The day had started out like any other. Fakir had gone to the library to work on his writing and she had gone to dance lessons. He was looking forward to helping with dinner, and then perhaps catching up on more work. It was a routine he didn't particularly like, but it paid the bills.

Sighing, Fakir headed home-where he was promptly knocked out by a blunt object brutally applied to the back of his head.

The first thing he noticed when he came to were the restraints. Soft, thick cotton strips forced his arms above his head, and made him stand on his tip toes. What the hell? And I'm blindfolded, too! He tugged against his binds, testing their hold. They had just enough give to keep him from getting hurt or falling, but were firm enough to ensure he couldn't get out of them.

His shoulders weren't aching yet. His head was. Other than that, he was uninjured in the scuffle, but that didn't give him any clue as to who could have possibly taken out a trained swordsman so efficiently.

Oh, he was pissed with himself.

Something smelled nice, and Fakir strained his nose to figure out just what. Boiled cinnamon and apples? Who has apples in the winter? Then Fakir dragged the pads of his feet around on the cold floor. Tile. I'm in a kitchen?

"You have a real problem with letting others hold the reins, Fakir," his redhead whispered near his ear, making him jump right out of his skin. She must have been standing there the whole time! Then she nipped the bottom of his ear with her teeth, which caused his heart to beat for entirely separate reasons. "It's my turn today."

Fakir couldn't stop his gasp. That moron did this? But that's impossible! She weighs at least seventy pounds less than I do!

He heard a shuffling of clothing just before feeling her drag something ice-cold down his neck. "What are you-" he started, but she pressed her fingers against his lips, cutting him off.

"Shh," she said, and to his surprise, she trailed her fingers across his waistband. "Do you want me to gag you, too?"

Shocked by her uncharacteristic behavior, Fakir narrowed his eyes behind his blindfold. Who the fuck put this whole idea into her head? he thought. He would have pinched the bridge of his nose, but the movement only reminded him that he was bound. Fakir sighed. Pike and Lille, no doubt. I need to get her some new friends.

To say he was unprepared for what she did next would be an understatement. Using something thin and metal-a knife? Oh, my God-she expertly popped the of the buttons off of his shirt. It fluttered open and left him shivering. The relief he felt when he heard the blade scrape against the table when she put it away did nothing to stem his burning curiosity about where she learned to wield it.

"Relax," she said, and pressed against him, parting his legs with her knee. Then, she held something wet and freezing cold to his left nipple. Fakir hissed until she removed the ice, and then gasped when she covered his chest with her hot little mouth. As she teased him to hardness with her teeth, he threw his head back, caught between a shiver and a groan.

Then she moved to the other nipple, and this time used her free hand to trace circles around his navel-and southward. By the time she was finished, he was writhing against his restraints.

She laughed at him. "Look how eager you are," she said, and then he felt something soft brushing against his shoulder. A quill, he thought, and as she traced his birthmark with it, his breathing slowed. Like with the ice, she followed the feather's path with her lips, but her pace was slow, almost languid.

If she hadn't bitten down on his collarbone, Fakir would have almost relaxed. "Ahh-ah," he cried, and bucked his hips into her reflexively. She caught him from behind. The sensations of her digging her fingers into his backside and digging her teeth into his front made him see stars despite his tightly closed eyes.

Kissing a trail of fire down to his waistband, she seized his legs and pulled him to her. Fakir panted as she felt her worry at the drawstring of his pants with her teeth. As she helped him carefully step out of his garments, he shivered in the chilly air-but not for long.

She licked trails up his legs and tickled behind his knees. She bit his hips and dragged her nails down his back. Her attacks were relentless, and couldn't tell where she was coming from or what she was going to do next, even if he had the time to think about it.

Then she jerked him forward by his hips. His jaw went slack as she took him into her mouth. The warmth and the wetness were enough to nearly make him lose control. Gasping, Fakir violently jerked his hips forward. He winced as he picked up on her gagging.

"Sorry," he panted, and he felt her hair brush his skin as she shook her head. She dug her thumbs into the soft skin near his hips, forcing him still.

At first, her pace was slow. Fakir moaned as she circled him with her tongue and nipped along his shaft. Her fingers cradled him as she licked between his legs, driving him wild with need. She took him in again-and deeper. Sweat pooled around his temples and cut rivers down his toned back as he bucked helplessly in her hold.

"Haa, haa, haa-nnnggh!" Fakir cried, arching as he surrendered under her touch. "Ahiiiruuu!"

"Hey!" his seductress snapped, and tore off his blindfold. Despite the nearly comical amount of semen stuck to her chin, Fakir couldn't help flinching under her venomous stare. "Who's Ahiru?"

A/N: Guest - There has been a bit of confusion as to the ending which I thought might be helpful to address. The girl is indeed a red-headed ballerina who is friends with Pike and Lille. But she's not Ahiru.

What does that mean? Well, it's open to interpretation, but my thoughts were that Fakir did fulfill his promise to stay by the duck's side, until she died years later. He might just be dating. Or he might be in a committed relationship with someone new. Either way, he has a noted preference for redheads who get him into trouble.

As always, thank you for reading. 3