Chapter Text
(Warning: This story begins with Chrollo and Kalluto in bed after being intimate. You can skip to chapter 2 if that makes you uncomfortable; you won't lose much context.)
In defense of Chrollo Lucilfer, Kalluto Zoldyck was nearly twenty years old, now.
Sixteen years was still a validly large gap in age, though.
Immediate regret and a quiet sense of awe were both etched on Chrollo’s face as he sat at Kalluto’s side in bed. The deed was done. They had slept together and it had been fast, rough, and filled with quiet whispers and a sense of urgency, like they had to do it before reality crashed into the room and said, “This is a terrible idea.”
Kalluto was already dressed. Chrollo was still naked and beneath a dirty sheet.
“Will you tell?” He asked.
Kalluto crossed his ankles, petite socked feet on top of the wrinkled sheet. “I won’t tell anyone the conditions,” he said.
Chrollo looked at him.
“I won’t tell anyone that we slept together, either,” Kalluto added, and one eyebrow lifted incredulously. “Obviously.”
“Alright. You’re one of only two people alive who knows how my ability works,” Chrollo said. It sounded like a threat and Kalluto smiled fangedly in response. Fucking had been a, hm, miscalculation, but sharing the details of Chrollo’s Hatsu had been a fatal error. “Some people know a few steps in the process, but few know all of the conditions.” There were four. And the last one was no simple task – eating part of a person without their knowing seemed trickier and trickier the more Kalluto dwelled on it. It was altogether impressive that Chrollo managed to follow every step enough to have an entire fat book filled with stolen powers, considering how much time was involved with every theft.
Kalluto smiled and tilted his head to the side, and a long waterfall of black hair fell down his pale white neck, and his thick choppy fringe fell into his eyes. “You’re worried I’m going to tell my father.”
“I worry more about your brother,” Chrollo said, honestly, exhaling. “If he were to discover how you learned – about, hm, this.”
“Illuni?” Kalluto picked up the fountain pen sitting on the bedside table and pressed it against his kiss-swollen bottom lip as he thought. He slowly dropped it back down into place. “I don’t think he could defeat you in a fight, especially if distracted by the thought of me having sex. Dad could, though. Dad wouldn’t care about the sex, not really, but he would love the excuse.”
Chrollo barked out a laugh; the first time he looked less-than-constipated since they had finished. Really, he seemed almost sad, sunk in on the bed; like a child that had accidentally released their favorite balloon and were actively watching it retreat into the sky, gone forever. He would miss the balloon. He would miss having any sense of dignity around the youngest member of his gang.
“But I won’t tell,” Kalluto said. “The less they know, the better, I’ve learned.”
“Because you’re a smart boy.”
And that’s how this started. With a compliment. Kalluto basked in it; in being adored, in being worshipped, in kind words. He rolled over, pressed up against Chrollo, and slid small hands up his chest, gently. “Am I?”
Chrollo grabbed his hands before they could travel any farther and sat up, pushing him back. “It’s better for the Ryodan if members refrain from sleeping together,” he said, a loosely enforced suggestion among the gang. He just hoped the more perceptive of the gang members wouldn’t recognize the look of shame next time they all met. They probably would.
Machi would probably kill him.
“Are you sure?” Kalluto said, and he tilted his head just so – and their noses touched and suddenly the room was hot. Uncomfortably hot. There was no air, just this warmth pooling between them.
Chrollo thought about killing him, because it was so dangerous for Kalluto to provoke such base feelings with such ease. A power even stronger than nen, sometimes. His hands tightened across Kalluto’s fingers.
Kalluto, always unsettlingly clairvoyant, pecked a gentle kiss at the corner of Chrollo’s mouth, and pulled away. He stood up out of bed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Just the once.”
Chrollo wiped the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and looked up at Kalluto with big dark eyes. “I’m glad we agree.”
“I’m leaving,” Kalluto said, spinning on his heel to leave the hotel room that Chrollo was presently calling home in Yorkshin. “My phone’s on for the next mission. I’m going to be in Azia with Hisoka for the next few weeks while he does a tournament,” he said. It was the second time this year he’d participated in a competition with Hisoka; he served the important purpose of culling the weeds so the blossoms could reach higher. Kalluto got cash and a sense of productivity by mowing down the weak combatants and Hisoka got his worthy fighters at the end. “If you get the chance, you should come. At least to the final fight. Hisoka puts on a show. And then he treats to dinner. Usually with his face still bloody.”
“Hm,” Chrollo, always noncommittal, pushed a hand through his short dark hair. “Text the details.”
“Oh, and Gon Freecs should be there,” Kalluto expanded, “So Illuni won’t be.”
The corner of Chrollo’s mouth tilted. “Is that a rule?”
“They don’t like each other.”
Chrollo, again, laughed. Kalluto smiled back, because it was a pretty amusing understatement. They were like magnets of the same pole; impossible to control around one another and liable to snap away violently at any moment if forced.
Kalluto stood in the doorway of the suite. “Less of a chance you’ll die with Illuni absent,” he said.
“You said that Illumi couldn’t defeat me.”
Kalluto’s warm pink eyes rolled away, looking across the room and out the expansive window on one wall. “Probably couldn’t, no.”
“Text me details,” Chrollo repeated.
“I will,” Kalluto said, turning back and walking out the door. “Bye, Danchou.”
Chrollo watched him go and pointedly looked away from how Kalluto’s loose thin-fabric harem pants hung off the rounds of his ass.