izaya sighs deeply. “I did not put anything in the alcohol. You even saw me
pour it. I can’t say whether or not you’ll remember, but I wasn’t intending for
you to blackout. That will depend on your tolerance, which may be lower than I
had been anticipating.” He shrugs, because it feels like the only thing close
to consolation he can offer.
Kida tugs at Izaya’s shirt. He’s probably stretching it out. “What are you
going to do to me?” he asks, sounding quietly fearful and looking young.
His nerves are a little unfounded. It’s not like Izaya caused him any pain the
last two times. Izaya isn’t going to hurt Kida. Of course he’s not going to
hurt him. Well, not hurt him with the sole intention of hurting him, at least.
It will be more of a byproduct, which isn’t the same at all.
“Nothing you won’t like,” Izaya assures him casually.
Kida swallows and leans his head back, stretching out his neck as though it’s
an offering just for Izaya, long and pale and clean, tantalizing. “Are you
going to fuck me?” Kida asks, almost bewildered, and a brilliant red blooms
across his neck. Izaya can see his pulse thrumming against the thin skin of his
neck.
Izaya brings his lips down to Kida’s neck, brushes his lips against his pulse.
“Would you like that?”
“No,” Kida says automatically, and then, after only a moment of hesitation,
“Yes.” He turns his head away. His neck stretches further and Izaya can feel
his heartbeat firmly against his lips. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. You’ll
do whatever you want.”
“You can always tell me to stop, Masaomi-kun.”
But he won’t, and they both know it.
Third parties would be quick to call this rape. Well, molestation so far, but
the rape will be soon enough. And with alcohol thrown into the mix now, the
accusations of rape will be pretty much instantaneous. Those third parties may
even have a point. After all, Kida Masaomi is a minor and Orihara Izaya is an
adult man. They are both willing participants, but that apparently counts for
nothing.
It’s a content arrangement. It simply has the downside of painting Izaya as a
pervert. Kida is young, but he’s not young enough for that label to be
justified. In Izaya’s opinion, anyway.
Or maybe the obvious manipulation part that would get him branded a pervert
instead, and the age thing would just make it worse. And it being Kida, of all
underage people he could have chosen, would also make it worse to anyone who
knew anything about their history.
Anyway, it’d be best if most third parties didn’t learn of this, primarily
Kadota and his gang, because, as friends of Kida Masaomi, they’d be compelled
to do something. One would think. That, or word would inevitably get around
thanks to them and other, more ethical people would step in. Not that Izaya
wanted to give anyone too much credit. Humans do have a way of turning their
heads at the most strangely specific things, the words “not my business”
hanging voicelessly around their necks.
Kida lifts his hips impatiently, drawing Izaya’s attention back to him, and
starts to pull up on Izaya’s shirt ineffectually. Izaya sinks his teeth into
Kida’s neck, hard then harder, and the teenager releases a low moan that’s half
pain half pleasure. Kida kicks out his feet since he can’t draw up his knees,
and he rolls his hips upwards insistently.
Izaya loosens his belt and unbuttons his pants, and does the same for Kida. He
gets Kida out of his hoodie and shirt, dropping them into a pile on the ground.
He runs his fingertips up Kida’s side, reveling the way the boy intakes a
breath and squirms at his touch.
“Izaya-san,” Kida mumbles again, drawing out the syllables. “You have a weird
name.”
Izaya sighs. “Yes, and you have a normal name, Masaomi-kun.”
Kida grins widely. It looks as if he’s trying not to laugh, but Izaya can’t
fathom why. This sort of thing is part of what makes liquor so unattractive,
generally speaking. Whatever effects the alcohol has on Kida, however, Izaya
can deal with it deftly. It’s less of a gamble with a kid already in the palm
of his hand.
Izaya pinches the skin under Kida’s chest. “What’s so funny, Kida Masaomi-kun?”
Kida hums with that smile still in place. He reaches his hands past Izaya and
rests his interlocking fingers on the small of Izaya’s clothed back. “Is it
going to hurt?”
“Yes,” Izaya says, uncertain whether Kida has bypassed his question or if the
thought of impending pain has him giddy. He leans in. “But you’ll like it.”
“I’m not a masochist,” Kida says a little absently, a little nonplussed. He
avoids Izaya’s eyes.
Izaya pinches the areola around Kida’s right nipple and smiles when the
teenager winces. “Sure you are.”
Kida huffs, his bangs fall over his eyes and nose, but it doesn’t obscure the
red rising in his face. Izaya reaches a hand over and brushes the hair away
from his face.
Kida’s face and body both lean more towards child than man, as far as teenage
physiques go. His face is still round thanks to lingering baby fat and his body
is soft and smooth. His pierced ears and dyed hair aren’t enough to lend any
semblance of maturity; they only bring attention to his slowly fading youth.
Izaya doesn’t have any qualms about fucking a teenage boy. Perhaps that’s too
deviant a thing to claim. It’s not like he goes out looking for teenage boys to
stick his dick in whenever he gets horny. Perhaps it’d be best to say he has no
qualms about fucking this teenage boy in particular. That might be worse, but
it is Kida Masaomi. The normal rules don’t quite apply to him anymore.
