Chapter 1
Kuroro never asks to meet at a seedy motel or even a love hotel.
There's no doubt that this address belongs to an establishment of unrivaled prestige. A quick search on Kurapika's phone reveals that the hotel caters to the tastes of the privileged, a high-rise structure of steel and glass that stretches far into the sky. It looks grander than the last.
He doesn't understand why Kuroro needs to arrange for such refined accomodations, when something more nondescript would suit them just fine. Especially for the kind of meeting that's taking place tonight.
Tucking away his phone, he walks onward, letting the stretch of city lights and skyscrapers take him closer and closer to his destination. The distance by foot is longer than expected, but that gives him enough time to compose himself.
His reflection greets him in the glass windows of several boutiques, telling him that his attire looks like it belongs to any other businessman rushing to get to a dinner meeting or leaving their company after a long day at work. It's just that he looks rather young compared to everyone else on the streets.
If only it wasn't so difficult to fool himself.
His traditional garb has been exchanged for a suit befitting of someone of his occupation—an unexpected gift from Kuroro after their previous meeting. It's one of the few times he's worn something more modern, and it's certainly a different feeling to have such luxurious material tailored to his body. He fingers the silk tie around his collared neck, considers pulling it loose to rid himself of every trace of Kuroro, but stops himself.
Whether it was stolen or rightfully purchased, Kurapika shouldn't care.
But he does. He crosses the street, blending in with the crowd of pedestrians when all the cars slow at the red light, and eventually finds himself at the doors of the hotel. The reception area is incredibly spacious, all stark white with marble flooring and high ceilings. He proceeds through the open space, beneath the massive crystal chandelier and light ropes stretching from the ceiling, moving past the extensive art collection lining the walkway. It becomes routine now—checking in and confirming the reservation with the concierge, not looking back when he enters the elevators.
The glass elevators take him all the way to the 14th floor. Kurapika stops in front of a door with gilded numbers and fingers the key card in his pocket. This time doesn't have to be any different, his Nen capabilities are more than enough if need be, but instinct is telling him to stop, telling himself to value his body more.
His heart is racing like it always does, right before he steps beyond the door separating him from his—associate, if he can call Kuroro that. The fact that they're enemies hasn't changed, but he's certain that he's the only one who thinks that way. He takes a calming breath, eases the tension from his shoulders, and maintains his resolve. He's going to do what he came here for.
Kurapika slides the key card and slowly opens the door to a dim room. He steps inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. The wall across from him is an expansive glass window stretching from the ceiling all the way to the floor, boasting a highly coveted view of the city. But in front of the view is Kuroro, book in hand, bathing in the gentle lights of the night sky. He's relaxed in a plush chair next to a desk with a small lamp to support his reading.
Kuroro closes the book and looks up, smiling as if he hadn't noticed his presence earlier. The soft light makes him look more innocent that he really is. "You came."
Kurapika takes off his shoes and leaves them at the entrance. He approaches Kuroro silently, passing by the large bed against the side wall. The white sheets are free of any wrinkles or folds, like Kuroro hadn't touched the bed at all. "As scheduled."
Kuroro regards him with a small smile, taking in every contour and line of his body, making his thoughts known. "I'm happy that you wore this tonight. It suits you."
Kurapika frowns at the compliment. He feels overdressed when all Kuroro is wearing is a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, paired with plain black slacks. It's very casual compared to his attire with that atrocious fur coat and even his hair is left unstyled, falling over his forehead like he's just taken a shower.
"I'm taking it off anyway, aren't I?"
That earns him a chuckle. Kuroro lays his book against the table and folds his hands in his lap. "Of course. Go ahead, but take it slow."
It's not like this is the first time he's doing this, but Kuroro's unwavering stare makes him feel self-conscious.
Kurapika starts with his tie, pulling it loose, the weight of silk between his fingers instead of around his neck. He shrugs the blazer from his shoulders and lets it fall into a careless heap on the floor. He slows down his movements now, undoing each and every button of his dress shirt with care, exposing his torso and abdomen. It's supposed to be erotic, but it feels like anything but.
"Leave the shirt on," Kuroro says. It's an odd request but certainly harmless, so he complies.
Kurapika feels vulnerable like this, removing the rest of his clothes and baring everything for Kuroro to see. But he's swallowed his pride long ago for the sake of his duty. There's the hiss of the zipper and the rustle of fabric as he carefully rids himself of his pants, and Kuroro's gaze follow the movement of his hips as he does. Before long, his pants are on the floor with everything else and he's standing before Kuroro in only his shirt and undergarments.
"Not too bad." Kuroro smiles again, and it takes everything for Kurapika to refrain from punching that satisfied look from his face. He observes Kurapika patiently, not even reaching out to touch. "Now, get on the bed."
Kurapika's gaze flicks to him defiantly, before moving away. "I don't need you telling me this."
"You were rather clumsy the first time, so I thought you'd appreciate instructions." Kuroro's words stab at his pride. "Why don't you make yourself feel good for me?"
Without another word, Kurapika moves onto the bed, his face burning with heat. The white sheets are soft against his skin, and there's only the scent of clean linens rather than Kuroro's scent. With Kuroro's suggestion, he could do whatever he wanted, touch himself however he'd like. So he leans against the headboard and meets the expectant look in Kuroro's eyes.
"It's always a nice sight to see you in my bed," Kuroro says with approval, shifting his posture to lean forward on his elbows.
