Time (and spoiler) note: Set directly after the hostage exchange in vol. 13, chapter 119 of the manga, or episode 8 of the first OVA. (The night of September 4th.) Hisoka goes along for a chance to fight Kuroro, only to find out that Kurapika's sealed off Kuroro's Nen. So no battle for Hiso-Hiso. Le sigh.
(Though anime vs. manga doesn't make a difference strictly speaking to this fic, I will say that I prefer the manga version of that scene, and it's what I thought of as I was writing. The difference being that manga Hisoka doesn't flip out. His cool only slips for one brief and precious look. But in both versions he has the line afterwards in the airship, "I've never had any interest in broken toys.")
To cover his absence at the Phantom Brigade's (Genei Ryoudan, The Spiders) base, he'd messaged Irumi, who transformed to replace him. After his disappointment, he messages him again to tell him he can leave. I dub thee informed. Read on. :)
Trailing Strings
by Utopian Trunks
Hisoka had changed hotels the morning of the 2nd, when he'd excused himself to meet with Kurapika. It had turned out to be a good idea, because the subsequent commotion had not given him another opportunity to do so. The room he'd taken on arrival in York Shin was still out under his name until the 5th for Sharlnark to find. He'd rented the second under an alias, on the other side of the city, in anticipation of his betrayal. It would buy him little time if the Spiders made it a priority to find him, but it was more than he needed. He had nothing more to do in York Shin.
The magician's face was set in a less than pleasant expression when he reached his hotel, clothes and hair damp and beginning to cling from the few moments he'd spent in the downpour before finding a taxi. He acknowledged no one as he entered and cut straight across the lobby to the elevators, leaving dark footprints on the carpeted floor. His face had regained neutrality by the time he got off on his floor and noticed--or was invited to notice--the aura at the end of the hall. Irumi Zoldick was waiting by his door.
A sight few see and fewer survive, Hisoka thought. It brought him little mirth at the moment, though. "That was quick," he said aloud, pulling out a deck of cards which he fanned in one hand and presented to his visitor. "Pick a card."
Expressionlessly, Irumi picked Hisoka's keycard from the fan and swiped it through the lock, letting himself in. Hisoka followed.
"Informants are cheap," Irumi said. "I knew when you took the room."
Hisoka cast a curious glance at Irumi's back. The assassin seemed to be taking in what little there was to see of the hotel room. A loveseat and a chair surrounded a glass coffee-table near the door where they stood. On their right, in the corner, a television sat atop the counter that housed the mini-bar. Towards the middle of the left-hand wall, one large window was covered by thick velvet drapes. Opposite that were the doors to the bathroom and closet, the latter ajar. Against the wall facing them stood the queen-size bed, an elegant piece of oak furniture with a carved headboard, covers perfectly tucked in. The only signs that Hisoka had been here at all were the single brown business suit hanging in the closet, and the small suitcase leaning against the wall beneath it.
"I assume you're waiting for your payment," Hisoka said, pulling out his cellphone. Irumi turned to watch him dial up his bank and punch in the appropriate codes.
"It wasn't easy getting out of there," Irumi said.
Hisoka paused with his thumb over the confirm button. He smiled. "Are you upping the price?"
"I never go back on an agreement," Irumi said. "I'm only informing you. You picked a dangerous group to play with."
"All for nothing," Hisoka sighed, drawn brows belying the lightness of his tone. "Years of playing along with their little cops-and-robbers games and I've left the Brigade without fighting Kuroro or seducing Machi." He punched the final button and was greeted with a TRANSFER SENT message, followed by a significantly smaller account balance. Irumi didn't come cheap.
"You didn't get what you wanted?"
"Our cute little fellow hunter sealed Kuroro's Nen." Hisoka sighed. "Now he's useless."
There was a pause as Irumi didn't seem to care one way or another about that piece of news. "You saw the hostages released, though?"
