AN: Hi, guys. I actually have a few smut stories that I'm working on, but this idea bit me so hard (when I was trying to sleep, ironically) that I just had to write it while I had the motivation and inspiration. And truth be told, this started as something more related to an RP and an idea a friend and I were throwing around (and likely will still use), but I was dying to see it work in a 'full' way, you could say. But no worries! This has nothing to do with the RP itself - that's just where we were going to originally use the idea.
Other Notes: This is medieval AU (Alternate Universe). Many mentions of war and death. And there is a kidnapping with a twist. And lots of stubbornness and banter. Plus... a shoulder massage...?
Warnings: Well, smut, of course. And besides that, I apologize for anything that doesn't fit into the medieval setting. I admit I did noooo research. I just wrote and kept on writing while the inspiration and motivation were running strong.
Please read through until the end! And I hope you will enjoy it!
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu and all of its characters do not belong to me.
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Broken Crowns and Shattered Armor
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Dying flames burned with embers of dulled red and gold, matching the fiery colors of the setting sun - and illustrating the end of a bloody battle laid out like a morbid canvas in its wake. Smoke spiraled into the air from various directions due to small, dwindling fires, creating a thin but almost heavy haze of gloom. Soldiers milled about, battered and bloody, torn-up and exhausted - but with grim, triumphant smiles curling up many of their lips. Some laughed as they prodded fallen bodies with the blades of their spears and swords, others held their heads high proudly as they walked among the numerous dead, eyes ablaze with the same fire as the sky where the sun slowly sunk deeper and deeper, like the blood of countless wounds across the battlefield that seeped down into the earth.
The castle of their conquest was in ruins, beaten and frayed stone lying in chunks along the once beautiful gardens. Two of its high towers were missing, leaving behind structures that were not unlike stumps of a tree after it had been cut. The cone steeples themselves lay in pieces on the ground below, one sticking up from the moat below. And upon the flat crest of the once magnificent castle, among the broken and useless remains of catapults and other protection weaponry, a cluster of the dark-clad soldiers formed a small circular group around a single flagpole. And the flag that fluttered almost defiantly in the light breeze, bearing a white swan and its golden crown, was being slowly lowered - lowered toward a flaming torch.
Cheers rang out as the cloth caught fire and the jeering of the men became loud as the burning flag was once again lifted toward the sky - its final wave of freedom before it became bits of charred ash lost on the wind. Bloodied weapons were hoisted into the air as the celebration continued, and a new flag was tied to the pulley of the flagpole, bearing the crest of a black phoenix with its wings spread wide.
"It's over," declared a middle-aged man who sported the same crest on his chest to match the flag that now blew proudly on the winds of victory. He removed his gold and black helmet, revealing dark, gray-streaked hair. "The king is dead, his men have fallen, the commoners and servants have been eternally silenced... we have fought bravely amongst our brethren and although we have lost many in number for our cause, we have taken back our glory!"
Another riot of cheers erupted from the small crowd, the dying light reflecting off of their sweaty faces and lighting their wide grins. However, the same man who had spoken before raised his hand, quieting the others with his simple gesture. His unshaven face had turned somber, almost troubled, with a frown pulling down his lips.
"One thing still remains," he announced clearly and gruffly. "All have been accounted for but one."
At this, murmurs of concern broke out amongst the soldiers, their voices openly discussing which single person would have avoided the bloodshed. The fields appeared empty, patrols had not run into any stragglers, but the chief knight himself appeared troubled.
"The princess," spoke a low voice from some distance away.
All at once the men turned, laying their eyes on a young man who stood along the chipped stone siding of the wall, watching the proceedings with a guarded expression and arms crossed over the very same crest as the rest of them beared. Despite his obviously young age, the dark-haired young man wore a black and red band tied around his upper right arm, just below the dark metal armor that encased his shoulders - a display of high rank.
"Perceptive as usual," praised the chief with a light smirk.
The young knight merely shrugged and looked away, his piercing green eyes fixing on the last remnants of the dying sun over the crest of rolling hills in the far distance.
One by one, the other soldiers lost interest and turned back to their chief, now most of them wearing almost mocking smiles of disbelief. One young blond spoke up amongst them, a snort escaping from him. "No one's left the premises, Sir. She's probably hiding, huddled in fright somewhere. We'll find 'er." He broke into laughter and many of the other men joined in, chorusing their agreement.
"Poor thing. Dearest daddy dead and kingdom in ruins. Nowhere left to run. She must be bawling her eyes out."
"Heh! That means we could probably find her by the sound of those cries alone!"
"How loud do you think she'll scream?"
"I bet if ya twist the blade just right..."
"Think we can have a little fun with her before we kill her off? She's a pretty little thing, after all..."
"Bet she's still innocent, too. It would be a waste to discard that so carelessly Not often you find one ripe like that."
"Aren't you a bit old to fool around with a girl her age?"
"All's fair in love and war, yeah?"
"And this is our victory!"
"Hear, hear!"
The only two not partaking in the jokes and mocking of the missing princess were the chief knight and the unnamed lone soldier, who looked both disinterested, and perhaps a bit ashamed of their comrades' behavior. Amidst the loud and boasting voices that declared their wishes for the princess's fate, murky brownish-red met with emerald green - and something silent passed between that gaze. With a tiny, almost imperceptible nod to his superior, the young knight pulled from his slouch against the wall. He knew what he was being asked to do. And to be honest, he thought the girl deserved a quick and discreet death, if only to escape the plans of the jeering band of leering soldiers nearby. Chances were, they were right that she was hiding alone somewhere and in great despair. It was best to end her suffering - and end the war once and for all.
And so the black-clad knight jumped over the side of the ledge, years of grueling training allowing him a safe and almost soundless drop to the ground below. The castle grounds were not large and he doubted the search would take long. Righting himself, he stilled, waiting for the wind to die down as he listened for the sounds of female distress or light sobbing. However, there was none to be heard - and so he set foot in the left direction, carefully retracing around the castle walls and keeping his keen eyes open and alert for any sign of movement or of bright, flowing hair.
Conveniently, his search ended before it really even started. On the back outskirts of the castle, he spotted her easily. So easily, that for a brief moment, he was completely taken aback, eyes broadening slightly in shock. She wasn't crouched down or pretending to be dead and nor did she appear to be in tears, either. How she managed to avoid the slaying blow of any soldiers to this point baffled him.
Her dress, full of golden skirts and white laces and silk was torn and bloodied as she trudged forward, dragging a fallen man by a stubborn grip under his arms. There were also no shoes on her feet at all, but she didn't appear to care or notice. Even from the mild distance away, he could tell that the girl seemed utterly exhausted - and yet she still pressed on - pulling the dead body to rest with a group of others that he assumed she must have brought together in a similar fashion. And in a little pile nearby was an assortment of weapons, all bloodstained and thrown together in a haphazard pile.
The young knight found himself temporarily stunned, just watching the young woman - who couldn't have been more than nineteen - scour a battlefield and recover fallen bodies, proceeding to pull out the weapons that lodged within them and rip her own rich clothing to use like mere rags to clean blood from their corpses and cover a few mangled faces. And she didn't even appear disgusted or reluctant in the least.
He had never personally met the princess of the neighboring kingdom before, although he had seen her many times. And the always-smiling, cheerful face of that innocent girl was now set into a grim and determined frown as she set about her work. It was a most unexpected sight, in comparison of the state he expected to find her in.
She was quite obviously paying her respects and thanks to a group of men who had fought for her kingdom and for her father - a last tribute to their efforts, even though they were in vain. Curious, indeed.
