Fic: The Incubi 1 of 2
The Incubi: A Study in Agony or Ecstasy. Or Both.
Author: LunarGeography
Pairing: DoumekixWatanuki
Rating: Adults only
Warnings: Sex. Explicit sex. Yaoi sex. This fic was written in response to a request on the anonymous kink meme posted many moons ago, for tentacle fic. So tentacle sex ahead. If you are underage or do not want to read shameless boysex with tentacles, do not click. But everyone else... have a little faith in me, ok?
Summary: Watanuki encounters a monster of a rather different sort. Doumeki is not amused.
"Strip. Now."
All things considered, Watanuki Kimihiro thought he had a perfectly reasonable excuse for taking a few moments to process the demand that had been curtly directed at him.
After all, he'd just hit the ground after the thing with all the - tentacles, they were tentacles, they certainly weren't... weren't - even if they were purply-red and had little, or not-so-little flared heads that became slick as they fondled - errr, handled - errr, restrained him with remarkable thoroughness in places that weren't usually thought of as restraining points and the restraining had involved an awful lot of stroking motions...
Anyway.
They were certainly tentacles, not Anything Else, no matter how phallic they were, because Anything Elses certainly weren't so bendy. Or prehensile in the slightest. And he was certain that the systematic destruction of his shirt - a pair of tentacles grabbing hold of his collar, and slowly, deliberately pulling the sides apart, first one button then the next ripping off with little popping noises in a forced striptease - was simply part of an extremely baroque and convoluted method of ripping him apart and consuming his blood.
Or at least he'd been praying that it was, praying that all it wanted was to eat him, as usual. That was normal. The anticipation of that type of death was kind of... well, comforting in its familiarity. He could handle that. The prospect of being ripped apart and eaten wasn't new, or overwhelming, or utterly humiliating and somehow even more exciting for that, so he prayed that the thing with all the tentacles was just going about killing him in a very unusual manner.
A manner that required removing Watanuki's clothing, and rubbing up against some of his very sensitive bits.
So, anyway, he'd been praying that it was just going to eat him since he'd gotten a good look at what had grabbed him. Until two of the pe-- tentacles! They were tentacles! -- snuck down the front of his pants, and wrapped around an extremely personal place, gently rubbing and squeezing and stroking, and then he'd lost the ability to find words with which to pray at all.
He'd also lost a dismaying amount of his desire to run like hell.
Not that he could have, suspended almost a meter above the ground by all those tentacles that wound around his wrists and ankles and knees. They'd held him spread-eagled, presumably to give their eager, pulsing brethren better access to every inch of his body. He'd struggled madly against them, and against the ones that wrapped around his torso before reaching for the small of his back and the nape of his neck and those spots beneath his ears and his nipples, and rubbing against them in an incredibly distracting and horribly wonderful way.
All of that aside, his struggles had been utterly futile, and if he was honest, had given way to something more like writhing, and his protesting cries had taken on a note that was less-than-entirely-protesting.
Those cries would probably have been muffled soon, if the really big pe-- tentacle! - had been going where he thought it was going.
Then out of nowhere, there had been a blinding light, and he was falling. He'd gone straight from 'feels so good' to 'damn that hurt' and the breath had been knocked out of him. Once he managed to get air in his lungs again, he was flat on his back on the ground. Then there was an archer above him.
A thin-lipped, furious archer, staring down at him with intense eyes, impossibly dark eyes with pupils he could fall into, and a white-knuckled grip on his bow.
And Watanuki was painfully aware of his ripped shirt, which did absolutely nothing to hide his erect nipples, and the throbbing ache below, harder than it had ever been and visibly straining against the fastening of his trousers - which were missing the button. The touches of the tentacles had pretty much melted away any coherent thought processes, and his humiliating position and the look on Doumeki's face - which was even more intensely angry than when Doumeki had first caught sight of his eye patch - were not helping him to carefully and rationally process the words Doumeki had uttered.
