Chapter Text
He's still pretty uncertain of its origin, this affair. Of the exact moment every little touch or look was given more than its right amount of meaning. Innocent, and then it wasn't.
It's odd, Kite can't recall when it started to change, on Gon's end. Before they all began travelling together? During? Unclear. Can’t even pinpoint when he noticed his own emotions greying, tinting something red and infatuated for the happy boy.
And maybe that’s why he's in so deep, now.
Possibly he'd had a hand in encouraging it. Chasing the boys as a part of training and feeling it become fun, humoring Gon's every request and question about anything he could learn, absorb, imprint; simply along with the boys, when they played their games. Once or twice nudging Gon, tickling him, when he saw through a display of naivete for what it was really, something coquettish or elfin. Kite assumed the latter. Because in all of his disciplining or educating or praising him, patting his head, telling him, ‘good boy’--- Kite never figured it might have been out of line. Never realized the weight or volume of his own laughs and enjoyment, in these moments.
Truly, Gon had a way of bringing him out of his mind, into the heat of a moment, like his flawed, faunish optimism was something tangible. Breatheable.
Kite could say now, ‘I had it under control,’ or even, ‘I never stood a chance,’ but both would be incorrect---
He can't disown to his shortcomings, or disadvantages, in this regard: That for every instance Gon would presume to sit a bit too close to him by the fire, just to brush knees, or coyly sling his naked, dirtied feet into Kite’s clothed lap after Killua had fallen asleep, wiggle his toes, curl and fidget his bare legs and proceed to talk, tell his stories like nothing was the matter--- Kite, he did try to stop it.
Pushing Gon off and heading to bed, but not before giving small, slightly vexed lectures about impropriety, how he should be careful how he acts with people. But Gon would reply, simply, ‘I wouldn't act like that with other people,’ making full, frightening eye-contact.
So he stopped, eventually. Let Gon behave like the daunting teenager he was, all the while blind to himself. Sometimes Kite would distance when Gon would try brushing hands as they walked and travelled. Sometimes Gon leant against him when they were alone, and it embarrassed Kite, which in turn unnerved him and chased him away, like a large white feline avoiding the overwhelming puppy. But at that Gon would simply follow, one-up by getting even closer. A surprise piggy-back, the sudden request to be held, hold hands, touch his hair.
Be as close as he could.
And one night, the boy joined him in his tent. It was after Killua had fallen asleep. Like this, Gon would play with locks of Kite’s white hair while his cap was off, the silver a muted glow by darkness and moonlight. He'd gaze longingly at Kite's big, knuckley hands where they rested on his pillow. He was caught, every time.
Initially it was scary, but a bit charming, and he could fall asleep feeling something new, close. It became a nightly occurrence.
Til one night Gon began inching Kite's blanket covers down, slowly, silently. The sound of his breathing disarmed the man, so even, hitched when Kite's thin body came into view, pajamas or domestic long-sleeve, it didn't matter. Gon would stare, like he'd just learned every secret to nen and it was written in Kite's clavicles, his long neck, his white lashes.
Though his eyes were shut, Kite felt fingers pick fibers off his nightshirt. A smaller warmth leaning into his body and trailing knuckles over any exposed part of him; and Kite never said a word.
He should've.
Kite would remain there, stunned or uneasy, appearing asleep, and wait out Gon's curious hands. That is, until he merely kept his eyes closed out of habit, mutual curiosity. Eventually it was his indulgence, too; the soft, ticklish comfort of gentle intimacy, no requirement to acknowledge it. In the span of a week he'd become attached. He'd never had this. Kite felt bad for looking forward to the soft touches at night, but they conquered his nights of insomnia. Made him feel safe. Which was in and of itself ironic, but Kite knew that.
He has yet to ask if Gon was aware of him being awake those times, and boldly acted despite the consequences. Did Gon ever consider the possibility he could've woken up and rejected him?
Or worse yet; Could he have?
On the surface it was reasonable to mark Gon's behavior as only strange, yes, but no more than the idolization of a figure, he’d thought! The boy had, on many occasions, lavished his mentor with praise, and then affection. Always to Kite’s discontent.
Why? He couldn't say. He was Ging's son, that was part of it.