But, nonetheless, he had a job to do. And he was now more determined to see it through before the other soldiers could do to her what she was trying to rectify done to the fallen men she doted on so dutifully. The least he could do after this was find a place to hide or bury her form. She deserved that much for the display of strength and honor she was showing here - had she not been female, she would have made a fine knight.
With that thought in mind, he languidly approach her, making no attempts to hide or shield himself from her view in any manner. She likely knew that she would be spotted in the open like this.
And after a moment, she did look up, just as she was rising from the care she had given to the dead soldier at the end of her make-shift line. The emotion in her eyes as she met his gaze was unreadable.
"Don't bother running," the dark-armored knight stated simply. "You won't make it far."
"I wasn't planning to run." Her azure eyes narrowed as her hands, bloodied by the treatment to fallen soldiers, clenched into little fists at her side. "But I won't stand for you and your men desecrating these bodies any further!"
His forward march ceased, one large, dark eyebrow arching almost questioningly. With his lack of worded response, she furiously gestured around what had priorly been a gorgeous garden and clearing, now littered with bodies, many of which had their own weapons sticking out of their guts like twisted grave markers. "Does this make you proud? Do you all feel victorious now that your bloodshed has ruthlessly engulfed a kingdom that has not once raised a hand against you? Must you all ridicule these brave soldiers with their own weapons?"
He watched her avidly, silently, her hair flaring up like its own orange fire of defiance as she shouted at him. The remnants of the white feather headdress hanging on her long locks puffed out like an angry bird.
"Answer me!" she demanded heatedly.
All the knight did, however, was draw his weapon. But instead of looking fearful at the gesture, the tattered princess merely stepped to the side, retrieving a long sword from within the pile of weapons she had procured from the bodies.
"You're going to fight me?" he inquired, almost amused--almost intrigued. Such a slip of a girl with such a pampered upbringing, laying her hands on a real weapon and openly challenging a knight of his standing? It was almost laughable. Or at least, it should have been - but the knight in question was not like his comrades.
This act of bravery was something he could respect.
"I will," she finally said as she raised the sword and took a wobbly stance. It was quite clear that she knew nothing about fighting, but that did not appear to hinder her intent. "My father didn't surrender and beg for his life like a coward, and neither will I!"
To her surprise, he lowered his own weapon - and due to the expression that crossed her features, it was plain to see that she was insulted by the action. "Don't take me lightly!" She forced the blade up higher in some attempt to look intimidating - which rather didn't work for her, as the sword itself was at least two-thirds as tall as she was.
He merely stared back at her, with green eyes that seemed to be trying to bore right through her. Hand still on the blade that was now at his side, he took a step closer to the princess. "I have no intention of dishonoring your men or you," he said. "Whether you believe it or not, I have not unjustly desecrated even a single of your dead. Other knights I have fought alongside, however, apparently have lost the meaning behind the word 'honor'."
She steadily glared back at him, swallowing as she took in his words. Why had he not struck yet? Why was he telling her such things? Was it merely a way to get her to drop her guard and then mock her for believing such statements?
"You don't appear convinced," he shrugged. "But that's not my concern. I'm not here to prove anything to you. However, your efforts are at least deserving of respect. You have done your men a great service that many would not - especially not one of your standing."
The redheaded princess cracked a tiny, rueful smile, the blade quivering in her faltering grip. "Few wish to be born into cage. Even if it's lined with gold and jewels and riches most men can only dream of. Should I lose my humanity and my ability to feel compassion and gratitude, I would truly have lost everything worth having."
Such words were powerful, certainly. Especially to be spoken from one he had assumed up until this dusk-lit meeting on a bloodstained war zone, was nothing more than a spoiled child living blissfully in luxury.
"Then I'm sure you realize why we have done what we've done," he supplied lightly, stopping a mere five or so feet from the girl.
"No," she bit out scathingly. "I do not. Useless bloodshed! Manslaughter!"
"To us, it is freedom," he spoke softly. "It is independence. It is our dreams of taking back what is rightfully ours. Can you understand that?"
She grit her teeth, silence weighing down on her with the passing seconds. Was there something amidst this that she missed? Father was honest, wasn't he? Would he really aim to rule over a kingdom stolen from the foundation of another? Would he cast them out?
...And why, why was this nameless knight - the clear enemy, covered in the bloodstains of the people she loved and grew up with - making her doubt?
Stiffly, she shook her head, but there was not a lot of confidence in the gesture. "You could have spoken to my father about it. He would have listened! I know he would! Had you just explained your--"
"Enough," the knight cut her off, sporting a frown. "You know not what you speak of. You know not the lengths we have gone for naught. Now accept your defeat gracefully. You have showed your men honor, now show me that you still have some left."
Her head lowered, in what at first glance appeared to be a demure resignation in compliance. However, her fisted hold around the hilt of the sword shook almost ominously. And then she raised her features - rage clear visibly in the stormy sea of her blue eyes. "How--How dare you!" she seethed, raising the blade higher despite her shaking grip. "I owe you nothing! I have done nothing! And I will not accept defeat from a bunch of COWARDS who attack a sleeping kingdom at dawn!"
The young knight, who had up to this point shown very little in the way of expression, sneered back at the princess, green eyes burning with an inner fire. "I may be many unpleasant things, but I am not a coward!"
Accompanying his harsh outburst, his blade abruptly lashed out, knocking the girl's sword away like it was nothing more than a piece of wood. She blinked owlishly back at him, hands still outstretched, though she was grasping nothing but air. And she soon found the tip of his blade planted at her throat.
"Don't even pretend to understand things you do not," he spoke in a low, careful voice that held barely-concealed anger. "Or make ridiculous claims about my integrity or honor. I have fought for what I believe in - against this fate your kingdom had thrown upon me and my brethren!
"I respect you for what you have shown here," he continued after he had taken a moment to calm himself. "Though I do not make any such claims to know you or anything about you. I merely ask for that same respect."
The princess raised one blood-crusted hand and silently pushed his sword blade away from her neck, causing his eyebrows to raise. Even without a weapon, she did not cower and back down. As a matter of fact, she still looked angry. What a strange woman this was.
"Respect is earned," she informed him, defiant eyes meeting his once again. "And I do not respect you for what you have shown and spoken here. You cannot force me to respect and bow down to what I view as an unjust cause, no matter how strongly you believe in it."
The knight almost ran her through with his blade just then. His pride - she had taken a definite swing with an invisible, sharp blade, and stuck it right into him. Even when he had set out to make sure she was not used in the last moments of her life and dismembered like a pretty rag-doll! How impertinent! How infuriating! How...
Attractive. Compelling. Brave. Intriguing.
She was defying a fate that he was meant to carry out. She was defying it with everything that she had, even when the odds were impossible - laughable. Dirtied and reeking of the dead and of blood from countless soldiers on her dress, hands, and face, she did not back down. Or give in to the inevitable.
There was a fire - a passion in her eyes. It spoke of life and sparked of great will. Without even a word, she was voicing how she would not give up - how she would fight for everything she believed in, just as he believed he had. And the knight respected that, as well. It swelled within him - so much, that he suddenly felt unsure of himself.
And that seemed to be the opening the young woman was waiting for. The moment he appeared distracted, she knocked the blade away from him, his sword thumping uselessly to the ground as she roared with a sound unfitting for a princess and dived upon him, shoving him forcefully backward with all of her meager weight. Her bare hands beat his armored breastplate, uncaring of how useless the blows fell upon him as she snarled like a wild animal fighting for its life.
Naturally, it did not hurt at all. But the young knight found himself spellbound by such fierce, aggressive actions. Dimly he wondered what could have driven the princess this far. Was she insulted? Was her pride injured? Was she trying in some way to avenge the dead of all of her people? Might she just be short-tempered?
