Unrequited Infatuation - ;;
Master, master, master.
Long spidery digits stroked Izayaâs cheek, barely making any contact with the soft skin. Emotionless magenta hues watched the man sleep, the calm way the brunetâs breathing made his chest rise and fall. Psyche didnât want his master to be with anyone else. Especially not that scary bartender man. A pout decorated the innocentâs lips, those spidery digits brushing some of his masterâs dark bangs away so he could better view the sleeping face.
The young man leaned over his precious master, magenta orbs seeming to glow in the dark as lids slid closed and a soft kiss was pressed to the sleeping manâs forehead. Psycheâs lips hovering over the spot he had kissed before his cheek nuzzled against his sleeping master.
âMaster, master, master~âŠI wonât let anyone else have you.â
Izaya shifted, turning away from Psyche a bit as his subconscious conjured up images and formed them into dreams. Most likely of the âscary bartender manâ. The carbon copy peppered soft kisses across the sleeping manâs cheek and temple, spidery digits combing through feathery raven locks.
âYouâre mine, Master, Iâd rather see you dead than with anyone else.â
Always on my mind.
Master Iâm in love with you.
You probably donât understand though, the feeling of rage I get when I see you with him.
Izaya was giddy, there was an extra bounce to his step. A lighter sound to his laughter. An all around glow about him that screamed âIâm happyâ. Psyche couldnât stand it. Seeing his master happy with someone else. That was just not allowed! Psyche wouldnât allow it! Every day for a month at least Psyche had been left home alone with that bitch of a woman his precious master had employed.
The brunet would sit and draw all day, waiting for Izaya to come home, waiting so they could sleep. But sometimes the man wouldnât show up at all, staying with that stupid blond brute overnight and making Psyche worry. Heâd have to do something. Obviously the little man couldnât kill Shizuo⊠No, that would upset Izaya far too much and Psyche couldnât have that. No. But he could mark Izaya up a bit himself?
Thoughts of carving his name into Izayaâs pretty skin flittered through Psycheâs mind, a soft smile curling his lips upward. With his name carved into his master that stupid bartender man couldnât rightfully touch him! Heâd be touching Psycheâs property, and Psyche didnât like sharing. Especially his master, Psyche refused to share his master.
Hey Master.
Donât let him touch you anymore.
Because if you do Iâll have to take drastic measures.
And I donât want to have to mark up your pretty skin too badly.
I donât want to hurt you too much.
I love you, Master.
The first time Psyche sees them kiss fills him with unimaginable rage. The boy is loyally awaiting his masterâs return, like a good boy. But he is looking down at the road from that large window in Izayaâs home, watching the pair walk together. Izaya looks so happy. It pisses Psyche off.
He wants to scream, he wants to cry. He wants to hurt Shizuo. He wants to claim Izaya. He does none of these things though. Instead he watches the blond man walk away after Izaya enters the building. He notices that nearly invisible skip to the manâs step. He can just barely make out the smile on the bodyguardâs face.
In his mind Psyche imagines smashing that handsome face with the heel of his foot. The little movie in his head crisp and clear in his mind. He can even feel the bones cracking beneath his foot. The mini movie brings a cheerful smile to the brunetâs face and he can go on as if he never saw the innocent kiss between his master and that stupid man.
That night he brings a knife with him to bed. That night he trails gentle kisses down Izayaâs body, starting from his temple and ending at his hip.
Master, you should keep still.
Iâd hate to accidentally cut something important off.
You know how clumsy I can get.~
Psyche carves his name into the soft skin of Izayaâs inner thigh. The informant trembles, attempting to keep as still as possible. The pain is arousing yet at the same time itâs terrifying, considering who is inflicting the pain. Never in a million years had he expected sweet precious Psyche to do this.
âMaster, please donât cry. I just need to make sure everyone knows that youâre mine, and no one elseâs.â
The smile on the cloneâs face is terrifying. More terrifying than any smirk Izaya couldâve mustered in his entire life. This was a side of Psyche heâd never seen, and heâd honestly hoped heâd never see it again. But something in his gut told him heâd be seeing a lot of this new side of Psyche.
