Chapter Text
Illumi woke with his heart pounding.
For a moment he kept his eyes closed, caught in the space between dreams and a slowly returning consciousness. Behind his eyelids, lust still shimmered strong, even if only an echo of the sensation that had overtaken him moments ago.
It had started with eyes. It always did—golden, intense, moving over his body like tongues of fire. Consuming. He remembered how they had paused on his lips, looked at them in a way that made him feel thirsty, then lifted to meet his dark gaze. The next moment, two fingers tipped with long, sharp nails dared to reach for him, tracing the shape of his mouth. Lips followed, satin-soft, warm. Illumi, already melting, had opened to them, and then—
He shook his head, as if to scatter the memory, and opened his eyes to the sight of his own bedroom. Along with his vision came a rush of physical sensations: he was overheated, damp in his cotton pajamas, and there was a persistent, pulsing pressure between his legs. A quick glance at the half-kicked sheets and the tented shape beneath them confirmed the state he’d woken in.
Illumi groaned and turned onto his side.
It was unfortunate, but incidents like this kept happening. Dreams in which his occasional associate appeared—uninvited, inappropriate—and sparked a want that led to explicit responses. Inexplicable ones. Certainly not something the real him would ever pursue.
Afterwards, he would wake like this, or worse, with the sheets sticky against his thighs.
There were variables in his dreams, such as the setting—their encounters playing out mid-mission, in public spaces, or even here, in his own bedroom—but the general structure remained consistent. It always began with a look, a touch to his lips, a kiss.
From there, with barely a breath in between, things escalated. Sometimes they tore at each other’s clothes and threw them aside in urgency; other times, they were already fully naked, caught in the middle of it.
The acts themselves varied, but the dynamic… rarely did. His dreams kept insisting on a scenario in which, more often than not, he was the one topping Hisoka—to the other’s delight.
Hisoka beneath him, flushed and moaning as Illumi pounded him into the mattress, holding him in place with a hand pressed between his shoulder blades. Or Hisoka on his back, legs spread in a display Illumi could only describe as obscene, with Illumi pushing his thigh even further apart before entering him in a single thrust. Or, sometimes, it was the other way around—Illumi on his back, with Hisoka straddling him, bouncing shamelessly on his cock while Illumi dug his fingers into his waist, watching him move with fascination.
At the estate, sex was irrelevant—neither discussed nor practiced, save for the one time he walked in on Milluki watching some… highly puzzling material, to say the least—but in the world beyond their walls, it seemed to be a subject of endless fascination, shared by clients, marks, and the common people he passed on the streets. It was constantly spoken of, laughed over, argued about. More or less veiled allusions appeared everywhere he looked—from books to billboards—and even language itself seemed saturated with terms related to sex, used either as praise or insult.
Everyone seemed to be chasing it. Wanting it. Needing it.
Illumi had tried sex before. Not many times, but enough to satisfy his curiosity. With the same mindset he applied to poison resistance training or language acquisition, Illumi had arranged a few encounters with partners selected for hygiene and anatomical compatibility, in order to understand the supposed appeal.
Depending on the partner, sensations ranged from unpleasant at worst to mildly enjoyable at best, yet never once did the experience justify its reputation. While engaged in it, Illumi’s mind would wander to all the other things he would rather be doing, things that would make better use of his time. Eventually he concluded that the activity wasn’t worth pursuing further, turned his attention to more important matters, and considered the subject closed.
Which made all of this, these strange dreams, even more puzzling. Inconvenient… and highly illogical. Why Hisoka? Illumi didn’t know him that well; they had worked together only on a handful of occasions, and that was it. And beyond that, Hisoka wasn’t even his type. Not that he was interested in such things, but if pressed, Illumi would have picked someone distinguished and mature. Less extravagant, less… messy.
Illumi pushed the sheets aside and sat up. He would take a long, cold shower to deal with the… inconvenience, and then begin the day as he always did.
It was just a dream, after all. Nothing more.
~~~
Illumi rode his motorcycle up Muhollanuld Drive, speeding past palms, houses, and the occasional glow from gated driveways or porch lights. The road itself was mostly dark, lit only in brief patches where spacious designer homes clung to the hillside.
He slalomed along the slopes toward his target, a resident of one of these villas. Perhaps the man was reclining by a heated pool at the very moment, enjoying the view of Los Anhgles below, unaware that his lungs, or some other vital organ, would soon be punctured by one of his needles.
