Dancing x For x You

"Hunter" x Killua x Gon

Notes:

*EVIL LAUGHTER*

Yall thought I was playing when I said I'm obsessed with this AU. I absolutely love writing from Killua's perspective, and I reallyyy wanted to show this story from his POV to give a little insight to the bullshit going on inside his brain. It's funny how writing this from a different perspective took way longer than coming up with the story from scratch.

I'm not going to give his POV for every single scene, because that would get horribly redundant and it's pretty easy to understand what's going on in his head most of the time when he's interacting with Gon. However, there are certain scenes and gaps I'd like to narrate from his POV.

This chapter is from the first two chapters of Dance x For x Me. Enjoy :)

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Bright lights from a vanity shone on Killua's face, illuminating the shimmery highlighter he just applied to his pale, sharp cheekbones and cupid's bow. A slick coating of pink, cherry scented lipgloss gave his full lips a tantalizing sheen. He stepped back from the mirror, appraising himself and fluffing his wild, white waves. A repeat customer bought him the new outfit he wore, and he couldn't lie to himself—he looked damn good in it. A lacy, black belt-corset and matching thong sat strikingly against his milky white skin.

A wolf whistle sounded behind him, jolting him out of his daze. "Looking good, Killua," Ikalgo called from across the room where he applied oil to his golden skin. His auburn hair sat perfectly tousled on his head, complementing the bright blue jockstrap containing his junk.

"Keep your eyes to yourself unless you got money to spend, bitch," Killua smirked as he wiggled black six inch heels onto his feet.

"Aw don't be like that, don't I get a friend's discount?" the redhead pouted.

Killua's expression flatlined as he lit up a blunt and took a drag. "No. You better put that ass to work if you want to afford this."

His friend chuckled, waving his hand in dismissal as he walked towards the dressing room exit. "Yeah, yeah," he yelled out behind him before the door slammed shut: "It's your turn on stage, by the way."

"Fuck," Killua mumbled to himself. He took another long drag from the joint between his fingers and quickly snubbed it out, spraying a quick spritz of cologne to attempt to disguise the smell of weed.

"Killua, what did I say about smoking in the back room?!" His manager scolded him from across the room where he helped another dancer with the broken strap on her bra.

"Sorry, Zepile," he apologized with fake sweetness laced in his tone, casually walking towards the exit. He could hear the other man grumble fake threats under his breath as he pushed open the black door leading to the club, heavy bass and excited chatter filling his ears. Flashing lasers strobed directly in his eyes through the darkness, making him blink a few times to adjust to the drastic switch in lighting. He glanced around to take note of where his friends were—Ikalgo danced on a stage with no pole in front of an ogling group of older wonen, Kurapika sat on some older man's lap, taking drags from the hookah on the table.

Killua strolled up to Leorio at the DJ booth, writing down his song choices on a slip of paper and handing it to him. "Sup, old man."

An annoyed glance leveled him. "Fucking child."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Killua smirked at him.

"No, it's just the truth," Leorio huffed, pushing his round sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.