TITLE: Black Sweat
RATING: PG-13/T
CHARACTERS: Zatanna & Klarion
PROMPT: Choice
SUMMARY: It was like a game. A twisted, cruel game that neither of them really wanted to play. He hated when she called his bluff like that. She hated that he was bluffing.
ADDITIONAL NOTES: I really need to stop listening to so much Prince. It always seems to put me in a BabyMagic mood. In related news, this story is loosely inspired by a few panels of Justice League Dark (which shocked me by actually being pretty good).
-o-o-o-
He materialized into the aftermath, left in the wake of a swirl of reds and maroons.
For a time, the self-proclaimed Lord did nothing. Cold, black eyes scanned the scene with a passing interest. Long legs carried him through the desolate field, heels crunching the scorched grass beneath him. Not a single blade was left unburned. The bodies strewn about had fared slightly better: alive, but unconscious. He frowned in disappointment. Bo-ring.
Then he saw her. She was facing away from him, but he knew her at any angle. Kneeling in the center of it all, and still. Very still. He recognized the signs all too easily as he approached. To the world, the young woman was dead. No heartbeat, no breath. Her skin would be cold to the touch, and her limbs would have already begun to stiffen. It was a last-resort tactic magic users wielded when left with no other options; she'd retreated inward to shield herself from whatever had attacked.
The unfortunate side-effect left one trapped, unless powerful enough to break through. She lacked the power. That was where he came in.
"Ekaw Pu," he whispered in her ear.
With an inaudible gasp, she instantly came to life. Slowly, her head turned to stare at him with eyes wide, unfocused, and aware all at once. A single word escaped her lips. His name.
"...Klarion..."
It was neither an exclamation of surprise, nor a question. They'd long since stopped trying to distinguish between the times she actually called for him, and when he'd simply sensed her in danger. He would always come just the same.
-o-o-o-
He'd once confided in her that she was the only one ever allowed to see him in this form. A passing comment, really, except it had stuck in her mind ever since. She would ask why if the answer wasn't so obvious. Gone were the gawky limbs and lithe frame of a young adolescent. He filled out well, with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw. Strong. Powerful. At this age and height, he towered over her by nearly half a foot. It was all about the sense of control, really-the notion that he was able to dominate her, if only physically. And she let him, because it was easier to convince herself she didn't want this if she didn't initiate.
He always did.
Her back was pressed against the plastered wall, eyes staring up at him through thick lashes. Their skin contrasted greatly, his unnaturally pale, hers bronzed and healthy. The tips of his fingers were so cold that she shivered violently every time he touched her. For one who claimed to hate waiting, he took a perverse pleasure in moving slowly, taunting her, as he slipped beneath the collar of her jacket. Pushing it from her shoulders. The heavy materials fell to the ground in an otherwise palpable silence, save for the occasional rattle of the motel radiator.
A low hum. His breath was warm against her cheek. Less than an inch of space between them. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; he smelled of incense and spices and all the usual perfumes that came with their shared trade. He moved in, hands reaching for hers. The lightest contact guided them up to shoulder level as he prepared her for the ritual.
Words were exchanged in perfect unison. She knew the mantra by heart now, backwards and forward. They spoke both, and the effects were immediate. Warmth spread over her as the energy surrounding them both began to merge. A blissful union of magic, meant to heal and renew.
Her lips parted of their own accord. He leaned down, but did not close the gap.
At first, her mind was blank. There was only here and this. Them. But as the seconds ticked by and her limbs began to tremble from the intensity...it began to wander to a place far away.
The magic faded, and he stepped back with a low growl of annoyance.
"You're thinking of HIM again. Stop it."
She stared at him in silence, her expression betraying nothing.
"I said-"
"No." She cut him off mid-sentence.
He was too surprised to be outraged, but only by the outburst itself.
It wasn't as if she had ever tried to hide it. He knew her heart belonged to another. To HIM; THEIR history together was one of the worst kept secrets in either of her businesses. HE had been her first. First crush, first kiss...first first. Even now, he knew it was HIS face she saw in her mind's eye. HIS touch she craved, even though it was impossible because she had made it so.
"What are you going to do about it, Klarion? Leave?"
A scoff. "Maybe I will."
"Then leave."
It was like a game. A twisted, cruel game that neither of them really wanted to play. He hated when she called his bluff like that. She hated that he was bluffing.
The way he was pouting now mirrored the habit of his younger form. Even at his most mature, he was still a brat. Spoiled and childish. Too proud to admit what he wanted, even when he had already won it. She wouldn't turn him away. She couldn't. Not now, when they were already in too deep.
"...I made my choice," she reminded him.
"Tsk." He folded his arms over his chest, refusing to look at her. For a moment, the moon appeared from behind its dark cover, partially illuminating the two of them in a bluish spotlight. His face was cast in shadows that accentuated his etherealness in such a way that, if she ever allowed herself to admit it, could even be considered attractive. "You made the wrong one."
She had her reasons for being with him, but love wasn't one of them. Even he could admit that much.
Still, his words sent an ironic spark through her system, renewing her resolve. This time, she was the one to step forward. To initiate. For the first time, Zatanna reached for his hands, intertwining their fingers as she rose up to whisper against his lips:
"I know."
Then, she kissed him.