Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1522058.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hunter_X_Hunter
  Relationship:
      Hisoka/Illumi_Zoldyck
  Character:
      Hisoka_(Hunter_X_Hunter), Illumi_Zoldyck
  Additional Tags:
      No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, I'm_not_sure_how_to
      tag_this, hisoka_is_hisoka_so_it_runs_really_pedo, and_illumi_is_illumi
      so_there's_a_hint_of_incest_if_you_squint, but_there_isn't_any_actual
      underage_sex_just_implications_of_interest_in_underage_characters, look
      you're_reading_hisoka/illumi_it's_exactly_what_you_think_it'll_be,
      Established_Relationship
  Collections:
      Fragments_Of_Hisoillu
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-02 Words: 2410
****** Gossip ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'Thanks for the trail,' Illumi says by way of acknowledging the
     invitation and undermining any sense Hisoka may have had of summoning
     him." Illumi and Hisoka pass the time together during the last night
     on the island during the Hunter Exam.
Illumi finds Hisoka in the middle of their last night on the island. The
assassin woke up uncertain of the time -- he briefly considered the possibility
that he missed the boat’s return entirely -- but there’s still the murmur of
people far in the distance, and he can still feel Killua’s presence, which
means that he still has the hours before the return vessel comes to pick them
up. Which, in turns, means that it is worth tracking down Hisoka.
The other man made no effort to cover his trail; either from arrogance or
invitation, Illumi’s not certain, except that it’s deliberate in any case. It’s
to his benefit, at least, and when he comes to the end of the path to find the
other man stretched out flat on the forest floor the assassin is fairly certain
it was an invitation, from how calmly Hisoka turns his head to look at him.
Then he gets a good look at the front of the other’s pants -- at least they’re
still on -- and that’s when he’s sure.
“Thanks for the trail,” he says by way of acknowledging the invitation and
undermining any sense Hisoka may have had of summoning him. They have a
functioning relationship because there are clear boundaries, and this one needs
to be shored up regularly.
Hisoka doesn’t offer any proper welcome, aside from quirking one narrow eyebrow
and letting a smile twist his mouth. Not that Illumi needs one. The younger man
comes forward and folds himself to his knees next to the redhead as Hisoka
recenters his gaze on the star-spangled sky. Illumi’s hands find the hidden
seams in the other’s clothes with the ease of practice and the dexterity of his
family, and Hisoka doesn’t speak until Illumi has his pants half-off and is
reaching a hand down to brush over his cock.
“I saw Gon today,” he says, as if Illumi needed any evidence other than the
firmness under his fingers to tell him that.
He raises his eyebrows anyway, keeps watching Hisoka’s face without blinking as
he maneuvers his hand to wrap his fingers around the other’s length. “My
brother’s little friend?” He endows the word with as much scorn as he can
manage, so it sound very faintly sarcastic as it leaves his mouth. Expressions
of emotion don’t come as easily to him as they do to Hisoka.
Like now. The redhead shuts his eyes, and bucks up into Illumi’s reaching hand,
and when he speaks his voice is tearing past the veneer of humanity laid thin
over it. “Yes. His friend.” He says the word like it’s a curse, twisting the
sound past his sharp teeth, and Illumi’s blood pulses in response in spite of,
or maybe because of, how distasteful he finds the topic. “He took my badge.”
Illumi glances at Hisoka’s shoulder, and the white circle is indeed gone. He
pulls down against the top edge of the other’s pants, and when Hisoka lifts his
hips the cloth slips free to his knees. “Did you let him?”
It’s a fair question. Illumi has no idea what Hisoka will do at any given
moment. He is one of the very few people, and the only one outside of his own
family, who can surprise the assassin. He might have let Gon take his badge,
for some reason of his own or just for amusement.
“No.” The sound on the one word makes Illumi shift over his knees, idle motion
to give himself some friction against his pants. Hisoka tips his head, half-
opens his golden eyes, and reaches out casually to offer his palm before
shutting his eyes and returning to whatever memory is making his cock jerk
under Illumi’s fingers. “He surprised me and got it from me.”
Illumi’s eyebrows come up in spite of himself. He comes half-up on his knees to
press himself against Hisoka’s palm and the redhead’s fingers close hard
against him; he can feel the bones in the other’s joints against him even
through the fabric of his pants. “What did you do to him?”
