Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Bitter, With a Twist of Lemon ❯ Chapter 1

Title: Bitter, With a Twist of Lemon

Author: Clannadlvr

Summary: Sequel to “Shaken and Stirred”

Doujima deals with the consequences of no longer being a spy. Doujima/Sakaki

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Yes, smut…yet…smut that broke me. For serious.

A huge thanks to Puck RG for the pinch beta and the fantastic suggestions!

 

***

 

Coming out of the “spy closet” was hell on your sex life.

 

That was the conclusion Yurika Doujima had come to four months after the collapse of the Factory. Four long, drawn out, frustrating months with no distractions from the opposite sex. And while Doujima considered herself a resourceful woman, there was only so much self-satisfaction could do for you.

 

Being in Japan should have worked in her favor- she'd been born there, lived there for most of her life and, because of that, had figured out how the game was played. You made sure that your hair was blonder and your skirt shorter than any of the friends you dragged out with you to the trendiest disco. You danced with just the right mix of school girl and seductress till you had the whole club, men and women, panting after you. You made sure you seemed aloof enough that only the most confident guys would approach you. And you wouldn't just give them your number- you'd make them work for it. So much so that they wouldn't be surprised when you didn't put out on the first few dates. But once the appropriate gifts had been given and compliments made, you'd give him a chance, a test drive to see if his stamina matched your own. If it didn't, he was out the door. If it did…well, depending on how fully he seemed to understand your needs, you'd keep him around. After a while, you'd part as friends. It never made sense to make them fall in love with you- the end results, yelling and crying, were never pretty.

 

Yet, above all, the most important rule was you never let them see who you really were. They got the dancer, the temptress, the lover, but never the woman. Doujima found that was an act that had served her well at both work and at play.

 

But now that she'd given up the pretense of lazy, shopaholic Doujima at the office, the club kitten act had kind of lost its appeal. It seemed that when she let go of one, she'd also let go of the other. Sure, she still attracted attention when she went dancing, but she didn't seem to have it in her any more to play the game. For over four months, she'd had to, reluctantly, show more of her true self to her coworkers. And now that Solomon had taken control of the STN-J, monitoring it till they felt that Kosaka could be trusted, she was in the odd position of working with Miho, Michael, and the rest of the team as a virtual stranger.

 

She hadn't really expected them to get over her deception right away, but considering that she hadn't been the only one with a secret, they could have been a bit more understanding. It wasn't like she'd killed one of their coworkers like Amon had, or had kept a secret about the most massive craft power in existence like Little Robin. Still, since neither of them were around to deal with the fallout- and she didn't for a second believe that they were dead- it was up to Yurika to put up with the whispers and sideways glances.

 

She hadn't thought that Michael would have been the easiest to win over. His general disgust with the larger Solomon organization that, until a few months ago, had kept him prisoner had been obvious. But it seemed like his crush on Robin, which was still in full swing even though handle-bar head was MIA, worked to her advantage. Doujima was one of the few people who was willing to talk about Amon and Robin without turning sullen, so Michael had taken to talking to her about the two of them as often as he could. She suspected though that any mention of Amon was just a way to throw her off from the obvious fact that his partner was much more on Michael's mind. Still, Doujima and Michael had become friends of a sort, their earlier dislike of each other forgotten in the light of a shared past.

 

Miho was a little different. It seemed like it was taking her much longer to get used to the fact that Doujima had operational control from Solomon more often than not. Karasuma seemed pretty put out that Yurika, whom she'd always condescended to, was in a greater position of power. Still, Miho had class. That was something Yurika had always respected from the shadows of her party girl persona. Miho was pleasant enough, never being too catty or nasty to her coworker. And with enough of “fun” Doujima still left inside, she was slowly wearing away at Miho's distrust.

 

She wouldn't be surprised if the two of them were taking trips to the spa together in a few months time. Well, if only Miho could get over the whole “people touching her” thing.

 

The Chief and Hatori, where before they'd been content to yell at her for her laziness, were actually kind of afraid of her now. And if Yurika said that didn't give her joy, she'd be lying. The Chief…now the Administrator, hadn't been in his position long enough to be able to ignore the specter of Solomon in the form of a petite blonde. She guessed that they thought she was making notes on their performance along with the rest of the STN-J to pass back to Headquarters.

 

They weren't wrong.

