Painter, Painted [xxxHOLiC, Clow/Yuuko, R]
Title: Painter, Painted
Author/Artist: rhap-chan
Rating: R
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Word count: 2496 words
Prompt: Nov 7 - XXXholic, Clow/Yuuko: sensual usage of magic - magic inside of your fingertips
A/N: My apologies for the lateness, I was on a plane all day yesterday. Set pre-series, some spoilers for about ch182 of xH.
Excerpt: "You are, in fact," she says dramatically, "the least likable person that I know. You're kind to everyone, and never angry, and you let everyone take advantage of you."
Clow lifts his eyebrows. "Really?" he says. "And here I thought friendliness was a pleasant trait. I shall stop it at once."
They are magicians, with power that spills from them, slips out, flows, escapes. You can dam a river, it could be said, but the water sloshes over its banks, dampening the ground nearby. The greatest magician in the world, and the greatest witch: between the two of them, they can cross space-time, clone a god, remake the pasts of worlds.
(And they could do those things individually, and have before, but it suits them to work magic together now, this century, so they do.)
They are careful, with power like that. Clow seals his into Cards and creatures and future plans. He, even more than she, reins himself back, hides his strength behind laughing eyes and a paternal appearance.
He's lived for seven hundred years, and would doubtlessly live for hundreds more. Sometimes she teases him about this, sliding over drunkenly to rest her head in his lap.
"You," Yuuko breathes, tracing his mouth with her fingertips, "were three hundred seventeen years old when I was born." She grins. "Old man."
Clow leans down and kisses her, his hands tangled in the hair at the back of her neck, lifting her gently to make the angle less awkward. She tastes of smoke and sake and the dinner he prepared before they'd retired here to her parlor; or at least, what he thinks of as a parlor, as he's spent too much time in England to not make the comparison. This is where she entertains her clients, but the shop is closed tonight, as much as it ever is, and he is the only one she shares her couch with, and her booze.
"What does that say about you, then?" he asks, breaking the kiss, eyes bright with his next quip. "That you like old men?"
"I don't think I ever said I liked you," Yuuko replies, her tone sharp. He seems unbothered by her vitrol. He has a calm personality, and he's spent too much time with her to listen to the words on the surface.
So he's unsurprised when she sits up again, and cups his face in her hands. She stares at him, her face too close, dark red eyes bright with drink and her mood.
"You are, in fact," she says dramatically, "the least likable person that I know. You're kind to everyone, and never angry, and you let everyone take advantage of you."
Clow lifts his eyebrows. "Really?" he says. "And here I thought friendliness was a pleasant trait. I shall stop it at once."
He shuts his eyes as her fingernails tighten against his skin a little and she sweeps them down his neck, slipping just a moment under his collar before she pulls away and picks up her cup.
"It's the advantage part that gets you into trouble," she answers, tucking herself into his lap without spilling her drink. Her legs are warm around his hips and the front part of her dress has, of necessity, puddled there between them, the bright red silk more of a contrast to her pale thighs than a covering. Most of her dresses are slit up the sides to her hips for ease of movement and seductive purposes.
He doesn't have a cup of his own, and she hasn't poured him one, so he waits as she downs hers and sets it down and then captures her mouth, taking her lip in his teeth. She doesn't quite shudder but she shifts, just a little bit, pressing closer, and opens her mouth enough that he can kiss her and taste the wine.
When that kiss breaks, a few languorous moments later, he smiles. "I might be taking advantage of you, instead of the other way around," he teases.
She throws her head back and laughs; her breasts bounce, and as they are nearly in Clow's face, he can hardly be blamed for appreciating them. But when his hands slide up her waist, she catches them, pressing them back down open-palmed against the bare skin of her legs, and she holds them there, leaning forward again to bite at his neck.
She licks his pulse and a small sound escapes him. She purrs against his skin in victory and lets his hands go so she can use hers to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.
But when he moves again, she pulls back and unfastens her hair, letting it slide down her back, an ebony river trailing off the edge of the couch. Before he can protest she's taken his hands again, pressed them together, and tied them with the hair ribbon and with magic. She lifts his arms enough to sidle underneath, letting his hands come to rest on the small of her back, and then she grins.
"No, I think I will certainly be taking advantage of you," she says.
"You didn't have to use magic," he answers, somewhat surprised by her choice to do so. He'd never mention it, because he is a polite man, but he would have no trouble breaking any of her spells. And she would never mention it, because it annoys her, but she knows. They might be very powerful people, but there's a gaping difference in their strengths, even still.
