imbrii (imbrii) wrote in imbrication, @ 2010-03-04 07:29:00 |
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Current mood: | tired |
Current music: | Loituma - Ievan Polkka |
Entry tags: | medium, vienna teng prompts, xxxholic |
Vienna Teng Prompt 28, xxxHolic
Series: xxxHolic
Characters: Doumeki, Watanuki
Pairing: D/W
Type: AU, fantasy
Warnings: Sexuality, some violence
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1960
Etc: This was originally supposed to be short, but turned into something much longer. Mght have a sequel. Sexualized male witch Watanuki vs witch hunter Doumeki, idek. Concepts introduced in here I hope I gave enough context to not need notes, but will do so if there's confusion
28 Doumeki Shizuka opens the door without knocking, as that would only forewarn the occupant. The room is shabby and bare, as hostels where the staff turns a blind eye to its clientele are wont. Luckily the dirty window hiding behind tattered beige curtains is too small to provide an escape route. A chair, a table, a dresser, a bed, a figure far too colorful for such a dull room lounging upon it meet his eyes.
The man stands, warily keeping his distance. Messy black hair, glasses, a thin, wiry frame—this is the target. He’s young and easy on the eyes, as all suspected witches tend to be. Shizuka does not know the witch’s name, as it holds too much power. In the same token he hides his own. Names are a powerful binding tool, but there’s too much room for mistakes.
Blue eyes take in his grey uniform, his belt of magical accoutrements, his badge. “What do you want, Seeker?”
A foolish question, stalling the inevitable. Seekers only have one duty. “You are under suspicion of witchcraft. You will be searched for a witches’ mark and dealt with.”
They pause, lasting only the space of a breath. The man makes a run for it, as the guilty always do, but Doumeki’s experience proves superior.
With swift, practiced movements he grabs the man’s wrists as he tries to rush by, grappling until Shizuka manages to get a hold where any undue struggles would only cause pain. He pushes the long-fingered hands against the small of the man’s back, the red fringe of one of the many sashes entangling with their fingers. Doumeki speaks the Word of binding, silvery threads locking the suspect’s wrists and ankles in place, but doesn’t let go. It isn’t safe until he’s added a Seal and Tone for strength.
“Do you submit to the search?”
“No.”
He twists the man’s wrists sharply, reminding him who holds the upper hand. “Should I drag you to the jail cell, first?”
“Fine. Not like I have much choice. Get it over with,” he snaps, eyes narrowing.
Doumeki pulls a paper seal from its pouch and uses it to bind the man’s hands to the wall, turning the suspect to face him. The defiant glare has yet to leave. The Seeker ignores it in favor of untucking the man’s tunic from his sashes. As he lifts the fabric he feels the muscles grow tense, so it’s no surprise when the telltale black mark meets his eyes.
Something is off. His yellow eyes grow wide as he pushes more fabric aside, shoving down the sashes. Never before has he seen a witches’ mark this large. It encompasses the man’s entire right hip; the eerily lifelike butterfly has wings stretching halfway to his navel.
It’s the symbol of the Dimension Witch, the most powerful subversive element in the region, perhaps the entire country. She’s been luring people astray for decades, slipping through the Order’s grasp like smoke. Despite wanted posters and missives, her face known to all, few have seen her.
Most of the witches in the area are Yuuko’s—young girls with bleak futures that give in to the lure of power, not understanding the perils of free magic.
While many men fall victim to witches and become pawns, few become witches. Most men with magic join the Seekers, learning the Ordered powers. To become a witch would require unlearning all their training. The necessary intersection of magical ability, a will forceful enough to handle such a chaotic art, and corruption to witches’ ways is rare. There’s little doubt in his mind this man is one—no pawn would have a mark so defiantly large.
There are many rumors regarding how a witches’ mark is given—the most pervasive involve sex, to varying levels of depravity. The sudden thought of this man in the arms of the sultry woman in the wanted poster twists his gut in something not quite revulsion. He tries to push the thoughts aside.
Shizuka has never been one to care about nudity. In this line of work, the years of searching out marks left him uncaring about the particulars of someone’s anatomy. But it suddenly occurs to him that his hand is on a man’s hip; that his splayed fingers creating contrast on the black ink of the forbidden mark is pleasing in a way he’s never quite imagined, that the witch smells of strange incense, herbs, and something that makes Shizuka want to press his nose to the joint of neck and shoulder and breathe deep.
It seems his natural immunity to witches’ lures has failed him this night. Now, he finally understands the reason so many of his brethren have broken their geis in pursuit of a witch. He’d never felt the temptation before—sex never seemed worth the bother and only fools seek such unpredictable power.
The only sign of his weakness is a too-long lapse of silence. He roughly readjusts the witch’s clothing to decency again. “You are found guilty of being involved with witchcraft. Punishment will be determined once you’ve been taken into custody.” A witches’ mark was as good as death.
The condemned man does not flinch, bow his head, or weep. He meets Shizuka’s gaze straight on, defiant.
His eyes are deep blue. Shizuka isn’t sure why, but this is suddenly important. Unable to look away, the next question takes a moment for him to force out.
“What is your affiliation with the Dimension Witch?”