 

Still, all in all, the members of the STN-J seemed to be gradually adapting to her presence. It was almost like they'd gotten a brand new member to their team who they were slowly, but surely, making part of the larger group. And Yurika was sure that once the new craft-using hunter arrived from the convent in the next week or so, her jarring presence would almost be forgotten.

 

Almost, except for the elephant-like memory of one particular hunter.

 

She wasn't sure if Haruto Sakaki was ever going to accept her presence at Raven's Flat.

 

Okay, so she'd played him, pure and simple. He'd bought the helpless act hook, line, and sinker when he'd taken her back to her apartment to make love to her all those months ago. Yes, made love to her. Not that Yurika had made love back, but she knew that Haruto's intentions, though he'd gotten a little bit bossy during the actual act, had been filled with emotion. So she'd given him what he'd wanted, letting him take control of her body while her mind had worked out the perfect way to keep him loyal. She'd ignored him after that night, plain and simple, with just enough saucy glances thrown his way to act like the proverbial carrot on a stick. And until he'd found out the truth about her allegiances, he'd been putty in her hands.

 

The little finger that curled in her stomach that somewhat resembled guilt was quickly stamped down. She'd had a mission to convince her co-workers that she was nothing more than a bubble headed playgirl and she'd carried it out. The reason she'd slept with him? Well, that was a bit more difficult to fit into her mission objective, but she'd gotten the sense around the time of the psychic-paranoia case that Haruto was beginning to be a bit suspicious of her. There had been too many times when he'd actually caught her working hard, rather than simply flipping through fashion magazines, for her comfort. In retrospect, she realized that she may have jumped the gun: he'd been so head over heels for her while trying to hide it that she doubted he'd given her actions a second thought. But at the time…it had seemed like a good idea. And at least she'd gotten a passable orgasm out of it.

 

Unfortunately, it was one of the few ideas that had blown up in her face.

 

During their surveillance of the Factory, he'd been sullen enough. But after Amon and Robin had “died”…well, Haruto had become even more closed off, like he almost blamed her for their deaths. She wouldn't have cared except that he seemed to want to point out her previous double agent status at every opportunity…a comment in the briefing room…a snide line in his reports that got passed along to Solomon HQ. And, of course, the way he avoided her touch like she had leprosy.

 

It was silly. It was stupid. And it was annoying the crap out of her.

 

And a frustrated woman was NOT someone that you wanted to annoy.

 

But wait…

 

He was angry…she was frustrated…

 

Well, well, well. Maybe there was a solution to this after all.

 

***

 

She waited until the office was empty and she knew that Miho, Hatori, the Chief, and the recently freed Michael had gone home for the night. It was pretty easy to hang about as Haruto worked on his latest report, a grim sort of determination playing about his mouth.

 

Ambushes were always easiest when the victim was preoccupied.

 

“See you later, Sakaki!” she said brightly, waving to him as she sauntered toward the elevator. His only response was a grunt, but she knew that would soon change.

 

When she entered the elevator, she pushed the button for the ground floor. The lights flicked, “five, four, three, two...” all the way to the main level, the doors opening up to the dimly lit streets of Tokyo at night. She took them in, loving the way the moonlight slid through the reinforced bars that protected the STN-J in the dead of night. And then she watched the elevator door slide close, cutting off the nocturnal illumination. She pressed herself into the corner of the car, simply waiting for it to start back up again when someone called it from above.

 

She didn't have to wait for long.

 

***

 

The slow rise of the elevator was its own sort of foreplay, and she couldn't help but enjoy that she was the only one who understood it. As it reached the fifth floor, she heard the faint tapping of a foot and the slight scent of Calvin Kline's “Be.”

 

Haruto Sakaki was more subtle than she'd imagined. A mix of masculine and feminine at odds with his Rambo-like personality.

 

She pushed aside any notions of Sakaki having a complex character as the doors of the elevator slowly opened. The only things she cared about at the moment were the baser emotions, the ones that would make him plead, no, beg for her before the night was done.

 

Doujima smiled to herself as she realized that this would be much more enjoyable than her club conquests.

 

He didn't see her as he entered the elevator, his head hung low, lost in thought as he swung his motorcycle helmet back and forth by the strap. But as the doors closed and the car began to descend, his head snapped up in awareness.

 

“Miss Doujima. What…?”

