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Chapter Text

“What do you mean he broke out?” Kurapika hissed into the phone, worrying his bottom lip. “How did the hell did he break out of a maximum security cell?” He wanted to curse, to yell and throw things, but he knew that that would be childish. God, his team had hunted that damn mafia lord for weeks, and even then they had barely been able to detain him. Now they would have to do it again. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming behind his eyes. He had lost two men to the monster already. Who knew how many more would have to be sacrificed the next time? 

A small part of him was tempted to cut his losses and let the man go, but Lucilfer was the only lead they had on the case. Twenty-two dead women in the past nine days, bodies mangled and contorted when they found them. No, they hadn’t even been able to find their bodies. All that had been left behind were the tools used in the grisly murders and a series of photographs. 

Polaroids, freshly printed. One for every victim. 

Kurapika’s stomach rolled at the thought, and he steeled himself. He had to track down the culprit, had to put an end to the ever growing chain of deaths. He had to protect Neon. 

“We’re not sure, boss—“

“Well then find out,” he ordered impatiently. “Was anyone hurt?” When they had first apprehended him, Lucilfer had managed to shoot two before they had gotten the gun from him. Kurapika frowned. It had been odd—after killing the two men, the mafia head had almost handed his gun to Mizaistorm, becoming strangely complacent. Perhaps he had been mocking them?

Basho sighed on the other side. “One of Lucilfer’s men clipped Cheadle on the shoulder, but she’s okay.”

“Good.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Any ideas where he might have gone?”

“None, but we’re sending a security detail over—“

Kurapika heard a click, then. The cold metal of a gun brushed the back of his head, and an arm snaked around his waist before he could turn and fight. His heartbeat dropped. No. 

“Give me the phone,” commanded a smooth voice directly into his ear. 

Even though his mind screamed at him to disobey, the blond detective shakily handed the device over. He just had to distract his assailant for a few moments. His eyes darted to his own gun, on a table a couple feet away. If only... 

The lip of the gun pressed a little harder. “I wouldn’t think about it, if I were you,” Lucilfer advised, laughing darkly. 

“Kurapika? What’s going on? Kurapika?” Basho said frantically into the phone. 

Lucilfer smiled, raising the electronic to his mouth. “Relax, he’s perfectly safe...”

A muffled yell was heard from the speaker. 

“... for now,” he finished threateningly. “I’ll make this very clear for you: you take even one step into this building, and I put a bullet into blondie’s head. Got it?”

Kurapika’s mind raced. He couldn’t just let the criminal get away. Not when he had answers. Mustering up all his strength, he stepped on Lucilfer’s foot, snapping his head back so that he heard the satisfying crack of cartilage. Snatching the phone from the man’s hand he stumbled away, reaching for his gun as he spoke. 

“You get men here, now,” he instructed.

“But—“

“To hell with whatever happens to me,” Kurapika said fiercely. “You get in here, and you get answers.”

“I—“

“That’s an order, Basho.” A hand grabbed his throat, yanking him bodily against another chest. His fingers closed around the familiar coolness of his pistol. Kurapika struggled, elbowing Lucilfer in the gut. A shot rang out, bullet grazing his head, and he dropped the phone. 

A gun nestled into the soft skin of his throat, and the same baritone voice spoke calmly into his ear. “Don’t move.”

Kurapika moved anyway. 

He expected the gun to go off, and for a bullet to find its way into his jugular. The mafia lord only gave a stifled curse, though, and he felt himself being shoved against a wall, two arms caging him in. 

A gun released its safety, but this time it was Kurapika’s own. Holding the weapon against the other’s neck, he glared up defiantly, eyes meeting with Lucilfer’s for the first time. How had the other's nose not been broken? Hell, he still looked completely unruffled. Was this guy even human?

The criminal had the nerve to let out a chuckle. “You won’t kill me. Not when I have the information you need,” he taunted, pushing away the gun. Kurapika hated that he was right. 

“I suspect you won’t, either. You had multiple opportunities to do so and yet you didn’t,” he shot back. Lucilfer grinned wickedly, lowering his gun and pressing closer. 

“W-what is it that you want?” The detective kicked himself for his stutter. The mafia man just leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. Kurapika gave an involuntary shiver. 

“You.”

The blond’s eyes widened. 

“You have questions, and I have answers,” Lucilfer continued, moving down to press a light kiss to his neck. 

"How can I trust you? You've killed two of my men already."

"Please," Kuroro said dismissively, scoffing, "they were informants. You should be thanking me that I got rid of them." Kurapika gaped. No, it couldn't be... 

"Anyway, my offer of information is waiting..." Kuroro sang. 

Kurapika’s brow furrowed. “Not for free, though. You want something in return. Name it and I’ll give it to you.” Within reason, that is. 

Another laugh, then. “I thought I made it obvious, but I guess I’ll have to repeat myself.” Kurapika’s pulse jumped as a pair of warm lips ghosted over his throat. “I want you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Teeth scraped against his skin before being replaced with warm pressure. Kurapika bit back a moan. What the ever-living fuck. “You have three questions. Fire away.”

Kurapika forced himself to think rationally, something that was getting increasingly difficult with the lips working their way up to his jaw and the cool fingers tracing up his sides. He could work with this. If this was all that the mafia leader wanted in return... well, as long as he didn’t do anything too inappropriate...

Another kiss landed dangerously low on his chest, and he let out a small gasp. Okay. That was inappropriate. 

“Why do they choose the targets that they do?” he asked, voice coming out surprisingly even. 

The other man didn’t pause in his ministrations, something that Kurapika had very mixed feelings about. “That’s a terrible question, darling. You should have noticed the pattern by now.” Kurapika bristled at the condescending tone and Lucilfer laughed, planting a placating kiss to his collarbone. Wait, since when had his shirt been opened? “They’re all young. Beautiful. Vulnerable. He lures them in from the streets to play. If they don’t meet his tastes, which none ever have, then he kills them.” Hands ran reverently across the blond’s stomach, tracing intricate patterns on the olive skin. “Simple.”

“Sadistic, more like,” Kurapika corrected, breath hitching as a particularly sharp bite landed on the soft curve of his neck. “All of his murders have been focused in a twenty mile radius. A local, I’m a assuming?” At least, that was what his team had been thinking. 

“You couldn’t be farther from the truth.” Kuroro continued his series of open-mouthed kisses, relishing the small sounds that escaped the blond. Oh, he really was so delicious. “He’s a drifter. Yorknew City just caught his eye.” Drawing back, the criminal admired his work, causing Kurapika to flush hotly under his heavy stare. 

“One more question.”

Kurapika hesitated. There was one more question that he had, but he was doubtful that Kuroro would answer it. It was risky, wasting his last question on this. But he had to try. “I need a name.”