The way Kite grew to avert eyes and stiffen when Gon would say, ‘You're so cool, Kite!’, or tell the man ‘I love you, I'm glad we're all here together!’ with all the juvenile sincerity the boy could display in a smile---it gave awful light to Kite’s unfamiliarity with intimacy, in any form. Not to mention the blush he would try so hard to repress, every time something too loving eeped from Gon's eager mouth. By this alone, Kite felt himself melting.
He never stopped it. Not when Killua started asking questions, not when Gon would make excuses for them both, only to later join Kite's tent, in the middle of the night. The soft snores coming from Killua's tent always left him both on edge and feeling safe. Something he could shamefully call both threat and security, when Gon's affections became sweltering.
One night, the three of them had gone swimming in a nearby lake after a day of searching for a rare bird. They'd returned to camp exhausted, collectively joyous and generally at-peace.
Gon joined his tent, as Kite had been epecting. But when he laid down right beside him, he snaked an arm over his broad chest. Scooted close. Touched. Gon breathed in Kite's hair.
He was calm on the outside, but really, Kite was positively flustered. Taken aback by the boy's nonchalant attempt to solidify something neither had ever spoken of. It would have to be out in the open now; acknowledged.
Kite whispered to the tent's wall, ‘You shouldn't do this.’
Gon hadn't answered. His hand only played small shapes into Kite’s abdomen. They both slept that night.
As stubborn and forthright as he is, Kite’s plain failure to set boundaries in all this stemmed from the awful fact that, he too, cared for Gon, and moreover, wanted something closer, something he'd never experienced. Something he would never have experienced, if not for this clueless, dangerous teenager sparking his lust, his desire for intimacy...
And it's always these searching thoughts (the bad, guilty, reminiscing sort), that tend to plague his mind; especially at times like now.
Because right now, Gon is half-naked between his legs.
Kite leans up from his pillow, breathing strained to watch: He's eating him alive--kissing and licking and sucking with noisy enthusiasm only Gon can give as a lover. And seeing the boy staring up at him with the world in his blown pupils, lips tight around his slick member, it kills Kite ever so softly.
“God,” Kite groans, quietly, closing his eyes. His head throws back, panting, a hand finding one of Gon's to hold and his other planting in the boy's scalp. “Keep going..." His voice breaks toward the end and Gon rubs his legs together.
The boy moans and swallows around him in his mouth, hollows his cheeks as he comes up for air with a wet gasp. He's an absolute mess.
His hand doesn't stop stroking as he whines, “Kaito,” red-faced and eyes half-lidded.
Kite bites his lip. “Quiet,” he whispers shakily, scowling, wiping hairs away from Gon's damp forehead, “quieter, Gon.”
The boy nods like he's heat-stricken and his tongue slips out of his mouth, drool spilling onto Kite's cock. Gon's mouth closes around him again and Kite's jaw falls open in a deep sigh.
"Good boy," he gulps.
It's too big, too long, but Gon does his best. It always warms Kite's heart in a wrong way to see him so earnestly trying to touch base, deep-throat him despite their size-difference, but he always chokes before he can and slides back up. ‘New strategy,’ Gon probably thinks, tonguing the tip, looking up at him. Arguably this is more intense because Kite seethes and grips harsh at Gon's hair, sobbing into the back of his hand.
Gon smiles at the sound. Kisses the pink head of his dick, and he looks too sweet while he does it.
It goes on like this for minutes on end, but only minutes, because Kite's ability to somehow last so long is no match for Gon's sloppy tongue and endless stamina. The teen always gets more determined when Kite begins to twitch in his mouth, his hands start roving his lover's body, everywhere he can reach, and multiplying his efforts to bob his head, suck the life out of him. He knows Kite is sensitive up by his waist. Kite writhes, keening in his throat.
He jumps up then, quick, shuddering, “Stop, stop now,” knowing Gon won't. He would feel just that much better if the 15 year old didn't swallow.
But he cums in Gon's mouth, as he has before, moans and complaints cut off as he sucks on the four fingers Gon shoved into his mouth to silence him. Eyes focus and unfocus on his elfin pupil, unceasing mouth, and Kite sighs lovely as he rides his orgasm.
Fingers slip out of his mouth, trailing spittle. Kite, breathing hard, dies a little when he looks up to see Gon spill a bit of his full mouth of semen onto Kite's thin stomach, let it pool into his belly button, just for him lap it all back up. Then he kisses his cock goodnight, brings the covers up over his hips. Looks up at Kite.
