Chapter Text
Summer break.
When Gon was in school, summer was a time of infinite promise and pleasure – long days spent outside, running and hunting and fishing, the hot sun baking itself into his skin until he was drunk with it, until he came home soft and sleepy to eat a hearty meal and collapse in his bed into delicious sleep. He had been alone, then, the kids from school uninterested in his adventures and Aunt Mito busy with work. He hadn’t minded – there had been a whole world outside his back door to explore.
It's different, now. His finals finish in late April and he’s released, free from university but with new ties. Killua, inviting him to come stay at his summer house in Baja. And Hisoka, offering him free room and board at his swanky downtown condo, all cool colours and expensive furniture.
Baja sounds super neat: hot sandy beaches and warm turquoise water, sweet icy drinks and hammocks and games.
What Hisoka offers is much darker, the scrape of nails down his spine, teeth against his lips. The taste of champagne and copper.
In the end, though, the judo club has summer practice most weeks, and that decides things neatly and without prejudice. He has to stay in L.A. and the dorms are closed for the summer. Which means he’s staying with Hisoka.
Killua takes it badly, a dust-up of insults and negativity followed by sulking as he packs up his side of their shared room. He kicks his clothes into his suitcase and shoves his books into a box to be sold, the texts thumping down one after another into a dusty heap. Gon watches this prolonged tantrum from the sidelines.
“C’mon, Killua, I’d come if I could. You know how it is. If I miss summer training, I could lose my place on the team. And my scholarship.”
Killua rips a poster down off the wall, rolling it in an uneven circle and tearing tape off to seal it closed.
“It’s not about you and Hisoka,” Gon continues. “You know that – it’s not a contest. You’ll see me when you get back – we can choose our rooming assignments next year, so we can share again.”
Killua yanks a drawer full of pencils and erasers and a tangle of charging cords fully out of the desk and upends it over a plastic bag, contents raining down in a messy pile.
“Kill-u-aaa,” pleads Gon, coming over to stand behind him. “Be reasonable. It’s just a couple of months.”
Killua turns around, pushing him back. “A couple of months that you’ll be alone with that freak,” he says, jabbing his finger into Gon’s sternum for effect. His blue eyes are shadowed, slivered. Petulant.
“I’m looking forward to it, though. We’re gonna have fun. Hisoka might even spar a bit with me – he never talks about his martial arts training, but he’s super strong. I can tell. And he definitely wouldn’t hold back.”
“Yeah, no reason for concern there,” mutters Killua. “Look, you’ve got to be in town, I get it. But I can arrange for somewhere for you to stay – somewhere nice and clean and safe.” He puts the emphasis on the final word, staring at Gon from beneath his mop of silver hair.
Gon frowns. “But I want to stay with Hisoka. His apartment’s real swanky, and he’s got a cool espresso machine. And…”
Killua looks at him sternly. “And?” he demands, hands on his hips.
“And, well… he’s my boyfriend, Killua, the person I’m going out with. I want to spend time with him. I hardly get to see him during the school year, between studying and Judo.”
“Your boyfriend who doesn’t want any kind of commitment to stick to him. That guy’s like Teflon, Gon. Slippery, and highly toxic. I’m sure the sex is good, but…”
“It is,” says Gon, straightforwardly. “And anyway, I’m not looking for anything more. I’m too young to be thinking about marriage, or whatever. I get Hisoka – and he keeps me on my toes. I like that.”
Killua sighs. “That’s not…”
“Killua –” Gon places his hands on Killua’s shoulders. “It’s fine. Okay? You don’t have to worry about me. I’m gonna have a great summer, and I’ll see you in the fall.”
Killua lifts his head, jaw tilted upwards at a high angle, like a man ready to take one on the chin. “You sure?”
Gon smiles. “Yep! And hey – you’re gonna have fun too, right? Swimming, snorkelling, beach volleyball… it’ll be a blast. Maybe I can come some other time.”
“Yeah,” says Killua, softly. “Right.”
Gon squeezes his shoulders, then tosses him onto the mess of his bed. Killua flips under, and they scuffle on the floor for a few minutes, half-wrestling, half-laughing.
It’s gonna be a great summer.
***
“I have to go to Europe,” says Hisoka, only a few moments after Gon arrives at Harlequin with his duffle thrown over his shoulder and a box of books on his hip.