A grin, all teeth. “That answer costs more than a kiss, sweetheart.” Kurapika burned with irritation and something else at the pet name. What more could he give? Oh, right. His brain almost overheated at the implication. 

He was about to snap back with a scathing reply when the clatter of heavy footsteps sounded up the stairs. Kuroro—when had he started referring to him by his first name?—cursed, before impulsively pulling the shorter man against him. 

Kurapika let out a yelp in surprise before a pair of lips came crashing down on his own. Kuroro devoured his mouth hungrily, fire and passion evident behind his movements. Despite himself, the blond felt himself growing weak as the other deepened the kiss, knees buckling. The man tasted of coffee and hard liquor and something dark and sweet—it was maddening. He grabbed onto the man’s lapels for support and he felt one arm encircle his waist, holding him up. The other hand reached up to cup his cheek, surprisingly gentle. 

When Kuroro finally pulled away, Kurapika felt like he’d been drugged. He was in a daze, blood pounding in his ears as he met the other’s lust-filled gaze. 

Kuroro looked like he wanted to kiss him again, but a banging was heard on the door, loud and jarring. Sighing, the mafia man released him reluctantly, pressing a piece of paper into Kurapika’s hand and saying, 

“Until next time, Mr. Kurta.”

Pressing a lingering kiss to the blond’s cheek, he slipped out of an open window just as the door was kicked down. 

Agents swarmed the room and his name was shouted in numerous voices, but Kurapika paid them no attention, too wrapped up in what had just happened. 

He remembered the business card in his hand and flipped it over, eyes scanning over a single name. 

Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou.

Well, at least he had a name now. 

Chapter Text

Kurapika sighed heavily. It had been two weeks since the whole Lucilfer incident, and yet his department had had little success in catching the elusive Hui Guo Rou serial killer. The murders were becoming a little more spaced out, at least, so he guessed that the culprit was being more careful now that he had the full attention of the Yorknew police. 

The detective unlocked the door to his apartment, which had just been completely restored to its previous cleanliness after many consolation funds from the department. Stumbling inside, he distantly set a reminder for himself to brew a pot of coffee before he passed out. 

He hadn't given himself a chance to sleep much in the past month, too focused on the case. Leorio always got onto him about working too much, but the doctor could do little more than leave passive-aggressive messages on his answering machine now.

Kurapika had just hung up his coat when he noticed that something was off. He was certain that he hadn't left that window open before he had left that morning... 

He felt a dip in the floorboards behind him, and he tensed immediately. God, can I not have one night of peace? Hand reaching for his pistol, he felt a pair of arms slip around his waist, fingers playing with the buttons of his blazer. Kurapika's grip tightened around his weapon. 

"So hostile," the intruder chastised, lips inches from his ear. Kurapika relaxed slightly as he recognized the other's voice. A hand plucked the gun from his grasp and tossed it aside. 

"Lucilfer," he greeted coolly, as if he wasn't currently trapped in the other's embrace. 

A dark laugh sounded, and Kuroro spun him around. "Kurapika,"  he mimicked, "you're here later than I expected. By my knowledge, your shift ended three hours ago."

The blond scoffed. "I'm trying to solve a string of homicides," he stressed. "You can't expect me to just leave the first chance I can while there's still a murderer out snatching girls off the streets."

"Well, you won't be solving anything if you pass out," the mafia leader pointed out, taking in the dark bruises under the other's eyes. Right, coffee. 

"If." Kurapika extricated himself from Kuroro's hold and made his way to the kitchen. 

"When," Kuroro muttered to himself, following him.  Turning on the coffee maker, Kurapika crossed his arms over his chest, turning to face the other man. 

"Why are you here, anyway?" he asked, making no attempt to move back when Kuroro swiftly closed the distance between them. 

The dark-haired man shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I might stop by to visit my favorite detective," he told him casually, eyes holding a kind of intensity that made sent a chill down Kurapika's spine. The detective hid his unease and lifted a disinterested brow. 

"When you say 'visit' I think you actually mean 'break in'," Kurapika corrected, nodding towards the half-opened window in the living room. "Seriously, why can't you just go through the door like a normal person?"

"It was locked." Kurapika rolled his eyes. 

"It's a simple lock mechanism. Even Leorio got it open when he was blackout drunk," he said, laughing quietly to himself at the memory. His friend had thrown a party to celebrate him passing medical school and had gotten so inebriated that he had woken Kurapika up trying to get into his apartment while spewing oddly seductive promises. When he had finally managed to get in, the man had promptly passed out on Kurapika's living room sofa after pulling the half-asleep detective into a sloppy kiss. Leorio had been absolutely mortified at the whole event afterwards, but Kurapika had just dismissed it quickly, all too aware of the other's affections. 

Not that it would ever work out, anyway, seeing that the doctor was currently halfway around the world providing care to people in third-world countries. 

"Leorio?" Kuroro repeated, voice going comically suspicious. 

Kurapika cursed himself for his slip up. Great. He really did not want to get Leorio involved in whatever sloppy mafia business that Kuroro had his hand in. "It's not important," he said firmly. 

"Not important?" The mafia man leaned in closer, effectively caging Kurapika in. 

"Are you just going to repeat everything I s—"

"Good." Then a pair of lips came crashing down onto his own, hungry and impatient and everything that Kuroro was. All snarky retorts and remarks died in Kurapika's mind, because Kuroro's hands had crept under his shirt and his tired mind could not handle the sensory overload. Cold digits ran over his heated skin and Kurapika didn't even try to stop the desperate gasp that slipped past his mouth. Kuroro swallowed the sound, pulling away with a satisfied hum before shifting his attentions to the detective's neck. 

Trailing open-mouthed kisses down to his collarbone, Kuroro pressed even closer, and oh, that was new. Kurapika blushed as he tried to put some space between the both of them, but the other man was having none of that. Arms hooked under his thighs, and Kurapika found himself hefted onto the countertop with ease. He didn't get any chance to protest at his new position, though, as Kuroro dragged him down for another kiss, hot and strangely possessive. 

Hands traveled downwards to grip his hips, and Kurapika gave an involuntary moan as he was dragged against the other bodily. Kuroro chuckled at the sound, fingers deftly moving to undo the blond's belt. So this is happening? A part of him protested at the fact that he was just minutes away from being taken by a mafia leader in his own damn kitchen, but then Kuroro rolled his hips into him and that part was promptly silenced. 

Kuroro had almost gotten the buckle undone when the coffee maker beeped, jarring Kurapika back to his senses. Kurapika swore that the other man had almost growled as he pushed him away and quickly hopped off of the counter. Immediately, Kuroro tried to pull the blond back, but Kurapika ducked under his arms and retrieved the pot. 

