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Leorio could’ve sworn he’d grown out of going clubbing years ago. The threat of warm beer spilling down his back and getting elbowed in the solar plexus while shitty eurobeats thump in his skull stopped being appealing somewhere between graduating from college and settling into a real job, so he can’t really say for sure what’s possessed him to be here. But here he is, three tequila shots in and scanning the area for anyone even mildly interesting to talk to.
He definitely isn’t trying to forget his depressingly single and friendless existence—and, no, work colleagues don’t count, no matter how much Cheadle or his nurses try to tell him otherwise—and he’s certainly not dreading stepping out of his rideshare and back into his quiet and empty apartment at the end of the night. No siree.
The beer he’d ordered when he'd deemed himself too drunk for another shot, but not drunk enough to stay here without another drink, is laughing at him with its lukewarm fizzing bubbles when he spots someone across the bar who finally ticks all of his boxes. Their sleek black hair and gorgeously muscular shoulders are cutting through the din of the evening, the disorienting rainbow lights and too-loud music are nothing compared to the gravitational pull of this stranger.
They're alone, they're leaning casually on the bar, and Leorio really hopes they don't mind him sauntering over and striking up a conversation. Before he can talk himself out of it, he downs the rest of the beer, orders two more shots, and takes them to this lovely, tall drink of water.
“Hey, I’m Leorio,” he says, coming around to face the stranger. He places down both shots on the bar between them and flashes his best sultry smile. “Trade you this shot for your name?”
The beautiful stranger looks at him blankly, as if evaluating Leorio’s entire existence, before his face splits into a smile and he downs the shot without breaking eye-contact. Leorio gulps, finding the way this man’s deep, dark eyes shine brightly in the club lighting incredibly distracting.
If Leorio were a man in the business of taking people home from the club, he’d already be climbing this person like a tree.
He’s not even usually this thirsty, but something about this person's aura is somehow even more intoxicating than the tequila, so he just blames it on how drunk he is and takes his shot as well.
“So?” Leorio prompts, leaning against the bar to steady himself against the burn of the tequila and the way his head is swimming to the beat of the music. Maybe that last shot wasn’t a good idea. He’ll soldier through, though, just to keep this man’s eyes on him.
The stranger gives him another strange smile before drawling, “My name is Illumi, darling. Many thanks for the tequila.” Illumi pauses, finally looking away to inspect his nails. “Though, I’m more of a vodka man myself.”
With Illumi looking down, Leorio takes a moment to really stare at him and take in how incredibly attractive this man is. Up close, his shoulders look even more delicate, and his collarbones and decolletage are distractingly on display in an asymmetrical, sparkling mesh top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. His eyes trail down his body and take in the shockingly well-tailored pants he’s wearing in a deep green hue—he absently wonders how they might look from behind.
The sound of Illumi’s throat clearing pulls his eyes back up to his face and he smiles awkwardly, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to shout. “So tell me about yourself, what’s got you here alone? Surely, someone as gorgeous as you wouldn’t be caught dead here without a companion.”
Curse his loose, drunk tongue.
Somehow, Illumi doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs, even. “Just killing time,” he says, flicking his hair back over his shoulder. “Waiting on someone.”
Damn.
“Oh. Well, have a good nigh—”
“Hisoka, just what do you think you are doing?” comes a voice from somewhere behind Leorio. A strangely familiar one, at that.
He turns around just in time to hear Illumi—or is it Hisoka now?—mutter a sing-songy, “Busted!” and his eyes land on… Illumi. Again.
Leorio whips his head back around—surely, he isn’t this drunk? When he turns back to the man he was just speaking with, an entirely different person stands in his place. Where a tall, lean, ethereally beautiful Illumi once stood, now stands an even taller, leaner, more deliciously flamboyant gentleman. Gone are the shimmering mesh top and the deep green pants, in their place instead are a bubblegum pink crop-top and white slacks that look like they’ve been painted onto his body. Illumi’s inky smooth hair has changed into a beautifully deep magenta color, half-pulled up to reveal multitudes of shining ear piercings that change color with the pulsating lights.
“Whuh..?” Leorio says, with all the eloquence in the world.
“Just a little fun, darling,” Hisoka says, reaching over to trail a hand over Leorio’s shoulder and down his arm. He tries and fails to suppress a shiver at the delicate touch. “I had a hunch your looks were drawing more attention than I wanted, so I took advantage while you were away to test my hypothesis!” Something about the tone in Hisoka’s voice is both breezy and oppressively possessive, and Leorio, for all he’s had to drink, has to fight to keep the words from immediately settling down south.