Head tossed back proudly, he declares, “I’m her apprentice.”
Plenty of witches have identified as being with Yuuko, but none claimed to potentially be her successor. Shizuka’s estimation of the man and his hackles rise sharply. This is news, indeed. Provided nothing goes wrong, a promotion is a sure bet. Perhaps his father will finally be satisfied.
This, of course, is when things go horribly awry.
With a quick exertion of will, the bonds on the witch’s hands snap with enough force to send the Seeker flying back into the table, shattering the poorly made wood.
Shizuka curses silently, scrambling out of the debris and fumbling with his pouch. The witch has been toying with him—he’d been able to escape the entire time! Luckily he manages to grab a protective seal in time to block a blast of raw power directed his way. It’s a testing blow, far from the full power such a man would possess, but it still renders all the surrounding wood to splinters, nearly knocking him over a second time. The ofuda turns to ash, power expended.
The witch looks almost impressed. Something subtle in the way he holds himself has changed—his air is cunning and confidant.
Eyeing the damage, Shizuka hopes stalling will work. “Free magic is dangerous.”
A smile, sly and sultry, forms. A ball of light, quivering as if alive, forms in his hand. There are no words or symbols to bind it, only the thin man’s will. “This power is not meant to be contained. Hobbling it helps no one.” With a sudden snap, he hurls the ball at Doumeki.
He throws himself to the ground, the window and a large portion of the wall taking the blow. Talking was never one of his strong points anyway. Another seal and a sharp whistle send a blast of wind at the witch, giving Shizuka enough time to stand and draw his dagger. As the witch recovers, Shizuka cuts a symbol into the air, barking out the Word of binding and stabs his remaining stack of seals.
The witch slams against the wall, a black clot of magic pinning him into place.
“Mugetsu.”
A strange, slithering white shape appears, erupting into a cloud of smoke before the Seeker can see it clearly. The cloud dissipates to reveal a fox as large as his master, tails lashing angrily and long claws clicking on the wood floor. A single swipe shreds his binding to pieces.
A familiar of such size! Shizuka cannot remember the last time he’d underestimated an opponent so badly. His father will be furious.
“You will need a great deal more than that to catch me, Doumeki Shizuka.”
Fuck. Despite the futility he throws his dagger, managing to cut the surprised witch’s cheek before his limbs seize, restrained by thick cords of magic. They pulse with barely-contained chaos, chittering insanity on the edge of his awareness.
The man is a strange combination of pleasantly surprised and irritated, running a finger over the wound and licking off the blood. “You’re going to be a pain. It’s a good thing I caught you so early.” He takes the time to dust himself off and straighten out his disheveled clothing before sparing his captive any more attention.
Smile barely contained (and sash arranged just so,) the witch casually drops, “Did you know you look just like your grandfather?”
Shizuka chokes on the fury and shock tight in his chest. That explains how the witch was able to Name him, despite all the precautions the Order takes. All the geasa and sealed documents in the world can’t make up for a traitor. Damn Haruka, causing so many problems even after death! He glares at the witch, trying to shake off the twisting nausea of betrayal.
Looking satisfied, the witch adds insult to injury and begins stripping him of all his equipment, hands lingering in the task. His bell bandolier, seals, bow, and dagger are added to the colorful assortment of clothing , looking out of place. “These were Haruka’s, right? Much too dangerous to let you keep.”
Shizuka grinds his teeth, much to his captor’s delight.
“You’re capable of emotions after all!” he laughs, closing the little remaining distance between them. With an amused smirk, the witch drapes himself over Shizuka as if he were a particularly ornery chair. One long-fingered hand touches his cheek as the blue eyes pin him further. “Wonder what it would take to make you lose that stoic mask completely?”
There’s a thrill low in his stomach because the witch’s tone leaves little doubt what methods he’d try. Feather-light fingers run along his jaw, his lips. Shizuka holds himself still, forcing down any reaction.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Doumeki Shizuka” the witch whispers into his ear, tongue flickering against the lobe. Shizuka closes his eyes in frustration—with his name known, he’ll never be able to escape.
For several long moments they remain suspended, the witch’s breath curling hot over his neck, long fingers trailing along his collarbone. As much as Doumeki wants to convince himself, the tightening in his stomach and racing pulse isn’t from fear.
The witch suddenly bites down just above his collarbone. Magic pulses into his blood, a throbbing, pulling, ache that sends his mind reeling. The smell he noticed on the witch before is stronger now. Shizuka’s breath stutters, back arching from the overwhelming physical sensation—everything is too close, too hot, too much. It feels like he’s going to—
White eclipses his vision. Something part gasp, part groan bursts out of his throat, labored panting stumbling after it. The world comes back in pieces—the colorful fabric too close to focus on, the uncomfortable damp against his skin, the flare of magic on his neck. His arms, jerky and trembling, fail to grab the witch as he pulls away.
He forces “What?” from his throat, but cannot summon the energy to complete the question. Doumeki slumps over, his thoughts tumbling into each other as he tries to process what happened. Dimly he notices the bonds holding him have vanished. But his eyelids are too heavy, he can’t focus on the bare feet walking away. He hears, just before he slips into unconsciousness, “We’ll meet again.”