Pouring a cup for himself, Kurapika sighed. "You've got to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Kuroro asked innocently, voice still thick with arousal. He slid into Kurapika's personal space again. 

Kurapika smacked a wandering hand a little harder than necessary. "That," he snapped. "It's horribly irresponsible for me to get involved with you right now..." Kuroro opened his mouth as if to say something, but the blond cut him off, pushing him away. "...or any time, that is." The other man closed his mouth, but smirked. 

"You didn't seem to care so much about 'responsibility' a moment ago," the mafia leader teased, only to have a gun pointed lazily into his direction. Kurapika had started carrying two on his person ever since the previous break in incident. 

"Mm-hm," Kurapika acquiesced, taking a long sip from his mug, "I'd be happy to show you just how much responsibility I'm willing to take if you don't watch yourself." Kuroro laughed, putting his hands up in mock-surrender.

"Always so defensive, darling."

The detective just unclicked the safety in response and drained his coffee. He kept his weapon trained on the other as he set down his drink and grabbed his files. Once he had made it to his desk, a good enough distance away from the man, he lowered the gun, stowing it away in his blazer. 

He shot a glance at the other man. "The show's over, asshole. You can leave now." To his annoyance, Kuroro only came closer, until he was standing right behind Kurapika's chair. Eyes flicking up to meet Kuroro's, Kurapika scowled. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, voice dangerously calm. Kuroro smiled. 

"Watching you work," he replied cheerily. "It's fascinating just how much evidence you've missed."

Kurapika shot him an unimpressed look. "Well then either help me, or get the fuck out."

"Is that an invitation?" Kurapika's eye twitched. 

"Oh fuck me." Why did he always have to get stuck with idiots like this?

The other man just grinned, lips ghosting the shell of Kurapika's ear. "With pleasure." Kurapika elbowed him.

"Get out of my house." Kuroro gave a dramatic, drawn-out sigh. 

"Fine, fine. I'll help you," he conceded, "but only if I can have you once this is over."

"Sure. Whatever," Kurapika agreed hurriedly, not really pausing to fully process the other's words. 

Kuroro smiled, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on the blond's head. Kurapika had half the mind to shake him off, but he decided against it. Purely because he needed information. Of course. 

"So?" the detective prompted, trying not to let the other's close proximity affect him. 

"Well, first of all..."

 The first rays of sunlight were streaming through the living room window when Kurapika woke up. Sitting up groggily, he realized that he must have fallen asleep at his desk the night before. He slapped his forehead. He had fallen asleep and left himself completely vulnerable to one of the most dangerous men in all of Yorknew. Truly, a rookie move. Sighing, he checked the time. He was going to be late if he didn't get dressed now. 

He was about to stand up when a piece of paper tucked under a case file caught his eye. Picking it up, he examined the neat handwriting. 

Midway Park, 11pm. Come alone and don't be late.

- KL

P.S. Don't think I've forgotten about our deal, darling. 

Frowning, he turned the slip over, but it was blank on the back. Midway Park, 11pm. Was it some sort of code? No, probably not. Kuroro was much too prideful to use codes to obscure his motives. Perhaps he was arranging a meeting with an informant? Kurapika pinched the bridge of his nose. Going anywhere alone with the mafia leader would be extremely foolish and unsafe, but he needed to solve the case as soon as possible. 

The body count was still rising, and he couldn't help but think of Neon. As annoying as his friend was at times, he really did care for her. And she fit the profile of all the other victims perfectly. Young, beautiful, and naive. Yes, he had to go, consequences and risks be damned. 

He was just stepping out the door when he remembered the last part of the note. What deal was Kuroro talking about?" Kurapika strained to remember. He hadn't agreed to anything last night, had he?

"I'll help you, but only if I can have you once this is over."

Well, shit. 

Chapter Text

Against his better judgement, Kurapika found himself walking down the cracked pavements of Midway Park. The streetlamps shone bright and he felt exposed as his shadow stretched long and dark behind him. As he neared the center of the park, he edged into the treeline, desperate for some cover. He had come unaccompanied, as Kuroro had requested, but he’d let Mizaistorm know where he had been heading. If anything went wrong, hopefully they’d be able to find his body before it started decomposing.

He heard a soft rustle of leaves behind him. In an instant, his gun was drawn, pressed square between the dark-haired man’s eyes. Kuroro grinned. Sighing, Kurapika lowered his weapon.

“Say something, for Christ’s sake,” Kurapika said, cursing. “One day I’m going to end up shooting you for real, I swear.”

“Hm,” Kuroro replied noncommittally, kissing his cheek, “you’re so hot when you threaten me.”

Kurapika’s eyebrow twitched. “You’ve got some weird kinks.”

“Oh darling,” he purred, “you have no idea.” The mafia leader kissed him again, hands trailing down to squeeze the detective’s ass. Kurapika fought down a gasp.

“If this is just another excuse to molest me, then I’m leaving.”

Kuroro laughed against his lips, pulling away. “Don’t worry,” he assured him, “I brought you here for a reason.” He seized the blond’s hand, tugging him into motion. “I just came to find you because you’re in the wrong place.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “That’s because you didn’t give me anything to go off on besides ‘Midway Park’.”

The man shrugged. “I do admit, it was pretty entertaining to watch you walk around aimlessly for a bit.” Kurapika bristled.

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh.” Kuroro pulled him in view of a small clearing, shoving him behind a thicket of bushes. The man turned to him, looking serious. 

“Stay down and stay quiet. If they find out you’re here I won’t be able to stop them from killing you,” Kuroro warned him, all humor gone from his voice. Kurapika swallowed thickly.

“Got it.”

“Good.” Giving Kurapika one last long look, Kuroro stepped away.

The detective watched as the man’s demeanor completely changed. His posture straightened, and there was a degree of violence that accompanied his movements. His expression melted away, leaving a startling mask of calm. The mafia leader joined the group of oddly-dressed people at the very center of the clearing.

“Boss,” one of them, a woman with shoulder-length blond hair, greeted. Ah, so this was the famed Phantom Troupe.

Kuroro dipped his head. “Pakunoda.”

“We found him, as per your instructions. He was just where you said he’d be—loitering outside the brothels of the red-light district. The woman snapped her fingers, and two men—mafioso, Kurapika assumed—dragged a bound and gagged person forward, into the light.

The prisoner shouted something unintelligible from under the cloth. Kuroro stepped closer.

“Let him speak,” he ordered. The gag was removed. The captive man turned and spat something red and sticky into the grass. “They sure did a number on you, didn’t they?” Kuroro asked, voice edged with something sadistic and cold.

The chained man practically vibrated with rage. “What do you want?”

Kurapika barely had time to blink before Kuroro had the man in a chokehold.

