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Knocking on this door always came with a sense of…foreboding. A cold disappointment churning in his gut, that mixed poorly with the relief of laying down and giving in. Despite the unease, it was always so much easier than fighting.
Kurapika had paid his dues in the ring, and he was done. He had tried, god, he really tried, but he was so fucking tired. He desperately, more than anything in the world, needed a break; and nothing else simply came close to this. It was a brutal conclusion to come to.
Knowing how hard he tried to stay away didn't help alleviate the icy nausea, though.
The wood grated against the thin skin of his knuckles, and the hollow sound rang loud in his ears. He hiked his hood higher over his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. He really was cold.
It didn’t take long for someone to answer. It never did—he wasn’t afforded the chance to change his mind. To run away. To get better.
A blonde man in a tracksuit opened the door. Kurapika had met him numerous times, but couldn't remember his name for the life of him. Not through the anxious static in his mind. The man took one look at him, then shouted over his shoulder into the house, “Oi, Chrollo! It’s for you.”
He technically wasn’t wrong, but the way he worded it made a chill creep up Kurapika’s spine. Or was it more disappointment? He pulled his jacket around him tighter either way, in an effort to ward it off. Although with how he’d been shivering under a mountain of blankets for the last few days, his jacket wasn’t going to help much at all.
Tracksuit Guy turned back to him, leaning against the doorframe, “Haven’t seen you around in a while. How’ve you been?”
The absolute last thing Kurapika wanted to do was make small talk with this man. His head was pounding, he felt like he’d been hit by a truck, and he was maybe ten seconds away from killing everyone here and then himself. So he just scrubbed a hand over his face and shifted on his feet, staring past the guy’s shoulder and waiting for the person who could fix everything to appear.
And when he did, Kurapika wished he hadn’t at all.
Upon rounding the corner, Chrollo’s eyebrows rose, and a slow, extremely smug smile spread across his face at the sight of him.
“Well, hello—“
“Don’t.” Kurapika gritted out, glaring at him. He didn’t want to hear whatever Chrollo had to say. About how he was right, he was always right, didn’t he know by now?
Because Kurapika had sworn that this wasn’t going to happen. Had yelled and thrown and hit only to wind up back here. It was embarrassing. The amusement in Chrollo’s eyes made him burn with red-hot shame, fury. This was all his fault to begin with anyway, and he had the gall to take some sort of sick joy in it. Kurapika nearly turned on his heel and walked at the sight of it.
But his teeth chattered as another violent shiver ripped through him, and he winced as his tired muscles cramped in protest and his head throbbed. His throat stung with the need to cry.
He couldn’t take another day of this. He couldn’t. He’d go insane.
Chrollo frowned at the state of him, teasing mouth turned downwards with something like concern instead, and he cocked his head to beckon Kurapika inside, “Come on. Let’s get you sorted out.”
Bitter gratefulness washed over Kurapika as he shouldered past Tracksuit Guy, who seemed fairly affronted at being completely ignored, and followed Chrollo through the maze of ratty furniture and old trash towards the stairs. Familiar faces were sprawled out over the couch, or counting cash at the kitchen table, and a couple of them waved to him as walked past. He pretended not to see.
This was practically his second home at this point, and he hated every single square inch of it. Filled with foggy memories he’d prefer to forget. From the cans all over the floor to the smell of weed that was permanently seeped into the walls, the whole place made him itch with a type of dread settling under his skin. Or maybe it was because every time he came here he was already restless in some way.
Climbing the stairs behind Chrollo certainly felt like heading towards his doom, though. Nothing good (and everything good) ever happened behind the door of what he called his bedroom. It was a sad state of a bedroom though, with the broken metal bed frame and the closet filled with more supplies than clothes. The only attempt at decoration was a single cinnamon scented candle that was occasionally remembered to be lit.
Despite how pathetic the room felt, though, it still felt like sealing his fate as Chrollo closed the door behind them.
“Sit down, I’ll just be a minute,” he said as he disappeared into the connecting bathroom to rummage around his drawers. Kurapika sighed, sitting down heavily on the edge of the uncomfortable mattress. He had no idea how Chrollo slept on that thing nightly. He would always be left with the worst aches whenever he was unfortunate enough to stay the night. He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck and bouncing his leg against the floor. Antsy. The sooner he could get out of here, the better.