It certainly didn't help that he'd never, ever, ever anticipated hearing those two words paired together. Certainly not in any sentence directed towards him. Especially spoken by this most infuriating of classmates.
So Watanuki felt that that the total absence of any hint of outrage and fury from his response could not be held against him by any reasonable observer.
Besides, he was awfully busy trying to prop himself up on his elbows and trying to summon enough strength in his legs to at least move his knees together into a slightly less wanton pose.
"Whaa---aaaat?"
The last part of his bewildered query had emerged at significantly higher pitch than the first. This was due in part to the belated realization that Doumeki was staring at the unflagging erection attempting to escape from Watanuki's pants. It was also due in part to the step Doumeki took towards Watanuki while staring so inappropriately. Doumeki was now definitely looming, and doing so from between Watanuki's obscenely splayed legs. All that looming was almost... intimidating. Yes. Intimidating. That was all. Not arousing in the slightest. Just intimidating. Almost-intimidating.
All resolutions aside, all this intimidating, in-Watanuki's-personal-space looming was causing his heart to beat faster and was causing the yearning ache in Watanuki's unmentionables to intensify and throb in time with that racing heartbeat. Doumeki was intense and angry and he might do anything at all to Watanuki, anything, and Watanuki couldn't stop him and Watanuki was horrified to discover that he really, really liked that thought.
"Strip. Now." Doumeki's voice was deeper as he restated that impossible - ridiculous! Unreasonable! Humiliating! -- command as though he had every right to do so and every right to expect Watanuki to comply.
Even worse, the zipper slipped open a few more notches as a part of Watanuki twitched at hearing that command in that tone.
Oh, gods. This Was Not Happening. He was not lying on the ground, aching for the touch of that apathetic bastard's skin against his own. Watanuki would admit - because he was always fair! -- that Doumeki might have some qualities that in a certain light could be considered sexy. Ninety-two percent of the female population of Cross Academy (including the nurse) couldn't be entirely wrong. Doumeki was tall, with well-muscled shoulders, and he just exuded an aura of arrogant self-certainty. He was so damn indifferent to most of what occurred around him, but there were hints, rare hints, that intense feelings - volcanic feelings! -- lurked beneath, and Watanuki supposed that plenty of people had fantasized about breaking the dam containing the emotions lurking behind those amber eyes, and drowning in the resulting flood.
Not that he himself had ever woken from such a dream and needed desperately to do laundry before the sun came up. Hadn't ever had wandering thoughts about what might have happened when Doumeki forced him up against the wall... if the archer hadn't decided to demand a chat with his boss, instead of continuing to manhandle him.
Well. Purely abstract consideration of Doumeki's qualities aside, there was absolutely no way he was going to just up and finish the process of disrobing that had been begun by that tentacle thing. Nope. Not happening. Doumeki had fired a chi arrow into the tentacle-creature, and that was that, and now life would return to normal, and Watanuki would calmly and rationally explain this, just as soon as he managed to get a handle on the hormones rushing through his body that wanted to lay back and invite Doumeki to help him out with the whole stripping matter and to continue on from there as the archer saw fit.
"What the... Why should I-- ?"
"Take off your clothes or I will do it for you." Doumeki's grip on the bow tightened even further.
The zipper retreated another few notches, as that rebellious bit of Watanuki's anatomy surged forward even further in enthusiastic support of that notion. But he'd be damned if he let his penis do all the talking.
"Why in the name of all that is holy should I do that? It might have escaped your attention, but I am already significantly under-dressed, and I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to aggravate the problem further just to... to... to provide you with some sort of perverse amusement!"
Those amber eyes - which no longer looked either sleepy or apathetic in the slightest - finally looked away from his crotch. It wasn't much of an improvement in the situation, however, as Doumeki's gaze made a leisurely and thorough tour of the rest of Watanuki's body, making it humiliatingly clear that no detail of Watanuki's sartorial status had escaped the archer's attention.