Hisoka raised an eyebrow as he headed for the minibar. "Safe and sound," he said. He took a small carton of orange juice and a handful of bottles at random from the micro-fridge and two glasses from the shelf above it. "I did wonder," he said, returning to set them all down on the coffee table. "Whether it was wise of me to hire you--have a seat," he said, motioning towards the chair as he seated himself on the loveseat. "--in this particular situation."
"Indeed?" Irumi pulled the chair closer to the table and sat down, back ramrod straight, feet flat against the floor.
Hisoka cast a quick eye over the bottles he'd grabbed and found the components of a dry Martini and a Sloe Comfortable Screw. He mixed the latter quickly and pushed it towards Irumi with a smirk. "The Brigade are a volatile lot. If they'd decided to screw the exchange and kill the hostages, would you have intervened?" Briefly lamenting the lack of olive, Hisoka mixed his own drink.
"Of course," Irumi replied, picking up his glass without the slightest hint of recognizing the drink.
Hisoka grinned over the rim of his glass before taking a sip. Unfortunately, the quality of the alcohol was not what it might have been. "You would have jeopardized the job you had been hired for?"
"You hired me to simulate you."
"Yes."
"If they had decided to kill Gon," said Irumi. "You would have stopped them. The intervention could have been made without breaking character in the slightest."
"True," Hisoka conceded, shifting to lounge more comfortably. "Still, you would have had eight Spiders to contend with."
Irumi shrugged. "Seven--they fought and the samurai was knocked out. And I'd fare little worse than you under the same circumstances." His empty glass clinked to the table. "As to their leader, you're lucky you didn't get to face him. My father and grandfather did, together, and did not manage to kill him."
Hisoka shivered at the thought. "Ugh, don't torture me with that," he groaned, massaging his temples with one hand.
Without further comment, Irumi pulled out his cellphone and checked his bank balance. He nodded, stood up, and turned on his heel towards the door. "Thank you for your business." It was a stock line, spoken with all the animation of a business card. Hisoka had heard it before.
"Wait," Hisoka said. Irumi stopped, looking at him over his shoulder. "When are you going home?"
"Tomorrow, if Mother and Father don't take an interest in the auctions."
"The entire family really is out," Hisoka whistled, looking for some sign of annoyance in Irumi at having revealed the information, but finding none. "In that case," he went on, looking up at Irumi from beneath half-lowered lids. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"
"To do what?"
Hisoka looked into his glass as he swirled the contents--it was still almost full--refusing to betray his annoyance at the question. "The Brigade will probably be searching for me. Should they find me, you would be a big help."
"Bodyguarding, now?" Irumi raised one elegant eyebrow.
"Twice your last fee."
"No."
"Two and a half."
"Done." Irumi finally turned back to face him. "In that case, we should formulate some sort of plan." He moved to the side of the loveseat where Hisoka sat and contemplated the door and window. "Perhaps do something about the vulnerable points of the room--"
"Irumi," Hisoka interrupted. "Slow down. It's not that likely they'll trace me by tonight. If they do, between the two of us we can improvise. As I said, it's a precaution."
"I see," Irumi said. One eyebrow twitched but stopped short of forming an expression. "I've sat around at your behest quite a bit already. What would you have me do all night for such an exorbitant sum?"
What indeed, Hisoka thought, smiling. "You seem like you could use another drink after the stresses of the evening, Irumi. Would you like to finish mine?"
To Hisoka's mild surprise, Irumi took the extended glass and drained it. He set it down next to its fellow with a sharp click. "I can drink a quart of hemlock without suffering so much as heartburn, Hisoka. Two drinks or twenty won't change the subject."
Hisoka chuckled. "What should you do? Relax. Spending a few hours with me has to be more fun than sitting around with Mum and Dad at the hotel, doesn't it?"