“Uhh, Pika?” Chrollo called, coming back into the room holding a very familiar ziplock baggie with two small pills in it. “I only have these two left, sorry. I can get you something else, though.”
Kurapika just stared. Stared at the bag he’d shoved into Chrollo’s chest as he physically pushed him out of the door of his apartment. He couldn’t tell if he was fucking with him or not.
“…You’re joking.”
Chrollo shrugged, “I don’t have anyone else who buys it off me. And you, ah, what was it? ‘Would rather remove your eyes with rusty nails before seeing me again’? So yes, this is all I have,” he levelled Kurapika with a look.
Kurapika grit his teeth through his blush. As if he needed to be reminded of how much of a fucking failure he was. “I can’t afford anything else. You know that.”
The older man shook his head, “Don’t be silly. It’s never full price for you,” he said it softly. With a voice full of affection. It made Kurapika want to beat his head against a wall.
He hissed through his teeth as a sharp bolt of pain travelled down the back of his neck, and set off the ache just behind his eyes too. Fuck, he needed something. It’d have to do.
He held out a shaking hand for the painkillers he had been so, so convinced he’d never need, or even want again. He couldn’t bring himself to look Chrollo in the eye as he did so.
“Just give me those for now. Please,” he whispered hoarsely.
It took a minute—it probably wasn't a full minute, but it felt so excruciatingly long, painful—but he finally heard Chrollo’s boots walking towards him, and the bag was delicately placed in his open palm. Kurapika clutched it like a lifeline.
It was.
He couldn’t get the plastic open fast enough, the throbbing at his temples making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, but he finally managed to pry it open and fish out the measly two pills in there. He practically threw them down his throat, swallowing dry. It wouldn't be enough, but it should at least take the edge off his migraine. And hopefully the full-body ache wracking through him, too.
Chrollo had been seemingly content to watch him with an unreadable look on his face, but he came closer now, pushing the hood off Kurapika's head. The blonde was forced to fully tilt his head back in order to make eye contact with him, their height difference even more pronounced like this.
“Better?” Chrollo cupped his face, brushing a thumb over the dark circles under his eyes, “God. You could’ve just called me if it was that bad, sweetheart. You didn’t need to drag yourself all the way out here.”
No. Absolutely not. He knew better than to have Chrollo in his apartment right now. Especially when Kurapika already couldn’t take his eyes off the way his black jeans fell around his hips just so, or how the rolled-up sleeves of his equally black sweatshirt drew attention to his corded forearms. Looking up at him didn’t help either—nobody should look that good with a forehead tattoo, but he just made it work somehow. He had the face to get away with it. Bastard. He had the face to get away with a lot of things.
So no, he wasn’t about to invite Chrollo over. This way, he could leave whenever he wanted.
Which—as that thumb still stroked so delicately over his cheek and those dark eyes looked at him like they were full of warmth, tenderness, like they were capable of something like that—was right about now.
“I’ll—“ he cleared his throat, “I’ll take some benzos then. Just until you get more oxy in.”
While they were most definitely not his first choice, if he didn’t want to owe Chrollo anything, he’d have to make do for a few days. They wouldn’t help his migraines, but he could finally get some goddamn sleep. Maybe he'd even have a whole night without nightmares, if he was lucky.
“Yeah, yeah. At least wait until you’ve stopped shivering to leave, fuck. I mean, did you walk here like this? You’re fucking crazy, I swear,” Chrollo dropped his hand and moved to open up his nightstand drawer.
Kurapika had, indeed, walked the full two and a half hours it took to get to this god-awful place from his apartment, and had nearly not made it at all. He kept having to stop along the way—either to sit down to keep himself from collapsing, or because he’d gone completely blind with pain, or to dry heave into some bushes when his stomach didn’t have anything left to give. Every single agonising step he took in his worn-out sneakers was a reminder of the decision he made and a punishment all in one. Some sort of self-flagellation ritual.
It was the least he deserved.
And now he was sitting here, with his calves on fire and the heels of his feet bleeding, feeling just as miserable as he would’ve if he’d given in and called Chrollo.
Stupid. Pointless. He wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. What was right, or wrong, or necessary, or— anything. But hopefully he wouldn't feel quite so shit, at least physically, soon.