“You know something about the murders happening in Yorknew, don’t you?” Kuroro still sounded as collected as ever, even as the man clawed at his hands. The mafia leader’s grip tightened. “Tell us what you know, and maybe we won’t kill you.” He released the straining man, letting him fall to the grass, gasping.

“No,” the captive said defiantly.

Kuroro scoffed, unimpressed. When he spoke, his tone was smooth, like the flat edge of a knife. Promising of the pain that was to come. “Feitan,” he prompted. A slight man walked forward, a twisted smile on his face as he played with his knife. The prisoner’s eyes bugged out.

“Please,” the man begged, “they’ll kill me if I speak.”

“What’s stopping us from killing you first?” Kuroro asked sharply. “Or better yet—torturing the truth out of you? You’ll be alive; Feitan will make sure of that. But I can’t promise that you’ll come out of this with all of your fingers.”

The fear was potent in the captive’s eyes, and Kurapika felt a twinge of pity.

Silence stretched. Kuroro turned to the man called Feitan. “Go on; have your fun,” he told him.

The man flailed with renewed vigor as Feitan drew closer, but the two men restraining him held fast. The knife had barely kissed the captive’s skin when the man spoke.

“The Kakin Association!” he burst out. Kuroro paused, holding up a hand for Feitan to stop. “That’s all I know! I was told to bring the girls to the company hotel,” he revealed hurriedly. “I didn’t know what he was doing, I swear. I just did what he told me to do.”

“He?” Kuroro prompted.

“I—” Suddenly, the man’s face went slack and the two mafia men keeping him bound sprang away.

“Bomb,” one of them shouted. “He’s got a bomb!” The now-freed man tried to scramble towards the trees, close to where Kurapika was concealed. Catching sight of the blond, his eyes widened.

“Help me,” he pleaded, trying to pull himself forward. “Please, help me!”

Kuroro cursed, drawing out his pistol and shooting the man where he stood. “Get down!” he yelled. Kurapika stumbled back, throwing himself behind a tree a couple of meters away just as he heard the explosive go off. As the ringing stopped in his ears, Kurapika risked a glance from behind his cover.

The place where he had been standing a few moments earlier was reduced to a black scorch mark, debris scattered everywhere. A hundred or so yards away, he saw the Phantom Troupe get to their feet.

“Damn bastard had a bomb planted on him,” one of the grumbled, coughing.

Kuroro rose. “I’m not surprised. He was in over his head.” He turned to his subordinates. “Get back to the rendezvous point. Shalnark, I’m going to need everything you have on the Kakin Association. We thought that Tserriednich was acting alone, but now we have to be open to the possibility of a puppet organization aiding him.”

After he finished dismissing the rest of the Troupe members, he turned to where Kurapika had been hiding. Kurapika stepped out to meet him, missing the relief that flashed briefly over his features.

”Are you alright?” he asked, quickly scanning him for injuries. Kurapika nodded slowly, brushing off some dirt from his coat.

“Peachy,” he replied curtly. His eyes flickered to the charred remains still smoldering a couple meters away. “Sorry you had to kill him.”

The mafia leader waved a hand dismissively. “I was planning to from the very beginning. Did you get the information you needed?”

“Yes.” The Kakin association didn’t ring any bells, but Kurapika hoped that a thorough database sweep would do the trick. “Thank you.”

”Please,” Kuroro laughed, “this just means that you owe me—“ his voice dropped a bit lower, almost predatory— “and that’s all the thanks I need.”

Kurapika crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh? The fact that I didn’t shoot you when you broke in last night is plenty to cover whatever favor I ‘owe’ you.”

“Please,” the other man crowed, “you would never.”

”Why don’t you find out?” Kurapika replied coolly, drawing out his gun and tossing it around casually.

Stepping closer, Kuroro grinned, sharp and dangerous if not for the amusement glinting in his eyes. “Intimidating, are we?” He ducked down, lips brushing the shell of the detective’s ear. “You know just how to make a guy feel special.”

”You’re an imbecile,” Kurapika breathed, not even protesting as a warm hand slid up to cup his jaw.

“Am I?”

And then they were kissing, Kuroro guiding him backward until Kurapika’s suit jacket hit the rough bark of the tree. Kurapika’s mind protested loudly, reminding him that Kuroro was a very dangerous criminal, who had probably murdered hundreds of Yorknew citizens. He really shouldn’t be doing this. The first time had been a negotiation, the second a mistake. This time, though... there was no one else to blame but himself for his actions.

Breaking away, Kurapika murmured, “This really won’t end well.”

Kuroro assessed him through hooded eyes. “So?”

The detective laughed bitterly. “I’m not even supposed to be involved with anyone with my line of work. And certainly not you.”

Smiling, the dark-haired man tilted his head. “Me?”

Kurapika huffed. “Well, for starters, you’re hardly clean—”

”You know that I’m taking risks here too,” the mafia leader cut in, one hand reaching up to fiddle with the blond’s hair. “Just what do you think the other leaders of the Underworld would think, finding me consorting with the Hunter’s Agency?” He dragged out the name liltingly. “You’re not the only one walking the line here, darling.”

For once, Kurapika had no witty remark to fire back with. Instead, he just peered up at the other man intensely, weighing his options. The other man just stared back with an entertained smirk playing at his lips, and after a moment Kurapika broke.

Fuck it. Lunging forward, Kurapika kissed him hungrily, ignoring the laughter that escaped the other’s lips as fingers tangled in his hair. He had always been a morally grey person, so what did one more questionable life choice matter?

Kuroro’s hands fisted in his hair, tugging sharply, and Kurapika gasped. Kuroro took the chance to kiss him deeper, frame pressing hot against Kurapika’s own.

“God, I can’t wait until I can fuck you,” Kuroro muttered under his breath when they finally came up for air. Kurapika blushed at his bluntness.

“Uh, while we’re on the topic of fucking,” Kurapika ventured, glancing away as Kuroro’s eyes flashed with hunger, “is that going to happen now, or…?”

He got a thoughtful hum in response. “That depends,” Kuroro replied, voice light.

The detective tried his best not to be distracted by the way that the man’s eyes never left his lips.

“Depends?”

The mafia man’s lips quirked upwards. “On whether or not you plan to come into work tomorrow. Or the day after that, really.”

Kurapika’s eyes widened as he caught the implication. “Oh.”

“Thought so,” Kuroro said, running a finger down Kurapika’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything until after the case ends.” Pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of Kurapika’s mouth, he grinned.

“The waiting is what makes it worth it.”

The low, rough note in Kuroro’s voice sent heat jolting directly to Kurapika’s groin and that was when he realized that he was completely and utterly screwed over.

Chapter Text

“I’m flying back in. Tonight.”