"Debatable," Irumi replied, moving to stand before Hisoka. The magician's eyebrows rose as the assassin rested a hand next to him on the back of the couch, leaning down until they were face to face. "I begin to suspect that you engage my services simply to make sport of me."
"Don't be silly," Hisoka said, manner just as easy, though his entire body had come to attention at the hint of danger in the air. "Who would spend that kind of money on a joke?"
"You would."
"Maybe." Hisoka smiled widely. "And what would you do if that were true?"
"I might have to kill you."
"You'd be eliminating a good source of work and income. Not to mention the only source of fun in your life."
"If that's what you call it."
Hisoka reached for Irumi's waist. The assassin followed gracefully as Hisoka pulled him, landing on his knees astride Hisoka's lap, looking down at him.
"Irumi--"
"That's not the business I'm in," Irumi said, his face dangerously close to Hisoka's, hair falling in a glossy curtain on either side.
The magician's skin prickled. How Irumi's body and even his words could act so contrary to the emotions he evinced--or failed to--was as enticing as it was frustrating. "Of course not. I bought your time. How you choose to spend it with me is up to you."
"Is that so."
"I won't risk your bad side."
"Wise," Irumi said, leaning closer until his breath warmed Hisoka's lips. "But if you had your choice... Hm." He pushed away abruptly and stood up. "If I need that type of release, I use one of our staff. Their blood is tested regularly for precisely that purpose."
Hisoka stood, too, turning away to mask his frustration. He walked to the foot of the bed, schooling his face and voice to impassivity. "Boffing the help is so passé," he sighed. "But it does fit your family's... idiom. So efficient. What do you take pleasure in?"
"Nothing," was the immediate, deadpan response.
"Then what's all the money for?" Hisoka asked, turning back to him, once more entirely composed. "What are you saving towards?"
Irumi paused, hesitating without any discernible surprise. His large, blank eyes blinked twice before he answered. "Gear. For other assassinations."
"Besides that."
"Nothing."
Hisoka cocked his head to the side, regarding Irumi. "Why do you bother, then?"
"That's what my family does."
And they do matter to you--that's been obvious since we met. Though exactly why and how I can't tell. Is it only instinctive? "But it's not the same for them."
"And what would you know about my family?" It might have come out defensive from anyone else's mouth, but this was Irumi, who said, 'oh, thank goodness,' and 'over my dead body,' in the selfsame monotone.
"I've had the opportunity for some observation and a lot of inference. I ran across Miruki here in the city twice. It's hard to believe that creature is related to you and Kirua." Irumi let out a humourless snort. "But your brothers share something that you lack." Hisoka paused fractionally, saw he wasn't going to get a response and continued. "Kirua follows Gon around like a puppy. Miruki--well, you can tell from his appearance he at least loves food, and you mentioned his doll collection." Hisoka sneered slightly at the thought. "They still feel pleasure and pain. They still want. You don't. What could the difference in upbringing have been between brother one and brother two that killed your every desire, Irumi?"
"Hn." Irumi's eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth twitching with the barest hint of mirth. "Others have tried to psychoanalyze me in hopes of my sparing their lives. It hasn't worked yet."
"My life is in no danger." Hisoka let the phrase and its implied challenge hang in the air before adding, "There's no price on it. I ask purely out of curiosity."
"Stifle it, it will get you nowhere."
"And what will?" Hisoka asked.
Irumi crossed to join him and Hisoka was struck for the nth time by the way he moved. Irumi could seem downright wooden when he was still--a useful skill when stalking prey, obviously--but he displayed a native grace in movement that even some of the greatest Nen-users lacked. He stopped a handsbreadth away from Hisoka, looking up directly into his eyes.
"Seduction is a waste of my time," he said.
Just one more attack you've been trained to deflect, eh?
"Just say it," Irumi continued. "What is it you want?"
Hisoka smiled, refusing to be daunted. "In the immediate?"
"That'll do."
"I want you to sleep with me."
"Common sense dictates that it would be unwise to involve myself with a client."
