Fic Friday: Shadow Play, Part 1
(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)
This came out of some discussion I’d had talking about Izaya either pretending to drink with someone and them getting inadvertently wasted while was fine or having super high alcohol tolerance despite being so lean/slim. Originally it had a darker tone to it, but evolved into this. Oh well, I still like it.Broken into two chapters. Technically, you’ll miss some explanation/lead-up if you skip this first part, but you can skip it if you want just the sex/teasing. PART TWO
Summary Reader - an info broker from another city - arranges a meeting with Ikebukuro's infamous human-loving informant to discuss a truce to do some business in the area. Izaya invites them to share a drink with him to lighten the atmosphere. They soon discover the informant is very skilled at playing pretend, as well as getting more than he was first offered.
Tags/Warnings
Consensual Sex, Creampie, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Fingerfucking, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Shadow Play, Part 1: Dangerous Game (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)
You took a deep breath, punching in the digits of the phone number you had acquired. Working yourself up to call the number had been more of an effort than getting it. Ordinarily calling some stranger you had never spoken to for business was a simple task, if inconvenient, thanks to having to learn someone new and their unique behaviors. With as infamous as the owner of the phone number was, and as widespread as his business was, getting the number had been easy, only requiring persuading the right person.
Speaking with the owner would be an entirely different ordeal, though, because of that same notoriety. You would need to tread carefully. A text might have been an easier method, sure. But you were going to have to speak with him face-to-face later, one way or another, so you may as well get it over with and pick up on any extra pieces of useful information you could.
You tapped the ‘call’ button and waited, tapping a finger impatiently on the side of the cellphone pressed to your ear. The line rang once, twice, three times. By the time someone picked up the phone on the fourth ring, accompanied by a vague pop of static, you were frowning. “Yes?” A pleasant sounding voice floated out from the cellphone’s speak and you reminded yourself to relax. This was nothing but more business.
“Izaya Orihara?” You asked briefly.
“You’re speaking to him.” The answer was smooth, confident. You imagined he was used to random people calling him. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” There was something mischievous in his tone, light and cheery, but warning one to proceed cautiously all the same.
You answered, trying to reflect his carefree manner, providing him with the pseudonym you preferred to use. As far as you knew, with clients, he proudly used his real name, something that to you sounded rather careless. Most you would have labeled foolish for such a choice, but in this case, it was obvious it was confidence. His reputation cast a wide net, and he had made enemies in addition to those people who used his services. If he was truly a fool, some accident would surely have happened to him by now. The fact he was still alive and well was evidence enough he wasn’t no fool.
Izaya paused, then repeated the name as if to better store away the new information. The sudden intrusive thought of what your actual name would sound like in his dulcet rudely interrupted your focus. You held back the urge to physically shake the thought away, settling for crinkling your nose at the absurd idea. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about something like that. You doubted you would have been the first lulled and lured in by his pleasant voice. Mentally scolding yourself, you were reminded you couldn’t afford to fall to someone else’s charms when it was supposed to be your job to do just the same.
“And what can I do for you?”
The question drew you from your unwelcome reverie, forcing you to recall the reason you had chanced to call someone like Izaya Orihara while knowing of his reputation for having a rather devious silver tongue. “I’m new in town and we’re in the same line of word,” you stared, successfully sounding level and confident. “I’d like to sit down and have a, ah, heart-to-heart. Make sure I’m not stepping on any toes.” You tried to make it sound as if you were granting him some favor or courtesy, hoping he was unaware of just how easily he could any hopes for the intentions you had of doing business in the area. “You can choose the time and place, it’s only fair.”
There was another pause, and you almost swore you heard a pensive hum from the other side of the call. “Alright. I’ll text you the information this call is over,” he decided, sound still as if he hadn’t a care in the world, casual and a little smug.
“Good. I think it’s done now then.” You drew the phone away, snapping it shut and ending the call. Maybe it had been rude, but you had said all that was needed without a face-to-face meeting. You didn’t think he would take it personally.