Kurapika bit the inside of his cheek, checking his watch. “Tonight?” He still had a few more hours of research to do, but he supposed that he could leave work early after he was done just this once. It wasn’t like he had the resolve to say no to his friend, anyway. “I can pick you up from the airport, but why? This is oddly spontaneous, even for you.”

Leorio’s voice turned sheepish. “I dunno. I just felt like coming back. I kinda missed home.” I missed you, went unsaid.

The sentimental undercurrent to the man’s words made Kurapika’s chest tighten. “Well, you picked a hell of a time to come back, Leorio,” he joked, trying for lightness. The doctor just laughed. 

“Eh, it’ll take more than a few gangs and murderers to scare me off,” he bragged, and Kurapika could practically see the smug expression on the other man’s face. 

“Uh-huh.” 

A robotic voice sounded faintly in the background. Leorio cursed. “Crap. That’s my flight.”

“Don’t want you to miss it,” Kurapika said, even though he felt the opposite. “I’ll see you at the airport, then? At five-thirty?”

“Yep. I can’t wait to see you,” he replied. “You can tell me all about what wild things I’ve been missing in Yorknew.”

Kurapika worried his lip. “Yeah. Looking forward to that.” He hung up, cutting off the doctor’s cheerful goodbye. Setting down the phone, he put his head in his hands. 

“Fuck,” he said to himself. 

“You seem tense,” a voice observed, scarily close to his ear. Kurapika jumped, hitting his elbow on the computer monitor. 

Spinning to face the intruder, he sighed. “I swear to god, Kuroro—” he froze “—wait, what are you doing here?”

The mafia leader blinked innocently, as if he hadn’t just broken into a maximum-security facility. “I’m here to check on your progress.”

The detective shook his head in disbelief. “ How did you get in here?”

Kuroro grinned wickedly. “Let’s just say that I wouldn’t go outside of your office for a bit, at least not until it gets cleaned up.” Kurapika’s eyes widened. 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” The man laughed. 

“Yeah, I am,” Kuroro conceded, holding up a laminated ID. “I just had to show the secretary in the main lobby this and she let me in, no problems.”

“Janitorial staff,” Kurapika read aloud. He squinted at the man’s immaculate suit. “Huh. Call me crazy, but what you’re wearing hardly screams ‘janitor’ to me.” 

Kuroro shrugged. “It was good enough for her.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. He had a feeling that Kuroro’s easy entrance into the building had less to do with his “flawless” cover as a janitor and more to do with Biscuit’s weakness for pretty faces. “Right.” 

Leaning against Kurapika’s desk, Kuroro said, all-too-casual, “Quite an important phone call you just had, was it?”

Shit. “Just how much of it did you hear?” he asked warily instead of answering. 

The mafia leader put a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “What do you take me for, darling? Some conniving eavesdropper?”

“Yes. Exactly that,” Kurapika retorted, deadpan. The man pouted. 

“Well, I am not. I just noticed your apparent distress and I was, well, concerned ,” Kuroro confessed. He sounded so earnest, so real, that Kurapika almost believed him. Almost. 

“Bullshit,” the detective muttered to himself. He redirected his attention to the screen in front of him, scrolling through the open report. “It’s nothing important,” he told the man shortly. “Just a few personal issues that I’ll have to work out.”

Kuroro hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could…”

“No, ” Kurapika said firmly, louder than he intended. “Thank you, but no.”

The man threw his hands up in mock-surrender. “Okay. I get it; business and pleasure don’t mix.”

Kurapika raised a skeptical brow. “Oh? And which are you?” 

“Hm…” Kuroro crossed in front of his desk, blocking his view of the computer. The blond made a halfhearted attempt to shove him out of the way and he just laughed. Hooking his fingers into Kurapika’s belt-loops, he dragged him upwards so that they pressed chest-to-chest. “It depends on the day, I think.”

He really shouldn’t encourage him, but Kurapika couldn’t help but shoot back with a dry “What is it today, then?” 

Kuroro pulled him in, close enough that his breath fanned warm against his skin. “That’s up to you.” Lust was a tricky sin, the hand stroking up the small of his back an expert seducer, but Kurapika was a fool enough to call himself a saint. 

“Huh.” With a slender finger, Kurapika traced the firm angle of the man’s jaw, holding his anticipation and weighing it. Perhaps he could use this peculiar arrangement that they had to his favor. Now that he thought about it… there were things that he could have Kuroro investigate on his end that were altogether too messy for association agents. He licked his lips. 

“Well?” Kuroro prompted. Smiling, Kurapika leaned in. 

“Come back when you have something more to offer,” he told him, words ricocheting off of the mafia man’s lips. 

The man’s eyes smarted. “I could say the same to you. What I want from you now is insignificant compared to what you have promised me already.” His touch shifted from the blond’s back to the back of his slacks as if to make a point. 

“ Hm. ” Kurapika slid out of his grip entirely, grabbing the stack of files at the corner of his desk and flipping through them. Kuroro watched him silently for a few moments, stunned, before hopping off of the desk to follow him. The detective didn’t even acknowledge him as he sidled up behind him. 

“It hurts me to say this,” Kuroro said, breaking the silence, “but I’ll bite; what do you need to know?”

Kurapika turned to look at him. “There are some back channels that I can’t access. All of the information about the Kakin Association in the public domain and the agency’s reports is largely unhelpful. That man had mentioned a company hotel, but there are no hotels in Yorknew and the surrounding area that are listed under Kakin’s assets. There have to be crime syndicates that back the organization.”

“You want me to do the dirty work,” Kuroro clarified, frowning. 

“I want you to do some digging on your end,” Kurapika amended. “Look, I would do it myself, but I could lose my job—” Kuroro scoffed. 

“I could lose my life, ” he cut in. 

Kurapika pursed his lips. He had to be careful, now, if he wanted to sway Kuroro to his side. He knew that the man’s attraction would only get him so far. There had to be something else he could use…

“You want to catch Tserriednich and his network, too,” Kurapika reminded him. “My concern is public safety, but yours… yours goes beyond that.” He studied Kuroro pensively. “He’s edging into your territory, isn’t he? Stirring up trouble and challenging your authority. He’s shifting the power dynamics within Yorknew and you don’t want that.”

Something shifted in Kuroro’s expression and Kurapika knew that he had won. 

“You may have access to the information that could uncover the connections between Tserriednich and the Kakin Association, but its network is too large for even the Phantom Troupe to put down on their own,” Kurapika conjectured. “But the Hunter’s Agency, for all of its attachment to protocol and meaningless custom, has the manpower be successful.”

Kuroro’s lips twitched upward, almost pleased. “And what will you do once you’ve got him—Tserriednich?” Kurapika shrugged. 

“Take him to court, let him live out however many lifetime sentences the jury will decide for him. Give the victims’ families closure,” he told him flippantly, before glancing back at Kuroro, suspicious. “You want to kill him, don’t you?”