And most importantly, why did he care enough to even think of such things?
With her death, their victory would be complete and set in stone. No survivors would remain - and especially not those directly of the crown.
So why, as she attacked him with her bare hands and feet relentlessly, did he consider abandoning his duty to end her life? Ludicrous. The others would call him weak. Sentimental. He might even lose his rank. And then they would surely track her down and do horrible, unsightly things to the girl before they--
"FIGHT BACK, YOU---!"
Just as she came at his face with a fist, he reacted on trained impulse - his body half-turned and one hand stopped hers just inches from his jawbone, and the elbow on the opposite arm pulled back and then jutted forward to connect with her middle.
The princess's blue eyes broadened on a gasp at the impact, and then fluttered closed as she fell limp against the knight.
"Stubborn little thing," he muttered, grasping her shoulders and lowering her to the ground.
That would temporarily shut her up, at least, he thought. And now ending her life would be simple and quick, while she was not able to lift a single finger in protest any longer.
This was preferable. ...Wasn't it?
Dammit, he should not be second-guessing himself! Alarmed and aggravated with his sudden wavering, the dark green-haired knight knelt to snatch up his fallen blade and immediately set its point over the girl's chest - directly over her heart. All he had to do was press down quickly and it would be done.
Yet he stood there in unmoving silence, watching his sword rise and fall with the gentle breathing of her unconscious form. The top of her dress was frayed, and the steel point of the weapon rested just between a tear in its faded golden folds.
Plunge the blade, he urged himself.
...And yet he did not - could not.
Despite having been engaged in a bloody, seemingly endless train of battles and fights all day long, he only felt that taking this life in particular, was a sin. And that she would become blood he would see on his hands for eternity.
It was madness. These thoughts, these crazy, doubt-filled and weak-minded things invading his mind were not acceptable! War was necessary bloodshed! And destroying the last of the monarchy would mean he and his comrades could finally put these ill feelings to rest! She was just a useless princess of a fallen kingdom! Even if she fought valiantly and showed him another side to the royalty he did not know, even if she held honor many men on his side could not hold a candle to, even if she had a fire he had never before witnessed in another human being----she had to die!
And yet his blade betrayed him. And yet he could not do something so simple - something needed to properly end the strive for the independence and freedom he fought so hard to obtain.
His hand gave a great jolt and the sword slipped from his fingers, falling off to the side and impacting the earth with a dull flop.
Not for the first time in life, Fakir felt like a failure.
And what to do with her now, he did not know. If he left her, they would surely find her sooner or later. She was too stupid and headstrong to hide - as she had already clearly demonstrated. She would probably even try to fight them, just like she had with him - only they would use such a brave act to mock and humiliate her.
Princess of the swan kingdom or not, she did not deserve such a disgrace to her final moments.
Perhaps... perhaps there was something he could do.
Eyes becoming alight with a new determination, the knight retrieved his sword and sheathed it in one smooth movement, casting a single glance at the peaceful, bloodied redhead before he turned on heel and walked away.
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The merriment of victory that had continued in his absence came to a jarring halt when the young knight strode back toward the group of his fellow soldiers. The chief knight stood, meeting his gaze expectantly. All eyes were on him now.
"She's dead," he announced with a cool finality and a confidence that left no room for doubt.
He thought he saw the luster in the middle-aged knight's eyes soften just before there was a resounding rumble of displeasure and disappointment from the other men. The stoic young knight tried to ignore their horrid comments, keeping his stern green gaze on his superior.
And the elder knight tilted his head to the side slightly, wordlessly questioning why the young man still appeared so tense. The young knight called Fakir did not leave him waiting long. "I wish to speak with you for a moment," he bowed his head forward politely with the request. "Privately."
"Of course," came the gruff reply, a note of curiosity seeping into the older man's eyes as he followed the young knight to a secluded corner.
Once safely out of earshot of the others, the lower-ranked of the two leaned forward slightly, expression serious. "I have a request."
The chief knight took a deep breath, letting it leak out through his nose. "And I daresay, you of all, have certainly earned it. What is it that you wish?"
"I want to take the body and bury it somewhere away from here, where those vultures won't terrorize it any further. After that, I request to return back to the castle and rest."
There was a prolonged silence hanging in the air before the elder man clapped a hand against the knight's armored shoulder. "You are an honorable knight, Fakir. Even when it comes to dealing with those who embody everything you fight against and despise, you do not seek to do them unnecessary torture or mock their deaths. Your parents would have been proud."
The young man felt a stab of guilt at those words, knowing full well that he was outright lying to the man before him - a man he admired and looked up to almost like a father figure. Swallowing indiscreetly, he gave a stiff nod.
"I grant your request in full," the grand knight assured him, glancing over his shoulder at the jeering of the other men who clashing mugs of fresh beer. "Go, quickly. While they are still consumed in their foolish drunkenness."
The young man made to move, but abruptly hesitated. Noting that, his superior sighed.
"I'm sure the little lady is grateful to you." Fakir nearly released a snort at that, but swiftly prevented the noise from escaping. "Hers was an unfortunate death, but a needed sacrifice for our cause. You do both her and her father a great service by respecting her in death. Now hurry, my boy."
And with a light shove, the dark-haired knight felt his numbed body fall into motion, and stumbled away, his mind in a hazy mess. Lies had just spread from his mouth and guilt clawed through his heavy armor, tearing at his skin.
A needed sacrifice. And he had failed.
But, his mind suddenly challenged out of nowhere, is she really? How does the end of her life pull the final curtain down? She is not a princess anymore. Her kingdom is gone. Her family is gone. Is blood really the important factor...? Does it really determine one's worth in life?
And he continued to wonder...
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Thankfully, he found the girl's body untouched and right where he had left it. Like the others she had laid nearby with her own hands, the princess appeared to be settled in eternal rest - aside from the fact that she was the only one amongst this field of the dead that was actually alive.
Now, he needed means to move her...
Well, that was easy enough. Poising two fingers together, he lifted them to his lips, blowing between them into a thin crack - and creating a shrill sound like a whistle. And no less than a minute later, a chestnut colored horse galloped toward him, its golden mane flowing out behind it. He greeted the animal with a pat on its long face and stroked the area just behind its ear, earning a whinny of approval.
"I know you're not used to carrying any more than me," he voiced, as though the horse could understand what he was saying. "But you're going to have a little heavier of a load this time." The look his horse gave him was almost reproachful, and he rolled his eyes. "Hey, it's not a far journey. So just bear it for now, all right?"
The animal snorted and he whirled away from it, returning to the redhead's comatose form and picking her up bridal style.
"Lying to the grand knight that I've looked up to all my damn life in order to protect you," he growled out, hefting the princess up onto the back his horse like a sack of potatoes. "You have no idea just how much trouble you're causing, you infuriating girl."
And he still did not know why he was going to such lengths to secure a life he was meant to end, either. As much as he wanted to blame her, the true holder of that blame was none other than himself.
Fakir sighed in growing annoyance, hopping up onto the horse's back, right in front of the princess draped behind him. He noticed that her skirts had ridden up from when he rather carelessly shoved her up onto the animal, and quickly tore his gaze away from the milky skin of her thighs as he hastened to cover her more completely. With her modesty now secured, he gave the young woman a once over and then settled himself into the saddle more comfortably, turning his attention forward.
At least if anyone from above should spot him and his 'cargo', she at least looked dead in that position, he assured himself.
With that, he took the reigns of his horse and snapped them down, sending the beast into a quick trot across the battlegrounds and off into the darkness, guided by nothing more than the thin streams of moonlight shining through the clouds above.
