Author's Note: Normally I dislike a lot of sexual imagery in books and movies because it tends to be loud, over done, and unnecessary, but Revolutionary Girl Utena is probably the first series I've ever seen where I appreciated it and felt like it was well used. Between that and the beautiful surrealism throughout the series, I fell in love with the story and really wanted to write some sort of fanfiction for it, but held off for a long time because I wasn't sure I could pull do it justice. Here I hope that finally have developed enough skill to do so. :P Also, I just wanted to see if I could write a lesbian sex scene. XD
P.S. This was partially inspired as well by the song "Duel" by Bond, an all female stringed quartet. I highly recommend looking it up at some point, and perhaps reading to it. :P You'll see where I got a lot of the musical references made in here. (If you do a youtube search for "Duel Bond" it's the first video.) Anyway, shutting up now!
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Let the violins begin.
A rose pinned to a breast ruffles in the breeze, waiting for the slightest brush to rip its petals away from the warmth of a beating heart.
And her kiss is sweet like the candy heart color of her hair cascading in waves of rosy blossoms around our shoulders as they fall back into the blankets.
Blades flash in a mating and hateful dance as the bows rake across the strings, caressing and plucking and violating in a symphony of warning. The choir begins their eerie chant and the gates of heaven and hell creak open just the slightest bit to better hear.
Shadows whisper to one another, speculating the result.
A hand warm cocoa against pale skin, seeks something darker than the white silk beneath its fingertips.
A coffin with a rose seal holds a child, the pink silk lining a womb to which she can return, a sweet embracing escape from the lightning streaking the sky with heat outside the chapel. The light flashes once more, illuminating the stained glass window above the coffin and painting over the girl a ghostly translucent image of the Holy Virgin.
A butterfly spreads its wings and tastes sweet nectar.
The voices of the sopranos melt together, an oral homage to the temptation of demons, or to the grace of angels.
The hand finds its rose, her petals set quivering at a touch.
The bells ring out the answer as all hold their breath waiting for the rain to part just enough to see the evidence for themselves.
A finger explores, the pink silk of the coffin concealed within where no stained glass of an ideal nor blade forged by man can reach, silent sanctuary and altar to the female. The finger bows in respect, paying tribute.
A cry of anguish in realization haunts the arena.
The bows draw a strained note across the strings and a back arches with them.
The angels and the demons have overstepped their boundaries and met upon the spires of the imagined castle between their respective kingdoms. Mingled, and distracted, they have lost track of where one kingdom ends and the other begins, lost themselves and become one and the same.
The room is filled with stars as one rose tenderly touches another, their petals meeting for a slick and honest kiss.
The duel has ended but the violins still play as the choir grows ever louder, building into a triumphant crescendo as the dance grows ever grander and the whirls of skirts in every color that flesh possesses flash across the stars, joining and separating for a twirl to be rejoined again at last.
Sheets rustle in the light of the moon, Artemis' sylvan approval spilling over them both.
At last the tension mounts to the breaking point, the bowstrings snapping as the choir holds one final note.
All fades into the nighttime with her jasmine scented locks of violet ebony as she embraces the pale moonlight and the two are but one.