“I want to make an example of him,” Kuroro corrected, deadly calm, and Kurapika was reminded of just who he was. Despite his charm, despite the milder, more amiable side of him that he had been showing the detective, Kuroro was still a calculating syndicate head at the end of the day. Still dangerous, Kurapika reminded himself. 

Kurapika’s mouth went dry. “Alright.” The mafia leader softened, turning Kurapika to face him. 

“If I agree to help the Agency, then I get to kill Tserriednich,” Kuroro said. “I stay anonymous, and I will communicate only through you.”

The blond tilted his head. “Tserriednich gets his trial first.” Kuroro tensed. “Afterward, however, there will be a window of time between his court sentencing and his transportation to a prison facility. If he happens to get abducted and possibly murdered during that period, I could care less.”

Kuroro laughed lightly. Brushing their foreheads together, surprisingly gently, he said, “Deal.” He pressed an unhurried kiss to Kurapika’s lips. “And I still get you at the end of this.” Kurapika huffed. 

“Foregone conclusion,” he murmured, feeling red crawl up his cheeks.

Pulling away, Kuroro grinned, humor returning. “One of my men is checking up on a few questionable dealings between a few of the more prominent body-collectors in Yorknew. I’ll come back when he has something.” Planting one last kiss to Kurapika’s cheek, he swept out of his office. 

Kurapika sighed, shaking his head. 

Hopefully, with Kuroro busy picking through the underworld for his own leads, he would be too busy to ‘check in’ on Kurapika for the next few days. That, at least, would be a blessing. 

This is going to be a bad idea, Kurapika thought to himself as he looked around the terminal. He glanced at the clock. Leorio’s plane should have landed already. Perhaps he was retrieving his luggage? He was about to pull out his phone to call him when a voice called out from behind. 

“Kurapika!”

The detective turned, catching sight of the characteristic, spiky black hair of his friend. “Leorio?”

Kurapika ran toward him as Leorio dropped his bags, spreading his arms wide. The lines of worry melted from his face as the doctor embraced him. Leorio’s enthusiasm was contagious as the man twirled him around in the air a bit, and Kurapika found himself laughing along with him. 

“Hi,” he said once the other man had released him, the word coming out strangely small and shy. 

Leorio grinned, the expression sloppy and yet somehow endearing. “Hey.”

A comfortable silence reigned as Kurapika helped him with his luggage. 

“So how have the clinics been going?” he asked, holding the door for Leorio as they left the airport. The doctor grinned. 

“Amazing,” he gushed. “Cheadle and I have set up fifteen around the Yorbian border states so far and I’ve been able to teach the local doctors there how to use the new tech that the Association sent over.”

Kurapika laughed, leading him down the blocks to his apartment complex. “I always knew you could do it.” Leorio punched his arm playfully, face red. 

“What about you? I see your eyebags haven’t gotten any smaller.” 

The detective rolled his eyes. “Wow, thanks.” He sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Work is hell right now.”

“When isn’t it?” Leorio commented. Kurapika shrugged. 

“There’s a new unsub that we’re stumped on at the moment,” he explained, tone aiming for flippant. “His body count is high enough that Mizai is considering talking to the Chairman about it.”

Leorio puffed out a breath. “But you’re working on it, right? Good ol’ Detective Kurta on the case?” The humor in his voice fell flat. Kurapika’s eyes were stormy as he stared ahead. 

“I’ve received a few leads, and we’re currently checking them through our databases, but it doesn’t look like the case’ll end anytime soon.” He purposely left out just where his leads had come from, because he had a slight inkling that if Leorio found out that he was involving himself with one of the most notorious mafia dons in Yorknew, his head would promptly explode. 

“You’ll get it. I know you will.” The soft affection in his voice made Kurapika look up, feeling guilty. 

“Leorio, I—” The man cut him off. 

“Look, I get it,” he said, looking away. “You don’t have time for a relationship right now.” Leorio took his hand, squeezing it gently. “But just know that I can still be there for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika acknowledged, the truth straining at his lips, “I know.” His throat felt uncomfortably tight, and he cleared it. “So, dinner?”

Leorio’s grin was back. “You’re free?”

“I cleared my schedule tonight just for you,” Kurapika told him, not missing how the other brightened. 

“More like you left work on time for once,” Leorio retorted, but satisfaction was clear in his voice. 

“Shut up,” he snapped, although a smile wavered at his lips.

He would enjoy this brief reprieve while he had it. All Kurapika had to do was make sure that Leorio didn’t get mixed up in the same mess he had gotten himself into.

Chapter Text

The restaurant was a quiet little comfort food place that he and Leorio had found a few years back when they had worked in the same department, and he didn’t miss the smile on the other’s face as he followed him inside. 

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Leorio exclaimed excitedly as a waiter showed them to a table. Kurapika laughed. 

“I haven’t either,” he said. The doctor looked up, surprised. 

“Really?”

Nodding, Kurapika opened his menu. “It just wouldn’t be the same without you,” he replied carelessly, not paying attention to his words until he caught sight of that look in Leorio’s eyes again. 

Fuck, this was going to be harder than he thought. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the same without you eating half of my plate, of course,” Kurapika corrected, tone aiming for joking and falling short. 

Still, Leorio took the hint. “Oh come on, that only happens like fifty-percent of the time, Kurapika. And you can’t blame me; you, my friend, have the best taste.” Kurapika rolled his eyes. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr Paladiknight,” he retorted. He faked an indignant sniff. “Steal my food tonight and I can and will kick you out of my apartment for the rest of your stay in Yorknew. Have fun sleeping on Mito’s old futon at Gon’s for all I care.”

“Heartless,” Leorio yelped, even as a grin crept up his cheeks. “Just as I remember.”

“Of course. My cruelty against your food-stealing tendencies will never change,” he joked and just like that, the brief moment of awkwardness evaporated. 

Everything was going so perfectly. The restaurant was exactly as he remembered it. Leorio, too, was exactly as he remembered him, and that comfortable, bickering banter that they had seamlessly fallen back into again was so familiar that it made Kurapika’s chest ache. But, of course, because everything was going so well for once, fate decided that it was the perfect time to royally fuck him over. 

Leorio was midway through some hysterical story about his encounters with one particularly inept Yorbian doctor when Kurapika just so happened to glance over his shoulder and out the restaurant window. Perhaps it was some sort of innate instinct that had urged him to check because he knew that something felt off, but regardless, Kurapika caught sight of him immediately. 

Kuroro, dressed to the nines in some thousand-dollar suit or another, waved amiably at him from across the street and Kurapika almost had a heart attack right then and there. 

Frantically, he tried to signal with his eyes for Kuroro to get the fuck away. The mafia leader just laughed, shaking his head to himself before walking out of sight. Kurapika breathed a sigh of relief. 