Illumi was currently working a large job: a contract made up of eight targets, all living in the city, all part of his client’s personal vendetta. It was his revenge for a brother who, back when they were both poor and undocumented children, had been abducted by a black-market organ trade, carved open, and shipped across the border. Years later, the client had finally gathered enough money to afford Illumi’s services. Now, he wanted every surviving person involved in the operation dead.
He’d requested that the hits be completed as close together as possible, ideally within an hour, and no longer than two, to avoid the risk of the targets warning each other and fleeing for their lives.
He didn’t know there was no escaping a Zoldyck, that Illumi would find them no matter where they went. But that was fine—Illumi was accustomed to fulfilling the little requests that helped his clients sleep better at night. As long as they paid.
Admittedly, the time constraint made things a bit tricky. Even if the targets were easy kills, there were still too many to eliminate within a timeframe the client would find satisfying, so in the end, Illumi had no choice but to turn to his associate for help—the same associate he had recently begun to avoid, even when other jobs might have benefited from his involvement. Still, Illumi reasoned, this wasn’t a typical shared mission where they would kill side by side. He had split the list evenly—half for himself, half for Hisoka—and once it was done, they would go their separate ways without ever needing to meet.
He took another curve, and from a distance, he spotted the target’s house, built into the hillside and elevated on long steel stilts that disappeared into the dense vegetation below. It was all light and exposure. The façades consisted almost entirely of giant windows framed by strips of steel painted in an aluminum gray shade, and the whole structure was crowned by a concrete roof sculpted in a single, fluid arc.
Illumi parked the motorcycle a few houses away and approached the building by foot. A tall perimeter wall enclosed the property, finished in pale stone and interrupted only by a long electric gate and a row of manicured cacti planted in front of it. Along with the cameras perched above, it offered the illusion of vigilance and safety.
He hopped the wall without a sound or effort, throwing a pin into each camera as he passed. On the other side he checked for auras. There was only one, somewhere above him and inside the house. Easy.
Crossing the yard, he stepped around the building to a large outdoor balcony, bypassing a lounge area with a coffee table and a few chairs, as well as a pool, translucent blue and humming in the dark.
He stopped and took a look around. From this angle, the glass façade of the house reminded him of a terrarium, with its habitat fully exposed to any observer. Within that transparent world, Illumi spotted his target: a man pacing back and forth in front of one of the second-floor windows, speaking on the phone.
Target located, Illumi slipped inside through the back entrance, which, as it turned out, had been left unlocked.
“…if they move anything to Long Beach, I want to know by tonight, you hear me?”
The target’s voice came loud and irritable, the kind of tone used to barking orders and expecting obedience, spoken as if volume alone could make things happen faster.
Once inside, Illumi immediately spotted what he was looking for: a spiral staircase at the center of the room. It was a narrow structure with no railing, made of floating wooden steps suspended with minimal support from a central spine.
He moved toward it, passing through a lounge area furnished with low seating in washed leather, a built-in fireplace, and various exposed concrete elements. Just as he reached the stairs, something moved at the edge of his vision.
He paused. Turned.
Nothing.
The room was empty, still, and expensive. Well-lit from above in a way that made it feel more like a showroom than a lived-in space. Illumi waited a moment longer, looking around just in case, then continued.
He ascended the stairs and reached the upper hallway, where the target’s voice carried down from the last door at the end. He paused at the threshold and tilted his head to peer inside.
The man was barefoot, pacing in a more or less predictable pattern—starting at a king-sized platform bed draped in slate-gray linen, passing a low lounge set in charcoal canvas, and ending at a console table topped with a bottle of whiskey, a half-empty glass, and a large mirror. Then back again.
There was no doubt he would notice Illumi shortly after he entered the room, but that wasn’t a problem; the man wasn’t even a Nen user.
Illumi reached to his belt, drew a pin, and positioned it between his fingers.
Poised and ready, Illumi stepped into the room, but just as he was about to release his needle toward his target’s head, an aura appeared out of nowhere, exhaling in his direction like warm breath on the back of his neck. So distinctive, he could recognize it anywhere. And it was close. Too close.
Despite everything he knew, despite a lifetime of training and conditioned instinct, Illumi froze in the middle of the room, hand suspended mid-attack. He barely resisted the urge to turn around. To look.
The delay lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was enough.
The target spotted him, dove sideways, and vanished behind the bed just as Illumi released the pin. Where the man had stood a moment earlier, the needle sliced through empty air and embedded itself in the window behind, leaving a spiderweb fracture around the pin’s head.