The first part of his plan had been successful.
However, it was the rest of it that he was truly worried about. Most especially, the need for the princess's cooperation.
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Fakir's quarters, at first glance, were not unlike a dungeon. They laid deep in the bowels of the castle, windowless and devoid of much more than the necessities and a large stone wall erected on each side to box it in. The only thing that gave the enclosure even a mildly inviting appearance was the soft flickering of lit candles, which supplied the interior of the room with a dim glow and a slight warmth.
The knight entered his room with the princess still out cold in his arms, and shut the heavy wooden door behind him before he approached his bed and deposited her on the black wool covering. She still did not stir. Apparently he had not lost his touch for knocking out opponents with one blow of his arm, even if his sword had been the tool he relied on throughout the day of bloodshed.
However, Princess Tutu still greatly confused and intrigued him. And it might have been on that very whim of curiosity that he spared her life, or it might have been connected to something much deeper, but for now, he did not care to dwell on it. Once she awakened (which would hopefully be soon, and before those oafs returned to the castle), he had an important procedure to relay to her - one that would ensure her escape to a place she could start anew. But until the next dawn came, he unfortunately had to keep her here. It would have proved too odd, especially to the chief knight, if he were to disappear after such a long and gruesome battle. And he could not chance being caught with the princess in his care - much less anyone, even a simple servant, discovering that she was quite alive after he openly announced her death.
So troublesome. So irritating.
Exhaling through his nose, the young dark-haired knight set himself down on the bed beside her, idly watching her seemingly-sleeping form. It was strange, he thought, that although this castle had plenty of women - maidservents, commoners, and even a few wealthy women bustling about in their riches and gowns - none had ever shared his bed. Not even in the way the battered princess was bundled on top of it in unconsciousness.
The young man blinked at that, wondering where the odd thought had arisen from. Such a thing didn't hold a lick of importance. Hell, his thoughts had almost always been focused on his training, his knightly duties, and of course, his quest for freedom. Nothing reached beyond that.
Not until this girl - this princess without a crown and whose home and family he had assisted in massacring right before her eyes - slipped by his carefully-constructed barriers and infested his mind and life. Without even intending to.
How could she manage to achieve something he did not even consider possible in the first place...?
Without fully realizing what he was doing, Fakir reached out to brush a stray lock of flaming red hair aside from her pale pallor.
And just before his fingers could tuck it aside, her blue eyes snapped open. His hand instantly abandoned its earlier path and retracted at once, but not before those eyes met his and widened.
"You..." she wheezed in obvious shock, struggling to force herself up to a sitting position."Didn't you... why am I..."
The young man brought a hand to his forehead, sighing in aggravation as he briefly closed his eyes. The sooner he told her, the better. "I don't know entirely why, myself, but you're here for now. For the night. And tomorrow morning, I will see you across the border to a distant village. They don't bother with either of the northern castles and they should not question you."
The redheaded girl blinked several times, gradually taking in the information as she stared openly up at his face. "I don't understand..." she finally voiced, eyebrows drawing together. "You did not kill me? And you intend to spare me to the beginnings of a new life?" Her tone was heavily saturated with incredulousness and doubt.
He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as she released a very un-lady-like noise, almost like a snort. "You... You must be a court jester in disguise," she mused with open mirth. But as quickly as the laughter came, it was gone, and replaced by a very unamused expression. "Do not play games with me, sir knight. What torture have you planned? What fate are you intending to subject me to that is worse than death?"
Fakir scowled back at her, anger crawling into his veins. The lengths he was going for to give her a proper chance at life - the life she so obviously radiated - and she refused to believe him? The nerve of this girl! "It's not a goddamn joke," he near-spat.
But then he held his tongue from anything further. Nothing rational at all had led him to this point. And she did not care if he had any honor - the stubborn girl refused him any respect, regardless.
For a long moment, she studied him, leaning close as she looked right straight into his eyes - as if searching for something. And he did not flinch or turn away, but instead held that gaze as if bound to by some unseen magic. And after what seemed like forever, she finally pulled back, and flared her nostrils in what appeared to be annoyance, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"How is it that a black-crested one such as yourself, stained with the blood of my blood, can have honest eyes? I can't stand it."
His eyebrows raised up over a puzzled pair of green eyes. Was she... indirectly saying that she now believed him?
"I don't like this at all," she continued on a huff as she petulantly crossed her arms. "There's something strange about you. You're the kind of man that father warned me about."
"Is that so?" he couldn't keep the amusement from seeping into his voice.
"Yes," she answered instantly, lurching up to her feet. "A stranger - a dark-clad knight of the enemy kingdom that ruthlessly attacked us, and yet you presume you can tell me what to do with the life that you have so graciously given back to me?"
Fakir's eyebrows raised even higher. It was impossible to miss the sarcasm and this girl really only continued to surprise him. A princess, acting independent? They were practically set to be the definition of dependency and obedience to the higher man. And this girl emanated with rebellion against everything that he thought he knew to be truth.
Though as much as he wanted to push those buttons of hers a little more and learn other things about her, the knight reminded himself that the kidnapped ex-princess had little time to prepare. Night had already fallen and time was running short. Rising up from his bed, the young man wordlessly made his way over to the small wardrobe on the other side of the room and pulled out a fresh wool towel, cloth, and a robe. Then he turned around and all but threw them at the stunned princess.
"Go," he instructed, pointing to the door. "Two doors down from here on the right. There is a room in which you can wash up. The maidservants have been instructed to leave my corridors alone for this night, so you should not encounter any unfortunate happenings. Now, hurry."
For a long moment, she just stared back at him with that same expression, and then she snapped out of it, jumping to her feet and stamping her foot. "And just what makes you think you can tell me what to--"
"GO," he pressed with a snarl. "Unless you want to stay in those tattered remains of a dress and reeking of blood and sweat, I suggest you take this opportunity while you can, Your Majesty." He stressed the title with thin-lipped mockery. "And before the rest of the knights and soldiers return. Lest you DO have a death wish."
Her mouth opened, as if to further argue, but then shut. And she threw a nasty glare in his direction before she pulled the wooden door ajar and stomped down the hall in a very un-princess-like way.
When she was out of sight and earshot, the young knight slumped against the wall, fiddling with the binds of his heavy metal armor.
What an ungrateful, stubborn wench. Dealing with her was like pulling shards of a stained glass window from one's own skin - while the pattern was interesting and left you wanting to piece it together fully to appreciate it, ripping out each slab was agonizing and left a heated, searing trail behind. And who knew just how many pieces this venomous girl harbored in her 'portrait'.
Lifting away from his slouched position, Fakir began taking his armor off piece by piece, letting each chunk of dark steel and chainmail fall to the stone floor with an audible clatter. Truth be told, he did not feel as exhausted as he thought he should after such a day. And perhaps that was due to bubbling aggravation with the princess. Whatever the case, he felt restless.
Freed from the overwhelming confines of the protective wear, the young man exited his room and went the opposite direction of the sound of running water. ascending the stairway on the left. The remaining soldiers might come home at any time, but he found it worth the risk in order to erase the stench of battle and blood from his skin. Even if he could not clean away everything with soap and water alone, perhaps the hot liquid would at least relax his tense muscles a little.
------------------
Feeling freshened, but unfortunately no less wound up after his bathing, Fakir returned to his room, dressed in nothing more than a loose black shirt and shorts with a towel draped around his shoulders. Upon opening the wooden door, he paused, assaulted with a rather strange, but pleasant smell - flowery, laden with something exotic and a hint of fruit. And as his growing deduction soon confirmed, the princess was inside, sitting on his bed and staring at a candle on the desk beside her.