Watanuki hated, absolutely hated, the traditional archery uniform just now, because the folds of the hakama made it impossible to tell if Doumeki appreciated the view. The unblinking stare was searingly intense, but the sharply lowered brows and the crease between them spoke of anger, not arousal.
Damn.
Oh, god, he did not just think that.
Watanuki had to wonder if prolonged humiliated flushing might be the cause of spontaneous human combustion, and rather wished he would totally self-incinerate right here and right now. His arms were trembling, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to remain propped on his elbows rather than flat on his back. Which was not going to help with the whole trying-to-grasp-the-tattered-remains-of-his-dignity thing.
He certainly was not thinking lewd thoughts as he watched Doumeki's fingers flex and clench around the bow, and certainly did not note that the fingers were long and refined-looking despite the callouses, or that the tendons standing in sharp relief along his wrists from that angry grip were an excellent reminder of the remarkable strength in those hands. Nope. Wasn't going there.
"That was an incubus. It had you in thrall --"
"It did not!"
A pointed stare at Watanuki's erection - oh, god, the zipper was entirely undone now - was Doumeki's only response, and it was excessively eloquent.
Spontaneous combustion was going to occur at any moment now. Please?
"You were in thrall. At least partially." A hint of a smirk, and then Doumeki's expression turned intense again, if not quite so angry. "It might have bound you to itself. If it did, it would leave a mark on your body. I need to make sure there isn't one. Now strip."
"Bound me?"
"I won't repeat myself again."
Watanuki found himself shrugging out of the remnants of his shirt. Doumeki Shizuka's given name was apt - even in his rage, he never raised his voice. There was something in his pointedly quiet tone that was almost impossible to argue with.
Almost.
But while Watanuki was never one to give up on an almost-hopeless cause, he was not at his best at the moment, and this clearly was not an argument he was going to win.
As he fumbled with the remnants of his shirt with shaking hands, the hot, miserable flush spread from his face down the back of his neck. His vision was blurring with what certainly were not tears of humiliation. They even more certainly were in no way tears of disappointment that Doumeki was only staring at him like that and demanding he strip just to make sure the tentacle monster - the incubus - hadn't bound him.
Since he was not upset, the question he asked as he attempted to peel the somewhat damp sleeves from his arms was simple curiosity, and not an attempt to distract himself from his misery and preserve some degree of composure. And his voice Did Not Wobble.
"Mark? What kind of mark?"
"An incubus has a symbol. Sort of a personal signature." Doumeki seemed a bit calmer - at least he no longer sounded like each word was being forced through gritted teeth. "When... when one of them binds a human to himself, that symbol will appear somewhere on the human's skin, like a tattoo. The symbol is on the incubus, too - right beneath the navel, over the second chakra. You might have seen it on the one that attacked you."
Oh. "Ah - yes, I saw it. It was a circle with rays coming out of it - like a sunburst." The shirt was putting up an impressive struggle, especially for a garment that had been mostly gutted by tentacles. At least wrestling with it gave him an excuse not to look at Doumeki's face.
His hormones wondered if Doumeki was still staring at his... No. Not going there. Enough frustration and humiliation for one night already.
With a final tear, the shirt yielded. Triumph! No longer pinned by his own garments, Watanuki sat up, and craned his neck, checking his bare torso. He didn't see anything... "There. Are you happy? No marks."
"Take your pants off. Briefs, too." Doumeki's voice was sharp.
"Are you insane?!"
"Off. All of it. Don't try and tell me it didn't manage to get beneath your pants."
Yes. That tone was angry. Very angry. What right did Doumeki have to sound so furious? He wasn't the one who'd been assaulted, and stripped, and then dropped flat on his ass, aroused and humiliated. He wasn't the one fighting desperately to subdue the hardest erection of his life, desperately aching for touch, any touch, while some arrogant bastard loomed over him and issued orders.
