Connotations
A Princess Tutu fanfic by Klondike Aura
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov was quickly turning into a scholarly exercise in torture.
All of the ballet classes were performing together, each one dancing for the others. There was a variety of music chosen: Swan Lake, Romeo and Juliet, The Nutcracker, Cinderella...
And then there was Scheherazade.
Fakir watches with the other seated students as Ahiru dances with another young man, blush dusting her cheeks. She closes her eyes and allows her body to blindly follow her partner's lead, soft sounds issuing from her mouth every now and again. And as he watches every step of her lovely bare feet, Fakir knows why Ahiru is blushing and what she sees when she closes her eyes.
He leans forward, arms crossed and resting on his knees. He hides behind his arms, hoping they obscure the red hue his own face has taken on. His fingers tense at the intoxicating sound of the violin meandering up and down the treble scale. But if Fakir allows himself to fall under Scheherazade's spell, all he'll see is his room dimly lit by his lamp and Ahiru smiling up at him with eyes brighter than sapphire and red hair in disarray against the pillow. And then her eyes shut in pleasure and she gives him a throaty moan while he kisses her neck. She arches against him, her fingers curling around his arms, and...
And...
Fortunately, the song is no longer complete. It never will be again without Ahiru's vocal accompaniment over the tantalizing triplets of the smooth strings and the occasional scratch of the old phonograph that happened to be playing at the time.
"You seemed distracted, Miss Ahiru..." the instructor's voice cuts in, interrupting Fakir's thoughts as the dance finishes.
"Ah-!" Ahiru starts, and it sounds so much like something else that Fakir has to hold his breath. "Well- Well you see..." And she dissolves into nervous laughter before she could really answer.
"Idiot..." Fakir mumbles from behind his arms.
"Is there something funny about Scheherazade?" the instructor presses.
"Oh no! Nonononononono!" Ahiru flails. "It's just...you know how sometimes you put two things together 'cause you heard a piece of music at the same time?"
Fakir bites his lip, his mind silently screaming, "Shut up, moron!"
But luckily the instructor simply nods in understanding and sends the pair to sit down without further elaboration.
Once Ahiru sits beside Fakir again, he quickly and tightly grasps her ankle. She almost shrieks but a look from him quiets her.
"Almost drove me crazy up there," he whispers by her ear.
"How do you think I felt, dancing with someone else to that?" she whispers back.
But then Ahiru presses her lips together, forcing herself not to make any noise at all. Fakir's fingers lightly trail up and down her calf as the booming notes of the Sultan ring in her ears. She remembers well how much it contrasts with the kisses he had pressed to her skin or his palm sliding up her thigh, his thumb brushing her hip.
"It's a good thing we're sitting in the back," he murmurs, breaking the song's hold on her.
"Why's that?" she asks.
Because she knows that he shouldn't keep this up if he intends to be subtle about things, back of the room or not. She swears, she could just about scream with the way his hand moves just under her knee. It takes all of her willpower not to react to his touch, either to jerk away or jump in his arms.
"Easier to sneak out," Fakir answers.
"We can't just leave in the middle of class!" Ahiru hisses.
"It's not my fault they're playing Scheherazade. Besides, the door's open. No one will ever know."
As luck would have it, a few students right in front of them stood up at that very moment. Fakir takes the opportunity to grab Ahiru's hand and pulls her out of the room. Fakir gives a quick check up and down the hallway as they walk to make sure the coast is clear. After that, he wastes no more time tilting Ahiru up to him and pressing his lips to hers. Ahiru struggles to keep up both with his walking and his mouth.
"Someone's gonna see," she mumbles against his lips, her free hand pressing against his chest. "At least wait'll we get home."
Fakir steals another brief kiss to hold him over before saying, "All right, beautiful."
Ahiru blushes at his casually given compliment and allows herself to be tugged along to where the bed and the phonograph were waiting.
Author's Notes: Hey look, I can write something that's not tragedy! The symphonic suite of Scheherazade is currently one of my favorites as far as music goes (seriously, check my iPod; all four movements are in my top 25 most played songs) and, thanks to Princess Tutu, I strongly associate it with Fakir and Ahiru. It's amazing how much the context can affect a song, either the first time the song is heard or a song playing during a first experience.