Work Text:
“Stay still, Hisoka.”
A suggestive chuckle fills the quiet hotel room as Illumi works silently.
“How could I possibly when you’re in my lap?”
Illumi continues his ministrations as if the magician hasn’t spoken at all, movements precise and full of the preternatural grace Hisoka has come to associate with the assassin. They’ve been at it for hours. At least, it feels like it—Illumi on top, learning his body, soft breath ghosting over skin as he pokes and prods and explores.
It was just a shame they were both wearing clothes.
Above him, Illumi shifts to tuck back his luscious hair—so close, it gives Hisoka a front-row reveal to the pale curve of his ear from behind the curtain of ink. So close, Hisoka could crane his neck and whisper sweet-nothings of scandal and chaos. Nibble on the soft flesh of his lobe. Teeth at the cartilage. So close, the Zoldyck could map each of his pores. Count every follicle of his hairline and every last eyelash.
“Are you counting my eyelashes?”
“Yes.”
There must be something telling in Hisoka’s silence that compels the assassin to continue unprompted.
“I have to get every detail just right. Down to the freckle.”
Hisoka blinks, curiosity mildly piqued. “I have freckles?”
“No.”
Illumi’s long fingers card through his magenta strands, scratching lightly down his scalp. The touch makes Hisoka purr.
“But if you did, I would need to know," he explains. His hand travels Hisoka's nape, down the strong column of his neck, and rests like a collar at the base of his throat. Hisoka swallows in anticipation at the subtle pressure, the threat of it. The promise.
"The Troupe is perceptive, not easily fooled, and you hired me to impersonate you. Seeing as I can only rely on a few stealthy needle placements to remain undetected, meticulous attention to detail is required. Unless ... ” He pauses briefly to look at the magician, the barest hint of a frown tugging at the side of his mouth. Brow arched. All work and no play. “Would you prefer I do a less than perfect job, Hisoka?”
Hisoka hums, pretending to think it over.
“No.”
Illumi's hand leaves his throat and Hisoka eases his disappointment watching the assassin resume his task.
“Machi’s already threatened to rip my arms off again and reattach them on the wrong sides,” he confides. “I’d rather not let that fate fall to you, my dear.”
“Whatever you’ve done, she’s right. I don’t doubt that you deserve it,” Illumi says easily. Evidently, he considers the rest of Hisoka’s words as he examines something just out of the magician’s peripheral. “Is this what people refer to as chivalry?” he asks but it’s barely a question.
Still, it makes Hisoka chuckle. The movement jostles Illumi, whose lips bend fully into a frown he seems to reserve only for Hisoka.
But he's not in trouble yet, not really. Usually, there’s a verbal warning first—a tone that would set ice in weaker veins. Perfectly cold. Deliciously murderous. Secretly, Hisoka is always dreaming up new ways to draw that ire, to tip Illumi into a state of bloodlust so exquisite he has no other objective but to fight him.
Illumi must be aware; the farce of loyalty is obvious to them both. Hisoka is normally careless with his things; he has a lot of broken toys. But today is not the day to play rough with the manipulator, so he holds Illumi in his lap as carefully as he knows how. Sighing, pleased, as Illumi traces the arch of his brows, the curve of lips as he smirks.
“Let me not keep you from your work,” he says lightly in his devil-may-care way, acknowledging the eldest Zoldyck’s silent scolding.
Illumi turns Hisoka’s cheek with a touch of his deft fingers. Hisoka’s sharp eyes track his face no matter where he moves it, analyzing and admiring in a single mischievous gaze.
Illumi’s eyes are fathomless. Black pits that are somehow expressive as they are blank. It’s fascinating to Hisoka—how he emanates such deep concentration despite his neutral facade—but that’s not the only thing. It’s the way Illumi fits against him, long legs straddling his hips, that’s getting a different part of him intrigued; especially when the assassin sits back, examining him under his dispassionate gaze and clinical touch like some unethical science experiment. It just does something for Hisoka.
Illumi remains unphased, focus unbroken, as Hisoka's interest becomes apparent beneath him. “Down, Hisoka,” he commands emotionessly. Hisoka observes him steadily with a glib smile. Illumi ignores him. “Does your mind have an off-switch.”
Hisoka’s smile sharpens. “No.” His fingers twitch around Illumi’s hips. “This is just reminding me of when you returned from killing those mafia dons and you were all keyed up. That was such a satisfying night,” he adds with a hum. “Do you remember?”
“I recall.”
He wants Illumi to look at him so that he can stare back into the void of him. Not that he minds the weight of Illumi’s scrutiny roving all over, inspecting him in such a thorough process, obviously stirring up that fondness for the eldest Zoldyck he tries little to hide. He just wants to gaze upon him. There’s a slim chance it could be the last time, too.
“Don’t you need to get a better look at my eyes,” he asks, “to get the color right?”
“I know what your eyes look like, Hisoka. I look into them often enough.”
It’s as much of a flirtation as Illumi can muster and Hisoka could hope for. It makes him want to scoop the assassin up and do terrible things to him—or have Illumi do unspeakable things to him. He’s not picky.
However.
He glances outside of the hotel room Illumi’s been residing in since Chrollo hired him.
Chrollo.
His skin tingles, muscles twitching, at the thought of his future plans. A feast of a fight he can taste on the tip of his tongue. He’s lucky Illumi doesn’t get jealous. He wets his lips in anticipation. He would prefer not to miss his date.
“I—well, you—must be getting back to the troupe soon.”
Illumi pauses, glancing down at the magician. His stillness intrigues Hisoka. The way the endless night of his eyes land on him.
“Do you have time for a diversion?” You may die, is what he doesn’t say but it’s there; he’s aware of Hisoka’s plans, of the potential outcome. Understands the odds. Thankfully, Illumi’s not one to be sentimental either. “Before I leave, that is.”
Hisoka meets his stare, gold eyes glinting. A serpentine grin splits his face. “A fun one?”
“Yes, Hisoka. A fun one.” He brushes back his long, dark hair the way he knows Hisoka likes. “It will help with my character work … Any spots I may have missed or neglected in my examination of your body.”
All work and, as a reward, a little play. It’s as close as he’ll ever be to getting Illumi to admit he has a soft spot for him, despite being squarely in his lap and studying his face like he may never see it again.
Love is too soft a word, too tender, for either of them—but whatever it is they have, this might be the closest thing to it.