“Shit! What the fuck?” the man shouted, and a moment later, a gun fired blindly from behind the bed.
By then, Illumi had already regained his composure. As the bullets bounced harmlessly off his body, he threw a pin at the hand gripping the firearm. The needle sliced through skin and flesh, and the man cried out, dropping the weapon to the floor.
Illumi moved forward, stepping around the bed, barely sparing a glance at the figure with golden eyes and a bright grin watching him from the window’s reflection.
When Illumi reached him, the man was scrambling to pick up the gun with his uninjured hand. The air around him reeked of blood and panic. His fingers trembled so badly that, when he finally managed to curl them around the grip and lift the weapon toward Illumi—even though the distance between them was almost nothing—he still missed. The bullet buried itself in the wooden floor just beside Illumi’s foot.
Illumi picked up a few pins and threw them at the target, wanting it to be over already, wanting to—
One of the needles struck the man’s neck, and a bright arc of blood spurted from his artery. Illumi stepped back, but a few warm drops still hit his cheek and the corner of his mouth.
The man gurgled, twitched, then went limp.
“Well, well,” a voice behind him said, slow and syrupy, covering him from head to toe with goosebumps. “Illumi Zoldyck doing less than a perfect job. Not what I’d expect from your pedigree.”
He couldn’t deny it—it had been messy. Amateurish. An embarrassing display by any professional standard.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Illumi said, wiping the blood from his cheek. “Did you finish your hits?”
“I did. Every one, as requested,” Hisoka said, and Illumi could hear the amusement curled inside the words, the suggestion of pearly white canines bared in a grin. “And then I thought, mmm—why not drop by and watch you work? That’s always deliciously entertaining. Consider it my little reward.”
“You say that like you weren’t already compensated,” Illumi said, turning to face him. “You were. And the second half will be transferred to your account accordingly.”
Perhaps he shouldn’t have turned. The moment he did—and his eyes landed on his associate—it felt as though his breath caught in his throat, like everything had accelerated and come to a halt at the same time.
“Money. That’s all you think about, isn’t it?” Hisoka tsked, like a teacher disappointed by an inane answer to an obvious question. He wandered over to examine the pin stuck in the window. “There are far more stimulating things in this world than numbers in a bank account. Sharper, sweeter thrills. Sometimes I wonder if you know about them. If you’ve ever tasted any.”
Illumi found it hard to listen. While Hisoka’s attention was elsewhere, his gaze slid over the man’s body without restraint.
He started with his face. It had a timeless quality, as if sculpted to represent an ideal of classical beauty, which, combined with his extravagant makeup and the palpable danger simmering just beneath, created a mesmerizing effect. His arms were broad and well-defined; Illumi could well imagine the sheer force coiled in those muscles and wondered how they might feel beneath his fingers, if he were to reach out and touch. His waist was slender, made to be grabbed and held, curving into the fullness of his hips—and then there was his backside—
Hisoka pivoted on his heel to face him, and Illumi diverted his gaze at once. He decided the dark droplet on the front of his shirt required immediate intervention and tried to wipe it away with his thumb, only to smear it further.
With his gaze lowered, he could see dark violet heeled boots approaching slowly, closing the distance until they stood just a step away.
Hisoka’s aura settled around Illumi like a perfume mist. He had never taken notice of it before, not like this. Had they ever been this close?
“Illumi,” Hisoka said.
The name left his mouth softly, but it landed in Illumi’s ears with the force of an earthquake. Two fingers reached for his chin and tipped it upward. Illumi didn’t resist. He looked into the golden pupils taking him in, becoming as still and spellbound as a cobra before a charmer’s flute.
Hisoka dragged his thumb across his own tongue, then reached forward and traced a line just beneath Illumi’s lips. The wet glide of skin against skin left a cooling trail in its wake. Illumi felt his pulse quicken.
A déjà vu overtook him, bringing with it the most uncanny sensation. Illumi felt like a bystander—watching the moment unfold from a distance, as though it were a scene from a movie. One he’d already seen. One in which he knew exactly what came next.
His lips parted on their own. Just barely. Barely.
“There you go. You missed a point,” Hisoka said, and stepped away.
The space widened, and Hisoka withdrew his aura along with his warmth, leaving in its place the sensation that something wasn’t quite right.
Like an actor who’d gone off script, Hisoka hadn’t followed his line. The moment felt displaced, perturbed, no longer what it was meant to be.