She appeared lost in thought, entranced by the flame, and for a long moment he merely stood and stared, equally as entangled in a silent contemplation of her robed form and intoxicated by her scent. The feather headdress was now completely gone from its perch, and locks of her damp red hair cascaded down on all sides of her, pooling together on the bed - all except one thick and stubborn lock that protruded from the top of her head, defiantly sticking straight up. He mused that the hair must have been caught up in her headdress before now - since that object as well, was missing. And the borrowed robe, clearly not meant for a woman, bared a hint of the swell of her breasts, as well as one creamy leg extending from the two folds that met in the center.
Fakir was not sure just how many times his eyes roved and appraised her feminine form, or why viewing her this way incited a warmth in him he was not at all familiar with. Yet again, this girl was unearthing things in him that he could not fully control or understand. What, by the seven demons of Hell, was she doing to him? Could she possibly have dabbled in witchcraft?
"I was wondering where you went."
He abruptly snapped out of his trance when her eyes fell upon him and he stiffly cleared his throat, turning away from her blue gaze and swiftly shutting the door behind him. "You're not the only one who smelled like war and death," he supplied shortly.
Just the mention of those words seemed to make her azure eyes grow distant and cloudy. After a brief pause, she parted her lips to speak again. "I've been thinking..."
"Hn?" he side-glanced toward her again to show that he was listening.
"I don't wish to go to that village," she said, hands twisting in the front of the robe. "But I will accept your offer of escort. There is a forest near there with a beautiful lake. I always wanted to visit it, but I was not allowed. I think there... there I will make my new home."
He fully swerved back around to face her, green eyes incredulous. "You want to live away from the comfort of a warm and safe shelter and without people?"
The princess stuck her nose in the air. "I believe I have had my fill of living in society and pretending to be something I'm not. And I get along better with animals, anyway."
"Strange girl," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head lightly in disbelief.
She flushed slightly, crossing her arms under her meager bust and indirectly pushing it higher. "I don't know what it is that you're mumbling over there, but I'm certain that it's nothing good." She sniffed indignantly. "So, Sir knight, do you accept my request?"
Fakir shrugged, working out a crick in his neck and wincing when he stretched a sore area. He promptly removed the towel and tossed it onto a chair in the corner. "I suppose a little extra distance won't make a difference," he conceded. "What the hell you decide to do from there on out is on your own shoulders."
The princess, however, didn't seem to be entirely listening, her eyes darting between his face and neck. He dropped his hand from where he was rubbing the taught skin and bundle of nerves. Somehow, that stare of hers was unnerving. "What now?" he ventured. "Have another condition?"
"Your neck," she spoke, gaze glued to that very point. "Does it hurt?"
The knight rolled his eyes. "Stunning observation, Your Highness," he mock bowed. "For a soldier to be sore after fighting a war. Unheard of."
"Cease calling me that!" she demanded snappily, and then pointed a finger down in front of her. "And come and sit here. I know just what to do for that."
He blinked back at her as though she had just morphed into a fire-breathing dragon. "Here you are, held captive behind enemy lines and you're giving me orders?"
"That's right," she nodded with a haughty little smile.
Fine, he thought, wandering over to her and plopping down on the floor with his back to her. He would play her little game and entertain her command. A small smirk curled onto his lips, unseen by the redhead above. "Ripe chance to try to strangle me, Your Highness," he quipped. "You are in the perfect position."
"Tempting," her voice raised slightly in amusement and he could almost feel her smile. Her fingertips brushed his neck and he felt a strange, unbidden chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the fear of being choked. "Especially after I told you to quit mocking me with titles."
Fakir had to swallow twice before he could coax his voice to work again. "You prefer being called Princess Tutu, then?"
"No," she interjected almost before he could finish. Her small hands settled down onto his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the skin. "I despise that name. Father fabricated it for me because he thought it sounded more graceful than the name my mother gave to me before she died."
He was sitting up quite straight now and trying to ignore the tingling sensation that spread from the grip of her soft, feminine hands. "Then what is your real name?"
Her fingers paused, just before they started to move. "...Ahiru."
"Ahiru," he repeated, testing the name on his lips. "Odd name for an odd girl."
"Hmph!" Her hands started to work with fervor, massaging the muscles along the junctures of his neck and shoulders. "And what's yours? Baldwick the Beast? Aurdor the Arrogant?"
"Fakir."
Her motions stopped. "...Really. I didn't expect something so... normal," she admitted slowly. "No strange titles or anything?"
The knight half-snorted. "We're not all a bunch of barbarians, you know. Perhaps your kingdom thought as much, but some of us are plenty civilized." He could not vouch for the lot of them, after all. Shameless bastards.
She didn't reply, but instead began to knead a tight area between his shoulder blades with her thumbs. He inadvertently arched into it, encouraging her ministrations and releasing something almost like a groan. It was impossible to describe how her hands felt against his skin. Was this, perhaps, what the other men called the 'magic of a woman's touch'?
"Father said this is one of the only things I could do right," she mused aloud, hands traveling up and down from the bare base of his neck to the clothed part of his back as her fingers pressured into his rough skin through the barrier. "I started doing it for him when he felt weary after a long day and it became something of a habit," she continued, somehow eased by simply talking as she worked. "It is a task that is more or less to be asked of the servants, of course, but father admitted that I was very good with using my hands this way, and he preferred that I would rub the tension from his shoulders. It was the lone and single compliment that he ever gave to me."
"Then he did not present you with an unworthy one," the young man breathed out, eyes half-closed. "It feels like your touch has a healing magic of its own."
Her fingers paused again, a red blush lighting up her face. Somehow, those words from this knight were stirring - unsettling in some way. "Y-You exaggerate," she stammered hastily, and her rubbing swiftly commenced once more. "Or you're making fun of me. It is nothing more than a simple massage, meant to relax the muscles. Anyone can do it."
"Ahhn..." he moaned out, and her flush intensified.
"Stop making weird noises!" she sputtered, feeling her heartbeat start to pump abnormally fast. Her fingers pulled away, curling in and out with embarrassment.
"Don't stop," he voiced huskily. "Keep going."
She opened her mouth to shout at him for giving her commands, but the words died on her lips. And instead, she timidly returned to caressing and kneading into his skin, languid at first, but gaining momentum.
"Lower," he told her, and leaned forward, starting to pull off his shirt.
"W-W-What are you doing!?" she exclaimed in alarm as his bare back was displayed, her face rapidly rivaling the color of her hair.
"Making it easier for you," he informed her, discarding the coarse material next to him. He reached back to pull his dark ponytail out of the way, and glanced at her from over his shoulder, green eyes expectant - and swimming with something indecipherable. "Ahiru?"
She felt a shudder fly through her body. The way he said her name made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"Continue," he urged.
And she finally complied, carefully leaning in and returning her hands to the warm flesh. Up and down, left and right, in and out, firm circles, wide arcs...
Fakir groaned deep in his throat as she molded the toughened skin of his back, each faded scar that her fingers ran across sending a spark through him. It was truly indescribable - and impossible to explain just how she was affecting his entire body with her tender motions. Heat flooded through him, traveling through his veins and flaring with each press of her fingers. And his groin swelled with something foreign, beginning to make the simple black shorts mildly constraining.
"You've grown quiet," she piped up with a rather fake-sounding cheer. "Is this relaxing you so completely that I am putting you to sleep?"
On the contrary, she could clearly hear his labored breathing and the other low sounds emitting from him. However, she was attempting to convince herself that if she kept talking, she could block it all out... ignore it... and ignore the uneasy warmth that churned in her stomach and burned slowly lower.