"What the hell is your problem? Where do you get off being so pissed? Why do I have to strip here and now? I'll go home - by myself, damn it! -- and look in the mirror, and if there's a mark I'll go see Yuuko. You can take your demands and shove them--"
The bow hit the ground with a clatter, and Doumeki fell to his knees, wrapping his hands in the waistband of Watanuki's trousers. There was a flurry of motion, and the seer was flat on his back again as Doumeki lifted Watanuki's hips. A few quick yanks followed, as Doumeki carried out his threat of undressing Watanuki.
The trousers and underwear didn't put up even a fraction of the fight the shirt had. Or maybe Doumeki was just better at stripping people than he was. Bastard.
"You have no idea." It was a snarl, low and quiet, from the vicinity of his ankles, but before Watanuki's brain and body could agree upon a course of action Doumeki was straddling him on all fours. "None. An incubus can feed from your arousal - steal that all that potent energy that has every spirit in all of Japan chasing after you -- just by getting you off. If it got you in thrall, you'd do whatever it wanted. Anything. It could have bound you to it as a mindless slave for the rest of your life, you idiot!"
Watanuki watched as his hand, all on its own, moved towards Doumeki. He didn't know if it would have pushed the archer away or pulled him closer, as it was intercepted and captured by a more heavily calloused hand. For a moment he expected (certainly didn't hope, of course not) that Doumeki would pin his wrist to the ground. But no; instead Watanuki's hand was lifted, and pressed against Doumeki's chest, over the archer's heart, as he continued to speak.
The anger in his tone was so incongruous with the careful grip... "And it found you. That means the spell that kept you hidden is breaking up, and if one found you, there will be more..."
Then Doumeki's face was even closer, and Watanuki's hand was released as his head was pulled up for a kiss - and Doumeki kissed like a starving man whose only sustenance for the next millennium was the taste of Watanuki's lips, of Watanuki's tongue, of Watanuki's mouth. The kiss was raw and desperate, bruising in intensity and thoroughly messy, and the arousal that had so overwhelmed Watanuki in the grip of the tentacle monster was utterly overshadowed by the need that left his skin burning now.
As they kissed, Watanuki pressed his palm harder against Doumeki's chest, felt the pounding heart beneath the heavy linen of the gi, and felt his understanding of his world break apart and reorder itself into something much, much warmer.
Then Doumeki broke the kiss, panting, and Watanuki whined in the back of his throat.
"You have no idea," repeated Doumeki between pants. "Been so damn careful not to scare you. You are so damn skittish!"
The kiss resumed again. Watanuki felt no need to break it to inform Doumeki that he was not feeling in the least bit skittish right now. Not now, not here in the warmer, brighter new world.
When this kiss ended, Watanuki pushed Doumeki's gi off -- baring the other man's shoulders, tugging those sculpted arms free of the sleeves. He was only dimly aware that Doumeki was still talking --
"...no idea how much self-control it's taken. I've wanted... been so careful - and there he was, making you writhe, ready to fuck you. You're mine." Another scorching kiss, all too short, but the gi was off now, and there was new territory for Watanuki to explore. "You're mine, Watanuki Kimihiro. I've kept you safe - killed for you, bled for you... Cried for you, you bastard... Tried so damn hard to wait until you were ready..."
Watanuki had a brilliant idea. He tore his hands away from kneading the archer's broad back in order to finish stripping the other man. Only fair, after all - if he was going to demand that Watanuki strip, Shizuka could damn well get naked, too! After a few moments of useless fumbling with the hakama ties- and in the process, his hands confirmed that Doumeki was just as hard as he was, yes! -- Watanuki craned his head so he could see what he was doing. He made a triumphant noise as the knot gave way, and the flowing pants almost fell off.
Then he saw something - something aside from the impressively large bulge in Doumeki's briefs -- something odd enough to penetrate the haze of lust.
"Doumeki - what is this - it looks like a birthmark. Or a tattoo. Of an eye. Right below... your navel...?"
And then Doumeki's skin was rippling, and the tentacles started to grow, reaching towards him, and as his understanding of the world shattered yet again, Watanuki realized that perhaps he should have wondered exactly how it was that Doumeki knew so much about incubi in the first place.