"Who spoke of involvement?" Hisoka countered. "You said yourself you need that release sometimes, so how could it hurt?"
Irumi seemed to consider for a moment. "I suppose," he said, more slowly. "That you're used to being on top."
Hisoka tried not to grin. "Generally." If Irumi had been trysting with servants, it stood to reason, or at least profile, that he'd chosen women or submissive men as partners. "Is that a problem?"
"Not if you know what you're doing."
"Oh, of that I can assure you."
Irumi nodded. "Fine. Go ahead."
Hisoka blinked. Uncertainty was quickly overriden by annoyance. If he thinks he's going to put me off that easily, when this is the chance I've waited for... He pushed aside his brief indecision; where intuition fails, tradition and cliché are always there to fill in. Hisoka lifted a hand slowly to Irumi's face--not wanting to move quickly and elicit a counter--and ran his fingers into sleek black hair to cup his face. Irumi's chin lifted at his touch and Hisoka leaned down to kiss him.
His lips were surprisingly warm... they parted for him with no resistence. Hisoka leaned into the kiss, reaching for Irumi's narrow waist to close the gap between their bodies. He grinned as he leaned back; with the taste of the assassin on his lips, he was unfazed by Irumi's unchanged blank stare. His grin widened. "You're really going to let me?"
"Not if you keep smirking like that," Irumi said flatly.
Hisoka mitigated his expression a little, but couldn't school it into anything resembling neutral. The sour disappointment in his gut was beginning to cede to the excitement that had been there before. He would have rather killed Kuroro tonight, but a tryst with the impossible assassin? Almost as good.
"How dangerous would it be for me to try and remove that pincussion vest of yours?"
"Overly," Irumi said, stepping back. There was a glimmer of Nen around the tips of his fingers as they worked a series of round-headed needles out of the fabric, and the vest fell open. Each shoulder seemed part of a different person as he shrugged it off. Without looking, he laid the garment with surgical neatness on the couch behind him. To the disappointment of Hisoka, who considered disrobing to be one of the arts of the topman, Irumi proceeded to peel off the rest of his clothes, which followed his vest to the couch. Shrugging it off, Hisoka followed suit, dropping his clothes more messily near the nightstand.
A moment later, Irumi tossed his head, throwing his long, long black hair over his shoulder. One thick strand of it missed and slithered back to hang over his chest, one bar of shimmering black against an otherwise unbroken expanse of deadly white. It might have been a look of challenge he gave Hisoka, standing there naked as boldy as if he were fully clothed, but his eyes were as blank as ever. Hisoka ignored them, stepped forward and took Irumi by the shoulders, kissing him again. He ran his hands down, one over his back to cup the barely-there swell of Irumi's rear, the other over his chest, slipping his fingers under his arm; gripping his side as he thumbed the nipple erect then pushed the nub up, played with it. Beginning to enjoy himself, Hisoka slid one knee between Irumi's legs, pushing his hips against the other man's.
Irumi disengaged his mouth from Hisoka's. "Are you going to do me standing up?"
"Hadn't planned on it," Hisoka said, annoyed. "How... rough do you like it, Irumi?"
"I don't care," said Irumi. "You said you knew what you were doing."
"Just fine, then." Hisoka turned him towards the head of the bed, pushed him down. Irumi went without resistance, laying himself out with a grace that could have been accidental or calculated. Hisoka followed, kneeling and spreading Irumi's legs in one motion, settling himself between them. Irumi's cock hung flaccid between his legs, evincing the same disinterest as his expression. "Have to do something about that," Hisoka murmured. Running his hands lightly along Irumi's inner thighs, he dipped his thumbs into the hollows either side of his groin, then massaged deeply. It was a touch meant to cause a little pain and substantial arousal--Irumi's cock twitched to life in response, coming semi-erect. Hisoka ran his fingers lightly under Irumi's balls, then caressed the underside of his cock, lifting it into full erection as he did. "Magic," he announced. He got no response, but he smiled at his own joke.