Kurapika looked up as he felt the mattress dip next to him, and found the older man propping himself up against the headboard with a joint in hand. Kurapika narrowed his eyes. He should not smoke with Chrollo right now, and add to his ever-growing list of bad decisions. He knew what he was like when he was high, and he didn't trust himself to stop one thing leading to another. And he promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen this time. That he wouldn't let it happen ever again, ideally. Kurapika wasn't quite that much of an optimist, though.
But, as the flick of a lighter illuminated that frustratingly handsome face—a joint sounded really fucking good right now. Incredible, actually. Exactly what he needed. And Chrollo knew it too. Prick.
Which was why he held it out to Kurapika with a small smile on his face. And why his smile grew when after a beat of debating, the blonde reached out, and he pulled it back.
“Ah-ah,” he shook his head, taking another drag for himself and patting his outstretched thigh, “Come here.”
There was a catch, of course there was a catch, when wasn't there with him?
Kurapika scoffed, “Fuck off.”
Chrollo just shrugged, eyes boring into his, “Do you want it or not?”
They stayed like that for a long moment, locked in a staring contest as Kurapika’s willpower steadily burned away at the same rate as the joint in Chrollo’s hand. Stubbornness and principles reduced to ashes, crumbling to the bedsheets.
He should leave. Tell Chrollo to go fuck himself. That he won’t play his stupid fucking games, and that he’ll find someone who actually has what he wants. Someone that wouldn't mess with his head. Someone he wasn't hopelessly attracted to.
Fuck. Fuck. He was so, so weak.
Kurapika climbed into the older man's lap—too desperate for some more relief, for anything—glaring daggers at him all the while. As if his lack of enthusiasm would make Chrollo spontaneously develop a conscience. He snatched the half-smoked joint out of his hand as he settled down on his thighs.
“I fucking hate you so much,” he said before taking a long hit, relishing the smoke burning the back of his throat and creeping down into his lungs. And then he took another. And another.
Chrollo, meanwhile, wasted no time in getting his hands on Kurapika’s waist, smoothing them over his ass and thighs, “Mm, I’ve missed you,” he hummed.
It hadn’t even been that long, really. But to point that out would mean admitting that it hadn’t even been that long. That Kurapika just couldn’t stay away for the life of him.
That the painkillers weren’t the only things he was addicted to.
“That makes one of us.”
He didn’t stop Chrollo as he pulled him closer by the middle, or when he sat up so he could start to mouth at Kurapika’s neck. Why would he, when he just didn't care? He was fine with letting the man do whatever he wanted, as long as he could keep smoking. It was what he signed up for when he came to sit here, anyway.
Kurapika even tilted his head to give him more room. Sighed a little. Placating the one who held the cards. Bribing the dealer. Nothing he hadn't done before. His head felt heavy, lolling to the side. And the movement made him realise that his weeks-long migraine had finally, finally subsided. Jesus, he could cry.
Thank god. Thank whoever invented oxycodone, for coming up with such a miracle cure. He could honestly get on his knees and bow down to them right now.
Kurapika let out a full body shudder in utter relief, the tension in his neck and shoulders dissipating along with it. He had forgotten what it was like to breathe without the agony in his skull. His whole body felt incredible, especially after having been tortured over the last few days with his weird not-quite fever. He was relaxed, calm, and blissfully pain-free. It felt like such a blessing after everything.
He couldn’t remember why he had denied himself this for so long.
“You alright?” Chrollo asked, looking up at him with big dark eyes, black bangs falling perfectly tousled over his structured face. Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. It was annoying. It was Chrollo's advantage, and Kuapika's downfall. And he felt lighter than he had done in months, weightless, and those plush lips just looked so inviting that he was completely helpless in floating down to meet them.
He was dizzy with it—or maybe he was just all sorts of high—as Chrollo made a noise into his mouth and he parted his lips, allowing their tongues to lazily tangle.
It was nice. Good. It was always good. Even just a slow kiss had him subconsciously rocking down onto the lap below him, had him running his free hand through Chrollo’s hair and tugging him closer. The edges of his mind started to fuzz pleasantly, and every touch left behind a wake of delightfully warm goosebumps, made his stomach flutter nicely. It was scarily easy for this man to pull him apart, have Kurapika forgetting himself. He didn’t even need to try.
