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Clifford Rolexus had disliked the snide wizard, Vetriuvius II, ever since the two of them had landed in this strange world.
Clifford was a hunter of witches—he despised magic, for reasons he dared not introspect on. He had despised magic his entire life, despised witches—and he refused to ever acknowledge those times when he himself used some magic, intentionally or unintentionally.
Vetruvius II, master wizard, was a proud magic user. A proud witch. He was the exact person Clifford had been raised to destroy.
Clifford was currently being grilled by Vetruvius—and plenty of others—on why he worked with a bow that glowed. It glowed with the same purple aura that much of Vetruvius’s magical tools did!
“Is enchantment not a sort of magic?” Vetruvius said, smirking down at the nobleman before him as the two of them stood precariously on a cliffside in the Nether.
He stepped closer to Clifford, infiltrating the witch hunter’s personal space.
“Are you not just a hypocrite, are you not just the very thing you claim to fight?”
Clifford rolled his eyes as if dealing with a bunch of uneducated children.
“This is not enchantment. This is alchemy, this is science, fool!”
It was Vetruvius’s turn to roll his eyes, and then he chuckled condescendingly as he leaned in closer, his face an inch away from Clifford’s own. Clifford could see his dashing good looks reflected in Vetruvius’s glasses.
“You like magic, don’t you, Clifford?”
The witch hunter did not stop the blush that rose in his cheeks, for he knew no alchemy that could stop his body from doing that. The vile wizard’s voice was deep, smooth, intoxicating—like some kind of vile demon of voice, hypnotizing me with his MMMMAGIC!!! Clifford thought—and he backed away, only to barely avoid falling into the massive lava pits beneath all of them.
All the while, a completely different, smooth, intoxicating voice was whispering “maaaagic” in his ear.
Vetruvius chuckled and grabbed Clifford by the lapels of his expensive overcoat, yanking him close.
“Don’t fall. You haven’t any magic nor any broomsticks to save you if you fall, Clifford Rolexus, though I suspect you wish you did right about now. I could always give you such things… teach you such magic…”
He pulled Clifford in closer as some netherrack beneath his boots crumbled.
“… you only need ask,” the wizard said, his breath on Clifford’s lips.
Clifford shoved the wizard away, pushing him into the rocks.
“What did you just say to me?”
Despite having been shoved, Vetruvius was nonplussed, still smirking and still speaking with that smugness that made Clifford furious—and made his stomach twist into knots from some feeling he dared not give name to.
“I don’t think you hate magic as much as you say you do,” the wizard said condescendingly.
“I will snuff out every ounce of magic on this plane—“
“Because he wants it all for himself,” laughed the elf, Altisius, standing nearby. Clifford thought for a moment that the elf’s voice was kind of similar to the one that had been whispering “magic” in his ear, but before he could pursue that thought, his brain was on to the next.
“What? No!”
He looked genuinely offended and horrified at the notion as he glared at Altisius.
The two of them glared at each other once more—but the Nether was dangerous. Everyone needed to stick together, regardless of personal feelings.
——
“What?”
Vetruvius glanced at Clifford when the hunter had gasped at the wizard’s touch on his side.
“Personal space, Vetruvius?” Clifford said snidely, glaring down his nose at him.
Vetruvius smirked again. Clifford really hated that smirk, and he especially hated the way it made him feel. The feeling was a fluttery sensation in his stomach, which he interpreted as utter contempt.
“Are you afraid of me?” Vetruvius said, glaring at Clifford over the rim of his glasses, putting his tools away and sauntering over towards Clifford, never caring even an ounce about who might be watching. He grabbed Clifford’s waist again and yanked him close.
In fact, it seemed like anytime the two fought, more and more people would stop what they were doing to come and watch. By the time Kalvin came over to see what the ruckus was about, Vetruvius had Clifford’s cravat in his hands, while Clifford had the front of Vetruvius’s robes in his own.
“Learn how to use the English language, you utter fool—“
“You—“
“You couldn’t kill a witch if it had two hands tied behind its back—“
Clifford tightened his grip as Vetruvius spoke.
“You were sent here by your father to die—“
“You effervescent NINNY, you flippant CAD—“
Clifford was stopped mid-sentence. His airflow… was cut off? What on earth…
He tried to swallow and couldn’t. He looked and saw that Vetruvius was no longer smirking; he was scowling, wide, eyed, and his hands were in a position not akin to—
Ah. He was being choked.
…
… BY MAGIC!!!!
Clifford weakly reached up and wrapped his own hands around Vetruvius’s throat, which clearly startled him. For a brief moment, the spell weakened, but Vetruvius steeled himself and not only got a newly firm grasp on Clifford’s throat, he in fact tightened it. Clifford, in turn, responded in kind, tightening his own grip on Vetruvius’s throat. When he felt the spell weaken again, Clifford slammed the wizard against the blood-red walls of netherrack.
Vetruvius responded by letting go of Clifford’s throat, twirling a finger, and yanking on Clifford’s cravat—and kissing him.
The heat of the moment had been too much even for the calm, collected Vetruvius. He grabbed Clifford roughly by the cravat, took the initiative, and slammed the hunter into the stone the same way Clifford had done to him mere second before.
Clifford let go of Vetruvius’s neck and instead began running his hands through the other man’s luxurious, long, black hair, the wizard hat fluttering to the ground as Vetruvius shoved a knee between Clifford’s legs. Clifford groaned and pushed Vetruvius against the wall again, stepping on the man’s toes to pin him down and then sticking his own knee between the robes Vetruvius was wearing, until he found the throbbing erection that was hidden underneath them.
Vetruvius grabbed tighter on the cravat, tightening it so that it was restricting airflow to Clifford, who briefly broke the contact between their lips to moan. He left one hand in Vetruvius’s hair, stroking and gripping it but never pulling it, and used the other hand to feel around the wizard’s neck, cradling Vetruvius’s adam’s apple and then squeezing before attacking him with his lips again. The two tightened their grips on each other’s throats, tighter, tighter, never sure if they were trying to arouse the other or kill the other, both feeling they may faint any second—
“Ladies!”
The two immediately stopped and stared, wide-eyed, at Aulira, and saw they had an audience.
“You’re both pretty! Can we get out of here?”
The two immediately separated, Clifford scowling at Vetruvius as he fixed his cravat. Vetruvius looked away and adjusted his glasses.
“Yes, let us away from this godforsaken place before any other HWITCHES decide to commit their vile magic of seduction on my person,” Clifford snarled. He stormed off, only to hear a voice suspiciously similar to Altisius’s in his ear saying, “You liked it….”