Izaya licks his thumb, and then rubs it against Kida’s nipple, once, twice, and
Kida groans and slinks down in response. Izaya bites at Kida’s shoulder before
attaching his mouth to Kida’s other nipple, lapping it with fervor. He nips at
it lightly with his lips and brushes against it roughly, all he can to make
Kida react and writhe and keen under him.
Kida arches off the bed and his hand buries itself Izaya’s hair, twisting it
tightly between his fingers. His chest heaves while he presses further into the
bed, and Izaya can’t tell if he’s trying to pull away or get closer with each
breath. His hips roll up again and again, but he’s pulled himself far enough
down that there’s only empty air to offer friction. Kida’s moans and whimpers
are so high pitched Izaya can’t tell if the kid is getting enough air. Instead
of slowing or allowing Kida a moment of peace, however, Izaya works faster,
until Kida can’t get out any sound at all and is probably dizzy from a lack of
air.
Izaya pulls up, a trail of saliva stretches from his lower lip to Kida’s skin.
He grins at Kida’s face, panting and red and wanting. The power this gives him
over Kida is delightful. It’s something so simple, primitive, and it has Kida
coming back to him despite his bitter resentment and common sense.
It’s delightful, and also pitiful. Sex should not be this powerful, but maybe
it’s simply that Kida is a teenager. He can’t help if his body has desires, and
if someone is offering, why should he decline? Besides, Izaya is very good at
this.
Kida’s hand slips from Izaya’s hair to his neck, his grip is firm but weak at
the same time, tired but holding on anyway. “Izaya, I really hate you,” Kida
tells him, his tone is one other people might use to proclaim their love but
his eyes are full of contempt.
Izaya caresses Kida’s cheek warmly. “Is that so? I love you, yet you hate me.
You really are a twisted kid, Masaomi-kun.”
“You’re such a fucking liar,” Kida says with something like a laugh but not.
“You are a liar.” Resigned.
“Are you saying you aren’t a liar? If you truly believe so, you are a fool. But
I suppose I can find it in me to love you anyway.”
Kida scowls, and it makes him look very much so like a child. Izaya sighs and
places his thumb in Kida’s mouth when the boy opens his mouth to speak what
would most likely be nonsense. “Suck,” he says.
Kida’s face was already red, but now it seems to be luminescent, as if Izaya
has suggested something especially vulgar. He has such laughably delicate
sensibilities.
Izaya smiles mockingly. “Was that not clear enough? Suck on my thumb, Masaomi-
kun. Use your tongue.” At his menacing tone, Kida glares.
Kida complies, tentatively, like he doesn’t quite see the point, although he
certainly must. He knows what a blowjob is, even if he’s never given or
received one. Kida attends to Izaya’s thumb almost lazily, as if it’s busywork.
Izaya will never stop being pleasantly bemused by how inexperienced Kida is in
the ways of sexuality. He certainly is a boy who is all talk.
It will be even more amusing once all of his sexual knowledge can irrevocably
be credited to Izaya.
“Keep your eyes open,” Izaya orders when the Kida’s eyes start to drift shut.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or what he should be doing. It’s almost
endearing. Luckily, Kida catches on quick, following after when Izaya starts to
drag his thumb out and hollowing his cheeks, eventually. He keeps his eyes,
still hazy with inebriation and arousal, on Izaya’s, and Izaya can’t decide if
that’s better than when he averts his gaze or not.
Izaya’s arousal steadily rises from the simmer that’s been plaguing him for
days. He really does like Kida. He’s such an interesting kid.
He abruptly pulls his hand away from Kida, turning to the nearby end table and
opening its drawer to find the lubrication he got nearly a week ago just for
this. When he finds it, he places it on the bed beside Kida while he pulls
Kida’s jeans and boxers all the way off.
“I’m nervous,” Kida says, not sounding nervous.
Izaya settles himself by his side and drags the flat of his hand from Kida’s
knee to his upper thigh. He rubs his thigh several times, until Kida’s hips are
fidgeting and his cock twitches in anticipation. “That’s normal,” Izaya tells
him dismissively.
Izaya twists the cap off the lubrication and applies a generous amount to his
fingers.
Kida flinches when Izaya comes into contact with his entrance, and he starts to
pull his legs together instinctually but freezes almost as quick. His breathing
grows heavy, but he doesn’t say anything. Izaya places the palm of his hand on
Kida’s stomach, an empty soothing gesture while he slowly strokes Kida.
Kida doesn’t voice any doubts, which is admirable in its own way, but mostly
speaks volumes about how Kida feels about this arrangement, none of it glowing,
of course. He makes guttural groaning sounds that aren’t quite discomfort but
close enough as Izaya slowly eases his finger inside him.
Izaya stretches him and relaxes him and eventually works in two more fingers
while Kida makes noises and wriggles about all the while. When he looks over to
Kida’s face, he thinks there may be tears in his eyes. He took hold of Izaya’s
free hand with a death grip not too long ago, so it’s probably time to get
moving along whether Kida is properly ready or not.