Harlequin is quiet this afternoon, like it is every afternoon. The sun is lying in strips on the floor, thick and syrup-coloured. The walls, chipped white paint, dusty, hold long whitewashed shelves. Lined up in even rows on the shelves are the tins of tea, each with a label carefully affixed to the front. Green tea, black tea, white tea. Chai, peppermint, bergamot, gunpowder, chamomile. Dozens of different kinds, purchased by Hisoka from around the world and held here in this small, unprepossessing shop. At the back are a few free-standing rustic tables holding tea pots, cups, and strainers. All plain, and all high quality.
Gon lets his duffle drop, setting down the box of books beside it with a thump. “What? But – I’m supposed to stay with you!”
Hisoka’s smile is lovely, curved smooth as a sickle. His mouth is painted pink today, the colour of strawberry cream puffs, of peony petals. His eyes are burnished gold. “Don’t fret,” he says, voice thick with the throb that Gon seems to elicit in him. He’s standing behind the till, one hand on his hip, his nails the exact shade of pink as his lips. “I have something for you to do while I’m gone.”
Gon blinks. “What?”
“You can mind the store.” He spreads his arms, enveloping the entirety of his business in that one gesture.
Gon looks up at him, taken aback. “Um… but… I don’t know anything about tea, Hisoka.” He feels like he’s pointing out the obvious, which is weird because Hisoka is very good at reading between the lines. So good at it that he often sees things that aren’t even there. Not yet, anyway.
“I hardly see how that matters,” says Hisoka. “Any of the poor, talentless students I could hire would be equally ignorant. So why not hire one I can depend upon utterly? Someone who would lay down his life for my wares?” He smiles again, proud as a lion, and brings his hand up to rest his chin on his palm. He leans over the counter, his blue shirt hanging open, revealing a long pale strip of skin. Gon drags his eyes away from this.
“I mean – I don’t think I’d die for your shop, Hisoka,” he says, doubtfully. He looks around – at the dented tins, at the ancient register, at the uneven floorboards. “I know I’m not rolling in it or anything, but I don’t think it’s worth it.”
Hisoka laughs, low and rumbling, like thunder.
“But really – I’ve only worked a till a handful of times, and it gave the change read-out and everything. That thing…” Gon eyes the ancient, manual till, heavy steel with round keys.
“I’m sure you’re up to the challenge,” purrs Hisoka. “Besides, it’s only for a few days. A week at most. I’ll be sure to bring you back something extra special in exchange,” he says.
Gon’s gaze drifts past the shop keeper to the back room behind him. “What about the blood tea?” he asks, frowning.
It’s not exactly that he disagrees with Hisoka’s second occupation. Hisoka doesn’t make a lot of money from the shop – probably not even enough to pay rent. He has to live somehow, and he’s found a job that he enjoys and is very good at. It just happens to involve violence and murder. Gon doesn’t think murder is right. He doesn’t. But he also thinks that Hisoka is missing some important piece inside him that shows him right from wrong. For Hisoka, there’s nothing wrong about killing for money, and if he can’t see it or understand it, Gon’s not sure that that still means it’s wrong. For him.
“You mean the hibiscus tea?” says Hisoka, his voice slightly sharp in correction. “You needn’t worry yourself about that. If anyone comes in to purchase, just let them know no sales until I’m back. Not too difficult, surely?” He taps his nails against the counter.
Gon pinches his mouth, unsure. “I dunno, Hisoka. I don’t want to mess anything up. You’ve got it all just the way you like it.”
“I’m open to improvements. You have a very… straightforward way of approaching things. I’m sure any changes you make would be fully justified.” He comes around from behind the counter, sashays over to Gon’s side and throws an arm over his shoulder, drawing him in close. He smells of bubble gum and bergamot, a strange contrast. “Don’t you think?” he murmurs in Gon’s ear. Before Gon can reply his tongue licks out, painting a wet strip on the inside of the shell. Gon stiffens and shivers.
“Hisokaaa…”
The shop owner laughs and straightens. “Come along, then. Let me give you an overview of my wares. Let’s start with the black tea…”
***
They spend an hour going over the various teas, weighing arrangements, containers, pricing, and stock room holdings. Gon’s head is spinning by the end of it – he’s never been very good with numbers. Fortunately, as Hisoka points out, the pricing is all listed on the tins so he has nothing to memorize, and he can use his phone’s calculator if things get dicey.
“Not to worry,” says Hisoka in a warm tone, all velvet and verve. “You’ll manage. I have full confidence in you. And you can look forward to your reward. I never forget a favour.”
Gon smiles. “That’s nice, Hisoka, but I’d rather have the time to spend with you.”
