Work Text:
For a world renown assassin, Chrollo could tell that Silva Zoldyck was more of an idiot than a threat. He could see it in the way the man sat, relaxed and blind to the bustling whirl of commerce and transit around him. Blind to the men and women who lingered nearby, who brushed past him as Silva waited for his train to come. Blind to the angry spider lurking only a few yards away, fangs poised to rip out the man’s throat the way he’d done to Chrollo’s underling.
This was going to be criminally easy, Chrollo thought, checking one last time that his headband was tied tightly in place. How long would it take to steal his hatsu and then his life? Chrollo gave Silva fifteen minutes, tops, and that was being generous. Putting on his placid, unassuming smile, he hid his aura with zetsu and wove through the crowd, the space beside Silva on the bench calling his name. It was too perfect, almost as if Silva was inviting him to partake of the hatsu he’d used to rend Chrollo’s spider limb from shattered limb.
“Is this seat taken?” Chrollo asked, smiling so genially that it nearly made his face ache.
The assassin was even larger in person, when seen at close range and not from a building above the street, looking down on the man as he tore into his friend. Silva looked up from the comically small phone in his hand and leveled Chrollo with a stony look, the hard features of his face barely shifting. “Suit yourself,” he said gruffly, before turning back to his phone.
As dismissive as it was, Chrollo hardly let it phase him. “Thank you so much, I’ve been on my feet all morning,” he said, offering up more when Silva’s body language screamed to go away. Chrollo plopped down and smiled dully at his surroundings. “I wonder how long it’ll take the train to get here,” he muttered, looking curiously at the phone in Silva’s large hand.
Silva caught on that he was watching. The phone snapped shut and disappeared into the man’s pocket, steel blue eyes pinning him in place irritably. Someone certainly didn’t like being watched. But, since he was no longer occupied, he now was left open to Chrollo’s most dangerous weapon: small talk.
“So, where are you headed?” the thief asked cheerfully, pulling his bandit’s secret from his messenger bag as if it were any other normal book. He flipped it open to a bookmarked page, one he’d changed to make the book appear as a text book. “I’m going to Heaven’s Arena myself. I’ve got a fight scheduled and I’m really excited. Have you ever been?”
Just as he’d expected, Silva perked up at the information and completely disregarded the question. His eyes turned assessing, his aura sneaking out as if to test Chrollo’s mettle. Chrollo held his placid smile in place and maintained his zetsu, acting for all the world like a powerless, non-threatening individual.
“You don’t seem like a fighter,” Silva remarked after a terse moment of silence. There was a shift in the air, and Chrollo could see the tensing of his muscles, his readiness to spring.
It only got worse when Chrollo clenched his book in his hands and bit his lip. Silva’s defenses went up immediately, but Chrollo stayed cool, his smile morphing from polite civility to coyly interested. “Actually, I have a confession to make,” he said, willing himself to blush. “I’m actually a fan. Maybe your biggest. I saw you earlier in town and I just had to follow you to make sure you were really the Silva Zoldyck.”
For as risky as the ploy had been, Silva seemed to eat it up. His posture relaxed and his frown turned into a cocky smirk, almost as if he were a rock star caught in public by an eager and avid fan. “Oh, well,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Can’t say I get recognized often these days.”
“Really? I find that hard to imagine. You look exactly like you did when you were a fighter,” Chrollo praised, laying it on thick and heavy like honey over a trap. “I bet you can still do that energy attack, right? That one you used to turn that one Enhancer into dust?”
Silva let out a chuff of a laugh, lifting his hand to emit a small, but horrifically condensed version of the same power he’d used to blow a hole in Chrollo’s spider. It hovered above his palm and glowed brilliantly. “Careful now,” Silva said, as if Chrollo was likely to lose his common sense and try to touch the ball of pure energy. “It’s just as deadly now as it was back then.”
Chrollo looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “How does it work?” he breathed, licking his lips and leaning into Silva’s space. The man hardly protested the contact now, his own legs spread wide to show off his crotch and to brush against Chrollo’s calf. “Are you an Emitter?”
“Transmuter, but it is using Emitter techniques as well,” Silva explained, just this side of patronizing. “I transmute my nen into condensed energy, and use emission to send it in the direction I want it to go.” To accompany his explanation, he shrank the ball to the size of a pin head, sending it down at the sidewalk in front of them. It connected and Chrollo made himself jump when it resounded like the crack of a whip, decimating a chunk of concrete the size of a bottle cap. “You see?”
“God, that’s just so cool,” he answered, checking another requirement off the list. “Can I have your autograph?” Chrollo asked suddenly, before clapping his hands over his mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m so embarrassing, I’m just so excited to meet you!”
Silva rolled his eyes and chuckled good naturedly, as if he were old hat at being asked for his signature. “I don’t know, aren’t you a little old to be so riled up by some old fighter?”
