@yougei drew a really sexy witch chrollo so i just had to write something for it
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Silva woke to the scent of juniper and wolfsbane from dreams haunted by dark eyes, polished bone, and beauty too wild to be anything but malign. He lifted his chin from where it had been resting on his chest, stretching his neck from its painful slump. He blinked blearily at the strange room, seeing but not understanding. Where was he? Why were his hands bound? Silva shifted himself higher, his back pressed against a cool wooden wall. It smelled nice here. Wild, foreign, but nice all the same.
“Finally awake, are you?” came a low, melodic voice from the darkness. Silva looked for the origin, unable to see much past the shelf blocking his line of sight. “You were asleep for awhile there.” A soft laugh. “I almost worried.”
Swallowing dryly, Silva tried to make sense of where he was. He still wore his usual armor, his boots untouched and his money pouch still attached to his belt. It was hard to take stock of his belt from here, but Silva shifted a few times, feeling more than seeing that his weapons were still in place. He looked up as a rush of warmth rolled over him, seeing a brilliant purple fire take root beneath a now boiling cauldron.
Realization hit him in a wave. The memories even faster.
“Witch,” he spat, tearing at the binds restraining him. Silva struggled to stand. “Show yourself!”
A soft sigh seemed to ruffle the hair on the back of Silva’s neck. “Back to that again, are we?” the witch murmured, stepping out from the shadow of the shelf to stand before Silva properly. His arms were crossed loosely, his head cocked as he looked upon Silva with dark, somber eyes. “Being rude to me won’t set you free, you know. And you should know, you won’t get free without my permission.”
Silva glared up at the witch, his teeth bared. So, he hadn’t been dreaming. Polished bone hung from the witch’s sheer robes in talismans of unknown power, glowing faintly in the violet light of the fire. The skull of a stag made up the witch’s headpiece, its wide antlers dominating Silva’s view. They were laced with spider webs that glinted like spun silver. He told himself to look at them instead of the witch’s legs. Wrapped as they were in thin, almost translucent silk, it took no imagination to see that they were as perfect as the face pouting at him overhead.
“Let me go,” Silva growled, ordering himself to remember the job. This was a witch. A bloodletting, hex-weaving, curse-granting witch who would boil him alive for his potions. Not some pretty creature to be underestimated.
The witch brought a slender hand to his full lips, tapping at them as he contemplated the words. His dark eyes blinked slowly, catlike in their laziness. “No,” he said slowly, tasting every word. He moved closer, seeming to glide on the air itself for all the sound his bare feet made on the wooden floor. Crouching down, he put himself at Silva’s eye level. “I don’t think I will.”
The scent from before grew stronger, wafting off the witch on the air’s whims. Silva gritted his teeth. He could grow intoxicated on it alone. “Then what?” he asked, eyes falling to the witch’s lips as a pink slip of a tongue wet them. Silva had to clear his throat. “Will you kill me?”
“I should, shouldn’t I?” The witch blinked slowly again, rolling onto his knees to come a little closer. He lifted his slender arms to remove his headpiece, setting it on the floor at his side. Like this, there was nothing to distract Silva from the beauty before him. It was blinding, really. Like something beyond this plane.
When Silva tried to answer, he found his voice stolen from him. His lips moved but no sound came. His eyes widened. He shifted a little higher when the witch smiled, bringing a finger to his full lips. “That wasn’t a question for you,” he whispered, closing what little distance there was between them. His full thighs straddled Silva’s hips, his hands falling to rest on Silva’s chest.
Silva swallowed. He wasn’t sure if his voice was still gone. He didn’t bother trying to find out. He simply met the witch’s dark eyes, and wondered how he knew his name.
“I know many things,” the witch answered, smiling when Silva looked bewildered. “Every thought that passes through your head,” he teased, running his fingers through Silva’s long, white-gold hair. “Every half-smothered whisper of how beautiful you find me.”
Silva flushed despite himself, looking anywhere but at the witch.
“Chrollo,” he whispered against Silva’s cheek. His smile was more felt than seen. “My name is Chrollo, Silva.”
Chrollo. Beautiful.
Sharp teeth nipped his earlobe. “Flatterer,” Chrollo chuckled, soothing the sting with his tongue.
It was impossible to hide how Silva’s body was beginning to react. He shifted uneasily beneath Chrollo’s negligible weight, sighing when the witch’s attention moved to his throat. “Chrollo,” he breathed, only mildly surprised that he could again speak. “What did you do to me?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Every moment made it harder to think. “You’ve hexed me,” Silva said, voice low, far lower than he meant it to be. “Why?”
When Chrollo laughed, the sound burned in Silva’s blood. The witch drew back to meet his eye, smiling his elusive little smile. “The strong always need a reason when they fall, don’t they?” he murmured, leaning in whisper the words against Silva’s lips. “Seduction is a spell to you. Take your fall with grace, Silva.” He kissed Silva chastely, dark eyes falling to half-mast. “It’s a fall you’ll grow to like.”
Chrollo didn’t need an answer. Silva let his kiss occupy the rest.