“Alright, I’ll be off, then. Call me if anything else comes up,” Hisoka said, already turning toward the door.
Illumi watched him move away, each click of his heels making his hips sway slightly, and Illumi—
His body moved before his mind did. He reached out, closing his fingers around Hisoka’s wrist before the magician could take another step.
Hisoka glanced back, one brow lifted. His gaze dropped to the hand holding him, then back to Illumi’s face, studying him with an expression Illumi couldn’t quite place.
“…Unless you’re not done with me yet?”
“I’m not.”
His fingers tightened around Hisoka’s wrist, and Illumi pulled him toward him with a force that made Hisoka gasp.
Now face to face, Illumi didn’t wait a second longer. He caught Hisoka’s jaw with one hand and pressed their mouths together with startling force, more statement than kiss.
For one heartbeat, the world held still. He wondered if Hisoka would—if he…
But then Hisoka kissed him back, and the fervor with which he did made Illumi think he’d been on his mind too.
Illumi grabbed Hisoka by the waist and pulled him forward until their hips collided, and Hisoka let out a low, guttural moan.
Hisoka leaned in for another kiss, but Illumi stopped him, catching his chin between two fingers. A breath later, his lips were at Hisoka’s ear, and he let out a soft chuckle. “I had a suspicion you’d be loud.” He licked Hisoka’s earlobe, slowly. “I’ll make you scream tonight.”
“ Illu…” Hisoka said, something between a whimper and a moan. They were so close that Illumi could feel the shiver running through him, along with the hard shape starting to press against his thigh through too many layers of clothing.
He kissed him again. This time, Hisoka’s lips parted instantly, and Illumi slipped his tongue inside, tasting his moans, his breath, the hunger in every movement. It was messy and wet, and Illumi felt Hisoka’s fingers curl into his back, nails catching through fabric like he wanted to be held even closer.
The few times Illumi had kissed his test subjects, it was nothing more than pressure and skin, a sequence of movements no more enticing than if he had pressed his mouth to the back of his hand.
But this—this was different. This kiss was electric. It sparked the moment their mouths met, a jolt that shot straight down the line of his spine and moved through his entire body, crackling beneath his skin. Every time their mouths reconnected, the charge returned.
And it felt different from his dreams, too. This was better.
Illumi’s hands began to touch him, fondling and grabbing, eager to get familiar with Hisoka’s silhouette, even if only through his clothes. His fingers palpated the muscles of his arms—just as firm and satisfying as he had imagined—then slid over the broad, toned planes of his back and lower, following the delectably narrow shape of his waist and the outline of his hips.
He glided along the curves of Hisoka’s backside, his hands passing over the firm cheeks, which he couldn’t help but cup and squeeze, thinking about how much more he wanted to do to that obscenely full ass.
He pressed his mouth to Hisoka’s neck, licking one long strip, then placing open-mouthed kisses along its length. The other man tilted his head back, pliant and generous in his offering of even more skin.
“God, Illumi—fuck—you have no idea. How many—” he swallowed. “How many nights I’ve touched myself thinking about this. About you.” The moment the admission landed, Illumi sank his teeth into Hisoka’s neck, drawing a groan straight from his throat, the sound vibrating beneath his lips. “Thinking about everything you’d do to me.”
“Tell me, Hisoka,” Illumi said in a low voice, as he grabbed Hisoka’s bulge, the fabric already slightly damp to the touch. “What did I do to you in that filthy mind of yours? What made you come?”
“So many things. Your hands, your mouth, your voice, those needles of yours. You, inside me,” Hisoka said, voice already a little unsteady, panting.
“It seems today is your lucky day,” Illumi said with a slight smirk. “You’re mine tonight. Let’s see if you can handle it.”
“Oh, darling,” Hisoka grinned, eyes flashing. “I can take everything you give. And more.”
Without breaking eye contact, Illumi placed a hand on Hisoka’s chest and pushed him backward, guiding him toward the bed a few steps behind. When the backs of Hisoka’s knees hit the mattress, Illumi shoved him down.
Hisoka fell back with a grin. “Come closer, my lovely,” he said, lifting one hand toward him—only to have it swatted away.
“No,” Illumi said, dropping his gaze to the front of Hisoka’s pants. “First, show me.” He wet his lips as he stared at the sizable tent pressing against the fabric. “Show me how you touched yourself while thinking about me.”