To be continued shortly. So to speak.
Author: LunarGeography
Pairing: DoumekixWatanuki
Rating: Adults only
Warnings: Sex. Explicit sex. Yaoi sex. This fic was written in response to a request on the anonymous kink meme posted many moons ago, for tentacle fic. So tentacle sex ahead. If you are underage or do not want to read shameless boysex with tentacles, do not click. But everyone else... have a little faith in me, ok?
Summary: Watanuki encounters a monster of a rather different sort. Doumeki is not amused.
"Strip. Now."
All things considered, Watanuki Kimihiro thought he had a perfectly reasonable excuse for taking a few moments to process the demand that had been curtly directed at him.
After all, he'd just hit the ground after the thing with all the - tentacles, they were tentacles, they certainly weren't... weren't - even if they were purply-red and had little, or not-so-little flared heads that became slick as they fondled - errr, handled - errr, restrained him with remarkable thoroughness in places that weren't usually thought of as restraining points and the restraining had involved an awful lot of stroking motions...
Anyway.
They were certainly tentacles, not Anything Else, no matter how phallic they were, because Anything Elses certainly weren't so bendy. Or prehensile in the slightest. And he was certain that the systematic destruction of his shirt - a pair of tentacles grabbing hold of his collar, and slowly, deliberately pulling the sides apart, first one button then the next ripping off with little popping noises in a forced striptease - was simply part of an extremely baroque and convoluted method of ripping him apart and consuming his blood.
Or at least he'd been praying that it was, praying that all it wanted was to eat him, as usual. That was normal. The anticipation of that type of death was kind of... well, comforting in its familiarity. He could handle that. The prospect of being ripped apart and eaten wasn't new, or overwhelming, or utterly humiliating and somehow even more exciting for that, so he prayed that the thing with all the tentacles was just going about killing him in a very unusual manner.
A manner that required removing Watanuki's clothing, and rubbing up against some of his very sensitive bits.
So, anyway, he'd been praying that it was just going to eat him since he'd gotten a good look at what had grabbed him. Until two of the pe-- tentacles! They were tentacles! -- snuck down the front of his pants, and wrapped around an extremely personal place, gently rubbing and squeezing and stroking, and then he'd lost the ability to find words with which to pray at all.
He'd also lost a dismaying amount of his desire to run like hell.
Not that he could have, suspended almost a meter above the ground by all those tentacles that wound around his wrists and ankles and knees. They'd held him spread-eagled, presumably to give their eager, pulsing brethren better access to every inch of his body. He'd struggled madly against them, and against the ones that wrapped around his torso before reaching for the small of his back and the nape of his neck and those spots beneath his ears and his nipples, and rubbing against them in an incredibly distracting and horribly wonderful way.
All of that aside, his struggles had been utterly futile, and if he was honest, had given way to something more like writhing, and his protesting cries had taken on a note that was less-than-entirely-protesting.
Those cries would probably have been muffled soon, if the really big pe-- tentacle! - had been going where he thought it was going.
Then out of nowhere, there had been a blinding light, and he was falling. He'd gone straight from 'feels so good' to 'damn that hurt' and the breath had been knocked out of him. Once he managed to get air in his lungs again, he was flat on his back on the ground. Then there was an archer above him.
A thin-lipped, furious archer, staring down at him with intense eyes, impossibly dark eyes with pupils he could fall into, and a white-knuckled grip on his bow.
And Watanuki was painfully aware of his ripped shirt, which did absolutely nothing to hide his erect nipples, and the throbbing ache below, harder than it had ever been and visibly straining against the fastening of his trousers - which were missing the button. The touches of the tentacles had pretty much melted away any coherent thought processes, and his humiliating position and the look on Doumeki's face - which was even more intensely angry than when Doumeki had first caught sight of his eye patch - were not helping him to carefully and rationally process the words Doumeki had uttered.
It certainly didn't help that he'd never, ever, ever anticipated hearing those two words paired together. Certainly not in any sentence directed towards him. Especially spoken by this most infuriating of classmates.
