[xxxHOLiC Fic] The Incubi continuation ficlet
More fanfic-fic which has wound up ridiculously overdue for being posted. ^^; (Life has been distractingly for this early in the year) This one's for lunargeography's The Incubi: A Study in Agony or Ecstasy. Or Both. ( Part 1 and Part 2) which does need to be read if the snippet below is to make any sense, though just as surely shouldn't be read by anyone unprepared to a) read fic involving tentacles, and b) find themselves really enjoying fic involving tentacles. (Yes, you read that correctly. I cannot stress any part of this enough.)
So, it dawns on me that when I do find myself inspired to write something ficlet-shaped based on fic by someone else, it's fic which has gone right to the deep end of the NC-17 zone and kept going until it's well into what would traditionally be considered squick territory. This despite the fact the worst I've ever been personally guilty of yet is a bit of snogging and a strategic fade-to-black. Possibly this is one I shouldn't wonder about too hard. >.>
Er, anyway, for people who have read the original fic, this would be set some unspecified hypothetical time later on, when most remaining issues will have been dealt with and life has settled down a bit - or at least as much as Watanuki's life ever calms down.
Being in a relationship with Doumeki was seriously unfair.
The centre of the problem was, of course, the whole issue of all those tentacles. It wasn’t that Watanuki didn’t like them, wasn’t fully capable of appreciating the many and various (if somewhat singularly themed) uses for which they could be employed. He was even reaching the point where he was relatively able to think things like that with a straight face - and might even someday be able to express something like that aloud without exploding in some messy fashion all over the room. The problem was that they were simply a little too effective. Between them and that hideously convenient barrier-thing, the issue of who else might be positioned to walk in on them or hear something a bit telling became no issue at all, and so refusing sex when Doumeki brought up the subject was just about more than Watanuki might ever be able to do. And again, he could scarcely claim he minded that on ninety-nine occasions out of a hundred, but Doumeki wasn’t always very discriminatory about the moments he chose for it, and it was getting to where Watanuki could hardly even have a proper argument with him anymore without being interrupted even more rudely than usual.
It wasn’t all one sided. Watanuki had discovered just how sensitive those… appendages were early on in the relationship, and provided he wasn’t too firmly restrained to get a hand out somewhere, knew perfectly well how to use them to evoke some very satisfying responses. But just as long as the blasted things were retractable, turning the tables on that smug bastard would be out of the question.
Not remotely fair in the least.
And once Doumeki had chosen to employ his novel new way of winning arguments and brought it to its eventual conclusion (by which stage his victim would be lucky if he remembered what they’d been arguing about at all), Watanuki would be unconscious for at least the next eight hours whether he liked it or not. This wouldn’t have been nearly so much a problem if that stupid jerk would only wait until a little later than the early afternoon to initiate anything, or if he’d just get it through his head that Watanuki has been unconscious since less than a hour after you both got home from school = no lunch will be made tomorrow, but the message never quite seemed to sink in.
Complaints to Doumeki about this particular side effect only produced cryptic instructions that he should start being less generous with his Chi if it bothered him that much. Insisting he didn’t have the slightest idea how he was supposed to achieve that only got him suggestions he must need more practice at it, and where that lead was far too predictable. Yuuko - who could never be trusted to keep her nose out of that or any other related subjects - had coyly suggested his control had something to do with how much he was enjoying himself, and (ohoho!) just how much fun had he and Doumeki been having with each other? leaving Watanuki with no other option but to turn bright red, yell at her, storm right out of the shop (determinedly not listening to Maru and Moro’s latest new song about takoyaki) and spend the next hour lurking sullenly around the entrance pretending he wasn’t so horrified by the thought every other passing person was about to sprout their own molesting tentacles that he didn’t dare take himself home.
Home, of course, still meaning Doumeki’s shrine for the moment. The thought of what all that shrine’s visitors would make of the discovery of just what kind of creature lived there was a source of a whole other class of mortification (which he could never get Yuuko or Doumeki to even pretend to understand). And there he was stuck waiting outside the shop until the one person he knew did have a well practiced set of his own molesting tentacles showed up to give him someone to complain at all the way back.
So, it dawns on me that when I do find myself inspired to write something ficlet-shaped based on fic by someone else, it's fic which has gone right to the deep end of the NC-17 zone and kept going until it's well into what would traditionally be considered squick territory. This despite the fact the worst I've ever been personally guilty of yet is a bit of snogging and a strategic fade-to-black. Possibly this is one I shouldn't wonder about too hard. >.>
Er, anyway, for people who have read the original fic, this would be set some unspecified hypothetical time later on, when most remaining issues will have been dealt with and life has settled down a bit - or at least as much as Watanuki's life ever calms down.
Being in a relationship with Doumeki was seriously unfair.
The centre of the problem was, of course, the whole issue of all those tentacles. It wasn’t that Watanuki didn’t like them, wasn’t fully capable of appreciating the many and various (if somewhat singularly themed) uses for which they could be employed. He was even reaching the point where he was relatively able to think things like that with a straight face - and might even someday be able to express something like that aloud without exploding in some messy fashion all over the room. The problem was that they were simply a little too effective. Between them and that hideously convenient barrier-thing, the issue of who else might be positioned to walk in on them or hear something a bit telling became no issue at all, and so refusing sex when Doumeki brought up the subject was just about more than Watanuki might ever be able to do. And again, he could scarcely claim he minded that on ninety-nine occasions out of a hundred, but Doumeki wasn’t always very discriminatory about the moments he chose for it, and it was getting to where Watanuki could hardly even have a proper argument with him anymore without being interrupted even more rudely than usual.
It wasn’t all one sided. Watanuki had discovered just how sensitive those… appendages were early on in the relationship, and provided he wasn’t too firmly restrained to get a hand out somewhere, knew perfectly well how to use them to evoke some very satisfying responses. But just as long as the blasted things were retractable, turning the tables on that smug bastard would be out of the question.
Not remotely fair in the least.
And once Doumeki had chosen to employ his novel new way of winning arguments and brought it to its eventual conclusion (by which stage his victim would be lucky if he remembered what they’d been arguing about at all), Watanuki would be unconscious for at least the next eight hours whether he liked it or not. This wouldn’t have been nearly so much a problem if that stupid jerk would only wait until a little later than the early afternoon to initiate anything, or if he’d just get it through his head that Watanuki has been unconscious since less than a hour after you both got home from school = no lunch will be made tomorrow, but the message never quite seemed to sink in.
Complaints to Doumeki about this particular side effect only produced cryptic instructions that he should start being less generous with his Chi if it bothered him that much. Insisting he didn’t have the slightest idea how he was supposed to achieve that only got him suggestions he must need more practice at it, and where that lead was far too predictable. Yuuko - who could never be trusted to keep her nose out of that or any other related subjects - had coyly suggested his control had something to do with how much he was enjoying himself, and (ohoho!) just how much fun had he and Doumeki been having with each other? leaving Watanuki with no other option but to turn bright red, yell at her, storm right out of the shop (determinedly not listening to Maru and Moro’s latest new song about takoyaki) and spend the next hour lurking sullenly around the entrance pretending he wasn’t so horrified by the thought every other passing person was about to sprout their own molesting tentacles that he didn’t dare take himself home.
Home, of course, still meaning Doumeki’s shrine for the moment. The thought of what all that shrine’s visitors would make of the discovery of just what kind of creature lived there was a source of a whole other class of mortification (which he could never get Yuuko or Doumeki to even pretend to understand). And there he was stuck waiting outside the shop until the one person he knew did have a well practiced set of his own molesting tentacles showed up to give him someone to complain at all the way back.