“We’ll have all summer. This is just for a week. Not much to ask, surely? Or are you looking to tie me down?” His carefully-sculpted eyebrows rise inquiringly, his eyes gleaming amber, the kind that traps creatures and smothers them to death.
“Nope. I was just looking forward to hanging out, right away. This past month’s been killer, with cramming for exams and everything.”
Hisoka’s eyes widen as his eyes narrow, like a clown’s mask. “Oh. Perhaps you need some help relaxing?” he purrs, low and sultry. He reaches out and runs one sharp nail up the length of Gon’s chest, tweaking his nipple. Gon shivers.
“Hisoka…” it’s just a whisper, a sole breath in the large room.
Hisoka laughs. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow,” he says. “We can certainly have a send off. Come along – I’ll show you how to close up.”
***
Hisoka’s apartment is a large one in a modern building. It’s mostly empty, just a few pieces of seemingly brand-new furniture and an impeccably clean kitchen and floor. Gon’s been coming over for a couple of months now and he’s still not sure if Hisoka does the cleaning himself or if he hires a cleaner.
Hisoka kicks off his boots in the entryway and Gon follows suit, arranging his more carefully beside the door. He puts down his possessions – incredibly meagre compared to the multiple suitcases Killua had packed on his side of their dorm room – and goes to pour himself some water.
He doesn’t make it there, because Hisoka hooks his fingers inside Gon’s collar and pulls him back from behind, leaning down to press his lips to the back of Gon’s neck. “I thought we were having a send off,” he murmurs, his breath hot against Gon’s skin. He can feel it brushing past the fine hairs, the sensation intense, seductive.
“Now?” asks Gon, not protesting, just surprised. “We just got home.”
“Mm, early to bed, early to rise. Don’t you think?” Hisoka plays his hand around the front of Gon’s chest, slipping it up beneath his shirt. “I have something new for you.” He strokes the pads of his fingers over Gon’s abs, dropping them lower to trace the inside of his hip and the low hemline of his shorts. Here, with Hisoka bending over him, he feels like he’s encircled by strength – and, definitely, by threat. Hisoka is dangerous, one of the most dangerous people Gon knows. He can sense that even now, while Hisoka is feeling him up, knows instinctively that if the shop keeper changed his mind he could snap Gon’s neck with ease.
The danger is exciting, thrilling. It blows over him like frosty air, bringing out goosebumps. He turns his head and meets Hisoka’s face with a kiss – deep, intense. Hisoka moans lewdly and pulls him around to pin him to the wall, one hand pinning Gon’s shoulder there, the other caressing his face as they kiss. Hisoka either has a lot of experience or very little restraint or, most likely, both, because he kisses with passionate abandon. His tongue plunders Gon’s mouth, his teeth nipping at Gon’s lip hard enough to bruise, while between his legs Hisoka’s knee rises to grind against him. Gon moans into the kiss and pushes back, hooking his hands behind Hisoka’s neck and fitting them closer together. He’s getting hot, his heart racing, his body singing with arousal. It feels great, like finding something wonderful he had forgotten about. It’s been a long month of studying.
They stumble into the bedroom, hands all over each other, Hisoka pulling Gon’s shirt off and undoing his pants before shoving him back onto the bed. He stands on the sea-blue carpet and strips slowly, working off first his shirt to reveal his frankly ridiculously built chest, then working his thumbs down inside his pants playfully before taking them off, too. Gon, watching with excitement, scrambles out of his own pants and waits, naked and enthralled, on the bed.
Hisoka’s smile is deep, dark, and he reaches into his drawer and pulls out a few things – some lube, a dildo, a cock ring. Gon feels his mouth drying up in anticipation, heady with the vision of Hisoka fucking him with the toys. Hisoka plays the ring around his finger, coming over and pushing Gon’s knees apart. “Let’s try this for size, shall we?” he asks, and works it down Gon’s already decently-hard cock. The heat in his body seems to multiply, his cock hardening faster, thicker now. “Oh, doesn’t that look nice,” enthuses Hisoka, rubbing the tip of his dripping prick with his thumb. Gon makes a surprised sound, his hips snapping forward instinctively. “We’re going to have some fun.”
He runs his hands down the inside of Gon’s thighs, spreading them, his nails scraping scratches into the delicate flesh. He pushes Gon back so that he leans away, his cock fully exposed and ramrod hard. Then, smiling at Gon the whole time, he lowers his mouth.
