Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Shaken and Stirred ❯ One-Shot

Title: “Shaken and Stirred”

Author: Clannadlvr

Spoilers: For whole series, specific references to “Smells Like the Wandering Spirit” and the events of the end of the series.

Summary: Sakaki and Doujima play their roles. But where does acting end and reality begin?

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Yes, smut ahoy! And for those of you who might be a little concerned with Doujima's…ah…performance in this story, rest assured there will be a sequel that explains her true motives, k?

 

***

 

Ever since he was a little boy, Haruto Sakaki dreamed of being someone else.

 

He wasn't so different from most of the kids in his neighborhood. He loved video games and movies with lots of blood and guts, good guys and bad guys. The heroes of choice for boys his age could range from the latest sullen-Manga type, able to be Japanese and utterly cool at the same time, to the imported, undubbed American action star, chewing tobacco and blasting away aliens with just a shoulder-cannon and a pair of camos.

 

Haruto and his friends would come home from school every day, play acting with plastic figures and homemade superhero outfits. They'd be comic book characters, fighting mutants one day; the next day they'd be a troop of Rambos, blowing away the enemy for the good of the country. Pretend grenades would be thrown, fictional dictators ousted, and alien invasions thwarted. It was halcyon times of youth.

 

Except that Haruto Sakaki always felt like there was something missing from these games.

 

Well, actually, someone.

 

He'd thought about it for a while, wondered if the other guys would be ok with it, and brought it up to them at their next play date. The charade was covert American spies that day- a perfect opportunity. So, as they figured out their strategy for the day's campaign, he offered up his idea to the group. The new character that, once added in, would make the game even more cool.

 

Their laughter, disgust, and name calling after they heard his plan pretty much ended his place in that playground group.

 

Looking back, he blamed the whole mess on James Bond. While his other friends always liked the tough guys who got covered in blood, ripping apart enemies with their bare hands, Sakaki's whole perspective on what constituted a hero changed when he saw Goldfinger for the first time. Sure, Bond was different in a lot of ways from the Van Dammes and Jackie Chans: he wore a tux, drank elegant drinks, finessed his Walther PPK into the ultimate killing machine, and had a wicked accent.

 

But the real reason why 007 became Sakaki's number one hero?

 

He always got the girl.

 

Always.

 

Even at 12 years old, Haruto recognized that ability for the superpower it was. So, to him, it made total sense to tell the guys about it, wondering if rescuing the girl and “reaping the spoils” could be a part of their playground missions.

 

And, even though that idea hadn't exactly won him friends in the process, Haruto was more than happy to laugh at that group when they finally figured out the secret a few years later that he'd learned early on from James Bond:

 

Women were the ultimate prize.

 

Sure, gold doubloons could buy you stuff and nicking the enemy's super weapon would make you a world leader…but getting a woman to fall at your feet? That was a prize beyond measure. And each prize was so different…some were lanky with legs that looked killer in a mini skirt. Others were rounder, with places a man could grab onto at just the right moment. They were exotic or natural, wicked or sweet, innocent or worldly, but they all had their charm, those singular pleasures they could provide.

 

Sakaki hadn't waited too many years after his James Bond encounter to try out as many types as he could. True, he fumbled a bit at the beginning, but he knew that was on account of the fact that he wasn't 007, super spy. Chatting up a girl at the local game room, taking her out on a few dates, and ending up in her bedroom one night, stifling both their cries as best he could so as to not to wake up her parents, became something that he tried to do on a regular enough basis. Still…too much time was spent wining and dining, or Bepsi-ing and chowing on pizza, for his taste. The idea of a girl throwing herself at him because he'd saved her life, or at least beat up a few goons that were giving her trouble, was still pretty high up in his book. There was just something missing…

 

So, when the STN-J came calling, he jumped at the chance for reasons that his recruiters would never have believed. Sure, he felt like he was doing good work: protecting the public from homicidal witches and being part of a team of do-gooders was pretty heavy stuff. But…he'd be lying if he said that getting to be the witch-hunting version of a Japanese James Bond didn't sweeten the deal.

