There were the times when Leorio writhed as a puddle of desire, his lips rosy and his cheeks peached out, his eyes glinting, urging Kurapika to take the lead, to smother him in affection.
Leorio would wait for Kurapika's arms to cuddle him, pull him downward so he'd be hidden under the shadow, to gently, slowly, caress his skin, sneak under the hem of his shirt and the beyond his collar, to graze his stomach and chest, his neck and shoulders, patiently, knowingly.
He won't do anything, only his hand would hover over Kurapika's wherever it was, and he would be silent, his heavying breaths the only sounds he's producing.
Leorio's little hums and groans when they kissed jolted Kurapika. Leorio would melt into the kiss, he'd want to be held, he'd bend and move to make himself appear physically smaller so Kurapika would spoil him, tease him lovingly, kiss his forehead and temples and eyelids.
His face, the entire time, would be possessed by the ghost of a smile, but he would be too hot and tired to grin his way through it.
Kurapika knew the little quirks of Leorio's body, the way he loved to be kissed on that specific skin area between his shoulder and chest, how he tingled at fingers dragging up and down the inside of his arm. Something about Leorio in complete surrender under Kurapika's touch aroused him to no end. The way Leorio's eyes fluttered shut once he was held, the way he trusted Kurapika with his body, how he let Kurapika discover it and get familiar with it, how he was patient even when Kurapika was quick, aggressive, crude. He knew Kurapika liked to be in control, so he let him be, and Kurapika refused but to give back to that trust, so when Leorio wanted to be small, to be doted upon, to be cuddled and kissed and spoiled, Kurapika would make sure he got it all.
He has discovered that not only was he good at showering the other with attention, but that he actively enjoyed spoiling Leorio, with affection, with attention, with gratitude in its purest physical manifestations.
Leorio spends his work days not only being a doctor, but acting as emotional support as well, and they were alone together, he'd ask for Kurapika to be his emotional support, for only an hour or so, before he fell asleep.
There were times, though _and Kurapika would be lying if he didn't admit those were the most exciting_ when Leorio would fuck him over the kitchen sink, or the table, or against a wall. It would be quick, exhilarating, dizzying. Leorio would be bursting with energy, his nen vibrant and licentious, and his hands daft and strong, when he holds Kurapika, pulls his hair, tightens his grip around Kurapika's neck when they kiss, the way Kurapika likes it.
III
It would be a while until Kurapika initiated affection.
Leorio had waited for that moment patiently, and was ready for the possibilities of it never happening. Maybe he'll always be the one to lean forward, to caress a golden lock of hair, to kiss a red cheek, to take the other's hand and his, to kiss his knuckles and the inside of his wrist, to run his hand on a lean neck and jaw.
He remembers that first time Kurapika took the initiative, when Leorio felt the other's cold palms on his back, under his shirt, while he was doing the dishes. Kurapika had told him to continue doing his chores while his arms snaked around Leorio's torso and undid his buttons. He said Leorio looked most handsome when he's inattentive.
Sometimes, Kurapika said really nice things. Assuring things. Wonderful things. Sometimes he used sarcasm to frustrate Leorio, to rile and embarrass him, to arouse him.
III
He appreciated how vocal Kurapika was about what he liked and what he didn't. He did not like to be held down, tied, or blinded. He did not like to be the only one naked. He did not like to be in positions where his movement was restricted.
III
Sometimes, when they're fucking, Kurapika would ask if Leorio loves him.
Leorio hated this question, as if it was even debatable how he felt about the other, but he would always reply that yes, of course. What does it look like, of course he loves him.
He'd request of the other to never ask this question again.
Kurapika would still ask, however, sometimes desperately, miserably, as if an essential part of his being hinges upon the answer. Sometimes he would ask it as if it was a challenge, a threat, even; he would clutch Leorio's jaws, all sweat and disheveled hair and eyes red with arousal, he would ask as if they were on a mission, as if his answer could save an extinct species, as if Leorio was hiding a secret.
And Leorio would give the same answer, always.
Of course I love you.