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Killua attends class three times a week. No more, no less. It's late enough in the morning that he can sleep in or, more accurately, continue to stare at the glow in the dark ceiling stars his sister insisted on putting up in his bedroom. If he could think of something better to do at 11 a.m than pick fights with his rather dull philosophy of mind professor, he’d probably do that instead but the thought of that over-educated blowhard lecturing unchallenged leaves a particularly bad taste in his mouth. So he lounges in the front row of the room, hands folded behind his head. He laughs when he finds something funny, he scoffs when he finds something asinine. He’s generally a pain in the ass and the professor hates him but his views on dualism are truly inspired and his insights penetrating. Besides, it’s not like you can kick a Zoldyck out of class anyway, no matter how rude or disruptive.

 

The classroom, lined with windows on the east wall, has a spectacular view of the schools prided annual gardens which -who cares- except for when the groundskeeper is laboring under the late morning sun, sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular, tanned arms. Killua keeps his eyes trained on the gardener, Gon, who’s recently become his student by some strange twist of fate, and his ears on professor whatshisname. It’s shaping up to be a hot day and Gon’s red bandanna, folded and tied around his neck, is dark with sweat and smeared with dirt. He’s on his knees in a flower bed, surrounded by petunias ready to be planted, trowel in hand and Killua’s sure he’s never seen a person more at peace. It looks like he’s whistling as he throws his body into every scoop of damp soil. He cradles each flowering tangle of roots like a newborn and tucks them into the dirt with such care and attention that Killua’s eyes go dry from staring.

 

It doesn’t take long for the lecture to fade completely into the background as Killua gets drawn further and further into Gon’s work. The way he twirls the trowel skillfully in his hand before grasping the handle and angling it with precision into the ground. The way his patched khaki cargo pants are rolled up to reveal his muddy knee pads. Killua can make out the words to a song on his lips as he tucks the flowers gently into the soil though his face is shaded by the big brim of his hat. His dark skin shines with sweat in the clean light.

 

Killua shifts in his seat, trying to subtly create some extra space in his jeans. He ties to think about nihilism as he pulls out his cellphone and sets it on his knee. Nothing kills a badly timed hard on like a bit of contemplation on the theory of nonexistence.

 

You have a trig exam on Friday. We need to cram. Library?

 

He sends the text knowing full well that Gon won’t reply for at least five hours. His work ethic is borderline obsessive and by the looks of it he has a lot more flowers to plant. That’s alright, Killua can entertain himself for the afternoon.

 


 

 

Killua steadies his hand and presses his finger against the shutter, lip between his teeth. There’s a near perfect string of stratocumulus stratiformis hanging low in the sky and he can hardly believe his luck. Every shot promises varied and deep composition and all he has to do is relax his back against the soft grass and shoot. After five of six more tries he switches to the photo viewer and scrolls through the last couple documented hours of his day. Clouds. More of the same. Some with sharp, dark edges and some with blurry streaks. A couple stratocumulus castellanus but mostly various stratiformis. The palette of the sky is nothing special but there's a soft pink bleeding into the horizon that’s just what he’s been hoping for. Gon. Gon mid motion as he wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Gon from the back as he raises his arms above his head and stretches briefly into some therapeutic yoga pose, exposing the jut of his hip and the dimples on his lower back as his shirt lifts. Gon on all fours with his gloved hands deep in the earth.

 

The pink in the sky fades to soft purple to dark, smooth blue with little drama. Killua takes a handful of pictures but they probably won’t make it to development. He’s deep in thought as he pushes off the grass and steers himself towards the library.

 


 

 

“I’m really sorry, Killua- I didn’t have time to shower,” Gon whispers the best he can (which still makes people turn their heads) and sets his backpack on the table with a soft thud. He looks like he’s worked harder in six hours than Killua has in his whole life. He’s wearing his bandanna like a headband and he’s dirty and smells like worms and grass and clean sweat and Killua shakes his head as Gon pulls out the chair next to him, always a little too close. Killua pulls his beanie down a little further on his head in a vain attempt distract from the rising color in his cheeks. He can’t stop thinking of the photos he took earlier and dimples just above Gon’s belt and the way his shoulder muscles shift under his dirty white tee shirt.

 

“-Uhm. what? Oh. It’s fine. Honestly, I can’t really tell the difference. You usually smell like at least a little like fertile decomposition.” Killua rests his chin on his palm and thumbs open the math textbook. He’s almost positive Gon’s math professor is going easy on him (they seem to understand each other) but it’s still painstaking mental labor.

