For Lynlyn
by Yukitsu
Disclaimers:Hunter X Hunter belonds to Yoshihiro Togashi, and Wild Hearts Can't be Broken, which this sort of branches out from, belongs to Lynlyn.
This is a gift-fic that revolves around a certain drawing Lynlyn made and sent to me. Thank you for the lovely image! Happy New Year! Whee. I just realized that after posting this in various places in my LJ, there's also my account to fill up. So there. HAH!
Note: Just to remind you: This is a ficlet for Lynlyn' Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Kurapika didn't particularly think of himself as a master marksman, but he knew, as anyone with half a brain would, that he didn't completely suck.
Ping, ping, ping ping!
With those thoughts in mind, he finally gave up and concluded that the toy rifle he had been given was defective; he hit the plushie, but it didn't fall down. Of course, it could be because his bullets were made of Styrofoam, or the plastic rendition of the antique weaponry lacked firepower, but the plushie. Didn't. Fall. Down.
"Just use nen," his companion idly commented, not bothering to muffle his chuckles. A Styrofoam piece hit him between the eyes as a reply, and he looked down to the barrel of the rifle and another styro-bullet whizzing for him; Kuroro was so amused at the faint traces of annoyance on his partner's face that he let out a bark of laughter.
"You know I won't do that, and what happened to the no nen agreement?" Kurapika said, turning around to give the 'gun' back to the booth owner, the last bullet he had paid for spent on using Kuroro's trademark cross-shaped tattoo as a bull's-eye. It had probably been more satisfying.
"Yes, of course," the criminal-turned-baggage-guy answered smoothly, mouth crinkled up in a smile as he watched the proceeds from his place just a couple of steps behind the blond. Kurapika turned to him with what could have been a half-mournful pout on his face, and for a moment, Kuroro entertained the thought of disrobing his partner of his dark blue-and-grey striped yukata, festival or not.
"Japan is so lively," the teenager said thoughtfully, already making his way through the busy pathway between booths and people, slipping in easily with his smaller build. He disappeared from Kuroro's view for a few seconds, and reappeared two meters farther than he should have been - Kuroro leaped over several unsuspecting heads to land behind his partner, just several inches from bumping against a burly Japanese behind him, and burying his nose on the blond hair.
"-ould mail Hanzo and thank him for the accommodations tomorrow. Kuroro, please don't squish the things we bought today too much…" and Kuroro was nodding his head and loosening his grip on the packages, smiling down at the boy who had turned to look up at him. At the back of his mind, he wondered how men moved around with sleeves fitting for their thighs. He was only thankful his own yukata was a plain, dark grey color, and didn't look horrendously bright.
"They should be done by now. Should we head back?"
Kurapika, Kuroro learned over the time they spent together, was a headstrong and decisive individual who never needed anyone to lead him. Even when the blond had been the coerced newbie in the group, he had only done what had been necessary for his life, and nothing else. Since the time after his release, Kurapika rarely asked him for permission or order for anything – not even during the occasions he accompanied them on heists.
Mulling over this whilst the subject of his thoughts gazed quizzically up at him wasn't the best of things he could have done, but it had to do nevertheless. Kurapika's hesitation could possibly only stem off from one thing – he didn't want to go back to the inn they were staying at. In that case, that would mean his partner probably wanted to stay.
And if he wanted to stay, then he was enjoying himself.
"No. Shalnark will call us if we are needed back, but for now, it's best to scout the area for possible obstacles." That hadn't been his best excuse, but apart from a slightly surprised quirk of an eyebrow, Kurapika bit into it hook, line, and sinker.
"All right."
They walked along wordlessly, the blond looking around coolly though obviously taking everything in with the almost painful attentiveness he gave his surroundings. Unblinking eyes, head swiveling almost imperceptibly from side to side to look at anything that catches its owner's attention…. Kuroro watched Kurapika, mindful of the people and his parcels and the 'obstacles', but most of all mindful of his companion.
Kuroro supposed that the blond was interested in the nature of these foreign people, lively and bright as all of them were. Kurapika had even commented earlier that if he didn't have 'big, soulful eyes,' Kuroro would fit in perfectly. He hadn't known whether to be pleased or embarrassed by the remark.
Then the Kuruta was changing his course, and Kuroro had to sidestep several old women in pretty kimonos to keep up. He was fortunate that Kurapika's hair color had no match in the throng of Japanese, though there were several blue-haired teenagers who passed him by earlier.
"Nobunaga turns this color when he's angry," was the greeting he received when he stopped alongside the teenager in front of a booth selling odd trinkets and other such novelties. And there was the small ball, one probably meant for children to play with, in all its proud, purply-red, shiny goodness beaming up at them.
"I don't think he'll be flattered by that comment."
"It wasn't supposed to be flattering." The ball was deposited on his free hand, and he raised his eyebrows at the impish smile that graced his partner's features. "It's an analogy. The ball, his head, and nothing but air inside."
"I always knew you had a mean streak in you."
"You're just rubbing off on me." Kurapika laughed at the blink he received in response and walked all five steps to the next booth, swatting the large pieces of confetti hanging on its fringes. Naturally, Kuroro followed, oddly heartened by the comment.
They continued on like that for several more booths, and then tried the games. Two yoyo-balloons, four failed goldfish catching, and more shooting games later, it was so deep into the night the only thing left for them to do was head back to the inn they had rented. The people milling about hadn't decreased in numbers, but the rest of their group was waiting. In Japan, especially during this time of the year, it wasn't uncommon for large groups to move in inns at all. For once, the members of the Geneiryodan had decent accommodations whilst in the same facility.
"Hey," Kurapika reached out to tug Kuroro's sleeve as the older man was about to walk off to the direction of their inn. "Thank you."