Hisoka didn’t need to be told twice. He got rid of his clothes quickly, slowing only when he reached his underwear. He slipped two fingers into the waistband and toyed with it for a moment, dragging the elastic back and forth before pushing them down and kicking them aside.
Illumi felt his heart accelerate at the sight of him naked.
That pale, flawless skin was already flushed a delicate pink from excitement, his entire muscular body on display: broad shoulders, sculpted arms, a tapered waist, and powerful thighs. And his cock—hard, thick, and leaking precome—rested against his stomach, making Illumi’s mouth water.
In one long, smooth movement, Hisoka slid his palm down his chest, over his stomach, then along his thigh before wrapping his fingers around his cock and giving it a few slow, lazy strokes.
“Like what you see?” he said, pinning him with that molten gold stare.
Illumi remained silent, and Hisoka began what could only be described as a show.
He tilted his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, and closed his eyes, touching himself to the accompaniment of the most lewd, obscene sounds Illumi could imagine. With one hand, he stroked himself, dragging from base to tip in a slow rhythm, while the other hand roamed his body—pinching his nipples, gliding down his waist, gripping his ass—working himself up with each touch. Illumi watched, transfixed, as Hisoka’s muscles rippled beneath his skin with every motion.
Still pumping himself in a slow rhythm, Hisoka brought three fingers to his mouth, sucking them deep and slow. When they were thoroughly coated with saliva, he pulled them free with a slick pop, adding another note to the room’s lewd soundtrack.
Then, spreading his knees wider, Hisoka reached down and, in one sharp movement, pushed two of the slick fingers into himself, without much preparation or kindness.
His hips jerked. His mouth fell open. Illumi’s name tore out of him and into the air, half scream, half gasp.
The sight of Hisoka spread out before him—fingers pushing in and out of his hole in a steady rhythm, the needy way he kept moaning Illumi’s name and unraveling around it—made something tighten low in Illumi’s abdomen.
Illumi’s hand moved on its own, grabbing the front of his pants and pressing against the heat trapped beneath layers of fabric. Underneath, he was leaking and impossibly hard. He let out a quiet moan at the touch.
Hearing it, Hisoka opened his eyes and looked straight at Illumi, lips parted, pupils blown wide. He paused, and for a moment, the only movement was the rise and fall of his chest in an uneven rhythm.
“Did I tell you to stop?” Illumi asked.
“You can’t make a sound like that and expect me not to get distracted,” Hisoka laughed breathlessly, his eyes dropping to the front of Illumi’s pants. “Let me see it.” He licked his lips slowly. “I bet your cock is just as delicious as the rest of you.”
“Keep going,” Illumi said.
Hisoka obeyed with a soft whimper, returning to his previous rhythm, only this time, his eyes stayed open and locked on Illumi.
After a few more strokes through the fabric, Illumi’s hand moved to the waistband of his pants, and he pushed them down along with his underwear.
Hisoka’s eyes followed every movement like a predator tracking its next meal. A full-body tremble passed through him at the sight of Illumi’s hard cock, accompanied by a loud groan. But he didn’t stop. If anything, he picked up the pace—stretching himself open with added vigor, slipping in a third finger as his breathing grew heavier.
Illumi wrapped a hand around his cock and gave it a slow stroke, spreading the precome beneath his fingers. His breath hitched. Only now did he feel just how painfully hard he was—and even that first glide, eased by the slickness, offered his neglected dick some much-needed attention.
“Gods, Illu, I’m—Please…” Hisoka’s voice was stripped of all theatrics, laid bare with raw need. Illumi shuddered. “Fuck me. I’m all ready for you.”
Illumi let out a low, approving hum. His desire had grown too strong to deny or delay—he wanted him. Needed to feel him. To bury himself inside him. To take everything Hisoka had to give, fill him to the brim, leave him marked and fucked out for hours. Days.
In a haze of want, he crossed the room to the nightstand and opened the drawer, relieved to find what he was looking for: lube.
Illumi unscrewed the cap and squeezed the gel directly onto his cock. He worked the cold slickness along its length, then stepped closer to the bedframe, toward Hisoka and his invitingly spread legs.
Hisoka—fingers buried knuckle-deep just a moment ago—now adjusted his hips and grabbed his cheeks, spreading them wide in a pornographic display, exposing his hole, flushed, slick, and ready.
“Come take it,” he said.
Illumi settled between Hisoka’s thighs, grabbed them, and pulled him down the bed until their bodies touched. He lifted and straightened Hisoka’s legs, holding him in place by the calves, feet in the air.