"I wanted to be sure you'd behave," she returns, and in her eyes there is the challenge, but he's certainly not going to complain. Yuuko is in his lap, after all. He's already won.
(Seducing her isn't nearly as easy as one might assume from the clothing that she wears. There is a woman, after all, underneath the silk and lace, ribbons and velvet corsets, who knows her own mind and is unafraid to share it. He had to lust after her mind before she would even consider the other kind of lust. Luckily, he's always thought she is incredibly brilliant. Especially right now.)
"I'll behave," he answers, to placate her, and she bites his earlobe.
"You're too nice," she growls, stripping his shirt from him, and he spends a moment mourning it because it was a nice shirt before she set its seams asunder. Granted, that is a quicker solution than letting him have his hands back and removing it in a conventional manner.
They usually don't use magic during sex; it's hard enough to control when one is sober (or as sober as Yuuko gets, anyway). It's easier to slip too much power in with one's enthusiasm. But once in a while, if they are careful, the thrill and the caution merge together and make something interesting.
Her teeth are on his nipple, then, and he bites his lip and wants to run his hands up her back and through her hair and across her chest. He loves her breasts, the soft sounds she makes when he kisses them, their weight in his hands.
And Clow Reed might be a pushover, but he considers himself and Yuuko Ichihara to be equals, in mind if not in power, and so he sees nothing wrong at all in turning the tables on her.
He pulls free of her bond and slides carefully sideways, pulling her with him, so that his back is no longer against the seat of the couch and he has more room to move. Her expression is clearly irritated, but he takes her collar and pulls her down for a kiss, unfastening the ties of her Mandarin-style dress and slipping it off of her shoulders.
"Cheater," she says, but then gasps when his hands trace across her skin. She used a dusting of her magic to make her ribbon knots hold, but he is painting it across her flesh, leaving a visual glitter because it amuses him. He traces a heart across her right collarbone and a crescent moon onto her left breast.
"Show-off," she says then, and he laughs, just a little.
"Ssh," he answers, kissing his fingertips and pressing them to her mouth, and she shakes her head at his sappy gesture, but she takes his hand and sucks on his fingers.
She can feel his desire pressing against her. He takes his hand back, kissing her slowly and softly, but his fingers slide down her stomach. Her dress has slipped down here to her waist, and he helps her slide it the rest of the way off, down her legs, without stopping his relentless trail of kisses. She might have ruined his shirt, but he will be paying for a torn dress for the rest of his existence, he knows, if he tries the same trick.
His fingers are warm as he slips them into her underwear, and her breath catches against his mouth as he rubs at her sensitive areas. He has a certain magic here, too, but a more mundane kind. He knows the way she likes to be touched, and he'd never forget something as important as that.
She scratches his back and leaves him a trail of lovebites across his shoulders, but after a while her hands pause, and clutch at his thighs, and she moans, "Clow...," and the demand in her voice makes his want for her even sharper.
So he pulls his hand from her warmth and lets her press him flat against the couch and liberate him from his pants and underwear. She licks him once, her expression almost mischievous as she glances up to see his reaction, a swift intake of breath and rolling of his eyes in pleasure.
And with that encouragement, she takes him in her mouth and sucks, just a little, but it is enough to make him clutch at the couch and sigh. She's just as good at driving him wild as he is at touching her. They have had a lot of practice over these past decades.
She slides her underwear off and then settles down onto him, sighing with satisfaction. He rests a hand on her hip, lifting the other to brush her hair from her face.
"You're beautiful," he says, sighing.
"You're a sap," she answers, and it's a familiar refrain, but he will never quit telling her that she's beautiful, a goddess with dark hair and bright red lips, and she will never stop smiling a little when he does.
She leans forward over him and takes the glasses from his nose and tosses them toward the coffee table, cushioning them as an afterthought before they strike the wood. And then she kisses him sloppily and begins to move, her hips rolling against his.
He reaches up and grabs her breasts, trailing magic again, shocking her with the headiness of his power. Her back arches and her movements become more insistent. But never one to be outdone, she leans forward again and traces her name across his chest, her fingers painting warmly and wetly across his skin.
(She does not own him, except for these moments. They have spent time apart and time together, and there have been decades in which they haven't touched at all, and others where sex is all that they do when they are together. They are friends, and they are lovers, and they are Clow and Yuuko-- but they belong to themselves, even if their destinies are tangled.
And until that moment, they will both believe this.)
He laughs and grabs her hand and takes the paint-spell from her to splash it across her breasts, so that one of her nipples is purple and the other, as he shifts the color of the paint, is the exact shade of her eyes.