"… Ah."
They paused their trek back to watch the fireworks, and humor a couple who wanted their picture taken, but the walk ended too soon for both their tastes. The inn looked warm and welcoming, but Kuroro would much rather stay outdoors with the quiet company of the Kuruta than keep up with the rowdier legs of the spiders. It didn't matter that his arms were just starting to tingle from carrying the things they bought for hours, nor did the cold just starting to seep into their thin yukatas.
On impulse, Kuroro asked Kurapika to buy some takoyaki for them to eat later, to which the blond insisted would be to waste the food's taste.
"Hanzo said something about sidewalk food here once," Kurapika said as he reached behind him to hold the white, creamy little ball up with a toothpick – while still walking. "You should eat them while they're warm, or you don't eat them at all."
"Yes, of course," Kuroro practically had to swoop down to catch the bobbing little thing over his partner's shoulder with his teeth – catching sight of creamy skin between the yukata's collar flaps and catching the scent of the outdoors for a split second along the way. He didn't know whether to thank the simple clothing for the view or not. It was just so damn easy to open!
"Dancho!" The dark haired man was just leaning down to bite the second piece of food offered over the blond's shoulder when the cheerful information analyst of the group greeted them through the open sliding door leading from the entrance hallway to the recreational room.
"Shalnark. Everyone." There was a small spluttering sound as Kuroro paused to bite the food off its stick, and he looked up to find Nobunaga imitating the ball he held in his hand that Kurapika had purchased earlier. Nobunaga had never been good with hiding his distaste for their relationship, even if he grudgingly admitted (only to Phinx, on a drunken haze) to Kurapika's trustworthiness.
"Here, catch," Kurapika smiled, taking the toy with a hand and tossing it over to the samurai. It matched perfectly.
"Dancho, we might not need to do much to get in the auction house after all," Shalnark cut in before Nobunaga could start digesting the jibe at him, "Yorkshin was even more securely guarded than this one."
"I see. Have you found where they're storing the treasures?" the leader asked, nudging his partner to hold a takoyaki ball up. The blond complied almost immediately, much to the chagrin of Nobunaga.
"No, not yet."
"Inform me immediately when you do. It would be more beneficial to us if we take it before the auction itself." There was an underlying implication to that; their leader did not want his lover staining his hands while on the soil of a country he seemed extremely fond of.
Shalnark nodded then sidestepped as a pingpong ball shot out of nowhere to embed itself on the wall. Phinx walked over, plucked it out, and then tossed it half-casually to a most irked looking Nobunaga.
Kurapika almost laughed when he realized the hot-tempered man didn't even know how to hold the paddle right.
"Try the ball I gave you. It's bigger, so you might just be able to hit it."
"Why you prissy blond brat!" The tirade was cut off when Phinx finally gave up and chucked the plastic ball straight for Nobunaga's forehead.
Kuroro managed to pull a straight face whilst giving Shalnark his last orders, used to it after all the similar incidents that constantly kept on occurring since he took the blond up as his partner. They weren't a threat to each other, and that was all that mattered. If anything, the dark-haired leader of the Ryodan guessed bickering was the two's way of getting along.
There was a loud crash as Nobunaga pounced across the pingpong table for Phinx, caught a foot in his yukata's seams, and landed on the table which collapsed under the force of the impact. More incoherent spluttering, outraged roars, and Kuroro hastened to follow the Kuruta up the flight of steps to their shared room.
"He looked like a beached whale," the Kuruta mused as he slid the door open and slipped in.
"I should be amused, but the image is rather disturbing."
"That, from the leader of the Geneiryodan?" his lover teased, sliding the door shut when the taller man stepped in.
"That from a starved man," Kuroro quipped lightly, tilting his head to the food Kurapika still held in a hand.
"I didn't know Phinx played ping pong," Kurapika said as he plucked the parcels from his lover's arm and laid them down beside the door, handing the remaining takoyaki over along the way.
"Everyone can play that, Kurapika."
"Especially when against Nobunaga," the blond answered smoothly as he fetched a set of plain white yukata from the cabinet, and turned away to undo the sash of the one he was wearing. The leader of the Geneiryodan didn't know whether to be amused at the jibe, the effort for modesty, or just reach out to turn the teenager around. Vaguely, he laughed at all the reactions the blond made him go through. It was a small matter, but he had never gone through the 'he didn't know whether to…' moment so much in one day. Indecisiveness had never been an issue with him. Kurapika triggered in him things that he hadn't thought he was capable of as the leader of a band of criminals; things that he would never admit to his members if he didn't want any more of Nobunaga's whale imitation.
The takoyaki was finished and Kurapika had slipped the bathrobe-like clothes off his shoulders by the time Kuroro had decided. The paper plate for the food was set aside, and Kurapika found himself wrapped up in the other's arms from behind.
"Affectionate all of a sudden?"
"With yukata-clothed little boys, yes."
"What if I'm not clothed?" There was a teasing hint in that, and Kuroro looked down across the small expanse of pale chest that indeed the yukata was lying in a dark pool on the floor. He shifted so a hand rested on the chest he was so fond of while the other fingered the band of the boxers his lover was wearing.
"Even better."
"They'll be waiting for us down there," Kurapika reminded, reaching up with a hand to tangle his fingers lazily on the mass of soft, dark hair.
"Mm. They can wait a bit longer. Auction's not 'til next week."
"Nobunaga will barge in and start screaming about having to wash his eyes afterwards."
"That would be his fault, now, wouldn't it?"
"True."
"And you owe me for the labor of carrying your things around."
"Agreed."
Kuroro decided, later on, that having a partner was good for him.
Feb 2005