His response came with an unexpected lean into her, forcing her to move her hands away from him before he trapped them between his back and the bed. Then his head lolled back almost directly into her lap, hazy darkened green staring up at her. "I need... more..."
Before she could find her voice in order to ask him what he meant, his hands shot up, fisting into her hair on either side and yanking her roughly down with a yelp - before the sound dispersed into nothing as her lips mashed upon his own. The position was odd, with his head facing upside down, but the young knight did not appear to be concerned with such details and kissed the girl hungrily, his fingers tensing in her damp red curls.
This was not what the princess dreamed of her first kiss to be like. Not in the slightest. It felt messy and desperate, hot and almost bruising in needy intensity... and yet, she could not pull away. Not only because his grip was quite demanding, but this knight, this man called Fakir, was awakening something deep inside of her.
Something that ached for more, just as he had spoken before the connection was made.
And that connection was then cut. The young man relinquished his hold in her hair and panted against the swollen wetness of her lips, which gave a slight quiver when she whimpered. Provoked by the soft sound, he lifted his head and turned his body around to face her, climbing up and pushing her down to his bed. The new inclination pleased him, a thrum of heat passing through his body as he arched down and recaptured her mouth, sucking her reddened and plump bottom lip.
Ahiru gasped into the lip-lock, fighting with the conflicting urges to pull him closer or push him away. He was setting her on fire with just a kiss, and those flames were hot... so hot... so cloying and overwhelming!
And her scent consumed him, tendrils of the fragrance and of her heat twirling and binding him with their tendrils. His hands clutched her sides through the thick wool of the robe, fingers toying with the sash. Oh, how he wished to touch her skin - to make her feel everything - every pleasurable torture that she inflicted upon him with that massage...
The princess finally seemed to solidify her decision, thin arms rising and curving up behind his neck, meeting his lips back with the building passion that steadily heightened inside of her. Wrong or right, what did it matter any longer? This felt too amazing to be real. And she could not bring herself to cease it from growing and breathlessly anticipating where it would go next.
In the next moment, the tie holding the robe closed was undone, and Fakir impatiently pushed one half aside, resting his palm against the naked flesh of her thigh. A strangled noise muffled into his mouth when his fingers began to tease the open skin, caressing in tentative, slow movements. And she tensed as those strokes gradually became bolder, her nails biting into the skin between his shoulder blades.
"Ahiruuu," he drew out on a winded breath, lips moving to her jaw. That tender, unmarred skin felt just as soft to his calloused touch as he had imagined, and his hand began to move up and down over the upper half of her leg, rubbing the warm flesh fervently.
This was not the pleasure of a woman warming one's bed, he realized. It was the pleasure of this woman - this razor-tongued, strong-willed former princess who perplexed him to no end - warming his bed. And she burned his insides to the core, filling him with a want for something he never desired before. He had never felt so unsatisfied and never felt such a deep-rooted ache that reached beyond mere physical sensation.
But he was clearly aroused. And so was she, even if she did not yet recognize it.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew that this was a terrible, traitorous sin - and dangerous, given their current situation. And that irrationally caused the fire to flash brighter, intensifying the desperation that ransacked through every bone and every nerve in his body.
The hand upon her leg disengaged, his arm extending until his searching fingers found her right breast. With no hesitations to speak of, he grasped the mound with the full grip of his hand, testing its weight and feel. Her chest was not overly large, but the globe fit very nicely into the hold of his hand and its softness pulled a light moan from his throat, making his lips sigh against the skin of her neck.
She, on the other hand, let out a small cry from his attentions upon her breast, clearly unaccustomed to being touched there - or in such a rough manner. And he swiftly pressed his mouth over hers, swallowing the last of the sound before her volume could increase any further. Once certain that she had calmed, he slowly released her mouth and put a finger to her lips.
"Shh," he reprimanded in a husky whisper. "We must not be heard."
Her eyebrows drew together in frustration. How could he expect her to be quiet when he was lighting her body on fire from the inside out and molding parts of her body that a man had never been permitted to touch? She couldn't take it, she couldn't stand it!
"I---Ah...!"
His mouth immediately enveloped hers once more, refusing to let her voice escape into the air. Both of his hands now assaulted her chest on opposite sides, cupping and squeezing and ripening the rosy tips to a hardened state. Her body squirmed beneath him, noises trying to climb out of her throat but lost somewhere in the heated seal of their mouths. Feeling far too restrained, she tried a counterattack of her own, her hands planting onto his firm chest and fingers raking up and down over the contours of his muscles.
He retaliated almost instantly, masking an oncoming moan by thrusting his tongue past her lips and right into the unexplored orifice of her mouth. And to his surprise - and subsequent delight - her tongue rose to the challenge and battled back against his as she continued her onslaught on his skin, fingernails tracing one long scar from the top of his shoulder to his navel.
How naive he had been to think this princess was one of those demure and perfect little portraits of innocence. Everything that he unveiled about her since their first meeting on the battlefield of the fallen swan kingdom stunned him. And now those attributes he had found so alluring were translating to an immense focus of passion that clashed between them.
Fakir was commonly stoic, cool, and collected, completely focused on his duties as a knight and his desire for the gates he felt trapped in to open. Nothing had shaken him so much and no one had dared cross into his personal space like this girl. And instead of stopping her in her tracks with a cold, unfeeling glare - such measures only further provoked her to overcome any obstacles in her way.
Courageous, stubborn, incredibly vivacious, and damn, she was kissing him like she was possessed by a frisky, wanton devil. There really was no turning back for the knight at this point. He did not know who would eventually surrender - or if one of them would hand the reigns over at all - but he was determined to experience this young woman in every possible way.
Even if time was horribly short.
With that thought in mind, he doubled his efforts. The hands at her chest alternated directions - descending and ascending, mapping out every inch of her silky smooth skin they encountered. One set of fingers ran over the length of her collarbone, rolling into the groove of taught skin created by the strong structure, while the other rubbed down to her abdomen, fingering her navel and pressing the flat of his palm to the flat of her stomach that expanded with every jerking breath she attempted to take between their busy mouths.
He wanted to know, he wanted to remember... he wanted this night to remain engraved upon his memory forever.
The princess rashly broke her mouth away from his, throwing her head back on a mewling cry from his ministrations that refused to be contained. Her fingers tensed and constricted into his frame, scraping over his chest and stomach and drifting lower. And this time, Fakir made no move to attempt to silence her - that sound alone pulsed a thick warmth through him, collecting at his center that pushed against its unwelcome restraints.
It was nothing like the cry of a dying or suffering woman, which he had heard numerous times throughout the day, but a cry of life - filled to the brim with urgency - a cry for him.
And even the potentially lurking threat of imminent danger could not force him to stop it, foolish as it was.
Ahiru bucked her hips up between them on a gasp when his fingers lightly brushed a sensitive area nearing the connection of her legs, tossing her head forward to latch onto his neck and suck harshly on the spot where his pulse was strong and beating. For a brief moment, he simply arched up on shaky limbs, taking her with him, and then pressed her roughly back down, grinding his only remaining clothed area diagonally across her wetness.
Sensing her advantage and enjoying his reactions, her teeth joined the play upon the skin of his neck, clamping a section between the top and bottom and suckling the skin trapped between. His upper body shuddered and she grinned, tongue darting out to pay heed to the reddened skin before starting a trail of saliva further downward.
He rubbed his erection against her leg, a rumble like a growl erupting from within him - to the point that she could almost feel the noise rise through him with her attentions on his neck and collarbone. And both of her hands abandoned their former path, opting instead to wrap around behind him and clutch his firm rear in her grip, indirectly pushing his hardness into her thigh.
