Kurapika x Chrollo One-Shots

Nightmares

And perhaps it already had.

This is what was waiting for him.

Nothing.

A breath, a wheezing breath. Several pants, a single blink, and the tightening of his fingers into a loose fist that brought a subtle clink to his ears. He was awake.

He was awake.

The boy suddenly sat up, his pants heavier, chest pumping in and out as his eyes roamed through the darkness making out the delicate features of his room to bring some makeshift sanity to his trembling and frantic mind.

Three more pants, a shaky breath, and his knees finally came up to his chest, arms wrapping around his legs and he huddled himself tightly. He let his forehead rest on his knees but his eyes still sat open. His pupils trembled against the grey, frantically trying to unconsciously search through the darkness for something. But whatever that something was didn't matter, no until they found it.

Calm steps moved outside his door, one after the other. They approached slowly but still too fast for his mind to ignore it. And with a subtle creak, his door swung open, the light of the hallway drenching inside. There was only silence on the other end. The man didn't speak a word, didn't sigh, the boy could hardly even hear him breathe. But he knew he was there, watching him, waiting for him to lay back down, to shoo him away or start screaming at him. It became an occasional cycle for the two. For the boy to wake up in a cold sweat, for the man to be there for him to get angry at, to let his rage fester into somebody. The boy only raised his head slightly to acknowledge his presence, letting silence continue without even realizing it passed. Time had become a useless thing in this world, after all.

"I did it, you know..." As if the man could know what he was talking about. As if he'd been there watching as he looked around helplessly as he came to terms with it. As if he had been at the mercy of his blood-drenched chains. "I killed you." A dangerous smile crept onto his lips, an unstable and clashing sense of fulfillment and angst lacing his once fear-ridden features. "I slaughtered you all...and you wanna know what was left...?" He raised his head, blazing scarlets nowhere to be seen as he locked eyes with the man. One of his hands threaded through his hair, gripping the blonde locks tightly. "Nothing..." He half-heartedly chuckled. And that simple chuckle escalated until it crusted onto the edges of a broken laugh. And he continued by himself. Nobody stopped him. And the man simply stood and watched.

The boy had become so wracked with agonizing laughter that he fell back onto his bed, arms spread out at his sides. His laugh faded into chuckles and his chuckles faded into a loose grin.

"There's no point, really." He began once more. "No point in killing you, in trading a life for a life. It always ends the same way. In death or something worse than it." His hands tightened just slightly, fingers clenching upwards as if the last shred of his humility festered within him, trying to gather back its control on his lips, on his voice, on his body. But his hands fell limp and suddenly the boy became an open book, so vulnerable, so mouth-wateringly easy for the spider to read and take apart. "No point in me..." He muttered ever so quietly. His voice was softer than it had ever been, so gentle, so fragile, so weak.

Moments passed, seconds as well, what even felt like minutes of silence. The boy couldn't tell any longer. All the tactics he'd used to help keep his humanity, keeping check of the time, counting the seconds of silence--it was gone. He no longer festered on the unimportant details of the tension or of the man's expression or of his own body language, words, and appearance. He didn't think about anything. And to be frank, he didn't care. It'd all wash away some day. His sanity, his humanity, his life. Though death's grip had been one he'd escaped one too many times.

He didn't recall when or how the man had gotten over to the side of the bed but he had. And suddenly fingers crept up his arms, over his shoulder and gently caressed his jawline, hardly needing to use any force to push his head to the side for greys to meet greys.

For dark greys to meet light ones. For dull and empty shells of grey to meet ones equal to his own. But the man's greys carried something else. Something he'd forgotten to feel until that very moment. Emotion. And suddenly lips pressed against his own. Soft and plump moving against his so diligently, so gently and yet so carelessly.

The boy's--no, Kurapika's eyes widened. And suddenly, he felt it all. The pads of Chrollo's fingers pressing against his jawline, the soft cushion underneath his body, his fluttering and escalating heartbeat. And most of all, he could feel lips on his own. Lips of a spider, a murderous and bloodthirsty man who'd killed millions, who'd killed his own tribe.

Lips that were so familiar. Lips that he'd gazed at tediously wanting nothing more than to devour them, to feel against his flesh, to bite into. Lips that had stayed astray only to tempt his want more and more.

Lips that were against his own.

And, with all his words stolen away from him, Kurapika wrapped his arms around the man's neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His body relaxed under the man's grip of his torso and waist and his eyes fluttered closed, not a single shred of scarlet to be seen.

And for a brief moment,

his Nightmares disappeared.