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Prize of War

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It wasn't enough simply to read someone's thoughts. Hisoka could see Oriya's moves a second before his body made them, but was still able to parry no more than half of them. He could read Oriya's amusement/fondness/interest, but not know if that made Hisoka his friend or merely an entertaining diversion.

He could feel Oriya's desire when their bodies pressed together warmly in the cool night air, and not know if that desire were for any pale, slim, pretty-featured boy, or for Hisoka himself.

The unknown was dangerous, and Hisoka trod cautiously, but not so cautiously that he never moved forward.

Lying in Oriya's richly-appointed bed--Oriya's skin even smoother than the silk sheets--Hisoka felt a hand slide up the back of his thigh. He froze; half a breath later, Oriya did as well. "I thought this was my prize," Hisoka murmured, gently pointed.

"Always," Oriya responded. (Hisoka frowned slightly in confusion.) Then, holding Hisoka's gaze, he raised his arms above his head and twisted his hair about his wrists. He concluded with a quick tug that demonstrated that he was cuffed securely.

His back arched in display, and Oriya's voice whispered in Hisoka's mind, "Yours. Take me."

"Yes," Hisoka hissed, feeling his face flush hotly.

"In the top drawer," Oriya said and nodded to the small table beside his bed.

Inside there was a white tube and a box of condoms; Hisoka felt an unexpected stab of tenderness at this reminder of Oriya's humanity, even as he drew out the small tube. Coated in lubricant, his fingers slid easily into the tight heat of Oriya's body. "What's in the bottom drawer?" he asked hoarsely.

Oriya gave him a smile that managed to be both sweet and wicked. "A few things we'll use on your next visit."