Hisoka’s blow jobs are the best, not that Gon has much to judge them by in comparison. They’re wet, hot, and messy, Hisoka not holding anything back. They also sometimes ride very near the bone of pain, teeth scraping over his most sensitive flesh and the intensity of the vacuum he creates too much. Gon sweats and stiffens as Hisoka works his cock, his whole body throbbing with the pleasure, the back of his mind a haze of concern with the knowledge that he’s surrendering himself to someone deadly. Overriding that instinct, fighting himself to give his body to Hisoka, heightens his thrill.
He's getting close, Hisoka licking and sucking him towards orgasm, deep-throating his prick until Gon starts thrusting, too lost in the sensation to fight. Hisoka simply moans, taking the face-fucking, and Gon pants and lifts and pounds – ready, ready…
He looks down, teetering on the edge of orgasm, his body tingling, but the release doesn’t come. “H-Hisoka?”
Hisoka smiles around his dick, long and lewd.
“Hisoka – I need – I – please –” his nerves are on fire, his body strung so tight he can feel every vibration within himself, feel the throb of his heartbeat through his cock like a hammer. He’s never needed to come so badly, never felt this intensity for more than a moment, for more than that supreme instant before the relief of orgasm. He can’t keep this up, the sensation too much for his body to hold, pressing at his skin from the inside trying to break free.
Hisoka keeps blowing him, and with his hands picks up the dildo. Gon’s eyes widen – he can’t take that, he’s already close, too close, hanging over the edge in agony waiting for the fall.
Hisoka lubes up the head of the dildo – smaller than his cock but bigger than a finger – and lifts Gon’s legs, jamming a pillow beneath the small of his back to expose his ass. Then he’s working the tip of the dildo in circles at Gon’s entrance, cool and slick. For a moment it’s okay, it’s just barely survivable.
Then Hisoka pushes the toy inside.
Gon screams, his body trembling, the intensity savage. The toy is hard and tight inside him, rutting in, screwing his body that’s already overwhelmed. He thought he couldn’t feel any more but he can and it hurts, it’s good but it’s bad too, hot and cold together, and he whimpers as Hisoka fucks the toy in. His whole body is pulsing, moving in tandem with Hisoka – no, being moved by Hisoka, Hisoka controlling him like a puppet. He’s being worked just like the toys, fucked to pieces. There are tears in his eyes, and he can’t control them, either.
“Hisoka,” he pleads, ragged, his mind hardly able to find the words now. There’s a roaring in his ears, the sound of the sea, his vision blackening at the edges. His body is flashing between exquisite arousal and exquisite agony, the seesaw ruinous. “Oh – oh – please,” he begs, as Hisoka pushes the toy up and hits his prostate. His vision whites out for a moment, his sensation of himself both so incredibly detailed that he can feel every nerve ending in his body, and so incredibly blunt that he’s nothing more than one throbbing heartbeat.
Hisoka rises up from his cock, a trail of saliva looping to his tongue for a moment before breaking. The intensity dials down just enough that Gon’s vision adjusts itself. He watches Hisoka slicking his own cock, slow and seductive, his smile like a million suns. “Don’t you look divine,” he says, his eyes running over the mess that is Gon – sweaty, panting, crying on the bed. “Don’t you look lovely.”
He leans forward and pulls the dildo out, then he rolls Gon over with one quick movement, snappy as a waiter whipping out a tablecloth. He raises Gon up onto his knees, Hisoka’s arms around his heaving chest. One hand comes up to caress his jaw, finger pads kneading into the softness beneath his chin. Gon’s sense of warning blares briefly, and then Hisoka is pushing inside him and the world explodes.
Hisoka thrusts up into him, fucking him in long, deep drives. Gon’s whole body moves with it, his head leaning back against Hisoka’s shoulder, his mouth open slackly. It’s too much. There are no words left in his mind, all that’s left is the sensation of being pleasured/plundered/ruined, his body begging to be allowed to come. That’s the only thought, the only need he has. He moans weakly as Hisoka ruts into him, strong and hungry. “Oh Gon… oh Gon.” He changes the angle and his prick pushes up into Gon’s prostate.
Gon keens, nothing but fever and fluids – sweat, tears, slick, precome. He’s exhausted, used up, and yet driven mad by his incompleteness. “Hisokaaa,” he says, the word stumbling drunkenly off his tongue.
“Oh? Is there something you want?”
“H-Hisoka… please…”
“Please? Please what?”
He’s never had to think this hard. Never had to marshal his thoughts from such distances, across such empty tundras. “Please… lemme… lemme finish.”