 

“That’s sweet,” Gon replies somewhat bashfully, pink tongue poking out between his lips.

 

Killua snorts and scans the introduction to the chapter. He picks out a few example questions and they dive in. Eventually they move their session upstairs to a more private section of the library. Time stretches on and they accidentally brush fingers, bump shoulders and rub knees more times than either of them can keep track of. Eventually they’re breathing the same air, heads pressed close together over the scrap paper. Neither of them realize that the lights are dimmed and they’ve been the only people there for at least thirty minutes. Student librarians are never very thorough in their last rounds of the night.

 

Killua... “ Gon lets his forehead drop to the surface of the table.

 

“Come on, we’re almost done. You know Bine is gonna’ throw a couple of these problems in,” Killua replies, eyes fixed on gon’s hair. There’s a leaf stuck just behind his bandanna and in his drowsy state he reaches over without thinking to pull it out. Gon immediately jolts up at the contact, gentle as it is, and looks from Killua’s hand directly into his wide eyes. As an explanation Killua lifts up the small green leaf and shrugs his shoulders. His skeptical expression betrays his lame attempt at casual and Gon smiles wide.

 

With a breathy laugh Gon reaches forward for the leaf with his right hand and while Killua’s gaze is drawn to the movement he leans in and steals his first kiss from the delinquent turned tutor. Killua doesn’t move an inch so Gon pulls back, places one more peck on his lips then sits back in his chair to twirl the leaf between his fingers. It doesn’t feel strange or awkward at all. In fact, although neither of them say it out loud it feels more like the hundredth kiss, the thousandth, than the first. Killua stares at him with an unreadable expression then looks around the library with sudden clarity.

 

“Gon... we’re locked in here, aren’t we.”

 


 

 

Killua grunts as his back hits the bookshelf and he wraps his legs around gon’s waist for stability. It’s a little uncomfortable because he’s hunched so far over but Gon’s palming his ass roughly and sucking on his bottom lip and Killua can feel his heart in his throat. Several books tumble off the shelf and land with an echoing thud in the otherwise silent library. Gon doesn’t appear to notice or care or both. He’s licking his way into Killua’s mouth again, running his tongue over sharp canines. When Killua rolls their hips together Gon pauses, mouth open on a choked moan and presses them so hard against the shelf that they hear an ominous crack.

 

Their eyes meet, faces a bizarre mixture of pleasure drunk and panicked. Gon winces as he pulls Killua away from the shelf slightly only to have the entire music reference section crash to the ground. Killua surveys the damage briefly before barking out a laugh and pulling Gon’s head against the crook of his neck.

 

“Your face!” He wheezes through his laughter, fingers lacing through Gon’s hair.

 

“...What are we gonna do? ...I hate getting in trouble, Killua,” Gon whines against Killua’s neck.

 

God, what a baby. We’re not gonna’ get in trouble, ok?” He crosses his ankles behind Gon’s back and tugs gently on his thick black hair. Gon presses his lips against Killua’s throat, licks his pale skin, starts to suck. Killua can’t help but laugh at how easy he is to convince.

 

It takes them a while but by midnight they’ve half gotten off against a dozen bookshelves, tables and rolling ladders but they stop short every time. While he’s seated on the third rung of the fiction section’s ladder, Gon between his legs placing hot kisses across his heaving chest, Killua tells Gon about the photographs. About the way his every motion is set to unheard but irresistible music. Alright, he doesn’t actually say that last thing but he’s thinking it as Gon takes a sensitive nipple into his mouth.

 

“I thought I felt someone watching me…” Gon purrs between licks. He moves his thumb under the waistband of killua’s pants and presses circles against the soft skin.

 

Mm… You’re not mad?” It’s a little surprising but Killua’s catching on quick that Gon isn’t as wholesome and innocent as he seems.

 

Gon shakes his head, kisses a line up his neck, his chin and pauses centimeters from his lips.

 

I liked it.”

 


 

 

They end up passing out on the reference desk, limbs a tangle and clothes in disarray. Gon’s cheek is resting over Killua’s heart. In the morning Killua’s keen hearing catches the sound of keys jingling in the door and he’s pulling Gon to his feet and sprinting up the stairs in a split second to take refuge in the back corner until the coast is clear. Killua has to slap his hand over Gon’s mouth when hear one of the librarians shriek about the state of the place.


“There’s a split down the middle of the main desk- what could have done that?”