He's in love.
The son of nature, shirtless and tan and small against Kite’s half-nude figure climbs up his body for a proper straddle, sits up. The full weight of his wide-eyed, honest, youthful gaze makes Kite want to push him off and roll onto his side to sleep. As he has before.
Kisses and touching are their track record, but blowjobs are new. It’s only been two weeks. Kite is still reluctant as hell, every night he tries to try something, but Gon is becoming more confident, especially when Kite shakes and turns onto his back, falters and falls apart at his hands. This tent is the only place he'll ever let Gon do this, made a point of telling him so.
It all gets too heavy to bear when he can see beyond the tent again. Daylight, teaching the boys, looking Killua in the eye. He surmises Killua probably isn't aware yet.
Kite’s wiping a hand across his weepy, tired eyes, trying not to look at Gon's erection through those little green shorts. He neglected to wear underwear again, Kite can tell.
He's only touched him a few times. In a way this is punishment or pride, for Gon's ridiculous success in seducing him. Maybe it's fear.
With a pointed look away, he's ready to push him off. ‘Time for bed now, Gon,’ he’ll say, but---
“Can we do more?” Gon asks in hushed tone. Lips wet and puffy, he's panting still. Endless, demanding, naïve where he sits atop Kite.
Kite looks up at him. He gives a broken sigh.
The only sounds are crickets chirping, the tent’s material ruffling in the wind. They're both always listening for Killua's tent, but it's still so quiet, and Kite's not sure whether that’s still good, because there's no escaping Gon's cherub gaze when he wants something.
But he still answers, “No.” Low-voiced, gruff.
They look at each other. Steely, serious. Kite glowers. “I said no, Gon.”
The boy leans down and forward, arms by Kite's head. He's almost pouting, and Kite's gut pulses.
“Why?”
Kite loses his energy, head falling back onto the pillow.
“Why indeed..." he scoffs, grim. Hands come up to rub the shame off his face. "What have I done...”
Kite whispers it so quietly, he has to wonder if Gon heard him.
Long, quiet moments pass. Gon eventually lays down, rests his head on solid chest. One of Kite’s pale hands come up to rest and dance at Gon's lower back.
“This is wrong.”
Gon touches his face. “But it isn't. It feels good! I love being with you like this---”
“You're not listening,” he growls.
The man stares through the skylight-mesh of their tent, up at the stars. “I'm stopping this. I have to. No more---”
And Gon is sitting up, worried, hurt, “No, no, wait Kaito.”
Weak as he is. “What, Gon?”
He kisses him. Kite’s stoic eyes glaze and flutter shut at Gon's lips. Stifling kiss. Gon and the crickets and this tent, that's all there is.
The boy moves away, taking his lips with him and sits up, like he's won a battle.
“See?” he whispers, smiling. Like he knows every thought Kite has. His eyes darken and his hand splays across Kite's chest, crawls up to his long neck, and the man swallows. His Adam's apple bobs against Gon's gentle fingers, still moist with his own saliva.
“Nobody knows,” Gon adds, proving he is conscious of society, reputation and the taboo of this ordeal.
Kite blinks twice, “Regardless, this has come too far.” His voice lowers soft and remorseful, “I should've been stronger about refuting you.”
“Kaiitoo,” Gon whines, still convinced he's winning, “You always do this.”
Kite frowns. “Do what.”
“Right after you finish, you get scared.”
Scared. Kite grabs Gon by his hips, shifting him off easily. He rolls onto his side, unable to find the words he needs to properly take control of this quiet, chaotic situation. Gon does that to him. Makes his mind runny, makes him impulsive, more stubborn.
“Go to sleep,” he huffs into his pillow.
He lays there with his eyes closed. Minutes pass before Gon finally shifts to lay down, close behind him. It's the kid's fault Kite has to wake up terribly early each morning, before Killua gets up. It's also thanks to Gon that Kite sleeps. Late nights, early mornings, sweet, soft, uninterrupted dreams.
A warm kiss on his neck from behind, “I love you, Kaito.”
Scared.
Gon can't see his eyes water or his guilt spilll over, when they lay like this. One day he'll accept this affair with the sun still out. For now, though, he grabs for the hand Gon has anchored on his bony hip. Like he's holding him in the dark of the tent, like he's all Gon has.
“Goodnight.”