Content with the preamble--he was hardly going to put his lips to a flaccid cock, that was insulting--Hisoka flicked the head with his tongue, then curled his tongue around its underside, then leaned forward and took Irumi into his mouth. His hand cradled the assassin's balls, his thumb stroking the increasingly taut sac as he fondled them. Hisoka leaned further, using his throat, then pulled back, lightly brushing his teeth over the tip before deep-throating Irumi again. The one part of you that's responsive, Hisoka thought smugly as the bulging vein on the side of Irumi's cock pulsed against his tongue. But he did mean the one part, as even Irumi's hips had not so much as twitched.
"If I come, then I'm finished with this," Irumi warned.
Hisoka froze where he was. He saw red. That just wasn't the kind of thing you said to a man who had his mouth around your cock. Then again, maybe a warning was better than the alternative. Hisoka disengaged himself with what class and patience he could muster. He leaned back and gave Irumi a narrow look, licking his lips. Irumi lay there, the picture of impassivity despite his engorged member glistening with Hisoka's saliva, despite his legs splayed around the magician's... "Not much for foreplay, are you?" Hisoka grated out, lowering himself over Irumi--the picture was too much to observe without taking action--and speaking into his ear. His breath had started to come faster and he was equal parts infuriated and aroused, the two emotions warring for supremacy in his mind. Hisoka planted his arms either side of Irumi's face, his hips ground against Irumi's, rubbing their cocks together. It sent a hot shudder through him and an unpleasant grin twisted Hisoka's lips. His own erection was hard and insistent to the point of pain. "I could've brought you off twice, you know. More."
"What's the point?"
"Yeah, what the hell," Hisoka growled. "Shall we get on with it?"
"Please."
Hisoka nearly yanked the drawer of the nightstand clean out. He grabbed the two bottles of hotel lotion that he'd moved from the bathroom earlier--just in case--depositing one atop the nightstand and impatiently severing the cap from the other. Meeting Irumi's gaze again, Hisoka said, "Turn over."
He slipped an arm around Irumi's waist to hasten and support him. He ended up positioning the other man's arms and legs as if he were a toy, stiff-limbed but pliant. On all fours, Irumi presented an attractive picture, his hair fell forward around his face, leaving the white curve of his back and muscular shoulders bare. Hisoka moulded himself to Irumi's back, hips straining in spite of himself against Irumi's rear, the wet head of his cock questing in the heat of his crack. Hisoka pulled back, ran his hand with the lotion hastily over his burgeoning erection and guided the head to Irumi's entrance.
Hisoka's teeth clenched, his eyes gained a glazed look. The anticipation was close to that he felt before a kill, savage and thoughtless. A mad giggle vibrated in his throat but didn't gain voice. Hisoka's arm around Irumi's waist tightened, his other hand went to support his chest, cruelly tweaking a nipple there before he thrust in.
"Nnnnh, Irumi," Hisoka groaned as he seated himself inside; the searing hot clench of Irumi's insides tested his control, brought him dangerously close to the predatory trance that so often took him. If this had been a fight it would now be over, but now Hisoka reined himself in. He pressed his chin into the hollow between Irumi's neck and right shoulder, pressing open lips to Irumi's cheek through the screen of black hair. Experimentally he gave a few shallow rolls of his hips, listening closely as he did. But Irumi's breathing was regulated as clockwork. Well, fine, Hisoka thought. Even if you're not going to enjoy yourself... it won't stop me.
Hisoka pulled back almost all the way, then pushed in again. His eyes narrowed and a hiss of pleasure escaped him as he savoured the feeling of silky inner skin, of muscle squeezing and spasming around him, trying to force him out as he entered, almost seeming to hold him back when he pulled out. So you have to delve straight inside you to find it, but there is a part of you that's warm and responsive... and so... good... Hisoka stroked Irumi's sides as he started to build up a rhythm, working his way down towards Irumi's own erection.
