The Art of Dressing a Kuruta
by Yukitsu
Disclaimers: Nope, not mine. Just borrowing (without permision) and having fun with. And this is set after Lynlyn's Wild Hearts, but you know that already. XD Crossposted to the LJ community 30 kisses.
Kuroro was fond of taking Kurapika clothes shopping. The blond didn't know when this certain activity started, exactly, since he could remember no such event when he declared his undying love for fashion, but somehow, the older man had taken it upon himself to grace Kurapika's less-than-willing self with outrageous clothing of all kinds. He did remember Kuroro taking one look at his sparse wardrobe once, and then dragging him out soon after...
Kuroro had quickly (and, Kurapika suspected, gladly) replaced nearly every stitch of clothing Kurapika owned. None of the blue or orange things he had before remained, and if Kuroro has his way, Kurapika had a feeling that nothing but the outfit he had worn pretending to be a girl would be left. The man was fond of strange clothing (leather and dark colors, though Kuroro argued they weren't strange at all) that way.
If Kuroro had his way, Kurapika also knew that his wardrobe would be full of tight-fitting leather instead of the loose and comfortable clothes he was now the reluctant owners of. They were still dark colored, though.
So far, Kurapika had managed to fend off Kuroro's suggestions with a stick. Their standing, according to the count, would be Kuroro at three points and Kurapika at two. Not bad considering the fact that Kuroro was relentless, but exasperating nevertheless since it was Kurapika's wardrobe they were squabbling about. It wasn't as if Kurapika tried anything to Kuroro's stash of apparel.
The Kuruta was of the opinion that the Geneiryodan Dancho had ulterior motives, though, since nearly all of the tops he had whored at Kurapika all had another thing in common apart from being dark-colored: that was, they all opened easily up front. Large buttons, zippers, low-neck lines, clasps, pins... Kuroro had somehow even smuggled a mesh shirt that easily slipped off his frame into one of his drawers. For clubbing, the Dancho said.
"Absolutely not," the blond declared, firmly holding his ground when Kuroro tried to hustle him into the fitting room together with a collection of items. "I refuse."
"Come on, Kurapika. Just try it on and let's see how it suits you." He impishly held up a shiny looking shirt enticingly. Kurapika grimaced.
"I'm sure it'll suit me like feathers would on a boa, but I'm also sure you'd say otherwise."
"And your point is?" Kuroro said innocently, giving him another gentle prod. Kurapika didn't budge.
"The point is, if I wear this and it fits, you're going to buy it whether I like it or not."
"We won't see if it fits if you don't try it on, now, will we?" he said patiently. Kurapika glared at him. "Go on."
Even if it was against the Kuruta's better judgment, he grabbed the bundle from the taller man's arms and marched into the fitting room, muttering to himself about tyrants and pimps and fur. He slammed the door to the cubicle shut with measured force so it wouldn't crack like the last time he and Kuroro had the same argument in another store, but it made him feel better anyway. He could hear Kuroro chuckling from the other side of the door.
"Really, Kuroro," Kurapika said scathingly, "I'm old enough to go buy my own clothing alone and unassisted. It's not as if we have the same taste in clothing."
"That's the point," the reply came back serenely, "You unfortunately don't have a taste I can trust to look for things that will suit you."
The indignance the statement caused was released on the pair of pants Kurapika was trying to put on. He would have given his lover a few choice words on what he thought of it (really, he had improved over the past few months!), but the pants were getting in his way of marching out and serving righteous justice. Kurapika did a hop and pulled, and finally felt it slide up over his rear. Tight-fitting leather pants... he was doomed.
Apparently, Kuroro could hear his thoughts from his place, because he was doing more of that damned chuckling that said he was very, very amused. Kurapika sped up changing, sticking his arms through the long sleeves and ignoring how the shirt's neckline reached six inches above his navel, and that there were only three very large, shiny buttons on it. It was soft and silky, he had to give it that.
"Kuroro--" Kurapika started, as soon as he pulled open the door. He stopped short at the look the other man was giving him, and decided that he would very much like to hide in the cubicle indeed.
"Kuroro, if you would please stop staring at me like I'm some kind of fruit," -- they both grimaced at the memory of a certain clown and his penchant for naming potentially powerful kids fruits -- "I would very much like your opinion already so I can resume wearing my normal apparel."
He should have known that it was the wrong thing to say. The opportunistic man had him turning around before he knew what was happening, and the feeling of being a fruit amplified itself to the vague feeling that he was some sort of dessert.
"I like it. You can change back now."
Kurapika made an annoyed sound.
"Or would you rather wear that out already?" the man suggested impishly. Kurapika glared at him, and pointedly shut the door loudly in his face. Kuroro laughed.
"This is the last time," the blond said firmly through a mouthful of silk, "This is the last time you are taking me clothes shopping. Do you hear me?"
"Msshr mummra brshumpura?" Kuroro repeated innocently. The Kuruta felt his cheeks redden. Fortunately, Kuroro took pity on his flustered lover, laughed again, and answered. "All right. This will be the last. For this year, anyway."
Fair enough. Kurapika was sure that he could occupy their time for a good portion of the following year, if he put his mind into it. There was a reason why Kuroro was the Dancho, Kurapika concluded, and it must have been because of his methodic slave-driving tendencies that slowly corroded the will and spirit into something malleable. It would explain Nobunaga's insistence on wearing nothing but his underwear and his top, anyway. Kurapika supposed that it helped thwart the tenacious man that was their head. Lucifer fitted Kuroro. He was pure evil. Evil incarnate. In the form of silk, Kurapika added for good measure as he hung the shirt over the door and it disappeared like something from the other side had sucked it away.
When he emerged two minutes later clothed in casual wear (jeans, shirt, vest, sneakers -- all hail comfort), Kuroro was already in the process of sorting their purchases through.
Kurapika sighed, then eyed the overflowing basket innocently sitting beside Kuroro with some degree of annoyance. "You're not buying all of that, are you?"
"You did say that this is the last time for this year," -- "I said the last time, period" -- "So I thought I'd make good out of it by stocking up."
Kurapika sighed again.
"It's not like I'm going to actually wear them, you know."
Kuroro gave him a look. "You wouldn't waste decently good clothes, would you?"
Evil incarnate, Kurapika reminded himself, even as his frugal, never-waste-anything side spoke up and betrayed him. "Of course not." He amended with: "But I'll never have reason to wear these things."
There was that impish look again. The Kuruta vaguely wondered, as Kuroro seductively backed him into the cubicle, how he always ended up letting his guard down and his tongue slip in the presence of the devil. One day, it would get him molested for sure. In fact, if he currently wasn't so annoyed, he would be molested in the changing room already.
"I can think of several reasons for you to wear them."
"I'm sure you can," Kurapika said wryly, reaching up to peck the man on the lips before taking the opportunity to slip past him and drag the basket off to the counter.
Oh, of all the embarrassing things Kurapika thought, willing the ground to open up under him as the giggling cashier dug into the basket and pulled out a pair of black, silk boxers. "Kuroro!"
4:16 AM 12/13/2005