Slipping your phone into your pocket while you waited for his text, you grimaced. Only then were you allowed to notice how your heart pounded against your chest. You clenched a fist, cursing these new nerves. It was your job to remain cool and collected under a variety of circumstances, even when dealing with those of widely hailed infamy and menace. That was how the underground worked. Yet just speaking with Izaya Orihara over the phone had made you unsure and uneasy. Maybe his reputation of being so skillfully able to manipulate others was what rattled you.
Whatever the reasons were, it frustrated you all the same. Your heart jumped more forcefully when your pocket buzzed loudly. You withdrew the cellphone again, flipping it open. You took in the address and time printed boldly on the bright screen, accompanied by some trite remark about how he ‘couldn’t wait’.
You sighed heavily. You had until tomorrow morning to bolster your nerve and get your thumping heart under control.
When you arrived at the apartment door in the high-class building in Shinjuku, you ensured it was precisely the time in the text. Your punctuality alone likely told Orihara more than he needed to know to begin with. Though you hardly wanted to seem over eager by showing up earlier, or disrespectful by wasting his time being late. Rapping firmly, but calmly on the door in the unassuming, empty hallway, you waited.
It was only a minute before the door swung open, a slender man filling the doorway. Izaya Orihara looked even more pleasant than he sounded. He possessed a face and frame somewhere between handsome and pretty, and already you were warning yourself not to let your eyes drift from the over-confident grin on his face. Seeing him, you were fully convinced part of Izaya’s charm was based on his good looks alone.
After all, people were much happier being tricked by beautiful people than the alternative. If he had the sharp tongue and wit to match his good looks, he well-deserved his infamy.
“Ah, right on time. I appreciate someone punctual,” he greeted cheerily. He moved to the side, gesturing inward to the apartment, which even from the doorway you noted was as lavish as expected from the building exterior. “Come right in, make yourself at home.”
You wonder if he treated all of his business like this. His air was more of one welcoming a friend than the cordial sort reserved for work. Was he always so warm and casual? Or was he putting on on a show to convince you to like him more and let down your guard? It was hard to say for sure, given you had spoken to him only once before, and beyond that all you had was research and hearsay. That research had taught you plenty, but there was no finer research than studying someone in person up close. But that knowledge was a double-edged sword, and a razor sharp one at that. You were on display for Izaya to learn about and analyze, maybe even more so than he was for you.
You gave your thanks and stepped inside the apartment, following him after he shut the door and swept past the entry to a black leather sectional surrounding a coffee table in the center.At first, you studied the apartment interior as surreptitiously as possible, searching for any information that might make your meeting more beneficial to you. But bookshelves and potted plants told you nothing, save that he enjoyed psychology and anthropology. That was a given for someone in a line of work so closely tied to people, though. The long ‘S’-shaped desk with several computers atop it told you nothing as well, as did the floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a breathtaking view to the city below.
“Seems business treats you well,” you commented absently.
Izaya sounded amused by your rather obvious insight. “Oh, what makes you say that?: He asked playfully, feigning naivety.
“Call it a hunch,” you answered, continuing the game of pretend.
Face still plastered with the same self-satisfied, close-lipped smile, Izaya gestured to the leather sectional. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
You looked for a second over at his desk, stopping on the chairs on either side of it, obviously the typical setting for a business meeting. But you didn’t protest, moving to one of the cushions and sitting down, folding your hands in your lap primly.
Expecting Izaya to sit across from you, leaving the coffee table between you as a comfortable buffer, you were thrown off when he sat down on the cushion beside you. One hand lay on the armrest, while the other draped across the back of the couch, fingertips hanging down the back. Your brows knit for a moment at just how absurdly casual the man next to behaved, before reminding yourself to wipe your internal train of thought from your face. You didn’t need to give him any handicaps in the mental game you knew the two of you were already playing.
“Comfortable?” He asked.
“Yes?” You cursed the questioning tone that came out in your answer. Why did it matter if you were comfortable? It wasn’t as if this was some pleasure trip.