“Hm? Oh, were you waiting for me?” Hisoka leans in and presses a kiss to his neck; a moment later it turns into a bite. “What a good boy,” he murmurs. “I suppose you’ve earned it.”
He reaches down and does something, and suddenly the bluntness in Gon’s body explodes into colour and sound and pleasure and –
And he comes with a scream, his whole body shuddering in relief, in ecstasy, as Hisoka fucks him. A moment later Hisoka’s coming inside him, filling him with hot come.
It’s only Hisoka’s arms that are holding him up, keeping him from collapsing. Slowly Hisoka pulls out and then lies him down. Gon curls onto his side, his vision strobing, his head empty except for his cold heartbeat.
“How lovely,” says Hisoka, his eyes shining down from above like candles – golden, burning.
“Nnh,” says Gon, and closes his eyes.
***
Later that night they have Chinese, ordered in from a local restaurant and which arrives hot and steaming. Although Hisoka’s kitchen is pristine and uncluttered he has a full set of plates, cups, chopsticks and cutlery, and it’s no hardship for him to set out a full service and dish out the food onto shiny white plates and bowls.
It’s a hardship for Gon, whose ass is aching, to sit and eat it but he doesn’t complain.
“Killua wanted me to come with him to Baja,” he says, over the barbequed duck, its skin crisp and its flesh moist. Hisoka, who’s drinking red wine a few shades darker than his hair, nods.
“I imagine he did. Killua, for one, is afraid of the big bad wolf.”
“I don’t think afraid is the right word,” replies Gon. Killua’s a son of the Russian mafia, and although unlike Hisoka he doesn’t revel in violence, Gon can easily sense that he’s very familiar with it. “More like wary. And anyway, it’s not himself he’s concerned about.”
Hisoka brushes a morsel of pork off his lip with the edge of his thumb. “No,” he agrees. “He’s worried about you. Twining concern is an adorable trait in a puppy. I’m less certain it’s desirable in a grown man.”
Gon blinks. “But I’d worry about him, too. If he was going to live with someone I had doubts about. I’d want to make sure he was okay.”
“Even if he told you not to?” asks Hisoka, extending the hypothetical.
Gon frowns, thinking. “I think… I think I’d still worry, at least.” It’s as close as he can come to an answer.
“Well, honesty is a laudable trait, although not one I’ve much experience with.”
“You are a pretty good liar, Hisoka,” agrees Gon, straightforwardly, and earns himself a smile.
“I’m an excellent liar. Because it amuses me; because at my heart I’m a juggler. I like to see how many balls I can keep in the air.”
“And what happens if they start tumbling down when you leave?”
Hisoka’s smile reaches his eyes, half-lidded, his irises the colour of saints’ halos in old manuscripts. “Unlikely. But in that event, I look to you to catch them.”
“Why’re you going, anyway? You never said.”
The shop keeper reaches out and picks up his wine glass. “Are you sure you want to ask questions you may not want to know the answer to?” he asks, drinking the deep red wine.
Gon shakes his head. “I guess not.”
They both know Gon knows what Hisoka does in the shadows, the commissions he accepts. And they both choose not to speak about it. It’s one of the very few concessions Hisoka has made to Gon’s feelings – because Gon can’t imagine he’s keeping his secrets out of a need for self preservation.
Hisoka salutes him with his glass. “Perhaps someday you will have secrets of your own,” he says.
“That seems pretty unlikely. I’ve never been any good at keeping them.”
Hisoka picks up his chopsticks again. “Noted,” he says.
***
Hisoka takes a cab to the airport the next morning – his vehicle is a Kawasaki Ninja, really cool for daily use and highly impractical when travelling with luggage. Gon doesn’t own a car.
Gon goes to the campus gym to work out for an hour, then showers and changes and makes his way down the hill to the side streets and dense shopping area where Harlequin is located. The shop stands in a back alley with other small businesses: a tarot card reader, a barber, a nail salon. There are Chinese lanterns hanging overhead between the alleyway’s brick walls, old and faded, the wires showing through.
He unlocks Harlequin at 9:00 on the dot and flips the sign to open, going inside and over to the till. He puts in the float Hisoka provided him with and looks around. The shop is empty, long and narrow and dry as dust. No TV, no radio, no chair.
He’s going to spend the next five days here, alone. He rubs his palms into his eyes and groans. “Hisokaaa…”
He pulls out his phone and brings up Spotify, starting up a fun pop playlist. Then he goes into the back room to see if he can find a bucket and mop.
He might as well do some cleaning while he’s here.