She laughs too and gives him a green paint mustache, one with curling ends, before her focus returns to the sex and she kisses him, thrusts her tongue into his mouth. His hands slide down to her hips, both of their movements becoming more urgent.
She sighs and bites her lip and then shifts a little so that his thrusts are hitting her just right. She throws her head back when she orgasms, and screams, digging her nails into his shoulders.
He never lasts long after she comes. The look on her face always pushes him over the edge, but he is quieter about it than she is, his hands tightening on her, groaning just a little. Their movements slow, and then stop. Yuuko rolls off of him, after a moment, careful not to fall off the couch, but she turns back around and splays herself across him lazily, her breasts against his chest, their legs tangled, her right arm around his shoulder.
He draws a star on her cheek in bright gold, and then traces the color down the curve of her neck. They are silent for a while as their breathing slows to normal.
"I love you," he says. He has said it before, and he'll say it again, even though he knows the way she'll answer. Clow sees the future, after all. He knows, whether he wants to or not, and he knows that actions speak louder than words, not just sex but the things that she will do for the sake of their not-yet-made plan after he is gone.
But her answer is just a sigh, not a quip or complaint or demand for alcohol in the afterglow. She tucks her head into his shoulder and shuts her eyes. And since this is unusual, he asks.
"Yuuko?"
"Me too. Let me sleep," she mumbles.
He pets her hair and lets her fall asleep, even though her sprawl isn't exactly comfortable and his arm is asleep by the time her breathing is even and slow. He tucks a lock behind her ear and wonders how much she has seen, then, or been told by another fortuneteller, about what is up ahead for them. Even he isn't sure of the details yet. There are some years to go.
He looks up at her ceiling, his eyes unfocused without his glasses. He waves his free hand, cleaning the magic and the mess from them, and he holds her for another hour before he gets up and puts her to bed.
In the morning, she wakes to the smell of pancakes and a bottle of eki-kyabe on the bedstand. She downs the medication and throws on a robe before wandering into the kitchen in search of the smell.
And there is Clow at her stove, turning to see her as she comes in, and he's got a garish green paint mustache. She laughs as he grins.
"Couldn't get that one to come off," he says, an unabashed lie if she's ever heard one. So she smacks him in the back of the head and then settles down at the table with an air of anticipation.
"Good morning, darling," he says cheerfully, flipping pancakes onto a plate, and she curls her toes under the table and smiles, resting her head in her hands.
And the little things like this, they're magic too.
Author/Artist: rhap-chan
Rating: R
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Word count: 2496 words
Prompt: Nov 7 - XXXholic, Clow/Yuuko: sensual usage of magic - magic inside of your fingertips
A/N: My apologies for the lateness, I was on a plane all day yesterday. Set pre-series, some spoilers for about ch182 of xH.
Excerpt: "You are, in fact," she says dramatically, "the least likable person that I know. You're kind to everyone, and never angry, and you let everyone take advantage of you."
Clow lifts his eyebrows. "Really?" he says. "And here I thought friendliness was a pleasant trait. I shall stop it at once."
They are magicians, with power that spills from them, slips out, flows, escapes. You can dam a river, it could be said, but the water sloshes over its banks, dampening the ground nearby. The greatest magician in the world, and the greatest witch: between the two of them, they can cross space-time, clone a god, remake the pasts of worlds.
(And they could do those things individually, and have before, but it suits them to work magic together now, this century, so they do.)
They are careful, with power like that. Clow seals his into Cards and creatures and future plans. He, even more than she, reins himself back, hides his strength behind laughing eyes and a paternal appearance.
He's lived for seven hundred years, and would doubtlessly live for hundreds more. Sometimes she teases him about this, sliding over drunkenly to rest her head in his lap.
"You," Yuuko breathes, tracing his mouth with her fingertips, "were three hundred seventeen years old when I was born." She grins. "Old man."
Clow leans down and kisses her, his hands tangled in the hair at the back of her neck, lifting her gently to make the angle less awkward. She tastes of smoke and sake and the dinner he prepared before they'd retired here to her parlor; or at least, what he thinks of as a parlor, as he's spent too much time in England to not make the comparison. This is where she entertains her clients, but the shop is closed tonight, as much as it ever is, and he is the only one she shares her couch with, and her booze.
"What does that say about you, then?" he asks, breaking the kiss, eyes bright with his next quip. "That you like old men?"
"I don't think I ever said I liked you," Yuuko replies, her tone sharp. He seems unbothered by her vitrol. He has a calm personality, and he's spent too much time with her to listen to the words on the surface.
So he's unsurprised when she sits up again, and cups his face in her hands. She stares at him, her face too close, dark red eyes bright with drink and her mood.