"No," said Irumi.
"You still don't want to get off?" Hisoka's hands had stopped, but his hips hadn't, in fact his pace had picked up a little; a coil of annoyance at Irumi's behaviour was fuelling his arousal.
"I told you--" Irumi reached back with one hand and Hisoka caught his arm at the elbow.
"Alright, I got it," Hisoka said, grabbing Irumi's other elbow, pulling that hand out from under him as well. Irumi fell forward a ways with a barely audible grunt of surprise. His face stopped a few inches from the mattress, his black hair pooling on the sheets; he was now held upright in this awkward position, with his shoulders well below his upraised and penetrated ass, only by his arms which Hisoka held pulled straight back like reins. "No jerking off," Hisoka crooned, in a tone usually reserved for those rare people who challenged him and earned the right to die by his hand. "You wanna see if I know my way around a lay well enough to get you off just doing it straight, hmm?" Hisoka pulled out and rammed back in, pulling Irumi back against him at precisely the right angle, taking advantage of his control of the other man's balance to drive far deeper. Then again. "That's what you want, isn't it, Irumi Zoldick?"
Irumi didn't answer. His neck relaxed completely, as did his arms in Hisoka's grip. Counting that as assent, Hisoka continued. He fell into a brisk rhythm, nevertheless driving in deep each time; he lost himself in the heat and the friction, the heady feeling of a captive body beneath and controlled by his own. He could feel himself building up to a climax, each movement within Irumi's body both satisfying and increasing the tension, but at the same time he felt like he could go on this way indefinitely. Maybe all that anticipatory energy built up for Kuroro had to be worked off somehow.
A small noise broke into Hisoka's trance. When he held his breath to listen, he realized that Irumi's breathing was now deep and uneven--rather a shock in itself--and then he heard the sound again. It might have been a moan from a lesser being; as it was, it was a catch in Irumi's breath, with the barest hint of a voiced sigh as he exhaled again. Coming from Irumi... Hisoka shivered. "You like that, Irumi?" Hisoka whispered. "That feel good?"
"Hurry... up." Irumi's voice was strained and ended in a small gasp. Hisoka nearly came at the sound.
He was possessed by a sudden need to see Irumi's face--to see if the change reached that far. He pulled out, drawing a sound of surprise and the beginning of an annoyed protest from Irumi. Hisoka released one of Irumi's arms, using the other to turn him onto his back as he collapsed bonelessly. He fell in an awkward sprawl, his free arm half-bent by his side, half his hair spread out on the sheets beneath him, the other half spread across his chest like spilled ink. A puppet with cut strings, Hisoka thought, sprawled as its master has dropped it. But the puppet lives and breathes...
A faint flush coloured Irumi's pale skin. His thin lips were parted the barest distance, taking breaths that were just short of regular and barely moved his narrow chest. This is it, thought Hisoka, taking hold of Irumi's shoulders and leaning over him as he thrust in again. The urgency of his arousal took over and his thrusts were nothing close to measured. He stared into Irumi's wide open eyes as he thundered towards climax, convinced that here would be his victory at last--some change, some reaction. Irumi stared back, or perhaps he simply gazed, unblinking in the direction he faced. There was nothing save the blood in his cheeks that hinted he was at all involved in this. Hisoka set his jaw as the muscles in his hips tightened and jerked in spite of him, steeling himself against the orgasm coming on like a freight train. Finally, unable to hold Irumi's black hole gaze any longer, he gathered the man's limp form in his arms and crushed Irumi to his chest as he came.