Crisis averted. Hopefully. 

“Kurapika? Are you okay? You zoned out for a bit,” Leorio prompted, looking adorably confused. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I think the long hours over the past few weeks are starting to get to me.”

Leorio frowned. “You need to take better care of yourself, Kurapika.” That soft fondness had invaded his voice again and Kurapika snorted, batting away his concern. 

“I’ll be fine, Leorio. Now, back to what you were saying about that doctor…” 

“Right!” Leorio’s expression lit up as he continued on with his story. 

Trying in vain to focus his attention back to the man in front of him, Kurapika stared down at his menu as if somehow the build-your-own sandwich selection would give him the solution to the clusterfuck he found himself in. After a few moments of intense glaring, he sighed in relief when he heard the waiter approach. 

“I believe that we’re ready to order, if you don’t mind,” Kurapika said absently, not even bothering to look up.  

“But I do mind.” 

Oh god, no. 

That voice… Kurapika choked on his breath, eyes snapping upward. Kuroro smiled, plucking the menu from his grasp and tossing it carelessly onto another table. 

“You—!” 

“I have a name , Kurapika.”

Kurapika spluttered, face rotating through a whole spectrum of fun colors. The mafia leader just laughed. 

“You’re... not our waiter,” Leorio acknowledged, putting down his menu with a decisive smack. 

Kuroro raised a brow, turning to glance at Kurapika. “A little slow on the uptake, is he?”

Kurapika wanted to scream. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. Kuroro just cocked his head to one side, eyes wide. 

“You weren’t at your office,” Kuroro answered, as if it was obvious. 

“Did it not occur to you that I had left work early?” he asked airily. “For… personal matters?”

Again, Kuroro just gave him the same infuriatingly honest look. “But you never leave work. For all I knew, you could have been plucked from the streets. I was just concerned about my lov—”

“Kurapika,” Leorio cut in, “just how do you know this guy?”

The detective floundered. “He’s my, uh—”

“—Informant.”

“—Janitor.”

They said at the same time. The small wrinkle between Leorio’s eyes deepened. 

“Informant-janitor,” Kuroro clarified. Kurapika barely restrained himself from face-palming. “I’m his informant-janitor.”

“Uh-huh,” Leorio replied, nodding slowly, “ right. ”

“He’s my informant,” Kurapika explained quickly. “He works as the head of the sanitation department for the company whose warehouse we found one of the bodies in. I’ve been working with him in looking into some of the security tapes that he has from that night.”

There was still a flicker of suspicion in Leorio’s expression, but thankfully his friend trusted him enough to buy the story. “Okay,” Leorio conceded, “but that doesn’t exactly explain why he knew you were here and why he thought it was a normal practice to burst in on a person’s private affairs.”

“Actually,” Kuroro countered smoothly, “there is nothing ‘private’ about eating out in a public establishment, one that I just so happened to spot one of my colleagues in.” Kurapika shoved down the urge to groan in frustration. For a silver-tongued mafia don, Kuroro had a real talent for sounding like the biggest stalker to ever walk the streets of Yorknew. 

“Jesus, what a creep,” Leorio said loudly to Kurapika. “I am so sorry you have to deal with these kinds of people on the job.”

The detective could only manage a half-hearted ‘I’m sorry too’ because the situation that he found himself in had to have spawned from one of his greatest nightmares. “This cannot be happening,” 

“Anyway,” Kuroro continued, unperturbed, as if Leorio had not just insulted him a few moments ago, “I apologize for messing with your whole ‘business and pleasure’ balance” —he gave a subtle, if not pointed look in Leorio’s direction— “especially with the epiphany that we had shared about it earlier, but I needed to find you as soon as possible. Shalnark found something interesting about the details of the case, so if I could steal you for just a moment that would be fantastic,” he said, entirely polite if not for the fact that he had already pulled Kurapika gently from his seat and started leading him out of the restaurant. Kurapika cleared his throat, casting a slightly panicked glance back at a nonplussed Leorio. 

“But I was just about to order—”

Kuroro blinked. “Oh, right. Well, I already ordered for you, so no need to worry.” The blond scowled, defeated. 

“Fine, but make this quick,” he hissed. Kuroro just hummed thoughtfully. 

“Always.”

“Who is he?” Kuroro asked as he pulled the detective into a nearby alleyway. 

Kurapika scoffed. “Need I respond with an answer that you already know?” Kuroro pursed his lips. 

“Leorio Paladiknight. Born in the slums of the Saburo district of Yorknew. Twenty-four years old, a graduate of Yorkshin University’s medical program, third in his class. Currently supposed to be in the outskirts of the Yorbian continent, working in affiliation with the Hunter’s Association Medical Outreach program under Cheadle Yorkshire,” Kuroro recited succinctly. “But that is not what I want to know. Who is he to you ?”

An odd question to ask, if Kurapika didn’t see the strings attached to it. It would be easy to dismiss Kuroro’s concern as simple jealousy, but he had a feeling that it went far deeper than that. Whether or not Leorio was someone close to Kurapika mattered because if he was, then Kurapika had just inadvertently brought in an easy target for Kakin and the various other mafia syndicates to prey upon. 

“A close friend,” Kurapika told him calmly, maybe something more, once upon a time. “But it will not make a difference. I don’t intend for him to stay very long in Yorknew, and I most certainly do not intend to bring him into this case.” 

Kuroro looked puzzled for a moment at his careful answer before he began to laugh. “Again,” he said, “that was not what I was asking.” He collected himself, staring Kurapika down with an intensity that bordered comical. “Should I be worried?” 

Now it was Kurapika’s turn to be confused. “Worried?”

“Worried for us .”

Oh, so he had meant — “There is no ‘us’,” Kurapika insisted. 

“ Au contraire ,” the mafia leader corrected, “there has been an ‘us’ ever since we began our little arrangement.”

The detective’s frown tightened. “I believe our ‘arrangement’ just involves mutually-beneficial intel exchanges and the capturing of Tserriednich. And sex at the end of it.” The other man winced at his bluntness.

“My god, your opinion of me really is terrible,” Kuroro muttered to himself. “I’m not planning to just fuck you and go, Kurapika. I have to admit that you’ve gotten under my skin over the past few weeks. You’re interesting and I want to keep you around for a while.”

Kurapika shot him an unimpressed look. “And if I don’t want to be ‘kept around’?”

“Well, then I’ll do my best to change your mind,” Kuroro answered easily, a wicked grin at his mouth. 

“How entitled of you,” Kurapika shot back. 

Kuroro laughed. “Me? Entitled? You wound me.”

“That was my intention,” the blond sniped, although there was something about the teasing undertone to the other’s demeanor that curbed his irritation, “you asshole.”