 

Her movement toward the control panel seemed to cut off his questions as she pushed the `stop' button. She had to stifle a giggle as she saw his face grow the white shade of panic. Did he think she was here to eliminate him on orders from Solomon?

 

Silly boy. Of course not. Or…at least not yet.

 

She pushed future orders to the back of her mind as she advanced on him, letting the purr that she'd worked on as a club kitten enter her voice. “Sakaki,” she murmured, “Leaving so soon?”

 

His eyes grew even wider, and even she caught the simple look of male appreciation in his gaze before it morphed to suspicion and anger.

 

“What the fuck are you doing? Get this elevator started, now.”

 

His voice was almost a little dangerous, she mused. Quite surprising. Surprisingly arousing. She let the sensation ripple through her as she backed him into the corner of the stalled elevator.

 

“Why would you want me to do that?” she asked, batting her eyes slightly, but not too much to warrant overkill. “You can't tell me that you haven't though of this…haven't thought of us, alone, since that night.”

 

She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, that faint tick of nervousness oddly enough tightening the curl in her lower belly. It was so enticing that she decided to caress that part of his neck, allowing her perfectly manicured fingers to scrape it lightly, making a faint red trail down toward the collar of his shirt. She leaned in, her warm breath making false promises against his goosefleshed skin. “You remember it, don't you?” she taunted softly, allowing her body to lean even closer into his own for just a moment. Doujima couldn't be sure if it was for her own indulgence or for his.

 

“Bitch,” she heard him say softly, and laughed as she felt the sting of the insult melt away.

 

“Now, now, Sakaki,” she said in a gross approximation of a mothering tone, “is that anyway to talk to the woman who gave herself to you? But maybe…” she trailed off as her lips leaned in, nipping at his ear, “you like the punishment.”

 

Hearing his faint whimper, barely restrained, was its own reward.

 

“Oh, you do, don't you?” she said, her fingers leaving his collarbone, trailing down his shirt front till she felt the faint imprint of his nipples. She tweaked them harshly through the fabric of his t-shirt and was rewarded by the quick, involuntary jerking of his hips toward her own.

 

“Damn it, Doujima,” he growled. “Get the hell off of me. Anyone could see us.”

 

“Perhaps,” she said, leaning closer to him even still, “but something tells me you'd enjoy the idea…” she trailed off, getting in so close that she could brush his neck with her lips, her tongue barely make a lasting trail against his heated skin, the moisture burning off as soon as it was left, “…of someone watching us together,” she continued, the jerk of her hips toward his own serving as the perfect punctuation.

 

She smiled a feral grin as she heard his breath quicken even more. Oh, she so had total power over him. And she was loving every damned minute of it.

 

Deciding to press her advantage, she grabbed the strap of the helmet, loosening his fingers around it till it dropped to the ground. But even though his hands were now free, he made no move to touch her. Feeling the beginning of a pout coming on, Doujima pushed it to the side, instead working on her plan of attack.

 

“Sakaki…” she whispered. “Don't you want to touch me?” she asked, her whole body moving to cover his own. She watched his hands clench in an effort to not grab her, and she delighted in the small victory. “Come on…Haruto,” she murmured, letting her hips undulate against his own.

 

His name on her lips seemed to be his undoing, she thought vaguely as she dealt with the onslaught of feeling that came from his hips moving against her own. In seconds, he'd matched her rhythm, the two of them savoring the dry heat against an elevator wall. She was somewhat impressed that his appetite seemed to work in tandem with her own as she moved against him. This was perfect…he was putty to her. An appropriate solution to her problem of gaining his obedience once again, with the side benefit of relieving her own tension. Doujima grinned triumphantly as she cooed, “Oh, yeah, that's it…”

 

In an instant, everything changed. Doujima gasped as she felt the warmth of the elevator air replaced by its cold metal surface. Sakaki had her pressed up against the wall, her hands braced above her head, with one palm securing her wrists together.

 

“Is that what you think?” he asked in a low growl, his lips by her ears. “That I'll just roll over and let you control me like you did before?” She felt his erection rub harshly against her center and a moan left her lips before she could still it. “That I'll let you use me for your own endgame?”

 

Her heartbeat quickened, not just from the momentary fear of Haruto having taken control, but from the accompanying arousal as well. Lust shot through her belly as she began to sense a different side to the boy in man's clothing. Not that she was going to give up control that easily.