It was only when Chrollo started to push his jacket off his shoulders did he pull away. Violently dragged back to his senses by the chill of the room. God, he'd gotten completely lost in it.
“Wait— No,” Kurapika put his free hand on the black-haired man’s shoulder, as if keeping him at a distance would accomplish anything. “I’m not doing this with you.”
Chrollo quirked a brow at him, slightly flushed and out of breath, and Kurapika had to mentally run through all the extensive reasons why it would be a terrible, terrible decision to jump him again right then and there.
It was getting increasingly harder to hold onto rational thought as the chemicals in his system did their job.
And Chrollo was aware of that more than anyone, of course he was, which was why he took the remains of the joint that had been left to burn a hole into his sheets and held it to Kurapika’s lips.
He took a drag anyway. Let Chrollo hand-feed him his own demise. Because he wanted to be high more than he didn’t want to fall back into bed with the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and really, that was the entire fucking problem in the first place, wasn’t it?
Chrollo turned to stub out the roach in his nightstand ashtray, and upon turning back immediately used a hand on his neck to drag him into a searing kiss, teeth colliding and other hand gripping his ass tight.
“Mmf-!” Kurapika tried to turn his head away, but he just moved on to leaving biting kisses along his jaw, trailing down to suck a mark over his pulse and causing him to shudder, “Ah, I told you— I said—“
Kurapika yelped as he suddenly found himself flat on his back; room spinning as his hazy brain struggled to comprehend what just happened.
“I know exactly what you said,” Chrollo crawled over him, caging his head between his hands. He dipped down to kiss him again, more controlled, steadier. Kurapika didn’t even consider fighting it.
“I hate it when you do that,” Chrollo spoke it into his cheek, and he sounded devastated. He peppered small, slow kisses across Kurapika’s face and down to his neck once again, exceedingly gentle this time.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t want this,” he got a hand under Kurapika’s shirt and cupped his ribcage that was far more prominent then last time they had done this. “Like you aren’t wet right now,” he slowly rocked his hips into Kurapika’s to prove a point, both of them gasping at the feeling.
“I know you, Pika. You can’t lie to me.”
And Kurapika may have been too far gone to spell his own name, but that pissed him off. Because it was true. Undeniable. He punched Chrollo’s shoulder, and then once more for good measure.
“Shut the fuck up, you— mmph!”
Chrollo grabbed his wrist before crashing their mouths together once more, all previous niceties disappearing in an instant, and Kurapika responded by biting his lip hard enough to bleed. The older man growled into the kiss, and Kurapika licked at the wound, swallowing down his blood. Communion. Like it was going to absolve them of their sins.
There weren’t enough churches in the world to achieve something like that. And he had a feeling Chrollo would burst into flames if he stepped foot into any of them.
Although Kurapika wasn’t much better himself, because something about the act lit a fire in him, his weeks of celibacy finally catching up on him and culminating in a pure, unadulterated need. He hooked a leg around Chrollo’s middle, bringing him down to grind against each other once more, and moaned into their kiss. He hadn’t even touched himself all this time, too busy wallowing in self-pity to even think about something like that. Which meant that he had inadvertently left himself even more vulnerable to Chrollo’s persuasions.
It didn’t take much on a good day. Kurapika could be drowning and Chrollo could still sell him water.
As their mouths and bodies moved frantically together, pouring every single ounce of aggravation and desire they held towards the other, he furiously yanked at the back of Chrollo’s sweatshirt in an attempt to rip it off his shoulders, and in turn Chrollo fumbled with the button of his jeans.
They broke for a split second, just long enough for the black-haired man to divest himself of his upper layers and for Kurapika to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. It didn't pair well with the hot thrum of arousal that had quickly built there too.
But then the black-haired man was back over him, capturing his lips in something deep and filthy and finally getting a hand in his underwear, and the voice of reason in his head stood absolutely no chance at all.
Chrollo knew how to play his body like a finely-tuned instrument; could compose symphonies that left him crying and trembling without even trying. It was almost eerie, the way he seemed to be able to read every single micro-reaction and know exactly what to do in response.
Kurapika arched his back as his clit was rubbed just the right way, a shock of stimulation, then broke the kiss to cry out as two long fingers slipped inside him.
As much as he wished it wasn’t true, in moments like this it was hard to deny it—he was Chrollo’s, and his body knew it too.