She could feel it and she knew where she needed it... where she had to have it. He was big, but he would fit. And her lower body was just aching for that realization to become reality.
Fakir allowed the friction to continue awhile longer, pushing his hips against her over and over and panting in spurted gasps. Her tongue persisted in slickening the area below his neck, tasting him and savoring his flavor with every brush of the appendage. In some blind attempt to fight back, his hands found her breasts and twisted the swollen nubs, pulling a startled squeak from her that dislodged her mouth from his front. And he seized the opening before she could close it, ducking his head down closing his mouth over one erect bud on her chest. She stifled a screech and gripped his backside with ruthless fingers, her body contorting as he nipped the small protrusion caught in the hot cavern between his lips and tongue.
Surely her father and her friends and the soldiers and everyone that died in the war would say this brought shame upon her entire family and name. Consorting so intimately with a man who was the enemy, showing not a shred of dignity for her former standing... she would have been punished terribly for such treacherous behavior.
But she had long since thrown away that role. She was not Princess Tutu. She was not a bird locked in that pretty cage any longer. She didn't have to be something she wasn't. And she was finally allowed to live a life of her own choices - choices she would not be ashamed of, no matter what others might think of them. It was freedom and she was experiencing it together with this knight, Fakir - reveling in the pleasures that even inexperience could create between them. Attraction and lust played their wild part, but there was something more - something that almost felt like a magnetism of magic that drew them together.
And she let it bind her - consume her completely. If just for this one night...
The male of the two was quickly growing annoyed with the interference of the bathrobe, and pulled away from the princess long enough to tug her arms free of the material and let it fall like a backdrop underneath of them, cushioning her now completely naked body.
Fakir sucked in a sharp breath and openly stared, letting his gaze drink in her appearance with the shadows flickering and dancing over her skin from the light of the candles behind them. He had never seen a woman's naked form before - not this entirely. And it made his cheeks flush with a strange embarrassment that crawled up within the fires of the raging lust. She had shapely curves and a well proportioned body for her shorter stature, a bit on the thin side, but with enough to fill her out in the right places. And her core area that hid her womanly flower glistened in the dim light. He swallowed, his mouth dropping open to gape. The urgency and desperation before now had plowed him blindly forward by instinct and want alone, and prevented him from taking everything in.
Blue eyes blinked back at him in confusion, a blush rising to her face as well. And her hands promptly crossed over her open flesh. "H-Hey, don't stare like that! Does it--do I look that... bad?" Her voice grew smaller and something in her heart sank at the thought. She knew she wasn't as pretty as princesses were supposed to be. And she was under-developed for her age... The maidservants Pique and Lilie had teased her about it all the time. But...
A trickle of perspiration fell in a curve down from the side of his face, his green eyes widening. "No, I... You're not--I've just never..."
Her mouth fell open, expression clearly displaying shock. "Really? You haven't done... this before?" Wow. And she had thought with the rush that certainly he knew exactly what he was doing. "And...you've never seen...?"
The young knight glanced away, his blush intensifying drastically. For a man, it was probably laughable. But no such woman had caught his eye or interest before. Not until her. "I... have not." he supplied rather lamely.
She reached up and tugged the ends of his black shorts. "I've never seen a naked man, either. Show me...?" Her words finished on what only could be described as a purr, her half-lidded gaze imploring him to grant her wish.
Fakir took a deep breath. Naturally, this girl wanted to be on the same level - she wanted to play fair and have her say. And besides, he had taken quite a long look at her. He released the breath on a sigh and reached for the band of his simple cotton shorts, pulling the cloth down and letting his length bob free. A hiss passed through his grit teeth when the cool air licked him, and he felt the need and frantic desire pound through his veins anew.
The clock was ticking and waiting seemed to be steadily becoming more and more difficult.
When Ahiru reached out to touch him, the knight stopped her with one hand. "There isn't--time," he stated, unsure of if he was referring to the night that rapidly waned or of his own impatience to be inside of her.
Although her lips formed a tiny pout, the princess relented. However, instead of pulling her hand away from his, she guided it down, and set his fingers against the small bunch of curls that protected and framed her center from above, allowing him to feel her entrance, which was slick and hot with anticipation. Her free hand ran along the side of his face, brushing back one stubborn lock of his dark bangs.
"Here," she pleaded as she pressed his palm flushly to her wet heat. And for a brief second, he caught a glimpse of the demure maiden beneath the wild mare. That alone made his erection pulse with renewed desperation. He wanted to see that face again, while she cried out his name...
Lifting her up slightly, he settled himself down between her legs and then lowered her, one hand gripping her hip and the other fisting into the bedsheets beside them.
"Pure, are you not?" he panted out, staring down at her with lust-ridden green eyes. It was excruciatingly difficult not to recklessly thrust his length into that dripping warmth without warning.
She gave an almost undetectable nod, but there was no fear or regret shining in her blue irises. In all truth, she looked ready, willing, and accepting.
"Then let me take you," the knight rasped into her ear fiercely, his lips falling to brush her jawline and then kiss the corner of her mouth. "Let me have you..."
"Fill me!" she near-cried in earnest need as she clutched around his back. "Fakir!"
Unlike his hesitations to plunge a blade into her heart, he impaled her velvet passage with one swift stroke, claiming her, breaking her final barrier, and sheathing himself inside of her as far as he could possibly drive in. The pleasure was instantaneous - but he did not miss her gasp of pain. In effort to console her, he stilled himself from the urge to move and gently rubbed the skin of her shoulder. It was a mark of chivalry from the knight - awaiting the princess's word before he continued.
She whimpered, tears prickling her eyes as she clung to him for dear life, shifting back and forth restlessly in hopes of relieving the sharp pain that attacked her senses. It hurt. It hurt! But she was strong - she wouldn't cry and she would be patient. It would pass. Already, it was beginning to dim...
And it's dulled throb quickly died and gave way to unfathomable pleasure. "Oh!" she gasped out in a winded breath as the flood came in and doused her, making the pain a distant memory. "Please!"
No sooner had that plea broken the tense air before he answered, drawing out to his tip and sliding back in with a rough groan. She quaked from the sensations and reached her legs up to clamp around him, pulling him in deeper. The pace continued rather languidly at first as the both of them adjusted to one another, but slowly built more speed, their hips rocking back and forth.
The candles around the room flickered with an invisible wind - and when the bed hit the nightstand, one of those candles toppled right to the stone floor and went out, dimming the meager light of the room even further. But the two were far too engrossed in one another to care, their moans and throaty cries saturating the air of the underground room.
Passion grew taught and strained as the knight thrust his manhood into her even harder, his teeth and eyes clenched and both hands gripping her sides. Something fit to burst was filling up quickly and begged the rhythm to quicken. He did nothing but comply with that unspoken need, even without knowing just what would be waiting at the peak.
Ahiru impatiently lifted herself up from the bed, trying to sit up and settle herself more directly against him and kissing his lips with enthusiasm. He accommodated the new position awkwardly, but soon picked up the fallen pace, and felt her breasts bounce between them, brushing his chest with every pumping stroke. He lowered his hands to fit around her plush rear and guide her lower body over his shaft to keep up with him, penetrating into her exquisite heat again and again.
Words could not properly describe the sensations that racked through their bodies simultaneously and endlessly, ripping through them to the core with something so amazing that it was difficult to believe that such a thing could possibly be real and attainable. Or that they could have waited so long for it.
But the wait was worth it, to find the right person - the right fit. One that existed on so much more than a strictly physical level. Titles and roles were all worthless. They meant nothing to a connection like this. Perhaps tomorrow upon daybreak, they would have to resume those roles and take up those titles once more. However, for now, they could be as wild and free as they wished.