Hisoka was just returning to his senses when he felt Irumi's hand against his chest. Hisoka dropped his arms and Irumi pushed him back, sliding off of Hisoka's softening cock with a wet sound. He paused for a moment, a truly strange picture--the combination of his flushed, sweaty naked body and tousled hair with an assassin's readiness in even this stance. His dick was still hard. He jerked his head to toss his hair over his shoulder and threw out an arm for the remaining bottle of lotion. He flicked the cap off and poured it over the head of his erection. Before Hisoka had a chance to offer his assistance, Irumi was pushing him onto his back. "Reciprocate," he intoned.
Hisoka caught his breath and forced his muscles to relax as Irumi lifted one of his knees, balanced himself with a hand on Hisoka's chest and pushed into him. Hisoka's eyes narrowed and he allowed himself a quiet hiss--it was normally an effort to keep as calm as he needed to be for this, but his post-orgasmic lassitude made it easy, even allowed him to enjoy the penetration. Irumi's hair brushed over Hisoka's chest as he moved--each thrust was deep and well-aimed; if it hadn't been so soon after his first orgasm, Hisoka could have gotten hard again. As it was, he narrowed his eyes against the sensations and watched Irumi's face. The assassin's lips were still parted, his face otherwise impassive. His hips snapped forward in measured, mechanical thrusts. When he came, it surprised Hisoka, because he felt it from inside; it didn't show on Irumi's face.
Then Irumi's eyes closed, finally, for a moment. They did nothing so human as squeeze shut, the lids simply touched each other as those of a Victorian doll might have, momentarily shielding from sight those disturbing eyes, that gaze that penetrated Hisoka far more deeply than Irumi's cock ever could.
Irumi exhaled and pulled out. He slumped bonelessly onto his stomach beside Hisoka.
For a moment, the two watched each other. Feeling the sudden onset of anger, Hisoka got up and retired to the bathroom. When he emerged shortly thereafter, Irumi was exactly as he had left him, eyes closed, back rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. He could be sure it was a feline sleep; surely if Hisoka's Nen spiked, or if he made the wrong type of movement nearby, Irumi would snap to attention, summoning one of those damned needles from out of nowhere. Even so, the sight of this sleep was unsettling because he looked so defenseless, beautiful and almost innocent, but Hisoka knew the boundless emptiness that lurked behind Irumi's closed lids. Hisoka's brow lowered in a scowl. He quickly donned the suit from the closet.
He wasn't sure at whom the rage building in his gut was directed, but far from feeling triumphant at finally seducing this long-awaited prize, Hisoka felt cheated. From their first meeting, Irumi had fascinated him. At first, it was the scent of someone potentially as strong as Hisoka himself that had captured his attention, but by force of spending time around him, Hisoka had lost interest in Irumi's killing abilitites because Irumi himself had no interest in them. There was no joy, really, in fighting someone who took no pleasure in combat--the real prizes in that domain were people like Kuroro and the underripe Gon, even Kirua. Then the idea of a genius killer with no real interest in his own art had captured Hisoka's fancy; Irumi's motivations intrigued him. There may have been more--the pretty packaging, the seemingly haughty personality--but whatever it was, Hisoka had been disappointed. A murderous doll, Irumi had called Kirua once, but the younger brother was not--his older brother had been describing himself, and too empty to see the irony of his words.
With a tight chokehold on his Nen, Hisoka collected his suitcase. Doing so, he paused by the bed. Irumi gave no sign of noticing him; he continued to breathe quietly. Hisoka watched him with narrow eyes. Then his lip curled and he turned away. At the door he paused, pulled out his cell phone and transferred the second sum of the night to Irumi's account. Then he left.
If Irumi was a puppet, Hisoka wasn't sure anyone held the strings anymore. Still the marionette continued to dance on its own.
When Hisoka emerged into the bustling nighttime street below, anyone with the slightest Nen ability would have bolted from the bloodthirsty aura pouring off him. He had found the source of his rage, but that only served to augment it.
Hisoka had never had any interest in broken toys. Not until him.
--Utopian Trunks
Summer 2003 & Dec. 31, 2004
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