 

At first, becoming the new hotshot on the team was the only thing on his mind. He'd messed up a bunch in his early missions, getting so caught up in the thrill of the chase that too many Orbo bullets were spent and hunts bungled, but after watching that man run out in traffic, getting mowed down by a passing car, he started to doubt his ability to be that hero he'd wanted to be so much as a kid.

 

But after that mission, when the witch's craft had made him shake like a leaf, every one of his fears and doubts consuming him until Robin cradled him in her arms, he'd started to reevaluate his work. He rewound the footage of his missions with the STN-J, both in his mind and through Michael's computer archives, to see where he'd been going wrong. And then he saw it.

 

Did James Bond run around like a SWAT team member, making his movements big and bold, throwing himself bodily into the line of fire? Did 007 shoot without aiming, not caring whether he could make the shot or not?

 

No. Bond was precision and accuracy. He wasn't some kid who tried to act like he had a whole battalion of troops behind him. And he certainly didn't let his ass get whooped by every witch he came across.

 

That, right there, definitely explained why Sakaki wasn't getting the girl. And not just any girl. The girl.

 

Why had he ever thought that Yurika Doujima would ever go for brash and dramatic over cool and calculated? Even though he knew that Amon annoyed her most of the time, he'd seen the look of female appreciation in her eyes that every woman in the STN-J, Robin included, seemed to give Amon after he completed a particularly good hunt. All those months of showing off in front of her hadn't given Sakaki anything more than ridicule and a sort of snobbish dismissal of his work. Miss Doujima would never want to be “the girl” to someone who couldn't really hunt a witch without getting beat up.

 

So he changed his strategy. Sakaki became a bit more cool, a bit more calm and collected, not just pushing away his disappointment and grief after the death of the homeless man, but channeling it into becoming a better hunter. Sure, he still made mistakes, but he made them less often and with less effect.

 

Then, one day, it started to work. Back when he still believed that black and white existed, that good and evil were separate, that witch and human were opposite terms. Before the attack on the STN-J, the revelation of spies, and the collapse of the Factory.

 

Before all of that, Haruto Sakaki finally got the girl.

 

***

 

The scream ripped through the silence of the warehouse as Haruto carefully made his way through a maze of boxes and containers. He quickened his pace, being careful to keep himself out of sight and out of range. He knew that voice.

 

Hiding in the shadows, he scanned the open area and had stop himself from crying out her name as he saw Doujima fall to the ground. His feet started to move toward her until his mind snapped him back. What would Bond do? The answer was simple: he'd sneak up behind the perpetrator, find his disadvantage, then dispose of him. It didn't matter that his palms were sweating and that his heart was beating a million beats per minute.

 

Oddly enough, it worked. Sakaki slipped through the shadows, blocking Doujima's moans of pain from his thoughts as he crept along the edges of the room, ignoring the way the witch raised his hand to deliver his death blow of jagged ice. Sakaki steadied his aim and fired; once, twice, three times, until the witch dropped to the floor.

 

Only after the guy stopped moving did Haruto let out a shaky breath. Then all the fear and worry came flooding back.

 

He ran toward her, his sneakers skidding and leaving faint black marks on the varnished floor as he slid to her side. Her face was pale white, her arms bleeding from the moderate cuts the ice, shattered by the force of the Orbo, had been able to inflict.

 

“Miss Doujima? Miss Doujima?? Hey,” he shook her slightly, “are you ok?”

 

Doujima seemed to come around rather quickly, her eyes fluttering open, a moan escaping her lips. “What happened?” she asked breathily.

 

Sakaki almost groaned in pleasure at the helpless look in her eyes. “It was a witch…but I took care of him. You're safe now.”

 

He watched as she started to tremble and quickly wrapped his arms around her, not caring if she punched him and gave him one of her trademark snarky comments. But she just seemed to lean into him, pulling her arms around tighter and tighter.

 

Huh. He could get used to this.

 

***

 

The report to Amon was pretty straightforward. He and Doujima hadn't been expecting the witch to show up at that location, hence the lack of backup, but it seemed like they'd handled it well enough. Of course, Sakaki hadn't included Doujima's little breakdown in his report, but Amon seemed to figure it out easily enough from the way she still trembled a bit as her fingers hit the keyboard.