So Watanuki felt that that the total absence of any hint of outrage and fury from his response could not be held against him by any reasonable observer.
Besides, he was awfully busy trying to prop himself up on his elbows and trying to summon enough strength in his legs to at least move his knees together into a slightly less wanton pose.
"Whaa---aaaat?"
The last part of his bewildered query had emerged at significantly higher pitch than the first. This was due in part to the belated realization that Doumeki was staring at the unflagging erection attempting to escape from Watanuki's pants. It was also due in part to the step Doumeki took towards Watanuki while staring so inappropriately. Doumeki was now definitely looming, and doing so from between Watanuki's obscenely splayed legs. All that looming was almost... intimidating. Yes. Intimidating. That was all. Not arousing in the slightest. Just intimidating. Almost-intimidating.
All resolutions aside, all this intimidating, in-Watanuki's-personal-space looming was causing his heart to beat faster and was causing the yearning ache in Watanuki's unmentionables to intensify and throb in time with that racing heartbeat. Doumeki was intense and angry and he might do anything at all to Watanuki, anything, and Watanuki couldn't stop him and Watanuki was horrified to discover that he really, really liked that thought.
"Strip. Now." Doumeki's voice was deeper as he restated that impossible - ridiculous! Unreasonable! Humiliating! -- command as though he had every right to do so and every right to expect Watanuki to comply.
Even worse, the zipper slipped open a few more notches as a part of Watanuki twitched at hearing that command in that tone.
Oh, gods. This Was Not Happening. He was not lying on the ground, aching for the touch of that apathetic bastard's skin against his own. Watanuki would admit - because he was always fair! -- that Doumeki might have some qualities that in a certain light could be considered sexy. Ninety-two percent of the female population of Cross Academy (including the nurse) couldn't be entirely wrong. Doumeki was tall, with well-muscled shoulders, and he just exuded an aura of arrogant self-certainty. He was so damn indifferent to most of what occurred around him, but there were hints, rare hints, that intense feelings - volcanic feelings! -- lurked beneath, and Watanuki supposed that plenty of people had fantasized about breaking the dam containing the emotions lurking behind those amber eyes, and drowning in the resulting flood.
Not that he himself had ever woken from such a dream and needed desperately to do laundry before the sun came up. Hadn't ever had wandering thoughts about what might have happened when Doumeki forced him up against the wall... if the archer hadn't decided to demand a chat with his boss, instead of continuing to manhandle him.
Well. Purely abstract consideration of Doumeki's qualities aside, there was absolutely no way he was going to just up and finish the process of disrobing that had been begun by that tentacle thing. Nope. Not happening. Doumeki had fired a chi arrow into the tentacle-creature, and that was that, and now life would return to normal, and Watanuki would calmly and rationally explain this, just as soon as he managed to get a handle on the hormones rushing through his body that wanted to lay back and invite Doumeki to help him out with the whole stripping matter and to continue on from there as the archer saw fit.
"What the... Why should I-- ?"
"Take off your clothes or I will do it for you." Doumeki's grip on the bow tightened even further.
The zipper retreated another few notches, as that rebellious bit of Watanuki's anatomy surged forward even further in enthusiastic support of that notion. But he'd be damned if he let his penis do all the talking.
"Why in the name of all that is holy should I do that? It might have escaped your attention, but I am already significantly under-dressed, and I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to aggravate the problem further just to... to... to provide you with some sort of perverse amusement!"
Those amber eyes - which no longer looked either sleepy or apathetic in the slightest - finally looked away from his crotch. It wasn't much of an improvement in the situation, however, as Doumeki's gaze made a leisurely and thorough tour of the rest of Watanuki's body, making it humiliatingly clear that no detail of Watanuki's sartorial status had escaped the archer's attention.
Watanuki hated, absolutely hated, the traditional archery uniform just now, because the folds of the hakama made it impossible to tell if Doumeki appreciated the view. The unblinking stare was searingly intense, but the sharply lowered brows and the crease between them spoke of anger, not arousal.