“Ah,” Hisoka sighs. The skin under Illumi’s fingers jerks again, not in any
particular response to the movement of the fingers against it. Hisoka doesn’t
keep speaking. He doesn’t need to. Illumi can imagine the rest of it himself.
He lets his mental image spool out behind his eyes, though he doesn’t bother to
close them; his gaze goes glassy and he rocks up harder against Hisoka’s hand.
The redhead’s fingers twist, tense against the front of his pants, and Illumi’s
throat makes a sound he doesn’t intend it to.
“I gave it back to him,” Hisoka finally says, and Illumi shudders and finally
shuts his eyes as the redhead keeps talking. “He’s going to keep it until he
can hit me as hard as I hit him.”
It’s beautiful. It’s like Illumi’s own needles, better than he could manage
with so little time to work with. It lacks the perfect precision of his own
work with Killua, to be sure, but under such strained circumstances there is
nothing Hisoka could have done to tie Gon more firmly to him. The assassin
groans, his free hand closes hard around Hisoka’s wrist to hold the other
still, and he bucks hard and desperate into the pressure. Hisoka laughs, low
and bloody in the back of his throat, and his fingers close around Illumi so
hard the younger man can feel the scrape of his nails against sensitive skin
even through his clothes. There’s a minute when Illumi thinks they might not
bother to move, where he weighs the advantages and disadvantages of
actually bothering to get the rest of his clothes off and the balance comes out
very nearly even.
Then Hisoka lifts his other hand, and his fingers work around the top edge of
Illumi’s pants, and the assassin mentally shrugs and comes fully up on his
knees so the redhead can work his clothes half-off.
“What do you think?” Hisoka asks, because of course he needs it said aloud, he
needs the satisfaction of applause as much as an understanding audience. And
partially because it is impressive, and partially because Hisoka’s pulling his
pants off and there’s a faint brush of skin-on-skin, Illumi blinks at him and
said, with perfect honesty, “I think he’s going to come back.”
“Oh good,” Hisoka purrs. He sits up, then, finally, kicks his legs free of his
pants as he leans in towards Illumi. Illumi waits to go back until Hisoka’s
almost on him, until the redhead’s breathing is warm on his mouth. Then he
leans back, a steady angle back until his shoulders hit the ground, dodging
away from the possibility of a kiss until Hisoka is adequately distracted by
his clothes and his skin and his cock.
“You knew that,” Illumi states. He reaches out, pulls at the edge of Hisoka’s
awful shirt. “Take this off.”
That’s a statement too, not a command in spite of the structure. Hisoka knows
it too, because he moves to do so without a flutter of eyelashes over the
uncanny gold of his eyes themselves. He’s smiling when he comes back, free of
his shirt so Illumi can watch the prediction of his movements in his bare
shoulders directly, the amusement of the expression creeping up until all his
face is angled around it.
Illumi can see the glow of Nen lighten the air around Hisoka in a dark halo,
shifts his hips up so he can get his legs around the other man’s waist and hold
himself just off the ground. The first time Hisoka used his ability for this,
Illumi raised an eyebrow, but this is not the first time, and the convenience
is undeniable. Hisoka’s whole hand is covered with an unnaturally slippery
coating, Illumi knows from experience, although all he’s currently feeling are
two fingers sliding into him. Hisoka has very long fingers, Illumi is always
faintly impressed by how far the other man gets his hand when they’re doing
this, and he knows exactly how to flex them so his knuckles dig against Illumi
and draw a half-caught breath from the younger man as his body tenses with
pleasure.
“I wish you could have seen his face,” Hisoka sighs. His free hand catches
Illumi’s ankle, pulls the other’s leg out wider so he can come forward and
grind his cock up against Illumi’s thigh while his fingers work inside him. The
redhead’s head tips back so he’s looking at the sky, or would be if his eyes
were open. Illumi watches the vibration in his throat hum through the tight-
pulled skin when he groans.
“Yes,” Illumi says without looking away from Hisoka’s throat. “It must have
been amazing.” The words come out cool and even, even when Hisoka curls his
fingers and drags his hand free, leaving an irregular flare of heat in their
wake.
“Oh,” Hisoka purrs, bringing his head down so he can open his eyes and meet
Illumi’s blank gaze. His eyes are sparkling in the dim light, swallowing up the
light around them and reflecting it back as selfish gold. “It was.”