“Ah!”
“See? I knew it. You’re dripping, baby, fuck,” Chrollo managed to look smug and awed at the same time, and Kurapika would’ve really liked to beat that look off his face right now.
“Don’t— Ngh—“
Don’t call me that, he wanted to say, but those fingers crooked up and hit that delicious spot inside him just right and there was absolutely nothing he could do anymore.
The wet sound of Chrollo’s fingers moving in and out of him was mortifying. It was so loud, the betrayal of his body. The evidence of his want, how fucking eager he was. He brought his hands up to cover his face, willing to just simply disappear. Fall through the mattress or something.
“Don’t do that,” Chrollo tsked, “I want to see you.”
He attempted to pry one of his wrists away, but Kurapika just shook his head and moaned helplessly into his palms. He could feel himself getting close already, Chrollo had barely touched him for god's sake—it was pathetic. Pathetic how much he wanted it, too, the way he bucked his hips up to meet Chrollo’s hand.
“Fine.”
Chrollo pulled his fingers out unceremoniously and started wrenching Kurapika’s jeans and underwear down over his hips.
“Mmh— No, I want—” Kurapika cut himself off. Too close to admitting that he wanted something from this man. It may have been obvious, but the last thing he was going to do was say it.
“Shush,” Chrollo didn’t seem to care either way, though, and threw his freed jeans into some corner of the room. Kurapika finally removed his hands to look at the man above him; just in time to watch him hastily unbuckle his belt and pull himself out.
Seemed like they were both going slightly mad with need. It made Kurapika feel better, at least—that he wasn’t the only victim to their volatile chemistry.
Chrollo wasted no time in spreading his legs once more, hurriedly positioning himself at his entrance. He gave no warning before he slid home in one long stroke, causing them to groan in unison as he bottomed out. So full, jesus. Such a stark contrast to how fucking empty he'd been feeling recently. Kurapika immediately threw his arms over broad shoulders—muscle memory—struggling to adjust to the stretch after so long.
“God, you always feel so good,” Chrollo breathed, rolling his hips in that sinful way that never failed to make Kurapika cry out, “So tight for me. So pretty like this too, angel."
“Ah, shit— Stop talking,” Kurapika tangled his fingers in black hair and pulled, eliciting a hiss from the man above him and causing him to snap his hips forward. He didn’t want to hear that velvety smooth tenor in his ear, whispering all sorts to him. Breaking down his defences even more.
“Kurapika…” Chrollo gritted out, and there was hint of warning in his voice but he was looking at Kurapika like he wanted to eat him alive. It made him tug at his hair again in defiance—and a bit of provocation, too. As if Chrollo thought he was in any position warn him against something.
As if Kurapika would ever listen to him, had ever listened to him, even if he was.
He gasped when his left hand was suddenly taken and pinned to the mattress, then his right, and struggled against the hold as Chrollo slid them above his head to capture them in one hand. The way he could hold Kurapika down so easily infuriated him just as much as it turned him on, and he inhaled sharply as he felt himself tighten around the cock inside him.
Which seemed to spur Chrollo into action, because then he started fucking him, properly, and Kurapika yelled.
“Fuck!”
“You drive me fucking crazy,” Chrollo growled out, using his free hand to angle Kurapika’s hips up in order to thrust into him harder, “Showing up here, in my shirt, like a slut,” and Kurapika whimpered at that, “Practically begging for it, god.”
Was he wearing his shirt? Kurapika didn’t even know, but he couldn’t think about anything at all with that perfect cock driving in and out of him, hitting all the right spots and sending a sharp bolt of pleasure surging through him each time their hips collided together. The rhythmic sound of it echoed loudly in the room, and all of it together was driving Kurapika insane.
And with him being firmly restrained, all he could do was surrender himself to it. Allow himself to be swept away by the kind of pleasure only this man could give him. And he finally just let his voice free to moan, unabashedly. What else could he do?
“Aah, I— mm, fuck, Chrollo—“
“Yeah? Feels good, baby?” The older man lowered himself to suck a mark into his neck and tightened the hand holding Kurapika’s wrists to the point of bruising, “That’s more like it,” he spoke into his skin.
