Every fervent reaction earned by her ministrations spurs her onward, keeping a steady rhythm; if her throat weren’t injured, she’d taken him more deeply.. but the pain is too much with such a fresh wound, so this will have to do.. and it would seem that it’s doing just fine by the curse at his lips and the throb against her tongue. The sounds she elicits are stirring to the dulling heat in her stomach, heart pounding in time with the downward sweep of her jaw as she takes him just past the uvula ——

          A muffled cry of pain pauses the motions, pushing her cheeks out and stilling her with a shudder of anguish; flesh struck the bruise, and God did it hurt.. but in the same breath as his apology, she’s back to work, willing the burn away and  doubling down  on her efforts with a slightly quicker pace. He’s close; if his reckless bucking hadn’t given it away, she’d still be able to tell. She can feel it — no, she can taste it on her tongue, beads of salt and seed lubricating the bruised esophagus as he tugs at her fiery tendrils in warning. The warmth may be soothing to the ache in her throat, but the salt would surely burn.. and she’s bound by a tendency to follow her clients’ preferences. Thus, taking his firm tug as a command, she draws back just after the largest pulsation explodes through his sex, ensuring that he’s most certainly peaked before stealing away the warmth of her lips.           What would have otherwise poured down her throat now coats her freckled cheeks, lewd and thick as it catches against the curls of scarlet fringe and drips down the line of her fine jaw, earning a wince at the impact and a deeper flush of rouge beneath milky white.

If Chrollo had ever had relations with a woman of the night, Mina surely surpassed her and any others by a mile in her practised skill. For a brief moment, the thief couldn’t help but wonder what she’d have done had her throat not been rawed and wounded.

Reaching for the box of wet wipes inside of one of the nightstand drawers, the man took a moment to appreciate her face-- there was undeniable eroticism in how the macabre purity of that prostitute’s features were found coated in his seed.

          Chrollo made a valid point; from what Kurapika could gather  ( although Gon was certain to know more of the details, being in closer company to Killua most of the time )  most of the Zoldyck patriarch’s efforts had been poured into  Killua,  banking on him to be the heir to the family business —— a lot of good that had done him. If anything, he’d driven the boy far, far away.           His jaw tilts slightly as those arms drift about his shoulders, turning a curious gaze to the thief; it seems he has more interest in the conversation than he does the documentary, despite being the one to propose it. He isn’t entirely surprised to hear of a Chimera Ant wanting to join the ranks of powerful humans — it was in their nature to congregate, but the human behaviors that had leaked into their bloodlines also instilled them with a thirst for individuality and power.. at least, by what Gon and Killua had told him. He’d never faced one first-hand.. but what he hasn’t heard about, even from the news ——

          ❝   Mm ?  What did they do to Meteor City ?   ❞           The press didn’t cover anything from a place like that; in fact, very few people even knew of its existence. Kurapika himself is only familiar with the name from research, specifically on the Spiders. He was only able to track down their place of origin by the note left at the bloody scene of the massacre in Lukso.

“I wasn’t there for it, but they built a nest apparently. Some of our members took care of it though.” It was home, after all, and any signs of disruption that did not sit right within Meteor City’s crooked standards called for measures. “I’ll take you there if you want. You’ve never been to the place, I reckon?” 

It was no sightseeing spot, but before Kurapika waltzed into his life and made home in his chest, Chrollo could often be found returning to the lawless place. Folk in there did not dare cross him— fools they might have been, but definitely not the same breed that nurtured recklessness in hunters.

          The guiding hand is followed as the remnants of chagrin slowly fall away from her form as marble crumbles from a statue. She shifts into her element easily, seeming far more comfortable giving than receiving —— but this time, she is not merely  giving.  Their position adjusts to his comfort, her knees pressed to the mattress as she leans down to lay her stomach flat to the sheets and caress the swell of his aching peak with her lips, wetted by a flick of her tongue.. and then she sinks down, swallowing him as deeply as her throat will allow without agitating the bruise too terribly.

          She moves with precision, her memory sharp — he likes it rough, and so she applies as much pressure as she can without nicking him with her teeth  ( nine of ten men hated that, and it wasn’t a risk that paid off often, if ever )  as her lips purse to draw a tight vacuum.. and then, it’s all in the  motion  — slow to start, then quick, and harsh. Her jaw tilts to deepen his reach, tongue running the length of his underside as her whole body rocks into the push-and-pull, a soft moan echoing around the girth to further stimulate him with vibration. Her lips are moist and plush, no sign of a gag reflex reflected in the ease of her bobbing, practiced in the act.

Chrollo wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Perhaps the usual stuff— the slickness of saliva, the press of an agitated muscle, hollowed out cheeks and all. But he was neither equipped nor prepared for what Mina had to offer. If he had to put it into a metaphor, he’d ordered bits of caramel and she’s given him a candied sculpture.