"You are, in fact," she says dramatically, "the least likable person that I know. You're kind to everyone, and never angry, and you let everyone take advantage of you."
Clow lifts his eyebrows. "Really?" he says. "And here I thought friendliness was a pleasant trait. I shall stop it at once."
He shuts his eyes as her fingernails tighten against his skin a little and she sweeps them down his neck, slipping just a moment under his collar before she pulls away and picks up her cup.
"It's the advantage part that gets you into trouble," she answers, tucking herself into his lap without spilling her drink. Her legs are warm around his hips and the front part of her dress has, of necessity, puddled there between them, the bright red silk more of a contrast to her pale thighs than a covering. Most of her dresses are slit up the sides to her hips for ease of movement and seductive purposes.
He doesn't have a cup of his own, and she hasn't poured him one, so he waits as she downs hers and sets it down and then captures her mouth, taking her lip in his teeth. She doesn't quite shudder but she shifts, just a little bit, pressing closer, and opens her mouth enough that he can kiss her and taste the wine.
When that kiss breaks, a few languorous moments later, he smiles. "I might be taking advantage of you, instead of the other way around," he teases.
She throws her head back and laughs; her breasts bounce, and as they are nearly in Clow's face, he can hardly be blamed for appreciating them. But when his hands slide up her waist, she catches them, pressing them back down open-palmed against the bare skin of her legs, and she holds them there, leaning forward again to bite at his neck.
She licks his pulse and a small sound escapes him. She purrs against his skin in victory and lets his hands go so she can use hers to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.
But when he moves again, she pulls back and unfastens her hair, letting it slide down her back, an ebony river trailing off the edge of the couch. Before he can protest she's taken his hands again, pressed them together, and tied them with the hair ribbon and with magic. She lifts his arms enough to sidle underneath, letting his hands come to rest on the small of her back, and then she grins.
"No, I think I will certainly be taking advantage of you," she says.
"You didn't have to use magic," he answers, somewhat surprised by her choice to do so. He'd never mention it, because he is a polite man, but he would have no trouble breaking any of her spells. And she would never mention it, because it annoys her, but she knows. They might be very powerful people, but there's a gaping difference in their strengths, even still.
"I wanted to be sure you'd behave," she returns, and in her eyes there is the challenge, but he's certainly not going to complain. Yuuko is in his lap, after all. He's already won.
(Seducing her isn't nearly as easy as one might assume from the clothing that she wears. There is a woman, after all, underneath the silk and lace, ribbons and velvet corsets, who knows her own mind and is unafraid to share it. He had to lust after her mind before she would even consider the other kind of lust. Luckily, he's always thought she is incredibly brilliant. Especially right now.)
"I'll behave," he answers, to placate her, and she bites his earlobe.
"You're too nice," she growls, stripping his shirt from him, and he spends a moment mourning it because it was a nice shirt before she set its seams asunder. Granted, that is a quicker solution than letting him have his hands back and removing it in a conventional manner.
They usually don't use magic during sex; it's hard enough to control when one is sober (or as sober as Yuuko gets, anyway). It's easier to slip too much power in with one's enthusiasm. But once in a while, if they are careful, the thrill and the caution merge together and make something interesting.
Her teeth are on his nipple, then, and he bites his lip and wants to run his hands up her back and through her hair and across her chest. He loves her breasts, the soft sounds she makes when he kisses them, their weight in his hands.
And Clow Reed might be a pushover, but he considers himself and Yuuko Ichihara to be equals, in mind if not in power, and so he sees nothing wrong at all in turning the tables on her.
He pulls free of her bond and slides carefully sideways, pulling her with him, so that his back is no longer against the seat of the couch and he has more room to move. Her expression is clearly irritated, but he takes her collar and pulls her down for a kiss, unfastening the ties of her Mandarin-style dress and slipping it off of her shoulders.
"Cheater," she says, but then gasps when his hands trace across her skin. She used a dusting of her magic to make her ribbon knots hold, but he is painting it across her flesh, leaving a visual glitter because it amuses him. He traces a heart across her right collarbone and a crescent moon onto her left breast.
"Show-off," she says then, and he laughs, just a little.
"Ssh," he answers, kissing his fingertips and pressing them to her mouth, and she shakes her head at his sappy gesture, but she takes his hand and sucks on his fingers.
She can feel his desire pressing against her. He takes his hand back, kissing her slowly and softly, but his fingers slide down her stomach. Her dress has slipped down here to her waist, and he helps her slide it the rest of the way off, down her legs, without stopping his relentless trail of kisses. She might have ruined his shirt, but he will be paying for a torn dress for the rest of his existence, he knows, if he tries the same trick.
