Skin

Every time Doumeki looks at Watanuki, all he can think about is skin.

Watanuki has lots of it- lots of pale, pale skin that looks pasty in the sun but glows in the moon.

Doumeki has often seen Watanuki in the moon, or in the flickering glow of candles, and he wonders what Watanuki would look like in darkness.

Or naked.

His mind inevitably travels down that route, eyes carefully stripping Watanuki of his uniform (in his mind, he once slid Watanuki's yukata off his shoulders and on to the ground) and imagining that every thing under there is a pale as smooth as Watanuki's hands and throat are.

It probably is.

If you didn't know him well (under the pale glow of the moon with the shadows in his eyes), especially if he kept his mouth shut, he would be some ice prince, with his unnaturally pale skin and ice that have seen too much.

Doumeki has no trouble whatsoever believing that this boy can see spirits, or that the Witch of The Dimensions (a title, Yuuko assures him, not mistakenly conferred) has chosen this one to be her servant in her wish-bringing shop.

He doesn't even have trouble believing that he and Watanuki are destined (destined what, nobody bothers to tell him. Yuuko just laughs and laughs and laughs), because when that witch tells him things, the temple-owner's son in him nearly begs to believe, because for all his often ruthless practicality Doumeki had grown up in a place dripping with the faith and belief of worshippers throughout the centuries.

That woman and her shop are what happens, when wants become needs and faith turns to a shop filled with strange smelling smokes and soulless slaves.

He's never gone into her shop yet, and if that woman is right he never will.

Watanuki once –in one of the rare times he was not throwing a tantrum- said that every one who entered the shop had a wish, and that that wish –no matter how small or trivial- commanded a price.

Doumeki wonders what the price would be if he walked into the shop and wished for Watanuki's pale, pale skin to be all his own.

He does not particularly want to find out.

He can readily admit it to himself- he wants Watanuki, wants him under his hands and on his lap and in his mouth, wants that pale, pale skin laid bare under his eyes and mouth and hands, wants to defile every inch of that exaggerated pureness and chase the constant faint fear from Watanuki's eyes.

He wants, he admits to himself in the darkness of the night, to fuck him.

He wants to hold him and kiss him and fuck him and keep him, because Watanuki should be Doumeki's to do whatever he wants with, and if that necessitates going everywhere with Watanuki to keep him safe from the monsters who want to eat his soul, so be it, even if it drives him crazy to see to see the pale line of that throat without his mouth on it, those eyes flicker with fear and his arms cringe away from some evil Doumeki cannot see but Watanuki insists is there. He wants so badly to do something about it and knows perfectly well that he can not. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Every time Doumeki looks at Watanuki, all he can think about is skin.

Skin, and the defiling and cleansing thereof.

-end-