Izaya curls his fingers at the right spot, and Kida instantly responds, gasping
and arching off the bed. His hand releases Izaya’s to splay out, shaking from
shock until he grips the comforter instead.
“Wh-what’d you do?” Kida asks breathlessly.
“Did you doubt me when I said you’d like it? I’m disappointed, Masaomi-kun.” He
pauses, tosses a smile in Kida’s direction. “You did like it, didn’t you?”
Kida gives him a panicked look, like he’s being unexpectedly quizzed. “I… I
don’t know.”
Izaya frowns, presses against that spot some more and watches as Kida bites his
lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from making any sound. He still twists
his body and attempts to press further against Izaya’s fingers, however. So
Izaya stops. “How about now, did you like it?”
“I…”
Izaya sighs theatrically. “If you didn’t, I suppose we can just stop here,
then. I don’t want to force anything on you.”
“Wait!” Kida exclaims when Izaya starts to pull out his fingers. “Wait. I… I
liked it.” The overt loathing directed at both himself and Izaya in that
statement is exquisite.
Kida gives Izaya a magnificently betrayed look as well, when he takes his
fingers out anyway. Izaya laughs. “What’s that look about? You have so little
faith in me. I’m still going to fuck you.” Izaya’s grin widens as that
assertion wipes away Kida’s petulant glare.
He drags Kida closer to the bed’s edge before pulling out his member and
applying more lubrication than he feels he needs to.
“It’s going to hurt,” Kida says vacantly as Izaya positions himself.
Izaya spreads Kida’s legs further apart, takes another step closer. He pats his
hip bone once. “Yes, I did tell you that, but just think, pain, and then all
that pleasure. You might beg me to never stop,” Izaya informs him, candid and
only a little teasing.
Kida looks away, saying nothing, a smart choice, but also a boring one.
Izaya eases himself in as steadily as when it was his fingers. He hears Kida
take a breath and hold it, stubbornly trying to wait until the worst is done,
so Izaya goes slower.
Kida inhales loudly and glares. “What the hell are you doing?” he demands, well
aware of what Izaya is doing. “Are you trying to make me pass out? I mean,
seriously, what’s wrong with you? What even—” He cuts himself off with a groan
when Izaya just pushes the last bit of his length inside. He’s such a mouthy
kid. For all he learns, some things just don’t stick.
Izaya shuts his eyes and keeps a sturdy grip on Kida’s hips as he regulates his
breathing. His moans are low in his throat and he keeps them there. The tight
heat of Kida around him is better than he thought it would be. He already wants
to slam into him again and again until Kida is begging him to stop and begging
him for more in equal measure.
Izaya starts with a slow, simple rhythm, allowing Kida to adjust and find a
rhythm that matches Izaya’s. He’s clumsy but not awful, and Izaya supposes he
can’t ask for much more than that. At the very least Kida is making some very
appreciated sounds, so it evens out.
All of Kida’s moans are quiet, and Izaya can’t place whether he’s holding them
back or he’s just not particularly loud about this sort of thing. It’s one of
the last things Izaya expected, but actually, considering it, it’s not too
surprising. After all, Kida is a liar, and not even a very good one.
One of Kida’s hands wrap around his cock, and Izaya doesn’t bother to thwart
him. He’d love to really, but he’s too preoccupied with enjoying himself to
bother. Kida sloppily strokes himself, too short and too quick, until he’s
coming into his fist and it dribbles onto his pelvis. He doesn’t take note of
Izaya still pumping into him.
Izaya leans over Kida, panting, pushing into him again and again until he
finally hits his own release. He waits for his heart to settle, and once it
does he pulls out to stretch and admire the view of Kida spent and content on
his bed.
Izaya grabs one of Kida’s wrists and pulls him to a sitting position. “Come on,
Masaomi-kun. Shower.”
Kida wraps his hand around Izaya’s wrist, pulling it to his chest while he lets
his head fall forward onto Izaya’s stomach. “Izaya,” he says quietly, but firm.
“Masaomi,” Izaya says back, equally firm but not quiet.
The silence drags on. There are plenty of things in the silence, things Kida
would like to say but won’t, that he doesn’t need to say because Izaya already
knows them all. It’s only a matter of which he will voice.
Kida shakes his head. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever known,” he tells him,
voice laced with subdued misery.
It’s a quaint way to express affection.
Izaya ruffles his hair. He cups Kida’s chin and lifts his head up to look at
his face. He looks despondent and calm. “Masaomi-kun, I may be the worst person
you will ever know.” He smiles viciously. “But I also love you dearly. How many
people can say that?”
Kida’s head lolls to the side. He shoots Izaya a half-hearted glare. “Shut the
fuck up,” he mutters before pressing his head back against Izaya’s stomach.
Izaya pulls Kida up from the bed, forcing him reluctantly to his feet. “Shower.
You aren’t sleeping in my bed in this condition.”
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