His fingers are warm as he slips them into her underwear, and her breath catches against his mouth as he rubs at her sensitive areas. He has a certain magic here, too, but a more mundane kind. He knows the way she likes to be touched, and he'd never forget something as important as that.
She scratches his back and leaves him a trail of lovebites across his shoulders, but after a while her hands pause, and clutch at his thighs, and she moans, "Clow...," and the demand in her voice makes his want for her even sharper.
So he pulls his hand from her warmth and lets her press him flat against the couch and liberate him from his pants and underwear. She licks him once, her expression almost mischievous as she glances up to see his reaction, a swift intake of breath and rolling of his eyes in pleasure.
And with that encouragement, she takes him in her mouth and sucks, just a little, but it is enough to make him clutch at the couch and sigh. She's just as good at driving him wild as he is at touching her. They have had a lot of practice over these past decades.
She slides her underwear off and then settles down onto him, sighing with satisfaction. He rests a hand on her hip, lifting the other to brush her hair from her face.
"You're beautiful," he says, sighing.
"You're a sap," she answers, and it's a familiar refrain, but he will never quit telling her that she's beautiful, a goddess with dark hair and bright red lips, and she will never stop smiling a little when he does.
She leans forward over him and takes the glasses from his nose and tosses them toward the coffee table, cushioning them as an afterthought before they strike the wood. And then she kisses him sloppily and begins to move, her hips rolling against his.
He reaches up and grabs her breasts, trailing magic again, shocking her with the headiness of his power. Her back arches and her movements become more insistent. But never one to be outdone, she leans forward again and traces her name across his chest, her fingers painting warmly and wetly across his skin.
(She does not own him, except for these moments. They have spent time apart and time together, and there have been decades in which they haven't touched at all, and others where sex is all that they do when they are together. They are friends, and they are lovers, and they are Clow and Yuuko-- but they belong to themselves, even if their destinies are tangled.
And until that moment, they will both believe this.)
He laughs and grabs her hand and takes the paint-spell from her to splash it across her breasts, so that one of her nipples is purple and the other, as he shifts the color of the paint, is the exact shade of her eyes.
She laughs too and gives him a green paint mustache, one with curling ends, before her focus returns to the sex and she kisses him, thrusts her tongue into his mouth. His hands slide down to her hips, both of their movements becoming more urgent.
She sighs and bites her lip and then shifts a little so that his thrusts are hitting her just right. She throws her head back when she orgasms, and screams, digging her nails into his shoulders.
He never lasts long after she comes. The look on her face always pushes him over the edge, but he is quieter about it than she is, his hands tightening on her, groaning just a little. Their movements slow, and then stop. Yuuko rolls off of him, after a moment, careful not to fall off the couch, but she turns back around and splays herself across him lazily, her breasts against his chest, their legs tangled, her right arm around his shoulder.
He draws a star on her cheek in bright gold, and then traces the color down the curve of her neck. They are silent for a while as their breathing slows to normal.
"I love you," he says. He has said it before, and he'll say it again, even though he knows the way she'll answer. Clow sees the future, after all. He knows, whether he wants to or not, and he knows that actions speak louder than words, not just sex but the things that she will do for the sake of their not-yet-made plan after he is gone.
But her answer is just a sigh, not a quip or complaint or demand for alcohol in the afterglow. She tucks her head into his shoulder and shuts her eyes. And since this is unusual, he asks.
"Yuuko?"
"Me too. Let me sleep," she mumbles.
He pets her hair and lets her fall asleep, even though her sprawl isn't exactly comfortable and his arm is asleep by the time her breathing is even and slow. He tucks a lock behind her ear and wonders how much she has seen, then, or been told by another fortuneteller, about what is up ahead for them. Even he isn't sure of the details yet. There are some years to go.
He looks up at her ceiling, his eyes unfocused without his glasses. He waves his free hand, cleaning the magic and the mess from them, and he holds her for another hour before he gets up and puts her to bed.
In the morning, she wakes to the smell of pancakes and a bottle of eki-kyabe on the bedstand. She downs the medication and throws on a robe before wandering into the kitchen in search of the smell.
And there is Clow at her stove, turning to see her as she comes in, and he's got a garish green paint mustache. She laughs as he grins.
"Couldn't get that one to come off," he says, an unabashed lie if she's ever heard one. So she smacks him in the back of the head and then settles down at the table with an air of anticipation.
"Good morning, darling," he says cheerfully, flipping pancakes onto a plate, and she curls her toes under the table and smiles, resting her head in her hands.
And the little things like this, they're magic too.