It's provocative, but Kurapika can't bring himself to respond. He averts his gaze for a moment, realizing that there's a small bottle of lubricant next to the pillows, undoubtedly meant for him. It's new and unused, prepared just for him.
Kurapika swallows. He's never touched himself from behind for Kuroro to see. But Kuroro raises an eyebrow, so he continues dragging his waistband down and divesting himself of his undergarments. He lies down now, taking the bottle in one hand and propping the cap open. His fingers are slightly trembling as he slicks them up, because there's nothing that would be more humiliating than this.
"Go on, Kurapika."
The sound of his name makes him shiver. He's not paying attention to Kuroro now, just focuses on the luxurious material behind his body, the cold sensation of lubricant at his entrance as his fingers linger there. He's not ready to do this just yet, and takes his member with his other hand. He touches himself slowly, taking his time to compose himself and stroke himself to hardness.
"Keep your eyes open."
Kurapika's heartbeat quickens again, because the sound of footsteps are approaching the bed. The bed sinks in with the weight of another person and when he looks up, Kuroro's made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed.
"What are you—"
"Just wanted to get a better view of your face."
Kurapika lets out a shaky breath. He continues stroking himself, the weight heavy in his palm, while holding Kuroro's gaze at the same time. Heat pools at his abdomen with every pull of his hand and surely, his eyes are scarlet now. Not from vengeance, not from hatred, but from the want that threatens to burn his body from the inside out.
"Have you thought of me before," Kuroro asks, an amused look on his handsome face, "while touching yourself?"
"No," Kurapika lies. How else could he bring himself to completion, if he didn't think of the man in front of him?
"You haven't gotten any better at telling lies," Kuroro offers in thought, and a soft sound escapes Kurapika's throat. "Keep going."
This is the closest he's been to Kuroro so far. It's beyond embarrassing, but he finally presses a slick finger at his entrance and eases it inside himself slowly. Kuroro's gaze is dark, weighted with something indescribable as he gauges Kurapika's reaction. He's tight, but it's difficult to not be tense when Kuroro's looking at him like that.
After stretching himself with the first finger, he's pushing two fingers in now, deeper this time. With his other hand, he works on pulling his hand up and down his length and the sensation of working himself in front and behind, under that heavy stare of Kuroro's, is too much to withstand.
He thrusts his fingers in and out, feeling himself relax a little more. They slide with exceptional ease and he can feel that familiar flame of arousal in his abdomen now, heightened with every touch inside him. The third finger is another thing entirely, because stretching himself this far, pressing at his most sensitive spot again and again makes his back arch.
"This is a good look on you," Kuroro says, and he could have sworn that there's a heat in Kuroro's own gaze, hidden beneath control and discipline.
The flush on Kurapika's cheeks deepens. He hates that Kuroro won't stop talking, hates himself for reacting at his words. The drag of his fingers nearly tears a moan from his throat, and he bites his lip to keep in a sound.
"I want to hear you," Kuroro says, low and coaxing.
Kurapika grits his teeth. "Give me a reason to let you."
"Remember why you're here," Kuroro answers with a soft laugh, too kind for the implications.
Kurapika curses to himself, but exposes himself entirely to Kuroro. He's fucking himself on his fingers and his next thrusts make him gasp and whimper, the sounds filling the silence in the room. He can hardly believe that the sounds are coming from him.
Kuroro admires him fondly. "Do you feel good?"
"I don't—" Kurapika tells the truth for once. "Yes."
"Good."
Kuroro's tone is something that Kurapika could never describe aloud. It's—
Gentle.
And that's what makes him come all over his abdomen and Kuroro's bed, makes his thighs tremble with the overwhelming sensation, sends his body arching from a pleasure that only happens in Kuroro's presence. He's betrayed by his own body, revealing everything to his clan's murderer in a moment of vulnerability, and he's a mess. He gasps as he surrenders to the sensation, doesn't even care if Kuroro's watching him closely.
Kurapika works on catching his breath, trying to bring himself down from his high. He feels like a weightless mass on the bed with all the tension leaving his body. But Kuroro leaves much to be desired. He never touches Kurapika, never touches himself, despite that he can clearly see that his cock is straining against his pants.
Kurapika bites his lip. "Should I—take care of that?"
"No," Kuroro says, before moving away from the bed. "But thank you."
He makes no sense whatsoever. It's the first time that Kurapika has ever offered, but he didn't expect to be rejected immediately. He doesn't have to dwell on it long, because Kuroro returns with a plain box in his hands. He sets it on the bed next to where Kurapika is still lying down, and suddenly, his throat feels very tight.
"Do you want to shower and stay the night?"
Kurapika immediately sits up, his attention solely focused on the box in front of him. Kuroro can be rather whimsical, from lending him his credit card to gifting him material goods but most importantly—
"I'll take that as a no," Kuroro says with a tender smile. He uncovers the box with an unseeming reverence, revealing two canisters of a pair of the Scarlet Eyes, gently bouncing in the clear liquid. No matter how many times Kurapika sees them, his heart radiates with a deep, familiar sense of loss and pain. "This is for you. Come back tomorrow, and I'll have something else for you."
Notes: The sugar daddy fic that no one asked for, yet I am here to deliver. See you all in Hell..
I wrote most of this on my phone, so the prose is nowhere as polished as my other writing. Please don't take this too seriously.
I also had the idea of Kuroro giving Kurapika his first suit.
Please leave a comment—I'd love to know what you think so far.
You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna.