I wrote this in one go... which never produces great results. Based on luz's PV version of Kanon69's 'Cherry Hunt'. It's lovely, I recommend you to watch it. Some of the words here are adapted from the lyrics, not copied. Not a great one-shot here, but thanks for clicking!
beta-ed by the awesome, super busy whimsyappletea.
04/16 edit - the font got screwed by the many changes between italic and normal, so i had no choice but to make some drastic changes.
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So… hmm…
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Shall you be indecently dressed for tonight?
She smiled and pressed one, two kisses to his sodden mouth. The man's eyes moved beneath his flickering eyelids, his form slouched against the plush cushions as he was lulled to a stupor by her soft, teasing touches. As her lips fluttered over his for a third one however, she pulled away and lingered her mouth at his ear.
"Ah, Gakupo-san," she murmured into his ear, her voice a molten caress of cherry syrup. San. Not sama. She was the real mistress for tonight, and it showed in the sly curve of her full lips.
"Beg me."
(Ah, shall the tips of your fingers be soaked in red? Shall I be bold?)
His hands wandered, pleading, hungry. They folded to the curves of her flesh, fingers stretched to reach for her… to reach…
She giggled and held herself away from his grip, hovering over him teasingly. Red clothed and corseted her lithe frame, pulled around the fullness of her breasts and the ripeness of her waist. She smiled deviously, cornsilk hair curling around the fairness of her flawless face. Her lips were a cherry red.
As if on instinct, his body nearly pivoted forward to touch… to feel her, but her thickly red-shaded lips merely widened at his efforts as haughtiness entered her feline gaze.
Tsk tsk tsk. Naughty boy. A sleek, black-clad finger pushed him down by the forehead with all the arrogance of a Queen. His Queen, while her eyes looked down coldly with disdain.
"Rin…" He groaned, his body wracked with wanting, sweat dripping down his face. In response, she merely gave out a trilling, soprano laugh and pulled away fully, the crimson tulle around her hips teasing her long legs. Standing up, her hand whipped the large curtain to the side, her eyes never once detaching from intense contact with his. Before the ice-cold heat simmering in her eyes could spill over and meld with his however, she pulled away dismissively― and emerged into the spotlight.
"Rin…" The voice of the pathetic man behind her begged, still trapped by his lust in the small room backstage. The smile on her face widened as the heat of the limelight blazed down upon her and made her glow. Out front, the dimmed audience leaned forward hungrily, all cosseted in luxury velvet suits and silk shirts. She put a coy hand on her hip and parted her full, cherry-red lips to sing, to beguile them with her siren voice.
(I am after all... your greatest desire)
At the end of the night, she popped a cherry into her mouth; red, luscious lips wrapping around the juicy fruit, breaking the maroon shell and releasing the dark ambrosia. It stained her lips; making them glisten even darker under the moonlight. A liquid trail escaped and ran down her chin to the side of her slender neck. The man opposite her swallowed as he watched, to her amusement. He loosened the collar around his neck nervously.
"Rin… this is for you." He presented her with a lovely bouquet of flowers, intertwined with precious crystals. She rifled through the roses and violets with disinterest, gloved nails catching on one of the sparkling gems and ripping it off. She pressed it to her lips before raising herself on her toes.
Gakupo watched with wide eyes as her wicked, wicked mouth pressed against his, her tongue swirling and pushing the cold jewel past his teeth, giving one lingering nip on his bottom lip before withdrawing.
"For Gakupo-san," she said casually, running her fingers lightly over his white lapels. "So you'll remember me even when you're with your wife, ne?"
He gulped and nodded vigorously, extracting the jewel from his mouth and clutching it in his hand. "Of course, Rin," he said seriously. She merely smiled mysteriously.
(Romance is a false dream. After all... you can give already what was given to you...)
"Rin. They're calling you back."
(Can't you?)
She turned at the voice, startled. Her carefully curled cornsilk locks whipped glossily about her face and fell back over the side of her neck. Her eyes widened.
"Oh. Oh, Len," she said, quickly wiping away the cherry stains on her mouth. Her eyes roamed over the handsome cut of his chin to the yellow hair falling casually over his masculine face. She struggled to hide her nervousness with a wide, cherry red smile. "You gave me a little scare."
Len merely spared her an emotionless look before turning on his heel and going back inside.
Outside in the cold, Rin sighed and followed after him, tight red corset and luxurious hair meaningless after his disregard. As she emerged back into the club, she watched him move behind the bar, taking out a dishrag and polishing the glass to sparkling cleanliness. His arms moved skillfully, white dress sleeves rolled over his slender muscles; vest black against the broadness of his shoulders.
She stole another glance before turning to her room, one hand going to her bright hair to remove the roses clinging to her locks. At the end of the night, no matter how voraciously sexy the red made her feel; it always made her feel like some kind of dirty harlot beneath his serious, uncaring gaze.
Her hand paused. Her eyes moved to his tall, stoic form. A smile quirked the sides of her mouth.
At the end of the night, however, he was still a male.
("I want you to love me"... with those words...)
"Len." Her voice was low and husky, the way she knew would grab at his attention. To reinforce the effect, she lowered her corseted chest to his gaze as she crossed her legs teasingly at the bar table. Straight posture, the dim lights glittering in her cat-green eyes. Shiny, sinful red on her lips.
To her chagrin, he didn't even bother to look up. In fact, he didn't even miss a beat as he picked up a new glass and started polishing it.
"What."
(I weave my trap.)
She kept herself from pouting. Men did not like women who whined.
"Pour me a glass," she said coolly. She was in control of this game. She owned this arena. Her sharp-tipped fingers played along the stretch of the mahogany counter, the cool wood gleaming in the light.
His eyes finally moved upwards to pierce into hers, blue gaze sharp and emotionless and… bored?
"Of what?"
She hooded her eyes, lips moving into a slow and lazy smile as she settled more comfortably on the stool. Though she seemed casual, a sly challenge sparked in her eyes. "What do you suggest?"
He didn't even look at her as he mechanically grabbed a glass and splashed water from the tap into it. Settling it in front of her, he watched her guardedly, something closed off and obscure in his blue gaze. She sighed airily and reached over the counter, extending her gloved fingers to his hard face in a seductive caress.
"Ah, Len—"
Her hand had barely grazed his skin when he caught it with a deft hand. In a split second, he had brought the cold glass to her lips with the other. "You're drunk," he said bluntly. "You need to cool down from your performance." Her eyes widened, both shocked and offended. Miffed beyond words, she snatched the cold glass away from his hand and finished it in one gulp. Len watched her blankly, unaffected in the face of her suppressed frustration.
"Is there anything else?"
"No," Rin almost spat miserably. Her eyes looked up to roam once again over his impassive, handsome form. The form of the boy turned young man who had been with her throughout almost her entire life. He watched her for a moment, fathomless, before turning back to his original task of polishing glasses.
She flung herself away from the counter and left.
("I want you to love me")
She laughed at their jokes, revelled in their attention. Money and jewels they lavished her with, and as she crossed her legs demurely, cornsilk hair spreading out in beautiful curls below her wicked, smiling face, she could see them struck with desire.
Oh, they could see.
She suddenly sat up and cupped the chin of one, tapping his nose teasingly. The shy man blushed, struggling uselessly against her charm to keep his cool. His hands ghosted over her torso longingly, but she slapped them away with a playful laugh.
They just couldn't touch.
Behind her, her presents piled as she regaled them with her lovely, husky voice and the barest of her affection. An ice cold Queen. She saw temptation flicker in each of their eyes at her low, dirty voice, and suppressed a ruthless smile.
Oh, they wanted her to whisper with that kind of voice into their ears, didn't they?
She flashed another wicked smile as the crimson tulle wove hazily around her long, long legs; her hair draped across her bare shoulders.
(Ah, don't
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stop
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loving me)
One of them called her name as she lazed across the chaise, popping cherries into her wide, red mouth. She looked up to see that it was the man from earlier, with his dark blue hair. Apparently, he was a first-timer, with a wife and child on the way. He clasped her hand between his own fingers, a pleading expression on his face as he asked to see her again.
A seductive, conniving grin cut across her mouth with triumph, before she dismissed him with a careless flick of her gloved fingers. "Maybe," she said, sparing him a slight teasing smile as mercy, before turning back to her glassful of cherries. Disregard and aloofness was always the best bait to reel men in. After all, you only sought harder what you couldn't have.
The man trembled, licked his lips and left. Back to his sweet wife. Back to his adorable child. Back to real life.
She closed her eyes and popped a cherry into her red, full mouth. She felt decadent, indulgent; red, red everywhere. Satin slashed with tulle twining with her skirts, the cloth beneath her luxurious. She was the very pinnacle of every man's fantasy; because wasn't that all she was? Just another man's fantasy. For a night. For a week. Until daybreak came and they went home to their wives and children.
She popped another cherry into her mouth.
Rin was not real. She lived in other people's dreams. When they woke up to daylight, she was gone to them.
Someone moved in front of her and she looked up. It was Len, not looking at her as he moved about with a bucket and a mop. She remained lounged across the chaise, too sluggish to move as she watched him curiously.
"Len," she said after a while. Her hair had been knocked loose from its coquettish hairstyle and now sprung amok across her shoulders. She sat up, red tulle slyly revealing peeks of white flesh very high up her shapely thighs. She leaned forward in a very picture of desire.
Her red lips parted.
"Do you need help?" she asked innocently, her tone kind and concerned and her face the very picture of untarnished purity.
(Tonight is a pessimistic affair... With the cherry firmly caught between my teeth…)
He glanced up, his handsome face reserved as he looked at her. "No," he said. "Go to sleep."
Rin frowned and made to move from the chaise, but one of the roses in her hair got caught between the cushions and she winced. "Ahh…"
He looked up and, upon seeing her brief flinch of pain, sat his equipment to the side. "What is it?" He asked, his brows furrowed. As he neared her, an idea hit her and she scrunched her face into an expression of severe discomfort. "My hair… the rose clip got caught in the sofa…"
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(I've lured you in.)
Len walked towards her, his torso bending as he hovered over her. Rin's breath nearly caught in her throat at the sight of his attractive face so close to hers, furrowed in concern, even though the edges of his mouth were still stamped with guardedness. His eyes were a sharp blue, so piercing as to actually render her temporarily nervous. For all his lack of emotion, he never once looked grumpy, or aged. He seemed like a wall of stone, unbreachable, and that— was perhaps why she desired him. She was not a fool: true love was for fairy tales.
She was not a fool.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, she had already caught him between her legs, and like a spider to a fly she―
―pulled him down and rolled him over.
"Oops, Len," she murmured throatily, her cornsilk hair falling over like a curtain to shield both their faces. His eyes widened infinitesimally and his hands had instinctively gripped her shoulders. Her red, cherry lips fluttered over his teasingly, while she fixed her sharp crystal gaze onto his.
This was her game.
"I'm curious Len-sam... Why do I always get the feeling… that you don't like me?"
Despite herself, her voice sounded sad.
Len's blue eyes narrowed in both irritation and anger; Rin felt a pang in her chest at the sight. Still, she was resolute and would not give up. Instead, a Cheshire grin crept across her face slowly as her eyes lowered to his mouth. He was still speechless, so that was a good sign―
And she was still the Cherry Queen.
"If I kissed you," she breathed against his lips, "would you hate me even more...?"
Now his mouth pressed together in a show of black impatience as his grip on her shoulders tightened almost painfully. Nothing resounded in that blue gaze; not desire, not nervousness… merely the sort of impatience you would have for a child. Or a bothersome pet. Effortlessly, he lifted her off himself and got up, leaving Rin staring up at his back in mild surprise.
Something twisted in her chest, but she refused to cry.
She was not a fool.
(Please... don't stop loving me.)
Shoving down the disappointment and ache in her chest, Rin sighed and dropped back against the pillows, closing her eyes as she shifted to put one hand over her forehead. Red lipstick. Red dresses. Nothing. In the end, the last cherry was the most ripe. The most... delectable.
And also the most unattainable.
How ironic, she pondered, struggling to stop her lush lips from twisting in despair. A girl of fantasies wants a taste of reality.
(You want me to love you?)
11 o' clock
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12 o'clock
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1 o'clock
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2 o'clock
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the deepest depths of the dark...
Meanwhile, Len shifted around her, splashing water everywhere as his mop efficiently wiped away the dirt of the night— in preparation for the next day. The cold water sloshed over the oaken floor and against his shoes. His arms moved skillfully, ever the imperturbable persona who eased along in the background like a simple white character. An extra. A stage-hand.
He gathered the presents and set them in a corner, so that he could shift them to her room easily once his task had been fulfilled. As he finished wiping down the table, he looked up to see her sleeping form; each breath causing her chest to rise and fall peacefully.
3 o'clock
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the carcass of the night…
(Do you really think you can leave after a kiss like that?)
He sighed and got up, his movements masterful. Him, a simple bartender? The title was merely a name to call him, not a definition for the years he'd experienced before maturing as a young man. In another life, another memory, they called him…
Mad.
As he shifted to reach for the bucket, a glint in the corner caught his eye, and he turned to find the glassful of cherries. They looked like glowing maroon marbles within the crystal glass. A hearth of glimmering scarlet...
He paused— before reaching over and plucking one. It was dark and smooth, but he marvelled at it little as he pushed it into his mouth. Slowly, his gaze connected with her slumbering form, his own lowering to the floor. He sat with his legs pulled up by his sides, leaning against the low table. The young man was still for a beat― thinking… thoughtful―
(I am a cherry hunter, and I'll keep lingering in your mind)
Slowly, he reached over to stroke his knuckles tenderly against her cheek, gazing at her sleeping face. His Alice. His sweet, unassuming, naive little Alice. As usual, his expression was closed off, unknown. Finishing his cherry, his lips now dyed bloody, he got up and bent over her. One dexterous finger pulled a little at her full, red bottom lip, drifting to her brow and thick eyelashes. It amused him to no end, when she saw him as a fly meant to be lured by a spider... when the opposite could not be more true.
Her eyelids flickered. Dreams and nightmares.
His own lips pulled into a wicked smirk.
(So don't stop loving me.)
Foolish little fly.