“That’s me,” Kuroro agreed, and there was that bright, distracted look in his eyes again that made something in Kurapika’s stomach do a funny flip. 

“What did Shalnark find?” he asked, redirection clear as he pushed Kuroro’s hand off of his waist. 

Kuroro hummed, undeterred as he leaned in close once again. “A lot of things, most of which are entirely too sensitive to tell you in public. But, in summary, some rather filthy money has been changing hands at some exotic body part auctions, with all transactions tracing back to our lovely Kakin friends.”

A crease formed between Kurapika’s eyebrows. “You’re not implying that the Kakin Association is backing Tserri—” Kuroro cut him off with a single look. 

“Not here, Kurapika,” he advised. “I’d rather not have to kill some oblivious idiot for hearing too much.” Kurapika thought of the oblivious idiot currently waiting for him back in the restaurant and wisely changed the subject. 

“If you can’t give me all of the details, then why bother seeking me out here in the first place?”

Kuroro swiped a finger down the column of the blond’s throat, distracted. 

“I wanted to see you,” he answered unabashedly, “and it’s not often that I deny myself something that I want.”

“You’re insufferable,” Kurapika snapped. “I was in the middle of something before you arrived, if you didn’t notice.”

“About that… I hate to be so cliché and one-dimensional,” Kuroro admitted, lacing his hands behind the small of Kurapika’s waist, “but I really do hate to share my lovers with other people.”

“Once again,” Kurapika repeated, “I will never be that of yours, so refrain from referring to me as such.” The other man frowned. 

“You’re no fun,” Kuroro complained. “Fine, I really hate to share my business partners with other people,” he amended. “Better?”

“Much.”

Kuroro brushed a kiss to his lips, far too brief for Kurapika’s liking. “You’re mine for the moment. Surely you’re aware of that by now.”

Scoffing, the detective pushed him away. “How archaic of you.”

“That’s not what I meant, Kurapika.”

He shot the mafia leader a withering glare. Kuroro rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, maybe that was what I meant,” he amended. “But you are mine in the eyes of all of Yorknew. As long as my syndicate remains in power, no one will touch you. No one can touch you.” The cold confidence in his voice made Kurapika shiver. 

“I thought you were keeping this arrangement quiet,” he accused, palms flattening against the rough brick of the alleyway. 

“Oh, I never said that the dons think that we’re lov—” Kurapika frowned “—business partners, I mean,” Kuroro caught himself. 

“So what have you ‘claimed’ me for, then?”

Kuroro’s expression was scarily blank when he answered. “They think I’ve marked you out to kill you, of course.”

Words failed Kurapika for a beat. “You took out a hit on me.”

“Not so much a hit as it is calling dibs, Kurapika,” Kuroro tried to assure him. The detective turned away from him. “It’s the only claim that the other dons would accept, believe me. If I were to… to let them know that I’ve declared you off-limits for more personal reasons—”

“I’d be a liability to you. I know,” Kurapika interrupted. “But god, Kuroro, there had to be a more low-profile way to go about this. Hell, the only thing you’ve done is brought attention to me. The minute your ‘protection’ is lifted, I’m a dead man.” 

The other man sighed. “I’m not planning to leave you, don’t worry. I’m afraid I’ve gotten soft over the years. I enjoy your company too much.”

Kurapika continued on without hearing him. “And what will they think if they see us now? Don’t you think that they’ve caught onto the fact that you’ve been helping me instead of trying to kill me?”

“They haven’t.”

Suspicion pressed against Kurapika’s words. “How can you be so sure?” Kuroro’s eyes narrowed. 

“Because every place that we’ve met has been in my territory. Your apartment, the Association Headquarters, this very restaurant—they all lie under the control of the Spider. How do you think I knew you were here in the first place?” The detective swallowed. If that were the case… anything that he did, everywhere he went… Kuroro would be privy to all of it. 

“Right.” 

Kuroro smiled softly, stepping toward him to stroke his cheek. “You worry too much.” Begrudgingly, Kurapika leaned into his touch. 

“You don’t worry enough.”

“I do. There’s a reason that I’ve made it this far in the underworld. With this case, Kurapika, worrying too much is as dangerous as not worrying at all. One misstep is all it takes for them to get you, to kill you.” Kurapika’s hands tensed at his sides. 

“And you’d let that happen?”

Kuroro’s eyes flashed with an emotion akin to regret, but when he spoke, there was no hesitation. “I would do anything for the Spider.” 

Kurapika smiled, genuine for the first time. “Good. I want to make sure we’re on the same page. If I manage to fuck up, you need to finish this. And vice-versa. No unnecessary entanglements, alright?”

“Of course,” the other man responded. “You forget that I’m a professional, darling.” Kurapika scoffed.

“It’s because you don’t act like one.”

The mafia leader tilted his head to one side. “And would you prefer that I do?” Kurapika thought back to the cold indifference from the meeting in the park, the clinical nature of the man’s brutality. He inwardly shuddered. 

“I guess not.”

“Good. It would really be so terribly boring if I wasn’t allowed to indulge myself every so often.”

Kuroro backed him into the wall, threatening if not for the way his hands slid carefully up the Kurapika’s waist, pinning him in place. The man’s eagerness was clear as he bridged the distance between them. A pleased hum erupted from somewhere deep in his throat when their mouths slotted together. Kuroro wasted no time deepening the kiss. 

Adrenaline and something else coursed through Kurapika’s veins. He pulled Kuroro closer, fingers scraping against the back of the man’s neck as his hands yanked at his hair. It was rough, messy, with Kuroro pulling up the material of his dress shirt from his belt, tearing the seams, to feel the skin underneath. Rough brick scratched against his bared back but then Kuroro’s lips were on his again, bittersweet to the taste as he swept into his mouth. 

“Kurapika,” Kuroro breathed when they parted, voice lowered to a wrecked hiss. His touch was unbearably hot from where his grip rested at the blond’s hips. Kurapika shifted impatiently in his hold. 

“Yeah?” His reply came out as almost a challenge. Kuroro’s face was flushed, and the dark hunger in his eyes punched the air from Kurapika’s lungs. “Yeah?” he repeated, louder. 

A beat of silence, and then resignation clicked into place behind Kuroro’s features. 

“Fuck, you’re going to be the end of me, I swear,” the other man snapped, already fumbling for the buttons of the detective’s shirt. 

“Gladly,” Kurapika shot back, pressing a kiss to Kuroro’s throat, fingers dancing at the corner of the man’s jaw. The mafia leader shuddered under him. He pushed another biting kiss to Kurapika’s lips, more desperate than before as he pressed closer to him. Kurapika couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped his mouth as Kuroro rocked into him, pleasure shooting up his spine. 

God, at this rate—

“Kurapika?” 

Shit.