Izaya eased back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other, clearly unthreatened by your presence and very in his element. You told yourself again to keep your eyes level with his sharp brown gaze. To not dip lower and follow the curve of his arm slung over the couch or the hard, yet delicate lines of his collarbone peeking out of his neckline. ‘No respect for personal space, I see,’ you wondered silently. ‘Or is he doing it on purpose to put me off?’
“Now, what was it you wanted to discuss? Something about ‘not stepping on toes’?” His tone gave you pause. Once more you had to wonder if he all business like this. Polite, but not seeming very serious or interested by the idea.
“I, uh, yes,” you confirmed dumbly, wincing on the inside at the stumble in speech. He seemed to wait for you to continue, so you carried on. “I heard Ikebukuro was a very exciting place to be,” you explained, trying to shake off the air of awkwardness. “Things were getting boring at home, so I thought I’d take a trip and try my luck elsewhere a bit more… interesting. But then your name started coming an awful lot.” You weren’t being completely straight with him, of course. Business had come up in the area that had drawn your attention to Ikebukuro, but the last thing you needed was Izaya knowing you already had something riding on the meetings outcome to give him more leverage.
“Did it? And what did you learn? All good things, I hope?” Izaya sounded far too please, and you were positive he knew what his reputation looked like and how many thought of him as rather dangerous.
“That doesn’t matter, does it?” You deflected. You would not give him any extra information if you could help it. “What matters is I know you’re the man to see when it comes to intel in this area. S-so it seemed only polite to have a little chat before I made any plans,” you finished with a shrug, trying again to give the sense this was all a formality or courtesy to him. You could only hope he missed the way some of your words wavered.
Izaya considered you with a narrow, hawk-like gaze as you spoke, perfectly content to listen as you went on. Here and there you thought you saw his lips quirk up a hair. “How thoughtful of you.” There was a vague condescension in his voice that you resented immediately. “And what were you planning on doing if I didn’t like the idea of you intruding on my stage?” He asked lightly, the condescension vanishing.
“Well, to s-start, I--,” you began, but Izaya stopped you.
What’s the problem? You seem nervous,” he noted, and this time you saw his grin grow for sure.
“N-no, just a bit tired, that’s all,” you quickly lied. “You of all people should understand how exhausting this line of work can be,” you added.
“Exhausting? Oh, no,” he denied happily, “I find it invigorating,” he countered. “Why don’t you excuse me for a minute, I’ve got just the thing to help,” Izaya offered, getting to his feet without waiting for a response.
“Oh, no, no need to go to trouble for me. Let’s just get back to our talk, alright?” You tried to convince him. The quicker everything was settled, the better. You hadn’t need for more of his ‘hospitality’.
But he seemed dead set on the idea. “Can’t talk business if you’re too tired to pay attention, can we? Wouldn’t want to misunderstand anything,” Izaya argued.
”Alright,” you conceded.
He left for a moment, leaving you to sit in awkward silence on the sectional, waiting for him to return. In the meantime, you intended to collect yourself, unhappy to find your heart was thundering in your chest again like a stampeding beast, and your throat was dry. You hated that one man had somehow uprooted your typically collected facade - without hardly trying even. It frustrated you more not being able to put a finger on why either. Was it his looks? No, you had done business with attractive people before. The soothing sound of his voice? His reputation? None of those alone should have caused so much distress. Was it simply the perfect storm once it was all put together?
When Izaya returned, he carried two opaque mugs of something steaming. He passed one to you before making himself comfortable on the cushion beside you once more. You offered him a quick ‘thank you’ before taking the mug, but couldn’t help eyeing the warm liquid inside suspiciously. It seemed to be the same as whatever you had glimpsed in Izaya’s, but was it safe?
“Don’t worry, it’s not poison or anything,” Izaya reassured you, though there was something about his smile now that had the opposite effect. “Something like that would any fun, would it?” He added, his smile wider, showing a hint of teeth.
