Author's Notes:
RATING: Mature
CONTENT WARNINGS (in the uncensored AO3 version): Sexual content, non-consent/dubious consent, graphic depictions of violence.
NOTE: To read this story's missing scenes, check the uncensored version on Archive of Our Own (AO3 username: lemonpika).
On the beach, Chrollo and Kurapika marry beneath a bower of forget-me-not flowers. The Spider's remaining legs—the precious few the chain-user and the clown haven't plucked off yet—are the only invitees to their nuptials.
Each newlywed slips a golden band on the fourth finger of the other's left hand. After that, all that remains is to press their mouths together in a chaste kiss.
A smattering of applause pierces the near silence. But the clapping dies down as suddenly as it started, leaving no other sounds except for the waves lapping against two weather-beaten rowboats at the pier. Each is tied to a wooden post with a length of hempen rope.
The wedding guests pay their respects to the boss now that the ceremony has ended. As if by unspoken agreement, nearly all the Spiders exclude Kurapika from their well-wishing. They refrain from even meeting his eyes.
The sole exception is Franklin, who obtained the necessary credentials to officiate the wedding at their leader's behest only a week ago. Graciously, he extends his broad, beefy hand toward Kurapika.
Kurapika, however, turns away. Without a word, he makes his way toward the island's solitary villa, where he and Chrollo will be spending their honeymoon.
The attendees take Kurapika's impropriety as their cue to leave. They bid their boss farewell and board the boats. Franklin, Phinks, and Nobunaga claim the first, while Bonolenov and the two women get on the other.
Chrollo stays on the shore and watches until the distance has reduced his allies into dots against the colossal blue blanket of the ocean.
All things considered, this has been a wonderful morning for a wedding. Since they selected the shortest possible version for their vows, the sun is only now rising toward the apex of the sky.
Chrollo sheds his blazer and slings it over his arm before beginning his trek toward the villa, where the man who is now his husband awaits.
Kurapika hasn't lingered in the foyer to welcome him home. Neither is he in the kitchen arranging a feast for lunch. That can only mean he's waiting to be deflowered in the bedroom.
As Chrollo swallows, he can almost taste the thrumming of his heart in his throat. When was the last time he felt this way? It must've been when Kurapika stabbed his chest with the Stake of Retribution and throttled his heart with silver chains. Back then, Chrollo savored the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He might've even romanticized the blooming of purplish bruises as Kurapika's fist kissed his face.
Chrollo suspects he won't be the one left beaten and bleeding this time.
He hastens toward the bedroom, but Kurapika isn't lying there like he hoped. Instead, Kurapika is standing limply—swaying, almost—as he stares at the jars lining the headboard of their king-sized bed. A scarlet eye floats in formaldehyde in each one. In the middle of the display is a glass case containing the preserved head of a twelve-year-old boy.
Kurapika reaches toward the familiar face. But before quivering fingertips can brush against ballistic glass, Chrollo rests both his hands on Kurapika's shoulders.
Roused from his reverie, Kurapika jolts. His eyes dart from Chrollo's face toward every corner of the bedroom, as if expecting sharp-toothed beasts to spring out from the shadows.
"The guests have all gone," Chrollo assures him. "They understand how ardently you've been longing for the two of us to be left to our own devices."
"Good riddance, then."
Chrollo wraps his arms around Kurapika's narrow waist from behind and buries his face against the sweet-scented blond hair. His lips curl upward as his husband's supple body shivers within his embrace. "Do you like the wedding gifts from my family and me, dearest? You can't imagine how arduous it's been to track them all down. I'll admit Tserri was a tough one, but after I wrenched out his tongue he could no longer complain. Problem solved."
Kurapika's voice is as hard as the diamond solitaire on his right ring finger. "This problem wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for you bastards. The eyes of my clansmen wouldn't need to be collected. I would have the family I was born with, the family I chose."
Though Kurapika is squirming now, Chrollo keeps him in a vise-like grip. "Don't be so difficult, darling. I'm all the family you'll ever need from now on. You remember our arrangement, don't you? You'll have to behave for the entirety of our honeymoon and for the rest of our entwined lives. We agreed—no more senseless slayings on either side. My second-in-command and your beloved doctor are the last we'll ever have to lose. I'll surrender all the eyes of your brethren that we once stole, and in return you'll give me—"
At this point, Kurapika manages to break free from Chrollo's hold. Before he can bolt, Chrollo seizes him by the ankles and yanks them upward. Chrollo watches as Kurapika smashes face-first against the mattress.
"You," Chrollo finishes as if there's been no interruption at all. "The only surviving carrier of the scarlet eyes is my prize."
Chrollo climbs on top of Kurapika. Pinning down his husband with a mixture of muscle mass and the malice in his aura, Chrollo carefully peels off every item of their bespoke nuptial garments. The fabric Machi has chosen is the color of the ocean undulating in the dead of night when the moon is suffocating behind oppressive clouds.
NOTE: Read the rest of the story on Archive of Our Own, which has the uncensored version (AO3 username: lemonpika).