Illumi angles his legs wider before Hisoka pushes them, although that doesn’t
stop the redhead from shoving hard and up, past the point of comfort so
Illumi’s gaze slides off him for a moment while he focuses on relaxing into the
angle so the pain fades off. He’s still remembering the steadiness of breathing
when Hisoka’s cock bumps up against him, as slippery with the Nen-induced
texture as his fingers, and when the redhead bucks forward fast and hard
Illumi’s lungs seize up entirely.
Hisoka makes up for his own sudden silence. The redhead moans, loud enough that
Illumi is certain that, somewhere on the island, his brother’s sensitive
hearing has caught it. Hisoka’s hold on Illumi’s legs goes loose so the younger
man can bring them down to a more pleasant angle, drop his heels to rest in the
dip of Hisoka’s spine while the redhead leans forward and braces himself over
Illumi with his hands just above the other’s shoulders. He doesn’t bother with
starting slow -- patience is Illumi’s forte, not Hisoka’s -- just pulls back
against the pressure of Illumi’s legs, thrusts forward hard enough that the
breath Illumi was just in the middle of taking shatters away again.
There’s not much of a rhythm, in the end. Hisoka fucks fast and hard and
irregular, and Illumi can’t find a way to breathe normally so he contents
himself with the half-inhales he can get between the other’s movements. After a
minute the lack of contact himself starts to become a distraction, but when he
reaches down to wrap his fingers around himself Hisoka slaps his wrist away,
grabs around him so hard Illumi can’t restrain his whimper of response. His
hand isn’t slippery at all anymore, he must have let that coating go, and when
he starts to jerk Illumi off the friction from the strength of his grip is
sharp and grinding, so much sensation Illumi’s back arches up and he moans in a
faint imitation of the redhead’s earlier reaction.
Hisoka’s laugh is muffled against his shoulder; when the redhead turns his head
his mouth brushes over Illumi’s neck, and it’s only that warning that keeps the
younger man from jumping when the warm wet of a tongue slides against the high
collar of his coat. Hisoka comes up, licking against his jawline and up to his
ear, and Illumi tips his head to the side to grant the other better access, his
breathing sounding more like desperate panting now in spite of his best efforts
to control himself. He can hear the movement of Hisoka’s mouth over his skin,
so close to his ear, and the redhead’s hand is still jerking over him so hard
he’s shaking from the sensation, but between his own determination and the too-
tight grip of the other man there’s not much chance he’s going to finish before
Hisoka does. Besides, he can hear the other man’s breathing starting to go
ragged, his movements falling into an instinctive rhythm in spite of his
attempts to avoid such, and when Illumi brings his hands up to curl around the
back of Hisoka’s neck neither of them protests.
Illumi is fairly certain Hisoka lets him take the victory, after all. It’s not
much additional sensation, after all, a shift in angle compared to actually
fucking into someone, but when Illumi shifts his ankles and rocks up, lifts his
hips an inch off the ground to meet Hisoka, that’s when the other man groans
and comes, the sound painfully loud and too-close to Illumi’s ear. Illumi
closes his eyes, thinks about smiling but doesn’t, and when Hisoka loosens his
grip and strokes a little more gently, a little more carefully, Illumi lets
himself buck up into it and suck in a sharp breath and follow Hisoka into
orgasm.
The redhead pulls out while Illumi is still shaking, slides down the younger’s
body with the odd addiction to touch he always shows just after. Illumi blinks
up at the starlight overhead while Hisoka licks at his stomach, drags his
tongue wet over his skin, and doesn’t shiver in response until Hisoka’s head
drops in lower, his lips sliding gently over Illumi’s over-sensitive length.
Hisoka pulls away almost immediately, comes back up to lean in over Illumi’s
prone form; Illumi stares at him, night vision insufficient to turn Hisoka
anything other but ghastly pale in the moonlight.
“Ask me,” Hisoka says, purring the words out around a slow-spreading smile. His
lips are moist, Illumi can see that much even in the dark.
Illumi takes a breath. It’s even and calm and steady again, no trace of his
brief loss of control audible in the sound.
“Please.” That’s level too, flat and cool and utterly deliberate.
Hisoka’s smile creases up into the corners of his eyes, shows the sharp white
of his teeth. When he leans in to kiss Illumi, he tastes bitter and sharp and
salty, all the flavor of the younger man’s body still coating his lips and
tongue. Illumi shuts his eyes, and focuses in past that, on the faint trace of
sweet under the mask of himself, on the taste that he has learned over these
individual isolated kisses. And when Hisoka pulls away, for just a moment, with
his eyes shut, Illumi’s mouth tastes like him.
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