You lifted your eyes to meet his, still skeptical as he raised his own mug to his lips and took a sip. “Besides, if I wanted to get rid of you, don’t you think I’d have arranged for us to meet somewhere that isn’t where I live? Clean up is such a pain, you know.” You suppressed a shudder at how carefree he sounded talking about getting rid of someone, as if the only regret in the process was how tedious the aftermath was.
He was right, though. If he wanted you dead, you imagined you would have already been six feet under before the morning of the meeting. Giving the drink in your hand a final glance and, wrinkling your nose at the bitter scent wafting off it, you raised it to your lips. This time full-bodied and it burned vaguely, more than from the temperature. The smell of green tea blended with the undertone of some alcohol - whiskey or bourbon, you thought - and the taste was much the same. It was stronger than it smelled though. You tried to play off your expression of distaste for the drink. “Now can we get back to the point, please?” You insisted prettily.
Izaya nodding, raising his drink again and tipping the mug toward his lips. You mirrored the motion, but took a smaller drink than the first. “Gladly. But you never said what it was you were after,” he reminded you.
“Ah, r-right.” Your short explanation before hadn’t been enough. “I want to set up some business in Ikebukuro for a little while,” you declared.
“And?” He raised his mug again, and again you followed suit.
“I want your word you won’t butt into any of it, if I don’t butt into yours,” Your words came out more clipped than intended.
“I’m not seeing how that arrangement benefits me at all,” he mused. “This is my playground, after all, so tell me what I get in return. Promising not to meddle in my affairs isn’t enough when you’re already intruding,” Izaya insisted. “Not that I’d let you butt in anyway,” he added, and the smile he gave you then was no longer warm and welcoming, but cold and empty.
You made a show of considering what you could offer him. “A favor, anything you liked,” you announced finally. “I may not be infamous here, but I’ve got my own connections elsewhere I’m sure you’d find useful,” you boasted, trying to sound smug.
“Oh? Anything? Are you sure you want to give some infamous like me such an open-ended promise?” You didn’t miss the emphasis in the sentence.
You raised an eyebrow. “I trust whatever favor is most beneficial to you, I can manage,” you claimed. You knew the dangers of such a vague promise, sure, but you knew the game as well. Secrets and connections were almost always more valuable than physical debts or favors. “So, I get to do what I want, and I owe you one favor. Deal?” You pressed, feeling more confident, even if your heart was still thudding too wildly for your liking.
Perhaps the drink was more helpful than you thought. You took another sip at the thought, and this time Izaya raised his own in reflection. You told yourself the warmth blossoming in your chest was the fault of the drink as well.
“Deal.” You didn’t like the sense of no going back that came with the way Izaya said that single word. But there was no regretting your choices now. You had the distinct feeling Izaya wasn’t the type who appreciated someone backing out of an agreement. “You can do whatever it is you came to Ikebukuro to do.” Izaya was silent for a moment, the atmosphere feeling strangely heavy. “But do be careful,” he warned, tone almost musical, “I can’t have you showing me up when it comes to my little humans.”
His humans? What did he mean by that? “Ah, sure, I’ll keep that in mind,” you agreed hesitantly, confused. You took another drink from the mug to distract you.
“Anything else you need to discuss while you’ve got my attention?” Izaya asked brightly.
“N-no, I… I’ve got everything under control,” you said, though you found the words came out slower, heavier, as if your tongue was half made of lead.
“Take care then. Maybe get some rest; you don’t sound so good, my dear,” Izaya observed, standing once more and looking down at you.
You shook your head stubbornly, placing your nearly empty mug on the coffee table beside you and moving to stand as well. To your dismay, when you stood, your legs wobbled, dizziness seizing you, and you lurched forward. Instead of crashing headfirst into the table or the floor, a solid warmth and the soft touch of fabric met you. A warm pressure rested over your shoulders on either side. Your lips stretching in an uneasy expression, you redirected your eyes from the floor with a shaky breath.
They landed on Izaya’s mug, sitting on the table alongside yours. It was still full to just below the rim, untouched, and a queasy feeling flickered through your gut.