 

She was still pretty shook up. He should offer her a ride home, of course. It was the least he could do. Not that he was expecting the damsel to throw herself at him or anything, right?

 

But, as his motorcycle pulled out of the parking lot of Raven's Flat and her arms wrapped around him from behind, his mind started wandering to missed playground opportunities and shaken martinis. Was it his imagination, or did her fingers seem to be creeping a little bit too curiously into the space between his jacket and the thin t-shirt that covered his skin?

 

He tried to ignore the way he could feel her firm breasts pressed up against his back as he hugged a tight curve, or the powerful way her thighs clamped around his backside, anchoring her to him.

 

Thank god she wasn't sitting in front of him or she would have gotten a real interesting surprise.

 

All too soon his bike pulled up in front of her apartment complex. He expected her to hop off the bike, giving that silly little wave she liked when she waltzed out of the STN-J to go shopping. But she just seemed to sit there, her arms still tight around his waist and her thighs around his body as the motor chugged in neutral.

 

Then he realized she had removed her helmet, so he did the same.

 

Sakaki almost swallowed his tongue when she said, “Do you want to come inside?,” but he'd learned early enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. So, he didn't question it when her hand slipped into his own, gently pulling him along, up the stairs and toward her door.

 

***

 

Her tongue was in his mouth before he'd even had the chance to ask her if she was ok after the hunt they'd had. He could have asked her what was going on, why she was giving him the time of day after so many months of vicious flirting and snide comments, especially on his part, but when her surprisingly sharp teeth bit into his lower lip, he answered the resulting tug below his belt and said `screw you' to questions and consequences.

 

Sakaki pushed the door to her apartment closed, answering the movement of her tongue with some of his own. He'd expected her to be pliant and willing after the events of that night, but she seemed more than a little aggressive, nipping and pulling at his lip, moaning slightly, pressing her hips into his own.

 

What would his hero do in this situation? The answer came quickly and Sakaki pushed her up against the wall, his tongue dueling with her own, the growing hardness in his pants pushing against her lower half.

 

Then all of the sudden she went limp, like she was finally remembering the timid girl he'd found laying on the floor of the warehouse. Sakaki pulled away enough to get a look at her face, his heart clenching as he watched a single tear make its way down her flushed, but still too pale, cheek.

 

“Hey, it's ok,” he said. “Do you want me to go?” `Please, please, say no.' Sakaki held his breath.

 

“No. Stay,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But…just be gentle, ok?”

 

In that moment, Sakaki felt like a man among men. For a fleeting moment, he wondered why the usually caustic Doujima was letting him take control, but he chalked it up to finally seeing the Yurika behind the compulsive shopping and late night clubbing. Not giving it another thought, he moved her backward, into the apartment, his arms circling her waist, his lips placing tiny kisses along her neck. “Where…?” he asked, and followed the direction of her answering nod of the head.

 

The bedroom was only lit by moonlight, but Sakaki couldn't help but think how much more beautiful it made her, shining off her blonde hair, cutting up her usually carefree, jovial face into a strained maze of planes and angles. He shed his jacket quickly, tossing it on the floor of her remarkably clean apartment. If he'd been less involved, he might have wondered why someone so careless in nature would have been so fastidious in her surroundings, but the scrape of her nails under his shirt along his abdomen scrubbed his brain clean.

 

He moaned slightly and from then on it was all sensation. Sakaki barely recognized it when she pulled his shirt over his head, but he certainly knew it as she pulled off her own. His eyes locked onto her medium sized, firm breasts, his lips soon following his gaze as he began to suckle her nipples through the silk of her scalloped bra. Her head fell back, a hitched breath escaping her lips, as he pushed the material aside, by turns biting and laving her with his tongue.

 

“Oh, god…”

 

“No, just me, Sakaki,” he said, not minding when he saw her roll her eyes slightly. Still, he needed to wipe that smirk off her face. In a flash, he had her down on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his tongue moving back up her body so he could lick and suck on her neck. `Fuck. She's letting me mark her,' he thought, as he continued to work on that space in the hollow of her neck. Then her hands trailed down, slipping themselves between his boxers and his jeans and he was lost to the sensations of her nails on his bottom.