Damn.
Oh, god, he did not just think that.
Watanuki had to wonder if prolonged humiliated flushing might be the cause of spontaneous human combustion, and rather wished he would totally self-incinerate right here and right now. His arms were trembling, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to remain propped on his elbows rather than flat on his back. Which was not going to help with the whole trying-to-grasp-the-tattered-remains-of-his-dignity thing.
He certainly was not thinking lewd thoughts as he watched Doumeki's fingers flex and clench around the bow, and certainly did not note that the fingers were long and refined-looking despite the callouses, or that the tendons standing in sharp relief along his wrists from that angry grip were an excellent reminder of the remarkable strength in those hands. Nope. Wasn't going there.
"That was an incubus. It had you in thrall --"
"It did not!"
A pointed stare at Watanuki's erection - oh, god, the zipper was entirely undone now - was Doumeki's only response, and it was excessively eloquent.
Spontaneous combustion was going to occur at any moment now. Please?
"You were in thrall. At least partially." A hint of a smirk, and then Doumeki's expression turned intense again, if not quite so angry. "It might have bound you to itself. If it did, it would leave a mark on your body. I need to make sure there isn't one. Now strip."
"Bound me?"
"I won't repeat myself again."
Watanuki found himself shrugging out of the remnants of his shirt. Doumeki Shizuka's given name was apt - even in his rage, he never raised his voice. There was something in his pointedly quiet tone that was almost impossible to argue with.
Almost.
But while Watanuki was never one to give up on an almost-hopeless cause, he was not at his best at the moment, and this clearly was not an argument he was going to win.
As he fumbled with the remnants of his shirt with shaking hands, the hot, miserable flush spread from his face down the back of his neck. His vision was blurring with what certainly were not tears of humiliation. They even more certainly were in no way tears of disappointment that Doumeki was only staring at him like that and demanding he strip just to make sure the tentacle monster - the incubus - hadn't bound him.
Since he was not upset, the question he asked as he attempted to peel the somewhat damp sleeves from his arms was simple curiosity, and not an attempt to distract himself from his misery and preserve some degree of composure. And his voice Did Not Wobble.
"Mark? What kind of mark?"
"An incubus has a symbol. Sort of a personal signature." Doumeki seemed a bit calmer - at least he no longer sounded like each word was being forced through gritted teeth. "When... when one of them binds a human to himself, that symbol will appear somewhere on the human's skin, like a tattoo. The symbol is on the incubus, too - right beneath the navel, over the second chakra. You might have seen it on the one that attacked you."
Oh. "Ah - yes, I saw it. It was a circle with rays coming out of it - like a sunburst." The shirt was putting up an impressive struggle, especially for a garment that had been mostly gutted by tentacles. At least wrestling with it gave him an excuse not to look at Doumeki's face.
His hormones wondered if Doumeki was still staring at his... No. Not going there. Enough frustration and humiliation for one night already.
With a final tear, the shirt yielded. Triumph! No longer pinned by his own garments, Watanuki sat up, and craned his neck, checking his bare torso. He didn't see anything... "There. Are you happy? No marks."
"Take your pants off. Briefs, too." Doumeki's voice was sharp.
"Are you insane?!"
"Off. All of it. Don't try and tell me it didn't manage to get beneath your pants."
Yes. That tone was angry. Very angry. What right did Doumeki have to sound so furious? He wasn't the one who'd been assaulted, and stripped, and then dropped flat on his ass, aroused and humiliated. He wasn't the one fighting desperately to subdue the hardest erection of his life, desperately aching for touch, any touch, while some arrogant bastard loomed over him and issued orders.
"What the hell is your problem? Where do you get off being so pissed? Why do I have to strip here and now? I'll go home - by myself, damn it! -- and look in the mirror, and if there's a mark I'll go see Yuuko. You can take your demands and shove them--"
The bow hit the ground with a clatter, and Doumeki fell to his knees, wrapping his hands in the waistband of Watanuki's trousers. There was a flurry of motion, and the seer was flat on his back again as Doumeki lifted Watanuki's hips. A few quick yanks followed, as Doumeki carried out his threat of undressing Watanuki.
