Definitely suspicious, and so it should be no surprise when the hand lingering along Kurapika's thigh moves up to somewhere a little further up and joined by its partner. It'd taken a year or so for Leorio to admit that Kurapika is honestly the better fighter out of the two of them, because of course he would be. His goal was to go after some of the most dangerous people in the world, and to earn others like them to rely on him.
In contrast, Leorio has always been training to be a doctor.
But he's been training to be a doctor in the slums for most of his life. It's only recently, later, in his life that he's studied surrounded by clean white walls and enveloped by the smell of things too sharp for his nose. Nah, most of his life, all his studies have been on streets slick with oil grime, his knuckles bloody and bruised from clearing room so that he could fumble cleaning up a friend who got into a scrape, or a friend of a friend, or just some person he'd seen and thought they needed help. Med students get to learn what muscles have what names. Dumbasses learning scraps of medical knowledge on the streets get to learn sort of the same, only then their muscles learn how to grow a little firmer and push a little harder.
So, yeah, Leorio knows he can't beat his boyfriend in a fight, but he knows he can beat him in simple raw strength. That's the kind of thing which comes in handy as his hands hold onto him just right, keeping him right in place while his feet push and shift, reversing their positions.
Like this, knees bent against the floor and body curved over Kurapika's, Leorio feels like he might almost be able to turn this back around to where it was supposed to be, maybe, kind of. He definitely feels like he could when he slides one hand out from where it had cushioned Kurapika against the floor, and instead goes to gather his hands at the wrists. (Another area in which he can beat his boyfriend; Kurapika needs two when he's pinning him.)
"If you're going to react violently," he says, fingers reaching up along his own shirt, "then I guess I'll just have to restrain you, won't I?" Reaching their destination, his fingers curl over the knot at his collar, tugging loose his tie until it flows easily along the crook of his fingers and exposes the curve of his throat.
He's not sure if Kurapika will let him tie him up, but he's kind of eager to see if he can get away with it, now. Fancy knots like the ones that are done on him are a little bit out of Leorio's expertise, sure. Still, shit doesn't need to be fancy to be hot as hell.
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In contrast, Leorio has always been training to be a doctor.
But he's been training to be a doctor in the slums for most of his life. It's only recently, later, in his life that he's studied surrounded by clean white walls and enveloped by the smell of things too sharp for his nose. Nah, most of his life, all his studies have been on streets slick with oil grime, his knuckles bloody and bruised from clearing room so that he could fumble cleaning up a friend who got into a scrape, or a friend of a friend, or just some person he'd seen and thought they needed help. Med students get to learn what muscles have what names. Dumbasses learning scraps of medical knowledge on the streets get to learn sort of the same, only then their muscles learn how to grow a little firmer and push a little harder.
So, yeah, Leorio knows he can't beat his boyfriend in a fight, but he knows he can beat him in simple raw strength. That's the kind of thing which comes in handy as his hands hold onto him just right, keeping him right in place while his feet push and shift, reversing their positions.
Like this, knees bent against the floor and body curved over Kurapika's, Leorio feels like he might almost be able to turn this back around to where it was supposed to be, maybe, kind of. He definitely feels like he could when he slides one hand out from where it had cushioned Kurapika against the floor, and instead goes to gather his hands at the wrists. (Another area in which he can beat his boyfriend; Kurapika needs two when he's pinning him.)
"If you're going to react violently," he says, fingers reaching up along his own shirt, "then I guess I'll just have to restrain you, won't I?" Reaching their destination, his fingers curl over the knot at his collar, tugging loose his tie until it flows easily along the crook of his fingers and exposes the curve of his throat.
He's not sure if Kurapika will let him tie him up, but he's kind of eager to see if he can get away with it, now. Fancy knots like the ones that are done on him are a little bit out of Leorio's expertise, sure. Still, shit doesn't need to be fancy to be hot as hell.