“But you’re my favorite! I simply must have your autograph,” Chrollo nearly begged, fumbling with his book to make it seem as if he were looking for a blank sheet of paper. “Please? Please? You can sign my book, I don’t mind!”
“Well, alright,” Silva replied, the proud look on his face almost too much to handle.
The excitement he felt had nothing to do with the prospect of an autograph. Chrollo thanked him profusely and made as if to hand over the book, but at the last moment, he fumbled it. The book tumbled out of his hands and settled between Silva’s feet, cover side up, the hand just waiting to be touched. “Oh, dammit!” Chrollo muttered. “I’m so clumsy. Could you get that for me?” he asked. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips, so he worried his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it to himself.
Just one last requirement to fulfil. One little touch and it would all be over.
“You really don’t look as deadly as you are,” Silva remarked, and his tone was so conversational, so level, that Chrollo didn’t register he’d been made until a large hand grabbed him around the neck and squeezed. Chrollo’s eyes widened and he looked up, clutching at the man’s wrist, his book disappearing like smoke between the Silva’s legs. Silva’s grin was sharp. Dangerous. “You’re Chrollo Lucilfer, aren’t you? Your tattoo is showing, you little brat.”
What a disappointment. And to think, he’d been so close, too.
Chrollo put on his most winsome smile, though he knew well enough that it wouldn’t afford him anything. “Took you long enough,” he managed to say, his voice strained. It was growing harder and harder to breathe. He saw the muscles in Silva’s arm tense, and it was the only warning he got before he found himself dragged off the bench. “Where are we-”
“Shut up,” Silva said, cutting him off with a tightening grip, none of the kindness from before remaining. Chrollo had to jog to keep up or risk strangling himself, and even though the people around them watched, Silva’s intimidating aura made sure that no one made a move to intervene. Not that Chrollo needed the help, but a distraction might have been useful.
With the ruse ruined, Chrollo’s mind shifted to the next course of action. He could let Silva drag him ostensibly somewhere less crowded. It would be to Silva’s benefit not to cause a scene, especially if he desired to board a train or plane to wherever he was going. Notoriety rarely aided assassinations, and when Chrollo noticed the shadow of a building creep over him, the cool embrace of a back-alley ghost across his skin, he knew he wasn’t willing to play this by Silva’s rules. Chrollo had no use for a low profile right now, and given the anger mounting in him, any little inconvenience he could pay Silva was worth it.
Silva didn’t know what hit him until Chrollo’s knuckles brushed his thigh, the Ben’s knife firmly lodged in the meat of his leg. Chrollo grinned cheekily at the shocked assassin, but it quickly morphed into a grimace as Silva lifted him by the throat and slammed him into the brick wall nearest to them.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Silva practically hissed, holding Chrollo to the wall with one hand as the other ripped the knife from his leg. Chrollo wished he could see the expression he wore when he realized it was his own knife, the one he’d left buried in the dead troupe member in his haste to avoid another fight.
“You’re just mad…that I…nearly stole your precious hatsu,” Chrollo gasped, wasting his breath on one last jeer, because when it came down to it, it was always worth taking the assassin down a notch. “Who would have thought…all it takes…to pull one over on the…infamous Zoldyck patriarch…is a sweet face and—”
“And what?” Silva growled, sounding like an utter beast as he forced Chrollo’s face into the brick wall. This fight wasn’t over, not even remotely, but the assassin seemed to savor the idea that he had Chrollo in a compromising position, regardless of whether Chrollo allowed it to be or not. “A cocky little brat who’s zetsu was just too perfect?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Chrollo wheezed, his vision fluttering black around the edges. This had gone on for too long. He needed to break the hold Silva had on him. Strong as he was, Silva had him beat when it came to brute force. With both hands immobilized and his face denting the wall before him, Chrollo arched his back and ground his ass into the assassin’s hips, feeling a burgeoning hardness that he had figured would be waiting for him. Silva was so pathetic, getting worked up over having Chrollo like this.
The pressure on his throat eased the barest amount, granting him just enough slack to take in a sharp, painful breath. “What do you think you’re doing, brat?” Silva asked, and Chrollo froze instinctively when he felt the man’s warm breath against his ear.
“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Chrollo laughed, a thousand ideas flowing through his head on how to subdue the assassin and still get his hatsu. It wouldn’t be hard, so long as he got Silva to let go. “You’re the one who dragged me into an alley and pinned me to a wall. Don’t you have a family? What would they think to you rutting against me like a dog in heat-”
And just like that, Silva let go. Chrollo dropped the few inches he’d been lifted and coughed messily into his arm, his lungs aching even as he rushed to fill them. Silva was lurking just a few inches from him, hovering like a beast waiting to spring, and as surreptitiously as he could, Chrollo summoned his book.
Just one little touch. That was all he needed.
His eyes went wide when a pair of wide, hot hands grabbed him by the hips. Chrollo nearly dropped his book for the second time that day, looking over his shoulder with wild eyes at Silva. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low, hushed, like silk draped over the edge of a knife.