Kurapika could feel his orgasm building rapidly again as the bed squeaked dangerously in time with the relentless thrusts, the denial from earlier making his need all-encompassing and blinding hot. He arched his body up against Chrollo's, the cross necklace the man always wore hitting his chest with every movement, and the irony was not lost on Kurapika—it only served to heighten things, in fact.
“I need— ah!”
“What do you need? Hah— Tell me,” he urged, eyes burning into Kurapika’s.
And Chrollo knew exactly what he needed, didn’t need him to say it at all, but Kurapika was far too pent up and far too dizzy to resist that face and that voice asking him anything.
“I, ngh, I need to come, Chrollo— Fuck, make me come, I need it, I need you, please— mmh,” he babbled out.
The man above him groaned at that, redoubling his efforts in fucking Kurapika straight through the mattress as he let go of the blonde’s hands in order to rub tight circles over his clit.
“Yeah,” Chrollo panted out, “Always more honest when you’ve got a cock inside you, aren’t you?”
Kurapika cried out at the added stimulation, his now-free hands flying to claw Chrollo’s back for something to hold onto. But even in his hazy state of mind, even while being fucked stupid and with the delicious pressure quickly tightening in his groin, he still remembered to turn his head and bite down hard on the side of Chrollo’s neck for that remark.
“Ah— Shit, Pika, fuck,” the black-haired man hissed through his teeth, somehow increasing his pace even further and Kurapika had to let go of the skin between his teeth to wail loudly because he was so close, oh god, so close—
“You gonna come, angel?”
And that sent him careening off the edge, that stupid nickname that had stuck through thick and thin, panted out with a shake to it that only appeared when Chrollo was about to come himself. The tight coil of pleasure low in Kurapika’s stomach finally released, making his toes curl and legs shake and nails draw blood where they were clutched over Chrollo’s shoulders. Wave after wave came over him, and the way Chrollo cursed loudly and pounded into him even harder only prolonged the feeling, until it all came screeching to a halt along with a pleasant warmth filling him from the inside out. Chrollo whimpered, he always did, and Kurapika made a similar noise in response, the rush of euphoria dying down into satisfying tingles.
Neither of them moved for a while, simply catching their breaths in the wake of what was probably one of their most intense fucks to date. Kurapika wasn’t sure if the world was currently upside-down because the drugs knocked him on his ass or the incredible dick. Maybe both. A lethal combination.
He winced as Chrollo slowly pulled out, sensitive as all hell, and cringed at the feeling of cum leaking out of him. He was grateful Chrollo immediately grabbed some tissues from the nightstand to clean him up, but it was still unpleasant.
“Did you have to come inside?” Kurapika whined, although it came out so slurred and hoarse he was surprised he was understood at all.
“You complain when I don’t and then complain when I do. Make up your mind, will you?” The black-haired man pointed out as he finished wiping both of them off, tossing the tissues to the floor somewhere and tucking himself back in his jeans.
Kurapika blushed and turned his head, distinctly remembering all the times he’d begged Chrollo to finish inside, “No.”
He heard a huffed out laugh before Chrollo flopped down next to him, gathering him up in his arms. Kurapika made a small noise and grimaced at the feeling of his shirt sticking to him. He wished he would’ve just let his jacket be taken off, in the end.
A kiss was pressed to the top of Kurapika’s head as he buried his face into Chrollo’s equally sweaty chest, a strong arm wrapping around his shoulders. He felt his eyelids get heavier as the afterglow settled into his limbs, a welcome replacement to the aching that was there before. Blissful. Peaceful.
“I really did miss you, you know.”
Chrollo's voice hardly broke the stillness, because it was spoken so quietly; earnestly, like a prayer. Or a confession. As if Kurapika really was the angel he always said he was. As if it wasn’t his fault that Kurapika stopped speaking to him in the first place. Although he'd stopped expecting anything like accountability, or real remorse from the man a long time ago.
“Mm. M’ too.”
And he hadn’t meant to mumble it into Chrollo’s chest, but he wasn’t in any fit state to deny it—it was true. He’d missed him. He’d missed the sex, and the parties, and the highs and the comedowns and their talks and their fights and being held like this—like he was something precious. Like he mattered.
“I know.”
Something about that set off distant alarm bells in the back of Kurapika’s mind, but he was maybe two seconds away from falling asleep in the comfort of Chrollo’s arms, surrounded by his scent, and he just didn’t really give a fuck right now. It had been so long since he slept properly. He was exhausted. All he wanted was to drift off, just like this. Headache-free and fucked out. It was perfect.