 

“So, you finally figured it out then, did you?” she asked tauntingly, a sneer gracing her lips. “I was wondering when you were going to realize that it was all a joke, that you were only a passable lay.” She felt him tighten up against her in anger. And, strangely enough, she was even more turned on. She decided to push the envelope. “Oh, Sakaki, I need you inside me right now,” she whispered coquettishly, a sickening facsimile of the words she'd said the night she'd conned him into her bed. “You liked to hear that, didn't you?”

 

His responding growl was more than a little fierce, and she delighted in the mix of fear and arousal it brought her.

 

“Maybe, you need to know what it feels like to be controlled,” she heard him say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe, you need to know what it feels like to have someone else pull the strings, to have someone make you beg for it. To have you actually mean it for once.”

 

Shivers ran up and down her spine, her surprise at his boldness taking her voice away. Still, she managed to eek out, “Didn't I beg for it last time, Sakaki? Or, at least, didn't I make you think that I did?”

 

Doujima felt him pull away from her, and she forced her eyes, which had closed of their own volition, open to meet his own. She was surprised by the cool look of determination she found in them. And for the first time since this charade had started, she began to wonder whether she was really in control.

 

“Maybe,” he replied, “but this time, I'm going to make sure you mean it.”

 

Before she could take another breath, or even try to muster up a reply, he was on her, tweaking her breasts, just on the off side of vicious, through the material of her silk shirt. His hands…his teeth were everywhere at once. And all the while her wrists were securely fastened above her head.

 

She couldn't do a damn thing about it.

 

“Sakaki, please!” she said, for the first time in their association, meaning it. Abandoning all the pretense of control, if not the goal of it, she said, “let me touch you.”

 

“No,” he said as pulled open her shirt, “I don't think I will.”

 

Her mind turned to mush as his lips fastened on her breast through the material of her bra. Then just as quickly, the foam cup was pushed aside. Her hips bucked as he used his teeth on her. She heard a moan and it took her forever to realize it was her own.

 

What the hell was he doing to her?

 

She tried to gain control, but as he got down on his knees, his lips and teeth blazing a path down her stomach, she found herself trapped by moans and sensation. She hadn't even realized that he'd let go of her hands as he moved his lips toward her still covered thighs. Her mind raced as he quickly pushed up her skirt, bunching it around her hips. She tried to say something to him as his fingers pulled aside the tiny scrap of silk that covered her. But any thoughts of pushing him away and gaining control of the situation were erased by the feeling of his tongue against her wet, hot center.

 

“Oh god,” she moaned, her hands moving to her own breasts against her will. Her hips rocked against the ministrations of his tongue as the grasping of her hands brought her closer and closer to her own release. Just a little bit more…

 

“Not so fast,” came the voice below her. Her hands were his prisoners once again, and she moaned in disappointment as he angled his body away from her own. Doujima whimpered, but took the moment of broken contact to begin to plan. How could she take the control away from him?

 

As she watched his eyes dart toward her uncovered breasts, a plan started to form in her mind.

 

“Don't you want to touch them,” she asked breathily. “Don't you want to put your lips on them again, to tongue them till they get so hard they could break your skin?” The sense of triumph she felt as she watched his eyes glaze over was heady and real.

 

So arousing that she almost didn't mind it as he took control again.

 

Almost.

 

“No,” Sakaki said, pushing her up against the wall once more, “I think you'd enjoy that too much. Instead,” he said, as she watched a malicious glint light up his eyes, “I think I'll make you wait.”

 

Fuck! Her mind screamed as Sakaki stood close enough to her to arouse her, but far enough away to deny her release. She whimpered in dissatisfaction, her eyes widening in disbelief as she saw the harsh tent of his pants. How in the hell was he handling this if she couldn't?

 

She didn't realize that she'd said the words out loud till he answered her.

 

“How?” Sakaki asked. “Maybe it's because I've thought about this for months. The way I'd make you beg for it after the way you played me. Maybe it's because I thought about giving you just enough pleasure, then denying you the rest. Or maybe,” he said, his eyes darkening more than she ever thought possible, “I just don't want you as much as you want me.”