The real Illumi comes up beside Leorio and evaluates him, eyes just as deep and dark as the ones Hisoka had borne just moments before, but leagues more piercing. “And what, pray tell, have you discovered?” he asks. Leorio gulps and his eyes flicker between Illumi’s and Hisoka’s, feeling the tension between them yet unable to extricate himself from the situation. He’d come to the club to find someone interesting, and somehow landed two.
Hisoka laughs and nods at the bartender, who reappears moments later with three fruity cocktails. “That I was right to be jealous.”
“And?” Illumi counters. “Somehow that does not feel like my problem.”
Leorio chokes on his cocktail, orange and peach liquor burning at the back of his throat.
Hisoka laughs, bumping his hip against Leorio’s and sending him careening into Illumi clumsily. “Well now I want to keep him,” he says, and Illumi catches Leorio’s stumbling frame and holds him close, a cold hand on Leorio's hip slipping just past the hem of his shirt.
Illumi's other hand comes up to cup his chin, turning his head this way and that, examining Leorio with a scrutiny that would rival that of any detective. “You will have to share,” Illumi deadpans, letting his fingers fall to Leorio’s throat and undoing the top button of his shirt. He refocuses on Leorio's face and says flatly, “You look as though you are having issues breathing. I hope this helps.”
“Wait! H-hang on, I don’t want to get—” he swallows the words between the two of you as Hisoka’s arms come up from behind him to rest on Illumi’s shoulders, effectively making the hottest people-sandwich Leorio has ever had the pleasure of taking part in.
"Then it's settled," Hisoka says, his breath hot against Leorio's ear. "This should be fun."
Leorio isn't sure what possesses him to turn his head and catch Hisoka's lips in a clumsy kiss, but turn he does, and he finds his target without much effort, even if the action is a little sloppier than he would’ve liked. Hisoka nips at his lower lip before pushing him back, laughing as Leorio tries to close the distance again.
"That does not seem fair to me," Illumi tuts, and Leorio has exactly one second to process that before he's being kissed by Illumi too. His head is swimming and the music is still too loud but god, there's nothing he'd rather be doing than this.
“Shall we dance?” Hisoka asks, and his voice back to that strangely sexy possessive tone as he's pulling the two of them along to the dance floor, one finger hooked on one of Leorio’s belt loops, his other hand tangled in Illumi's. Leorio finds that if either he or Illumi wanted to say no, that Hisoka wouldn't take it for an answer anyway. He lets himself be guided to the center of the dance floor, knowing full well that he wouldn’t make it on his own, and loses himself in the music, the alcohol, the fog in his head from Hisoka and Illumi’s kisses.
He doesn’t have much brain space available to focus on much else beyond sensations, so he feels the way the music is thrumming in his chest, the way Illumi and Hisoka are swaying against his body, their hands pawing at him and each other. He feels confident and fun, very much not like the lonely, pathetic guy who had sat at the bar alone for far too long without someone coming up to talk with him.
The club’s not so bad anymore, at least not now that he’s pressed up between the two most attractive people in the entire place.
Now, Leorio doesn't usually make it a habit to get as drunk as he did last night, but as he lays in bed with a pounding headache and cottonmouth, trying to piece together the details of the night before, he finds himself carding through his memories like he's looking through a view master whose reels are out of sequence.
If someone were to hold a gun up against his head and command him to put the evening's happenings into some semblance of the correct order, all of those memories would be splattered on the wall like one of those shitty, bright red, abstract paintings that hang in pretentious musems.
If the heaviness in his legs and feet are anything to be trusted, Leorio's certain they danced the rest of the night away. He hopes he managed to stay between Hisoka and Illumi's swaying bodies—their hips and chests pressed into him made him dizzier than any amount of alcohol ever could.
As he traverses the slippery slope that is that imagery, Leorio realizes he’s pretty sure that they became the type of people that he's always hated, the kind that basically have clothed sex right in the center of the dance floor! The ghost of the shiver-inducing feeling of one set of lips hungrily on his own while another trails down his neck, doubtless chasing a trail of sweat down beyond his shirt collar, is too delicious to dismiss as a false memory.
Though, to be completely honest, the only thing that’s got him certain, as he lays here squinting against the brightness of his phone’s screen, that he didn’t dream up the entire night out of some desperate, horny desire, is a new group message on his cellphone that wasn’t there yesterday.
✩♡ Hisoka ♡✩ (4:23 a.m.): made it home okay? (^_<)~✩ Illumi (4:23 a.m.): You dropped him off yourself.
Illumi (4:37 a.m.): We would like to see you again soon. Illumi (4:38 a.m.): Perhaps in a more intimate location.