Until Chrollo had to ruin it.
Kurapika made a noise of protest when his pillow started moving, Chrollo fishing around for something in his nightstand drawer once again. Maybe he wanted another smoke. Kurapika wouldn’t mind that, actually.
“Oh, would you look at that. Here, Pika, I found something for you.”
The blonde lifted his head blearily to see something being dangled in front of his face, and he had to blink the fatigue away several times to see what it was. And then he had to blink several more, because there was no fucking way.
Suddenly wide awake, Kurapika shot up and snatched the bag out of Chrollo’s hand, staring down at it in disbelief. And then stared at Chrollo in disbelief, too.
His pills. The ones that Chrollo had sworn he didn’t have any more of.
The fucking bastard waited for Kurapika to sleep with him before giving him what he came here for.
The shock at Chrollo having the audacity to mess with him again, after everything, quickly turned into seething rage. That pretty face, watching him expectantly with something like a smile twisted on his lips—the type of look you got when giving someone a gift you knew they’d love—was begging to be slapped, so that’s exactly what Kurapika did.
The sound reverberated loudly in the now-quiet room, and the snapping of Chrollo’s head to the side was satisfying, but it wasn’t nearly enough to make Kurapika feel better.
All the misery he’d experienced over the few weeks (the last few years, the last decade), all the anger he’d ever felt towards Chrollo—towards himself—seemed to well up all at once, and it culminated in a frustration so intense the only thing he could do was physically get it out of his system.
So he climbed on top of that toned abdomen—feeling more cum leak out of him as he did so, which only made him angrier—and hit that stupid face again, and again, and again until his hands hurt and he felt completely, horrendously sober.
“You lying, manipulative, narcissistic piece of shit—“
He only stopped when he realised there was blood running out of Chrollo’s nose, and subsequently covering his hands, too. In Kurapika’s defence, the vessels in the man’s nose were so damaged from years of abuse that it didn’t take much to give him a nosebleed, but still. It was enough to stop him in his tracks.
They stared at each other for a while, Kurapika’s chest heaving with leftover fury and Chrollo looking blank. Detached. There was just—nothing behind his eyes as he wiped the blood under his nose with his fingers, sniffing as he looked down at the substance.
“Are you done?”
“I really fucking hate you,” Kurapika gritted out.
“That’s an odd way of saying ‘Thank you for the pills’.”
Kurapika hit him again. He hadn't even meant to. Just completely on instinct.
“Why do you do this shit?! You could’ve just given them to me!”
“What do you mean? I am giving them to you.”
And Kurapika had to leave, he had to get out of here, because he really was considering strangling the man underneath him. His legs shook as he got to his feet, his whole body still wobbly from the unfortunately mind-blowing sex, and he hunted down his clothes that Chrollo had thrown somewhere across the room.
“Leaving already?”
Kurapika didn’t dignify him with an answer, just scoffed and shook his head as he used the wall to balance himself, stepping into his underwear once he found it.
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about. It's not like I started this,” and when Kurapika had to stop and raise his eyebrows at him in disbelief, he sat up and shuffled to the edge of the bed, “You kissed me, remember?”
The gall he continued to have was honestly astonishing. It was like he wanted Kurapika to be mad.
Shit, did he want Kurapika to be mad? Was he playing straight into Chrollo’s hand here? God, his head wasn't nearly clear enough to be trying to figure this shit out. He just needed to get home.
“Yeah, I’ll remember not to do that next time, thanks,” Kurapika managed to wrangle his jeans on, buttoning them up quickly. He shoved the bag into his back pocket, safe. “How much do I owe you, then.”
Chrollo eyed him. He seemed to have some sort of internal debate before sighing, “Just take them, Kurapika. Call it a peace offering, or something, I don’t know.”
“Shitty fucking peace offering.”
Chrollo stood then, walking up to Kurapika and inadvertently crowding him against the wall as he did so. Their height difference always made him feel small, but this made him feel trapped. Prey. Especially as the back of his head hit the wall as he looked up at the taller man.
“I meant what I said. I’ve been so worried about you, and I just…I wish you would let me be there for you.”