 

“Christ,” he muttered, grinding himself into her before he could stop the motion. But it didn't seem to bother her. Instead, she moaned, her own hips rising to meet his own. The feeling of that was enough to drive him insane, so he decided to return the favor. As quick as he could, he unsnapped the front closure of her bra and was rewarded with a small smirk and a quiet, “You're quite good at that. Had much practice?”

 

He grinned back at her. “Maybe,” he said, and ground himself against her again. He took his hands, sliding them up her torso, cupping her breasts, squeezing and brushing his thumbs against her nipples, alternating with quick thrusts of his hips.

 

“Sakaki,” she breathed out. Her eyes flew open, as if surprised at her own pleasure.

 

He took a steadying breath before answering her, “Call me Haruto.”

 

Something seemed to flash in her eyes that he couldn't identify, something maybe like anger, but it quickly faded to big doe-eyes and a pleasured expression. He worked the zipper of her pants downward, sliding her slacks down her hips, past her waiting thighs as he said again, “Say it.”

 

Still she was silent. But he had a pretty good idea of how to make her more vocal. Sakaki slipped his fingers under the elastic band of her underwear, quickly making his way to the juncture of her thighs. Deciding two fingers were better than one, he thrust them into her quickly, his eyes lighting up with delight as her own flew open in surprised pleasure. “Ohhh…” she moaned.

 

“Say it,” he said again, moving his fingers in and out of her, stroking her clit slowly.

 

“But…”

 

“Say it,” he demanded yet again. For a moment, he felt wrong for taking advantage of the situation, for trying to dominate a woman who had so recently been scared out of her skull. But would Bond have been remorseful?

 

He thought not.

 

“Damn it, Sakaki, I need you inside me,” she whimpered as she rolled her hips against his fingers. Sensing her objective, he removed his fingers, rolling her underwear down, but refusing to touch her where she needed it most.

 

“Say it,” he demanded once more. His groin was on fire, his pants so tight he felt he would burst, but he didn't care. All that mattered was having the woman below him fall to his feet.

 

He watched her with heavy lidded eyes as she raised her hips toward him, trying to gain some relief. Sakaki removed the rest of his clothing in anticipation, taking a few moments to protect them both, still keeping her away from the warmth of his body. They lay there naked, entangled in a war of wills and, for a moment, he thought he saw the old Doujima, carefree and secure, rear up, willing to risk her own pleasure to beat him down. But then the hard expression seemed to melt, through sheer force of will, as she said, “Haruto, please.”

 

He drove into her, fast and hard, her cry of surprise and pleasure only making him harder. He controlled the rhythm of their bodies, the haze of lust blinding him from the obvious questions: `Why was she so pliant? How had he taken control so easily? Was this really the way Doujima was in bed?'

 

He rocked deeper within her, trying to hold back his own release as he felt her tighten increasingly around him, drawing him into that warm, wet place that he'd dreamed about for as long as he'd been with the STN-J. That familiar coiling began, and before he lost himself, he remembered to take care of her own pleasure, finishing her off with a few well placed strokes of the fingers so she could find her release as well. He followed soon after with only one thought in his mind:

 

God bless James Bond.

 

***

She'd showered and left before he'd even woken the next morning. That should have been his first clue: since when did Yurika Doujima ever get ready early for work? He'd pushed the doubt to the back of his brain when he'd gotten to the STN-J, no Doujima in sight, and had gone about his business. When she'd strolled in three hours later, all yawns and made up stories about a late night party, he'd convinced himself that she was just embarrassed about making their relationship public.

 

Then she'd blown him off; one time, two times, but he'd just followed after her silently, careful to not seem too needy, but all the while wondering if he'd share a bed with her again. But it didn't happen.

 

Then the truth about her had had been revealed.

 

Even now, when he knew that the damsel-in-distress had all been an act, that Yurika Doujima was more fierce a hunter than any of them had ever believed, that she'd let him save her that day to get him under her thumb, he couldn't help but play back those moments in his mind.

 

The way her body felt, writhing under his own in a pleasure he had to think, at least, was partially real, her internal muscles clamping around him in a spasmodic rhythm he knew she couldn't fake…

 

For a few blissful hours, she'd been the spy he'd loved.