AN: The prompt was Mytho/Ahiru, "Once again, Ahiru's only taking Rue's place..." This story takes place around Akt 5. And someday, I will remember how to write graphic smut.
He is soft and warm, and smoother than anyone real should ever be. From the gentle curve of his jaw to the dip in the middle of his collarbone, and on and on down, Mytho is perfect. Not like a doll; the motions of dolls are clumsy at best, stiff and lacking vitality. Mytho is like the embodiment of what movement is supposed to be, and he is all life. His hands are steady and graceful when they move up from her waist; his breath flutters against her skin like the wings of a bird about to take flight.
Ahiru is terrible at this. She is acutely aware that she is all freckles and scrawny flailing limbs, all blushing and stuttering and not knowing what to do.
But Mytho asked her. He asked her, all on his own, took her hand and pulled her into this room before Ahiru could even find an answer. He wrapped his arms around her before she could even quack, and then she didn't have the breath to quack.
And oh she shouldn't be doing this, for lots and lots of reasons. Reasons like Rue is her friend, ducks aren't supposed to mate with things that aren't other ducks, and she just knows she must be even worse at this than dancing and that really says a lot. Reasons like Mytho really loves Rue, even right now.
She knows it's true because with each of his breaths, even as they get hot and ragged and start to feel real, the sweet nothings he gasps into Ahiru's ear are all about loneliness.