Silva’s face couldn’t seem to make up its mind, stuck halfway between a glare and a smirk. “You made me miss my train,” he said simply, as if Chrollo owed him the time he’d just lost. The hard line of his body draped itself along Chrollo’s, pinning him back up against the wall, but in a way that was infinitely different than before. “What’s the matter? And here I was, thinking you were a groupie of mine.”
Was he seriously suggesting what Chrollo thought he was suggesting? “Seriously, aren’t you married?” Chrollo asked blankly, noting the hands slipping around to palm at him through his trousers. Chrollo let out a little squeak, his cheeks flushing red.
“Weren’t you the one grinding against me, like a…What was it?” Silva replied, dipping a single hand beneath his waistband to cup him through his underwear. “A dog in heat?”
It was almost laughable how much the man was compensating after being tricked so easily before. If Chrollo had the breath to laugh, he would have, but he settled on rolling into the hand in his pants. It’d be hard to get Silva to touch the book with his hands occupied thusly, but Chrollo was clever. He’d make it work.
“Suddenly so eager? Maybe you are a fan,” the assassin chuckled, tugging his pants down to bunch up around Chrollo’s knees. The cool air felt so nice against Chrollo’s heated skin. The hand moved so slowly though, working up and down his shaft with a touch that didn’t seem as clumsy as it should be.
Chrollo heard the rustling of clothes behind him, and then felt the unmistakable length of Silva’s hard cock against his back. Did he think Chrollo would let him fuck him? Was he really that stupid? “Maybe I’m going to kill you for killing my friend,” he managed to say, though it sounded anything but stern. His voice kept breaking, his gasps turning to moans.
Silva just laughed, low and heady in his ear. “Will you now? Who would have thought the notorious leader of the Phantom Troupe would look so cute up against some dirty wall?” Every word made Chrollo want to tear into him, but every pump of his hand had him biting back a keen. “You aren’t threatening at all like this.”
“I hate you so much,” Chrollo gasped, the hand moving faster on his cock. He clawed at the brick, his forehead falling forward to rest against the cool stone. He couldn’t summon his book like this. “I’m…I’ll….”
“You’ll what?” Silva laughed. “Steal my abilities? I’ve seen through your little trick, brat.” The press of his cock between Chrollo’s legs nearly made him yelp, but when it simply thrust between his clenched thighs, he relaxed minutely. “Why don’t you go back to being cute? It suited you better.”
A knife through Silva’s throat would suit him better, but Chrollo was beyond words. The hands on his hips went lower, pressing his thighs together to create a tight space for Silva to fuck. His skin grew damp with precum and sweat, and Chrollo bit at the sleeve atop his wrist to keep his noises to himself. If anyone were to look down the alleyway, they’d think he was a prostitute servicing a john. The sounds filling the air only added to the illusion.
Chrollo came with a moan nearly spat between his clenched teeth. Silva’s teeth sank into his shoulder as he finished fucking himself dry between Chrollo’s thighs, the mess of his release dripping lazily down his legs to stain the clothing that had survived Silva’s rough undressing. “You’re disgusting,” Chrollo whined softly, staring down at the cum splattered on the brick wall and down his legs. “Couldn’t you have done that somewhere else?”
“You’re a terrible fan,” Silva laughed huskily, his voice a content growl. “A real one would thank me for the gift.”
Chrollo was going to thank him by stabbing him again. And then twisting it, just for good measure. He jerked himself out of Silva’s arms, wrestling with his trousers to yank them back up, mess be damned. “I’m sure your wife would appreciate your generosity,” Chrollo snapped, and Silva flinched, his good mood evaporating just like that. “You should just let me kill you at this rate.”
“And why is that?” Silva grated.
“Because you’re the one who has to live with what he’s done,” he said sweetly, buckling his belt with a smile that was cloyingly sweet, even to Chrollo. “Was this on your bucket list? Fucking some twenty-year-old groupie like a man half your age?”
There were no words to describe the expression on the assassin’s face. Anger, bitterness, guilt, hatred, bloodlust— it all coalesced into a tight frown. Furious aura poured off him in waves. Chrollo opened his mouth to say something else but in a movement he barely registered, Silva threw the Ben’s knife. He barely managed to move his head before the blade buried itself into the brick beside his cheek.
The two stared at each other for a tense moment, waiting for the other to move.
“Don’t come after me again,” Silva said after a minute of silence, the rasp of his voice near deafening in the quiet of the alley.
“Don’t come after any of mine again,” Chrollo said back. They held each other’s stares, but Silva ultimately broke away first, turning his back with a confidence that grated, and a stiffness that spoke of the weight now resting on his broad shoulders. Silva shouldn’t have done what he’d just done. He shouldn’t have, and he knew it.
Chrollo smiled as Silva walked away. Maybe he didn’t have to steal an ability to pay the man back for what he’d taken from Chrollo. Perhaps the guilt was vengeance enough.