The moment mirrored what had played behind his eyes so many nights that, for a second, he wondered if this was still a dream, if this moment could exist anywhere outside his own skull. But no: this was real. This was now. And Hisoka was right there, waiting.
Illumi pressed the head of his cock against Hisoka’s entrance and pushed inside, slow at first, then all at once, burying himself deep until his hips met Hisoka’s ass.
Illumi moaned. Hisoka’s mouth fell open, and he cried out, arching his back.
“Ah—fuck, yes—”
Illumi closed his eyes. For a second, he couldn’t move or think, and his hands tightened around Hisoka’s calves involuntarily. The tight heat around his cock felt too good, overwhelmingly so.
When Illumi opened his eyes again, he began to move. He pulled his dick back halfway, only to slam it into Hisoka a moment later, settling into a relentless rhythm after a few thrusts. He looked down and watched his cock disappear into Hisoka’s body over and over—watched that same body take it like it was starved for him, like it had been made for his cock. For him.
And Hisoka—mouth hanging open, breath hitching, fist clenched in the sheets—he looked completely overwhelmed.
He looked perfect.
Illumi folded Hisoka’s legs and pressed them down to his chest. The shift in angle made Hisoka whimper—even before the next thrust came, deeper and harder than the last, making him scream as if he were being split in two.
Illumi leaned forward, and Hisoka parted his legs to let him come even closer, reaching for him blindly and digging his fingers into Illumi’s hips hard enough to bruise.
Their stomachs brushed, their chests pressed together, and their faces were now so close they shared the same breath, and Illumi could do nothing but reach for his lips, parted, open, canting his name between a string of incoherent sounds.
He kissed him, and Hisoka responded, messy and eager, tasting of indulgence and danger. Tasting like everything Illumi wanted.
llumi could feel Hisoka’s skin trembling beneath his own body, and the sensation only fed the flood of stimuli pressing in from all sides. The wave of pleasure kept rising—overwhelming in its intensity—and with every thrust, Illumi rode it, determined to stay buried between Hisoka’s legs.
Maybe he could’ve kept going right to the edge of sanity, until his body gave out, but after one especially powerful thrust, Hisoka came with a cry, spilling over himself and clenching around his cock. Tight. Pulsing. It shattered what little control Illumi had left. He came too, pushing in as deep as he could and emptying into Hisoka with a guttural sound he didn’t recognize as his own.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies sweaty and pressed together, breath ragged and uneven.
Illumi didn’t know how much time passed.
When the fog began to lift, the first thing he noticed was the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears—loud, erratic, faster than during any contract or any other moment he could recall. Eventually, and not without reluctance, he pulled out. Beneath him, Hisoka exhaled and went slack, boneless and flushed.
Illumi collapsed onto the bed and exhaled a long breath, eyes closed, his hand resting loosely on the other man’s arm. His mind was pleasantly empty, he didn’t think of the future or the past; he just was.
“It felt better,” Illumi said, the words leaving his mouth of their own accord.
“Oh?” came the voice beside him, accompanied by the rustle of sheets. “Care to elaborate?”
When Illumi opened his eyes, Hisoka had rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, looking at him.
Illumi felt a knot tighten in his chest as he met those golden eyes. It startled him, how intense the moment felt, more intense than what had passed between them moments ago. And yet, he couldn’t look away: the mess of Hisoka’s hair, the sweat gathering at his collarbone, the faint red mark blooming along the column of his throat where teeth had met skin.
“I…” Illumi swallowed. “I had a few dreams involving you. Scenarios like that.”
“How flattering. So that’s why you kept avoiding me.”
So he had noticed.
Illumi felt a rush of heat to his cheeks, and was about to get up and leave, but Hisoka’s hand caught his wrist and pulled him into a kiss.
“Mmm. What a coincidence. I had a few dreams myself.” Hisoka traced a finger down Illumi’s sternum. “Not that I ever had a problem thinking about you when I was awake.” He mimed the motion of jerking himself off, and Illumi rolled his eyes, half flattered, half exasperated. “Didn’t think you had it in you to chase your dreams, but I’m so glad you did—and gave me the fuck of a lifetime.”
Hisoka collapsed back onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, arms spread beneath him.
Illumi stared at the ceiling for a beat, considering the words.
Maybe dreams really did need a little help to come true.
“How about the pool?”
“Hm?”
“In one of my dreams, we had sex in a pool. It seemed… interesting.”
Hisoka grinned. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’m all in.”