His breath hitched. Never before, perhaps ever since teenage-hood, had the man experienced issues taming his arousal, but the vibrations her moans sent across his burning need and that godforsaken suction applying more pressure than he’d foreseen had the man’s mind taking leave of its senses.

“Fuck—...” It wasn’t often that the thief cursed, at least not out loud, but his lips had a will of their own all of a sudden, parting to clouds of vapour bursting from his lips, eyes drawn into slits and what blood was left in him rushed to his cheeks in an unusual, yet nonetheless enticing display. 

To put into words the eroticism behind feeling her head bob while his digits had entangled within that wild cascade of fiery locks wasn’t the easiest when his mind was reeling, but the strength to urge her forth curled fingers around flame-kissed locks and urged her motions to deepen, pelvis coming to meet her mouth with each push, hitting the back of her throat and —

Shit.

          ❝   I recall that.   ❞   How could he forget ?  The incident in Yorknew —— every time it was brought up, a wave of painful nostalgia washed over him, the currents thick with anguish, emptiness, and emotions that Kurapika would rather forget.. but that simply wasn’t in his nature.. or, at least, it didn’t used to be. Those feelings were once synonymous with the man now embracing him as a lover; he could vaguely feel the words against his lips still, the admission to his greatest fear. I fear only that time will weaken my resolve, and dull the hatred inside of me.

What’s left of you  now,  Kurapika ?           He hates talking about Yorknew; it always leaves him with this feeling.. as though he’s lost a piece of himself — but the warmth of the body behind him, and the memories he’s made with Gon, and Killua, and Leorio.. he has to remember that those are the things he has, now. He can’t live in the grave with those he’s lost. He has to move forward, no matter what.           ❝   I doubt the patriarch is very happy about his children joining your ranks.   ❞

“I fail to see the issue.” With the thief making certain Kalluto grew up to be a loyal Spider, he practically had Silva Zoldyck by the testicles. “It’s his fault for not paying attention to the kid.” 

Kalluto’s motive was to find his brother and bring him home, but now the scales of fate had shifted— Chrollo highly doubted the young one would want to return home. In fact, something told him that Kalluto aimed for leadership within the Troupe. He was a promising one... But not the kind who would beat Chrollo in a battle. That friend of Kurapika’s— Gon, was it? Now that one was a different story. 

A shame he no longer had nen in his disposal.

Adjusting to lock an embrace around the boy’s clavicles, Chrollo buried his face into the crook of Kurapika’s neck, humming. 

          The praise is soft and sweet, the hand at her crown gentle as the crease in her brow softens with the slow ebb of pleasure. Catching her breath doesn’t burn as much, thanks to the salve.. but it hitches in her throat at the sight of the man indulging in the taste of her. It’s so sensual, so intimate in a way that she hasn’t experienced before. It wasn’t as though a man had never tasted her, or even put his tongue in tawdry places to drink from the source.. but somehow, this felt different. The way that he was looking at her was not at all like her usual clientele.. and her eyes are drawn to the movement of his hand as it falls to satisfy his own need. Likewise, her fingers follow the trail, as though drawn by magnetism, brushing the tips of her digits against the swollen head gingerly.           Act on something because you  want it.

          ❝   I.. — I want t-t.. t – to use m-m – .. m-my mouth.   ❞           It was his to accept or deny.. but her offer is born of desires both selfless, and selfish; she wants to taste him as much as she wants to please him.. to give, as much as to  take.

A slow blink at her request. It might have been the first time she’s suggested as much— specifically. Before, Mina would only refer to his need as relief. But now, she seemed hellbent on offering him something in return for his own.... Greed? Perhaps she’d mistaken it for kindness, but the woman did not look displeased at all by such peculiar displays of self-indulgence. It seemed to work in her favour, which brought a smirk, sidelong and sly, to the man’s lips.

Instead of verbally responding, his hand cradled the nape of her neck, thumb resting at its hollow, and ushered her closer with an encouraging squeeze.

Another slow blink, eyes drifting from his aching crown — the tug of which he could feel when her fingertips brushed it — to her topaz hues. The look in his gaze sang further praises her way.

You’ve been speaking your mind... 

          The motions are so practiced that even someone as experienced as herself feels the tide coming in faster, and with more force — then again, has she ever shared a bed with a partner that held any interest in the act beyond gorging himself on her body to his content ?  She’s never met a man so strange as this.. a man who finds pleasure in drawing it from her.