 

That was the final straw. Before she realized what she had done, Doujima had broken his hold on her wrists and turned the tables, pressing his body up against the wall of the elevator as she tore at his clothes. Her fingers nimbly worked down the zipper of his jeans as she said, “Oh, you don't want me that much? Really?” She batted her eyes as the fabric gave way and her hand fisted around his hard length. But she didn't move, not yet. She waited until she heard his expectant moan and said throatily, “We'll see about that.”

 

Then she began her onslaught, her wrist moving in a way that she'd practiced on the clubbers and other men whom she'd allowed to dance in and out of her life. But none of them had ever tried to hold back the way Sakaki was doing right now. And that very fact turned her on even more. So much so that she didn't protest when his own hands gravitated toward her center, once again.

 

All pretext of conversation was dropped as the small shell of the elevator became a Pandora's box of grunts, murmurs, and labored breaths. At almost the same moment, they released each other, the need to feel naked flesh on naked flesh too important to be delayed.

 

She was pulled out of her daze as she felt Sakaki's hand grab around her leg, wrapping it around his newly uncovered waist. He'd removed just enough clothing to access each her. It would be fast and dirty, she knew…

 

…until she looked at his face.

 

Their eyes locked and Doujima was bowled over by the depth of emotion she found there. Before, his gaze had been clouded by anger and lust. But now…all she saw was love and pain.

 

She struggled, trying to break away from him. She didn't love him. She knew that plainly and simply, and some small part of her couldn't bear being with him if he was going to offer her his heart.

 

But guilt seemed to be the punishment he was willing to serve her.

 

“Look at me,” he demanded, and her eyes locked with his again before she could stop herself.

 

“Haruto,” she murmured, tears threatening to fill her eyes. “I…”

 

“Don't say it,” he muttered harshly. And then, for a moment, she saw a flash of the overeager boy she used to know. “Just tell me you don't want it, and I'll stop.”

 

The heart she hadn't realized she had, fractured, tiny lines running through it, making her soul shake. Even though everything was telling her to walk away, that she was breaking her cardinal rule by allowing someone to actually feel for her, she couldn't pull away. Desire, and the need to be loved, even if she couldn't return the emotion, clouded her judgment. She couldn't stop herself as she said, “Please, Haruto. Now.”

 

And with that, every pretext was dropped, every barrier ignored as he thrust into her, so much harder and deeper than the time before. She panted against his neck, the two of them so wrapped up in each other that she wasn't sure where he ended and she began.

 

“Doujima,” he whispered, and she felt him pull away slightly, his hands encircling her arms, trailing down toward her wrists as he thrust inside her. But instead of locking his fingers around her wrists, rendering her immobile, his fingers wove with her own, their hands interlocking as he rose their arms in tandem above her head.

 

The simple affection of the gesture rocked her, her eyes filling with something that once again suspiciously resembled tears. Their movements, which at first had been harsh and simply part of a need to race toward completion, slowed, grew deeper, and more intense.

 

“Doujima, Doujima, Doujima,” Sakaki chanted as his eyes sought her own. “Look at me,” he said, demands falling toward pleading.

 

She couldn't help herself as her eyes searched for his. Once again, the love she saw in his gaze threatened to break her, but she found herself also chasing a kind of pleasure she'd never felt before.

 

The tension built, higher and higher, as they moved in a synchronicity she'd never experienced in all her days of flirtation and games. And as they cried out as one, each of them finding their own blinding climax in time with the other, her heart broke and healed and broke again in one fell swoop.

 

***

 

When she got back to her apartment that night after confiscating the security tapes, Doujima told herself that she'd played him. That she'd had a plan when she'd entered the elevator- a passable orgasm and an exercise in control. She'd gotten more than she'd bargained for on the first account. Her center still seemed to ache with pleasure now, two hours on. She'd gotten what she'd wanted, and so it seemed, had he. Still, every word she tried to say to convince herself that he didn't love her was fruitless. She tried to take the look of anger, love, and despair she'd seen in his eyes and lock it away, sealing it in its own metal box. Doujima wasn't surprised when it seemed to work. She'd always been so good at blocking out what others thought. So, the night had been a success after all. Or so she tried to tell herself.

 

Because, in truth, she mused, that night in the elevator had been an exercise in control. She now knew, by example, what it felt like to lose it.

 

And as Yurika Doujima let herself cry for the first time in many years, crying for a body she'd used and a heart she'd broken, she wished it was a lesson she had never learned.

 

***