Her lubricated entrance allowed the speed to pick up even more, their pants of exertion growing shorter and heartbeats crashing against their ribcages as the movement started to spiral out of control. He pumped faster and faster, impaling her on his pulsing erection with reckless abandon as the fire of their actions scorched everywhere and drenched him in sweat. Erratic breaths and fumbling limbs were all that could be heard in the near-darkness - until that blessed crest of pleasure was at last reached. Their arms wrapped around each other, hanging on for all they were worth as those incredible waves crashed down.
Fakir barely arrived there first, white exploding into his vision when her inner walls clutched his length so tightly that he thought he might pass out. "A---HIRU!" his voice boomed aloud as he was completely drowned in blinding heat. It was pure euphoria, pulling him far out of his bedroom - out of the castle and high into the clouds. And she followed that trip into ecstasy not but a moment later, triggered by the hot flood of his release deep within. Her own cry carried his name and she buried her face into his damp shoulder, clamping around him like a vice. It all felt so strange and new and overwhelming and powerful - and its magic tore her away from existence and being altogether, sending her to a brand new world.
And entwined together, they rode the orgasms out to their end, clinging and quivering in each other's grasp.
Gradually, their grips began to slacken and the shaking arms and legs quelled their movement. Their mixed essences were spilled from the connection point onto their legs and bed, but neither had noticed or cared. Deep, ragged breaths puffed out from the exhausted knight and princess, damp hair sticking to their skin and glassy eyes struggling to focus again.
Even once their breathing began to even out and slow, neither one seemed to wish to break the silence. Instead, Fakir pulled back met the redhead's gaze, lifting a hand to part her bangs. Then he leaned in and placed one chaste press of his lips to hers, full of a sweetness that the urgency of their intercourse did not harbor.
And he was rewarded with a true smile that reached all the way to the deepest blue depths of Ahiru's eyes.
"Until the dawn when we must part..." she spoke in a tired, but firm tone. "Do not leave my side."
"You have my word," he assured her, finally pulling out of her folds with a small moan. And then he laid them down upon his small bed, pulling the wool of the blanket that had been shoved off to the side and draping it across their spent, naked bodies.
Knight and princess - man and woman - curled around each other, determined to hold on to this fleeting dream as long as they could.
For when daybreak came, the dream would shatter.
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Two forms facing one another and nestled into the sheets of a bed shifted with the breaking of dawn and sunlight shining through the window to spill out over the bed. The girl with red hair in disarray across the pillows awoke first, thick eyelashes fluttering open and revealing sleepy blue eyes. And those eyes settled on the lightly-breathing form beside her.
"Fakir..." she spoke quietly, tracing two fingers along the curve of his face.
The young man's eyebrows drew together over his still-closed eyelids, and a muffled groan reverberated from his throat as he reached up to bat the hand away.
"Fakiiiiir," she whined, and this time leaned forward to press her lips to the tip of his nose.
That seemed to finally pull him out of his slumber, his green eyes snapping open right upon contact of her light brush of skin. "What is it?" he grumbled sleepily.
"It's morning," she supplied with a broad smile.
He growled with annoyance, mumbling something that distinctly sounded like 'moron' and she giggled.
"Aren't you excited to know what I thought about it?" she pressed, now running one hand along his arm.
"Later," came his gruff reply, though he shuddered when her fingertips brushed close to his hip. "'M tired from writing and everything afterward."
"Thank you," she whispered, moving in to claim his lips in a soft kiss. "I think that was the best one yet. Your stories are wonderful."
He arched a brow back at her. "Why are you thanking me? It was your fantasy, not mine."
Ahiru's lips jutted out in a pout. "But you wrote it! You made it real! I gave you one little idea and you came up with...with that!"
She blushed, and he couldn't help but crack a smirk. "To think you would have a forbidden kidnapping fantasy," he mused. "Makes me wonder what other weird ideas you have swimming around in that duck brain of yours."
Her face flushed indignantly, a scowl crossing her lips. "I'm not weird! And--and even if I was, you're even WEIRDER!" she declared openly, jutting a finger out against his bare chest beneath the covers.
"Oh?" he frowned, pulling her hand away. "And why is that?"
"Last week, we played out your latest fantasy," she reminded him, her foot nudging up against his calf. "And if I remember right, it was about a high-class rich man and his little affair thing with a--"
"All right, all right," he conceded, blushing furiously. "But I still don't think that's as weird as yours."
"Right," she rolled her eyes. "Having a maid to wait on you hand and foot and seducing that maid isn't strange at all. You really do have some weird obsession with bossing me around, don't you? Though I never thought it reached on that kind of level before..."
"Oh, shut up!" he shoved her with one arm as she broke into a laugh. "I never said we had to do any of mine in the first place! You're the one who started all of this!"
She snuggled up against him with a grin. "It's fun, just like teasing you is fun," she assured him. "I still want to experience what you come up with next. I'm really glad that I can be a part of your stories. And, well... if we can't be risk being weird with each other, I guess we can't risk it at all, huh?"
He blinked back at her in surprise, but he understood. She meant their trust. Even when they poked fun at each other, neither truly looked down on the other for any reason. And having fantasies from one's imagination being brought to life was risky when dealing with his power, certainly, but as long as Ahiru was directly involved and her emotions gave him fuel and inspiration to write, Fakir felt confident enough to continue - and to spice up their lives with something secret - just for them. It was special. And truth be told, he didn't want to give that up any more than she did.
"So it's my turn next week, hmm," he muttered, brushing fingers with faded ink-stains through her messy red locks.
She shifted and sighed. "You know... I think you should do a sequel to this one. I know you ended it, but don't you think it was kinda unfinished?"
"A sequel?" Both of his eyebrows raised and then furrowed. "Maybe for your next turn, if that's what you want. ...What did you have in mind, anyway?"
A dust of pink fell over her cheeks and she looked away. "W-Well I was just thinking that we don't know what happens next! Does the princess escape? Are she and the knight separated forever? And... and I thought, wouldn't it be interesting if he was able to get her out but the others found out about her being alive? And then he gets in big trouble because of that! And she eludes capture and comes to rescue him! Pretty neat, huh?"
Fakir smirked again. "You want to play heroine, is what you're saying in short."
"She's a strong princess! And she could pay her debt back to the knight that way! And--"
"Enough," he interrupted, capturing her lips briefly. "If that's what you want for the week after next, then fine. But for now..." He gathered her up in his arms, latching possessively around her and sighing into her hair. "I want to finish resting. And you're not getting up until I get up."
The redhead blew her cheeks out in mock-irritation, but soon softened into his embrace, letting her breath even out.
She really was the luckiest duck in the world.
And with that thought, she joined her dark-haired partner and lover into a blissful slumber.
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AN: TADA~! ...Weren't expecting that end, were you? Huuuuh? XD Sorry if anyone was disappointed or confused. I think everything should be properly explained with that ending, though. Fakir and Ahiru, were in fact, role-playing through the power of Fakir's ability to make his stories come true. And so he creates worlds in which they can experience their fantasies. ...Sure makes for an interesting sex life, huh?
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! I feel the smut part might have been a little lacking this time, but the build-up to it was what was the most clear in my mind, so I let the flow carry it. Nonetheless, I would be absolutely delighted to hear any feedback that you have. I know it has been awhile since I wrote smut in fic form, so I hope I am not losing my touch yet (but if anything at all really bugs or confuses you, don't hesitate to tell me!). I did thoroughly enjoy writing this, however, and I hope you liked it.
Thank you for reading!