          The purr of his permission leads the hand twisted amongst the sheets up and over the swell of her breast, her palm weighing the mound and working the flesh as her hips buck upward. His breath in her ear, all teeth and tug —— she can’t hold back, and the final wave crashes against her womb with an explosive force. It’s quiet.. yet  powerful.  She keeps her fingers locked firmly over her lips to muffle the mewls as her walls quiver around his digits, a thin rivulet of slick trickling down to the knuckles, just enough to barely dampen the sheets as her slender thighs quake in the aftermath of the release. Her breaths come in short, sharp huffs as she at last relinquishes her death-grip over her jaw, cheeks reddened and eyes wet with ecstasy as they stare up at him through the hazy fog of afterglow.           ❝   H.. —— ha..   ❞

“Good girl.” Chrollo used the hand that wasn’t slick with her cum to pat the woman in the head. But when she looked at him, the man was licking the creamy substance off his fingers. 

Just as he’d suspected, there were no traces of bitterness of another man’s seed inside of her, simply the girlish zest of female fluids. Five days without sex truly did seem to have cleared her system and insides of all evidence from her previous clients. Hell, she could easily pass off as a common woman and nobody would have suspected a thing.

          It’s embarrassing.. something that she’s not accustomed to feeling. Shame has no place in the heart of a lady of the night, but this.. this was different than her usual fare. None of her other clients had ever treated her with such..  care..  let alone skill. To her, sex was a business exchange, often quick and dirty, and never with any passion beyond what was necessary to fake in order to work a client up.. but this was different. This was  strange.

          The entry is swift with only the slightest bit of resistance at the first ring of muscle.. and then she molds around him, all heat and slick, one hand rising to cover the quiver of her lip and muffle the weak sounds drawn out by his thrusting digit, the stimulation heightened by the well-timed teasing of her tender nub. Her throat is alive with whimpers and yelps, breath hitched and hips quaking between soft, slow rolls to match the motion of his wrist. The lewd sounds, the smell of musk.. it doesn’t unnerve her, doesn’t stir the chagrin in her blood the way his eyes do as they rake over her exposed sex. The hunger there is beautiful,  raw,  and animalistic. When the tip of his nail grazes a tender bundle of nerve endings tucked against the frontal wall, she shudders with a sharp arch of her hips, brows pinched as she feels the pressure slowly begin to build in slow waves, moving in and out, like the current of the sea.           ❝   Mm —— !!  N-n.. nnh !   ❞

Just a little adjusting here, the curl of his digits inside her, feeling her walls close in around them and pulsate— and there it was. Her little sweet spot. With a growing smirk, the man focused on the area, prodding a bit before each new thrust. Hooked digits would draw the skin of her entrance a bit, stretch it when he scissored her, then shoved in deeper. A short set of small bursts followed. Then longer, slower ones. Her sounds were music to his ears.

“Go ahead.” Come for me, little bird... “...relieve yourself if you want.” Don’t hold it back.

Though she was bound to sully the sheets, Chrollo had seen a few spare ones inside the wardrobe. Mina wasn’t the only one slick with sweat, but she was definitely a lot more moist than he was, as only a sheen of it layered his body, and in the room’s warm, low light, it glistened like amber reflected on marble. Pale swallowed up the colours that touched it— reflecting them in a golden, skin-like tone.

          With his permission and no small amount of chagrin, dark lashes flutter shut to close off one sense so that the others might heighten. The kiss comes first, preceded only by the tender rise of the fine hairs against her cheek to the approach of his lips. She feels her heart jolt in the wake of such a tender thing, and its rhythm never quite steadies after that. The trail of his digits leaves a warm trail of tingling and sensitivity behind, and when the pressure finds the tender peak of her cusp, a quiet whimper is caught in the back of her throat. Thin knees quiver, clasping his hips gently as fingers furl against skin and sheets, chin tipped backward as lips fall apart in a soundless gasp of pleasure. Each little teasing flick and rub earns another flinch, the seams of her eyes shutting tighter as he whispers in her ear with all the rich depth of a fine bourbon.

          Of course she would be slick — he’d hardly encouraged anything but her arousal. Still, the taunting acknowledgement of it darkens the flush behind freckled cheeks, ivories sinking softly into the plush of her bottom lip to bite back another weak sound of embarrassment as her hips ever-so-slightly rise to the continuous stimulation.

Ripples of pleasure visibly darted through Mina in the wake of his motions, the mouth that was just dripping at the corner with excessive amount of saliva falling shut— but he could still see that sweet trail glide down her chin, which Chrollo kissed off her skin, then topped it off with lips planted to the little nook just underside the spot he’d licked.

Wasting no more time with mounting her arousal that way, Chrollo’s middle digit rimmed her damp entrance, applying minimal pressure at first, then sinking. It was far thicker than a lady’s dainty fingers, a lot more filling too even though he’d only chanced one. After pistoning a good many thrusts with it, the man added his index next, positioned his thumb over her little button and resumed the ministrations, pushing, pulling and flicking.