Izayaâs body and thoughts come to a frozen state as he feels something warm and wet pressing against his cuts. Psycheâs tongue laps at the blood, liquid candy. It tastes like his master, his master is delicious. He nuzzles his cheek against the now cleaned cuts. Kissing and humming against soft skin while magenta orbs hide behind eyelids.
Master, master, master.~
Izayaâs thigh hurts. He doesnât want to let Shizuo touch him, not that theyâve had sex yet. Shizuo wanted to wait, he wants to be sure before they go that far. Izaya understands, and now heâs even more willing to wait. Who would believe sweet innocent Psyche did something so heinous to Izaya Orihara? Itâs unfathomable. Izaya himself can barely believe itâs happened.
But it did. He is wary and does his best to avoid his clone, choosing instead to do his work for the first time all week. Instead of his usual attire he wears a pair of sweat pants, a poor attempt to keep his clothing from rubbing against the new cuts on his thigh that were sure to scar in the formation of Psycheâs name.
Izaya is upset, but he wonât cry. Izaya is worried but he wonât tell anyone. He rubs his had in frustration. Heâs frustrated. What is he supposed to tell Shizuo when they finally get to that point in their relationship? âOh, Psyche went crazy one night and just decided to carve his name in my thigh. WHOOPS.â Yeah, that wouldnât work. Shizuo wouldnât believe that. No one would. Because no one had ever seen this side of Psyche before.
And that side of Psyche scared Izaya.
âMaster, master!â
Izaya jolts. âNot now, Psyche. Iâm working.â
He doesnât look at Psyche. In all honesty heâs afraid. He canât look at that innocent face the same way. He rubbed his temples in frustration again, or was it exasperation? He couldnât be sure, nor did he care enough to identify which exactly it was that plagued him.
He wonât deny being startled when Namie comes over, setting a cup of tea on his desk.
âYou look tired.â
She doesnât know the half of it. Izaya merely grunts and sips the tea, itâs warm against his throat, almost too hot. But just barely below that level of hot. Itâs a pleasant burn he feels, he welcomes it. The informant huffs, continuing with his work, attempting to distract himself from his clone. Trying to keep himself distracted from those magenta orbs he felt monitoring his every move. Shivers continuously went up and down his spine, this wasnât how it was supposed to go. Izaya wasnât supposed to be observed, rather he was the one who was meant to do the observing.
Heâd obviously have to do something about Psyche. Maybe find him a mate? This would be difficult.
Izaya would go out. Heâd stay out. Heâd stay at Shizuoâs as long as he could because he didnât want to be near Psyche. He should probably try to figure out just what exactly made Psyche goâŠinsane in a sense. But right now he didnât want to, instead heâd prefer to stay with Shizuo.
Psyche however, heâd wait for Izaya. He knew exactly where his master was and it made him sick. The brunet would sleep in Izayaâs bed, walk around with the blankets wrapped about him. Cuddle with Izayaâs pillows at night and convince himself the scent of his master wasnât fading away.
Tears streamed down his face the first week Izaya hadnât come back. What could they be doing? Surely the relationship from before hadnât changed so drastically? Could that stupid bartender man really forgive Izaya for everything heâd done so easily? Were they working it out? What if heâd done something to hurt Izaya?
Oh the thoughts of the blond hurting his master caused rage to bubble in the brunetâs chest. Spidery digits clawed at the pillow as anger blurred his vision. Whimpers of his masterâs name echoed throughout the empty apartment.
âMaster, master, master.~â
His lip quivered, magenta hues clenched shut, willing the tears to stop. He just wanted Izaya to come home. He missed his master. He missed Izaya. He sniffled and whimpered and cried into his masterâs pillow. His fingers dug into the fabric of the pillow, he curled around it, forming a fetal position around the soft object.
Master, master! Where are you? Where are you?
Sobs wracked the boyâs petite frame, his body trembled. This feeling of sadness, he felt as if he could die from it. Was this heart break? Was this anger? Was it a mixture of both? In all honesty, Psyche didnât care. He just needed to see his master again.
Master.~
Sweet precious master.~
Please come home.~
I donât want to have to go get you.
I might do something that will upset you.
I donât want to do that.
I want to please you.
I want you to be happy.
But I want you to be happy with me.
And no one else.