A gentle hand cupped his face, ran a thumb over his lower lip, and Kurapika was suddenly grateful for the wall behind him with the way his knees went weak. And he was still angry, of course, but it was so hard to stay mad when he was being looked at like he was everything. Like Chrollo would give him the moon and the stars, would die for him, would kill for him—had killed for him, for fuck's sake, and Kurapika had no idea how he found himself here. In this situation. It was all so, so fucked up.
“You know how I feel about you, Pika,” Chrollo murmured.
Kurapika did. And he’d forbidden Chrollo from ever saying the words.
He was scared of what might happen if he heard them.
He watched Chrollo lean down, and didn't stop him. Their lips brushed, soft, just a whisper of a thing, before they met in a slow, tender kiss. Despite the copper from the blood he had drawn, it was unbelievably sweet; syrupy and tooth-rotting, and it felt like an apology.
Kurapika wasn’t sure if he was up for forgiveness just yet. But there was a whole laundry list of things that he had yet to forgive Chrollo for, and it never seemed to stop him from crawling back.
One day—and Kurapika was banking on this, had placed all his bets on it—resentment would get the better of him, and he’d be able to cut ties for good. It just happened that today wasn’t that day.
He broke the kiss to whisper, “I need to go.”
Chrollo frowned and stroked his cheek with the back of his hand, “Will you at least let me drive you back?”
It was incredibly tempting. He could picture it now—not having to drag himself home, just being able to rest, sink into the leather seats and turn the heat up as he watched the world go past with the older man's hand on his thigh.
But— he couldn’t. He needed the gruelling walk back to remind himself of what he did, how he let himself fall back into Chrollo’s arms so easily. To make up for how fucking disappointed he was. He had to, and— god, who was he kidding? The more he thought about it, the worse it sounded. He was already swaying on his feet just standing here. And Kurapika was stubborn as fuck, was prone to cutting off his own nose to spite his face, but weeks of exhaustion was enough to wear anyone down.
Being in Chrollo’s presence was enough to wear anyone down.
So he nodded. Barely there, dejected. Couldn’t look Chrollo in the eye as he did. Especially not as the man breathed a sigh of relief.
“Give me two seconds to clean up. I’ll meet you outside,” he said softly, and then he disappeared into the bathroom.
Kurapika sighed—his choice weighing heavy, already full of regret—and he eyed the door, dreading what was coming next. It was not the first time he’d had to do the walk of shame past these specific people, knowing they had just heard him get railed within an inch of his life, but it was still incredibly embarrassing. He pulled his jacket hood back up and decided to just make a break for it, throwing Chrollo’s door open and practically bolting down the stairs.
He wasn’t lucky enough to get away unscathed, though.
“Well, that sounded good,” a voice purred out from the couch.
Kurapika didn’t even need to look to know who that was, and just continued marching towards the front door, “Shut the fuck up, Hisoka.”
“Oh, my.”
He thankfully managed to wrench the door open and slam it shut behind him before he could be propositioned by that man, again, and stood to wait by Chrollo’s car. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tapped his foot, wishing, not for the first time that day, that he’d remembered to grab his cigarettes before running out of his apartment in an angry desperation.
“Want one?”
He whirled around to see Chrollo walking up behind him, clean-faced and redressed—the only evidence of their affair being the quickly reddening, rather large bite mark on his neck—holding out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Kurapika couldn’t even be mad at how well he knew him.
“God, yes,” he muttered, taking the proffered items and lighting one up as fast as possible. He handed them back once he was done, relief and nicotine washing over him.
“Ready then, angel?”
Another benefit to being driven by Chrollo was getting to smoke in his car. But Kurapika couldn't afford to think about the benefits, couldn't afford to think about all the things this man could do for him, if he'd let him. Couldn't afford any more relapses today.
Don’t invite him up. Whatever you do, for the love of god, do not invite him up.
Kurapika rolled his shoulders, the reminder ringing clear in his mind. He wouldn't forget it this time. No more relapses.
“Yeah.”
And if he fell asleep in the car, unable to fight the fatigue any longer, and found himself waking up alone in his apartment, did that really count? He wasn't sure, but he'd probably find a way to rake himself over the coals for it anyway.
Not now, though, because sleep continued to call for him and his head didn't hurt anymore, and that was the only thing that could possibly matter.