The trousers and underwear didn't put up even a fraction of the fight the shirt had. Or maybe Doumeki was just better at stripping people than he was. Bastard.
"You have no idea." It was a snarl, low and quiet, from the vicinity of his ankles, but before Watanuki's brain and body could agree upon a course of action Doumeki was straddling him on all fours. "None. An incubus can feed from your arousal - steal that all that potent energy that has every spirit in all of Japan chasing after you -- just by getting you off. If it got you in thrall, you'd do whatever it wanted. Anything. It could have bound you to it as a mindless slave for the rest of your life, you idiot!"
Watanuki watched as his hand, all on its own, moved towards Doumeki. He didn't know if it would have pushed the archer away or pulled him closer, as it was intercepted and captured by a more heavily calloused hand. For a moment he expected (certainly didn't hope, of course not) that Doumeki would pin his wrist to the ground. But no; instead Watanuki's hand was lifted, and pressed against Doumeki's chest, over the archer's heart, as he continued to speak.
The anger in his tone was so incongruous with the careful grip... "And it found you. That means the spell that kept you hidden is breaking up, and if one found you, there will be more..."
Then Doumeki's face was even closer, and Watanuki's hand was released as his head was pulled up for a kiss - and Doumeki kissed like a starving man whose only sustenance for the next millennium was the taste of Watanuki's lips, of Watanuki's tongue, of Watanuki's mouth. The kiss was raw and desperate, bruising in intensity and thoroughly messy, and the arousal that had so overwhelmed Watanuki in the grip of the tentacle monster was utterly overshadowed by the need that left his skin burning now.
As they kissed, Watanuki pressed his palm harder against Doumeki's chest, felt the pounding heart beneath the heavy linen of the gi, and felt his understanding of his world break apart and reorder itself into something much, much warmer.
Then Doumeki broke the kiss, panting, and Watanuki whined in the back of his throat.
"You have no idea," repeated Doumeki between pants. "Been so damn careful not to scare you. You are so damn skittish!"
The kiss resumed again. Watanuki felt no need to break it to inform Doumeki that he was not feeling in the least bit skittish right now. Not now, not here in the warmer, brighter new world.
When this kiss ended, Watanuki pushed Doumeki's gi off -- baring the other man's shoulders, tugging those sculpted arms free of the sleeves. He was only dimly aware that Doumeki was still talking --
"...no idea how much self-control it's taken. I've wanted... been so careful - and there he was, making you writhe, ready to fuck you. You're mine." Another scorching kiss, all too short, but the gi was off now, and there was new territory for Watanuki to explore. "You're mine, Watanuki Kimihiro. I've kept you safe - killed for you, bled for you... Cried for you, you bastard... Tried so damn hard to wait until you were ready..."
Watanuki had a brilliant idea. He tore his hands away from kneading the archer's broad back in order to finish stripping the other man. Only fair, after all - if he was going to demand that Watanuki strip, Shizuka could damn well get naked, too! After a few moments of useless fumbling with the hakama ties- and in the process, his hands confirmed that Doumeki was just as hard as he was, yes! -- Watanuki craned his head so he could see what he was doing. He made a triumphant noise as the knot gave way, and the flowing pants almost fell off.
Then he saw something - something aside from the impressively large bulge in Doumeki's briefs -- something odd enough to penetrate the haze of lust.
"Doumeki - what is this - it looks like a birthmark. Or a tattoo. Of an eye. Right below... your navel...?"
And then Doumeki's skin was rippling, and the tentacles started to grow, reaching towards him, and as his understanding of the world shattered yet again, Watanuki realized that perhaps he should have wondered exactly how it was that Doumeki knew so much about incubi in the first place.
To be continued shortly. So to speak.